#she needs a god damn brain cell

[peony-always]

Dial Drunk

wolverine/logan howlett x afab!reader

words - 4k

tags: dp&w!Logan, damsel(ish)!reader, angst angst angst (he has so much potential as a sad wet tomcat), feelings (Logan isn't good at them), use of alcohol, canon-typical violence, !attempted assault!, implied assault

quick an: this is my first full fic!! the ghost of Logan's past hovered over my shoulder as I wrote this, loosely based on Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan but it's more of just an inspiration border creds to @/bunnysrph

Logan was pissed. Furious. He was so overwhelmingly angry with himself that his claws had extended and for a while, he couldn’t retract them. He finally got them to slide back under his skin when the cop standing outside his holding cell door threatened to put him in with the general population if he didn’t put his ‘weapons’ away.

That was the last thing he needed right now. He was already on edge, and being surrounded by people who hated him just for who he was would probably be his last straw. He sighed, slumping back against the dirty concrete wall behind him. He rubbed his temples, taking a few deep breaths to calm his once again rising anger.

He understood why he was in that stupid cell. Bar fights were enough to get a normal person arrested for being drunk and disorderly, but cops were always especially ready to arrest a mutant. He hated that he had let his animalistic side get him here, proving them right about how dangerous he was, but he could only take so much of that stupid guy in the booth behind him spewing ant-mutant hatred right in his face.

“Damn liquor,” Logan thought to himself as his head continued to throb. That in and of itself was enough to make him upset, as he was typically so well acquainted with alcohol that it never got to him. Tonight, however, he had drunk way more than usual, throwing back shots in the dingy bar a few blocks from his apartment as quickly as the bartender could pour them up.

The idiotic man he had beaten at the bar wasn’t the true cause of his anger though. That honor fell to his stupid, stupid brain. It was after the cops had wrangled him and shoved him into their stuffy, too-small cruiser that Logan had made his infuriating error.

The driving officer, a short and stocky man with a pudgy face, had looked back at him from the rearview mirror and said,” The guy you were fightin’, George, he ain’t gonna press charges on ya. He’s in and outta the lockup every other week, and he ain’t gonna be lookin’ for any more trouble than he’s already in. Plus, I think you’re more of a danger to yourself than to anybody else, goin’ around that drunk. You ain’t caused any trouble before, but we still gotta bring you in. Procedure, ya know. Got anybody you want us to call to pick ya up?”

Logan hadn’t even thought about it before your name came spilling from his lips. He hadn’t even realized what he said until they arrived at the jail and the pudgy cop pulled him from the back seat. “Her? Really?” the cop said, suspicion heavy in his voice. “She babysits my kids on the weekends, didn’t know she associated with drunk fighters like you.”

Logan snarled on instinct as he heard the inherent prejudice in the cop's voice before he realized who the cop was talking about. ‘No,’, he thought. ‘God, no.’ He hadn’t seen you in months, and he hadn’t been planning on seeing you ever again. He didn’t know why he didn’t tell the cop he wanted to change his call. He could have gotten him to phone Wade or Laura, they would have picked him up in a heartbeat. 

Maybe he didn’t say anything because he wanted to see you, to make sure you were okay after the long months you had spent apart. Or maybe he was just still drunk, forgetting the past and wanting you to take him home with you, to let him have his seat on the couch while he sobered up, drinking your fruity teas and eating the sickeningly sweet cookies you always bought from the local bakery. “Too much sugar and you’ll rot your teeth out,” he’d tell you with a lopsided smile, knowing how you’d respond. Every time he said it you’d prance up to him and poke a finger into his chest, grinning,” You’re already so sweet that my teeth ache, so what does more sugar hurt?” And then you’d lean up, pecking him on the lips as you move to go back to your tasks. 

His heart ached as that memory resurfaced and his head fell to join his back against the unforgiving chill of the cell wall. He tried to fight it (no he didn’t), but his drink-addled brain was unable to stop the memories of you from flooding back into his system.

Your first meeting, a year ago that felt more like ten since you had left. Logan had been stalking his way down the street, huffing and puffing, pissed at Wade for inviting people over and blaring music when he had known that day was Logan’s only day off for two weeks. He had grabbed his jacket and stormed out into the chilly New York evening, turning left outside their apartment as he made his way toward the nearest bar. He craved a stiff drink, damn Wade and Laura had hidden all of the alcohol in the house from him. They told him he needed to dry out, and he did. He knew it as well as everyone else, but it was hard. After years of drowning his guilt and grief in drink, it made him nervous to let go, to face his days head-on instead of looking at them from the syrupy brown lens of his old friend whiskey.

It was on his way to the bar that he heard it. A muffled cry, the sound of flesh hitting concrete, a grunt of pain. He took off in the direction of the sound, his hyper-sensitive nose smelling the fear lacing the air the closer he got to a dingy alley two streets over. As he rounded the corner, he saw you. Your hands were bound behind your back and there was a gag stuffed in your mouth. Your eyes pled with Logan to save you as your attacker dragged you across the ground, mumbling and lurching back and forth as he pulled you along,” Stupid fuckin’ whore. Women. Always gettin’ in the way of what I deserve. Maybe I’ll put you in the dumpster when I’m done with you, let you rot with the flies.” 

Logan’s nostrils flared as he surged forward, yanking your leg from the man’s grip and pushing you further away as your attacker spun to face him. “What the-” was all the scumbag got out before Logan clocked him, knocking him out with one punch. He really wanted to keep beating on the guy, but his enhanced hearing had him turning toward you as you shuddered, whimpers escaping the gag as tears rolled down your face.

He held his hands up, approaching slowly and kneeling on the dirty ground in front of you and gently pulling the gag from your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut. You let out shuddering sobs as he reached around you to loosen your bindings, careful not to touch you more than he had to. He had experienced more than his fair share of trauma, and he knew how hard it could be to have someone be so close to you when you were going through it, so he made sure to lean back as soon as he had freed you.

However, you immediately proved his assumption wrong. You slumped down against him, your hands fisting his t-shirt as you sniffled and coughed. “Thank-thank you.” you stuttered as you tried to calm yourself. “Thank you so, so much.” Logan tentatively reached around you to pat your back,” You’re welcome, bub. Just doin’ what needed to be done.” As his hand tapped out a soothing beat against your back, you felt yourself begin to come down from the adrenaline rush of almost being kidnapped. You thought back to the man’s ugly words, sniffling again as you whispered, “He was going to kill me.”

Logan bristled immediately, his hand coming to a halt on your back. “Never would have let that happen, ya hear me. I’d have heard ya from a mile away,” he grunted and gently stood to his feet, pulling you up with him. 

“You live close?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Just down the street.”

He finally got a good look at you, and by God were you pretty. Even with bits of gravel leaving red divots in your cheeks and your eyes watery with tears, you were among the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He shook himself out of his daze as you took a deep breath and started walking shakily down the street. He tried to stay close but not too close as you walked, following behind you and scenting the air for any more threats. He sure as hell didn’t want to put you through anything else tonight.

The two of you walked in silence until you finally stopped, turning to face Logan as you stood outside the lobby door of your apartment complex. You managed a slight smile as you looked up at him, “I’m sorry that I’m not inviting you in,” you said. “It’s just that this evening has been hellish and I’d like to be alone.”

Logan shook his head, stepping back, “No, no, I understand, I’ll be-”. You cut him off,” Come tomorrow around noon. I’ll treat you to coffee for saving me.” You said this forcefully, almost demanding him to do as you said. It shocked Logan, and a small smile made it’s way onto his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” You thanked him one more time and headed into your building, leaving Logan standing outside, staring at the doors, more curious about you than he had been about anyone in a good long while. 

He did show up the next day, letting you take him to a quaint cafe and buy him a coffee, plain black, which you teased him for. You spent what felt like hours asking him questions and telling him about yourself, and it felt so right, so natural for both of you. Just being there with you was enough to take Logan’s mind off of the things that haunted him, solely focused on your beautiful face and animated expression.

When you realized you had been yapping at this near-stranger for almost 3 hours, you figured it was time to go, gathering your trash and standing up, blush heating up your cheeks. “Thank you again,” you said. “For saving me last night and for letting me talk your ear off today.” Logan flashed you a small smile, tilting his head slightly, “How about the same time tomorrow then? My treat.”

He watched your face light up and thought to himself that he’d go broke buying you coffee if you’d just keep looking at him that way. You quickly agreed, telling him that you’d definitely be there if he wouldn’t mind you being a little late, as work was a little further than your apartment. 

And so it began, the two of you had gotten closer and closer, until a random Tuesday when you blurted out that you wanted to be his girlfriend, if he’d have you. After teasing you about your blush, he of course agreed, claiming that you had been his girlfriend for weeks and you had just noticed. 

You brought him around to your place, where you cooked with him, watched all your favorite movies, and made love. He brought you around to his place, too. You met Wade and Al, which prompted the discussion about his mutation and history. You took everything in stride, reassuring Logan that his past changed nothing, that you were still his if he was still yours. He found a job at a local community college, taking training classes and becoming one of the campus security officers. He quit drinking so much, instead relying on your perfectly brewed cups of coffee to get him through the day, only having a drink or two after work if you were feeling like it.

Logan had never been happier. It was like you were made for him. He took care of you and in turn, you soothed his battered soul. No one had ever touched him with the tenderness that you did, no one ever made him feel as good as you. His existence had become pure bliss and he felt he finally had a purpose again. 

Your lives went on this way for a year and three months, until, just like with every other good thing he had ever had, he ruined it. 

Logan had come to your place before you got off work, aiming to surprise you with dinner after you had complained of a particularly hard week. He had just stepped through the door when he stopped cold, smelling that someone was here, or had been here recently. It wasn’t a scent he recognized, and he prowled through the apartment, checking every room thoroughly for an intruder. When he found no one, he made his way back to the kitchen, still uneasy.

It was there that he saw the papers on the counter, one neat little stack that would change his life. He moved the blank paper on top and a chill shot up his spine. It was a photo of you, taken when he was sure you thought no one was watching. It showed you through the window of your apartment, a soft smile on your face as you put on a coat over your work uniform. He could even make out the locket around your neck that he had given you for your anniversary. 

He moved on to the next pages, letters detailing your entire life, down to how much your water bill had been that month. 

It was the second to last page that sealed his fate, his name next to a summons, a set of coordinates he was to come to or they would kill you. He quickly thought to himself that he could protect you from anyone who tried to hurt you, then immediately realized that that wasn’t the kind of life he had wanted to give you, always on the run and afraid for your life. No, he would have to end things with you and go take care of this mess himself. It broke him to think of hurting you in the way that he would be required to. You were so resilient, so passionate, and stubborn when it came to him. He would have to destroy all of that to get you to leave him alone.

And so, he sat down in the living room and waited, tucking the papers into his jacket so you wouldn’t see them. Dread filled his bones, dragging him down into the couch and he thought he might not make it out of your apartment alive.

It wasn’t much later when he heard the front door open, your lively humming filling his ears and making him feel so much worse. He stayed seated as you made your way through the apartment, shedding your bag and coat as you went.

“Oh, Lo! You scared me!” you said as you saw him, your hand going to your chest in mock shock. “What are you doing here before me?”

Logan swallowed and spoke, trying not to let his voice shake,”We need to talk.”

Your smile dropped instantly and you moved toward him, balking when he held a hand up to stop you. “Lo, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

The look on your face was killing him, so he looked away as he spoke,”I want to break up.”

You sank down to your knees, squinting as you tried to get him to meet your eyes,” What? Lo, what happened? I promise we can figure it out together. You’ve just got to tell me what’s wro-”

“I cheated,” he said, cutting you off. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I want to be with her.” As soon as he said it, he knew if he could just convince you that he had really broken your trust that way, you’d be done with him.

You laughed slightly, awkwardly,” Logan, that’s not funny. You shouldn’t say things like that. Did I do something wrong or make you mad? I’m sorry for whatever I did, but you really shouldn’t lie.”

The look on your face was almost enough to break his resolve, but the need to protect you won out over his impending grief, “I’m not joking. I’m done with this relationship and I’m done with you. I've found something better.” He felt so wrong saying those words, knowing you feared that you weren’t good enough for him.

“Lo-Logan, please, we can work this out. I can do better, I can be better if you’ll just tell me what you need that I’m not giving you. Please.”

You reached out and grabbed his sleeve, your expression pleading. Logan felt his heart that you had mended shatter back into a million pieces, standing up and ripping his sleeve from your grasp.

“Are you stupid?” he asked, injecting as much venom into his voice as he could. “I said I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you stupid food, or your stupid gifts, or your pathetic love. I’m done. Do you hear me? Get it through your thick skull and stay away from me. I never want to see you again.” He turned away from you as he walked toward the door, stomping over his heart on the way.

He shook you off again as you grabbed his pant leg, still on your knees on the floor. Your voice warbled as you begged.  “Logan, baby, please,” you cried. “I can change I swear. I can be whatever you need. Just please don’t leave me. You’re my whole life. You make me so happy. I can’t-I can’t do it without you. Please.”

He risked one glance back at you, telling himself he needed to see your face one more time to remind himself why he was leaving. The sight of you on the floor, tears pouring down your cheeks, was killing him. He should have known that he couldn’t have you, that something would force him to leave, but he had foolishly hoped that he could spite whatever higher power kept hurting him by keeping you.

“Don’t come around,” he spat with as much vitriol as he could muster. “I won’t contact you, and you don’t contact me. Let’s make this as easy for you as possible. Just forget I ever existed.”

He didn’t look back again, didn’t watch you weep as you began to mourn what you thought would be forever, knowing you could never stop loving him, even now that he hated you.

Logan groaned, leaning forward against his knees as he came back to himself, his heart aching as painfully as it had when he had lived it the first time. After he had left you, he had gone to the coordinates on the papers he had taken from the apartment. They led to a rural town in Quebec, a place he couldn’t remember but felt like he had been before. There, he met up with a gang of mutant hunters who believed that somehow the universe’s Logan had come back from the dead. They tried to kill him again and threatened him with more violence toward you if he didn’t die willingly. Fat chance. Logan was a newly hollow man and had no qualms about tracking and slaughtering every one of the mutant hunters so that his kind could live in a semblance of peace. 

He stayed up north for a while, squatting in an abandoned cabin and letting his instincts rule him. That was better than having his every waking thought be filled with how he had left you broken on your living room floor, believing that he had betrayed you.

Eventually, he went back to Vancouver. Somehow, his job let him come back, and Wade didn’t pester him with questions (probably because Logan had almost bitten his head off after he asked the second one).

He had considered going to your apartment now that the threat against you was handled, but he knew that as soon as he found happiness with you he’d have to leave again. It was for your own good, really. He wanted you to be happy, and you couldn’t be happy if Logan was constantly walking out on you.

So he went to work and started drinking heavily again, which had led him to the inside of a holding cell, coming to terms with the fact that he would be there all night.

As soon has he had laid down on the hard metal bench he had been sat on for hours, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned his head and watched the cop approach, fully expecting him to say that you had hung up as soon as you heard what they were asking of you. Maybe you hadn’t even answered and Logan would get another call. 

What he didn’t expect, however, was for the cop to swing the cell door open and grunt at him, motioning for him to get up. Logan quirked up a brow as he stood, “Is it chow or somethin’?” he asked. The cop chuckled, “You sure you’d rather eat the slop they serve here than leave with the pretty little lady that came to get you? She signed your papers, so you’re good to go. And please, don’t come back.”

Logan almost stumbled as he processed what the cop had said, his mind racing as he sniffed the air. 

You.

You were here, close. Your scent was so strong. Logan’s heart clenched. He truly believed he would never smell you again, the sweet musk of your skin paired with your perfume. He slowly turned, and there you were.

You were soaking wet, your hair drenched and your mascara slightly smudged, a jean jacket falling from your shoulders. Something was wrong, though. You were hunched over yourself, almost cowering in his presence. Your hands shook as you pulled your jacket further up your arms. Logan would have thought nothing of it and assumed you were just cold if you scent hadn’t changed. He could smell fear on you, a fear he hadn’t come into contact with since the night you met.

You turned and started walking toward the jailhouse door, glancing over your shoulder to make sure Logan was following you. He caught up to you in a couple strides, staying slightly behind you to give you your space. All he wanted was to reach out and touch you, to hold you in his arms again, but he resisted. On one hand, he was immensely grateful that you had come to get him. On the other hand, he felt so guilty that you had come to save someone who had broken your heart.

