#she needs a god damn brain cell

[leclerc-hs]

hard deck - cl16

pairing: pilot!charles leclerc x f!reader summary: in which your best friend's other best friend hates you OR charles is in love with you and he fucking hates that he is. warnings: language, bad writing (honestly, I think I'm in a bad phase rn and everything I write sucks), NOT PROOFREAD, smutttt (short but 18+ pls) word count: ~3.6k author's note: I'm gonna say I genuinely have no idea wtf I just wrote. its kinda shitty and for that I apologize. I'm still trying to get back into the groove of writing again bc it's been SO long. anyways xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“God, do you ever just shut up?” Charles watches you with irritation, his brow furrowed as he takes a long swig of the amber liquid in his class. The tension hangs thick in the air, his frustration palpable.

He swallows hard, the alcohol clearly his refuge at this moment, a desperate attempt to calm the urge to shove you down the nearest flight of stairs. You can see the conflict brewing behind his eyes, a storm of annoyance and something else— perhaps regret?

No way. Charles ‘Perceval’ Leclerc would never regret being mean to you.

You send him the hardest glare you can muster, swinging your legs to the side of the chair before coming to a stand. “Are you ever not a fucking dick? Seriously how do you have friends?”

“Why? You need tips on how to get some?”

“Perceval!” Carlos gives him a disapproving look, “Cut it out.”

“Me?” His eyes widen in astonishment as he points his fingers to himself in question. “You were thinking it too. You just can’t say it because she’s your childhood friend.”

“Seriously, hermano.” Carlos sighs. “Leave her alone.”

“Don’t sweat it Car,” You mutter, your voice low and casual as you lean against the edge of the table. “I’m moving over there.” You point towards a few of your friends gathered around the dart board.

Carlos’s expression shifts, his eyes widening in that endearing way that always makes you chuckle. “No, stay.” He pleads, giving you the best puppy dog eyes he can muster, complete with a slight pout that would make anyone’s heart melt. “Charles will stop. Right?”

With a playful swing of his arm, he hits Charles in the ribs, the impact harder than necessary. Charles winces dramatically, clutching his side as he shoots Carlos a mock glare, his lips curling into a frown.

“Whatever.”

You make a stupid face of mockery, scrunching your features and sticking out your tongue in the most absurd way possible. Childish? Sure. But damn, it felt good.

Carlos bursts into laughter, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he nearly doubles over. “What even was that? A dying fish?” He jokes, wiping a tear from his eye.

Charles just rolls his eyes, “Seriously? I’m losing brain cells just being around you, Bug.” He retorts, but theres no real annoyance in his voice— just teasing.

Bug. That forsaken nickname he gave you seemed to stick. Even went so far to be your call sign. Probably called you it because he associated you as a pest. But he really meant it as an endearing way. Not that he would ever admit it.

-

You and Charles stand in front of a model fighter jet, the sleek design gleaming under the bright lights, its metallic surface reflecting the excitement in the room. The imposing aircraft, with its sharp lines and polished finish, feels almost alive, and the air is thick with the thrill of aviation.

“Seriously? You think you could handle flying that thing?” you tease, crossing your arms and leaning against the display. Your smirk is playful, but there’s a challenge in your tone.

“Absolutely Bug,” he replies, leaning in slightly, confidence radiating from him. “I’d be soaring through the skies while you’re down here, probably tripping over your own feet.”

“Please,” you scoff, rolling your eyes with a dramatic flair. “You’d probably get lost on the runway, looking for the nearest snack bar instead of focusing on takeoff.”

“Lost? In a fighter jet?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips. “I’d be the one pulling off the real maneuvers while you flounder around in the backseat, screaming like a scared kitten.”

“Real maneuvers?” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Like what? A graceful belly flop?” You lean in closer, narrowing your eyes playfully. “I can just picture it now: Perceval, taking a nosedive to the nearest ice cream stand.”

He leans back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the banter. “Well, at least I’d crash in style. You’d just be a mess, splattered all over the tarmac.”

“Whatever P.”

-

Your voice is the first thing Charles hears, cutting through the fog of sleep. He drags his pillow over his face with a groan, trying to block out the sound, but it only muffles your words.

Do you ever leave Carlos alone?

Charles has successfully avoided you for a whole four days. Probably the longest he’s gone since he met Carlos all those years ago.

The smell of coffee wafted through the air eliciting a groan from him. 

Coffee. Yes.

Charles makes his way to the kitchen, sleep still clinging to his eyes, his hair a wild mess that seems to have taken on a life of its own overnight. The loose grey sweatpants hang loosely off of his hips, giving him that effortlessly disheveled look that somehow works in his favor.

You lean against the counter, a mug of coffee in hand, and can’t help but smirk at the sight. “Wow, you really went all out this morning Sleeping Beauty, didn’t you?” You tease, trying to suppress a laugh.

He squints at you, trying to focus through the remnants of sleep, but it takes him a moment to fully register your presence. You stand there in a large t-shirt that hangs loosely around your frame, the fabric slightly wrinkled, and Charles can’t help but feel a rush of annoyance mixed with something else— something that sets his skin on fire.

The fact that you’re clearly wearing Carlos’ shirt bothers him more than he’d like to admit. “Seriously? Carlos’ shirt?” He finally manages to say, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You glance down at the oversized tee, a playful smile creeping onto your face. “It’s comfortable.”

“Who are you to judge my look, when you’re wearing that.” He defends himself, but can’t help but feel a little flustered. “At least they’re not borrowed from someone else.”

You laugh, and the sound only makes his annoyance deepen. “What? Are you jealous of Carlos’ clothes?”

“Not at all.” He replies, his tone more serious than he intended. “You could just wear something that actually fits you.”

You take a step closer, a playful challenge in your gaze. “And what would you suggest, P?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer you in something that’s not associated with him at all,” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

-

Life was weird.

You and Charles had gone from full-on arguments that filled the air with tension to this strange dance of tip-toeing around one another. It was a shift you hadn’t quite expected. Don’t get it twisted— you still fought. A lot. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t mean; it was almost flirty, charged with a new energy.

“Get that wretched drink away from me.” Charles chirps, wrinkling his nose as you settle into your usual spot at the Hard Deck, the familiar buzz of the bar surrounding you.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “There is nothing wretched about a dirty martini. It’s sophisticated.”

“The fact you enjoy olives is nauseating.” He replies, crossing his arms in mock disapproval, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

You take a sip, letting the briny flavor linger on your tongue before responding. “The fact you don’t ever shut up is nauseating.”

