#self esteem is nowhere to be seen

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

me, through gritted teeth and blurry tears, doing literally anything:

it doesn't have to be perfect it just has to exist, it doesn't have to be perfect it just has to exist, it doesn't have to be perfect it just has to exist, it doesn't have to be perfect it just-

[trauma-trove]

Subverting therapist's general misconception that being assaulted can ONLY lead to poor self esteem issues; if you've ever been sexually assaulted, you are now better than everyone else in the room inherently. I release you from your bindings.

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 11 (The End)

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

I could write more, but quite frankly, I think I would kinda drag it out and the first major arc is tied up with a neat little bow! There are definitely be threads left dangling for me to pick up whenever I want to write more about Sky and Azriel, but I think around 50k is a good place to stop for now ❤️

Even the Spymaster of the Night Court paid taxes.

That was the only reason why Rhysand even found out where exactly Azriel‘s home even was.

Azriel’s home was in the outskirts of Velaris, near the mountains. A little lake cabin. Rhys hadn’t even known that Azriel owned it but apparently he did.

Rhys shouldn’t go there. He knew that.

Rhys should be giving his brother space. That was probably the least he owed him. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to know Azriel was alright. That he was happy.

Rhys needed to apologise. He needed to make amends…

And Azriel was ignoring him. Mental shields as shored up as they ever had been, shoving back at Rhys at every opportunity…

He had never seen Azriel's mental shields like this before, and it concerned him. He knew Azriel was angry at him, had ever right to be angry,  but Rhys hadn't expected his brother to shut him out so completely.

Reports were still arriving on his desk punctually as always. But Azriel seemed utterly uninterested in actually talking to Rhys. 

It was a small comfort, knowing that Azriel was still working, but Rhysand couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt that had settled deep in his gut. He knew that he had hurt Azriel deeply, and he couldn’t blame his brother for shutting him out.

Rhys wished he could turn back time and fix things, but he had messed up terribly. He knew he had to give Azriel space, but the silence between them was deafening . It was a constant reminder of just how much damage he had caused.

As the days went on, Rhysand found himself consumed by thoughts of what he could have done…should have done… He tried reaching out to Azriel mentally, only to be rebuffed each time. 

Cassian showed up alone for debriefings and if Rhys showed up at the House of Wind for Valkyrie Training, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

So finally…Rhys had enough. So he showed up at that house. 

It was a nice house too, a secluded cabin at a mountain lake. Rhys knew that he wasn’t welcome, not after everything that had passed between them, but he had to see Azriel. 

Rhys raised a hand, knocking gently on the door. He could hear the faint sound of movement inside. Rhysand sighed. He should leave. He knew he should leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

And then suddenly, to his surprise…the door opened. 

“…C…Can I….can I h…help you?“

She was brown haired and short… with deep blue eyes and freckles smattering over her nose.

Rhysand looked at the woman in front of him, taken aback by her appearance. He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't a small, curvy, freckled brunette.

"I, uh..." Rhysand stammered, his mind blanking. "I was looking for Azriel." he finally brought out. 

The small female studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Az…Azriel's n…not h…here," she stuttered.

Rhysand's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show. "Do you know where he is?" he asked, desperate for any information.

The female hesitated, biting her lip slightly. She seemed to be contemplating her answer, her brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, she finally looked back up at him, her expression unreadable. "He…He's...o…out f…for t…the d…day," she said finally, not giving him anymore than that.

Rhysand tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was so close to his brother, and yet so far away. "Do you know when he'll be back?" he asked sharply.

She nearly flinched away from him at that tone of voice.

He opened his mouth to apologise, but he didn't even get to that. Because some thing with wickedly sharp claws, launched itself at his head with a hissing sound.

Rhysand yelped as the mysterious creature swiped at his face, growling all the while.

"HECTOR NO!" The female shrieked.

Rhysand stumbled backwards, trying to dodge the sharp claws.

Just at that moment, he felt more than he heard his brother's arrival.

Azriel materialized between them with a loud flapping of wings, his siphons blazing. He stood protectively in front of the small female, his expression murderous.

"Hector to me," he snapped. The thing, a cat ...an incredible ugly , murderous looking cat let off Rhys with another growl and slunk back to Azriel's side, heeling like a dog. The woman quickly scooped him up in her arms.

Cassian's laughter washed over him, at that moment, as Rhys was still laying on the ground, bested by a cat .

"Taking down by a cat now, Rhysie?" Cassian asked him with a snort, offering him his hand to gain his feet.

Rhys already knew that he was never going to live this down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Azriel hissed, his voice filled with anger. His wings were spread wide, and Rhysand could see the barely contained ferocity beneath his brother's cold facade.

Rhysand winced at Azriel's harsh tone. He knew he had messed up, and he didn't blame his brother for being angry with him. "I just wanted to see you," he said, feeling small under Azriel's penetrating glare.

Azriel's expression didn't soften at his words. "You had no right," he said sharply. "You can't just show up here unannounced, Rhysand. This is my home, and you're not welcome here. You terrified Sky!"

Sky. Sky. That was the name of his brother's mate...of the pretty brunette that was standing behind him, fussing over her murderous cat.

Rhysand glanced over at Sky guiltily. "I...I'm sorry," he said to her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sky hesitated, before nodding stiffly. Her face remained guarded, her arms still wrapped protectively around the mangy cat. Rhysand couldn't help but notice how small she looked compared to Azriel's imposing form…and the absolute massive cat. 

"I am sorry," he turned to his brother, swallowing. The apology wasn't enough. he knew that. And it wasn't going to fix the fact that Azriel didn't trust him anymore or... *Az. Please.*

"How did you find this house?" Azriel demanded.

"I checked the tax reports," Rhys admitted with a grimace.

Azriel's expression darkened even further, and Rhys braced himself for a reprimand. Instead, his brother let out a harsh, bitter chuckle. "Of course you did," he said flatly. "Just can't stay out of my business, can you?"

Rhysand felt a pang in his chest at the hostility in Azriel's voice. He knew he deserved every ounce of resentment his brother felt, but it still hurt deep to hear it out loud. "I...I was worried about you," he said lamely.”I just needed to see you." he added. "To apologise."

"You don't even realise the lines you keep crossing, do you?" Cassian asked him flatly. "Ever thought about the fact that maybe you should have waited until Azriel was ready to hear you out?

Rhysand winced. Cassian's words struck a nerve, and he knew his friend was right. He had been rash and insensitive in coming here unannounced. "I...I wasn't thinking," he admitted softly.

Cassian shook his head, his expression still stern. "That's the problem, Rhys," he said bluntly. "You never seem to think these days. It's like you're so caught up in your own head that you don't consider how your actions affect those around you."

Rhysand's gaze dropped, shame washing over him. Cassian's words pierced straight through him, and he struggled to find a response. He knew he had been making mistakes, but hearing them laid out so bluntly still stung.

"What do you want?" Azriel asked him flatly. "Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to apologise," Rhys said weakly. "I...fucked up. I know that. I want to...fix things."

Azriel's face remained impassive, his eyes hard. "You can't just fix things with an apology, Rhys," He said curtly. "You crossed more than one line, and you shattered my trust. Do you really think saying sorry is enough?"

"Az," his mate said softly, her voice quiet. "H..He's blee..bleeding all over our front lawn after my cat at..attacked him. At least let him sit down and give him a healing salve…"

Azriel turned to look at his mate, his anger softening ever so slightly at the concern in her voice. He let out a heavy sigh, before nodding stiffly. "Fine," he said gruffly. "But no more than that."

Rhysand nodded gratefully, relieved that Azriel was willing to let him in, even if only slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I...I really am sorry."

Azriel didn't respond, turning away from him and herded Sky and the murder cat into the house. Rhysand watched him go, feeling a pang of sadness. It was clear that his brother's anger was far from abated, and he knew it would take a lot more than just an apology to mend their fractured relationship.

"Come on," Cassian prodded him up.

The first thing that Rhys realised about the house Azriel shared with his mate was that it was absolutely stuffed full with books. The second was, that Azriel clearly doted on the Murder Cat that got a crystal dish with tuna on it put on the floor before Azriel even went in the direction of the healing salve, which he slapped down on the table in front of Rhysand. .

"I…I am so…sorry," Sky apologised to Rhys, bright blue eyes apologetic. "H…Hector has nev…never done anything like that before, I swear."

Yeah, somehow he doubted that. But he also doubted that it was going to help his relationship with Azriel if he was going to annoy his mate about her beastly cat. The thing had a worse personality than Amren . 

"Don't worry about it," he said, with what he hoped he was a gracious smile. "I think your cat and I just got off on the wrong foot." He looked over at the cat, who was now happily devouring the tuna as if it hadn't just tried to claw his face off.

"Good Boy, Hector," Azriel said warmly.

Rhysand could just stare.

Azriel, the feared Spymaster of the Night Court, was cooing at a mangy cat like a proud parent. He never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"Who knew the Spymaster had a soft spot for cats," Rhysand remarked with a faint smile. Azriel shot him a warning glare, but the sternness was lost at the tender way he was petting the cat. "I am really sorry," Rhys apologised again.

"You said so. Numerous times," Azriel shot back.

Rhysand sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew Azriel was still angry with him, but it was hard not to feel the guilt weighing down on him. "I know," he said softly. "But I want you to know that I mean it. I am sorry, Azriel. For everything."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but Rhysand could see the flicker of sadness in his eyes. He knew his brother was struggling to forgive him, but he hoped that with time, Azriel would be able to find it in his heart to do so.

"I just want to make things right," Rhysand said earnestly. "I miss you, Az. I miss my brother."

"You'll need to decide one of those days," Azriel said sharply. "Am I your soldier or am I your brother?"

Rhysand flinched at the words, feeling the weight of the accusation hit him hard. 

He had always tried to balance his role as High Lord with his relationship with his brothers, but he knew that…that he hadn’t been fair to Azriel for a long time. "You're right," he conceded quietly. "I have been treating you like my soldier instead of my brother, and that's not fair to you."

"You have been treating him absolutely deplorably," Cassian cut him off.

Rhysand hung his head, feeling the weight of his mistakes settling heavy on his shoulders. "I know," he said quietly. "I've been so caught up in my own problems and responsibilities as High Lord that I lost sight of what really matters. And I've hurt Azriel because of it."

"And you stuck your nose in things that are none of your business," Cassian continued. "I get it that you are tired of fighting, Rhys, we all are, but you can't keep conflict out of our family by ordering Azriel to behave in the way you would like him to."

Rhysand winced, knowing Cassian was right. He had been trying to control things, to make sure everyone was safe and happy, but in the process, he had driven a wedge between himself and his brothers. "I...I know," he admitted reluctantly. "I was…I was stupid. I am tired of war. Of fighting. And I was just trying to protect him, but I went about it all wrong."

" Protect me?" Azriel asked him, his voice dripping with disdain. " Protect me from what ?"

Rhysand looked away, feeling the shame rise within him. He knew he had overstepped, and he knew that Azriel was angry with him. "The consequences that would have arisen," he said delicately. He didn't know what Azriel had told his mate...didn't know how much she knew, but she was watching him with an expression on his face, he couldn't quite place.

"Well, I am an adult, Rhysand," Azriel snapped. "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

Rhys knew that. He knew Azriel was more than capable of taking care of himself. But he still felt the need to protect him, to shield him from harm.

"I...I know that," Rhysand said quietly. "I just didn't want to see you get hurt." He glanced over at Azriel's mate, who was still watching him warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being evaluated, judged for his mistakes.

Azriel let out a dry chuckle. "Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" he said bitterly. "You've seen to that already." Rhysand winced at the accusation, knowing that he deserved every ounce of Azriel's anger.

"I know," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I am sorry for that. I see now that it was the wrong way to go about it." He looked into his brother's dark eyes, pleading for understanding.

Azriel met his gaze, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Protecting me by making decisions for me is not protecting me, Rhysand," he said quietly. "It's...it's suffocating. It's demeaning."

Rhysand nodded, knowing that Azriel was right. He had been trying to control everything, trying to make sure that nothing went wrong, and he had lost sight of what was truly important. "I understand," he said quietly. "And I am sorry for making you feel that way. It was wrong of me."

Azriel studied him for a moment, before finally sighing. "Just...stop it," he said simply. "No more interfering in my personal life, no more giving me orders like I am one of your soldiers."

Rhysand let out a shaky breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I promise," he said earnestly. "I won't do it again, Az. I...I'll respect your boundaries, and I'll never overstep again."

Azriel snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he said gruffly. "And if you do...if you try to control me like that again, I swear Rhysand...it won't end well."

"You'll ha…have He…Hecctor to contend with," Sky said, her voice even.

Rhysand looked over at Hector, who had finished his tuna and was now licking his chops.  Rhys swallowed. "He does seem to be a force to be reckoned with," he said carefully.

Sky gave him a small, tight-lipped smile. "You could say t…that," she said, her tone neutral. Azriel snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he watched his mate. It was the first genuinely carefree sound Rhysand had heard from his brother…in a long time.

Despite the earlier tension, Rhysand found himself smiling too. There was something about the way Azriel looked at his mate, the way he looked...happy, that made Rhysand feel like maybe everything would be alright.

Hector chose that moment to let out a loud meow, his voice sounding like a rusty hinge in the otherwise quiet room. Azriel looked down at the cat, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll get you your second helping, spoiled brat," he said, a hint of fondness in his voice.

Rhysand chuckled, feeling the tension that had been weighing him down lift just a little. Things between him and Azriel weren't repaired yet, they had a long way to go, but for the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful.

“They do say the pen is mi…mightier than a sword,” Sky said suddenly. “You treat Azriel like that again and you’ll see just how mighty my pen is.”

Rhysand's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Sky's unexpected threat. It was clear that she wasn't messing around, and Rhys couldn't help but admire her boldness. He glanced over at Azriel, who was trying to suppress a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," Rhysand said, trying to hide his amusement. "Though I have to say, I can’t imagine a pen being as terrifying as Hector."

Cassian snorted. “Oh you have no idea,” he muttered

Rhysand's eyes widened in curiosity at Cassian's comment. What on earth did that mean? But before he could inquire further, Azriel's voice broke through.

"Don't worry about it," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Let's just say that you don't want to get on Sky's bad side, especially when she has her writing instruments within reach."

"Duly noted," Rhysand said, nodding seriously. He had a feeling that Azriel's mate was not someone to be trifled with, regardless of how harmless she looked, and he had no intention of finding out first-hand just how mighty her pen truly was.

Hector, having finished his second helping of tuna, let out a satisfied meow before padding over to Sky and rubbing against her leg. She reached down and scratched him behind the ears, smiling as he purred contentedly.

Rhysand watched the scene. He had never seen Azriel so relaxed, so happy, and it made him realize just how badly he had missed his brother. It was a reminder that family was more important than anything, and that he needed to cherish the people he cared about.

“Seems like you aren’t Sky’s favourite,” Cassian drawled.

Azriel snorted. “Nah, I come a distant third behind Hector and the shadows.”

Rhys watched with a swallow as these shadows that he had seen torturing people came over to Sky and twined around her hands. Azriel's words were said in jest, but Rhysand could hear the fondness in his voice. It was clear that Azriel adored his mate, and that the shadows had taken a liking to her as well. Rhysand tried not to let the slight sting of jealousy show on his face.

As he watched, the shadows danced around Sky's fingers, like they were alive and had a mind of their own. Rhys had seen the shadows in action, had seen how Azriel used them to fight and spy, but he had never seen them act this way before. There was a tenderness in the way they twined around Sky that was almost...beautiful.

Rhys turned to Azriel, who was watching his mate with a soft expression on his face. "They seem to like her," he commented, keeping his voice neutral.

"That's an understatement," Azriel said drily. "They're obsessed with her. They won't leave her alone."

Rhysand could see that clearly, but what surprised him more was how comfortable Sky seemed with them. She wasn't scared or even bothered by their presence...

It did make sense he supposed. The shadows were Azriel's weapon, his most trusted companions...that they would like his mate.

Rhysand watched as Sky looked up from where the shadows were wrapping around her fingers, a faint smile on her face. She seemed completely at ease with the strange entities, as if they were just another part of Azriel that she had accepted and embraced.

And it was also a sharp reminder of how much trust Rhys had destroyed through his actions. It was very clear who Azriel preferred, who he trusted more. Who he gravitated towards. Who even his shadows doted on, these strange, creatures that Rhys was quite sure would stop at nothing to keep their master safe.

The realization stung, but Rhys knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had caused this rift between them, he had pushed Azriel away, and now he was paying the price for it. But he was determined to make it right, no matter how long it took.

As he watched Azriel gently brush away a stray strand of hair from Sky's face, Rhys made a silent vow. He would do whatever it took to repair their broken bond, to regain Azriel's trust and respect. No matter how hard it was, no matter how long it took, he would make things right.

***

"You want to talk about it?" Sky asked him quietly, after Cassian ad Rhys had gone. 

She was fine now. Content. No more pulling at the mating bond so harshly and pushing all her fear at him. It had shaved at least a century of his life, to feel that from her when Casisan and him had been sparring and he knew that she was supposed to be safe at home.

He had expected near everything…but he hadn’t expected to arrive to the view of Hector scratching Rhys’s face with all his might. 

Azriel took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on him. He wasn't sure if he was ready to put his tangled emotions into words yet, but he also knew that he couldn't keep it all bottled up inside.

"Rhys gave me some orders that I didn't agree with," he said drily. "Stuck his nose in things that he had no business to interfere with. He treated me...treated me like my feelings didn't matter. That I didn't matter....It took a really bad fight on Solstice for this apology to occur," he said with a grimace.

"You don't think he means it?" Sky asked him curiously, turning to look at him.

"No, he does mean it," Azriel said with a sigh. He did believe that. “He wants to fix things. to rebuild trust...And I do want that too. Regardless of how much of an asshole he can be on occasion he is still my brother ."

Sky was quiet for a long moment, watching him intently. Azriel felt the weight of her gaze, knowing that she was analyzing the situation, trying to understand what he was feeling. Finally, she spoke.

"You're worried that he'll disappoint you again," she said softly. "That he'll make promises that he can't keep. That he'll go back on his word and hurt you worse than before."

Azriel's throat felt tight. The words hit him hard, because Sky had put a voice to his deepest fears. "Yes," he admitted. "That'sexactly what I'm afraid of. I want to believe him, I do."

But it was hard to trust Rhys right ow. Especially with Sky. Trusting Rhys with the most important, the most precious part of his life...

"I can loan you Hector whenever he pisses you off again," Sky offered him seriously, and Azriel couldn't help but laugh.

"Thanks," he said with a small smile. "I might just take you up on that." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. The scent of caramel and hazelnuts enveloped him, calming his racing thoughts and easing the tension in his shoulders.

"I love you, he whispered into her skin and she hummed. "Regardless of what happens, you  have me," Sky promised him. "I'll be behind you, every step of the way. regardless of whatever you decide."

Those words were like a balm to Azriel's soul. The fear and doubt that had been plaguing him since Rhysand's unexpected visit receded, replaced by a sense of safety and certainty. He held onto Sky tightly.

"I love you too," she murmured, the words barely audible even in the still apartment.

They stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding onto each other.

*I don't think I ever thanked you.* he told the shadows softly as he held his mate in his arms.