The two of you walked out into the rain, Logan still following you. You led him to a small car, one that you hadn’t had when he left you. He didn’t move as you rounded the car to get in, assuming he’d walk back to Wade’s from there.

“Get in, Logan,” you said quietly. 

He took a deep breath as he opened the passenger seat and got in, leaning forward so as to get as little water on your seats as possible. “Thank you,” he said. “Really, you didn’t have to come get me. I don’t even know why I gave them your name. I’ve just had too much to drink and-”

It was only then that you turned to face him, your face illuminated softly in the hazy light from the lamps lining the street. He scanned your face, his blood running cold as he saw your black eye and split lip, your eyes bright red with shed tears. “Logan,” you said, cutting him off. You took a deep, shaky breath, “We need to talk.”

[honeylations]

KIM MINJEONG x FEM!READER

Prompt: your usually shy girlfriend wants to ask you to help her but your bad mood scares her off

Warnings/Notes: g!p Minjeong, subby Minjeong, riding, squirting, creampie, handjobs, blow jobs

“H-Hah I’m s-so close…N-Need to cum..” Minjeong growled, stroking her cock faster and shutting her eyes tight when she could feel herself going to the edge.

She wished you were there stroking her instead. Kissing her until she made a mess on your hand.

She needed you.

“Oh my god just fucking kill me, will you!?”

“Wah!” Poor Minjeong jumped from the couch at your sudden dramatic entrance and how the slamming of the door pretty much shook the entire apartment.

You were too pent up with your rant that you didn’t see your girlfriend rushing to pull up her boxers and pants with a red face.

“What’s with the manager being up my ass all the fucking time?! I’m only one person and it’s not my fault other people in my damn group don’t even make up one brain cell! NOT EVEN ONE!”

Minjeong stood in between the gap that separated the living room and kitchen, watching you slam your purse on the counter and pacing back and forth.

Profanity after profanity left your lips and Minjeong could see the steam coming from your ears. Your girlfriend fiddled with the sleeves of her hoodie and cleared her throat to try and get your attention.

“H-Hi babe”

“Ugh and I don’t even get paid extra for doing most of that shitty work! I might as well quit on the spot and see him cry!”

Minjeong sealed her lips and couldn’t ignore the pain in her dick, begging to be touched.

You finished your rant with a click of your tongue and saw your girlfriend standing there in fear. “Shit, I’m sorry Jeongie. I didn’t mean to scream around like that, I’m just really over my shift today”

“It’s okay, babe. Wanna sit down and talk about it?”

Aw your baby was such a sweetheart.

“No no, we can do that later. I think a nap will fix it all”

Minjeong smiled and took your hand to lead you to your shared bedroom. Being in a relationship for so long, you two always slept half naked. You being in your panties and Jeongie in her boxers.

Something about the skin to skin contact was just so comforting.

Only issue is, Minjeong’s boner was still rock hard and you managed to miss it even when you finally got under the covers with her.

But your girlfriend wouldn’t let you cuddle.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” You questioned, making her even more nervous.

“Uh it’s nothing, really..”

“Puppy, whatever it is, spill it right now” You practically ordered, eyebrow twitching.

Minjeong huffed. “ihaveabonerandineedyoutohelpmecum”

“Huh?”

Minjeong spun on her other side away from you and hugged the blanket over her head. “Haha nothing never mind! time to sleep goodnight I love you!”

Ripping the covers off your girlfriend, you made her lie on her back while you sat on her stomach. “Stop shying away pup. Tell me what you want”

“I’m gonna go get a drink of water—WAH!” Minjeong yelped at her wrists being pinned on each side of her head.

“Say it”

Your girlfriend’s pout almost made you fold but you clenched your jaw to not give in so easily.

“M-My dick is…uh very hard..”

“Uh huh…”

“A-And I n-need you to help me..cum”

You kissed her lips and smiled. “Now was that so hard?”

“Well yes! You stormed into the apartment like a mad woman!”

Now it was your turn to pout and huff. “I said I was sorry!”

Your girlfriend looked away. “You seemed really tired too so I didn’t want to bother—“

Kiss

Minjeong went redder at your sudden move. “H-Hey!”

“Don’t you ever believe you’d bother me, okay pup?”

“Yes ma’am”

“Good. Now let me suck your dick”

Minjeong couldn’t even answer since you already yanked her pants and boxers off to start playing with her dick. She watched you with parted lips, panting at the sight of your small hands working itself up and down.

“You alright there, puppy?” You smiled into her neck as her head hung back in pleasure.

“Better than alright”

You kissed her slowly and got your tongue exploring Minjeong’s mouth which she moaned into. She would pause for a moment to watch you jerk her off faster, losing the strength to keep her eyes open.

“C-Can you please suck me off, baby? Pretty please” she whimpered while looking so deep into your eyes, you were able to see Minjeong well up tears.

“Of course, my love”

You lowered your head down and quickly sucked at your girlfriend’s leaking tip before taking her entirely inside. Her hands found comfort on your head that began to move, being one of the lucky people to not have a gag reflex.

You were able to deepthroat her so easily without a problem and Minjeong was in heaven every single time.

“Fuck. Oh fuck, Y/n-ie”

The vibration from your hum triggered your girlfriend’s hips to thrust, shocking her immediately. “N-No I’m sorry! A-Are you okay?”

Keeping her cock deep inside your throat, you gently caressed her hands on your head and she took it as the green light to do as she pleases.

Minjeong relaxes more and resumed her hip movement, tucking your hair behind your ears as she hissed out profanities.

“So so fucking good, Y/n-ie. I want to cum in your mouth. Can I pretty please?”

Another approved hum from you, and your girlfriend reacted with a punched out groan at the same time she fills your mouth with cum.

“Hah…so good…”

You sat up with pride after swallowing your personal favourite liquid snack, cleaning your mouth with a simple swipe from the back of your hand. Minjeong was still catching her breath when you hovered above her lap and held her still hard length at your soaked folds.

Minjeong doesn’t even remember seeing you remove your clothes because now here you were bouncing on her cock with your plush tits in her view. She kissed the flower tattoos across your collarbones before resting her lips on your right nipple, sucking gently as her hands held your hips.

She could almost touch the tips of her fingers together from how small your waist was, her middle fingers resting on your back dimples perfectly.

“Hah fuck! My Minjeongie is so good for letting me use her cock hm?” You managed to word out despite constantly impaling yourself onto her thick and long cock.

Minjeong nodded cutely and almost choked on her saliva when your cunt seemed to tighten around her more. “U-Use me all you want, Y/n-ie”

“Fuck, feels so fucking good, Jeongie! I’m so close, help me cum baby”

Your girlfriend didn’t need to be told twice. She planted her feet on the bed and wrapped you in her arms like a bear before destroying your pussy with repeatedly hard thrusts.

The bed was constantly being driven into the wall from how fast your girlfriend was going but who were you to complain? Her cock was kissing your cervix deliciously and you immediately became mush in Minjeong’s hands, crying and moaning into her neck to the point you even started to drool.

“Oh god yes yes yes that’s it, puppy! Gonna make me cum all over your big hard cock hm?”

Minjeong painted your neck with hickies. “Mhm want to make Y/n-ie cum!”

“Fuck you’re so good to me pup. Give me all of your cum okay? Want you to fill me until my pussy aches. Can you do that?”

Minjeong’s eyes rolled back at your words. “Hah..I’m cumming!”

“That’s it, baby! Fuck I’m gonna squirt!” You bit onto your girlfriend’s broad shoulder and shook in her arms as you sprayed clear liquid all over her cock, pelvis and even the sheets.

Minjeong continued thrusting until she emptied her balls inside your drenched cunt. “Holy shit…”

You pulled your ass up slowly as Minjeong’s cock fell limp and watched thick globs of semen rain from your pussy, moaning at the sight.

After taking a quick taste of her cum, you took the covers that you pushed off earlier and hugged it over you and Minjeong’s bodies, comfortably laying on top of your girlfriend.

Minjeong brushed your hair and was about to ask how you were until she heard slight snoring. You were knocked out quick. Smiling at the sight, your girlfriend sweetly kissed your head and fell asleep with you, reminding herself to give you a good shower once you woke up.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Thirteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Backstreet’s back, ALRIGHT! Or rather, the Bat Boys™️ sort their issues out. Tathaln’s ball is officially announced. Azriel gives Kaeda a piece of his mind. Fin has no business being the sexy dad he is. Roza’s worried about reader.

Word count: 6.3k.

Warnings: None for this part.

All is silent, save for the rhythmic tick-tick-ticking of the clock. Cassian has always hated that clock. Finds it fucking annoying.

But it fills the vacant hole that exists in the absence of conversation. That hole is open and gaping between Cassian and Azriel. It’s not a table that sits between them — it’s a dangerous, yawning chasm.

Az stares at Cass, and Cass feels uncomfortable. He’s seen that cold gaze be levelled on people hundreds of times, thousands. To be on the receiving end feels a little like staring death in the face. He actually kind of wishes that Kaeda hadn’t been sent off to the dorms to sleep off her drunken state, because at least then he wouldn’t be the only one here, being subjected to…this.

So, he stands up, so abruptly that his chair almost topples over, and asks, “Want me to make you some tea?” The question feels stupid the second it leaves his lips.

Azriel’s eyes track him, drink in every uneasy shift and twitch. It’s not that Cass is afraid of Az — though anybody with half a brain cell would be — just that he’s not good in these situations. Situations where he has to be serious and…and listen.

“Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s cold voice stops him before he can move. “When, in our years of friendship, have you ever once made me tea?”

Cass peers over a broad shoulder and shrugs half-heartedly. “First time for everything…”

“Sit.”

The word brooks no room for argument. Cassian does, indeed, sit.

It’s then that Azriel heaves a deep sigh, his entire body taut as a bowstring, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Cass blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry—for what I did in the mead hall. I…had no right.”

“…But Y/N and I…”

“It’s not for me to dictate whether the two of you should or shouldn’t lie together. My…jealousy…is my problem, and mine alone.”

This is hard, Cassian realises — for Az to say this. For him to face it. And Cass can relate to that. Not everyone can be as silver-tongued as Rhysand. The Mother knows, Cass himself isn’t.

But he also isn’t an idiot. Some people may believe him to be, and that’s their mistake, because being proved wrong is usually the last thing they remember before waking up to a healer standing over them. He’s aware enough of his surroundings to know that something was brewing between Azriel and Y/N for years before Cass took her to bed…or kitchen counter, or…whatever.

“I need to be better,” Cassian offers, “at thinking before I act. Thinking about who I might hurt with my decisions. I’m working on it.”

Az studies his friend, and he feels no anger. If anything, it’s guilt that claws at the shadowsinger. He gave poor Cass a pretty good hiding over something that was, essentially, none of his business. And it could have all been different if Az simply wasn’t a coward, afraid of his feelings.

Something he needs to work on.

And perhaps he’s doing that as, rather than burying the topic, he asks, “What…what actually happened? How did you end up sleeping together? I mean…do you have feelings—”

“No.” Cassian cuts him off, blinking. “Gods, no. I love Y/N, you know that. But not romantically. I just…I felt so damn useless that night, Az. If you’d seen the way Y/N was…the self-loathing. I didn’t know how to help.”

Immediately, Azriel’s brow pinches. “Self-loathing?”

“Because of what her father did to her. When we were flying to Fenlaros, and she was the only one being carried in…”

Azriel slumps back in his chair, feeling like a godsdamned idiot.

He blinks forward and wonders what the fuck the point is in being born a shadowsinger when he obviously can’t read situations very well. Within seconds, it’s clicking into place.

“And then you started that fight with that Fenlarion male,” Cass continued. “and Kaeda just declared that it was her you were fighting over…and everyone has a limit, you know? I think that night was just all too much for Y/N. And she was so upset, so downtrodden…talking about how she hated herself. And I’m not good with words like Rhys is, and I’m not as observant as you are, but I am good at physical touch. Physical comfort. And it seemed like the only thing I could offer in that moment to take that bleakness away from her. But I should have thought about how you would feel—”

“I’m glad you were there for her.” Azriel blurts, realising, with every word, how much he means them. “I wasn’t. I failed her that night.”

“I really didn’t know that the two of you had been exploring things. If I did, I wouldn’t have done it. I mean…that fight you started wasn’t over Kaeda at all, was it?”

Az’s eyes shutter. And it goes against every natural instinct of his to strip himself bare and just…be honest. Every steel wall he’s ever built up is screeching in its effort to stand strong and not be caved in. And those walls were necessary in a life of darkness and hate…but that life is long gone.

What good do those walls do him in an environment where he has love, has people who genuinely care for him? As much as he wants to run and hide from his feelings as he always has…he thinks that the key to happiness may be on the other side of those walls. That a new bravery lays in letting some light filter through the cracks and warm a guarded heart.

His voice is quiet, laced with a self-preserving fear, as he admits, “No. It was not.”

Before Cassian can offer an encouraging response, the front door is swinging open, and Rhysand is kicking snow from his boots and trudging in. Azriel tenses like a threatened animal — but there is no threat here. Only safety, only love. He forces his shoulders to relax.

The violet-eyed male takes in the sight before him. Goes still as he looks between his two friends. “Please tell me this is a positive conversation.”

Cassian inclines his head. “Work in progress. Why don’t you make some tea?”

“Fuck you, make your own tea—”

“Make me some tea—”

“Kiss my ass, dickhole—”

“I’m in love with Y/N.” Azriel blurts.

It promptly shuts the other two males up.

They turn away from their bickering to look at the shadowsinger. He looks…shocked, by his own confession.

“I’m in love with her,” he breathes.

Cass and Rhys share a glance, and then Rhys is slowly approaching the table, carefully taking a seat like he doesn’t want to startle Azriel out of the moment.

“We know, Az.” Rhys tells him gently. “I mean…I think we always suspected…”

“I started that fight in Fenlaros because I was jealous of that damn male having his hands all over her. Saying the things he was saying. It was nothing to do with Kaeda.”

“You should really tell her — Y/N, I mean. Tell her how you feel.”

Azriel’s eyes trace a mark in the table as he admits, “Kind of already have. When she came to speak to me earlier today.”

Another glance is shared between Cassian and Rhys. And both are equally surprised — figure they would have heard something about it. Unless…unless it hadn’t gone down well.

And now that Rhys thinks about it, Y/N had been tense whilst he’d flown her back to Velaris. Taut in his arms and barely uttering a few words. Perhaps this was why.

“Did she…not take it well?” Rhys hedges. He wants to be delicate, not go blasting in at full-force. So rarely do they get to see such a vulnerable side to Az.

Azriel shakes his head once. “It’s not that, it’s…” He clears his throat. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?” Cass pushes, and Rhys shoots him a warning glance.

But Azriel doesn’t balk from it, doesn’t slink back in his seat. Instead, he lifts his head, and he levels his friends with a desperate look.

“There’s more that I haven’t told you.” He says.

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A short while later, Az thinks that maybe talking through his feelings is a good thing. Just saying the words has a little bit of weight easing from his chest, his shoulders.

But Cass and Rhys aren’t saying anything at all. Cass and Rhys are staring at him like he has two damn heads.

And then Cassian sits up, barking, “Tathaln Baralas wants what?”

“Exactly what I told you.” Azriel shakes his head. “He wants me to move to Fenlaros and work alongside him. Has some sort of backing from the High Lord, though I’m not sure how much. In a nutshell, Kaeda’s interest in me has always been driven by her father.”

“I knew that little wasp was up to something. You know she tried to kiss me tonight?”

Az shrugs. Really could not give a fuck. “I figured something had happened from the look on your face.”

“I never liked her. Nor her father—”

“Her father,” Rhys cuts in, “walks a very fine line in presuming to exceed in his role as a Camp Lord. His ego and title are going to his head a little, it would seem, if he believes he has the authority to scheme such ideas.”

“It’s a terrible idea.” Cass says. Neither of the other two noticed him get up, but he’s returning to his seat, speaking around a mouthful of food. “All Illyrians in one big camp? They’ll kill each other.”

Rhys is inclined to agree. But he turns a neutral — maybe gentle — expression on Az and asks him, “Do you want to go to Fenlaros?”

It would kill him if Az said yes. Would kill Cass, too. These recent days of being torn apart by tension has been bad enough. Being in different camps and not seeing each other is an almost unbearable thought.

But they would find a way to live with it, if Az decided he wanted to go. They’d find a way to be okay with it.

Such thick silence fills the room that the thudding of all three of their hearts is audible.

But then Azriel replies quietly, “No.”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian bother to hide their relief.