He leans in slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t shut up? You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not here to argue tonight.” You say, relaxing into your chair, the low hum of conversation around you a comforting backdrop.

“Oh yeah? Me either,” Charles replies, taking a large gulp of his beer, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Just wondering though. What are you here for?”

You flash him a teasing grin. “To get laid.”

It it weren’t for his widened eyes, Charles gave no emotion away. “Seriously? That’s your game plan for the night?”

“Why not?” You shrug, leaning back with confidence. “All these fighter pilots are an easy lay.”

It was true. You were hot. And that thought alone drove Charles nuts. “And here I thought you were just here for the olives and to annoy me.”

“Those are just the bonus perks,” you quip, glancing around the bar. “Now, I’m gonna go dance and get myself a man.” You slip off your stool with a bright smile, sending a teasing wink in Charles direction. He can’t help but grumble in response.

“If any of those men touch you, I’ll fight them.” Carlos grumbles, bringing the bottled beer to his lips. 

“Oh please.” You wave him off. “Stop acting like I’m some innocent girl Car. You’ve known me too long for that."

-

Charles is pissed.

His jaw was set tight, and each breath seemed measured, like he was holding back a storm. The air around him crackled with tension, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear— whatever had triggered this fury was digging deep.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, P?” Carlos chuckles, cracking a peanut shell onto the wooden bar top before popping it in his mouth.

The air around him felt charged, almost electric, as he pointed a finger toward you. “You just gonna let that guy grope her like that?”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to where you stood, fully engaged in conversation with a pilot named Jake, call sign ‘Hangman’. The way you laughed and leaned in, seemingly at ease, only fueled Charles’s frustration. “She can handle herself, you know that,” Carlos replied, a teasing tone edging into his voice.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean she should.” Charles snapped, his voice low and tight. He leaned forward, the tension in his body palpable as he watched Jake’s hand rest just a little too close for comfort on your waist. “Look how close he is. It’s like he thinks he owns her.”

“You’re ridiculous, P.” Carlos chuckles, shaking his head as he cracks a peanut shell against the wooden bar top. “When are you going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Charles shot back, his gaze still locked on you, oblivious to anything else around him.

“That you like her,” Carlos says, a smirk creeping onto his face as he leans back, arms crossed behind his head.

Charles’s eyes narrowed as he studied you and Jake, the warmth of the bar contrasting sharply with the chill of jealousy creeping in. “Like her?” He echoed, disbelief woven in his tone. “I can barely stand her.” 

But deep down, he felt the truth of it. That he did like you. That he might even love you.

-

“Hangman!” Charles’s voice reverberates through the hangar, its volume cutting through the low hum of conversation and machinery. You wince at the abruptness of it, wondering why on earth he needs to talk to Jake, when he’s clearly talking to you.

Your gaze shifts back to Jake, who is laughing, seemingly unfazed by Charles’s entrance. But it was the way Charles’s rests his hand onto Jake’s shoulder that made you uneasy— too casual, too familiar. A knot formed in your stomach at the sight.

You took a deep breath, deciding to not let your thoughts go south. There’s no way Charles would go as far as sabotaging a potential relationship. Right?

“To what do we owe the displeasure of your annoyance?” You ask, your eyebrows slightly raised in confusion.

Charles shifts his gaze to you, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Yes, fight with me.

“Displeasure?” He shoots back. “You wouldn’t know displeasure if it hit you in the face.”

“What are you five?”

He smirks before shifting his eyes back to Jake, his hand still resting on his shoulder. “I actually need him for something. See ya sweet cheeks.” His tone dripping with mock nonchalance.

You narrow your eyes, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Really? That’s how you’re going to play this?”

-

“You don’t give up, do you?” His voice was low and amused, cutting through your focus on the dart board before you.

You roll your eyes— a reflex you perfected around him— trying to ignore the way Charles’s gaze lingers on you. With a deep breath, you glance over, meeting his warm smile. It’s disarming, that easygoing charm of his, like a breath of fresh air.

His relaxed posture leans casually agains the bar, arms crossed, exuding a effortless confidence that somehow makes you feel at ease. You try to refocus on the dartboard, but it’s hard to concentrate when his eyes are like a magnetic pull, drawing your attention away.

“You know, if you actually focused, you might hit the board this time,” He teases, the playful glint in his eyes making it impossible to stay annoyed.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, before placing all darts down on the table nearby. “Yeah, yeah. Like you’re one to talk about focusing.”

He laughs, and its infectious, a sound that warms the room. “I focus plenty.”

“Yeah,” You agree. “On finding ways to talk dirty.”

The corner of his mouth curls into a confident grin, and his eyes spark with mischief. “It’s a skill. Not everyone can pull off that kind of charm.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference, though your heart flutters a little. “Charm? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his tone low and teasing, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a thrill down your spine. “You know you love it.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“And you love every minute of it,” He counters, leaning slightly closer, the playful challenge in his gaze making it hard to resist the pull between you. The air around you feels charged, a mix of flirtation and genuine connection.

“You know, I fucking hate you.” You say, the words slipping our more forcefully than intended.

Charles chuckles dryly, no humor lacing in his tone. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

“Harsh?” You let out a laugh tinged with bitterness, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “No. Jake won’t even look at me since whatever you said to him.” You cross your arms over your chest.

The air between you thickens, the weight of unspoken tension almost suffocating. Charles shifts slightly, his expression darkening as seriousness settles over him. “Good.”

“I can’t even believe you right now.” Frustration wells up inside as you reach for your bag, the rough fabric grounding you as you stomp toward the exit. Each step feels heavy, fueled by a mix of anger and disbelief. The lively chatter of the bar fades behind you, leaving only the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Charles doesn’t let up, his footsteps echoing behind you, persistent and urgent. “You’re literally such an asshole,” You throw over your shoulder, the words sharp and cutting.

“He doesn’t deserve you!” he shouts, frustration spilling over as he catches up to you, breathless. His hand runs through his hair, a familiar gesture of agitation, and before you can step away, he reaches for your shoulder, gently halting you in your tracks.

“Deserve me?” You repeat his words, incredulity lacing your voice. “What the fuck does that even mean? You hate me, remember?”

Charles looks up at the sky for a brief moment, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion, as if he’s searching for clarity among the stars. “I don’t hate you,” he finally admits, his voice low but intense. “I just… I can’t stand watching him touch you.”

You can feel the tension radiating between you, charged and electric. “But it’s not your call,” you reply, your tone softer but still defensive. 