The shadows fluttered around him, wrapping around his arms and shoulders like a comforting embrace. They didn't say anything, but Azriel could feel their response. They had been with him through thick and thin, protecting him, guiding him, and never once asking for a word of thanks. And yet, he knew that they understood his gratitude, that they could feel it…

*Thank you for finding her.*

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: situationship!rafe cameron x afab nerd!reader

cw: angst undertones w/ a hopeful ending, black cat!coded reader x whatever rafe would be, suggestive action in the shower & mentions of off screen nsfw (cum and thigh fucking but the latter is a bit more graphic lol) , class differences, rafe is pathetic and weird, implied drug use, rafe beats a man but you can decide if he killed him, reader has implied mental health issues and low self esteem, ambiguous feelings on rafe’s part (he said ily but he could be lying), dark content themes, rafe calls reader kitty in both a mean way and a pet name way, if the thing with reader’s first crush sounds too real that’s cause it is 🤫, started my period while i was formatting this (i just thought y’all should know)

wc: 1.9k+

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

consider commissioning me 🫀

“Hey, babe, would you be a good kitty and let me in?” Is what you’re greeted with when you swing open your screen door. Rafe Cameron looks pleased as punch, all things considered, soaking wet due to the pouring rain and no doubt high as a kite.

The slurred speech doesn’t alarm you as much as the river of blood flowing from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, what the fuck?” You try to sound harsh but the fuck is noticably softer than your other words and Rafe smiles, more blood drips down his chin.

You look over his shoulder to see his bike on its side in the dirt, it’s raining and you just know he’ll be pissed to see the mus clinging to it tomorrow. But for right now, you have an injured situationship to patch up.

He stumbles as you struggle to yank him aside, and he sways but collapses on your couch. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to lose your shit immediately. The audacity of this man to waltz in on you barely alive and expect some twisted kind of comfort, after everything.

“I was studying you know, textbooks are expensive so don’t start getting your blood on them.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I know.”

Rafe grunts but keeps his body away from your books. That’s the least he can do, the bare minimum. You sigh and walk over him, kneeling in front of the couch. His eyes are dazed and unfocused as you brush the hair away from his forehead, but his fingers twitch.

“Why did you come here, Rafe? To me?” You whisper, tired and unamused.

You’re startled by his harsh cough, his fingers twitch in your direction again, “ ‘Was nowhere else, wanted you.”

Isn’t that good enough?

You blink dumbly at that, but you have no answer for his crazed ramblings so you slap your knees and make your way to the bathroom. You procure a wet washcloth and some measly bandages, he would just have to deal with it. Rafe’s eyes drag towards you when you kneel back in front of him and bring the cloth to his mouth.

You avoid his stare as you sop up the copious amounts of blood, praying that this wouldn’t need a visit to the hospital. In some ways, you’ve seen too much blood since Rafe Cameron decided to make a mockery of your existence. The gaggle of rich girls he used to have on each arm disappeared but he excused it by detailing his plans to lead you on in front of his friends, checking to see if you were in ear shot.

There’s nothing you did, in your mind. You stuck to yourself and somehow invited the attention of some psycho. That’s the hardest part of the situation, you can’t pinpoint a true beginning. You can only remember being in this murky middle, devoid of an ending. Rafe does have a pretty face though, unfortunately, the water from cloth making his skin glisten. You’ll throw the rag out after this, there’s no point trying to get the stain of blood out of anything.

Eventually, you’re done with the first part and have an excuse to turn away from him. You get back on your feet to reach for the bandages but a groan coming from behind stops you. You turn around and freeze when Rafe buries his nose into your lower stomach, barely brushing the top of your mound over your pajama shorts. He hisses through his teeth in pain as he pushes your shirt up with his bloodied knuckles.

“Rafe Cameron, what the hell are you-“

“ ‘Smells good as fuck, love you.”

You refuse to admit that you love him too, you can’t give him that. Okay, now shit’s really getting out of hand. He dips his head to get closer to your pussy but the second you see the tip of his tongue touch your shorts, you direct his face back to your stomach. You’ve never gone further than ‘will they-won’t they’ type touches with Rafe, but you just can’t give in no matter how much you lie awake at night thinking about it.

“All this is because of you, you know that? You fucked me up and made pummel the crap outta that guy.” The vibrations his clumsy words send through you gives you a serious case of the shivers, so you distract yourself by running your fingers through his matted hair. Because of course there’s blood on his head too. You’d usually chalk what he’s saying up to drugs and insanity, but with Rafe you just never know.

“What?”

“He said maybe I should lay off you so he could have a piece instead, and I just…. lost it. Why should some chump get a part of what’s all mine?” He says with a startling amount of clarity, voice flat and low.

You don’t designate him with a response, and truth be told he doesn’t want you too. You stretch for what in actuality is a $3 dollar package of hello kitty bandaids and rip the white coverings off a few of them. He makes god awful sounds as you apply them to his mouth, head, and hands. The mess in his hair probably isn't his but your conscience won't let you leave it alone. Something foreign to your head and your heart won’t let you leave him alone.

You decide to put the knife in your back all on your own and look up into his eyes. They’re too half lidded to get a clear reading on them but you’re afraid to rely on the emotions underneath the surface. You used to be scared that he couldn’t feel anything. Now, the idea of Rafe Cameron believing he’s in love is far more terrifying.

He’s a bit ridiculous with My Melody, Kuromi, and Keroppi all over himself, you can’t help the small smile that comes over you. You quickly flatten it before he can get too pleased with himself but the fingers curled against your tummy spasm as they spread out to caress your skin. Rafe has an unreadable look on his face as he smears blood over your womb, but you think if you step away he’ll lunge at you.

“I can help you wash the blood off in the shower.” Saying that is in no way a promise of commitment or change, but it might be the closest you ever get.

You’re used to scraps, scraps are fine.

And well, for much you pride yourself on being perfectly fine being alone, it’s achingly human to crave being loved more than anything else. You wander aimlessly because you won’t go where you’re not wanted, and for the longest you’ve been wanted nowhere. But here you are, obsessed over by someone who everyone wants.

Maybe you’re sick of trying to make all the right decisions if this is where it gets you, cold and alone. Is it so bad to not care anymore? It couldn’t be worse than when your first crush told you he loved you and then had a baby with your bully, you reason. Or when he dated one of your friends and she would “joke” about marrying you when you were alone.

The short trip to the shower is awkwardly silent, you have to lead Rafe and make sure he doesn’t trip. You stare more than any Twilight character as you help each other strip. You try to avoid the bruises on Rafe’s torso, but he chuckles about how “You should see the other guy, kitty.”

So you don’t back away when he slows the trajectory of your calloused hands and drags them up his body. Your nails are bitten unevenly, some leave scratches on his abs and some don’t. It’s exhilarating to see Rafe Caneron’s thread come undone, to watch as he tilts his head back and sighs. You rest your hands on his pecs and kiss the hollow of his throat before you can stop yourself.

You won’t mention the squeak he tries to stifle with the back of his balled up fist.

You step away from him to be vulnerable in return, his satisfaction is much more evident this time around. He rips your camisole in two and unhooks your bra too well, clearly having had practice. He cups your breasts in his hands with tenderness that you’d think is out of character for him. Rafe doesn’t even honk them in the dude bro way that you’d always assumed he would. No, he… massages the flesh in his palms between slow squeezes.

“Don’t see why you’re so insecure about these, I like them just fine.” He huffs, bending down to motorboat you before pulling you in the shower through his grunts of pain and exertion.

You notice that he doesn’t steal a glance at your pussy, almost like he’s scared of seeing it bare and puffy… and wet.

You like to feel like a boiling lobster in the shower, so you turn the dial the same direction as always. You’re worried that Rafe will hate the sting but when the water hits, he moans with an open mouth, eyes shut tight. Before your next breath, you’re pushed against the wall and now the blood’s in your mouth as you're taken into a french kiss right out the gate.

You go with it against your better judgment, until Rafe pulls away to pant against your collarbone. His next kiss is softer, shy like it’s an unknown thing to the two of you. His lips glide and mesh with yours as the water trails down in between your slick bodies. You feel like you’re going to pass out but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

You open your eyes to see the water at the base of the shower run red, and you lose yourself in the swirling motion until the pop of your honey scented shampoo bottle lid snaps you out of it.

“Turn around kitty, ‘said I'd help you scrub down.”

He’d be embarrassed if you said it, but it’s obvious he’s never done this before. He’s like a bull in a china shop gathering you up in a loose bundle and sloppily spreading the soap throughout it. You stay silent, preferring to bask in the absurdity of it all.

Washing Rafe’s hair takes less time, but like he did when you were cleaning him up earlier, he chooses to stare at you the entire time. You scratch his head to really work the shampoo in there and get the dried blood out, he latches onto your wrists and lets his eyes drift shut. He makes it inconvenient to help him when he kisses your jawline, but you allow it.

“Thanks, you’re pretty good with your hands.” Rafe whispers with a wry grin, pecking your mouth and dropping to his knees. Your pomegranate body wash in his uninjured hand. The amount he squirts onto the dollar store loofah on his other hand is a touch too generous.

You have to replace the hello kitty bandaids when the originals fall off after Rafe steps out of the shower minutes later, he insists on it. You make him lean against the bathroom counter and watch as you take a second shower to clean out the cum, he wears a petulant frown the whole time.

You’re bent over that same counter when you’re back in his orbit, teary eyes wide as he fucks your plush thighs.

The rain turns into a thunderstorm outside.

[basset-babe]

five times: the third.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, drinking, anger, disgust, hurtful words, self-doubt / sabotage

word count: 5.1k+

a/n: honestly felt like i bit more off than i can chew but i do relish a challenge! also, my apologies for the prolonged delay of my postings, dearests. life has been life-ing recently lol anywho, here is the ever-challenging third! opening with a whistledown aND y'all know what we do when gossip arrives, we gossip! ciao amo! (dates included do not mean anything nor is accurate to any timeline)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

trees and skies banner from @cottage-writings, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

March 25, 18XX

Dearest readers,

The season is in full swing, and the social whirl is abuzz with the latest happenings. None have captured our collective curiosity quite like the endless stream of callers at the Y/L/N residence, all vying for the favor of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. With suitors from the finest families presenting gifts and performances, it is no surprise that Miss Y/L/N has been the object of much admiration.

However, keen observers might have noted a particular favorite among the throng. Yes, dear readers, the second Bridgerton son, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, has made a notable impression on the lovely Miss Y/N. Their promenades and conversations have not gone unnoticed, with many speculating that he holds a special place in her affections. However, as ever in the delicate dance of courtship, it is not without its complications.

Whispers have reached this author's ears that Mr. Bridgerton has been seen in the company of Lady Tilley Arnold—a widow of the late Lord Arnold and esteemed patroness of the sciences. Their encounters, whispered about in the most fashionable circles, suggest more than mere friendship.

Do hold your gasps, for the intrigue does not end there. No, for as Lady Arnold bid adieu to the shadows and prepared to depart, a most shocking revelation transpired. Witnesses, whose lips dare not speak aloud but whose eyes betray their secrets, observed a clandestine exchange between the widow and Mr. Bridgerton— a kiss, dear readers, of the most scandalous variety! The timing, dear readers, is most curious as Lady Arnold was on the verge of departing London, which only adds to the enigma of this nocturnal visit.

What, pray tell, does this clandestine encounter signify, one might wonder? Is there more to the attention of Mr. Bridgerton, that his affections may be wavering, or has Lady Arnold, with her enigmatic charm, ensnared him in her web of intrigue? Such a late-night rendezvous, particularly with a lady of Lady Arnold's standing, is certain to raise eyebrows and incite much speculation.

The ton will surely surmise whether this encounter was a fleeting indiscretion or the beginning of a more complicated entanglement. What could this mean for Mr. Bridgerton and Miss Y/N? Will their courtship withstand the weight of this scandal, or will it crumble under the pressure of whispered gossip and innuendo? Can Miss Y/N overlook this transgression and hold fast to her affection for Mr. Bridgerton, or will she be swayed by the lure of a less tarnished suitor?

One thing is certain, dear reader: the social season has become infinitely more intriguing with this latest development. Rest assured, I will be watching with keen interest as the drama unfolds.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

third time.

"Good afternoon, sister," Benedict greeted Eloise, who was standing in the middle of the house's foyer with her hands conspicuously behind her back.

"Ah! Brother, afternoon," Eloise replied cautiously, attempting to hide the gossip sheet behind her gown skirts. "Where were you?" she asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.

"Nowhere of particular interest. What are you reading?" Benedict inquired, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to her hidden arm.

"Nothing," Eloise replied hastily, but Benedict knew better. He raised an eyebrow and extended his hand, motioning for her to hand over whatever she was concealing.

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly produced the crumpled gossip sheet from behind her back, placing it in Benedict's outstretched hand. "Whistledown," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "You are mentioned."

Benedict unfolded the paper and began to read. His typically affable expression turning stoic as he saw his own name linked with both Miss Y/N and Lady Tilley Arnold. His jaw tightened, and he placed the scandal sheet on the table. Eloise cleared her throat and asked. "How are you?"

"Quite the scandal, it seems," he remarked, his tone betraying a hint of indifference. "And here I thought I could keep my affairs private. What truly vexes me is not the content concerning myself, it's how she drags in the names of Miss Y/N and Lady Arnold, implying something as if curious but ruinous as she almost did you last season. Heavens be damned, if I ever discover her true identity, I will ensure it is her life that is ruined."

"The lady has declined visits... for today, Sir. I ask... kindly, that you leave the premises," the lady's maid informed as Benedict sat astride his horse, a sketchpad clutched tightly in his hand.

His heart sank at the lady's maid's words, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He had ridden with fervent determination, his thoughts consumed by the desire to see Y/N, to seek solace in her presence after the scandalous sheet had been released. But now, faced with the reality of her refusal, he felt an overwhelming sense of restlessness wash over him.

He had hoped to find refuge in her company this late afternoon, to find comfort in the warmth of her smile and the gentleness of her touch. Yet, it seemed that even she was now beyond his reach, her doors closed to him in the wake of the damning gossip that had tainted his name.

"Could you try again, please?" Benedict implored, desperation lacing his words. "I just need to speak to her, to explain myself."

But the maid remained resolute, her expression unyielding, her features softened by a touch of sympathy for Benedict's plight. "I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated, her voice a gentle murmur, "but the lady's wishes are clear. I cannot go against her instructions."

Feeling the weight of disappointment settle upon him like a heavy cloak, Benedict offered a resigned nod to the maid, acknowledging her adherence to propriety even as his heart ached with longing. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the imposing facade of Y/N's residence, his footsteps heavy with the burden of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As he urged the horse forward, the rhythmic beat of hoofbeats echoed through the quiet streets of London, a steady cadence that mirrored the tumultuous thoughts racing through Benedict's mind. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of the recent scandal pressing down upon him, its suffocating grip tightening with each breath he took. People who walked the pathways murmuring as he passed them. Almost as if they'd point and had been meaning to ask of the truth in the latest Whistledown.

But Benedict was not one to be deterred by adversity, nor to allow his spirits to be dampened by the trials of the heart. With a determined set to his jaw and a fire burning in his eyes, he urged his horse onward, his destination clear in his mind.

Arriving at the gentlemen's club, Benedict dismounted his horse with practiced grace, the cool night air stirring the tendrils of his hair as he strode purposefully towards the grand entrance. The club stood as a bastion of camaraderie and respite amidst the chaos of London society, its hallowed halls a sanctuary for men of wit and refinement.

He'd rode to the club where his brothers were spending the early evening. The ambiance was one of refined indulgence, with the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm hue over the rich mahogany furnishings and plush velvet upholstery. He found Anthony and Colin lounging in a corner, their laughter echoing through the room like the lively notes of a well-played sonata.

"Well, if it isn't our solemn Benedict," Anthony teased, clapping him on the back as he approached. His voice carried the joviality of a man accustomed to commanding attention, resonating amidst the club's genteel chatter.

Benedict managed a half-hearted chuckle, sinking into a nearby chair. His usually composed demeanor was tinged with a hint of melancholy, though he tried to play off his turmoil with a forced smile that did little to mask the weight of his troubles.

Colin, with his mischievous blue eyes and rakish grin, raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Drama? Pray, do tell. Have you found yourself embroiled in a scandalous Whistledown-written affair, dear brother?" His tone was light, yet there lingered a genuine curiosity, as if he relished the prospect of a juicy tale.

Benedict rolled his eyes, though a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. "Nothing so melodramatic, I assure you," he quipped, his voice a melodious baritone that resonated with the refined elegance befitting a man of his stature. "Just a bit of trouble with a certain someone who shall remain nameless."

Anthony leaned forward, his interest piqued like a hound on the scent of a tantalizing mystery. "Ah, a mystery woman! Do tell us more. Is she a diamond of the first water? A rose amongst thorns? A season's paragon?" His knowing words were infused with a playful charm, his aristocratic features softened by the warmth of his smile.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh at his brother's theatrics, the sound echoing through the room like the pealing of church bells on a crisp autumn morning. "More like a thorn stuck on my rose, if you ask me," he replied wryly, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. "But alas, the sheet seems to have taken interest in me. Thus, I've offended the lady at my latest misstep."

Colin exchanged a knowing glance with Anthony, their eyes sparkling with mischief like stars in the night sky. "Ah, love can be a treacherous game, my dear brother," he remarked with a wistful sigh, his voice tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of past dalliances.

With a resigned sigh, Benedict brough out the paper, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he unfolded it to reveal the damning headlines. His eyes scanned the page again, each word striking like a blow to his already wounded pride.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Anthony quipped, leaning in to peer over Benedict's shoulder with a devilish grin. "It seems our dear Benedict has captured the attention of Lady Whistledown herself. Tell me, is there any truth to this gossip?"

Benedict felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck as he struggled to find the words to explain himself, "There is a sliver of truth. Lady Arnold did visit, and yes, there was a kiss. But it was far from the scandalous affair Whistledown implies. We aren't anything but naught, I tell you." He answered at almost a whisper. Benedict knew that the contents of the scandal sheet would be the subject of much speculation and gossip, his reputation hanging precariously in the balance.

"And what of Miss Y/L/N, whom you are so ardently courting? How does she figure into this little drama?" Anthony asked, concerned of his brother's standing.

Benedict sighed, his concern evident as he expressed his worries to his brothers. "That is precisely my concern. I have been nothing but sincerity in my courtship of Miss Y/L/N. She deserves better than to be dragged into this mess."

Colin leaned forward, sensing the gravity of the situation. "So, what will you do? Surely you cannot let Whistledown's prattle jeopardize your relationship with Miss Y/N."

Benedict's expression phased into determination. "I intend to speak with Miss Y/N directly. She deserves to hear the truth from me, not the twisted version Whistledown has concocted. That if she allows an audience with me. And as for Lady Arnold, I shall ensure our interactions are far more circumspect if not, naught in all aspects she may bring up on me, when she does return and does whatever near."

Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze softening with genuine affection as he clapped Benedict on the back. "Let us not dwell on the past now, brother, but instead focus on the future—on what you can do. Whatever Lady Whistledown may have to say, we shall weather the storm together, as we always have."

Colin, then, raised his glass, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he played along with his brother's jest. "To no longer saving face, my dear Colin! For love, for honor, and for the sake of our brother's bruised ego!" His words were punctuated by a hearty laugh that resonated through the room like the rumble of thunder on a stormy night. This is going to be quite the arduous courtship.

The grand lobby of the Londinium Opera House was a scene of opulence and refinement, an exquisite embodiment of sophistication. As the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow through the tall, arched windows, the room seemed to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting evening ahead. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, polished to such perfection that they reflected the twinkling crystal chandeliers overhead. These chandeliers, with their countless prisms, scattered light like a thousand tiny stars, illuminating the elegant assembly below.

The air was a heady blend of perfumes and colognes, mingling with the faint, tantalizing scent of fresh flowers arranged in lavish bouquets atop mahogany tables. The flowers, a riot of colors and species, were chosen to reflect the season, adding a touch of nature’s beauty to the man-made splendor of the opera house.

"This is definitely too stuffy for my nose." Eloise brushed her finger by her nose as she and Benedict passed through a sea of dressed up ton amidst tonight's opera.

As the two navigated through the ton at the opera's lobby, their steps softened by the plush carpeting beneath them, Eloise couldn't help but wrinkle her nose discreetly once more. "I agree," Benedict murmured to Eloise, his voice barely audible over the gentle murmur of conversations and the distant strains of prelude music.