“I told Kaeda I would think about it.” Azriel goes on. “And I told Y/N that I’d promised Kaeda that. But I don’t think I’ve ever really intended to think about it — or needed to. I think…I think I was just using it to bide my time. To create space for myself and…avoid everything else.”

“By everything else,” Cassian chomps into a loaf of bread, “do you mean facing your feelings for Y/N?”

Azriel can’t deny it. He nods. “It’s not an easy thing to face…to be vulnerable. Hiding behind this Fenlaros situation has just been easier. Cowardly, yes, but…easier.”

“You can’t keep pushing her away, though, Az.” Rhys says. “You can’t let her think that you might be leaving if you have no intention of doing so.”

The shadowsinger’s eyes flutter shut, thick, dark lashes grazing his cheekbones. “Do you think I’ve fucked it beyond repair?”

“No.” Cassian offers. “But you will, if you don’t start handling this the right way. Tell Kaeda and Tathaln to fuck off. Tell Y/N you’re in love with her and want to see her naked—”

“Watch it.” Azriel warns quietly, but Cass continues, unperturbed.

“Just start letting more people in. And I’ll stop letting so many people in, because it gets me into trouble. I think…I think we all need to grow up a little. Do better.”

Rhysand’s brow pinches. “What do you mean, we all do? I’ve done nothing other than put my own pleasure aside to advise you idiots. What could I possibly need to do better?”

Cassian shrugs. “That haircut, for one. It’s annoying.”

“And when was the last time your hair saw a comb, Cassian?”

“When was the last time you were generous and made tea for your good, long-suffering friend?”

“So this is about the tea.”

“Of course it’s about the tea, jackass. Zakai clearly isn’t with you for your observational skills…”

Azriel sits back, allowing their bickering to become background noise. There’s a warmth to the sight, the sound, that makes him realise he never again wants a repeat of this situation — of being apart from his friends for days, tension thick between them.

He loves Rhys and Cassian. Loves them dearly.

Another reason why he could never, ever turn his back on this place.

And he finds himself actually being…grateful…that Cass was there for Y/N that night. That she didn’t have to suffer her self-loathing alone.

There’s still a lot to get through, of course. Daunting emotions and truths to face head-on. But as he watches the two loveable idiots in front of him take verbal swipes at each other, it’s the first time in a while that he wonders if things might actually be okay.

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The news is announced the next day, when Lord Devlon gathers a rather colourful bunch of his soldiers in the mead hall and stands at the front, silencing them all with a single shout. Rhys, Cassian and Azriel stand against the far back wall, their arms folded over their chests.

Gods, they hope it’s not another training exercise. Not so soon. Az has things he wants to resolve before he saunters off and possibly gets himself killed.

But Devlon reads the roll of parchment in his hands, a frown contorting his features. He looks up, his eyes very deliberately finding Rhysand as he announces to the room, “A message from the High Lord.”

And every other gaze is then swivelling to turn on Rhys, too. There’s something accusatory about it, like they’re assuming he’s privy to whatever it is their asses have been dragged out of bed to hear.

He isn’t. He wants to be in bed, too.

“Looks like you pricks better get your dancing shoes ready.” Devlon raises his eyebrows. “The High Lord is calling for a ball. Legions from all camps invited.”

This — this is exciting news for the brutish males who could fill the mead hall with their egos alone. Not because they have a particular affinity for dancing, but because amongst themselves, they’re already murmuring about which particular camps they dislike for some reason or other, and what they plan to do about it. So many bloodthirsty streaks are painted in those males’ eyes, stamping out the tiredness that lay there only moments before.

Nothing pricks an Illyrian male’s ears up quite like the prospect of a fight.

“The legions from each camp have been carefully selected, and you lucky fuckers will be representing Windhaven.” The Camp Lord continues, disdain dripping from his voice. He wants his men out there training in the cold, not prancing around a dance floor. “Plus-ones are allowed, also, so it might be time to splash out on a pretty gown for whoever is warming your bed these days. The ball is to be held on Starfall, at a neutral venue of the High Lord’s choosing, and I expect you all to make Windhaven — and me — look good. Any questions?”

“Do we actually have to dance?” One male asks, while another one pipes up with, “Will those pricks from Camp Steelshore be there?”

Rhys shuts out the litany of battling voices as he turns a concerned look on Az and Cass. Their expressions mirror his own. Something about this feels…off.

So while he looks like he’s merely lounging against the wall, hands in his pockets, he sends his inner claws spearing straight for Devlon’s mind. He doesn’t give away what he’s doing, not even slightly, as he roots around in the Camp Lord’s thoughts and grabs for his glimpse of the letter. Rhys scans it, drops the thought, and he’s out of Devlon’s mind and straightening himself up before the male can so much as flinch.

“Let’s go.” He tells his friends, and not Devlon nor the males around them seem to care as Azriel and Cassian follow him, the formidable trio traipsing out into the thawing snow, regardless of whether the meeting is over or not.

They’re halfway back to the house, safely out of earshot, when Cassian finally barks, “A ball? What the fuck?”

“At the request of Tathaln Baralas.” Rhys reveals. “That’s what the letter said. He took the idea to my father, and the asshole is humouring him. This has all got to be part of Tathaln’s plan.”

Cassian scowls and spits his disdain at the ground. “Someone needs to drive a poison arrow through that prick’s heart already. I don’t like this one bit.”

“It’s my father’s intentions I’m worried about.” Rhys shakes his head. “Tathaln only has the power that my father gives him. One word from him and this idea could be snuffed out and never mentioned again. And I expected that to be the case. Arrogant as fuck he may be, but my father isn’t stupid. He’ll know what a terrible idea this is, and I would have predicted that he’d laugh in Tathaln’s face for mentioning it. I didn’t think he’d actually entertain it…which means—”

“There’s something in it for him.” Azriel finishes.

Rhysand nods. “Every single move and choice my father makes is, ultimately, for his own gain. He would never agree to anything if he weren’t getting something out of it himself. Whatever Tathaln has proposed to him…my father will be using it for his own gain.”

Cassian opens the door to the cottage and strides in, forgetting — as always — to kick the snow from his boots. “What, though?” He asks. “What could Tathaln have that your father could want?”

Rhys shrugs and waves a hand, magic promptly mopping up the wet, melting trail left in Cassian’s wake. “That, I don’t know.”

“So what do we do?” Az watches him closely, trying to read the thoughts on the male’s face. His shadows reach out to him, too. “Are you going to talk to your father? Make him see how ridiculous this idea is?”

“No,” Rhys shakes his head. “There would be no point. I could lay a whole host of truths out to my father, and he’d go against them on ego alone. He must want something badly enough for him to be throwing money into it. This ball won’t be cheap.”

“And it won’t be a ball, either.” Cassian cocks an eyebrow. Roots through the kitchen cupboards for food. “Blood will be spilled. And you can’t dance on blood. I’ve tried. Too slippy.”

Rhys chooses to ignore that little scrap of information. Mostly because he doesn’t doubt it for a second. “I don’t want us to pre-empt anything.” He says. “If I go straight to my father with concerns about any of this, it could blow up in our faces, instead. For the time being, I think we should just…go along with it. Watch it play out, and see what happens. My father is unpredictable. Even I can’t tell you what goes on in his head.”

“I can speak with Kaeda.” Az clears his throat. “See if she’ll tell me anything.”

“You have fun with that.” Cassian mumbles, biting into something. “I’d sooner chop my balls off and nail them to the front door.”

“Such a way with words. It’s no wonder, really, that females fall at your feet.”

Cass shoots him a wicked grin. And this…this is nice. What they’ve both missed. This is normal.

“I’ll keep an eye and ear out for anything.” Rhys drags them back to the subject at hand. “But my father’s good at not letting anyone know things until he wants them to know them. And he’s clearly serious about this.”

Cassian swallows. Takes another bite. “And until then? Until we know what he’s even serious about?”

Violet eyes sparkle with mischief, and one side of Rhysand’s lips tips up. “Until then, boys,” he says, “you’d better practice your dancing.”

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Azriel really hopes she’s not there, but sure enough, when he enters his room at the dorms, Kaeda is sitting up in his bed.

It gives him a little bit of satisfaction to see her look…less than perfect, for once. Her hair is knotted, and even the vibrancy of the red shade seems a little dulled. Her skin is sallow, her eyes bleary. He wonders if she’s as miserable as she currently looks.

She beholds him with a strangely coy look, like she’s waiting for him to rip into her. But if she really knew the shadowsinger, she’d know that that is not his style. He does not shout. He rarely fights physically. His danger lies in his quiet voice and icy stare.

Kaeda’s tired eyes fall to the blanket pooled around her waist, and she murmurs, “You’re angry with me.” Her throat bobs with a swallow. “I understand. But I appreciate you putting me to sleep in here when I was in a vulnerable state.”

“I would have done it for anyone.” Az presses his back against the wall, folding his arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The female merely bows her head. Doesn’t bother to argue.

“I have a question.” Azriel then says. “I’d like an answer.”

“I know that Cassian has probably told you about last night, and all I can say is I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I was drunk and upset and I—”

“I don’t care about that.” He really doesn’t, and it shows on his face. “I want to know what your father is playing at by organising an Illyrian ball. I don’t believe for a second that the gesture is an innocent one.”

She glances down again, but Azriel doesn’t buy the coy act for one moment.

“Kaeda.” His voice is laced with warning. “Tell me.”

“It’s just…a ball. A ball to have all camps in one place, so he can get a good look at what each one has to offer. It’s nothing sinister.”

“So, a chance for him to scout more supporters for his cause.”

“He’s trying to make a change, Azriel. A good one—”

“He’s interfering with lives. Tearing families apart.”

“Good results require difficult choices.” Her voice hardens.

The shadowsinger bites out a cold, brusque laugh, turning away from her. “Mother above, he has you trained well.”

There’s movement behind him. Kaeda is kicking the sheets away and pushing to her feet. And she’s…seething.

“You would laugh in the face of somebody trying to make a positive change?” She snaps. “What reason have you to be so arrogant? At least my father is trying to make a difference. All you’re doing is clinging to a miserable life in a miserable place where you don’t even have a family or home of your own—”

“Except that I do.” Azriel rounds on her so quickly that his wing knocks a fragrance bottle off a shelf. “I may not have your riches, and that’s fine, because I have a group of people — a family I made — who love me enough to care whether or not I come home at night. Who want nothing less for me than happiness and contentedness, and not just to use me as a pawn in some convoluted plan that will do more harm than good. I have reason to be in Windhaven, whether it’s miserable or not. I have love here. So much of it. And there’s nothing — not a damn thing — that would make me turn my back on it.”

Something in his impassioned speech clearly hits a nerve with Kaeda. She goes still.

And she looks…small, despite being fairly tall. She looks…insignificant.

Her eyes fill with tears. One spills over and rolls down her cheek as she whispers, “Please, Azriel.”

Azriel says nothing. Stares at her.

“Please.” She takes a step closer. “I’m not above begging. I…” Her voice cracks. “I need this. I need you to say yes—”

“Your father,” he interrupts quietly, “is playing a very dangerous game. And he’s using you to do it.”

“You don’t understand. I…if I can’t give him what he wants, I’m finished. I’ll have no home to go to, nobody on my side.”

“You already have nobody on your side. You’re his daughter and he’s dangling your livelihood over your head and ready to snatch it away if he doesn’t get what he wants. You’re already finished.”

“Please.” She says again. Tears are streaming, now, and she tries fruitlessly to wipe them away. “Please, just…if this is about Y/N—”

“Do not,” he grits out, “bring her into this.”

“She’s already in this. I know that you want her and not me…that you always have…and that’s fine. Bring her to Fenlaros with you, if you must. I’m sure my father could be persuaded on that. But just…please—”

“You’re not listening, Kaeda. This isn’t just about my family. It’s about all the other families that would be separated, ripped apart by your father’s scheming. He’s power hungry. This is just the beginning of a whole host of self-serving plans that will bring him glory — do not doubt that for a second. People like him are never satisfied, and he needs to be stopped. Not encouraged.”

“You’re wrong.” Her voice is so weak, Az isn’t convinced she believes her own words. “He just wants a better future for Illyria—”

“No.” Az levels her with a pointed look. “He wants a better future for himself. I will not play a part in that, and neither will my loved ones.”

“Azriel, please—”

“I will attend your father’s ball, just as Lord Devlon has ordered me to do.” He breezes to the door, not caring that this is his room he’s leaving her behind in. He stops, palm poised on the handle. “But as for delivering a male straight into your father’s den? You better start trying that seduction on somebody else. Because there is nothing that would make me follow you into that camp.”

He leaves without a glance back. And while it sits uncomfortably inside him that he made a female cry…he can’t help feeling like he’s finally doing the right thing.

About time, too.

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This — this is the last thing you ever would have expected of coming to Velaris.

The tonic you’d needed was an extended amount of girl time with Roza. And yet here you are…in the High Lord’s arms.

“This is useless.” You murmur, aware of every single place your body brushes against his. One of his hands is a firm weight on the small of your back, the other clasping yours. “I’m not a natural dancer. Fuck, I’ve never even been to a dance.”

Fin’s mouth tips up at the corners. “There’s that filthy mouth.” His hand lets go of yours, opting to move up to the cut of your jaw, where he allows his thumb to rest on your lower lip. “You,” the pad of it swipes slowly over your mouth, “are going to be exquisite.”

You square your shoulders. Cock a challenging eyebrow. “Is that genuine encouragement, High Lord? Or an order?”

A deep chuckle. Slowly — reluctantly —he lets his hand drop. “Both.”

Flirting with him like this, playing the part of the High Lord’s pet, is a necessary evil. You’re just so surprisingly good at it that you can’t discern whether it’s an affront to him, or to Roza. Or both.

But you can’t deny that you’ve been flattered by his undivided attention this past week. And perhaps he’s been flattered by yours, too.

Mother bless Roza for her undying support. The best you can do for her, right now, is to keep her in the loop. She merely tells you to be careful.

But a week — a week of cosying up to Fin, of breaking through his exterior and appealing yourself to him. You humour him with these dance lessons, with the preposterously expensive shopping trips and dinners, the late night fireside conversations. Anything, everything, to get him to tell you what truth lies behind the excited glint in his eyes whenever he speaks of the ball. To tell you what it is he’s planning.

Perhaps you’re not appealing enough. You are no more aware than anyone else. And that’s really fucking frustrating.

At least your hard work has kept you from thinking about Azriel every five minutes.

Your breath still heaving from your dance efforts, you make your way over to the table of refreshments by the huge, arcing windows that overlook the city. The High Lord’s palace, you have to admit, is a place you might miss once you’re back in Windhaven. You’ve never been one for luxury, never had more than a few things to your name — but the views are what makes you feel like the richest person in all of Prythian. These are not the cold, barren views of your camp, but a place of such vibrancy, it sometimes makes you want to cry. It’s like the setting of a storybook, laid out right before you.

From behind, slow, graceful footsteps sweep across the wooden floor. Fin comes to a stop so closely behind you that his body heat encases you.

Fingertips make contact with your skin, the back of your neck. The sleeveless tunic you wore for your practice now feels like nothing more than a paper towel.

“You have such beautiful skin.” Fin says roughly, and you tense. So far, this week, he’s kept a respectful distance away. Hasn’t put you in any awkward positions.

You pivot under his touch, pressing your back up against the table enough that his hand drops. It’s not entirely for show as you smile apologetically and tell him, “Sorry — scars.”

Such genuine, slicing rage fills his face. The intensity of it almost knocks you breathless.

“I will kill him.” He says the words like a lover’s promise. “With my bare hands, I will kill him for taking your wings.”

He had the power to stop the practice before you were even born. He is very old — over nine-hundred-years — and very powerful. What he says, goes.

And yet…he means it. You can see it. And perhaps you have seen so much unkindness, such brutality, that little scraps of ferocity, of passion, in your defence, make you a blinded fool.

But a part of him — however small — actually cares about you. Enough to mark your abuser for death.

But your father’s blood will soak your hands, and yours only.

You smile up at him, wickedly, cunningly, prettily. “No, you won’t.” You reply. “Because I will do it first.”

And the fury in his stare simmers immediately to a different sort of heat. Your words are a flirtation to him — a cut of raw meat dangled above a hungry, waiting animal. They make him feel something.

“Such a murderous little thing.” His soft laugh caresses your skin. He sounds pleased — impressed. “I like that. I like it a lot.”

“I would hope so. I am to be your special guest at the ball, after all.” A small voice in your head wants to coax him; tell me what you’re planning, tell me what to expect.