“You don’t think I know that?” He laughs, but its somewhat sad sounding. “You…you drive me insane.” He says, but its almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“You drive me completely insane actually. Like all I can ever hear is your fuckin’ voice inside of my head. Arguing me over everything. And your stupid fuckin’ jokes too. I can’t even look at olives without seeing your fuckin’ face in them.” He continues on, the words pouring out of him and he can’t stop.

“And I know it sounds crazy because I’ve been such a dick to you. But I didn’t know how to handle these feelings. I mean you’re Carlos’s best friend,” he confesses, his voice trembling slightly, “but I like hearing your voice inside of my head. I like that olives remind me of you. I like you.” His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

They’re so green. A vivid, almost luminescent shade that captures the light and seems to hold an entire universe within them. You realize you’ve never truly noticed how striking they are until this very moment—the way they flicker with emotion, drawing you in and holding you captive.

The green is rich and deep, like a forest canopy dappled with sunlight, alive with the promise of something untamed. You find yourself getting lost in them, feeling the weight of his confession settle around you like a warm embrace. It’s as if all the barriers that had kept you apart are beginning to dissolve, and you can see a vulnerability in him that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge before.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you fades away—the sounds of the bustling bar, the cool night air, the lingering frustration—all of it blurs into the background. In the depths of his gaze, you sense a longing, a desire that mirrors your own, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You feel the tension shift, and the space between you feels charged, alive with possibility.

“So hate me all you want, but I couldn’t watch Hangman try to have a meaningless fuck with you.”

“You don’t mean that.” Your voice comes out small and unsure, your throat feeling dryer than before from his confessions.

“Don’t mean what?” He steps closer, eyes never falling from yours, as his calloused finger tips rest along your hips. He almost expects you to flinch and shove him away— hell you think you would too— but you don’t. 

“You think I’d lie about liking you? About wanting you?” His eyes drop to your lips for a mere second before meeting your gaze once more. “It’s not a lie. I’m not that cruel.”

You go to turn from his hold, but his grip on your hips tightens. “Bug, I swear. Why would I embarrass myself like this if it weren’t true?”

The tension is palpable, an electric charge hanging in the air, and your stomach swarms with warmth at his words. “I can’t get your fuckin’ lips out of my mind,” he nearly pleads, his voice thick with desire. “I need to kiss you. Please let me kiss you, yeah?”

You feel your heart race, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as his confession washes over you. The weight of the moment feels like it could burst, and you swear your brain short-circuits, caught between disbelief and overwhelming longing.

Before he can say another word, you rise on your tiptoes, driven by an instinct you can’t ignore. In a swift, bold move, you press your lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, tentative yet charged with all the unspoken words and emotions that have built up between you.

As his lips meld against yours, a rush of warmth surges, igniting a fire that spreads from your lips to the tips of your fingers. The kiss deepens, turning from hesitant to passionate, and Charles groans into your mouth.

Time seems to stretch, the world around you fading into a blur. All that exists is the taste of him, the warmth of his breath, and the intoxicating feeling of connection that envelops you both. 

“Bug,” He pulls you both apart. “We gotta stop or I’m gonna take you right here on the deck of this place.”

You pull back from his embrace, giving him a look as you breath heavily, your lips swollen. “Is it bad to say I like that idea?”

His lets out a long groan and tilts his head back. “I always knew you’d be the death of me.”

“Take me home, P.”

-

“Fuck, baby.” He groans hotly into your ear. “Keep fuckin’ doin that.” His hoarse voice muttered, hands behind his head as he watches you work yourself over his cock.

There’s a sense of desperation on your face, and he can’t help but smirk at the sight of it. 

Your eyes burned with the tears that slid down your cheeks. The feeling of being filled to the brim and fucked the way you needed, was more than enough to elicit tears.

“Fu-uuck.” He groans again, panting out as he drops his hands to hold both your hips. Your hips swivel, a heavy moan escaping your lips as you ground yourself against him in a feverish pace.

“P,” you whine as your mouth falls open into an “O” shape. The air around you is humid and thick as Charles thrusts his hips up into you with ease. “M’so close.”

“Yeah?” His fingers slip to the nape of your neck, squeezing roughly as he pulls your chest down to his. Pumping his cock upwards into you. “C’mon, give it to me.”

You fail to form any words, nothing but grunts and small moans escaping past your lips as Charles fucks himself into you. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. 

“Need it so bad, baby.” He mutters into your ear in between groans. “Need to feel you on me.”

“Mmm, feels so nice.” He urges you on. “You do it so well.”

Charles couldn’t help himself as your wall clamp down him tightly. The pace of his hips, and the force of you driving down onto him, was enough to send you both spiraling over the edge. Crashing.

“You’re so good. Mon dieu.”

“M’gonna go insane baby. Need more.” He groans, flipping you both over before slipping your leg up and fucking into you again. “Y’feel so good. Can’t stop.”

"Never gonna be mean to you again."

"No?"

"No. I promise, Bug."

"Even when I eat olives?"

"Even when you eat olives."

"What about when I argue you on anything."

"Don't care. I only fought with you because it was the only time you gave me actual attention."

Your heart clenches at his words, his hips slowing down as he presses soft kisses to your face.

"What about when-"

"Never again, Bug."

[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.”

[boxxing-flavored]

You knew Abby was drunk when she leaned against the bar, arms crossed over her chest, swaying just a little. But what really gave it away was the way she was looking at you like she’d just seen you for the first time, like she hadn’t spent months pressing lazy kisses to your neck and pulling you into bed just to tangle herself around you.

And then, she smirked. Slow. Cocky. “You got a name, sweetheart?” she drawled. You exhaled through your nose. “Abby-” She shook her head, brows furrowing like you were the problem here. “No, see, that’s not what I asked.” She jabbed a finger toward you, nearly toppling over in the process. “I asked if you got a name.”

You stared at her. Unbelievable.

“Abby,” you said, slowly, “we have been dating for months.” Her lips parted slightly. She blinked. Then, after a long pause, she grinned. “Really? You sighed. “Yes, really.” “Damn.” She nodded, as if genuinely impressed with herself. “Lucky me.”

You moved to pull her off the stool, but the second you touched her she grabbed the bar and refused to move. “Nope,” she muttered. “Not done yet.”

“Abby, you’re wasted.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re slurring.”

“No, you’re slurring.”