"It's like drowning in a sea of perfume and pomposity. How long will the show take?" Eloise asks.

Benedict chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the crowd with a bemused expression. "Indeed, it seems we've stumbled into a gathering of the city's most refined noses and airs. But I fear, it'd be almost four more hours but there must be a few souls yearning for a breath of fresh air."

Eloise grinned, her spirits lifting at Benedict's playful remark. "That'd probably be us, brother," she replied, her gaze sweeping the room in search of kindred spirits amidst the sea of finery. "But until then, I'd die of ennui from this whole bonanza of a show."

"Not if I escape it," Benedict remarked in jest as he wiggled his eyebrows at Eloise. "But, of course, I'm taking you with me."

"You are absolutely my favorite brother." And the two, laughing at their antics, sneaked out of the opera house where their carriage is waiting to flee the night.

The carriage ride through the moonlit streets of London was a serene affair, with only the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the soft creaking of the carriage wheels breaking the stillness of the night. Benedict sat in quiet contemplation, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window where the city's twinkling lights danced like distant stars against the dark canvas of the night sky. He had set upon to spend the night on the invite of a fellow painter, Lord Granville. The address card nestled in his pockets.

He knocked on the carriage roof and said, "We are to drop off Eloise at home first." Eloise shot her brother with a knowing look, "So, you do have plans for the night, Ben. Interesting." She nodded teasingly.

"What? Can't I spend my night on my own concurs?" He said, feigning defense on whatever his sister may be implying. The carriage stops and the footman opens the door. Eloise turns to her brother as she went down the carriage steps and says, "Amidst your Whistledown scrape, you seem to be taking this very light. Oh, to be a man this easy!"

Benedict shakes his head as he laughs at his sister's comment. He has been taking this all seriously, has he? It's not like he hasn't been doing amends. The gossip sheet only had been spread this morning. Surely, damages are still reversible? As the carriage turned out their street, Benedict's thoughts turned to the ramble of his mind. All his thoughts are loud of Y/N, her voice ringing in his head. He'd imagined their time in her garden. How she simply tells stories and facts of botany; or the time she'd nestled by the tree, her cheeks flushed with the lingering laughs they'd shared moments ago, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her. And as quickly as the smile drew on, it dissipated recalling that she had not allowed him audience this morning.

The carriage came to a gentle halt in front of a townhouse's doorstep, and Benedict stepped out onto the cobblestone path of 5th avenue, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. He turned to the carriage driver, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before the driver urged the horses forward once more, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Benedict delicately clutched the card bearing Lord Granville's prestigious name, ensuring he stood before the correct abode. With an air of refined assurance, he gently rapped the door knocker twice, whereupon Lord Granville himself promptly emerged to greet him.

Lord Granville, sporting a relaxed ensemble, greeted Benedict with a gracious nod, his demeanor exuding an aura of aristocratic charm. "Ah, Mr. Bridgerton, how delightful of you to join us," he intoned, his voice carrying a hint of cultured refinement. "Please, do come in. The evening promises to be most engaging."

With a gracious gesture, Lord Granville ushered Benedict into the dimly lit foyer, where the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the earthy aroma of oil paints. The sound of lively conversation and the occasional strumming of a lute drifted through the air, creating an atmosphere of artistic fervor.

As Benedict crossed the threshold, he felt a sense of excitement building within him, eager to immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the bohemian salon and the company of fellow artists and free spirits. Tonight promised to be a celebration of creativity and expression, a refuge from the stifling conventions of society, and Benedict couldn't wait to grasp his wash in of it.

The house was a riot of color and creativity, with tapestries adorned with vibrant hues lining the walls and eclectic artwork displayed on every available surface. Easels dotted the room, each showcasing works in progress, while clusters of artists and poets engaged in spirited discussions about philosophy, politics, and the latest artistic movements.

Benedict found himself swept up in the lively atmosphere, drawn to a group of painters huddled on their own canvases, their brushes dancing across the surface with frenetic energy. Where in the middle, nude women posed as muses and artist drew of their perspectives. Nearby, a poet recited verses of love and longing, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that hung heavy in the air. Lord Granville now swept in his own circle.

In a secluded corner of the salon, hidden away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Benedict stumbled upon a private room adorned with tapestries of rich, jewel-toned hues and plush velvet cushions strewn about in haphazard arrangements. The flickering glow of candlelight cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and secrecy.

There, amidst the opulent surroundings, Benedict spotted Y/N, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the soft hum of conversation. She sat perched on a velvet chaise, a paintbrush in hand, her eyes alight with passion as she leaned over a canvas, her movements fluid and graceful.

Surrounded by fellow artists, including Lady Granville and Genevieve Delacroix, the ton's most favored seamstress, Y/N appeared completely at ease, her quick wit and sharp intellect evident as she engaged in spirited conversation, her laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the rustle of paintbrushes.

As Benedict watched from the doorway, a pang of longing pierced his heart, the sight of Y/N's radiant smile and infectious energy stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. He yearned to join her, to bask in her warmth and revel in the shared joy of creation, but the weight of their unresolved conflict hung heavy between them like a barrier, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.

Summoning his courage, Benedict stepped forward, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floorboards. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could say another word, Lady Granville intercepted him, her gaze cold and calculating.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Madame Delacroix greeted with a disdainful tilt of her chin, her French slurred tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "What brings you to our little gathering? Surely you don't expect to find yourself welcome here after what Whistledown's latest sheet has revealed."

Benedict's heart sank at the mention of Lady Whistledown's scandalous gossip, the weight of the accusations pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N, please," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation, but Lady Granville merely raised an imperious eyebrow, her disdain palpable.

"Ladies, could you please give us the room," Y/N interjected firmly, her voice carrying a steely edge that brooked no argument. Madame Delacroix shot her a questioning look, to which the lady nodded reluctantly. With a series of subtle glances directed at Benedict, the women filed out of the room, their gazes lingering on him with thinly veiled curiosity.

As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence settled over the room, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Y/N turned to face Benedict, her features hardened with a mixture of anger and hurt.

As Benedict and Y/N unexpectedly found themselves face to face amidst the opulent surroundings of the Granville party, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Y/N's eyes, usually warm and inviting, now bore a glint of guarded skepticism as she regarded Benedict, her gaze piercing through the facade of polite decorum.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the murmurs of conversation fading into a distant hum as they stood locked in a silent standoff, each grappling with their own tumultuous thoughts and feelings. The flickering glow of candlelight cast eerie shadows across their features, adding to the sense of unease that hung between them like a tangible force.

"Benedict," Y/N's voice broke through the suffocating silence, her tone edged with a hint of surprise and resentment, "What brings you here? I didn't expect to see you at this gathering."

Benedict's features tightened with unease, his eyes darting nervously as he struggled to find the right words. The grandeur of the room seemed to mock his discomfort, its lavish decor serving as a stark reminder of the gaping divide that had grown between them.

"I...I could ask you the same," Benedict replied tentatively, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. The weight of Y/N's gaze bore down on him like a heavy burden, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

Y/N's lips formed a thin line, a flicker of frustration flashing in her eyes as she absorbed Benedict's response. The tension between them crackled in the air, suffusing the room with an almost palpable energy as they stood locked in a silent standoff.

"I am here with friends," Y/N explained tersely, her tone tinged with defensiveness. "I didn't anticipate running into...you."

Benedict felt a pang of remorse at the coldness in her tone, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. The warmth of the room seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a chilling emptiness that mirrored the growing distance between them.

"Y/N," he implored, his tone tinged with worry. "There's something I need to ask you. Why did you deny me an audience earlier this morning? I sought you out, but I was turned away without explanation. Please, Y/N, I need to understand."

Y/N paused in her tracks, her hand hovering over the couch arm as she hesitated. The weight of Benedict's words hung heavy in the air between them, the tension palpable as they stood on the precipice of an unspoken truth.

Slowly, Y/N turned to face him, her expression guarded as she met his gaze with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I couldn't face anyone— even you, Benedict," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not after... Whistledown that's happened. I needed time to gather my thoughts, to come to terms with the depth of my pain and my reputation."

Benedict's heart sank at her words, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. "Y/N, I had no idea," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "If I had known, I would have respected your wishes. I never meant to add to your suffering."

"I know, Benedict," she firmly said, but her voice betraying her, tinged with sadness. "But some wounds run deeper than others, and time alone cannot heal them. I need space, time to find my own path forward."

"Y/N, please," Benedict pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation, "Let me explain. I never meant to—"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger, her frustration boiling over as she confronted him with the pain he had caused. "Explain what, Benedict?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word. "Your absence? Your silence? Or perhaps the fact that I'm possibly nothing more than mere amusement to you, a prim and proper distraction from your rakish pursuits?"

Benedict recoiled at her words, the sting of her accusations piercing through his defenses like a dagger to his heart. "No, Y/N, you know that's not true," he protested, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"Do I?" she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "How can I be sure of anything when you've left me to face the whispers and the gossip alone? When you've abandoned me to doubt and humiliation?" Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she spoke, the pain of betrayal etched deeply into her features.

Benedict felt the weight of her accusations like a sword to his heart, his chest tightening with the agony of her words. "Y/N, please, you must understand," he implored, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never intended for any of this to happen. My absence, my silence—it was never a reflection of how I feel about you. I've been grappling with my own inner turmoil, responsibilities and fears that have nothing to do with you."

Benedict's admission hung heavy in the air between them, his confession like a dagger to Y/N's heart. Her anger, fueled by betrayal and hurt, threatened to consume her as she struggled to process his words.

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury, her anger fueling her resolve as she confronted him head-on. "And what of the whispers about you and Lady Arnold?" she challenged, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you telling me you had no part in fueling those rumors? That you never kissed her?"

Benedict recoiled at the accusation, the shame of his actions burning like a branding iron against his conscience. "No, Y/N, I swear it wasn't like that," he admitted, his voice laced with desperation. "There was a moment…" He paused, contemplating confession and it's consequences. He closed his eyes wincing at what he's about to say, "We did kiss, but it meant nothing. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that I deeply regret."

"A mistake?" she repeated incredulously, her voice tinged with disbelief. "A lapse in judgment? Do you expect me to believe that, Benedict? Do you expect me to simply forgive and forget?"

Benedict's eyes pleaded with her, his desperation palpable as he reached out to grasp her hand. "Y/N, please, I know I've made a terrible mistake," he implored, his voice trembling with remorse. "But I swear to you, it meant nothing. I assure you, it was inconsequential. You are the one I am committed to, the one I wish to be with. Lady Arnold made advances, and I rejected them. It was a momentary lapse in which I failed to uphold my commitment to you."

Y/N's shoulders slumped with the weight of Benedict's words, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his confession. She sank down onto a nearby chair, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks in silent rivulets. With trembling hands, she buried her face in her palms, the anguish of betrayal and heartache washing over her in relentless waves.

The room seemed to blur around her, the vibrant colors of the decor fading into a haze as she struggled to come to terms with the devastation of Benedict's admission. His words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of the trust that had been shattered beyond repair.

How could she believe him? How could she trust that his words held any semblance of truth when his actions had spoken so loudly against him? The image of Benedict with Lady Arnold haunted her, a specter of doubt and uncertainty that threatened to consume her from within.

But amidst the turmoil of her emotions, a glimmer of resolve flickered deep within Y/N's heart. She may have been broken, battered by the storm of betrayal, but she refused to let Benedict's actions define her worth. With a steadying breath, she lifted her head, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the soft glow of candlelight.

"I thought you were different, Benedict," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I... I don't know if I can forgive you. The pain you've caused runs deep, and I fear that trust may never be fully restored."

Benedict's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's tears, his own anguish mirrored in her sorrowful expression. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees beside her, his hand reaching out tentatively to brush against her trembling shoulder.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand if you can't forgive me, if you can't find it in your heart to trust me again. But I swear to you, with every fiber of my being, I love you. I would give anything to make things right between us, to earn back your trust and your love."

His words hung in the air, a fragile plea borne of remorse and desperation. He longed to take her in his arms, to hold her close and shield her from the pain he had caused. But he knew that he had to respect her boundaries, to give her the space she needed to process her emotions and come to her own decision.

Y/N's shoulders trembled beneath his touch, her tears flowing unabated as she struggled to find the strength to meet his gaze. The weight of his words pressed down upon her, a bittersweet reminder of the love they had shared and the trust that had been so brutally betrayed.

For a moment, it seemed as though Y/N might succumb to Benedict's heartfelt plea. Her eyes softened, her resolve wavering in the face of his earnest confession. But then, with a trembling breath, she pulled away from his touch, her tears still glistening in the dim light of the room.

"I... I need some air," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. Without another word, she stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor in a jarring echo of their fractured connection.

With a determined tilt of her chin, Y/N lifted the glass to her lips, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. The bitter taste of the alcohol burned her throat, a sharp contrast to the ache in her heart as she turned away from Benedict, her steps heavy with the weight of her decision.

Benedict watched helplessly as she made her way to the door, his heart breaking with each retreating footfall. He longed to call out to her, to beg her to stay, but he knew that it was futile. The damage had been done, the rift between them too deep to bridge in a single moment of remorse.

As Y/N disappeared through the doorway, leaving him alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, Benedict felt a hollow emptiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had lost her, perhaps forever, condemned to a lifetime of regret for the pain he had inflicted upon the woman he loved. And as he sank to the chair, his heart heavy with sorrow, he prayed for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of their once bright future.

taglist: @novausstuff // @pussyslayerhd // @amoosarte // @jupitervenusearthmars // @shonteriasunshine // @melsunshine // @bollzinurmouth // @kneelforloki

again, please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series! thanks loves <3!

[kaciidubs]

Hair Journey

❣ Summary: If he had to choose one thing he adored the most about you, it was your hair. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 2.6k ❣ Warnings: Black! Reader, fluff, slice of life, comfort, Chris has insecurity over his hair, hair talk, low self esteem, slight humor, discussion of future family ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chris is referred to as Christopher, Chris, Baby, and Channie, Reader is referred to as Baby ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Christopher loved you more than words could ever describe - there weren’t enough languages in this universe that could even begin to express the hold you had on his heart; from the top of your head to the very soles of your feet, he adored you.

Of course, if asked about any particularly favorite parts about you, he would always start with your smile, something that was just so undeniably you it made his heart soar - or, for a non-physical attribute, he would choose your voice, reminiscing on the way your warm tone would guide him out of his loud thoughts, and how your soft whispers would lure him to sleep better than any ASMR could try.

However, the part of you he adored the most was your hair, something he never thought he’d ever find himself caring about on a person until he met you.

He could still remember the first day you met, how he found himself getting lost in the beautiful, ringlet curls that framed your face and seemed to defy gravity everywhere else. A few weeks down the line he’d encounter you again, but this time the curls he’d dreamt of were nowhere to be seen, instead, in their place were beautiful braids done up into a ponytail - but, what truly caught his eye, and ears, were the captivating sounds of the beads decorating the ends.

Mentally, he swore he would use the sound they made when they clacked together whenever your head would move with each laugh he charmed out of you in a song one day.

Eventually, he would get used to seeing you with a different style every other time you’d meet, and when you eventually got together and subsequently moved in with him, he found himself absolutely excited over learning your routines, and how they differed to his.

He’d learned that ‘wash day’ didn’t only reference laundry, and realized why whenever that time came around, you claimed you’d be busy the whole afternoon; it was truly a day, and the act of simply watching you go about your routine - with your permission, of course - had him feeling like he had gone through the carefully carried out tasks of detangling, washing, and detangling once more. 

Not to mention the time variation of either styling your hair from that point, or the arm numbing job of blow drying your hair in preparation for the appointment he’d always convince you to let him pay for - there was no way he could let himself not cater for you, especially after seeing the dedication it took to even prepare for it.

Hair appointments - those were probably the days he looked forward to the most, seeing the grand reveal of what style you chose to pamper yourself with for the next month or so. It didn’t matter to him if it was the simplest blowout, or the wonderfully blended tones of extensions set into twists or braids or locs or even a weave - which he was both amazed and terrified of when you’d first told him of the installation process, but you kissed his worries away as you reassured him that it was something you were completely fine with.

It had taken an embarrassingly long amount of time to find a hairdresser who was able to provide for your hair needs, but it was all worth it in his eyes whenever he’d get a notification on his phone while he was at work; a simple selfie with your new do and the following text ‘you like it?’. 

Thus, followed a blush that crept onto his ears, and the flying of thumbs across his screen as he gushed about how beautiful you looked while trying not to giggle like a giddy schoolboy - something his ever loving members never failed to point out.

In the end, no matter how many styles you’d have done, his favorite sight would always be when your hair was in its natural state; fluffy curls trained after a simple twist out that always left the apartment smelling like your products, pomegranate and honey following after you like the fresh waft of a freshly baked pie.

He loved your curls, and he’d never forget to remind you whenever he had the chance, they were the purest form of you, and nothing would ever surpass that in his heart.

But, his love for your hair seemed to be a double edged sword with the hatred of his own.

Well, hate was a strong word, but he wasn’t in love with his hair like he was with yours - your hair was beautiful, lively, cared for in a capacity he wished he had done for himself, but sadly he could only do so much when it came to his own head.

He leaned against the bathroom doorway as he watched you carefully take down this week's twist out, oiled fingers gently tugging and untwisting the sections as you went, eyes trained on your own reflection in the mirror.

“Channie, if you keep staring at me like that, you’re gonna burn a hole in the side of my face, baby.” You teased, turning your head to catch his eye with a glittering smile.

Shrugging, he didn’t even try fighting the smile that graced his lips as he stepped further into the shared bathroom, “I can’t help it, I was lucky enough to have a girlfriend as beautiful as you, it feels like a crime to not stare.”

Your shoulders shook in a light laugh as you shook your head, fluffing out the root of the twist to make sure it was fully undone, “You’re too much for me, you flirt.”

As you went back to tending to your hair, he took his new place by the counter to continue watching from an up close perspective.

Eventually all of your twists were out, and you started the next step of separating and fluffing to give your hair more volume, lips pursed as you thought of the final layout.

“I love your hair.” Chris breathed softly, utterly awestruck with the way some strands bounced back into place as you tugged and pulled.

A small smile curved your lips, “I love your hair too, baby.”

His heart clenched as the voice in his head suddenly came to life, refuting your statement like it was a debate based on false pretenses.

“You do? I thought you liked the orange?” He brushed a strand of black away from his forehead, recalling the night he decided to dye it black since his roots had been showing more than the orange could pass up.

“I mean, I did, but you know me,” shrugging lightly, you gave him a warm side eye, “your hair looks good in any color in my eyes, and as long as you like whatever style you’re going for, and it’s healthy, that’s all that matters.”

“So, if I said I wanted to cut-”

“Aht- Don’t even say those words, be quiet.”

He laughed at your diversion, fully aware of how you liked it when he had at least enough to run your fingers through, “I’m kidding, baby, I’m safe from the scissors… for now.” Running a hand through his hair, he sighed softly as he leaned further against the countertop.

If only it wasn’t curly…

“What?”

Chris froze, eyes widening while a rush of embarrassment washed over him - did he seriously say that out loud?

Clearing his throat, he shook his head, “I- Nothing, it wasn’t anything important.”

Of course, he couldn’t expect you to not notice the subtle change, not when his eyes fell from your face to focus on the small rips in his jeans, fingers looping through the threads nonchalantly.

“Chris?”

Guilt sunk his shoulders as he slowly looked up at you once more, his heart clenching at the worried dip of your eyebrows and the soft pout of your lips.

“Baby, do you really not like your curls?”

You’d been through the surface of this topic every now and then, from the introduction of his personalized hair care to the worried, late night discussions of the state of his hair and the reaction of stays whenever the stylists would introduce a new hair color for a comeback, or his own experimentation - but, you never thought his woes ran this deep.