But, as always, he steers the conversation away, a vague, mysterious smile on his face. “Do you like it here in Velaris, my murderess?”

“I do, very much so.”

“I can’t help pondering how much you would thrive here. You were made for so much more than Windhaven. Illyria, even.”

A soft, coy smile — one that comes from deep within that part of you that wants the praise, the compliments — that needs them. “Many would disagree with you.”

“Show them to me, and I will twist their minds until they see in you what I do.”

“And what is it you see in me?” A disingenuous little liar. A good actress. A traitor.

Fin leans down, and for one startling, heart-stopping, stomach-lurching moment, you think his mouth might meet yours.

But his lips brush over your cheek in a tender, barely-there caress. He presses a kiss to the skin before retracting. Straightening himself out. The way he slides his hands into his pockets with casual arrogance reminds you so much of Rhys that you miss your friend instantaneously.

“I see beauty that is unappreciated, and intelligence that is underestimated.” Fin says. “And I see a female that I wouldn’t mind having at my side.” His eyes trace you from head to toe. “I wouldn’t mind it at all.”

No response sits on your tongue. You think you might be too surprised by the genuine praise. The fact that the High Lord actually feels some level of affection towards you.

Maybe you’re not so bad at these games.

He turns without waiting for your response, and only when he’s at the door does he make eye contact with you over his shoulder.

“Keep practicing the dancing, my murderess.” He says. “We’ll make a fine pair at that ball.”

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If Roza weren’t so worried, she might laugh at the three expressions of outrage that meet her when she strolls into the cottage.

Rhysand jumps up immediately and demands, “Did you fly here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

Roza merely rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her. “Don’t get your undergarments in a bunch, Rhysand. I’m pregnant — not on my death bed. The babe is fine.”

Her son does not look convinced. Neither do Azriel or Cassian. As if they’re, like, experts on pregnancy, or something.

“What are you doing here, mother?” Rhys stalks straight to the fire and stokes it. Then straight over to the kitchen to make a hot drink. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Mostly.” Roza pauses. “I hope.”

Azriel sits up at that. “Is Y/N alright?”

“She’s fine.” If playing games with the High Lord of the Night Court can be considered fine. Roza eases herself into a seat, and Cassian is promptly propping cushions behind her back. “I want to talk to you about the ball.”

Cass’s lips turn up into a half-smile. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, Roz. Promise.”

“You’d better be. Because I want all three of you looking out for Y/N at that ball, do you hear me?”

The command is a firm one, and yet the three males don’t straighten up at her matriarchal tone like they usually do. Instead, they share a puzzled glance, frowns pinching their features.

“It’s a ball for Illyrian soldiers and their guests of choice.” Rhys explains, carrying a steaming mug over to her. “None of us are bringing her along. Not to that.”

“You may not be.” Roza slides a protective hand over her bump. “But your father is.”

All three males go so preternaturally still, it’s almost frightening.

Rhys bites out, quietly, “What?”

“Your father is taking Y/N to the ball as his special guest. He’s bought her a gown, taught her to dance — he’s serious about this.”

“He can’t.” The shadowsinger’s face is like rolling thunder. “He cannot take her there. All those males—”

“That’s precisely why I’m not attending. He needs someone in my place, and he’s taking Y/N.”

“He can choose someone else.” Azriel’s clipped tone, his panic, is not at all personal to Roza. Usually, he would never speak to her in such a way, but—

But this is Y/N they’re talking about. Y/N in the High Lord’s hands, at a ball with so many Illyrian males, too many Illyrian males.

“Watch your tone, Azriel.” Rhys warns, but Roza is holding up a hand. Because she gets it — the panic.

“I’ve tried telling him to take somebody, anybody, else.” She says. “He’s insistent — absolutely adamant that he wants Y/N.”

“But why?” Cassian frowns.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if his kindness to her is genuine or not.” She shakes her head, absentmindedly stroking her bump. “All I know is that he’s taking Y/N to that ball, and I’m not going to be there. You know, Rhysand, that there is no changing your father’s mind once it’s set. I need the three of you to look out for her.”

Because Y/N is just as much a daughter to Roza as the little girl growing in her belly. They know that.

Rhys inclines his head, reaching out to place a hand over Roza’s. “We will, mother.” He promises. “Whatever game he’s playing…we’ll look after Y/N.”

Roza’s eyes dart to Azriel, to Cassian. “Do you promise?”

“We promise.” Cassian, unfazed as always, grins. “You just focus on the little one, Roz.”

Azriel’s face is grave, but he nods once. “We won’t let her out of our sight.”

Y/N is in good hands with them, Roza knows. She may even be in good hands with Fin, depending on what his true intentions are. Perhaps being at the High Lord’s side is the safest place she can be. It’s an unknown.

But one thing Azriel does know, as he wishes and wishes for this damn ball to just be over already, is that he’s wracked with guilt.

He can’t help feeling like it’s his fault — that his actions, his behaviour, chased Y/N right into a viper’s den.

That he’ll stop at nothing to get her out of it.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

Hey so Wonu overstimulating you, and Mingyu watching because he wants to know why you're so loud, and he needs proof.

tw: dom!wonwoo, sub!reader (fem), voyeur!mingyu, male masturbation, use of sex toys, praise, squirting, overstimulation, possessiveness - minors dni.

You don't know if you want to crawl into a hole and disappear from the face of earth or devote a statue for your boyfriend's sake. Maybe you don't even have the necessary functional brain cells at the moment to actually decide.

All you know is that you want Wonwoo to throw away that damn magic wand and rearrange your guts in front of his hot best friend.

"I almost feel sorry for her, she hasn't stopped moaning ever since you started." Mingyu grunts as he watches your legs shake again, his own hand occupied on his thick cock.

"You were the one who wanted to know why she's so loud." Wonwoo refreshes his friend's memory and moves the wand closer to your entrance.

"Wish I was the reason she's so damn loud." Mingyu throws his head back on the chair, his fingers spreading his precum over his shaft.

"One more word about this and I'm kicking you out." The older man grits his teeth and presses the toy closer on your pussy.

"F-Fuck, Won- I'm gonna cum!" You cry out and squirt on the fabric of your panties, some of your juices dripping on your boyfriend's lap.

"Loud and messy." Mingyu hisses while rubbing the tip of his cock.

"And mine. Do not forget that, Gyu." Wonwoo looks directly at the other man, his free hand rubbing your inner thigh.

"W-Wonu-" You sob between moans, your hands holding his wrists in a futile attempt to stop him. "I c-can't take it anymore."

"Don't be like that, sweetheart." He presses a kiss on your cheek and lets his hand roam over your white now turned translucent panties, gathering some of your cum with his fingers. "I know your pussy can give me one more, hm? One more and I'll give you anything you want."

"P-Promise?"

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

You part your legs again and let him put the wand directly over your clit and he turns it on the max setting, keeping it there until your legs start shaking again.

The cotton barrier separating the toy from your clit adds on the pleasure, the fabric clinging on your pussy like second skin and showcasing every ridge and curve of it.

"God, I can see her clenching even with her panties on." Mingyu moans and speeds up his fist, bringing himself closer to his climax.

"Are you close, sweetheart? Are you gonna cum with pretty boy over there?" Wonwoo asks you with a sickeningly sweet voice and you nod furiously.

"Words, darling."

"Fuck, I'm cumming, Won, I'm gonna squirt!" You yell and arch your back off his chest, squirting harder this time, toes curling and nails digging on his thighs.

Your senses are overwhelmed from the intensity of your climax, completely missing the ropes of cum splattering on Mingyu's abdomen, adding white streaks on the golden of his skin.

Wonwoo lets out a low grunt of satisfaction when you rest on his body, nearly passing out from exhaustion. He turns off the toy, softly petting your hair.

He gently lifts you in his arms, trying his best to carry you to the bathroom for a thorough cleanup.

"Hey, what about me!?" Mingyu whines breathlessly.

"What about you?" Wonwoo asks nonchalantly.

"Don't I get a cleanup sesh?"

"You have legs that can carry you to the bathroom." The older man deadpans and Mingyu huffs dramatically, looking down on the mess he made all over his torso.

"Motherfucker."

[zepskies]

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️ 

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.” 

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.  

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care. 

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

(Lovelies from my "Everything" tag list. If you want to be tagged on Priestly stuff specifically, check out the Tag List link in my bio.)

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

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[bitethedustfools]

SAGAU story idea

Apologies for the wrong lore or information. I don't play it, and I write it based on memories.

In which you, the player, are heavily associated with Celestia (friends? boss and secretary? etc.). You and the (bunch of gods in) Celestia have looked over this world forever. You are close, and you would bicker with them once in a while, but there are ranks between you and them.

With that being said, you know with certainty that Celestia has done many unforgivable things. No, you may be a part of them, but you refused to be one of them.

What you have seen in the game is worse, but not as bad as what Celestia came up with. Why doesn't it show? Well, that's because you interfere and reason with Celestia to tone down their ruthlessness.

Celestia is like the embodiment of a childish king who took the throne and thinks they can do anything, and you are like the minister who's trying to make the situation less worse.

The day you became a very responsible person is when the Archon war began. It was at this point where you realized you questioned why did you became friends with them.

For safety's sake and to improve the Celestia image (you failed this part hard), you didn't use any names but preferred to be seen and called as Celestia, as disgusting as it is.

When Khaenriah did something that absolutely got on Celestia's nerve, they began to plan the most horrible plan of all. That plan was to wipe out everything and restart. A failure, they said, and you, as the most reasonable of all, decided to smack some brain cells into them.

And thus, Khaenriah got destroyed, and the people turned into monsters and so on. Some few gods also lost their lives, and other troubling things began to pop up. But hey, you prevented the destruction of the entire world, and that's something.

The Electro Archon and her sibling would cease to exist, but you tweak the string of fate, and only one of them died. Sure, the nation will be a bit tense in the future because of the newly made Archon, but don't worry, you've got a plan for this, but that's for later.

The Geo Archon also lost someone just as planned otherwise. If both survived, something even more horrible would greet them if they stayed there, and you need certain people in certain areas to keep the plan in motion, so the God of Dust has to go.

Venti wasn't supposed to be an Anemo Archon, but he did because you planned it! if the rebels, the God of Storm and the God of North Wind keep doing that, everyone will be fcked. Game over. You placed the pieces carefully, and that's how Venti's background came to be.

Dendro Archon sacrificed herself to save her people from the forbidden knowledge that is spreading and same goes for her friends. This is the acceptable route because, in the beginning, Celestia wanted them to be straight up deceased with no disease. But you are very good at negotiating, and this is how it came to be.

For creating a new species of human, the Hydro Archon were prisoned, assumed control again and then died. She get replaced but that doesn't mean the new species of human would get spared from the sin. Celestia is just that sadistic and cruel. You were a bit late to the game, but you got a plan! You knew how to avert killing thousands of people. Unfortunately, at the cost of a certain new Archon's life. Again. Damn.

You have done so many things, all for the greater good. Celestia is despicable for wanting to destroy everything, but no doubt you are more despicable after all; you planned every tragedy just so Celestia don't act on their whim.

You could have stopped Celestia, but you are the smart one. You deduced that if you continue to disobey and disregard their orders and opinions, Celestia would have ditched you and destroyed everything. You love this world enough you couldn't bear to see it get destroyed.

Obviously, no one knows this. No one knows you planned the most intricate plan with the most complicated results, but when they do, it's mostly half true. No doubt that some had assumed you are the cause of the tragedy, which isn't wrong, but compared to the original order by Celestia, this is by far, less tragic.

What you failed to see is that the unknown god has dragged a certain pair of twins into this mess, and now you have to think even harder and smarter on how they are going to affect Teyvat and the future to come.

This is your previous life. Your recent life was a normal person and had a hobby for gaming. Your new life started when you woke up in Genshin Impact.

The new you doesn't know the past you, but you know the story unfolding before your eyes when you played the game as the traveler.

How does the story go when you begin your journey?

-

I know things don't line up, but then again, it's just an idea, and I'm tired.

[star-girl69]

just thinking about mama y/n spoiling her children ack cooking their favorite food, spending time with them, and making sure theyre all loved and seen 🥹

My Heart Never Knows

i’m just gonna use this ask for more of these headacannons and also jake and neytiri’s reaction

warnings: swearing

first of all

jake and neytiri are just so happy

like they knew that their kids liked you but they were terrified that wouldn’t transfer over and they wouldn’t like you as their mother

but other than that they’re just so happy

like waking up in the mornings to see tuk had a nightmare and is just sleeping soundly on your chest

tuk calling for you when she’s hurt to do the trick to take away the pain

jake tried to do it once

“it didn’t work daddy. MAMA HELP ME”

lo’ak just literally being your baby

jake and neytiri always so huh????

“MAMA I DIDNT DO ANYTHING”

“it’s ok baby i believe you i love you lo’ak”

“HE LITERALLY THREW A ROCK AT SOMEONE????”

“my baby… my baby….”

jake and neytiri are just so done

they are also so sick of the scoldings

“lo’ak and neteyam are your kids, not your soldiers”

*jake’s brain exploding*

“you two are so dumb why did i ever mate with you”

“babe no omg 🥺”

kiri being like “thank god there’s finally someone in this house w a few brain cells”

also jake and neytiri watching in fear as tuk has a tantrum

you not even noticing and just calling her from inside

“ok mama! i’m coming!”

jake and neytiri are so grateful

so confused

but so grateful

also getting annoyed when you spoil your babies

“all i did was unground lo’ak…”

“HES NEVER GONNA LEARN?”

“my precious baby is so smart he doesn’t need to learn anything else…”

or like

“y/n did you let tuk have dessert early”

“yes”

“y/n nO”

also neteyam just randomly having one of those days where a million bad things happen on top of one another

cries to you and you hold him bc obviously 🥺

the next day mysteriously his favorite breakfast is on the table… 😧 and his favorite dinner… 😧

jake and neytiri once walking in on lo’ak with his head in your lap and you singing to him

“huh…”

“i’m giving him the affection you never did.”

“DAMN WE’RE SORRY 😭”

basically everyone loves each other but they all just have a soft spot for their mama

and no matter how annoyed jake and neytiri get they never get mad and they wouldn’t trade this for the world

[alexthefly]

Did I miss the relevant prompt earlier in the week? Maybe. Shhhh...

In honour of FishTank Week, and particularly the prompt 💛"We're a team, always"💚 please enjoy this reblog.

*******

Green Wool and Sunshine

What is that?!”

“What is what?” asked Virgil through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

“That! That…thing you’re wearing!”

Gordon sat up slowly from the sofa, his face fixed in equal parts grin and grimace as he pointed with his good hand.

Virgil looked down at himself and surreptitiously brushed a few crumbs off his sweater. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s hideous,” said Gordon, eyeing the offending garment critically.

Virgil looked again. True, it wasn't in the best shape. Pale green wool, striped with white and yellow, and all of it faded and bobbled to within an inch of its life. One shoulder had a loose seam so that it looked almost as if the wool were melting. And at the centre of it all, the distinctive shape of Thunderbird Two rendered clumsily in darker green.

"Where did you get it?”

“Grandma made it for me one Christmas. You remember that vintage knitting machine Dad got her that one year?”

God, it had made a racket, like someone flicking a giant comb over and over again. Thank goodness she’d finally lost interest in that particular hobby, although in hindsight Virgil wondered if her subsequent rediscovery of her old cooking books might have been too high a price to pay.

“Anyway, I just found it the other day in the back of the closet.”

Gordon’s mouth twisted to one side. “...Any chance you could lose it back there again?”

A deep grumble. Okay, so she might not be the best at the domestic arts, but she was still their grandma and he loved that she tried. Virgil had actually thought the sweater was pretty good, in a homespun, one-sleeve-slightly-longer-than-the-other sort of way; his girl’s big, friendly turtle-face was unmistakable, and Grandma had even included a little dark-haired figure in blue and green waving out of one of her windows.

“Lay off. It’s comfortable. Anyway, I didn’t see you criticising when she made you that yellow submarine one you wore down to scraps.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “First of all, I was a lot younger then and not so refined.”

Virgil snorted.

“Secondly, yellow is infinitely better than green. And thirdly, I can carry that sort of thing off. You…” - he wafted his hand up and down at his brother in the manner of a bitchy ballroom dancing judge - “...unfortunately, cannot.”

Virgil grunted and took another bite of his roll.

“Really? Mr ‘Hawaiian Shirts and Sandals Go With Everything’ is criticising my fashion choices?”