“Oh my God ab-“

Before you could finish, Abby’s hands found your waist, and suddenly, you were pulled flush against her, trapped between her legs. Her breath was warm, her fingers gripping your hips like she needed to keep you there.bShe smirked up at you. “You single?” Your patience was hanging on by a thread. “No.” She seemed to deflate right there, a pout appearing on her face. “Damn shame.” She paused. Then, softer, “Your boyfriend around?”

You stared at her.

Then you grabbed her face, squishing her cheeks together. “You. Are. My. Girlfriend.” Abby blinked, pouting through her squished lips. Then her eyes lit up. “Holy shit,” she mumbled. “I got a girlfriend? She hot?” You groaned, trying to pry her hands off of you. “I’m leaving you here.”

“No, no, no, wait-c’mere.” She tugged you right back in, arms tightening around your waist. “Lemme try again.” You sighed. “Try what again?” Her smirk was slow, deliberate, voice thick with whiskey and so much confidence for someone who was barely upright. “Pickin’ you up.”

You crossed your arms. “Fine. Impress me.”

Abby rolled her shoulders, like she was prepping for a fight, and sat up a little straighter. She took a deep breath, focused all of her drunk little brain cells and immediately slurred, “You got a name, sweetheart?”

You groaned, shoving her face away as she laughed, completely shameless.

[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.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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

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can you write a lyrason fic where grayson is jealous of lyras ex? preferably before they start dating. ❤️

Grayson Is Jealous.

Today was another normal day in the Hawthorne household.

Everyone had gathered around in order to discuss the next Annual Game night— which would be the third of the week, but you can’t do much once Xander insists.

“LETS PLAY DRINK OR DARE AGAIN!!” Demanded Xander.

Lyra considered the demand, she was in charge of choosing which games would be included in this game night. Apparently, it was a ‘Benefit of becoming a soon-to-be-sister-in-law’.

“Xander. The last time we played Drink or Dare, you made Avery scream Hamlet at the top of her lungs at 12am, made Libby an aspiring arsonist and almost made Max a boy.” Lyra deadpanned.

Nash chuckled while Jameson completely lost it. Grayson rolled his eyes as a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“I did no such thing, they had the choice to drink after all.” Xander replied sending a pointed glance towards the three in question.

Avery, who was used to the bull shit of the Hawthorne brothers, completely ignored Xander.

“Don’t do it, Lyra. You know the consequences of saying yes to a Drink or Dare game.” Avery warned her.

Lyra held back the urge to laugh. She was about to answer when her phone rang.

The room went silent as she checked who in their right mind would call her at 9 in the morning. Everyone knew she wasn’t a morning person.

Lyra was surprised to see a number on the screen. Grayson leaned over and raised a brow in question, seeing just the number.

She picked up, “Hello?”

A muffled voice came from the other side of the line, “Hello? Is this Lyra?” He sounded like a male.

Lyra paused for a second, she knew that voice. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on whose it was.

“Uh— yes. Who is this?” She asked, mildly embarrassed at not being able to recognise the person.

“… Lyra— you seriously don’t recognise me?” The other person asked sounding genuinely hurt.

Lyra paused again, wracking her brain cells cause she was damn sure she knew this person. And then it clicked.

“HOLY SHIT— HARRY????” Lyra screamed, quite literally springing up, off of her seat on the sofa.

Her embarrassing past began to catch up to her the moment she said Harry’s name out loud.

Harry. Harry Smith. Her childhood friend and also her… first boyfriend.

Lyra suddenly felt the need to crawl out of her skin, dig up a ditch in the floor and die.

Harry and Lyra were friends in the past. They were raised in the same neighbourhood and talked a fair amount of times.

She liked to dance and was fairly good looking, he also liked to dance and thought she looked pretty. So he asked her out. And she said yes. That’s it. No real reason. Just cuz.

Lyra mentally screamed into the abyss. I mean— they were middle schoolers. Can you blame them? Lyra had thought that maybe dating would get her mind off… things for a while.

She had been wrong. So they broke it off literally two days later. No hugs, no kisses, just one failed date.

Lyra realised that everybody was staring at her now. She nervously signalled for them to give her a minute and walked out to the balcony.

She heard Harry laughing on the other side of the line.

“Yes. It’s me. Thank god— I thought you might have Alzheimer's or something.” He joked. Lyra let out a forced laugh.

She didn’t hate Harry. They had continued being friends after their little ‘dating phase’ but eventually grew apart when Lyra moved away from Miles End.

This is bloody awkward. She thought to herself. She hated making conversation. It made her feel like she wasn’t herself again.

Lyra took a deep breath, “Anyways, what’s up? It’s been a while.” Said Lyra, finally.

Harry huffed, “I know right. College was crazy. I thought about contacting you a few times but I didn’t really know how to reach out to you.”

Lyra gave a non committed ‘hmm’.

There shared a few moments of awkward silence and Lyra contemplated jumping off the balcony. She scratched the thought though once she realised that the balcony itself wasn’t very high off the main ground.

I’d have to jump like— twice to die from here.

“Well, my stupid ass finally realised I could just ask your parents for you phone number. They were ecstatic.” He laughed.

Lyra gave a small smile at the mention of her parents, “I swear, they think I have no friends.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, can you blame them? You were a loner.” He said, matter of factly. She hated that he was right.

“Gee, did you call me to make fun of me?” Lyra asked, jokingly.

And so they continued, catching up with one another for what felt like forever. Lyra didn’t exactly enjoy the entire thing. The Lyra Kane Harry had known wasn’t actually her.

It was the facade she had on for everyone as to seem alright. Like a normal little girl. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Not after everything. Not after Grayson.

Lyra turned around to see Max and Avery waiting for her on the other side of the balcony door with a questioning look. She gave them both a smile.

“Anyways, we should really meet up again— it’s been like— forever since we last met each other .” Said Harry, as enthusiastic as ever.

Oh hell no. Was Lyra’s immediate thought. She wasn’t ready to meet everyone from her past just yet. She needed time. To heal. To be herself again with no room for doubt.

“Haha, yeah. I’ll consider when I can come over to Miles End.” She replied.

Lyra said her goodbyes and hung up, facing her two, extremely nosy friends. She could hear the others chatting away in the ‘conference room’.

“Anddddd who is this Harry?” Asked Max, with an intrigued expression. Oh the gossip queen she was.

“Don’t ask.” Said Lyra, visibly exasperated. This only interested the two girls more.

“An old neighbour?” Suggested Avery. Lyra shook her head.

“An old friend?” Tried Max. Lyra shook her head again.