“I… I mean…” He scrambled for an excuse, something to rationalize his completely irrational thoughts, but his mind ran dry and he sighed, “A little bit? It’s just- I showed you what my hair used to look like before, back when it was healthier, and my curls were easier to deal with because they were fine! I was used to dealing with them as often, but now it’s like… I don’t even know how to style my normal hair anymore and it’s aggravating because if I keep treating it, it’s just going to make things worse, you know?”

Now it was your turn to sigh, turning on the faucet to wash off the product from your hands before drying them with a paper towel, “Have I ever told you how I got my hair to the point that it’s at?”

Pausing, he wracked his brain for any hint of a memory, but when he came up empty he shook his head.

“Alright, well, I didn’t always have my natural hair,” you leaned your hip on the countertop, “at some point when I was young, my mom started to perm my hair - a perm that makes your hair straighter, easier to manage, especially for a little girl back in the day, perms were everywhere.”

Chris scanned your features, trying his best to imagine a version of you without the curly mane he’d loved so much; even when you straightened your hair or got a weave, he knew your curls would always come back eventually.

“Back then, I didn’t really think too much about my hair because I was still young, you know? As long as I had pretty barrettes, or, eventually, long straight hair like the girls I saw on TV, I was perfectly fine - then I got into high school and things changed.” A soft smile curled your lips, “One of my friends told me how she was going ‘natural’, and when I learned that she wasn’t perming her hair anymore and was letting her natural hair grow out, I wanted to do the same thing! I was tired of sitting in the kitchen chair with those gross smelling chemicals in my hair, and her hair was shorter, but prettier - she looked more like herself and I wanted that too.”

Despite how long ago the memory was, it still felt fresh whenever you thought of it, recalling the way the signs of your perm wearing off started to show, and how your hair slowly started to change with each passing week thereafter.

“Long story short, I went through a lot of stages with my hair, from straight, to this awkward phase of straight hair and fuzzy roots because I refused to cut my hair, to the first time I thought I found my true curl pattern, to the time I actually found my pattern and started feeling like I was me - no longer trying to fit an image required of me.” You tilted your head slightly, “I know you don’t have complete control over how you’re supposed to be publicly viewed with your hair, and I know how it feels going from something you were used to, to a completely different situation, but you shouldn’t start to hate your natural hair over it - you shouldn’t start to hate yourself over it.”

Chris bristled, taking a sharp breath as he looked down at his hands, his thumb rubbing at the pads of his other fingers anxiously.

Pushing away from the counter, you stepped in front of him, taking his hands in your own, “I understand it’s stressful trying to balance what you want and what’s required of you, but I want you to know that I love your hair; damaged curls or healthy, weird fuzzy phase or the prettiest pattern known to man, you’re doing what you can and I love you for it - just as much as you love me for mine.” Squeezing his hands, a soft giggle shook your shoulders, “And I’m sure there’s a lot of stays out there who agree that curly haired, natural Channie is the best.”

He managed to let out a watery chuckle, sniffling as he turned his head up to finally look at you, brown eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Even if they aren’t as fluffy as they used to be?”

“Especially if they aren’t as fluffy as they used to be, baby.” Bringing a hand to his cheek, you wiped away a stray tear, “You told me first hand, your hair was getting healthier, now it’s just a matter of time for your curls to follow suit, yeah? Plus, you’ve got me, I don’t mind helping you figure out how to style your hair, even if it’s just between me and you - anything to help you love your curls again.”

Nodding, he took a slow breath to calm his nerves, the guilt melting away to hopefulness the longer you caressed his cheek, “Does… Does that mean I’ll get to use your hair products too?”

You laughed heartily, shrugging, “I guess I can use some things on you, but there’s no way all of my products will work on your hair, Channie - we can go shopping and figure it out, but be prepared, it’s a long process.” Bringing your hand up to his lightly tousled hair, you tucked a few strands into place, “I actually can’t wait to use my peppermint oil on you, I think that’ll be the first step we take.”

“The one you use after your leave in conditioner?” He beamed, easily recalling the calming scent of the oil that - embarrassingly - put him to sleep faster than the occasional sleep routine you introduced him to. “I love that one, it makes your hair smell so good!”

“Yeah? Well your hair can smell like mine now!” Grinning up at him, a spark of mischief flashed in your eyes, “And, you know, when we figure out your curl pattern…”

Chris nodded, urging you to continue as he settled his hands onto your hips, “Mhm?”

“We’d have a good idea for whose hair our future kids would have.”

You pressed your lips together in an effort to contain the laughter shaking your shoulders, but when his eyes widened as he registered your words, you fell into a fit of giggles.

“You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere!” He whined, tugging you closer to lean his head forehead on your shoulder, extremely aware of the heat rising on his face and undoubtedly turning his ears red.

“But I’m not wrong! There’s no way we’re not gonna have curly-headed babies, Chris, we might as well try to figure out what they’d look like!”

“You’re going to be the death of me, baby.” Lifting himself from your shoulder, he silenced your laughs with a kiss, smiling against your lips as you kissed back without hesitation. He pulled away not long after, gazing at you with eyes filled with adoration, his heart swelling as you smiled up at him with the same look. “I love you.”

You hummed happily, “I love you too, now, can you help me make sure I got all the curls separated in the back?”

With a nod, he let you slip out of his hold to face the mirror once more, sliding behind you to carefully readjust any out of place curl while you fluffed out the front and sides - glancing up every now and then to see the adorably focused furrow of your brow.

Maybe one day he could picture himself standing next to you, styling his own, less curly hair, but he knew for certain he could picture a smaller combination of you both sitting on the counter with your eyes and his personality.

Hopefully, they'd have your hair, too.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @broken-glowsticks, @j-onedrabbles, @dawninnie, @dwaekkistar, @junglyric, @piercedddriver, @sometimesleeknows,

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[kurogane2512]

Hello! Can i request some Rukkhadevata sfw and nsfw hcs (Since i don't see enough of her) for male reader, please? If not you can ignore this request. Have a wonderful day!

Sorry for the late reply but here it is, Rukkhadevata supremacy fr she was so fine 😩

18+ CONTENT

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: Rukkhadevata x male!reader

Type: SFW + NSFW hcs and a smut drabble in the end~

SFW

How you met

You first met her in your childhood, as a curious young boy who got lost in the luscious rainforest of Sumeru. You were supposed to be accompanied by your friends but they left you after you encountered some problems, you got a knee injury and struggled to find the exit until you lost all strength in your body and collapsed on the grassy land. Tears welled up in your eyes thinking you are going to be left all alone and can never go back, until a small peculiar creature walked up to you and examined you before running off somewhere.

It was an Aranara who found you first and sensed your pain then ran off to call the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata herself. As she walked up to you, your eyes widened in amazement at her beauty and pristine self. Of course, she was a Goddess, but she looked like someone even more divine and you felt 'Goddess' wasn't enough for her. With a gentle smile on her face, she extended her hand towards you and helped you stand up then wiped the tears in your eyes and for some reason, all pain left your body.

You found out your knee injury disappeared right away and the fatigue in your body was gone too, as well as a path was opened for you to find your way back guided by the flowers. Rukkhadevata was nowhere seen after she wiped your tears, it was as if she never came there at all. But you knew she was real, the esteemed Dendro Archon helped you. From then on, you made it your goal to find her again and thank her.

As you grew up, you wasted no effort to scale the forest in search of her. You even asked the Aranaras to help you but she never came back, you knew she was nearby all the time considering all the help she provided to the citizens but for some reason, you could never see her again. You eventually joined the Sumeru Akademiya in the Amurta darshan, hoping to see her there considering her connections with the Akademiya but it was deemed only the Sages could have an audience with her.

Well, who could have guessed your reunion with her would happen the same way as your first meeting? You were out in the forest for your research when you injured yourself and got stuck in place all alone. Once again, the Aranaras came to help you and you instructed them to bring over some herbs so you could treat yourself but the next moment, she appeared again. With a simple wave of her hand, she healed your injury just like last time.

Just like last time, she still looked the same. Beautiful, divine, pristine- everything a Goddess could be and more. You immediately attemped to stop her to thank her and to your surprise, she did stop and listen to you. You ended up going deeper in the forest and reached the sanctuary of the Aranara, the place where all of them resided. Rukkhadevata took you to a more private location to talk and showed you around the forest, but the whole time you were only focused on her.

It started off as you talking about the forest together, sharing stories and knowledge about plants and animals. She revealed she read your research and found it impressive, a compliment you didn't think even the Sages would give you. With time, something bloomed between you two. You made it a routine to meet her every day at the same spot, you found out it was the first time she made companionship with a human this way and she found it pleasant.

How the relationship started

At first, you didn't realize your feelings for her. You thought it was just admiration as she was your Archon and you worshipped her all your life, but soon you realized it was deeper. It happened at a simple moment; gazing at her as she sat beside you under the bright sunlight and interacted with the birds, something swelled up inside you and your heartbeat fastened. You were scared to admit it that you had fallen for your Archon, for your Goddess. How could a simple human like you even think to be with her?

However, it was she who confessed to you first. She made it quite an occassion worth remembering; one of the days when you had scheduled to meet her, the Aranara took you somewhere else which was quite decorated like a special venue. You thought they were celebrating something, but then Rukkhadevata walked out with a flower crown in her hand and put it on you before grasping your hands and confessing her love.

You were shocked beyond belief and wondered if you were dreaming but could confirm it was all real. You revealed your fears to her and thought to refuse her but she gave you reassurance and promised to be there for you. You shared a kiss under the moonlight with the Aranara as your witness, starting a truly special relationship with the one you loved all your life.

Dating life

In a simple manner, she's very motherly towards you (and everyone in general). She loves giving you gifts everytime you meet her, often things she made herself with the help of nature. You have collected loads of flower accessories from her by now, all of which you keep safe and secure. Sometimes, you feel unfair that she's always the one giving you things so you tried to give her gifts in return but she seemed more pleased seeing you with her gifts. She never asked for anything in return except your time and presence, always making you comfortable around her.

You both eventually discover she's quite into physical affection. She never gave this much thought as she never had a romantic relationship before you and everyone treated her with utmost respect, touching her was unthinkable. But she finds herself liking the way you touch her even in the simplest manner, like hugging her or holding hands. The only thing she looks forward to now in return for her gifts are your hugs and kisses.

Oh, but she has a way with words herself. I mean, she's literally the God of Wisdom, she can think of innumerable praises and compliments that get you all flustered and amazed. She sometimes acts like a doting mother, praising every achievement you get and being very proud. Eventually, she opens up a bit and touches you a lot while praising you, even if it's just patting your head.

Strolls around the forest are common as your dates, sometimes even coming to the city and visiting different shops. She disguises herself as a simple human in these moments, which is also a rather adorable sight to see as she tries to blend in with the crowds and accompany you. She has so much to talk about, so much knowledge and experience to share, and you are happy to listen to everything even if you don't understand some things. She immensely appreciates your listening, sometimes gets flustered realizing how long she was rambling.

NSFW

She's a bottom, but also somehow in control of the entire act without being dominating. She loves to lay on her back whether it be on a bed or the forest floor and hold her arms open for you to come and love her. It gives you the feeling of wanting to pounce on her, she looks so divine spreading herself for you this way, but you are always gentle as she likes (or even rough if she wants it). She loves how you service her, in the beginning you felt obliged to pleasure her since she was your Archon but eventually it turned to wanting to see her that way just cause of how beautiful she looked.

Surprisingly, she is open to having sex in the forest. Of course, you ensure to be sufficiently hidden but it doesn't matter to her if you are out in the open surrounded by trees and nothing else. Literally the sweetest and most addictive moans, she's not loud but her voice is silvery and leaves you dazed making you want it more. Surely a great way to make you last long as your dick hardens from her voice alone.

Her favorite positions are missionary and mating press, and anything else that involves her laying on her back. But she will also ride you if you ask her to, will never say no to doing what you want. She was quite confident the first time you asked her to be on top, but then she became flustered as she begun thrusting up and down on your cock. It was something about looking at you down below, knowing the way you are looking at her as she rides you and she couldn't hide her embarrassment.

She eventually turns bolder and asks to experiment with new stuff in sex, like using toys and trying more daring positions. She also discovers her breeding kink when you accidentally cum inside her one day, while she assured you it was okay she couldn't ignore the way it felt when your hot and thick release filled her up. Chances of her getting pregnant from a human were quite low, and she had the means to not make it happen anyways- which meant she could enjoy creampies as much as she wanted!

"Mmm, my sunshine, that feels.... a-amazing.... aaahn~"

Rukkhadevata moaned breathely as your tongue was nestled inside her, her body resting comfortably against a tree. Her fingers were intertwined in your hair as she guided your head around, making you prod her deepest spots. It was a clear moonlit night, the sight of her further enhanced as her skin reflected the moonglow, her luscious silver hair splayed while you held up her plump thighs on your shoulders. Your cock was tight in your pants, desperate to be let out but you wanted to eat her out first. Her taste was sweet and simply divine, incomparable to anything in this world.

"Aaah.... my honey.... come here now, I need you inside~" she cupped your face and pulled it up then made you stand up and pressed her lips to yours, your tongues dancing together and exchanging breaths. She could feel your dick rub against her, her hand going down to grasp it through your pants. You groaned into the kiss and pulled away, hiding your face in the crook of her neck as she pumped it up and down before releasing it from the confines.

"Oh, see how pent-up you are.... Give me all of it now like a good boy~"

How could you hold back after she said that? You were about to grab her waist to put it inside but she suddenly turned over with her back facing you now. She arched up against the tree and looked at you over her shoulder, a soft yet lustful gaze that made you more eager. You rolled up her dress then aligned your shaft to her core and slowly pushed inside before hilting in one swift motion, moaning out together at the contact. You held her hips and started thrusting forward, driving your cock in and out of her hot and tight walls.

"Aahn.... it's going so deep—! More, my love.... my sweetheart!~"

You leaned forward to rest your head on her shoulder, her arm looping around to caress your face and her head turned to the side to kiss your temple. Your hips slapped against hers, producing lewd sounds out in the forest. You had lost count of how many times you did it here, surely the nature was used to it by now. You pumped your hips faster, drilling into her more intensely and fucking her. Her moans and sighs were erotic to hear, so much so that you lost control of your pace.

Rukkhadevata bent against the tree more, giving you free reign to use her. Your hands grasped her butt and moulded the soft flesh as you plunged deeper before pulling her up flush against your front. You craved to feel her skin on yours, you wanted to hold her and feel her as much as possible. She did too, her walls tightened the moment you pulled her closer and the moan pushed from her throat was divine. Your cock rutted into her, grinding against her spongy walls and pleasuring all her sweet spots.

"I-I'm close.... do you want it insi— ngh!~" your words were cut as she suddenly gripped your cock tighter inside, clenching it to dear life and milking it.

"Mmh.... c-certainly, is that even a q-question— aaahn~"

You pushed her into the tree one last time and embraced her tightly, burying your face in her shoulder and kissing her neck as you rutted like an animal, practically mating her like real animals did. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and back arched as you finally came deep inside her, filling her up to the brim. You continued holding each other as you panted, sharing gentle kisses and smiles before moving to the floor below and continuing.

[nights-at-crystarium]

While I'm ancient-trio-posting, wanna hear a bit about their dynamic?

Hythlodaeus and Hades are old friends, roommates, even. A genuinely mature, established couple. I haven't really thought too far back in time yet, so maybe childhood friends to lovers because no one else in my story has this trope yet. I leave it open-ended for now. What matters is that they're very chill and stable together.

Azem, not-yet-Azem but a mere apprentice of Venat, has a certain secret, harmless to the world, but potentially ranging from laughable, cringy, personally embarrassing to legally punishable, should it be brought in front of the Convocation, like all lies it's doomed to be revealed in time, he already hangs out with one of the Big People and there are talks about Venat's retirement, our little not-yet-Azem feels like he might get recommended, and must find help with his silly secret before that.

Hythlodaeus, Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, has ever been kind and patient with not-yet-Azem's concept submissions, and generally seems like a reliable and open-minded person, so our guy asks for his advice on the matter. Of course he isn't let down, the nitty gritty of it I'll leave for later. The important part: he and Hyth grow closer, and Hades, already being joined at the hip with Hyth, is in on the secret as well. It's just a vulnerability that I use as a means to win over Hades's heart. Be genuine, beg for his help, rely on him, and he's yours.

Venat retires, the new Azem takes the seat, his secret's safe/resolved (forget about it, it's played its role of the glue for our trio), things are chill for a while, the trio grows into a proper throuple, Hades is recommended for the seat of Emet-Selch by both his lovers, but by Azem most ardently (and selfishly: he feels like a white crow among the Convocation and wants another freak on the team. Hades finds it sweet though).

The status quo moves to the known canon where Azem travels a lot, sometimes summons his buddies to his side, he tends to disappear from Amaurot for weeks and months on end, Hyth and Hades are left to themselves, seemingly things are the same as they've always been, but the joy of reuniting with their wayward lover, and the pining when he's gone, is bigger in Hades than Hyth. Of course they, the two mature people holding hands from the beginning of times, don't discuss this.

Azem may not even realize what he's doing- well, ain't that most azems in a nutshell. He just exists, loves his partners, shines for them with equal warmth like sun. It's not that Hyth doesn't like being sunkissed, no, it's Hades who gets a bit too excited, tries to mask that however he can, perhaps HythHades pretend that nothing's changed, but, yknow, subtle cracks. Hades's heart grows more fond due to the time and distance that separate them so often. Of course he's terrified and he sees what this does to the balance of their poly, it's not welcome, but it won't go away.

Enter Hyth's self-esteem issues, and how neatly that weaves into his following sacrifice to bring forth Zodiark. Even though Azem's nowhere to be seen, it's fine, he'll return, it's just a tantrum, the Convocation will forgive him, Hades will be left in good hands, he and Azem seem to be happier without Hyth anyway. (no, no, no, no-) Of course, the latter's left unsaid, only a smile on display and vague words of affirmation for the shellshocked Hades.

Through the sacrifice Hyth drives up his value. He's forever important to Hades now, forever on his mind, his guiding star. I view Hyth's selfless act as selfish too (just as Raha's but he isn't relevant here), a desperate act of a soul not only loving, but desperate for love. Hyth gets what he wanted. In a fucked up way, he's happier as a part of the moon. He never has to contend with the sun again.

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art the clown x Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem.

Chapter 2 of How Close Your Soul

General warnings: descriptions of food insecurity and poverty, adult themes, drug use (weed), and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: With unlimited free time on your hands now, you go on an adventure in the city with your new friend. (Alt summary: you smoke a blunt with Art then go to McDonalds)

Your mind races as you walk. You rose early because you couldn’t fight off the feeling of anxiety. No, it wasn’t necessarily anxiety, you were restless. Art lingered on your mind and you were excited to see him again. You knew this was reckless to meet up with a stranger in an isolated alley, but your curiosity had often gotten the better of you.

You had a ways to go still and couldn’t help but be consumed with worry. What if he wasn’t there? What if something happened to him? What if you approached to find him injured or dead? You barely knew him, but the thought of him succumbing to the harsh elements hurt your heart and made you feel guilty for enjoying your own comfort during the cold fall night. As you noticed the frost on the grass your worries grew.

Winding through the alley, you navigate through discarded boxes and trash cans, overflowing with litter. There are syringes on the ground, indicating a spot for partying. They weren’t there yesterday and you hoped no one had given Art any trouble. You pace slowly back and forth as you survey the area.

You looked around, scanning the dumpsters and rows of cans for a sign of black and white. He stuck out in this landscape, yet he was nowhere to be seen. With a small voice you call out, “Art?”

You waited for a response but none came. Turning in place, you continue to soak in your surroundings for any trace of him. Your worries grew the longer you stood there. The spot he had cleared out to sit was still visible, a nest of sorts, but where was Art?