“They totally do go with everything! They’re a completely universal outfit; the quintessential capsule wardrobe.”

He puffed out his chest to show off today’s offering, complete with large ketchup stain down the front.

“Anyway, why are you even wearing a sweater when it’s 80 degrees outside? I know you tend towards layers, tropical climate be damned, but this is a bit much even for you.”

“I was down in the hangars,” Virgil shrugged. “It was cold.”

“You doing some maintenance?” His little brother’s face lit up.

“Two’s left air intake’s doing that rattling thing again; I thought I’d give her an overhaul,” he said, brain shifting seamlessly into engineer mode, “And her injectors need a spruce up. Thought perhaps I’d have a play with that new neo-PEM cell Brains has been going on about.”

“D’you want some help?”

The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable, and cut deep.

Virgil bit his lip. “Aww, I don’t think so, Fish. You need to rest.”

“I could rest down there? I promise, I’ll just sit and watch you."

The desperation in his brother’s puppy dog eyes felt like knives in Virgil’s chest.These last few weeks since the Marindata Ventfields had been hard on them all. Even now, with Gordy finally home from the hospital, Virgil still woke almost nightly with the sound of that emergency signal echoing in his ears, the silence of his brother’s comms stretching out in his mind until…

No, don’t think about that. He’s home. He’s safe.

But obviously Gordon had been hit the hardest. His ‘bird was a total loss, his body not much better, and he still had months of rehab ahead, bringing with it all the oh-so-unwelcome memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Regular visits from Penny had helped, and their sunshine boy was trying hard, but it was like the clouds had gathered, dimming that indefinable brightness that made him…him.

Virgil wished beyond wish that he could indulge his little brother if it would make him happy. But…

“I’m sorry Squid, Grandma’s orders. There’s just too many hazards down there. Fumes and stairs and things to trip over… I wouldn’t be able to watch out for you properly.”

Gordon sagged, and Virgil felt his heart clench painfully.

“But hey, how about I leave the maintenance and come sit up here with you instead? We could watch an episode of Buddy and Ellie?”

Anything to bring back the sun.

A shake of the head, eyes fixed downwards. “Nah, seen ‘em all.” Gordon looked up and smiled again; this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, you don’t want to be stuck up here. Not when there’s oil and grime to play about in. Better watch you don’t get that sweater dirty though, or Grandma might knit you another one.”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but his little brother cut him off.

“Stop worrying Virg. S’no biggie. I’m fine, see?” He shrugged. “I’ll just see you when you’re done.”

He lay back down on the sofa carefully, looking so much smaller than he had a moment ago.

“Actually, I’m getting a little tired now. You just go do what you gotta do - I’m gonna take a nap right here.”

And with that he closed his eyes; conversation over.

Virgil lingered for a moment, scouring his brain for something to say but coming up blank. Inside his heart burned with guilt and impotence: his little brother was hurting, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. All he’d done was make things worse.

Perhaps he should go.

“Okay then. Take it easy, alright?”

“Yup."

“There’s cinnamon rolls in the kitchen if you get hungry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Thus dismissed, he turned and made his way towards the elevator, mind no longer on his ‘bird but instead on her grounded, miserable co-pilot.

Oh Gordy. It will get better; I promise.

………..

As the sound of the elevator faded away Gordon opened one eye a crack to check the coast was clear. Then he slowly, painfully hauled himself up, intent on getting to the residential levels. No doubt his big marshmallow of a brother would be on the comms right now, asking someone - probably Scott - to come down and check on him, and there was no way he was hanging around for that.

Even if his body hated him for moving.

The journey from the sofa to his room used to take less than two minutes. Today it took him seven minutes twenty. What was worse was that objectively he should be pleased. Sub-eight minutes was actually an improvement on a week ago.

Goddammit.

Finally, he was able to close the bedroom door behind him and collapse onto his bed, aching and miserable.

This sucked.

He was lucky to be alive; he knew that. A few weeks ago he’d been lying at the bottom of the ocean with half a volcano on top of him. Now, because of his brothers, Penny and Parker, he was back in the bosom of his family, healing, getting stronger, gradually shaving the seconds off his bedroom run.

He should be grateful. He’d been through far worse, for God’s sake.

So why?

Why wasn’t he able to shake this off?

Why was it that whenever he tried to see the positive, all he could see was just how freakin’ useless he was?

He didn’t dare say that out loud, of course. His family would absolutely kick his ass if they heard him say something like that. Penny too. (Boy, would she!) He could hear them now, telling him to give himself a chance, these things take time, blah blah blah… Hell, he even tried saying that stuff to himself sometimes, like he would if it were one of his brothers in this position instead of him.

If only any of it actually worked.

Because no matter how much he tried to reason his way out of this funk he was in, it didn’t help, because this feeling wasn’t logical. It couldn’t be reasoned with.

It whispered to him in the dark.

You’ve let them all down.

Look at the slack they’re having to pick up.

Look how much they’re worrying.

Worse.

They don’t need you back.

They’re fine without you.

Every time his brothers went off on a mission without him, it hurt. Whenever someone else took his place co-piloting for Virgil - even Penny, who was only doing it for his sake - he felt cold inside. And when Scott had been the one to take his new Thunderbird Four out for her maiden voyage? The mission to recover the Zero X capsule, no less; the thing that had kicked off Operation Bring Dad Home? Well, he’d just wanted to curl up right there on that sofa and never move again.

The unfairness.

The guilt.

The fear.

He would never wish what had happened on any of his family in a million years. But at the same time, why was it always him that got hurt?

Perhaps he really was just useless.

Sad, exhausted, hurting in more ways than he knew how to handle, he turned his face to the pillow and let the tears come.

…………

The thing about uber-strength pain meds is that they can make a guy fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon and not wake up until the early hours.

He registered the dim not-quite dark as the world slowly came back to him.

Someone had drawn the covers over him at some point during the night, tucking them around him like he was a child, and didn’t that just sum up everything? Take a nap, take your meds, and maybe if you’re a good boy you’ll get a lollipop(!)

He shifted slightly and his hip complained. Gingerly he rolled over, tackling the manoeuvre in sections, trying to get comfortable. He was just settling again when something caught his eye on the chair by his bed.

A large package wrapped neatly in yellow paper.

Twisting carefully he reached out with his good arm and pulled the chair towards him. In the soft glow of pre-dawn, he recognised the paper as the same kind he’d had for his last birthday: bright yellow with blue seahorses and glittery bubbles. Scott had complained about the glitter getting all over his shirt, and they’d all spent the next hour randomly shaking the paper over each other’s heads until they’d sparkled like they were in a Las Vegas show.

He smiled at the memory and gradually pulled himself up until he was sitting, blanket wrapped around him in the cool, almost-morning air.

Holding the package on his lap, he delicately pulled it open at the seams, revealing unmistakable green wool underneath.

What the-?

In with the sweater there was a card written in Virgil’s big, swooping hand:

Seeing as you’re the only one who could pull it off anyway, you should have this, at least until you can make it back aboard the real thing.

She isn’t the same without you. V.

He read the card two more times, breath hitching on the last sentence each time, then he gently unfurled the sweater out in front of him to take a closer look at the design, now that it was technically his.

It took a few moments for him to notice it.

Something was different.

He squinted.

There, in the window of Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, carefully embroidered next to the tiny waving figure of Virgil, a second, blond-haired figure waved out at him in shades of blue and yellow wool.

How...?

...Virgil.

For a moment, he swore he could see the little co-pilot grinning. Or was that just his suddenly-blurred vision playing tricks?

He wiped his eyes and, discarding his blanket, pulled the sweater over his head. He couldn’t get his bad arm through the sleeve, so instead opted to keep it against his chest, nestled between the soft wool and his own thrumming heart.

Despite the way it looked, Virg had been right: the sweater was comfortable. So comfortable. Softened by repeated washing, with a clean smell of detergent and just a hint of Virgil’s cologne - sandalwood and bergamot, mellow and comforting - wearing it was like wearing a hug; warm and reassuring and just so snuggly.

Full of love.

Wrapping his good arm around himself and breathing in the calming, cozy scent, he picked his way carefully over to the window and opened the blinds. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink and purple and orange. As he watched, the sun slowly poked its head out over the gentle waves of his beloved ocean, bathing him in the warmth of its early morning glow.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

[jamescomjj]

Kenjaku x Jin Itadori ⁠♡

So, hi! Uuhh, first time posting actual writing here, quick reminder English is *not* my first language so sorry if something just doesn't make much sense, anyways, I think about them a lot, it's very short cause my brain doesn't have that much creativity to write big things but i love them so much I had to at least write something. Enjoy 🥺

-----

Kenjaku told himself it was all for the plan, he believed so for most of the time but there was a point where it became all too much to ignore, the increasing feelings of genuine care and love for Jin were becoming utterly overwhelming, something he at first brushed off as Kaori's personality rubbing on him but as time passed by pretending wasn't a need anymore, it came so naturally it was terrifying, it made him feel human again.

During his pregnancy he was spoiled and treated like a God, each day with that man was like heaven on earth, kind, caring, compassionate and completely obsessed with him - Or rather, with Kaori, though the lines got blurred at times, he passed so much time as her it was if she became a part of who he is, core and soul fused into something different, he isn't the same Kenjaku he was since he became Kaori. 

But that was the past, he now inhabits the body of someone else - Suguru Geto, someone who has his own desires, his own special someone and needs, but for some reason these don't seem to affect him as much as Kaori did, as if that spot of love has already been claimed by someone else to Kenjaku, a spot no one can take. The memories and things he felt while with Jin persist in his mind, each time Kenjaku closes his eyes he's haunted by that sweet absolute pure smile of that damned man, while in bed his body squirms under the blankets, yearning for that loving touch, that tender caress, longing for it so bad it makes him doubt everything he ever did, every cell on his body screaming to go back to that soothing moment of true peace, true happiness. 

He opens his eyes tiredly as sleep fails him once again that week, his gaze locking on the dark ceiling of the lonely room illuminated by the light of the moon coming through an open window, accompanied by the cold nightly breeze. Silence and coldness, it was all he had left.

A glimpse of a memory tingles the back of his cerebrum, the only part of him that is true, and as that scene rushes back like a movie playing in front of his eyes he realizes something. 

He wasn't able to kill Jin, he never could do such a thing, he loved him so much he couldn't take away the other man's life - he suppressed that memory to the deepest of his physique, all for Jin's sake, for his safety he forced himself to forget he spared his beloved, so they wouldn't meet again. Blurry images of a house forcefully plagued his mind, darkness and the reflection of glasses.

Not anymore. This wasn't a matter of concern now, it was pure selfish desire for that love again, to possesses that man again, after all, Kenjaku is an egotistical self-centered person, it is all about him, about what he wants, and he not only wants that back, he needed it. His desperation is so crushing that the idea of not having Jin at his side right now makes him completely miserable, a mess of what he used to be. 

Without a moment's hesitation he stood to his feet, leaving his place of stay to go in search of that man through the night out in a white shirt and baggy pants, no time to change into proper clothing.

Kenjaku didn't remember perfectly where he left Jin, the memory of that day was cloudy - with a frustrated sigh he stopped, taking a moment to breath in the cold air and put his thoughts in place, he searched thoroughly in his own brain, each step, each word they shared, each location he went to in the modern world until it finally came back to him, relief would be a understatement. 

Upon arriving at the house he found it to be rather well cared for, he didn't exactly expect for the other man to have stayed there after all those years but there it was, in better condition than he had left it. He noted the lights on by looking at the windows, glad his early meltdown wasn’t fruitless.

With a trembling hand Kenjaku reached for the handle, his fingers curling around it as he pushed and opened the unlocked door. His vision was immediately blinded by a well-known figure, being met with the sight of Jin who was reaching for the handle from the inside. 

They both stopped in place, looking into each other's eyes for painful long minutes of complete silence, Kenjaku's gaze drifted down Jin's body, taking in his older figure - it has been 16 years but somehow that man looks just as gorgeous as he remembers, aging like fine wine. Jin opened his mouth but no sound came out, Kenjaku did a similar gesture with his own lips but equally mute.

That was until a chuckle broke away from Jin, that ravishing smile tugging at the side of his lips as his eyes filled with tears. “You're surely taller, Kaori.” He said with a hint of tease, finally taking the breath he was holding back until now. “Hello again, my love. If…I can still call you that?” He questioned cordially.

“...Yes, please.” Kenjaku nodded as he finally found his words, tilting his head to the side as he slowly came back to his usual playful self. “We have a lot to discuss, my love.” 

[blushweddinggowns]

Nancy furrowed her brow as she went to answer it, just as confused as everyone else, “Hello? What? I-Fred please be quiet for one second! How did you know I was here- I know the article is due but I’m in the- why call me if you aren’t going to let me talk!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “You know what? Yeah, just wait for me at school. I’ll be there in a few hours. Yes, hours! I’m hanging up now.”

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before addressing everyone, “It wasn’t important. I just have to stop at the school at some point today. But for now we should get going-”

But Wayne wasn’t having it. He turned back to the duo, pointing an accusing finger their way,“If either of you think you’re stepping out of this house you have another damn thing coming-”

“Okay!” Eddie interrupted, reaching out to grab Wayne’s arms, “It’s time to talk in private. The rest of you stay here.”

Eddie dragged Wayne into the back room, Steve following meekly behind. They could still hear them in such a small space, hushed voices arguing in Eddie’s room.

It made Chrissy feel weird, like she was intruding on a family moment. She knew she was, they all were. Dustin even went as far as to turn on the TV, effectively giving them the noise they needed to keep their conversation private.

“Oh my god,” Dustin breathed after a few seconds, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Chrissy glanced at the screen, her stomach dropping when she saw what it was. It was her school photo. Followed with a reporter’s voiceover, “...following a cryptic voicemail, that police suspect was a forced call. Considering the untimely deaths of multiple young women in the town of Hawkins, we need a prompt and quick response in regards to finding this young lady. If anyone knows the whereabouts of Chrissy Cunningham please call your local authorities immediately. 

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. She should have known. Of course her mom would go straight to the police. She knew that call had been pointless. Worse than pointless. If she had never said anything then she probably wouldn’t have even realized Chrissy was gone until today. 

“We can’t stay here,” Chrissy said suddenly, already feeling frantic.

“Why not?” Dustin asked, his brow furrowed, “No one else even knows you're here!”

But Robin was already moving, cursing under her breath as she got her shoes on, “Because if anyone looking for her has a single working brain cell they’ll look for me. And how do you find me?”

“You find Steve?” Dustin asked, still watching in confusion as the rest of the girls got ready to go.

“And if you’re looking for Steve,” Robin asked, “Where would you go?”

“Here,” Dustin grumbled, finally catching on. 

“There you fucking go,” Robin sighed, before calling down the hall, “Steve, Eddie, we gotta go. Now!”

“Give us a damn minute!” Eddie yelled back, but Robin wasn’t having it. She marched back there, dragging a confused Chrissy with her. 

The three men stared at them as Robin dug around, talking as she searched, “They reported Chrissy missing so that means cops are almost certainly on their way here. We need to go now-aha!”

She held up Eddie walkman, before waltzing over to Chrissy to put the headphones over her ears. She hummed the melody as she snatched the tape out of Eddie’s player, snapping quickly into the walkman and pressing play.

“There,” She said with a gentle smile, interlacing Chrissy’s fingers with her own, “Now you’re mobile.”

She turned back to Eddie and Steve, her voice softening at the kicked-puppy look on Steve’s face, “We’ll wait outside, but we need to think of a place to hide. Fast.”

“I already know a place,” Eddie sighed, waving them off. He threw his keys in their direction, Robin just catching them in time as he kept his eyes on Wayne, “Go to the van and hide in the back. We’ll be out in a minute.”

Chrissy nodded, and then Robin was dragging her off. She chanced one look back at them, her heart breaking a little at the devastated look on Wayne’s face. She felt so bad. Yes, whatever this was had started before her, but she was the brand new reason she was involved. Why all of these people were now risking themselves for her of all people. 

“This isn’t your fault, y’know,” Robin said quietly as she unlocked the van’s door, the rest of the group talking quietly amongst themselves in front of the beemer, “I can see your brain working over there.”

Chrissy shrugged as she climbed inside, settling in the back. Robin sat beside her, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Chrissy wished Robin would think about stuff like that, how often she touched her. Or maybe Chrissy wished she could start thinking of it less.

“Maybe not everything,” She mumbled, “But it’s my fault you’re involved now. Maybe you guys could have been the bystanders for once if I never happened.”