“An.. acquaintance?” Said Avery. Lyra gave her a look.

“Oh! An old dance buddy?” Asked Max, not taking the hint, something she had picked up from her boyfriend.

Lyra considered the term ‘an old dance buddy.’ Sure. They had danced together before.

“Yeah— something like that.” Lyra replied.

Avery was giving Lyra an assessing look while Max’s eyes lit up, “Oh no honey, there is more to the faxing story. Something good.” Max said ever so dramatically.

Lyra made the mistake of shooting her a nervous look. Trying to get her to drop it. And she saw the moment it clicked for the two best friends.

Avery looked absolutely floored, “No way.” She said.

But it wasn’t Avery that Lyra was worried about. She turned to Max, “Max. Listen to me.”

Max opened her mouth. Avery turned to her best friend, “Calm down Max.”

“I am calm. Totally. Just— let me just make sure my assumption is correct,” Max turned to Lyra, “Is he your.. ex?” She asked.

Avery looked over to Lyra, anticipation visible in both of their eyes.

Lyra sighed in defeat, “First boyfriend as well as my only ex. It’s not what you think—”

“EXCUSE ME— FIRST BOYFRIEND???” Avery and Max screamed at the exact same time. Lyra smacked a hand to her forehead. Fuck. This was going to be complicated.

The conference room went silent and Lyra felt her embarrassment as a physical thing. God forbid a girl try to prevent a simplistic thing from turning into a dramatic disaster.

Lyra gave them both a look. Avery sent her an apologetic smile while Max just looked gobsmacked. Lyra didn’t know whether it was normal to want to giggle in this kind of a situation.

The three girls walked back into the ‘conference room’. Lyra prayed all the while that maybe, just maybe, they all shut up for another reason.

Maybe Nash got his younger brothers to finally listen to him. Or Xander managed to duct tape everyones mouth shut.

But the moment the door opened and she saw everyone stare on at her, she knew her prayers were pointless. She sighed.

“It isn’t what you think.” Lyra said, trying to calm everyone’s curiosity. She was miserably failing.

Lyra glanced over at Grayson to see how he felt about the entire situation. In all honesty, if Grayson were to hide any of his previous relationships from her, she would be upset.

But Lyra hadn’t tried to hide it. She had just… forgotten?

Thankfully, Grayson looked fine, he was just staring at her, expecting an explanation.

“We were childhood friends and middle schoolers. We gave it a shot just for the funzies, it took us two days to realise that dating was not our thing. That’s all.” She explained, taking her seat on the sofa next to Grayson again.

“That’s alllll?~~~” Asked Thea, who finally decided to stop scrolling Instagram and look up from her phone. Lyra sent her a livid glare.

Soon after, everyone fell back into flow again. Lyra looked over at her boyfriend, “Gray?” She asked, knowing fully well that Grayson would understand the question.

Grayson looked at her and smiled, “It’s fine, Lyra. If he’s a childhood friend, you can talk to him. I won’t take away your freedom.” Lyra gave him a small smile and nuzzled closer to him.

It only took her a few moments to realise that, no. Grayson was not alright with what had went down.

He had stopped talking completely, he wore no expression— which was his go to poker face when he wanted to hide his feelings, his eye brows were slightly furrowed and he was zoning out.

No. He was not okay.

The conversation ended swiftly as everyone agreed upon the games of Drink or Dare and Strip Bowling. Classics.

When Lyra and Grayson finally reached their shared bedroom in the huge ass Hawthorne mansion, Lyra spoke up.

“Gray.” A demand. Look at me.

Grayson did just that. “I’m fine Lyra. You can do whatever you want.” He replied, nonchalantly. A little too nonchalantly.

“Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Do you seriously think that hiding things from me will do you any good?” She questioned with a singular raised brow. He didn’t answer.

“Especially when it’s about me?” She pried. Grayson sighed.

Lyra closed the distance between them and took both of Grayson’s hands in her own, “Talk to me when you need to, Gray.” She said.

Grayson held her gaze, “… I’m not…” he took a second, “especially fond of this new figure.” He managed. Lyra blinked once, then she blinked again.

And then she burst out laughing. Grayson raised a brow at her but his smile gave him away.

“And what are you laughing at Ms. Kane?” He asked, amusement evident in his voice.

“eSpECiALlY fONd Of tHiS nEW fIGurE??” She managed in between gigggles. Grayson’s smile widened.

“It’s the truth.” He huffed. “Just.., simplified.”

Lyra finally composed herself, “and if I ask for the non-simplified version?”

Grayson looked at her for a moment.

“I don’t want him around you. I don’t like you talking to him. I might want to snap his neck.” He deadpanned. Lyra fell into a fit of giggles again and this time Grayson joined her.

Lyra would never get used to his honey-coated laughs.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think, asshole?” She asked, a huge smile still plastered across her face.

Grayson turned towards the bathroom door, prepared to take a shower, “Not at all.”

Lyra laughed again as Grayson picked up his towel. Just then, Lyra’s phone rang once more.

Lyra grabbed it and read the display name before showing it to Grayson.

Harry.

Grayson made a face and it took everything in Lyra not to break down laughing again. She picked up, maintaining eye contact with her boyfriend.

“Hello?” She said.

“Lyra! Hi.” Harry replied, seemingly walking somewhere.

Lyra turned to walk out the door not wanting to disturb Grayson, “You called agai—”

She was cut off by Grayson suddenly grabbing her wrist. She whipped her head around but Grayson simply led her over to the bed. He plopped himself down, pulled Lyra towards him and kept her in his embrace.

Lyra went mute. She suddenly felt the need to hang up her phone—or break it, whichever one was faster, and kiss the boy who was currently resting his face against her stomach.

Grayson looked up at her and urged her to go on. Lyra put the phone on speaker, “H-hello—” she asked, her voice sounding squeaky and flustered.

She felt Grayson smirk against her and she wanted to smack him on the head for it.

“Lyra? You ok? Where’d you go all of a sudden?” Harry asked, Lyra felt Grayson frown upon listening to Harry’s voice and she held back a giggle.

“Sorry. There was— something. I— YOU NEEDED SOMETHING??” She asked or screamed. Or something in between, she didn’t know. Grayson did that to her.

Harry paused for a moment, “Uh— yeah, Right! So I met your mom on accident right after we hung up.”

“Mhm.” Lyra said, trying to focus on Harry’s words instead of the man who had her in between his legs and held onto her for dear life.