Behind you, you hear glass being ground into the pavement and look. It was Art, stone still with his hands in the air and an overly large smile on his face, showing off his rows and rows of teeth. His smile seemed endless and the gleam in his eye was disconcerting. You felt your worry and excitement change over into something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

He’s wielding a hammer, and he looks thrilled as hell to see you. His mouth manages to stretch even further and his eyes are wide with anticipation. His grip on the hammer tightened as he took a step towards you, to which you responded by taking a step back. This dance continued for a few steps before you stopped. 

Was he going to hurt you? But why would he? Your hands began shaking as he maintained his static pose of intimidating stature. He was merely steps away and loomed over you. He was so tall that he blocked out the sun above and it shrouded his face in surreal shadows. It was as though his face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish entity. 

“Art?” You ask nervously and he gives no response. He doesn’t even blink, and you aren’t sure if he’s breathing. Surely you were not making another poor judge of character. You wring your hands together, “Um... I wanted to thank you for yesterday so I brought you something.”

His eyebrows twitched in response and some sort of fire was lit in his eyes. He was curious. He arm relaxed slightly as it lowered a little. Maybe this was some sort of game? Art was so hard to read, maybe he just had an intense sense of humor. Still, it’s frightening. You swallow hard and continue, “Do... you wanna smoke a blunt?”

He pauses and his smile turns into a grimace. Art is visibly thinking about your proposal. He looks away, deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled. The man looked back to you, then back to the hammer for an uncomfortable period of time, then finally back to you. He made an inquisitive face and you revealed what you were talking about.

It was one your friend had given you. It was half smoked and hard as a rock, but still did just fine. You wave it a little like a tempting treat and his eyes follow its rapid movement. He finally drops the hammer, grabs his trash bag to drag behind, and closes the small gap between you.

Art stares at what is contained in your hand and you hold it out a little more so he can inspect it. He touches it lightly and his face only became more of a confused scowl. He looked at you then waved his hand in front of his face in a grimace, portraying he thought it would stink. You nod some, “Yeah it’s skunky but it doesn’t taste bad. There’s wax in it. Not like, candle wax... it’s hard to explain...”

You think a moment then look up at him, “Sometimes we just need to catch a good buzz, you know? I thought we could smoke and talk, maybe learn some more ASL.”

He perked up at that and signed his name with curious eyes to which you responded with a smile, “Yeah! Soon you’ll be a total chatterbox.”

You look around for a comfortable pace to sit and scope out a spot atop a dumpster. It looks like it was recently dumped and smelled the least offensive, so you hoist yourself up and hold your hand out for Art to follow. He has a much easier time clambering up the side than you did, but he struggles to heave his garbage bag beside him.

You didn’t ask about it. It was likely his only way to transport his possessions, but it still made you worry for him. It could easily become stolen or mistaken for actual trash. Perhaps you would get Art a proper means to carry his things, but that was getting ahead of yourself. Today your rent was due and you were seven hundred dollars short. There was no way you were going to get that much money in time, so you were doing the next best thing- running away from your problems. This was the present, and the present meant you were about to get high with a complete stranger.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask as you show him the blunt. He mouths ‘oh yeah’ a little too assertively and puffs his chest out. Though he seemed confident you wondered if he’d ever smoked weed before. You were become more and more curious about your friend, “Are you sure?”

He nodded enthusiastically with a smile but his eyes were transfixed on the mysteriously wrapped cigarette. Wherever it went his eyes followed. You patted your pocket and realized you forgot your lighter at home, “Damn. Art, you wouldn’t happen to have a lighter by any chance would you?”

Art holds his finger up in a ‘one moment’ gesture and starts looking through the same black trash bag as yesterday. From this angle you could see inside a little. It was a hodgepodge of metal, trinkets, saws...

Saws?

Your eyes widen when he pulls out a blow torch, his mouth stretched in a wide tooth filled grin of glee and accomplishment. He looked so proud to hold it in his hands and his lights lit up when he playfully blew at you with the fire. It should scare you on a deeper level than it did, but you really wanted to smoke.

“Awesome. Do you care if I see it? “ You ask, but he seems incredibly reluctant to hand it over as he hugs it to his chest and furrows his brows in response. His theatrics made it hard to take him seriously or view him as any sort of threat. 

So to the stranger with a blow torch you say, “Art, no offense man but I’m not gonna come outta here looking like creme brûlée.”

He laughs uproariously in silence and slaps his knee. That seemed to have tickled him and you relax a little. Another similarity. Humor. Finally, someone with a sense of humor. Art wipes a faux tear from his eye and obliges, shoulders still heaving sporadically in a fit of voiceless giggles.

You test it experimentally, a small lick of fire coming out the end. You look at art with raised brows and mirror his previous actions by blowing fire at him. He laughs again and offers you one, hardy clap on your back. It makes you feel warm and secure inside. You didn’t know how much you needed that, but you were silently grateful. 

He watched you with visible curiosity as you lit the end and took a deep inhale. You held it for as long as your lungs could stand before exhaling. Unconsciously you hold it out to Art to pass the blunt. Hesitantly, he takes it from you and holds it between the nails of his thumb and index finger.

You snort in a laugh. Who needs clips when you have him? You mime a smoking motion and nod to him, “Draw it into your mouth then hold it in your lungs, but don't—”

Before you could finish he was chiefing it. He took a hit as big as his lungs could expand, held it for half a second, then exploded in a coughing fit. It wracked his body and he held his chest, all of his motions dramatic and theatrical as he figuratively withered and died right in front of you. It was definitely his first time.

You reach out and, after careful consideration, rest your hand on his back and pat as you finish your sentence, “...don’t take a big hit.”

He stills instantly at your touch and you withdraw your hand like you’ve touched a hot stove. Had you crossed a boundary? Were you a nuisance? Did you hurt him? Were you what your boss thought: a predatory creep who preyed on older men? Was that possible?

“I’m... I’m sorry Art.” You offer awkwardly and rub your hands together, fidgeting and picking at your nails. An audible gulp leaves you as you stare down at the ground, too ashamed to look at him. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you’d certainly done something. 

Silence falls between the two of you for a while. It feels like hours as the absence of noise makes your ears ring and only amplifies your transgression. You finally look to him and see him in the same position, still as a stone and just as silent. After a moment you find your voice, “Art... are you okay?”

His eyes visibly shift when he breaks out of his trance and he finally looks to you. Art stares at you, barely half lidded and the scelra bloodshot and red. He offers you a lazy grin and you mirror it, relief flooding you. He wasn’t upset, he was just stoned!

“You scared me there for a minute buddy!” You sigh as your anxiety leaves you and begin to swing your feet idly back and forth. He sleepily watches your feet a moment before mirroring you, keeping your same pace. Art trails his eyes up your body then meets your eyes, the same lazy, blissful smile spread over his face. He takes another, much smaller, hit off of the blunt, holds it, then exhales through his nose. 

The smoke snakes upwards and plumes around him. He caught on quick. Art hands you back the blunt and you accept it gratefully then taking a greedy hit off it. This time, you enjoy it. You savor it and hold it until your lungs feel as though they are smoldering and flaking away. You exhale slowly, watching the swirls and twirls of the white plumes that flow like water in the sun’s rays.

“So, Art...” You begin, passing the blunt back to him, “what are you into? Like what are your hobbies?”

He visibly ponders a moment, looks you dead in the eye and offers you the scariest, widest smile you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of something you’ve seen browsing the depths of horror forums. You heart palpitates as he stares at you, eyes wild and teeth prominent. You had no idea what kind of emotion he was displaying and nervously averted your eyes.

Art tapped on your shoulder and motions upward for you to meet his gaze again. Nervously, you oblige and find his expression has changed dramatically. He’s back to sleepy eyes and a closed mouth, crooked smile. Art hands you the blunt back so he can use both hands to speak.

He makes a single handed digging motion, adding little details like running into rocks and patting the soil down. You smile at him in kind, “You like to garden?”

Art pauses and makes a ‘kind of’ motion with his hand then waves you off. That isn’t what he was trying to say. He taps his chin in thought, this time creating the illusion of digging with a two handed shovel.  But still you do not understand and offer him a sheepish apology and urge him to continue. 

He makes an arch shape near the head of where he was digging, but that only confused you further. You point at the imaginary object, “What is that?”

Art huffed and pointed aggressively to a pebble on the ground. You ponder a moment then offer, “Rock? Close? Uhh... stone?”

He points to you with joy and nods fervently, rolling his hand and looking at you in giddy apprehension to finally guess the correct answer. But nothing comes. You purse your lips, afraid to say the wrong thing. Art repeats the motion, never taking his eyes off you as he dug in the imaginary hole then made a pulling motion at the air and loading up his pockets. 

You look at him, desperately trying to understand but the concept continues to not only elude you but become more confusing with each additional gesture. You want to know, but if it isn’t gardening what else could it be? What other activities involve digging holes near large stone objects at the head and rummaging through their contents? The only thing that kept coming to mind was digging up buried treasure and you knew that isn’t what it was.

He shares your frustration and sighs in silence. Art throws his hands up and draws a distressed question mark in the air over and over again. You didn’t understand what he didn’t understand. And your confusion made his confusion grow. Your eyes widen and to ease the pressure you say, “I think we’re too high man.”

Art’s eyes widen and he seems briefly alarmed before relaxing all at once and nodding along with your remark. He smiles at you and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead and lifts his hat to you in a polite gesture. You weren't going to stop trying to learn about your new friend and decided to do a rewind.

“Let’s get to the spelling. So, Art, what does the letter of your hobby start with?” You never thought your limited knowledge of ASL would come in handy when smoking a blunt with a clown, but this life was truly full of surprises.

He drew a G in the air and you repeat the sign for the corresponding letter. He mirrors you then draws several more letters in the air. R... A... V... E...

“Grave?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. Suddenly, it dawned on you, “Oh! Do you work at a cemetery? You tend to the graves?”

This simply cracked him the hell up. He laughed and laughed, holding his hands over his mouth in a wordless giggle as though he were bottling up some big juicy secret. After a moment he nodded with a smile, mouthing 'sure'. That explained some of his strange behaviors. Dead people didn’t talk and neither did he, so they already had more in common than the living. You, yourself, had felt more of a relation to the dead than the living, as well, and found his profession interesting. 

Before you could ask him any more questions he gripped his stomach, brow knitted in confusion. He looked to you questioningly, lips parted as though to speak. He was mumbling something voicelessly but you couldn’t hear nor read his lips. You try to placate him.

“It’s called the munchies, it’s normal.”

But he wouldn’t stop staring at you. His stomach audibly grumbled and he swallowed hard. He was looking at you in a way no one ever had before. He was looking at you like YOU were food. You’re high; you’re feeling bold and joke, “Bro if you’re gonna cannibalize me go ahead, with the week I’ve had I’m ready.”

He stops and laughs, his eyes crinkling into slits as he gets lost in a fit of giggles. His hand didn’t leave his stomach as he rubbed it absent mindedly, still staring at you with wolfish hunger. His stomach gurgled again and he winced some. He hunger was clearly a step above regular munchies.

“I’ve heard people taste like pork...” Your stomach growls at the thought of slow roasted meat, so tender it fell off the bone. You’d always had a fascination with human meat, and one of your current friends had dabbled in cannibalism in their childhood so it wasn’t too far fetched of a concept. Art did not strike you as a cannibal, but if he was that strangely wouldn’t bother you, at least not right now. Maybe you really were too high. 

Without warning, Art slides off the dumpster. His trash bag lands on the ground with a loud, metallic thud, and then he extends his hand out to you. His hand is filthy, his gloves stiff and stained with dirt and some sort of bodily fluid. You weren’t sure what it was, but logic escaped you right now.

You took his hand in yours and allowed him to help you off the dumpster. With effort, you awkwardly slide down and begin following after him like a puppy. At first you struggled to keep up with his long gait but he slowed down so the two of you could walk side by side.

“Where are we going, Art?” You look up at him and ask curiously. He smiles down at you and makes an M in the air in the same shape as the iconic golden arches. The idea of a hot, greasy, barely edible hamburger made you so hungry you nearly dry heaved right there. But then it hit you, “I don’t have any money.”

He waved you off and rubbed his fingers together then pointed at himself smugly, showing that he had money and was paying. But could you really allow him to do something like that? You open your mouth to protest and he holds his finger to his lips to shush you. You relent. Art is going to do what he wants, and if he wants to buy you a cheeseburger then so be it. Perhaps the pair of you could have a symbiotic relationship. You were interested in compiling resources, so this was just part of it.

The walk there was short but simulaneously felt as though it dragged on forever. From the parking lot, you could smell the grilled beef and frying grease and it made your mouth water. It seemed to have a similar effect on Art as his stomach produced a low rumble of its own. With a flamboyant display, he holds the door open for you and makes a sweeping motion with his arm for you to enter. You titter in playful bashfulness and enter. The restaurant is warm and the delicious smell of food envelops you like cartoon smoke.

But people are looking at you, whispering and giving you ugly stares. They’re all pointing at Art and hurried murmurs emerging: ‘is that him?’, ‘what horrible taste’, ‘appalling.

Appalling? 

You realize they aren’t talking about you, they’re talking about Art. You look up to him. He pays them no mind. His mouth is agape as he strums his chin in thought, voicelessly mouthing to himself as he read the menu. You already know what you’re going to get and stand beside him patiently. You give him a few moments then tug on his sleeve to get his attention, of which he obliges.

“Which number do you want, Art?”

He ponders again before holding two fingers up, indicating he wanted the same thing you were getting. You smile, “Great minds, yeah?”

Art offers a small chuckle and nods, lingering behind as you approach the counter. The cashier seems off, uncomfortable, and scared. You were familiar with stares of the ignorant, but this seemed different. She seemed petrified.

“Are you okay?” The cashier whispers. 

You look around and everyone is staring at you. You eye her nervously and offer a wary, “Yeah...?”

“Are you sure? He’s just... he’s just a guy in a costume, right?”

You look back at Art, who is enamored with the toy display, his face merely inches from the bright and colorful beanie babies contained within. You’re too high to deal with this kind of dumb shit right now. Why was everyone looking at him like that? And why was everyone being so mean about him? He was just a guy in a clown costume... wasn’t he?

Art looks back at you and gives a friendly little wave before resuming fawning over the toys. There’s no way this guy was some kind of depraved murderer or demon, he was just a guy in a suit. He was weird, like you. You both had a similar sense of humor and people just didn’t get you. So what if he liked to dress like a clown? You thought he was brave to be who he was and admired how easily he brushed off other people's abrasive attitude.

You look back at the cashier, “Yeah it’s just a costume. We’d like two number twos and we’ll be getting that to go, please.”

With shaking hands, she types in the order. Art is by your side, digging through his trash bag before withdrawing a wallet. He flips through the row of credit cards then hands one out to the cashier. You lived off credit cards for a while too so you thought little of it.

She takes it, trying her best not to make contact with his hand and swipes it. It was approved and she slid it back across the counter, “Thanks we’ll uh, we’ll call your number as soon as its ready.”

She can’t take her eyes off Art as she backs away and retreats to the kitchen. She is talking to what you assume is her manager, pointing and motioning to the pair of you. Seriously? What was her problem. Part of you wants to confront her and tell her to mind her own fucking business, but your anxiety roots you firmly in place.

This display is not lost to Art. His lip curls into a smirk as he returns to the beanie babies. You join him and admire them. You loved stuffed animals and your eyes glitter with wonder. You’ve never seen any of these before, all small little animals. There’s a turtle, a red panda, a giraffe, a hedgehog... so many wonderful little creatures.

“Wow...” You breathe out, “I wish I’d gotten a happy meal instead. I’d love to have these.”

“Number six forty three!” Comes a voice behind you. That’s your number. You happily scamper over to the counter to retrieve your bag and drinks.

“You ready, Art?” You call back to him but he says nothing. He looks at you, then back to the toy display. Without warning, he strikes it again, and again, and again. The hard plastic cracks and crumbles from his blows and it is not long before he is loading up his trash bag with every beanie baby in the display.

You were so dumbfounded by Art’s actions you weren’t sure what to say, or do, so you did nothing but watch and stare. This is something you had fantasized about many times as a child, eyeing the coveted toys in the case your parents could not afford, but you never had the strength to execute it. One by one, each beanie baby was snatched up.

“Sir! Sir you can’t--” The cashier is cut off. He looks back at her with a wide, toothy grin and sizes her up. Even a hardened veteran of customer service isn’t immune to his intimidating stare. He holds his threatening stance a moment before looking back to you and grabbing your hand. He practically drags you out of there, an entire audiences’ eyes on you as you make your dramatic exit.

The further you get away the more the situation sinks into you, and so does the ferocious anxiety. What was going to happen? How was he being so casual about this? Did he regularly steal from their toy display, is that why they were looking at him like that?

As you both tuck behind an old gas station your anxiety finally breaks. Oh no...

“Art what if we get in trouble? What was that back there man? What...”

He shushes you and rests his hand on your shoulder. This time, you still and look back at him. Though stoic, he seems weirdly reassuring. You had just knocked off a McDonald’s and stolen twelve beanie babies. TWELVE. 

“What if we get banned from every McDonald’s? What if we go to jail.” Fear washes over you and it multiplies with the influence of weed, “Art I don’t wanna go to jail. We have to take them back and apologize... no we can’t do that, we’ll be arrested... What if they’re looking for us... Art! What if they’re--”

Art shushes you again and rubs your shoulder gently. He gives the ‘ok’ sigh with his hand and pats you. He begins to walk away but stops as he realizes you aren’t following him. You’re too anxious and a prisoner in your own mind. This is too scary, it’s too intense. Your rush of adrenaline had quickly turned over into a full blown anxiety attack.

Your heart pounded so hard it made you see spots and you struggled to stand still. You began pacing, wringing your hands as thousands of thoughts burst into your mind all at once. What if this is it? You’ve lost your job, you’re going to lose your apartment, and now you were going to jail for stealing stuffed animals... at least this way you’d still have shelter and three meals a day...

There was a warmth against your back. You start and look up at the source: Art. His hand is between your shoulder blades. He makes no motion to move but stays there, silent and strong as his large hand offers you a tether to the moment. You say nothing and just focus on the feeling. His touch felt so deliberate and affirming, it felt meaningful and stilled your trembling. 

You wanted to lean into him, but you weren’t sure if he’d appreciate that. You look at him questioningly and, is if he read your mind, moves his hand to your shoulder and draws you near to him. You remain this way for a while. He holds you in silence, hand gingerly rubbing up and down on your arm and occasionally patting as he tried to comfort you.

It was working. You hadn’t felt this secure since you’d been in His arms: the former object of your affection who now made your heart ache and your stomach sick. You are touch starved and his affection makes something inside you melt. You nuzzle into his chest and he allows this, moving his hand to rest on your head and gently smooth your hair. 

Your hands are too full to reciprocate the hug, but you do your best to return the affection by leaning further into him and he obliges  by holding you closer. The pair of you remain this way for some time. There are no police sirens, no angry mob, and no cashier chasing after you. All of your worries were limited to your mind and, gradually, you relax. Slowly, you pull away from him and offer him a kind, but slightly strained, smile.

“Art... I mean this in the nicest way possible but... You gotta take a shower man. Do you wanna come over to my place? I have body wash and stuff you can use.”

His eyebrows fly to the sky and his mouth forms into a large O. This expression is brief as a wide smile takes its place. He nods happily, his little hat bobbling, and you mirror his smile. You felt good that you were able to help someone out and reciprocate his aid. As the pair of you made your way home with McDonald’s loot, you begin to wonder if this will be the start of a beautiful and peculiar friendship.

[dearharriet]

HII!! CAN I REQUEST TEN THINGS I HATE ABT YOU + JAMES POTTER PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I FOUND UR BLOG AND I AM OVSSESSED !!!!!!

hi hi you’re so lovely!!! i had to think on this one for a while but i think i like how it came out! james seems much more like cameron than patrick, i hope u don’t mind <3 (wc: 1.2K)

You get the sudden feeling that you’ve been completely messed about at this stupid house party.