“I doubt it,” Robin laughed softly, giving Chrissy’s hand a comforting squeeze. ``I got involved by working at an ice cream shop. Don’t underestimate the randomness of this crap. Besides…”

She trailed off, scooting closer to lay her head against Chrissy’s shoulder. Close enough for the warmth of her breath to tickle Chrissy’s neck, “Getting to know you is more than worth the trouble.”

From the latest chapter of this fic

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 4

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Warnings: Violence, drugs

Words: 1,866

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Part 4 ∇

Brightness shone through your eyelids, so much so that you had to squeeze them shut. Wherever you were, there was far too much light to be your cell.

You felt them then, the belts around your body, keeping you pressed down to the bed. They felt different to the usual chain kept around your ankle – softer, safer, a measurement of care.

Opening your eyes, you tried to blink away the blur. You were right, this room was different. It was neat and clean, clinical in a way. It smelt different here too, almost sterile.

Your body felt foreign to you, heavy yet light at the same time. Your head lolled to the side, despite your efforts to keep it up. You tried to move, to bring slow hands to your eyes and rub the fogginess away, but you were no match to the belts that restrained you.

“Hello Y/N.” A voice. A female’s voice, soft and warm and–

“I’m glad to see you awake.”

Blinking harder, your eyes tried to focus on the face now in front of you. You could smell her scent – sweet and inviting, her touch gentle on your arm. Yet her face remained a blur. Why were you so Gods damned slow?

“How are you feeling?” Another voice, another female.

Blurs became shapes as you were able to identify one with blonde hair, the other more brown. Through your haze, they seemed to float in front of you, their voices like a melody. Could they be angels?

You tried to answer, your voice catching in your throat as if your muscles were to slow to follow your brain’s instruction. It didn't bother you though, you were relaxed, content, and for the first time that you could remember, you felt safe.

“That’s alright Y/N, don't strain yourself.” The hand on your forearm caressed you then.

As your vision finally cleared, you realised this was not the first time you had woken to this room. Nor was it the first time you had met these females.

“Feyre?” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. You must have been asleep for a very long time. How was it you didn't remember being brought here?

“That’s right,” she smiled at you, her brow pulling in hope. “And do you know who this is?”

The blond shifted, placing her hand on your other arm, her smile just as warm and eager.

“Mor?” you coughed, your voice a little clearer now. The females exchanged a look of relief.

“I have to say Y/N, it’s wonderful to hear you say our names without losing you again,” Mor sighed.

“Losing me?” Despite your giddiness, there was a faint thud of dread.

Feyre took a deep breath before focusing her eyes on yours, her expression much more serious. “We’re going to tell you what we tell you every time you wake. Try your best to stay focused on our voices.”

Every time you wake? How many times had they done this?

“You were captured by Hybern’s army over six months ago. They tortured you, and used poison to hijack your mind.”

Hybern. Just the mention of his name fabricated his presence as he stalked the corners of your mind – prowling, waiting for the right opportunity. Pain began to throb from behind your eyes, and you fidgeted against your restraints.

“Just breath Y/N, we need you to stay calm.” Mor’s instruction was clear, but you couldn’t help the panic that was quickly building within you. Danger lurked close by, you could feel it coming.

“Hybern brainwashed you to turn you into an enemy of the Night Court.” A flash of white, and Hybern danced closer, as if the path to your mind was revealing the more they spoke.

“Stop!” you gasped, afraid of how close he would get. You couldn’t help your instinct to struggle against the leather belts, trying to get free.

“The opioids are wearing off,” Mor muttered to Feyre. You glanced between them in panic. Opioids? Were they drugging you?

Firm hands clasped your shoulders, her blue-grey eyes finding yours. “It’s alright Y/N, you’re safe. We’ve been working on reversing the hijacking for a number of weeks now. You’ve made a lot of progress already.”

Your breath was shaky now, adrenaline coursing through as you began to tremble. “Progress?” What the fuck was going on?

They’re lying. That cold voice returned, watching from the darkened crevices of your mind, luring you to join him. They’re lying, and they’re going to kill you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the voice out of your mind. “Leave me alone!” The words had escaped you before you could stop them.

“That’s it Y/N, fight back,” Mor coached. You gritted your teeth, sweat now beading at your brow. Your heart was a pounding drum in your ears, and the pain behind your eyes continued to build.

“He’s here!” you shrieked, warning the others.

“Only in your mind, my friend,” Feyre answered, her voice smooth and steady, a guiding light. “Hang in there, I’m going to ease your pain.”

You yelped as Feyre entered past your crumpled mental shields, her magic quick and light, your muscles relaxing as the pain eased to a more bearable level. Hybern had disappeared all together.

“We haven't got much time,” she said to Mor, flicking her eyes down to you as you tried to stay focused. Your vision began to reel.

Mor swallowed before turning her gaze to you, her hands pushing against your left shoulder as Feyre moved to do the same to your right. Whatever was about to happen, it would not be good.

“We need you to fight Y/N, fight for your home, for Velaris and the Night Court.”

Those words – Night Court. White flashed before your eyes, and you shouted as pain slashed through your mind.

“Fight for your family. For Rhys, Cassian, Nesta, Elain Mor, Feyre and Nyx.”

Each of their names was a silver knife that penetrated you, a deep wound every time. You screamed as your mind reeled, white flashing before your eyes over and over again.

Kill them! Hybern’s voice was so close in your ear you could feel his phantom breath. You jumped at the sudden proximity.

“Stop!” you howled – begging to all of them. You had enough. So many voices, so much magic and pain and drugs – all of them fighting for control and your mind was merely the battlefield. It was torture.

“You can do it Y/N, keep fighting!”

You were whimpering now, thrashing against the leather bounds as you felt claws clasping your brain, your very being a marvelled toy in the hands of Hybern as he waited to rip you to shreds.

They’re going to kill you if you don't do it first. His voice was a sing-song.

“Fight for your mate Y/N! Fight for Azriel!”

It was if someone had flipped a switch. That piercing white light filled your vision before Hybern morphed into the familiar winged demon before you. His eyes glowed, talons at the ready as he launched for you.

A scream ripped from you, your own teeth bared and eyes crazed. Anyone willing to summon this creature was not your family. They were your enemy.

“I’ll kill you!” you snarled, thrashing against the bounds.

“We’re not going to harm you Y/N.” Unable to know who had said it, you hissed at them both, continuing to thrash, digging your fingernails into your palms until they drew blood.

“Keep fighting Y/N. Your family loves you, and so does your mate!”

You ragged breaths paused for a split second. Azriel spoke then, his voice unchanged from Hybern’s, eyes glowing red and forked tongue lashing. You would let them trick you, Y/N? Prepare to die at the hands of your own weakness. Talons slashed at your mind.

Howling at the pain, you shook your head violently. “No, no no no!” Unaware of who you were threatening, another snarl ripped from you as you spat “I’ll kill all of you!”

You were still thrashing and yelling when Mor turned to Feyre. “It’s time Fey, let her rest.”

Feyre entered your mind for the second time that night. “Get out!!” you roared, feeling the intrusion.

“Sleep now,” she responded gently, pulling you from the warfare of your own mind and replacing it with calm, quiet rest.

————

It wasn't until your breathing found a steady rhythm that Mor and Feyre left the room. Rhys and Cassian were at the door, having heard the screaming. Their faces were grave, none of them greeting the other.

“Any progress?” Cassian was the first to speak.

“Small, but progress all the same,” Mor responded, her voice flat. It was hard not to lose hope when every session ended this way. The lines between helping you or hurting you further were becoming so blurred.

Are you alright darling? Rhys asked his mate through their bond. You look depleted.

I’m fine, Rhys. Just a little tired. It was a long session.

“She remembered our names,” Feyre added, speaking aloud now.

“Your names?” Rhys questioned, his arms folding across his chest.

“Feyre and Mor. And she said them without switching back.”

“That is progress,” Cassian whispered, as if afraid to jinx it.

“Anything else to note?” the High Lord asked.

Feyre and Mor both shook their heads. “Everything else was consistent, her triggers still a long list of our names, the Night Court…”

“And Azriel?”

“The worst one of them all,” Feyre said grimly. There was a beat of silence between the group. None of them wanted to be the one to tell the Shadowsinger.

“Where is he?” Mor asked.

“On the roof. I had to pull rank when she woke, he was going to enter the room when he heard her screaming.”

“He put up one hell of a fight,” Cassian added, stretching his arms. Bruises and scratch marks formed across them, a tell sign of how intense the fight had been.

Feyre shook her head, her expression sorry. She was empathetic to Azriel, she couldn't imagine the instinct he was fighting by keeping away. But if you were to see him in that state – it would trigger you far worse than mentioning his name ever could. It would unravel weeks of long, torturous sessions, and was far too risky.

“You did right to stop him,” she said, offering her mate and Cassian a broken smile. “We’ll continue with our approach. Opioids to counteract the episodes from the poison, magic to ease her pain, and weaning her off occasionally to measure her progress.”

“Who’s going to give him the update this time?” Cassian asked. This was the most dreaded part amongst the group.

Rhys sighed then, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’ll go. I should check in on him regardless, I imagine he’s quite upset with me.”

Mor and Cassian nodded, while Feyre reached her mate, placing a reassuring kiss on his cheek.

“Nyx?” she asked softly.

“With Elain,” he replied, kissing her forehead.

The group dispersed then, Rhys making his way to the roof to speak with his Spymaster.

--------

Part 5 >>>

AN: Sorry this took me a while to get out! Hope you enjoyed 💕 

Would love any feedback, and comment to join the tag list for either the series or all ACOTAR 💕 

Tags: @hyacinthoideshispanica @kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars @lucyysthings @valeridarkness @alw-aysjanuary @brekkershadowsinger @ladygloucester @ciannemar83 @wiitchkiller @xtreme-shipper @thorslonglocks @im-bili @kexrtiz @shadowcrowsworld @lillithathecat @marina468 @aroseinvelaris @cynicalpotato95 @goldentournesol @maddithefangirl @holywolfsstuff @banasheefan56 @banasheefan56 @im-bili @v1olentdelights @cardanenthusiast @mandarin-lmao @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @ttreader 

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie ⁓

Next parte will be the last one, and let me say I'm pretty proud of this little english writing attempt (that should have been, like, a five pages funny things, and i dunno why now i've got 48 pages saved).

I'll leave you with my stupid disclaimers, and let's have a nice week ⁓

DISCLAIMERS: little bit of blood (not that much, though); totally inaccurate military action; Price is questioning his role in the Task Force, again; Ghost finally managed to get injured; a slightly amount of praising (my god I LOVE PRAISING AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME); planning future chocolate oatmeal's breakfast;

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Seventh part here:

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«Maybe you're doing it 'cause you need some…particular attention»

«No. No, i don't»

«You're gonna get her an aneurysm. Me too, I'm getting one right now». The clicking, metallic sound of a recharge fills the void of words. Price spits out the fag end; he does not remember having signed something about "being the task force's psychologist".

He decides to be brutally honest: «It's so obvious, Ghost. Stop denying it. Make peace with your brain»

«'S not obvious, nothing's obvious in this bloody life»

«I've told you: either you end up with her, or you open up. Your choice»

The answer's a mumbled breath under the mask, an attempt to empty his lungs from responsibilities and fill them with gunpowder and old blood scent. Maybe the blood is even his, it doesn't matter.

Current mission is a piece of cake: a couple hostyles to get rid of, one place to secure, assure Laswell there's no trace of weapons that shouldn't be in a supposed abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere. 

Price is so relaxed he's smoked just one cigar in the entire day. On the other hand, Ghost's a nerves knot, a walking killer machine who's, almost certainly, unloading some tough stuff throughout the mission.

Tough for his mind, at least.

«She's killing me»

Price chuckles. Dear god, how damn hard his Lt. was to break…

«She's awakening you. 'S different»

«Is the same as being killed. I'd rather be asleep»

«Seems like your brain cells are sleeping too much, though. Time to make a damn decision»

«I did!» Ghost tilts his head at Price, his eyes so widened he's about to throw his last crumble of patience out of his orbit. «I choose to have nothing to deal with her, but she's goddamn everywhere! Why in the bloody hell did they send a second team with us for this stupid mission, and why, my god, WHY is she in that fucking team??»

«That's your fault» Price sighs softly. «You've chosen her for the special recruitment»

«'Cause I needed the opportunity to speak with her!»

A: «Liar» is murmured under John's beard, making Ghost mutter like a scolded child. 

«Is it so hard to admit you just like her company?»

«I swear to god Cap., I'm gonna rip every hair of your beard with rusty tweezers»

«I'm even being good with ya, giving you a choice. Do you prefer being kicked to a good psychologist to make him read your bloody dreams?»

«I-»

A rumble cuts Ghost's voice, making the earth tremble under them. A grave explosion drills their ears, putting them at attention immediately, weapons charged and eyes on the thick, dense smoke cloud that's rising outside the shack.

A bomb. A small one maybe, hidden somewhere next to their target. They rush outside, radio connecting as soon as fuck with the other team.

«Echo one, this is Bravo six, send position, over»

Answer is a disturbed, glitching sound, piercing hoarsely through the radio: «Bravo six, this is ---- ------ thirty meters ---------- the shack, there was a bomb hidden, we ---- immediate help, over»  

«Echo one, this is Bravo six, say again»

«Bra-»

Then a sudden hand grabs Price by the gear, slamming him on the shack's wall before a flying shot could pierce his hat. Cap. takes a slow, steady breath as Ghost adjusts his aim and, one second later, hits the target precisely as a sewing machine on a leather jacket. 

«Good job»

«Place wasn't cleared» Ghost sticks his head out from behind the wall before allowing the two of them to proceed toward the explosion. «Where the hell are they-»

«Someone's sending reinforcements»

«Where's team b?»

Simon is just finishing the question when he feels some kinda force grabbing him from behind, and pulling him back so strongly he's forced to stumble backwards a few steps before recollecting enough lucidity to turn, gun pointed behind him aiming…

You. 

You, totally scattered, covered in dirt and smoke, breathing like crazy as you're grasping onto the two men's uniform, managing to block fourth time your weight with your bare strength.

«North!» You yell so suddenly Price almost jumps at the sight of your bloody injected eyes. «Thirty…goddamn…meters north from…the fucking radio's not…» You mumble, one step away from letting you go on the ground and allowing your muffled ears to close completely.

Ghost's grasp on your shoulder squeezes you strongly enough to make you wimp.

«What happened?»

«The rocks scattered outside the shack» you spit, coughing words as sensible as possible. «Are not rocks. Enemy disguised a bunch of bombs. Team b is safe, there's another shack near-»

Then a burned growl, a sudden lamp, needles through your kettledrums. 

And your sight goes dark.

Waking up is like being kicked in the head with a rock.

As far as you can feel, your limbs may have been missing somewhere, since you're not sensing any of them. You're breathing dirt, your throat is so dry you could start a fire in your lungs, and what gives you the good news your ears are functioning is a muffled, mumbled breath a few meters away. You scroll powder and dust from your face, trying to clean your eyes a little without injecting ash under the eyelids, then you take a look around.

First impression: everything felt down on itself. What should have been the shack is now a bunch of crumbled walls put together by the explosion's mastery, sprinkled with ashes and smoke-flavored.

Second impression: illumination's enough for you to spot a darker something backed against a cracked wall. Ops; a darker someone.

«…Lieutenant?»

You surprise yourself with how harsh your voice is. You clear a bit of its roughness before tossing again: «Lt, are you-»

«Alive. Affirmative» he spits, in a voice shittier than yours. He's not moving, he's back's against the wall and one hand is pressed on the left side of his body. You shiver, for whatever reason, just by looking at him, daring to ask:

«…are you ok?»

«Just a bit broken» he murmurs. It is not enough for you.

«What-»

«Another explosion. Bloody shack fell on us. Price managed to get out, calling for help» 

«You're injured»

It's not a question. It's obvious: the more you get near to him, the more he curls his hand against his hip; the more you limp toward him (your stupid leg is hurting) the more he tries to clear his throat, sounding as confident as possible as he declares:

«I'm good»

«Oh, yes. Yes, I can see how "good" you are»

«It's-» he suddenly hissed, his fingers clenched and trembling. «There's nothing to…worry 'bout»

«Let me see»

«You can't do-»

«Let me decide what I can do»

«No»

You could definitely ignore him, and maybe you could even take a look at whatever bloody wound he's hiding from your sight, since he's evidently not strong enough to hold your stubbornness. 