“Andd we were discussing things. She was surprised to know that we already talked since apparently, a certain somebody doesn’t pick up their moms phone.” Lyra winced. That was true. She needed some space for a while.

“Aha— guilty as charged your honour.” She replied. Harry chuckled.

“Honestly, Lyra, she’s so worried about you— you really should come by.” Harry said. Lyra replied with a ‘hmm’. Lyra could swear she heard Grayson murmur “Desperate bastard.”

“Anyways, she told me to tell you to pick up her phone calls and come over since your vacations have started.” Harry said.

“Uhhh, yeah sure, I’ll have to check with my people first.” Lyra said trying to ignore the fact that her, suddenly clingy Hawthorne, nuzzled closer at the ‘my people’ part.

“Mmk, you do that. What are you doing at university for vacations anyways? Don’t tell me you’re studying.” Harry said, adding a sigh. Lyra looked down at Grayson to se him making a face the screamed “does this man ever shut up?” She coughed to cover her laugh.

Now how was Lyra supposed to tell Harry that she practically jumped at the chance to spend a few months with Grayson right after her college semester was over?

“Ah— well, I’ve been hanging out with my friends and—” Lyra didn’t get a chance to complete her sentence.

“Boyfriend.” Grayson finished, seemingly satisfied with hugging her for now. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that she immediately missed his embrace. She failed.

Silence. “What?” Said Harry, finally.

Lyra was about to sit down next to Grayson so that he could talk but Grayson just pulled her down onto his lap and Lyra ascended for a second.

Lyra looked to him, knowing fully well how red she must have been by now. Grayson simply signalled for her to continue.

“I— nothing, I’ve just been hanging out with my people.” She said, the butterflies reaching her head. Lyra had officially lost the ability to form coherent sentences without stuttering.

Obviously, she smacked Grayson’s arm as a result. Grayson chuckled, not loosening his hold on her.

“Uh huh.” Said Harry, sounding sceptical. Grayson murmured something along the lines of “what’s he so suspicious for?” and Lyra couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh! Your mom says that she’s happy you’re rekindling your old relationships.” Said Harry, ignoring Lyra’s odd behaviour.

“Friendships.” Grayson corrected. Lyra laughed.

“.. Lyra are you okay?” Harry sounded genuinely concerned.

“Y-yes I’m fine— sorry what?” She said, suppressing her laughter as Grayson pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“… Um— is this a bad time?” He asked.

“Yes,” Grayson replied, not bothering to try and keep his voice inaudible to the phone this time.

“… Who is this— Where’d you go, Lyra?” Lyra felt almost bad for Harry.

“I’m Lyra’s boyfriend. And, yes, she’s busy, this is a bad time.” He replied. Lyra shot him a look but her smile didn’t seem to be willing to seize.

“B- BOYFRIEND?? SHE WAS WITH HER— OH— oh. OH!! THATS WHY SHE WAS SO FLUSTERED. THIS MUST BE SO AWKWARD FOR HER WITH ME BEING—” Harry was cut off by Grayson.

“It doesn’t matter who you are. She wasn’t awkwarded out.” Grayson stated in the cold tone he used to scare people off. Lyra could hear the unspoken words, by the likes of you.

“Don’t be rude, Gray.” Lyra whispered to him.

“You asked me to be honest.” Grayson replied, innocently. Lyra wicked him on the arm again playfully.

“… I’m just gonna hang up now.” Said Harry before hanging up.

Lyra and Grayson sat their in silence staring at each other for a while.

“Why does he talk so much?” Grayson asked, finally.

Lyra raised her brow in response.

“Like— didn’t you both literally just talk, why does he feel the need to continue talking again?” He said.

Lyra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Just pass on the message your mom gave him and shut the fuck up.” Grayson stated matter of-factly, and Lyra almost fell off Grayson’s lap when she saw a pout form on his face.

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Pouting. God, she had been blessed. Pouting shouldn’t have looked as good on him as it did.

“Grayson,” Lyra said as he met her gaze, “You’re jealous.” She stated.

Grayson stared at her for a while. “That I am, sweetheart. I don’t like him.” He said. Lyra smiled.

“You don’t have to. I don’t plan on talking to him much.” She replied. Grayson ‘hmm’ed in response, something still bothering him.

Lyra rolled her eyes, he was being incredibly petty, “No, we didn’t kiss. Or hug. Or cuddle. Or any of that stuff. Just one failed date.” She said.

Then, Grayson actually smiled, “So, I’m your first?” He asked, satisfied. Lyra rolled her eyes a second time.

“Yes. You are.” She replied.

Eventually Grayson and Lyra got up since he needed to shower.

“Alright, you should shower now. I’ll go use the other washroom.” Lyra stated, turning around.

“Or.” Grayson said and Lyra stopped, facing him again.

Grayson leaned in and whispered something directly into her ear. Lyra went red.

“G-GRAYSON???!!!!”

———————————

What Grayson said? I’ll leave that up to ur imaginations.

BRO IDK JEALOUSY FICS ISTG. But I had this ask for a while so I figured I might as well 😭🥹🙏🏻

This plot came to me in the shower lmfao—

@alwaysthefangirl , @lyrakanefanatic

Constructive Criticism ❤️❤️❤️✨

(@haniya1234, I’m late, but I’m here 😔😌✨ I couldn’t think of a nice premise for before dating so this turned out to be after 😭😭🙏🏻, apologies 😭🥹🙏🏻 ENJOYYY.)

[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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[midnight1nk]

So, this week's trailer...

SPECIAL EDITION: REACTION + ANALYSIS

[spoilers below cut]

REACTION

I just came out of a midterm exam and omg chat... i'm terrified. i'm not ok. but GOLLY I NEED TO KNOW

it may be a trailer, I don't mind it tho I'll take it! it's more nourishment for my lil theorist brain (and lowkey need a nap lol). alright,

3... 2... 1... LET'S-A GO

(the following is my live reaction:)

oh no.... team, don't do this to me...

no.... *head in hands* they were so happy like this man....

alright who wants to go commit war crimes with me

karen.....

OH, is this immediately after the last episode?

GO KAREN GO

SHE GOT MOVES

the fact that she's able to keep up with Mr. WPNZ arm, that's impressive

OHOHOH IT'S THE TEASER, IT'S THAT ONE

oh god I almost fell out of my chair

ARE WE GETTING THE SHADOW REVEAL? ARE WE? FOR THE LOVE OF SPAGHETTI GODS, PLEASE

augh he really took a bunch of pictures 😨 sorry but wpnz is just a creep i can't

that damn walkie-talkie.....