Down the driveway, your so-called friend is climbing into the passenger seat of a Porsche, leaving you behind in less than ideal autumn-garb; A red dress that falls too short and clings too thin to your wind-whipped torso, and a sad excuse for a shawl are all you have for warmth.

And if things could get any worse, you’re likely going to have to walk home in the kitten heels you insisted on wearing.

Behind you, a clunky wooden front door heaves open, producing the sweet but hopeless guy who’s been following you around all night. James, you think is his name.

He’s relatively attractive, in a sort of lost puppy way. Big brown eyes and pouty lips, a softness to his tone that could probably buckle knees if he took better advantage of it. Still, he’s thinner and scraggly, and lacks any kind of social quip to make that likely.

He skips down the steps, his dress coat flung dejectedly over his shoulder, and a frown tying his brows together. His friend from earlier is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” you say tentatively and his hung head picks up, though his mouth only hardens its angry line. He takes in your unlucky state, and any trace of the puppy-love softness he’d shown you all night is gone.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

You scoff. “Please. He’s not my boyfriend.” His face remains stony and unaffected. “I don’t know what I ever saw in him.”

James reaches his free hand up to push back his hair, and you stare at his tensing arm without really realizing it.

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, hiking his jacket further over his shoulder and walking past you.

In a small window of time, you realize he has keys that he’s fishing out of his slacks pocket—car keys—and your aching feet override your nerves.

“Uh, James?” You both spin towards each other, your back now to the house and his to the cars. You realize that’s probably not the only thing that switched between you tonight. Ironically, you’re the one chasing after him now.

“Yeah,” he says, agitated, when all you do is stare. You look to the empty space where your ride once was, and back to James.

“Could you give me a lift home?”

Something about the way his expression slackens turns your insides out. When was the last time someone looked so disappointed in you? As far as you know, most of the decisions you make go over very well, and no one is ever upset with you (save your sister, who is never happy if she can help it).

But here is James, with eyes holding the most loathing likely ever directed your way, and with every right.

He shakes his head, but says, “Yeah, whatever.”

Somehow that might be worse.

Trailing after him, you come up on his old sedan, a car that seems like it’d have a myriad of mechanical problems. He has to stick his key in the driver’s door to unlock it.

When he gets his door open, he unlocks the rest of them, and you slide awkwardly into the leathery bench beside him. James seems to notice your unfamiliarity and shreds your self esteem further with a scoff.

“It’s not a convertible, I know. Sorry to disappoint.”

“No,” you immediately defend, warm from his apt assessment of you. James gives you a sideways glance of warning. “I mean, yes, I was expecting something else, but it’s—I’m not…”

“It’s fine,” James sighs, turning the car on, “it’s just a lift home. You made it pretty clear that that’s all you want me for.”

As James pulls into the street, you watch the house slip away, party like a fizzling ember fighting the midnight cold.

“That’s not true,” you say, though you’re not sure you feel it at all. Your voice is overly sweet, an attempt at the voice that serves to get you what you want, when you want it.

You’re not entirely sure what you want anymore, but James brushes it off anyway, like it’s a revolting bug.

“Yes, it is.”

It astonishes you how easily he can cut you down. He’s hardly speaking loud enough to be heard above the radio, just a bitter rake of a comment, but you’re floored all the same.

The car falls silent, and you stare at your lap instead of out the window. You feel thoroughly scolded, dissected and left to put yourself back together. You don’t think you’ll cry, but you’re not ruling it out.

When James pulls past a stop sign, approaching your neighborhood, he glances over at you.

“Yknow.” He pauses, licking his lips. “I didn’t even expect you to like me back.” His eyes return to the street “And it’s fine that you don’t, but—but you could’ve just told me.”

You rub your hands over the hem of your dress, a foreign set of nerves gripping your chest. Realistically, you could weather the storm until he drops you off, but for some reason you desperately want to rectify the situation.

You want to tell him that yes, of course you liked him all this time, because that should be true. Except it’s not.

James’ car rolls up to the curb outside your place. He sighs, gripping the steering wheel.

“I really cared about you. I went to that party for you, and I ignored everyone who said I was stupid for doing it.” Shaking his head, James looks at you, anger peeling back to reveal raw hurt. “But you’re so conceited.”

You expel a painful breath, all the wind knocked out of you.

“I know.” Breaking eye contact, you flick your eyes to your shoes. Flattery and shame twine together in your throat. “Did you really go to the party for me?”

James nods.

“Went to the party, got that guy to date your sister,” he lists. “I even learned French for you. And what did it get me? A whole lot of—”

Without really thinking, you surge forward and pull James’ lips onto yours. They lay warm and firm over your mouth, and you can’t deny how right it feels.

You’re expecting James to pull back, to push you away, but he does the opposite. One hand laces into your pristine hair, holding you to him, and the other wraps around your back.

It’s a perfect kiss, the kind that you always dreamed of, and it makes a giddy laugh bubble out of your mouth.

When you pull away, you’re dizzy and a little self-pitying. You could’ve been kissing James like this whole time instead of chasing after some pea-brained asshole in a nice car.

James seems to watch the thought wash over you, because he kisses you one more time to remind you that it doesn’t matter, that you’re here now. Then he lets you go, and you relish in the way his hands linger over your waist, your neck. The giddy feeling comes back twofold.

“Night,” you say through a prim smile. “Thanks for the lift.”

James’ eyes crease a little at the edges from his returning smile. “G’night, beautiful.”

+

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

join the celebration!

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere-Masterlist

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, Ruhn Danaan x Plus Size Reader

Rating: Mature (18+/MDNI)

Status: In progress (monthly updates)

Summary: You are pulled into an unknown world, Prythian, by an unknown force, coming face to face with a group of people you have only seen in your dreams. However, the reality you now face is much darker than anything you could imagine. Finding a way home is your only goal but with each passing year it drifts further away. It seems that Fate has different inescapable plans. With the help of a few you must learn to navigate your new life. Can the discovery of a vague prophecy help guide you on your journey?

When magic returns to the Earth, and Death’s shadow is unchained, Celestial bodies will unite to bring forth new rain.

Tags/Warning(s): Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Crossover, Expanded Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Body Image, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Major Character Injury, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Issues surrounding bodily autonomy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Shameless Smut (indicated by 💦) , Oral (F and M receiving), P In V smut (protected and unprotected), Mating Bond(s), heavy Rhysand and IC criticism. (Other tags to be added as the story progresses).

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 -Part 1 & Part 2

Chapter 10

Bonus Chapter- Feyre POV

Chapter 11 💦

Chapter 12- Part 1 & Part 2

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter30

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 17

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Low Self Esteem, Discussion of Sex, some very "human" ideas of sexuality, Definitely NSFW and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

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

"Where is Eira?" Azriel asked, well, half demanded.

His mate was nowhere to be seen. Usually, she would be one of the first that appeared at family dinners, already there before Azriel even arrived. And maybe a part of him was missing the way she would smile at him in greeting, the way she blushed. 

"I don't think she'll want to have dinner with us tonight," Feyre said delicately, exchanging a look with Nesta. "But if you wanted to bring her dinner to her room, then that's fine. Just if she asks you to leave...it's not about you. She just had a...trying day."

A trying day? A bad day? If she had a bad day, she was supposed to tell him. That was what that bargain was all about. And if she didn't listen to that bargain, the consequences could be...dire.

Azriel felt a pang of worry in his stomach at Feyre's words, and he felt his shadows twist and turn in worry. What in the world had happened that made Eira have a trying day?

Lady Death asked us to leave them after she had us fetch a book for her, his shadows reported.

What...kind of book? he asked, and he didn't miss the hint of unease that settled over his shadows.

You should ask our mate that, the shadows sidestepped.

What aren't you telling me? Azriel demanded silently, fixing the shadows with a stern glare, refusing to take the non-answer.

They ignored him blithely. 

So instead, he fixed two plates and then went stomping up the stairs. If she had a bad day and she hadn't bothered to tell him, he was going to be...Azriel was going to have a talk with her. It was the one thing he'd asked of her, the one thing he'd tried to hammer into her, that she was supposed to tell him when she was upset.

Azriel marched up the stairs two at a time, all but stomping down the hallway, his mood only darkening with every step. By the Mother, let her have a good reason for this. A very, very good reason...

He stopped in front of Eira's door, balancing the two plates in one hand, and he took a long moment to try and calm his expression. He knew all too well that the expression on his face was probably one that could scare most people shitless, and he didn’t actually want to scare Eira. He never wanted to scare his mate.

"Eira," he called out, his voice firm, commanding. "Can I please come in?"

It took so long for a response to come that he was almost tempted to kick the door in, but after another long moment, her soft, hesitant voice finally called out.

"Y-yes, you can come in..."

He breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, he was surprised by just how relieved he was that she seemed to be all right.

The worry that had coiled so tightly within him since Feyre informed him that Eira would not be dining with them lessened. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room, his eyes immediately finding her small form on the bed.

Something in him clenched at the sight, and his chest tightened as his eyes quickly raked over her, looking for injuries or signs of pain. Reddened eyes, pale skin...she had pulled the sleeves of the woollen dress she wore over her hands like she wanted to keep them warm.

Azriel felt his heart lurch in his chest at the exhausted look on her face, her eyes red and weary, skin pale.

His stomach twisted. By the Mother, what in the world happened to her...?

"I brought you dinner," he said simply. "Feyre said you probably weren't up to braving the family dinner this week."

"Oh...right. Yes, of course," Another hint of that exhausted note in her voice, and the sound of it made a pang of pain shoot through his chest.

"I-" she started, but then she faltered, and she suddenly refused to meet his gaze.

"What happened?" He asked her, as he handed her the plate. What had happened that had resulted in Eira...behaving like this?

Eira took the plate from him, her hands shaking almost imperceptively, her bottom lip caught between her teeth again.

"Nothing," she mumbled. "I just had a....trying day..." She didn't look nearly as convincing as she tried to be, though, and the hint of exhaustion and...mortification in her voice told him that she was lying.

A pang of hurt flared through him at her words, twisting and coiling in his gut.

She was lying to him. She'd had a bad day, a very bad one, that much was clear to see, and yet, she was lying, and she wasn't planning on telling him about this.

"You are lying," he stated calmly, and his voice was so low, it was almost a growl. "And quite bad at it, if I might be so bold to say..."

Her eyes shot up to his, guilt flaring on her face at his words, and for a moment, she just stared at him, her eyes wide.

"I'm...I'm not lying," she protested weakly, but Azriel was not in the mood for excuses. He was in the exact opposite of a mood to listen to excuses. This wasn't helped by the fact that it was getting cold outside and that meant that his hands and the joints were aching, leaving him on a shorter tether than usual.

"Eira," he said, and the word came out in a demanding, steely note. "Don't lie to me. We have a bargain. To tell each other when we have a bad day."

"It really wasn't a bad day!" she hurried to assure him, "I swear!"

Azriel did not believe a word she said. The exhaustion on her face was obvious for a reason, and he was certain that if he tried to take her by the shoulders, her body would be trembling.

"It was a bad day," he said, his voice coldly calm, trying to control his anger. "Don't deny it. If there was nothing that was going on, then why do you look like you haven't slept in a week?"

Eira opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, and once more, the guilt on her face looked like something she'd like to disappear into.

"It...it was just hard, that's all," she mumbled, dropping her focus back down to the plate of food in her lap. "I had a...talk with Feyre and Nesta and it wasn't...it...was hard."

"A talk," Azriel echoed, and his stomach dropped. What in the world would a talk with Feyre and Nesta make her look like that? So exhausted and...ashamed?

Eira nodded, and once more, that hint of guilty shame flashed over her face. And suddenly, his mind supplied the memory of what Feyre had said...about a book that they'd 'given' her.

What in the world was in this book? What kind of book could make her look like that? A cold, dark anger flared within him. By the Mother, what did they make her read to look like that?

"What kind of book did they make you...read?" he ground out, his voice hard and demanding, the cold anger coiling within him like a snake.

Eira's hands suddenly trembled, so violently it was a surprise that she did not drop the plate, food and all, on the floor.

"Nothing bad," she protested instantly, but as she spoke, the shame and guilt on her face flared even worse, until her cheeks were a deep, tomato red. "It was just a...book..."

"What kind of book?" he repeated again, not missing the way her voice shook on her words.

She was not going to get away with not answering him. Something had happened to her, and he had every intent to find out what. She took a breath, and he saw her swallow hard like her throat had suddenly gone dry.

"It was...it was a book...of...images. And..." her voice got even smaller, and that same, damnable, guilty shame was on her face again. "And explanations..."

Images, his mind supplied, and his mind was once more filled with the sight of what could be in a book of images...pictures and explanations of… "Of what?"

"It was...it..." Eira's voice came out in a quiet, strangled whimper, and she suddenly seemed incapable of looking at him. Her face flushed beet red. 

"It was pictures of...of...male...anatomy," she mumbled, words so small and quiet, it was a wonder he caught it.

His mind went completely blank for a moment.

Male...anatomy?

All the anger drained from him.

"And what...happens...between a...wife and a husband," Eira whispered.

He couldn't help it. A surprised, relieved laugh spilt out of him at that. That was what she was so worked up over. She'd read a damn book, not about anything bad, but about sex.

"That's what have you looking like you haven't slept in a week?" he inquired, and he couldn't help the hint of humour in his words. "A book about sex?" he repeated, his anger and worry evaporating. "That's what have you looking like death warmed over?"

Confusion suddenly crept into her expression, the guilty shame replaced by surprise as her eyes finally met his.

"You're not...upset?" she asked bewilderment in her voice.

He couldn't help but bark out another surprised laugh at her words.

"Why would I be upset?" he inquired, "Why in the world did you think I'd be upset?"

"I..." Eira's voice was small, and her expression confused like she didn't understand...

"Because it's not proper for a wife to...I just...it feels wrong.." she finally mumbled, and her voice was so embarrassed, it was all he could do not to scoop her into his arms and kiss her on the forehead.

Gods, she was the most innocent creature in Prythian, wasn’t she? 

He had had his own…thoughts had thought that she was a virgin, that there probably hadn’t been anybody in her past…at least she had never mentioned anybody and the way she reacted to his kisses and touches…it was a dead giveaway. He hadn’t known how to broach the subject though, without making Eira think that he demanded more from her, and that was the last thing he had wanted. 

He was more than ready to give her all the time in the world, to wait until she was comfortable and felt ready to share a bed with him. 

But he hadn’t…the fact that clearly she was so innocent that the prospect of pictures and explanations of sex were had her looking as if she hadn't slept in a week…that was another matter entirely. 

"There's nothing wrong with reading about it," he assured her fiercely. "It's not improper."

"It's not...?" the confusion on her face grew, and Azriel felt a pang of pity for her naivety.

"It's not," he said evenly. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with knowing or learning about the...anatomy of a male…or about what happens during sex," he assured her gently, trying to soothe any worry or guilt she had. It was like soothing a nervous rabbit. 

"God, sweetheart, there would not even be anything wrong with it, if you would have taken a lover before," Azriel said with a sigh. "I would have never expected you to be a virgin."

Eira's eyes widened at that, a look of surprised confusion flashing over her face, and her voice was barely more than a whisper as she responded.

"You wouldn't?"

"No. No, I would not." He assured her with a smile, the urge to hold her growing stronger and stronger by the second. "There is nothing wrong with experiencing pleasure. And if you would have found someone before, as a human, that would have made you feel good, I would have respected that."

Her eyes went even wider at that, and her voice was more than a whisper this time. "You...would have...?" The bewilderment on her face was...stark, and he suddenly got the feeling that he'd have to correct her misconceptions and innocence in many different things…

"I would not have cared," he promised her fiercely, as he sat across from her, dinner plates forgotten on her bedside table. "So I take that Nesta and Feyre talked to you...about how sex works?” he asked her. Her face was bright red and she looked everywhere but at him. “Do you have any questions for me?" He asked her gently. Was there anything that Eira wanted to talk about to him? Anything at all that…

The question immediately made Eira's face turn crimson, but he saw that note of uncertainty in her eyes, the flicker of doubt that told him there were questions, things that she wanted to know, but was clearly too embarrassed to voice.

"You can ask me anything you want, sweetheart," he assured her gently, his voice soft as a whisper. "I won’t get angry, I swear." He hated that he needed to promise her that, but something eased inside her at that promise, and blue-grey eyes lifted to look at him. 

"A-Anything?" Eira's voice was little more than a breath, her eyes so wide, it was a wonder that they didn't pop out of their sockets.

A smile stretched across Azriel's face at her words. "Anything," he assured her. "Anything you want, sweetheart. Ask me anything. I'll answer."

Eira took a breath, her throat working as she swallowed, and that guilty note of shame and worry crept back into her features. "It...it feels...wrong to ask," she finally mumbled, her voice small and almost ashamed.

A pang of pity flared through Azriel, and it took every ounce of will within him not to cross the distance between them and pull her into his arms.

"There is nothing wrong with asking," he promised her gently. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with being curious and wanting to know. Please ask, Sweetheart. We are going to get married. I want you to be able to ask me anything." Especially about this. Especially when alone the idea of sex seemed to fucking terrify her…

Eira let out a soft, shuddering breath at his words and another, guilty, glance flared in her eyes, but then she swallowed hard.

"I...I need to know," she whispered. "I...need to know if...it's going to hurt the first time....when we..."

Oh by the godforsaken cauldron...

"Sweetheart," he said gently, his voice soft and almost soothing, gently taking one trembling hand in his. So this was what this was about. 

 "It is different for everyone," he said gently, his thumbs stroking the back of her hands. "Some feel some pain, others discomfort, and some don't feel pain at all… But I promise that I will do everything in my power to make it as pain-free and comfortable as possible for you, Eira."

"A-And...it won't be...bad for you?" The insecurity in her voice clawed at his heart. She was so anxious, so worried and embarrassed, and she had no reason to be. He shifted closer, letting go of her hands and wrapping his arms around her, so he could pull her into his lap as gently as he could, cradling her in his embrace.

"Never," he whispered, pulling her flush against his chest, feeling her trembling body press against his. "It won't be bad for me, and it won't be bad for you. I promise you. I swear on my life that I will only ever try to make you feel good, Sweetheart. " he murmured into her curls.

A shuddering breath escaped Eira's lips at his words, and he felt her hands press against his chest as if to pull him closer.

They sat like that for a moment, her in his lap, her head resting against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. And then Eira's voice came again, quiet and timid.

"And...I won't be...bad at it....will I...?"

She was so worried that she would be a disappointment, that she would be bad at this… Inexperienced, yes, but bad? "Oh sweetheart," he whispered, gently, firmly pulling her even closer, his hand coming up to gently run his fingers through her curls. "You will not be bad," he assured her, his words firm. "You'll be amazing."

"B-But I don't know...how-"

"Doesn't matter," Azriel said, gently stroking her hair. "You are perfect as you are, and there is nothing wrong with inexperience." His other hand gently wrapped itself around her waist, his fingers flexing, pressing her closer against him, as if by his touch, he could soothe all of her worries away.

"You'll be fine," he said again, his voice soft, almost crooning. "You have nothing to worry about. We will just...take it slow. We have all the time in the world. We don’t need to do everything in one night.  No need to be worried about being wrong, or about not being good enough. You are perfect as you are, sweetheart, and there is nothing for you to be embarrassed or worried about."

Eira let out a shuddering sigh, her body finally relaxing in his embrace. She still felt nervous, he could tell, by the way her body trembled slightly underneath his touch, but he could sense that his words were working to soothe her anxiousness.

"I promise," he assured her again. "I promise not to do anything you don't want me to do,” he promised her fiercely. 

He gently tilted her head back, until he was looking straight into those big, grey eyes of her, and by the stars above, he wanted to kiss her right then and there.