You do not move, though. You stop in front of him, clenching your fists, waiting for…something. And he notices.

«Ya'r not complaining» he murmurs, letting his head cling to the wall behind to look at you better.

«It's a battlefield. There's no need to play»

«So yelling at someone's your favorite game»

«Why should it be?» «'Cause you do it everyday»

If you were in a different situation, maybe you would have ended up seriously yelling again. But his voice is not harsh; it's not rough, not scolding or mad, he's neither joking nor making fun of you. There's something…soft, just like when he protected you from that stupid rookie who tried to threaten you with that collar joke.

Maybe he's just too weak, maybe he's lost some of his good old cold brain cells all together with the blood, 'cause you can't believe what you hear as he muffles with the lowest, warmest voice you've ever heard from him:

«It would be a shame not to hear your cute whine again»

Damn.

You could melt, right here, in this spot in the middle of this fucking fallen walls, and your eyes would keep on looking at him as if they're glued to his shadow.

You swallow dirt and dryness.

«Could you please don't…don't. Just don't. I-I'm sure Cap. will come back as soon as-»

«Shut» he breathes, half tired and half amused «Your little mouth, gnome. Just enjoy the silence. 'K?»

You open your mouth, ready to say something which could be mean, but also nice, but also worried, but also…nothing. It could be nothing, and this time your brain closes your phonatory apparatus in time, and you just decide to follow his tip.

And you go sit next to Ghost, curling against the wall.

He chuckles under the mask, collecting enough breath to whisper: «Good girl», directly in your ear.

And your shiver.

Not 'cause of the coldness.

He notices. You know he does as he tilts his head a little toward you, whispering:

«Did he used to call you like that?»

You frown, and he specifies, with voice a little scattered: «Your dominant counterpart»

Your body tenses up, curled with knees pressed on your chest. Your eyes are burning and digging under the broken floor as you nod, blushing like an idiot.

He chuckles, audibly, laughing softly under the mask.

«I'm sorry» he suddenly murmurs, taking you completely by surprise. Your eyes jerk toward him in the heast to see if he's really here, next to you, saying those things. You spot his dark figure thrown against the wall, abandoned in a pose that's more and more stiff, tense, while the hand pressed against the wound is loosening strength.

You push your own palm on his, without thinking, curling on his side to reach the blood-wet spot.

He's cold. Too cold. And your hand instantly becomes slimy, warm and wet as the metallic scent reaches your nose.

«You won't be sorry anymore when the mission is over. When you awaken fully recovered» you try a teasing tone, kicking away fears and worry. «You'll regain your sharpness, I'm sure as hell. Sharp as the splinter in your hip»

«Don't know if I can…sharpen myself again»

«No way» you smile. «Lieutenant Riley, the most feared soldier of us all, doesn't know something? Impossible. Outrageous»

«I do know» He whispers back «How much of a dick I can be, sometimes»

And you sigh, not daring to agree.

There is a moment of silence. Then he adds, almost tearing words out of his own mouth:

«It wasn't to…fool you. I…don't know how to need someone anymore»

«And you end up needing me? The worst choice, seriously»

«You're rude to yourself»

«I've told you: I can see clear. Dunno why you spotted me»

«Maybe I thought you were…easy to handle» he breathes out, eyes almost closed as you grip stronger on his hand, pressing it against the dense blood stain. 

«I'm not. You should have learned»

«It was a fight I was willing to win. I am willing to win»

«Against whom? Me?»

«Maybe myself»

«And you're gonna win against yourself by touching my panties and scolding my behavior?»

Silence, again. 

He breathes slowly, tilting his eyes at you again.

«You're so easy to read. A bloody open book to me»

«Fun. You're kinda the opposite: a goddamn locked spell-book written in hieroglyphics»

«'S that so?»

«Can assure you»

«Then why have you bear me?»

«'Cause you're my superior, ya know-»

«Look at me»

And you do. You swallow your savoir-faire, your jokes and the blood scent in your nose, erasing the wet, dense mud in your hand, and focusing all your energies on raising your sight at him, who's panting scattered cold air but can pierce you through his sight anyway, making you tremble in a sudden insecurity, letting you feel so small even with a hand pressed on his life.

And he repeats, stern but soft, gently yet firmly: «Why have you bear me?»

And you, little bird kicked out of the nest too early to know how to lie, who's been raised with good words and promises of hugs and chocolate if you deserve them, you find yourself answering soft as a love song:

«…'Cause I liked how dealing with you makes me feel»

He lets out a soft breath.

«Good girl»

And your whole body trembles, curling up more against his side, clinging to his body with your hand still pressed on his to secure the wound, and your head pushed on his chest.  

But he doesn't dare to touch you more than that; he just lets you adjust over him, peeking at you from above.

The broken room closes on you, knot together in a dark spot on the wall, a breathing clot of blood-scent and ashes. You press your cheek on his arm, smelling gunpowder and grass on his gear. 

«Can we…eat chocolate oatmeal together again?»  

...............................................................................................

[la-grosse-patate]

Summary: After one successful expedition, Roger and Isabel land in a safe spot to asses the damage, refuel and admire... the... sunset ☀ Wordcount: 875

If Isabel had any more coherent thoughts left in her brain, they died on that damned aircraft carrier. Either squashed under dozens of pairs of motocross boots and beefed up cars, or pulverized by highwaymen bullets and rockets. And despite the tranquility of their hidden safe spot, the constant sizzling of her abused eardrums only seemed to get worse

With one shaky hand placed atop her still racing heart, she was glad to see that Timber was in much better shape than her.

“A few bullet holes here and there,” Roger’s voice echoed from behind her, where he knelt next to his beloved helicopter, “but nothing La Grosse Patate can’t handle.”

It was good news, right? Sure, she could walk away with permanent hearing loss, but they all made it through. Timber was alright, Roger was alright, La Grosse Patate... Had new ventilation holes, but by the grace of God, they were all fine.

Right?

A light chuckle escaped her throat, though it carried no amusement.

Rush would scold her, give her the ‘I told you so’ speech. Tell her that the risk wasn’t worth the reward. And even though the last few minutes of her mission were a blur, fragments of what had transpired at the lighthouse during her and Timber’s frantic escape were slowly starting to come back to her.

The captain didn’t expect shit to go south so quickly. One minute she was sneaking around, playing deadly ninja, the next she was running for her life with that stupid fucking package. And waiting for Roger to come pick her up felt like the longest two minutes of her life.

Maybe Rush was right, after all.

Still in flight mode, still high on adrenaline, she felt as wild as the sky looked.

Hues of pink and orange graced her tired eyes, and she felt the corners of her lips turn upwards. Happy to see that mother nature still did her thing. It was like she knew just what Isabel needed in that moment.

But as she stood there, admiring the show of colors, stars and clouds, she failed to notice Roger slowly making his way towards her.

“Enjoying the view, captain?”

Her dumb smile dropped from her face faster than Nana’s victims.

Come on, girl.

Scrambling to find two brain cells to rub together, “Yeah, it’s... nice,” was all she could muster before bowing her head in shame and defeat.

As the pilot came to stand in front of her, she felt her neck getting warmer. How he managed to turn her brain to mush in a matter of seconds was beyond her. She was pathetic.

“You did great back there, chérie.”

Suddenly, the sand beneath her feet became absolutely enthralling.

“You should have seen Timber,” she deflected, trying her damned hardest not to let the blush creep higher than the scarf around her neck. “He tore their asses to shreds. Shreds, I’m telling you.”

Proud of herself for finally forming a somewhat proper sentence, she lifted her gaze to look for her canine companion. For a distraction.

But instead of keeping her mouth shut, she opened it again to ramble some more.

“It was a total massacre. Timber went for their faces everytime,” she beamed like a proud mother. “Couple guys even threw themselves into the water to run from him, but I’m pretty sure they met an even worse fate,” she nodded to herself, staring at the ground. “Sharks, y’know?” she elaborated, meeting the man’s eyes to make sure he understood what she meant. “There- there are sharks in the water there and...”

When the puzzled look on his face turned to mirth, and his boisterous laugh filled her still buzzing ears, she felt as if the weight of a thousand aircraft carriers lifted from her chest.

“Besides,” she ventured with renewed confidence, “you did all the hard work. Flying us all the way here, I mean... that’s a lot of unslept hours, and stress, and...”

Roger shook his head, and she shut right up.

“Seeing you kick ass gives me all the strength I need, Isabelle,” he assured her. A gentle smile still tugged at his lips. “And when that truck exploded, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Fuzzy memories replayed in her mind, rewinding to the exact moment she discovered those crates of fireworks and rigged the highwaymen truck that carried them. That was, in fact, a genius move on her part. Funny how she totally forgot she did that.

“En fait, the second most beautiful thing,” he corrected.

Isabel made a face. How dare he downplay her work, her craft and her tactics, when she’d just infiltrated the enemy stronghold, outsmarted the most dominant faction in the region and stole their most precious resources gosh dang it he was smiling, he was smiling at her, why was he smiling at her?

Once her face started flushing, there was no stopping it. And when she felt her ears burn, she prayed with every fiber of her being that the deeper orange shades in the sky did a great job at concealing the color in her cheeks.

Come on girl.

“You know what, I agree. This... sunset,” she scoffed, gesturing towards the view in front of them. “You don’t see this everyday. God really said ‘bless this day in particular’.”

Decided to draw the most simple thing ever to try and get myself back into shape. I haven't touched my graphic tablet in a very long time and my skills have gotten a bit rusty. As for my writing, well... English is not my first language.

Taglist [opt in/out here]: @theelderhazelnut @ravenmind2001 @where-she-went @skoll-sun-eater @thepachy

@whatwouldvalerydo @pnathaniellgsilver @yokobai @silvertonguedelf @josephseedismyfather

@noodlecupcakes @raresvtm @titiagls @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Monday Evening Fandom :) This will be my new schedule Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. So I can get all the remaining eps in before the premiere. Should finish the week before we get to squee over a new season. So you'll have one more extra a week till we reach S6.

Some fun UC stuff for them to do in this one and the ever famous scene in the van. The marriage moments in this one continue. Off we go.

4x07 Fire Fight

We start off with our couple bringing someone in to book. She ran a stop sign AND a red light. Then flipped them off and made them chase her. Then has the audacity to ask why they arrested her? LOL My god...She tells them she was late for her life coach session. Tim makes a crack that her coach is doing a terrible job haha The sass Timothy I'm here for it.

As she gets processed Lucy brings up the bet from the previous episode. Tim retorting ‘The bet I won?’ Lucy fires right back that she won it. Their banter is unrivaled I love it so much. Tim telling her he had the gold in his hand. Lucy defending only because she had to arrest an armed gunmen. Tim tries to take the glory for this as well. That he technically arrested him. You know with his arm.

Lucy scoffing saying all he did was extend his arm out. Flirt nation right off the bat in this one. You know she’s actually impressed by it but can’t let his ego know that fact. Tim is trying to impress her by saying this. My goodness these two. It is very impressive he did that and wants her to know it. They're entering into the bantery foreplay early in this one.

Poor Grey gets dragged into their work flirt I mean fight. Tim really shouldn’t have been shocked at all when Grey said he suspected in 5x12. Man has been front row to this flirt fest for years . When he said that I think he meant long before that moment. He knew for a VERY long time. Poor Wade he just wants to get his job done. He wandered into booking thinking he could get in and out. Then in come Tim and Lucy to drag him into their fight LMAO

They're trying to get him to settle their bet from 4x06. They’re so damn competitive neither can settle for a tie. Grey affirms he thought it was as such. This was not the answer either of them wanted. Tim wants a rematch because of course he does. Lucy is adorable and says they should do an escape room LOL She had to know that wasn’t going to fly. Tim says no to that naturally. His reaction is hilarious.

So off put by the idea of being stuck in one. Decides they need a neutral party to decide their next competition. I love how in-sync they are when they turn to Grey. Same brain and same body language. Look how they mirror each other it's crazy. Sure Wade is thinking my god just find a room already. Instead he catches onto what they want. The way they both nod is so well timed they’re ridiculous and I love it sfm. Chemistry is unreal. Hats off to Eric and Melissa.

Grey agrees to this if only to get them to leave him the hell alone heh. He assigns them random penal codes. Says whoever gets their arrest first wins. Lucy could not be cuter waiting for hers. Tim gets his and isn’t pleased with it. Lucy is shocked he even knows what his is. Since its obscure as hell. Tim is fresh af with her replying 'She didn’t?' Ha her reaction. My god the punches just don’t get pulled with these two.

Tim says it’s unfair. SMH Oh Timothy pouting isn’t gonna work with Grey. He tells him life isn’t fair. Lucy is beaming about this. I love these two ridiculous fools so much. The woman they brought in is done with booking. She clearly doesn’t want to go into a cell. Tells them she know’s about a real crime. Says if she tells them she can cut a deal? Tim replies ‘What’s the crime?’

We return to them heading into interrogation. Lucy hands him a list of places they should go when they’re back out. Tim hands it right back without looking. Knowing exactly why she wants to hit those places. So she can win their bet. Doesn't hesitate as he calls her out on it. Lucy fires right back saying she knows he went to Nell. These two are so amazingly absurd.

Doing whatever they can to win this bloody bet of theirs. Lucy doesn’t let him get away with it for more than two seconds. She has your number Timothy. Always has always will. Her wifey 'Mmm' is everything. So he admits to giving Nell Dodger tickets haha Lucy looks like she wants to smack him. Also she can’t fault him she’s trying to play dirty too. You two competitive dopes are meant to be. I can only imagine how they would be in S6 with a competition.

Even though they’re battling he still holds the door open for her to interrogation. My heart. Ever the gentleman. They’re following up on the tip they were given earlier. The woman they’ve pulled in for questioning is in regards to her new skin care line. She confuses Tim right off the bat. He can't even process what she is saying so he turns to Lucy to decipher it for him.

Classic husband move to turn right to Lucy for the answer. It's so cute. She’s like later haha That it’s not important right now. She will explain later. So married looking to his wife for answers. Gotta love it. They were given a jar of her skin care. They tested it based on their tip and it has endangered tiger blood in it.

She doesn’t even deny it. Like she is proud of the fact her stuff has it. Lucy tells her she could end up in jail for up to 5 years for this. The cockiness disappears. Then the cycle of giving one another up continues. She panics and tells them about someone named Sloan. That she’s selling psychedelics as vitamins. Tim sighs deeply and asks for this woman’s last name for them to follow up.

They have round 2 in interrogation. Tim was already annoyed going into this LMAO He asks Sloan to take her sunglasses off. She complains the fluorescent lights give her headaches. Tim informs her that is the least of her problems. That they’ve been informed about her “vitamins” Sloan poorly defends herself and says she’s just using her husband’s prescription pad. That it’s ok…Oh my lord. It so is not.

Tim goes off his patience wearing very thin. Tells her this makes her a drug dealer. A high level one at that. She could be facing 20 years in federal prison for it. Sloan starts to stutter and panic. Saying how this has gotten horribly out of hand. Then asks how ratted her out? They don’t say. Then she mentions someone named Aston. That she has to be the one ratting her out. So she turns on her continuing the blame game cycle.

She tells them Aston is trying to hire a hitman. That her husband is worth more dead than alive. She’s been on the dark web trying to get it done. The reactions above are the best part. Tim was so very done going into this. This just made it so much worse. I love the shared look. Lucy is trying not to laugh at this situation. Looking at Tim to ground her. The way they check in with each other gives me all the feels. They’re both flabbergasted by the ring of ridiculousness they’ve been dragged into.

Cue to the infamous van scene. Tim rolls up not expecting the flack he gets. Lucy is on him immediately. Seriously judging his choice in disguise. How he looks like himself and not the hitman she was picturing at all. Lucy is truly is the teacher in this moment and schools him so hard about his choice. You know she’s enjoying bossing him around. The way she tells him to get into the van is too funny. Waving his ass in. Ready to teach him a Lucy Lesson. Heh

It’s fun to watch her be the more knowledgeable of the two in an OP. Tim fights her the minute they sit down. Lucy sighs and presses on. Schooling her man on UC and what they're trying to accomplish today. He is biting back a smile at her logical teasing. Look him above. He WANTS to be annoyed but he isn't really. Once again impressed by her confidence and knowledge on this. So he acts annoyed because he has a fake bravado to protect and all that.