...y'know that's mr wpnz, right? oh ik, but I can still hate this inanimate object

even more pictures.... please shadow reveal

you can just SEE the desperation in her face

OH SHIT WE GOT EYES

...wtf is he wearing on his head? lmao

lowkey he gives me eel vibes y'know?

OH MY GOD KAREN

ARE YOU OK?! YOU JUST GOT HIT BY A CAR, EVEN THE DRIVER'S CONCERNED!

everyone's getting hurt in this arc, first 4 and now her (more reason for her to not face WPNZ alone)

She built different to walk it off and continue on, geez (girl we're still getting you to go see a doctor)

it remind me of that one scene from SpyXFamily, ifykyk

don't think you can have these flashing images and not expect me to go frame-by-frame, team. I'll get into it afterward, but first-watch is a first-watch

This trailer format reminds me so much of the WOTFI trailer (the running, barging through the door, facing the antagonist, etc.)

IS IT TIME?

....pizza? *flashbacks* (what? I'll get into it, promise)

don't cut if off there. please don't.

....okay. ik it's supposed to be headgear and we expect to have a face reveal, but. for a split second. i thought the headgear was his head.

I KNOW I KNOW. don't come at me. I was gonna be like "did karen date literally a gun?!" yeah yeah ik

remember chat *points at sign*:

in all fairness, i did have to do a 3-hour midterm before this. my 2 brain cells? gone

anyway, face reveal?

*points at screen* OHOHOHOH

fuck i'm falling off of my chair again

WE GOT A FACE

is this like the third confirmation that he's the dad? i mean, what else can you say to debunk that?

IS IT TIME?

YES WE GOT A FACE (he seriously wouldn't have fit in that picture)

his design is actually pretty cool, it's giving a mix of Sunset Paradise and Gaslight District style. Honestly, it's unique to the show and I'm all for it! No one, and I mean no one, expected this design. Bravo, Team. you got us good

(he has a punchable face 😊)

DON'T END IT THERE

oh, "Silence of the Cats" ok Team, you really want me to investigate huh

NEXT WEEK?! OH MAN

I'm letting the Team cook with this movie bc holy shit, but man. Put me in a coma, let me time travel to that day bc i NEED this movie now

anyway, can we give a round of applause to the Team for this trailer? This has been phenomenal 👏👏👏

ANALYSIS

THE TRAILER

Theorist Ink has entered the chat, and it's time to take this frame by frame. Now, to get it out of the way, the teasers and trailers do not correlate to the canon (and potential) plot directly. I'm aware that it's not, but I do analyze them regardless only bc they still provide information. Not point to point but something and, as I always said, something is better than nothing. Are we good? Good, then let's get to it:

The composition of this trailer is absolutely brilliant, props to the Team honestly. Take, for example, the juxtaposition between these two scenes:

Look at the first one. It's warm and cozy with such warm colors, the placement of the chairs and dinnerware arranged to feel tender. The table was neatly set, and plenty of home-cooked food for Karen and her kids. Speaking of the family, look how they are placed. Karen may be the head of the household but her kids are just as important at the table, even her chair is within her kids.

Then there's the second one. It's cold and eerie with a single light shining down on the table. Solitary. Notice how all that is on the table is pizza. No water, no napkins, no appetizers. Not even a pizza box! Just a single slice on their plate. Which is crazy bc if you recall in the last episode, Mr. WPNZ complained to Karen that he was "slaving away making dinner", and this so-called dinner was pizza. Hell, I won't be surprised if he just ordered that pizza to be delivered. Notice again the arrangement of the characters. The chairs for the kids being pushed to opposite sides (see how Cory has to share the space with Zach now), while WPNZ specifically has his space as the head of the table. He is the one who wants to take charge, being above his kids. He is the one in control of the family, removing Karen as head of household. That is what he believes.

While one showed a true loving family, the other was essentially an illusion of what WPNZ wants to gain from all of this, through manipulation. He thinks he can come in, bribe the kids to enjoy his company, and enter the family like it was nothing. Remember, to the kids, he is a mere stranger they met days ago, and to Karen, he was the last person she wanted to be near her kids. But, oh boy, he thinks he "deserves" it and wants to be "part of the family".

It's up to you how much you want to believe in his word. From my personal perspective, his past feelings mutated into an obsession for Karen, and he stalked her family just so he could be a part of it, never taking any accountability for what he's done. And he's aware, don't get it twisted. He planned this fully knowing how this was going to affect Karen, just enough that motherly desperation would cloud her judgment and accept any deal to save her kids. (That's what I think, don't hold me for this).

Now, you may be probably wondering why I was like "....pizza" in my reaction. To the regulars here, you probably remember when I answered an ask about how I would think Karen's confrontation:

[X]

Y'know it was a hypothetical silly writing prompt, way before the shadow teaser mind you. And first off, I stand by it being seen as a hostage situation in Karen's eyes. We don't know how the kids truly are or how much they know, but I'm sure Karen would prioritize getting them out of there.

Second, I suspect that Mr. WPNZ was exaggerating about him making dinner so I wrote:

WPNZ offered her a seat, dinner already set on the table. So, she took the seat closest to him on his left, using herself as a barrier between her and the kids. She looked at the plate, spaghetti. So, this was apparently the so-called dinner he was "slaving himself away". Pfft, pathetic, pasta was the easiest dish to make. She almost wanted to laugh. [literally a couple of paragraphs later] And, lo and behold, Mario invites himself in with such a jolly mood. While everyone was so confused by his presence, his attention immediately turned towards the spaghetti, obviously. He immediately vacuumed all the spaghetti with a satisfied gulp. The kids giggled at it, after all it was their Uncle Mario. Well, that just happened, and it may be the opening Karen needed. She grabbed Mario by the hand and excused themselves with a promise of reheated leftover pizza. (Like I said, this was before the shadow teaser so I had Mario go help Karen. 3 would've stayed behind in this old version btw.)

I was like ".......did the Team find this somehow?" lmao. But nah fr, it got me by the pizza alone.

Speaking of Karen, let's talk about her potential role in the movie. Ofc, as the main star and mom, she's going to push herself past her limits just for her kids. We've seen how she maneuvered in the trees, how she literally got hit by a car. But nothing's going to stop her, that motherly adrenaline kicking in. Probably, the only thing that could get her off guard would be Mr. WPNZ, seeing how his presence alone made her freeze.