“But if you want…” he trailed off slightly. "Have you ever...Have you ever touched yourself?" he asked her gently.

Eira's cheeks instantly went crimson again, and he felt her tremble underneath his touch once more.

"N-No," she mumbled back at him, embarrassment in her voice, her eyes not meeting his gaze. "I...I've never...why would..."

He felt a pang of surprise and pity at her words, at how flustered she got just at the idea.

“You don’t need me for that,” he told her softly. “If you want to…you can try to touch yourself. And Ii you do, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, sweetheart." He felt the shiver run through her body at his words, and he saw the flicker of embarrassment once more in her eyes as she considered his words.

Her voice came out in a whimper, timid and quiet and so damn innocent as she answered.

"Do you…touch yourself?" she asked him, her voice trembling. 

“I do,” he answered, swallowing. “I certainly do.” He did. Granted, these days, every time he touched himself, all he could think about was her. Eira. Her lips, the swell of her breasts…the way she looked at him and blushed…Numerous fantasies in his head involved her…Involved her in every fucking way he could get away with…

“What… What do you think about it?” she asked him, her voice hesitant. 

“You, sweetheart. I think about you,” Azriel answered, quietly, his fingers still running through her hair.

Her trembling intensified, and for just a moment her scent seemingly went haywire. 

"But...how?"

"There's no real right or wrong way, Eira," he assured her gently, his voice soft. "When you are alone...touch yourself anywhere on your body, anywhere that feels good. Your breasts…between your legs... And when you find...when you find your pleasure...you'll continue with that...until..."

Her cheeks blazed even redder at his words, and her voice was but a soft gasp as she looked up at him.

"Until...what...?" she asked, and he saw the flash of nervousness and curiosity in her eyes.

"Until you reach your release," he said softly.

***

Quite frankly…she was a mess about it. 

Her heart was racing, her hands were clammy…and when she recounted some of the things that her sisters had told her…it was making her…she didn’t even have a word for it. 

She didn’t. 

They had pushed and prodded and she had hated it, twisting in her skin, but there had been a part of her that…that had realised that they did this because they wanted to help her. Even when that involved making her mortified and her face the colour of a ripe tomato. 

Even then. 

And she was grateful, she was…or maybe she knew that she would be grateful for it one day. 

Her talk with Azriel…well, that had been something else entirely. 

He thought about her. He thought about her when he touched himself…when he found his own pleasure. he thought about her. 

She wished she knew about what exactly he was thinking. Was it the chaste kisses they shared? The few times, he pressed his tongue into her mouth. And how that made her whole body covered in goosebumps? 

Was it that? 

And she wanted…she wanted to try. She was…curious. 

Eira wanted to try this, to touch herself. 

But… she felt so...ashamed by it as if it were wrong. Even when Azriel had told her that it wasn’t wrong, that he didn’t mind if she found pleasure in herself, and...and Gods, she wanted it, she wanted to know how it felt...

Her room was dark, just a few fae lights blooming.  She took a few slow steps into her room, towards her bed, her heart still hammering in her chest.

It was still hard to believe that he had actually just…that he hadn’t seemed to care. Had even seemed to approve of the idea of her touching herself…or her learning what exactly it meant to…have sex. That he wanted her to find pleasure in herself. 

Her body trembled with nervousness, and her breath was coming out in short gasps, as she sat down on the edge of the bed, her legs feeling like they might collapse under her at any second.

“I need a few…hours of alone time,” she told the shadows softly, closing her eyes. “You can come back later though.” 

Of course, they responded, not sounding angry or upset in the slightest, squeezing her wrist just once, before they disappeared.  Leaving her alone. The door was locked. Nobody would hear what went on in her room, right? 

He told you to do this, she reminded herself, and her hands shook as they slowly came up to her nightgown…

Maybe if she just...didn't take it off. If she just...she slid underneath her duvet, closing her eyes as she blindly unbuttoned the first mother-of-pearl button...baring her chest.

She could faintly hear her breath coming out in gasps, quick and shaky as she felt the cool air of the room against her skin, her nightgown falling open from the two small buttons she had managed to undo.

Her hands trembled as they slowly came back up to her chest, coming to rest against her collarbone, just above her chest, and she shivered at the touch.

Slowly, softly, she ran her fingertips down her skin, against her throat, across her chest...

Her breasts were heaving with her breaths...tightening into hard peaks, seemingly feeling heavy and warm in her grasp.

Something was knotting heavy and low in her belly, as well. It was...odd, and almost uncomfortable, almost unfamiliar feeling, and she didn’t know if… Eira had never experienced this before, and she wanted, she wanted more, wanted the uncomfortable, almost tight sensation to ease. 

Her fingertips traced down over the skin of her stomach, her skin burning underneath her touch, and a breathless, shaky moan escaped her lips. 

Lower and lower and lower...until she reached the apex of her thighs, her thighs spreading shakily...finding that thatch of curls damp...and...

Eira gasped at the sensation, her hand flinching back from her skin like she had been burned.

The heat, the moisture...by the cauldron… it was hard not to pull her hand away again and just stop entirely, but no, she wanted this, and she didn’t want to stop. 

Eira slowly, carefully, cautiously moved her hand against herself again, and she bit back a cry at the sensation it created, at the almost painful heat, and oh Gods, the feeling.  

It was odd, like a burn and a sting and a tingle and a shudder and a gasp all at once. She didn't know if she could take it, a part of her wanted to get up and stop…but a bigger part of her wanted to give in and see where that feeling was taking her. 

She slipped her hand lower, brushing against the burning seam of herself...and let a finger dip in further. She was wet. Slick. That was…good. That was how it was supposed to be. At least according to that book, Nesta had left it for her to read…and…even when she wanted to die from mortification…she would rather read the book than ask anybody about this. 

Slick and wet was good. Slick and wet meant that her body was preparing itself to receive her…husband. 

She couldn't help the whimper that escaped her.

Her body arched, startling her with…the intensity. But...no, Azriel had said that there was no wrong way, right? No...he wouldn't lie to her, wouldn't want her to feel bad, and oh Gods, the feeling flared up across her skin

What if...What if...What if he was the one that touched her? How would that feel? His hands were bigger than hers...broader...his skin warped with scar tissue, but she knew his touch would be gentle...

The thought of him touching her, the thought of his hands on her skin...the warmth of his body, the touch and strength of him, and she had no idea how she would even withstand that, how her body could even take that, that intensity...

Her head fell back against her pillows, and the moan that escaped her throat was louder, sharper, needier. She found herself closing her eyes, imagining that it was him, that it was him who was touching her, and Gods, how she wanted that, wanted him, wanted him to touch her. 

Wanted to feel his hands on her body, wanted to feel...wanted to know how those broad, scarred hands of his would burn against her skin...

To know how those strong, gentle hands would feel as they wandered across her body, how they would feel as they...as he touched her.

She explored hesitantly...slipped one finger further down and then up again...until…

She found the place the book had talked about. That little knot at the apex of her thighs.

Her breath came in a shaky gasp and her body writhed on the bed, and the feeling, the pleasure flared through her in a rush, and it sent another loud, needy moan ripping through her throat. Gods, what would it feel like if he touched her like this? If it felt this good when she touched herself, what would it feel like if Azriel did it? What...what would it feel like if he did this to her if he touched her like...like that?

She imagined how his voice would sound, his low, deep, velvet-like voice, rough and gentle all at the same time, as he told her what to do, as he guided her, as he touched her, and oh stars above, she wanted that, wanted that so badly, wanted to know what his lips felt like against her skin…

You are perfect as you are, sweetheart, and there is nothing for you to be embarrassed or worried about, his words echoed through her memory, and she let out a shaky whimper at the memory of them. 

She just knew that if she…if she trusted him and let herself fall, he would catch her. 

A shudder wracked through her body again at the words that echoed through her mind, and she wanted to believe them, wanted to believe that....that he would want her, that she would be good, and that he’d think she was enough...

Her fingers shifted against her, and a gasp burst out of her again, a needy, shuddering whine that almost made her cringe. Her body shivered and trembled against the sensations, and it was so good, so good and not enough.

It was...it was...so wonderful, so pleasurable...and it wasn’t enough, Gods, it wasn’t enough...

It wasn’t...not enough...she wanted more of this wonderful feeling, as odd and embarrassing and wonderful as it was, and her hips arched, and fingers moved, and more, please...more…

It wasn't enough. Tears gathered in her eyes. Not enough.

Wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough......

She tried, her body writhing against the feeling, shifting and twisting and her hips arching up to try and find more, to find that pleasure again, but it evaded her, eluded her, leaving her in frustrated need and desperation, and oh Gods, it was embarrassing to be so needy and desperate, but she just…she needed…

She pulled her fingers back, and her body trembled. What had that book mentioned again? What if she… the one hand that had gone to clench into the duvet…she placed it on her chest, against one aching and stiff breast, while the other one slipped back to her clit. 

Maybe if she just… What if it weren’t her own hands. What if it was Azriel? 

She went back to draw tight little circles around her clit, a moan leaving her mouth. 

She tried to picture it. Tried to imagine it. Tried to remember how it felt to have him kiss her…feel his lips on her, wondering if it would the desperate sort of kisses he sometimes gave her, when he pressed his tongue into her mouth and her whole body trembled in her grasp or if it would be slow and calm…

Tried to imagine Azriel above her, the warm and heavy weight of him, pressing her down into the mattress, until the only thing that she still could feel, could see, was utterly surrounded by…until that was just Azriel. Just her mate. 

A moan escaped her throat again, her head falling back against the pillows, and it was amazing, the feeling rippling up through her body, leaving her feeling almost overwhelmed…

The feeling was rising and rising, and the pleasure was almost so much, and she could practically feel his hands on her skin, his touch all over her… 

What…what would it feel like? She wondered hesitantly, allowing herself to explore…to dip one single finger inside her, her body clenching around the intrusion, wet and drenched, her slick smeared all over her folds…

How big would he be…like one finger of hers…No, the pictures had made it look thicker. Maybe two? 

The angle wasn’t perfect, but she hesitantly, pressed a second finger inside her, whimpering at a burning….sensation, a stretch? 

Her body was arched and twisted now, her other hand tangling in the sheets, and she was so close…

She continued her touches, her touch feverish, her hips coming up again, burning, shuddering, and she was so...so...so close, her body twisting under her own touch, and by the stars above, it was almost too good.

Her body writhed and trembled against her own touch, and the pressure was building, building, building…

She imagined him above her, imagined the idea of him….of him pressing inside her, of sharing her body with him, like that…It was…

...and then, finally, finally, it snapped, and a loud, high-pitched cry erupted from her lips, her body shuddering and writhing and her head arching back against her pillows, and oh Gods, the pleasure that flared through her was so intense that for just one moment….one moment everything went white, and she was blind and gasping. 

Eira slumped back against the bed, her entire body shaking. She couldn't even...she couldn't think straight for at least a good few minutes, the pleasure lingering across her skin, leaving her body hot and shivering.

She was left tangled in her sheets staring at the ceiling, suddenly wondering how people didn’t do this constantly. 

And then she wondered if…if this was what she managed, without any experience, without knowing what the hell she was doing…then…then how would it feel to have Azriel’s hands on her body? How would it feel to…

Would it feel just as good as this had? 

Or would it be even better? 

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Intro

He says he can make you understand his way of love, that he can help you awaken desires you never knew you had. You give him seven days to prove it.

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements (only discussed), mild Angst, mentions of body dismorphia, mentions of past trauma and low self-esteem, fluff, slow burn, they have chemistry but mc has trust issues, mentions of revenge porn, mentions of past domestic abuse (mental), it's not a heavy chapter but people complain I don't tag enough so here you go, SFW

Length: 2k

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜.♡

A/N: This is an intro post which contains no smut. You can skip this one if other works have been posted, but much of the plot won't make sense without this.

-> Masterlist

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Jungkook is a pretty talented guy.

Film director, photographer, occasional model by accident whenever he's seen at events. Apart from that, he values his privacy, has it all figured out how to keep his friends and family and everything else behind closed doors, and it's how you met him- a simple friend of Taehyung's, your former roommate and now best friend of almost five years. At first, Jungkook had thought you and Tae were more than friends- but he had quickly figured it out, had explained that he's got simply good senses when it came to reading people.

You didn't think much of it.

Then, a few weeks later after getting to know him, you had all sat in Jungkook's living room, eating takeout and drinking a little, when Taehyung had to leave early after a friend had called him. It was the first time you were left alone with Jungkook, who had kindly offered to drive you home later, once you want to leave. You'd told him about your hobbies- crocheting being one of them, and he had smiled about that. And excited as you were, you had mentioned how the top you'd been wearing was actually made by you- but that you thought the back looked boring, so you never wore it without a little jacket. He had offered to tie some decorative knots in the back, later showing his work off to you- and you had asked how he knew how to do that.

It's how you found out about that.. other side of him.

It took you weeks of dancing around the topic, until you were finally back at his place, as he wipes his hands with a wet wipe, leaning back against his couch. Evenings like these are common between you two, after all, Jungkook is a safe person to you- he won't ever make you uncomfortable, and if he does, you can just say so, and he'll adjust accordingly. It's something you really like about him- one of many things. "You can ask about it, you know?" He chuckles out of nowhere, and you look up at him. "You're curious. Taehyung had told me." He explains, and you can't help but groan dramatically, well aware what Taehyung had told him you were curious about.

"Taehyung can't ever really not spill secrets, can he?" You mumble angrily at yourself, putting down your chopsticks as you lean back, and Jungkook notices immediately how you seem to close off from him at the topic. He knows a lot more about you than you think- but still. He wants you to tell him yourself, too.

"Well, that's who he is." Jungkook shrugs because of that, trying to make you as comfortable as he can by treating the topic as something normal- which is exactly what it is to him, after all. "So?" He asks, and you squirm around a bit.

"So like.. you tie people up?" You ask, and he can't help but laugh. He get's this a lot after all, Taehyung having worried Jungkook might be some sort of sadist who hurts people in a dungeon of some sorts- something that happens, true, but always consensual, down the line. It's a pretty complicated topic, he admits that, and because of that, he can understand both the curiosity and judgement towards it.

It's not everyone's cup of tea, and that's fine, too.

"If they want me to, sure." He shrugs, smiling. "Some people like that. It gives them a feeling of comfort and security, and I like the aesthetic of it." Jungkook explains, picking up his glass of water, to take a sip, watching how you seem to think about it. "Not your thing?" He wonders, and you shake your head.

"Like, what if you want to get out or something?" You ask, and Jungkook across from you seems nonchalant about it. After all, shibari and bondage are the most.. tame things he practices and enjoys.

"Then I'll let them out. Either untie them or cut the ropes, easy." He shrugs again, leaning back. "Saying No makes everything stop, after all." He easily mentions- and you grow silent at that.

You remember when you said no back in your last relationship. Sure, things stop- but the uncomfortable aftermath of it is all your fault, awkward silence and the weight of having ruined a perfectly fine experience hanging heavy on your mind for the rest of the day- sometimes even several days. Saying no is weird, it's awkward, especially when you're just being overly anxious about things that aren't even all that bad.

You've decided that sex just isn't for you, ever since then. You'll just.. do it yourself.

"A no is a no." Jungkook suddenly says, and when you look up, he looks awfully serious. "No matter what." He underlines his statement, and you shrug uncomfortably. He knows from Taehyung that your last relationship wasn't a good one- mental abuse and pressure put on you to fit you into a mold made for you by the guy you'd loved. He'd told you he was 'fixing' you, constantly belittled or ignored you, and even threatened to release intimate videos of you allegedly taken by him if you were to ever say something bad about him.

Jungkook had been worried, but Taehyung insisted that after helping you find a lawyer, it had been revealed that none of those videos even existed, because you rarely ever even had sex to begin with.

"Yeah maybe- but then it's awkward and weird." You shake your head as you explain your standpoint. "Like, I can't imagine doing stuff like that. Taehyung said you do a whole lot of other stuff too- and like, I don't judge, really!" You explain yourself, waving him off. "Sex, like, with another person is just not my thing. I don't like it." You shake your head, closing the empty cardboard food container in front of you.

"Feel free to correct me-" He starts his sentence carefully, not looking at you as to not pressure you with eye contact. After all, he knows how to behave around people, it's one of the most important skills as someone in his position. "-but it sounds more like something has made you dislike sex with someone else." He offers.

"Yeah maybe." You mumble. "Or maybe I just realized that I'm better off.. doing it myself." You say mostly to yourself. "I'm not good at this stuff. Having sex with someone else is awkward, and weird."

"Is that why you never let me close?" He asks, and you freeze.

Caught you.

It's true that you and Jungkook have undeniable.. chemistry. He's nice, kind, a little childish but in a good way- he plays around with you with such ease, makes it clear that he's seriously interested in you by not only flirting, but also actively trying to participate in your life. He offers to drive you to appointments, texts daily, meets up with you whenever he's got the time for it. He initiates physical touch whenever appropriate, praises you, and it's also pretty obvious on your side that all these things affect you. You like him, you really do-

but that side of him intimidates you too much to really involve yourself with him. Once you have.. or more so, try to have sex with him, your friendship will be ruined, and any potential for a romance with him shattered. But considering how he loves intimacy, there's no chance for a relationship anyways, right?

"…maybe." You mumble, not looking at him.

"What exactly scares you about that part?" He wonders. He's genuinely curious if he can do anything to help you be more comfortable with the idea of loving someone physically again. It's fine if you really just don't want this- he won't ever push you into anything, but considering your past experiences and clear interest in him, he wants to at least try. Not just to figure out what's making you this anxious about this aspect of a relationship, but more so, to figure out how he can make you feel comfortable with him.

He likes you, after all, he really does. And he wants to somehow make this work between you both, even if that means that he will have to adjust his sex-life.

"It doesn't scare me.." You try and deny as if to defend yourself, but he just leans back a little, relaxing in his posture.

"Sounds like it, though. And it's not stupid to be scared of sex if you've made bad experiences in the past." He offers. "Natural reaction. Nothing bad about it, really." He says further.

"Okay, yeah, I'm scared of it!" You wave your hands up in defeat. "Because I suck at it, I don't like stuff, it's weird-" You start, and he chuckles.

"What did you do?" He wonders. "Genuinely. I'm curious." He asks. You shrug. But you don't shut him out, and he eagerly takes that chance.

"What you do, you know. Like, normal stuff." You shrug. "But I don't know- it was uncomfortable, and hurt, and so we stopped back then and it got super awkward." You explain in shame. "He said I just can't take anything and that I'm too sensitive. So I guess I'll just do stuff myself and that's it." You reveal, making Jungkook hum in thought.

"Was it your first time?" He wonders, and you shake your head.

"My first time was fine. Not like, great, but it was fine." You say, unsure as you reach for a glass of water on the table.

"So he was just shit in bed, got it." Jungkook nods to himself. "Is that why you seem so uncomfortable with yourself?" He asks, and you look up at him, confused. "You always adjust the way you sit, you cover up even when it's hot, you don't like pictures taken of you and you basically hide yourself whenever you can. Which is confusing, because you're honestly really pretty." He tells you, and you sigh. "No, really." He adds on. "There's nothing wrong with your body or your looks. It's pretty frustrating to me to see you so insecure and anxious about it when there's nothing to hide or be ashamed of." He tells you.

"You say that 'cause you wanna be like, the cool guy who shows the poor shy girl what sex is like." You huff, crossing your legs as you look at your hands.

"Not quite. I don't just want to fuck you." He chuckles. "But I wouldn't say no if you were to let me show you a thing or two." He laughs playfully.

"I'm not letting you tie me up." You threaten.

"Yet." He responds teasingly, and you turn a bit red at that, unable to not think about a scenario like that. Now that you think about it.. would it be that bad? You trust Jungkook, after all. In a way, you'd probably let him do that.

"You act like you could change my mind about your whole… BDSM thing in, like a week." You scoff, and he grins.