She continues on with more irrefutable logic. He's looking at this wrong. They're not there to dupe a seasoned criminal. That he’s fooling someone who gets her ideas from Lifetime movies. LMFAO Where is the lie? Tim can’t fault her logic even though he wishes she was wrong. Lucy shoves the jacket at Tim tells him to put it on. (Bosses his ass around I love it sfm. He kinda does too.) He begrudgingly snatches it from her to put on and she thanks him.

Let’s not skate past the fact she is checking him out long before she is putting that mic on him above. As he is putting on that jacket she is doing an elevator gaze of her own. She does a double take of him really. Swallows hard too like she's pushing down her desire in this moment. As subtle as a hammer Lucy. Tim commenting he looks like an idiot. That he would pull himself over. haha Lucy definitely does not agree. She begs to differ quite a bit. Lucy bounces back and says he looks exactly as he should. She is holding firm refusing to let his sass sway her or break her confidence. How far we've come.

Then comes the wonderful shameless eye sex. The brazen UST look that could ignite that van on fire. Lucy's reaction is how I would react. She can clearly see how fit he is. She knew but had never seen the glorious proof up close. You can tell she finds him so very attractive. I mean look at him. Gah beautifully toned chest and abs. Delicious pecs to go with that sculpted chest. Phew lord. Pass the ice water please.

She’s trying not to just stare at his toned chest but has to in order to mic him up. She’s touching him and doesn’t know how to handle it. Shoving his shirt up even higher than needed without realizing it. It's up to his neck. Tim broke her brain haha The awkward glances up crack me up. She’s trying not to make eye contact but also not just stare at his beautiful body either. Rock and a hard place Lucy. Gah we need more shirtless Tim in S6. You hear me writers? I need MORE LOL

Tim isn’t exactly helping with his matching intense gaze. He doesn’t break eye contact with her except to look down at where she is placing it. Tim is flirting right back with his own thirsty gaze. He can feel how electrically charged this moment is. Feeling very aware of her gaze and returning it in kind. They're feeding off each other 100% right now.

Tim is the first to come back to his senses just like in 4x01. So he chastises her for putting the mic too high. It breaks Lucy’s lusty gaze and fog she was in. Annoyed he’s done as such she is not kind in removing the tape. Like at all LOL Lucy tells him she knows what she’s doing right before she rips it off. His reaction is so damn funny I’m dying. Lucy is very pleased with herself. The raw UST is prominent throughout the entire season its so good. Just mounts a little more each ep.

Lucy apologizes for ripping it off and sends him off. You know she is going to enjoy being the voice in his ear. Watching him do UC from the van as she observes. Aston isn’t being explicit enough. Too busy checking Tim out and hitting on him. I mean can’t blame the woman. He looks fine as hell. Lucy is laughing in his ear floored by this women’s forwardness.

She is getting a kick out of this woman blatantly hitting on him. Asking if this woman is touching him? If she is then if she offers money for sex she’ll win the bet LOL Oh Lucy so one track minded I’m dying. It’s what prompts Tim’s response above and Lucy’s excitement bout it. Tim finally gets her to confess with details once she thinks she has a shot with him ha. Using his good looks to close this case. Fantastic.

Afterwards they come to visit Nolan in the hospital. He survived a mad man apparently. Sheer luck I think but survived nonetheless. This is their married moment of the ep. Also Tall/Smol shots that I enjoy so much. Tim gives her crap for buying out the entire gift store. Lucy says he’s been in hospital before. He knows how boring it can be. She then asks what he got for Nolan?

Hahah oh sweet Lucy. Did you really think Tim would spend money on Nolan of all people? He tells her no…but he’ll just put his name on her gift ahaha I can see in future when they’re giving out gifts as a couple they'd be the same. People will be thanking them and Tim will have no idea what she bought for them. Just go along with it.

Lucy is shocked but not shocked by his behavior. Saying 'Unbelievable' Like really she shouldn’t expect anything less. Also this is totally normal giving a shared gift like this. Nothing married at all about this behavior whatsoever....Super platonic.

Lucy brings up the bet one last time. Tim says her first name (be still my heart) saying he wants to call it a draw. That police work is too important to turn into a game. Lucy prods him saying he only wants to call it because he might lose. Tim says sure if that’s what she needs to hear. He will go with that. She asks him when he became the noble one? Tim just asks if that means they’re square on their bet? Lucy agrees no one wins but says he can’t have his name on her basket hahaha Tim rolls his eyes but follows after her anyway.

I think Tim was worried if they continued with the bet their next 'van moment' could escalate. Tim may not be aware of a lot with Lucy in terms of being in love with her yet. But he is VERY aware of his attraction to her. That hug in 4x01 was blatant proof of it. That their competitive nature is flirt fueled. So cutting this one off at the knees extinguishes that. It's why he was so quick to end it. Avoidance is the name of the game for him now. So he let Lucy have whatever terms of surrender she wanted. Including knocking his name off that basket and saying it was cause he didn't want to lose. He knows they are on thin ice and trying to keep them from falling in.

~~~

Side notes- Non Chenford.

Poor Wesley in Elijah’s tangled web. Grey trying to give him an out. A mistake that is going to haunt and follow them for a long time to come.

Nolan had a SL but I didn’t care till Chenford came to give him a gift lmao

Thank you thank you to all who like, comment and reblog these. You all make my day you have no idea. Shall see you Wednesday with 4x08 :)

[oneatlatime]

The Cave of Two Lovers

I always wanted to be a frog on a leaf.

Does Aang have chaps?

Instructed to hold his arms closer together, Aang immediately spreads them as far apart as physically possible.

Hippies!

Chong's wife is not called Cheech. That's a travesty.

Between the 90s boy band hair and the quadrupedal underwear, Sokka is not looking his best this episode!

Uncle, were you watching? Did you see? Lookit Uncle I even threw in some fist shaking at god and a dramatic tumble. Did you watch? Lookitmeeeeeeee.

Seems like it's Zuko's turn with the brain cell. Iroh plays the dumbass a lot but he can't seriously be contemplating risking poisoning himself while he has zero resources.

Appa getting a turn as the couch rather than the whip. Sweet braids.

"Oh it's a real legend" is a remarkably accurate statement when speaking of oral folklore. Real v. Fake legends are an actual thing!

Did anyone watch Arthur growing up? Anyone remember the Crazy Bus song? I feel like this Tunnel song is what Crazy Bus was trying to be.

I like her skirt. Actually all of their clothes are pretty neat.

Why does Appa hate going underground?

That's got to be watercolour.

The stick is a better catch than the fish. It's a damn good stick.

Zuko actually managing to admit that he needs help! Or rather, that they need help. That's growth! Maybe that's why Iroh poisoned himself? Or maybe he's just having a dumb moment? Two consecutive dumb moments?

Do you think being unwanted in literally every country on earth including his own is going to be enough to convince Zuko that maybe his nation isn't so great?

Her earrings are bells. She probably deafens herself when she walks.

Why is the science guy freaking out about curses?

Chong's necklace flowers keep drastically changing size depending on how close up the shot is.

Average fire nation soldier is superstitious. I bet they can use that. And this guy's hands are huge. Also those flying grappling hook chain things are, in my opinion, the fire nation's greatest combat advantage. Who needs bending when you have those?

The math-defying torches apparently work like strike anywhere matches.

Definitely watching this one on a CRT when I have the chance. Too dark otherwise.

Can you do that? Turn a map of the paths you've taken into a solvable maze? Don't you need to see all possible paths to solve a maze?

Three things: a) I like Song's voice actress. Very pretty voice, matches the face well. b) Zuko being terminally awkward when needing to lie is something that's been consistent since the third episode. He really needs to work on that. c) There's a whole world of visual storytelling in the fact that, when hastily required to look natural, Zuko defaults to parade rest.

The latest fashion in men's neckwear.

I mean technically yeah, Zuko's dad is fighting in the war, but Good Lord are he and Song bonding over traumas from the 100% opposite directions.

They snuck in a Bob Dylan joke!?!?!

Poor Appa is having a time of it this episode.

Sokka would rather die in a self-inflicted rock slide than hang with the hippies. That's a very Sokka thing.

The lighting here is beautiful. All warm and glowy.

Poor Song. It's borderline embarrassing to watch how wrong she is. But at the same time, she's completely right. The Fire Nation did hurt Zuko. But the Fire Nation is Zuko. But Zuko was hurt by the Fire Nation. Zuko's brain must be inside out right now.

No touchy.

Why is Zuko surprised by her burns? Did he think his nation took over most of the world by asking nicely? Seriously, did he?

It's good to finally see more burns. Well, not good, but logical. I think I ranted last episode about why I was so surprised by the lack of burns.

I'm with Sokka on this one. There is a (very limited) time and a (very tiny) place for singalongs, and this isn't it. Also I keep thinking that Momo is wearing an Adidas tracksuit.

The last thing cave walls see before death.

What do you know, it is a real legend.

Pretty. This whole sequence is inky.

I love how this show does badass bitches.

How on brand is it that the city founded by think-outside-the-box badgermole wrassling innovators is now ruled by Bumi? Original thought, badass earthbender, giant murderous rabbit; he fits right in.

No kissing until you're 35. What a face though.

Aang STOP TALKING YOU CANNOT WIN!!!

What's wrong with you is that you're 12. No one is smooth at 12.

According to the episode The Storm, the avatar does in fact represent hope to Zuko, but Song just can't stop putting her foot in it. Literally any other earth kingdom refugee would come away from an evening with Song feeling renewed hope, but she's unintentionally and unknowingly hit pretty much every one of Zuko's sore spots. This must have been a very frustrating evening for him.

In case we forgot that Zuko was the villain, he steals a horse bird. Iroh why are you ok with this?

Ouch.

Where is your chin

Chong was right. All they did need to do was play music. These guys would probably kill me if I tried, but gosh they're so cute I want 5.

How many string instruments does Chong have stashed in his robe? His improv skills are top notch though.

You want me to believe that a couple of millennia of badgermoles rearranging things as they see fit has not altered the path of the crystals?

I feel ya buddy.

Sokka assuming his rightful throne. King of the Badgermoles.

Badgermoles have elf ears.

"Really? We let huge ferocious beasts lead our way." I love this line.

Appa's such a good friend. Settling in for a long listening session.

"So are you guys going to come to Omashu with us?" "Nope." "Ok." *fucks off into the sunset* Now that's how you write out a character.

NOOO BUMI!!!

Do you think the hippies knew? Is that why they didn't want to go to Omashu? It would be totally on brand for them to know the whole time and not tell.

Final Thoughts

Well that was a hell of a bait and switch ending. Supreme goof A-plot, Zuko having his dearly held beliefs dragged through the mud B-plot, and then suddenly *BOOM* overarching plot.

So is this season going to be the 'step on Zuko until he's decent' season? Because he's got a long way to go.

Why was Iroh being so stupid in the beginning? Does he have a blind spot where tea is concerned? He made Zuko look like the reasonable one. That's quite a feat.

At first glance, Sokka got to shine in this episode, but actually it was Chong who was right all along. There was a real legend about a secret tunnel, the solution was to trust in love, both as Aang & Katara did and as Chong's group tried (love songs). And that kid WAS the avatar! Three for Three!

I'm still not a fan of Aang & Katara being involved romantically (mostly because they're BABY), but I love the way they related to each other this episode. Their interactions felt 100% natural. What tween hasn't put their foot in their mouth around their crush?

Someone give Appa a hug. You know what? Give Momo a hug too. He worked hard as a wolfbat early alert system.

Speaking of Appa, are his underside sections furry? Covered in short grey fur? Or are they hard grey armoured plates? Are they shell or skin?

I've noticed that animal noises come in three flavours in this show: Appa grumbles, Momo trills, or wolfbat hisses. Most animals make variations of these three.

Are we sure Song hasn't been hitting the White Jade herself? Those are pretty similar.

Poor Song is really crapped on this episode. All she did was be compassionate and she gets her horse thing stolen. It makes sense that she wouldn't try to retrieve her horse thing, both because she's too kind, and because it's just her and her mom against two fairly rough guys. If this is the season of Zuko improvement, how many more innocents like Song will be crapped on in the name of improving Zuko?

Chong's robe's sleeve kind of hangs off his waist, since he's rocking the one shoulder look. I thought Bato was rocking that same look in his episode, and spent the whole episode looking for where he stashed his sleeve, but I couldn't find it. But now I see Chong with the same look and he definitely has extra sleeve trailing. So did Bato cut off his sleeve? Is he wearing the robe he was wearing when he got injured and his sleeve burned off? Is there a known way to tuck robe sleeves in inconspicuously and the fact that we can see Chong's is a bit of visual storytelling pointing to the hippies' general scatterbrained nature? Am I overthinking this?

I liked this episode! Definitely going on my rewatch list! The hippies are just the right amount of stupid, Zuko gets a break from being a shouty jerk, and Aang and Katara get to be just awkward kids (albeit while trapped in a life or death situation - priorities guys). Poor Sokka, Appa, and Song have a pretty bad time. But Sokka being terrorised by stupidity makes for funny tv.

[deangirlsstuff67]

Luck of the Irish

Beau Arlen x Reader

Authors note: Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone! Just a little Beau fluff before some smutty goodness. This man would be so much fun to have arrest me. Hope you enjoy your day and be safe ♡

Masterlist | Patreon

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St. Patrick's Day. It's almost as bad as Halloween for anyone in law enforcement. The one day a year everyone believes their Irish, and everyone gets drunk disorderly charges.

This was Beau Arlen's first one as acting sheriff in Helena, Montana. So far, nothing was too serious. Kids partying in the country, couple drunks started early today and were already in the holding cells. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Jenny Hoyt comes into his office, "hey Beau, we got a domestic in progress."

Great. Well, his easy day just ended. Grabbing his cowboy hat off his desk he follows the blonde out to her truck.

"What we looking at Hoyt?"

"Nothing that can't be defused. I know the woman, y/n, she's a local bartender. Sounds like her jerk of an ex has shown up drunk out of his mind, and she's got him standing at the end of her rifle."

Good grief. Some guys need to learn to take a hint. Jenny gives him the low down on their very messy and public breakup. Typical story, he couldn't keep his dick in his pants, and she found out. Now he's back begging for another second chance.

Got to admit, knowing y/n isn't letting him get away with what he did to her shows she's strong.

It's as you'd expect when Beau and Jenny get on scene. A tall blonde, obviously drunk, man is swaying back and forth as he talks with his hands. Trying desperately to get back into her pants.

The woman, who he assumes is y/n, is a beautiful brunette. She's hyper focus on her ex boyfriend. The rifle point straight at the guys genitals.

Beau shakes his head with a smirk when he realizes she's not pulling any punches today.

"Jenny this isn't any of your concern. I've got it handled." Y/N says without breaking eye contact with the blonde man.

"That I have no doubt Darling." Beau's deep voice breaks the brunette out of her focus. Drawing her blue eyes to his green ones. God damn she's beautiful.

Apparently, her ex has finally figured out there are more people here. He whips around to face the two officers, "I don't know who you are, but stop hitting on my girl before I knock your lights out."

Looks like blondy has some balls.

"Hello. Names Beau Arlen. I'm the new acting sheriff at the moment." Beau extends his hand out to shake.

Drunken and disorderly glares at it before speaking, "I don't give a shit who you are, get your fucking eyes off my woman asshole."

Y/N is the first to speak, "Jeremy shut the fuck up you idiot." She shakes her head before addresses Jenny and I, "you have to excuse him, he's apparently left his brain cell at home today."

"Baby don't be like that. I swear I didn't mean it, it was an accident."

"Oh yes, you accidentally slipped and your dick just fell into her vagina right?"

Beau couldn't help but laugh. It honestly had to be the best thing he's ever heard from a woman. Of course, Beau laughing pissed off the man standing in front of him. So much so that he made the mistake of trying to swing at the sheriff.

It took Beau two well practiced moves to have the drunk idiot on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back.

Jenny took the man to her truck, leaving Beau and y/n alone.

"I had it handled." Y/N sassed while lowering her weapon. Beau couldn't while the smile off his face.

"I have no doubt. But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't help a pretty lady such as yourself?"

"Pretty lady hey?"

Beau nodded and bit his lower lip. He knows he should be the attracted to someone he is dealing with in a professional capacity. Something about the fierce brunette has him rock hard in his blue jeans.

No other words are spoken between the two as she walks up to him. Rising on her tip toes to bring her lips to his. The kiss is hot, desperate, and passionate. When she breaks away, he's left craving more.

"Must be luck of the Irish that you were here to help me then, sheriff."

With that she walks back into her house. Leaving Beau wanting more and her drunken ex swearing in the backseat.