"Interesting that you know what the scene is called." He calls you out, and your eyes widen a bit as you realize you've been caught red handed. Because in reality, you have done some research into this whole stuff, just to kind of.. look around, so to say. "And a week seems.. a bit short, but sure." He shrugs, watching you.

"Wait, what?" You wonder, looking at him.

"Sure, let's start Monday, right after this weekend." He proposes. "One week, and if I don't find anything that's your taste, anything you like, I'll admit defeat." He tells you.

"One week?" You ask, and he nods, holding out his hand for you to take.

"One week." He repeats again, as you take his hand-

sealing the deal.

[callhermyname]

you're not going | e.m. x reader - prologue

summary: you and Eddie meet for the first time (a few weeks before the start of s1);

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: MDNI!! mostly fluff, just a tiny bit of angst, reader is Dustin's cousin, mentions of absent father, postpartum depression, parents death, self-esteem issues, bullying (let me know if I missed anything).

a/n: HEY so this is my first fic ever so even if it's absolute garbage pls be nice to me😭 also sorry for any grammar mistakes english is not my first language. this is supposed to be the start of a s4 rewrite series, so if you want more please like this post, reblog and let me know what you think. hope u enjoy it!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been living at aunt Claudia's since you were 14. After your mom died, you had nowhere else to go — you can't even remember the last time your dad was in the picture, so when your aunt took you in, you kinda felt thankful that you got to start over, have a fresh start in another town, away from your old life (that you hated). You were still grieving, but aunt Claudia was always very sweet and caring, and soon after you moved in you started to see Dustin as the little brother you never had. It felt a little weird at first — even though your mother did her best, she never really liked the situation you were both in. She never planned to have kids, at least not before graduating from college, especially if it meant being a single mom at such a young age, so you couldn't really blame her for drowning in postpartum depression after you were born until she passed away. So, when her older sister took you in, you didn't expect for her to be so different from your mom, so caring, so gentle, so loving, such a good mom for Dustin and now to you too. 

When you first got to Hawkins, you didn't really have any friends besides your 11 year old cousin. One of his friends had a sister about your age — Mike's sister, Nancy — but, although she was always nice to you, you never really quite hit it off. She was sweet, but you didn't have a lot in common and her friends could be really mean. Will's brother, Jonathan, was always very shy and quiet, never really made conversation and you were definitely not the kind of person to force social interaction with someone that obviously didn't care for it, so you just kept it to yourself for most of the first year you spent at Hawkins.

A couple of weeks before Will went missing, Nancy was picking Mike up at your place and invited you to a party at her boyfriend's house. Your aunt overheard the conversation and was very excited to see you were making friends, so you decided to go just so she wouldn't worry about you being an absolute loser. You were always quite self-conscious of your appearance so it took some time to pick out an outfit, but you finally settled for something comfy and not that flashy, but flattering: your best Queen shirt under your favorite jeans overalls and a flannel and your only pair of shoes — basic black chuck taylors.

It was late October and the air was chilly, wind blowing through your hair and cutting your face like tiny little blades as you rode your bike to Steve Harrington's house, hoping to god Nancy was already there so you wouldn't be alone and awkward. You could already hear the music from two blocks away, and when you got to the front door, Nancy was waiting for you with her friend Barb. You knew Barb from school, you took English together, but didn't really talk about anything not school related, but she seemed nice. 

"You made it! I was already getting worried you wouldn't show up" Nancy greeted you. "You know Barb, right?"

"Yeah, hey Barb" you agreed and Barb nodded. "Sorry it took me so long to get here, my bike has seen better days…"

"It's fine, don't worry. Let's get in, I'll show you around. You can leave your bike at the back of the garage, outside of the backyard fence."

You left your bike where Nancy told you to and followed her into the house as she showed you where the bathroom was, stumbling over people coming in and out of the house, up and down the stairs. The house was so crowded, it felt like people were coming out of the walls. When she led you to the back of the house, she sat down by the pool and introduced you to her boyfriend and his friends, who were around the pool. 

From the start, you felt out of place. Steve and his friends didn't know you, but you already knew them. It was ridiculous to you how those people had made fun of you more than once at school but did not remember your face when Nancy introduced you as her friend. Maybe because you weren't wearing your big squared glasses, or because you tried something different with your hair? It didn't really matter anyways. At least they were not making fun of you. Poor Barb wasn't so lucky — they gave her a really hard time, and Nancy was just completely powerless over the situation, too afraid to say anything to try and defend her friend. After an hour, Barb got fed up and left, leaving you alone with Nancy and those assholes who were absolutely wasted and wouldn't shut up about playing spin the bottle or truth or dare.

"Come on, what are you, twelve?" Steve protested, "We're not kids man, that's just boring."

"You're absolutely right Harrington. But, we could spice it up, ya know?" Tommy offered, trying to convince Steve to play the game "For every truth or dare you refuse to tell or do, you have to take a shot of tequila. What do you say, Harrington? Wanna get absolutely wasted?"

Next thing you know, you were excusing yourself to go to the bathroom while at least 10 people were gathering around forming a circle on the floor of Steve's backyard. You didn't really need to use the bathroom, you just needed to cool off a little before getting hammered — you were NOT about to tell any truths or do any dares around these people you barely knew. Before you could go back outside, you got yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. As you threw away the red plastic cup, now empty, you heard a conversation through the kitchen window that headed to the backyard.

"So, can we start the game already?"

"Wait, where's Wheeler's  friend?"

"Barb left like, half an hour ago, Carol" you heard Nancy reply.

"No, not the chubby one, the other one, the weird one with the ugly hair."

"I think she needed to use the bathroom…?"

"Oh my god do you think she's like, brushing her teeth or something? Thinking someone's gonna want to kiss her?" Carol laughed.

"We better not wait for her then, I do NOT want to spin the bottle and end up having to kiss that weird ass bitch!" Tommy said, getting a good laugh out of everyone.

Your eyes teared up as you backed away from the window, thinking about what to do. You thought you could just sneak out and go home, cry yourself to sleep, but then you remembered you had left your bike chained up by the backyard fence. There was no way you could get your bike without anyone noticing you sneaking out. Fuck, you knew you should've stayed home reading something or watching TV.

Since you couldn't go home without your bike, you decided to wait until everyone was back inside. It couldn't take that long, you thought, it was freezing out there. But you couldn't stay inside either. Not by yourself. So, you walked over to the front door and opened it, feeling the cold air hit your cheeks. You walked out of the house and into the woods beside the house, where you could still see the backyard, but would be out of sight, a little further from the backyard fence and hidden in the dark shadow of the trees that surrounded the Harrington's property. Once you were settled, seated on the ground, you bursted into tears. Hot, salty tears running through your face as you sobbed, hating everything about yourself, hating the fact that, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't escape the fact that you were always different. Not in an obvious way — you didn't have that much of a fashion sense that was bold enough to earn dirty looks from old ladies —, but sometimes you felt like you didn't feel things the same way other people did. You felt fragile, small, vulnerable, like you were exposed all the time. It made you feel like shit.

You were so quiet, you couldn't help but to jump out when you heard footsteps behind you and then something snapping, like someone had stepped on a branch or something. You turned around wide eyed, heart pounding, just to see a silhouette standing behind you, holding a little metal lunchbox. It was a boy, shaggy curly hair down to right below his earlobes, Iron Maiden shirt, leather jacket and denim vest, dark loose jeans and heavy black boots.

"Dude, what the fuck" you panted, trying to not look as spooked and jumpy as you were "where did you came from?"

"Shit, sorry" he said, trying to hold back his laughter "didn't mean to scare ya, normally i don't run by anyone when i take this shortcut, though it has been a while since i actually used this shortcut — see, i usually drive mostly everywhere, but i ran out of gas money for the month and i thought 'hey, i could actually use a little walk through the woods to cool my head off a little' so i just decided to- whoa, wait, are you crying? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to scare you like that!" he stopped his rambling when he noticed you were drying your tears with the sleeve of your jacket.

"No, it's not- really, i'm fine" you panicked, noticing he seemed a little hurt by your reaction "i was already crying before you- sorry, it wasn't you, i'm fine don't worry"

He walked over to you and sat down beside you, a concerned look on his face.

"I don't wanna be nosy or anything, I know you don't really know me" he started, you now realizing you did recognise him from school, how could you not? He's always drawing attention to himself "but you can talk to me if you want. I'm guessing you were at Harrington's party? Everyone down there sitting at that circle in the backyard is kinda known for being a pain in the ass"

"What gave it away?" you brushed off your tears, slightly smiling at his comment "Just didn't wanna play truth or dare with… you know, those guys. But it seems they were glad I didn't join them, so they wouldn't have to kiss me if someone decided to play spin the bottle" 

"Wait, what?" he seemed surprised "They told you that?"

"Not exactly" you explained "I was at the kitchen and overheard someone saying that outside, so i bailed"

"What are you still doing here then?- Oh, I'm Eddie, by the way." he introduced himself, shaking your hand as you introduced yourself.

You explained the whole situation to him and he offered to keep you company until you could get your bike back and go home. After an hour of nonsense conversation filled with Eddie's dramatic sense of humor, you actually got to know each other a little bit. He told you about his band and how he really liked Lord of the Rings and fantasy RPG.

"I'm not really a huge fan of fantasy books" you shared, causing him to gasp, as he was offended by your comment.

"How dare you? Are you not a huge fan of happiness too? Or maybe you hate puppies and ice cream?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "How can you not like the only way to escape this boring non-fictional world we are FORCED to live in?"

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I do like fiction. Just not... fantasy fiction."

"So what do you like then?"

"I really enjoy science fiction."

"What, like androids and shit?"

"No, not that kind of science fiction. I mean science fiction like... Clockwork Orange, or Flowers for Algernon."

"Oh so you're a nerd too!" he teased "I was almost buying all that 'not a nerd' act, but you're into Kubrick? That's so nerdy!"

"You do know Stanley Kubrick didn't write the book right?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Once he started to talk about music, he just couldn't stop talking for a second. He told you about his band, and you felt as if he was the first person to ever understand your passion for music. After another 30 minutes or so of energetic conversation about how much you both liked 70s rock, he ended up telling you he only attended this kind of party to sell some weed and make a quick buck.

"Don't get me wrong, i fucking hate these people" he explained himself "but they ARE in fact my biggest costumers. Guess daddy's money might not be enough for them to feel loved, but it does buy whatever else they need to feel better about themselves. So, they always make sure I'm 'invited' to every party they want me to bring my little lunchbox to."

"Yeah, that makes sense i guess" you agreed, turning your head over to the backyard, people already heading inside due to the cold. You felt your heart sink, even though all you've been wanting was to take your bike and leave. You were actually really enjoying getting to talk to Eddie.

"Well, i guess this is it" he said, noticing as you watched everyone getting into the house "now you can go home and not listen to me and my rambling about whatever it is i was talking about. Hell, even i can't remember what the hell i was talking about most of the time" he laughed. 

"To be honest, it wasn't that bad" you laughed back "it was definitely better than spin the bottle!"

He chuckled, helping you get up and unchain your bike from the fence, giving you a dorky smile as you hopped up on your bike. 

"Well, I better get back to work huh? Got a lot of customers waiting on me" he gestured to the house as you secured your helmet under your chin.

"Yeah, I better get back home too. My aunt refuses to go to sleep until i get home safe, don't wanna keep her waiting"

"So, I guess I'll see you at school, huh?" he shifted at his feet and kicked the ground, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his vest.

"Yeah, if there's any seats left for another nerd at your table for lunch" you chuckled awkwardly, looking at your feet.

"For a pretty one like you? Always."

You exchanged an awkward look and smiled at each other again, and with that you followed your way back home, feeling hopeful about how the next few weeks would play out. You thought you had finally found someone you could trust and spend time with, someone who got you — a friend.

For the next week or so, you and Eddie hung out a lot. Finally, you had someone you could call a friend, and things seemed to be going not so bad for the first time in months. He would always save you a seat at the table at lunch and walk you to your classes, he would even give you a ride every once in a while, when his van was not running out of gas. It was something you could get used to — at least until a couple of weeks later, when you, Nancy, Jonathan and Steve ended up trauma bonding over setting a demogorgon on fire. After that, your life had (literally) turned upside down and you didn't hang out with Eddie that much anymore. As the years went by, you would hang out more with Steve and Robin once Nancy and Jonathan started dating. You would still talk to Eddie though, just... not like you talked to your other friends. They were the only ones who actually understood what you were going through, and — even though you missed his company — it would be selfish to tell Eddie everything and drag him into that nightmare. Until of course, the nightmare caught up to him.

[walnutcookie]

ok fuck it rodgerposting HERE I GOOOO

DISCLAIMER: this is a ramble about my own personal headcanons, loosely based off of scraps from the game that im able to make connections to. I do not see any of this as canon. this is not an analysis post, but feel free to use or expand on my headcanons if youd like!!! (i would love to hear abt/see what u do with it🙏🙏)

man. Honestly to start this i should preface that i designed my rodger headcanons to parallel glisten's character, so im going to mainly talk about those two in this post

Despite glistens ego it is VERY obvious that he has a lot of self esteem issues. Just from his twisted form alone we can see how dependent he is on the attention and praise of others, and his notes/interactions reinforce that. hes so deperate to feel loved and appreciated because he doesnt feel confident in himself so he puts up this false ego to try and convince OTHERS that hes perfect because maybe if other people think hes perfect he'll really believe it!!!! (he wont)

the convo he has with toodles is really interesting to me, i mean its kind of vague what "cry and complain" really means but im gonna say that he actively, or has in the past, vented to rodger about some of his self esteem issues

obviously rodger being a detective is right on theme with him being a magnifying glass and yknow. His object and occupation implies hes able to see things in others that others might not. but i also like to think that theres an irony of him being a mystery himself. he doesnt share much about himself - any conversation he has with other toons is mainly him asking questions about them while avoiding questions about himself or giving surface-level information. He's appreciated by the other toons, and is reliable when it comes to solving mysteries for the others ,,, he isnt feared or anything hes just. Unknown. He keeps to himself and others dont know what hes truly like. he doesnt have any close relationships at all, save for toodles

It stems from a feeling of worthlessness. he feels like hes too mediocre - sure, people would appreciate him the way he is, but why settle for that? by keeping nearly everything about himself the things people will theorize and imagine about him would be far more interesting and appealing than any lie he could spread about himself. Why pretend to be something hes not, which could easily be disproven, when he could just try not to be what he is? he wants to just be the cool mysterious polite detective who helps everyone yknow!!!! he WANTS people to be curious about him but never find out the answers. he doesnt want people to know that hes literally just like anyone else

and THATS the thing he has in common with glisten. they both have the same insecurity, that same desire to be loved and to be admired, to be seen as so much more than they really are, but they react to that feeling in opposite ways. Glisten tries to flaunt everything he has and more in an attempt to make himself seem perfect (when he clearly isnt), while rodger tries to push it all down and hide it so that people cant tell what hes really like

rodger knows what glisten is thinking. he knows what motivates his every action. that man can read glisten like a book bro... he can predict glistens every thought because theyre the same person. he knows glistens motives, he can predict how glisten must feel about other toons and rodger himself because he knows what its like to be in that position. and god he wants to help him. he knows what glisten is going through and wants to try to help as best he can ‼️

the problem is that glisten DOESNT understand. he doesnt know anything about rodger. rodger tries not to say much about what he observes so that glisten doesnt Freak the fuck out but then that just makes it worse because rodger will try to comfort him and say everything hes thinking and it terrifies the shit out of glisten because it seemingly comes out of nowhere 😭 rodger is still confused about glisten but less confused than glisten is about himself !!! He doesnt know rodgers motives cause again he doesjt talk about himself so hes just terrified of this guy he doesnt realize rodger is trying to help. he wants to believe he is but its hard to tell </3 regardless though glisten does truly care about rodger just... in a complicated way. Bro wants rodger dead but couldnt live on if he died and rodger knows that

would like to talk about rodger and toodles more but ill do that in a different post .... thank you if you read this far i love you . If u have any questions/comments/thoughts id love to hear feel free to send me asks!!!🙏🙏

[crooked-wasteland]

Stolen from @pinkandpurple360 anonymous ask.

"Blitz still has a long way to go with character development”

That's great. I can't wait to never see it.

This was an issue I tried working into my Fizzarolli Dissection but it kept feeling less about the character and more an overarching writing issue, so let's just take it here.

Every bit of character development in the series is inconsistent or entirely spontaneous. Stolas being in love with Blitz seemed like a slow burn until out of nowhere in Ozzie's he is so head over heels for Blitz in specific. Asking why Blitz only now is asking him out "after all this time", like he has been waiting on and expecting it despite that never being a thought towards their dynamic before. Going from being entirely obsessed with their sexual contract and seeing Blitz as a sex object to suddenly wanting cuddles on the couch with no strings attached?

That change was never shown in the series. It was never developed. There is no character growth, they merely are different to suit the new direction to the plot.

So again, I'm so glad Blitz has more character development to go through, can't wait for it all to be implied off screen like every other ounce of character we've been gaslight into believing has "grown".

If you never show it on screen, the dynamic, the relationship, the change, it never happened. Loona at the end of Queen Bee seems to get closer to Blitz but the next time we see her she's trying to assault him. We never saw any moment of change following the end of Queen Bee where we felt her character actually develop. Even after calling Blitz dad in the episode, she ignores him in favor of strangers at the party. She expressed clear disgust with Blitz before leaving with him, and her mild softening towards him at the end could just as easily be seen as nothing at all as it could be a character growth.

However growth requires reinforcement. If you never reinforce that moment meant something, it isn't growth, it's a cheap emotional scene to get a reaction from an audience. A short scene of Loona simply telling Blitz good morning to show some kind of change was all that was needed, but it was not as important to establish change in the characters as it was to have the most cringe scene in existence. Priorities.

One of the biggest issues with the series is how blatant the meta agenda of the writing is. They never allow the space to establish characters or change, instead citing these one off moments as “proof” of story when they do not amount to anything at all. There is unfortunately a distinct difference between a story and a scene, and it is painfully obvious by how Medrano and Nylan utilize these scenes that it is entirely for a superficial effect.

The relationship between Fizzarolli and Blitz similarly is extremely vapid and has no foundation to establish what their dynamic actually was growing up. Additionally, the two scenes of them being younger are fundamentally contradictory. Younger Fizz from The Circus is assertive and confrontational. He threatens to punch Blitz for being annoying and not playing the way he wants to play. He's bossy without necessarily being mean and not only knows he's popular, but also how to utilize it as manipulation, seen in how he draws attention to himself to spare Blitz the embarrassment of his failed joke. This Fizzarolli actually lines up also with the Fizz from Ozzie's. It's hard to claim that Ozzie's Fizz was "just an act" when as a literal child he has all the same traits

Then in the Special he is insecure, timid, has very little self esteem and is an anxious people pleaser with a mousy voice. There is nothing to establish this as the same person at all, and all the narrative context clues around his popularity does not support the direction of change this character has experienced. Fizzarolli has only gotten bigger between being what appears to be six years old and what I can only assume to be thirteen based on his cracking pubescent voice and gangly limbs. All we can go on is context clues and extrapolation, but arguing of a non-existent event that humbled Fizzarolli to this extent, while maintaining his stardom prior to ever meeting Mammon, is founded on nothing, when there is a much simpler answer.

His whole personality has taken a 180 turn for the sole purpose of the episode’s narrative. Fizzarolli being the pathetic whump he is in the episode is not founded anywhere else in the show, but we need that so people feel bad for him. There is no confidence in this writing. It shows that instead of believing the character is likeable as a whole for a complex personality, the only way anyone will like him is if he is just the softest jellybean in the bunch.

It is only this way because it suits the episode right here and now. And when his character changes, it isn't founded on any concrete narrative of growth and actions having consequences, but on what the writers need to get the audience to feel a certain way. So I say it again:

That's nice, I can't wait to never see it.