Even her kids are looking at her confused as to why she looks like she's seen a ghost. And maybe it's bc it might be. You can't exactly blame her. Look at the photo with Karen and WPNZ from the corkboard:

It seems like it was taken after she was recruited by Hitman Inc, based on the leather jacket she wore when she got recruited, lack of dirt and emotional weariness from living in the streets, and from WPNZ's "greeting" from the last episode.

She was trained to be an assassin in exchange for security. She got to work and got close to WPNZ. Perhaps there was a time when there were genuine feelings, that they had a mutual connection being under the corporation's watch. But clearly, things completely went downhill for Karen to leave the corporation and WPNZ entirely. Enough to know who WPNZ really is. And now, he's back out of nowhere and "persuading" her to let him join. Big red flag there. Karen is certainly a capable mom, but after a whole day worrying about her kids and having to face her psycho ex, I don't think she should go through this alone. Not when he has everything in his favor.

Oh boy, Mr. WPNZ... where do I even begin with this guy?

I guess we can talk about his design. First off, ngl he's literally a military tank. I mean, are you gonna tell me that I'm wrong? But no really, like I said, props to the Team for making a unique. To me, at least, he gives me fish vibes based on his smooth face and jacket zipper design. (watch me be so wrong tho) You can just look at the minecraft skin version and say "yeah i can see it".

And yet, it's so ridiculous and I love it.

So, when can we curbstomp him? Seriously like, I went back to the flashing images frame by frame. They're just the frames used within the same trailer; nothing really stands out. But I did want to talk about these 2:

We already know WPNZ has been spying on Karen and her kids. You know that, I know that. But the fact that he took pictures of them with the rest of the Crew. He knows about the Crew. Granted, I'm sure he's only after the family but he knows that Karen has a relationship with the Crew and he may use this info to his advantage. Perhaps as a threat for her to comply with whatever deal he has in mind.

Now, for the obvious question, how is this going to end? Assuming from what the Team wrote before, Karen is sure to turn the tables around against WPNZ. But is there anything we could expect from the movie?

SILENCE OF THE LAMBS CATS

The choices the Team makes are intentional, if you haven't learned that from me already. For example, the typewriter font used for the end cards implies that the corporation may be subtly involved (backstory-wise) bc the Team could've chosen any font for the end there.

What is peculiar is the movie title itself, and it may be our biggest clue. The Team has been VERY particular in titling their movies, I'm still not over how brilliant the "Western Spaghetti" title was. It was clearly taken from "Silence of the Lambs", and there has to be a reason why they chose it.

For those who aren't familiar, the story's about a serial killer and psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. We follow FBI cadet Clarice Starling working on catching a serial killer who's been abducting women, but in order to crack it, she would need to think like a killer. So she seeks out Lecter for advice. The story touches on going against the norm:

Starling working in a male-dominated occupation. Not in a "I need to prove myself as an equal to my coworkers", but rather adapting to the work environment and using it to her advantage. She already is capable and incredibly intelligent; there's no need to prove anything to anyone. Then, it was revealed she had a traumatic past, when life was simpler.

Lecter isn't the typical psychotic serial killer. He is cunning and well-educated, so much so that he surpasses the evaluations in the psych prison. He can be seen as charming and respectful, which might confuse characters and the viewer about how sincere he really is.

By the end, Starling was able to do better than her co-workers did and find the true killer, shooting him dead. Meanwhile, Lecter used his skills to break out of custody by faking his identity, and merging himself into society like a shadow so he could go take revenge on the people who wronged him.

(Ofc I don't want to go too deep into this for spoilers and content warnings but this is the overall gist for the horror piece. If I got anything wrong, please do correct me.)

This psychological horror piece really fits with the arc we were given, with both established and possible points.

Karen, a former assassin (in a typically male-dominating job), is capable of handling situations herself through brains and broad. However, she's running away from a terrible past and having to confront it so she can live in peace.

WPNZ used his cunning and charm to sway the kids on his side and planned everything from the get-go for Karen to "fall for the trap". Though he's not on the same level as Lecter by his "reckless and chaotic" nature, he's always several steps ahead.

Karen may have to keep up with someone to aid her in taking down WPNZ. Yes, she's capable but WPNZ has all the advantages at the moment, especially with the kids being in the situation. So, what else can she do but think like a villain? *cough cough*

By the end of the movie, it's possible that WPNZ may not go to prison. He could escape from custody or someone he knows picks him up after retreating. With the corporation being an underlying factor for the arc, they might pick him up and be like "what are you doing during your work hours? stealing our resources?"

FINAL THOUGHTS

For now, those are my thoughts. A bit disappointed that we never got to see the shadow reveal but I'm still excited for the movie AAAAAAA

As mentioned in a previous post, I might do another bingo card for the movie like I did for WOTFI 2024 (Mario, do the thing again)

AY there we go. If you guys are interested, I might make one for the movie. That's all from me, I'll see you next time and remember: numbers go first!

anyway how's it going, Team....

...oh. ig that changed too.

[thursdayinspace]

For today's lunchtime porn, how are we feeling about some angry!sex? (Lunch breaks are for writing smut, aren't they?)

Whatever he’d expected when she showed up at his door that night, it hadn’t been this.

She’d looked so angry when she’d stormed in, tossing a file folder onto the small table by the window, telling him, fury in her eyes, “Here’s your fucking autopsy report. Don’t even bother reading it. I didn’t find a damned thing.” He’d felt bad for not listening to her. He’d still tried to argue his point.

And now here they are, on their knees on a creaky motel bed, the frame rattling as he pounds into her from behind. Her hands are gripping the slats of the headboard, bracing herself as she pushes back against him, and he holds onto her hips and doesn’t hold anything back.

“All day I spent in that morgue,” she pants, “all for nothing.”

He groans. She can’t let it go, even now. “It was our best lead and you know it.”

“No, Mulder.” She gasps as he hits a particularly good spot, but it’s not enough to make her let this go. “What I know is that I told you there was nothing there. And I was right.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and changes his angle until he gets her where she needs it on every thrusts, determined to make her beg for more. “You could have just as easily been wrong.”

“But I wasn’t. Oh god.” She drops her head and moans. “Harder.”

Irritation spikes in his chest. “I can’t fucking go any harder.”

“Seriously?” She throws him a look over her shoulder. Her face is flushed, and he can see she’s enjoying this. “I spent hours wasting my time on one of your insane hunches, and this is all you’ve got?”

He clenches his teeth and reaches one hand up to grab the headboard for leverage as every last shred of control falls away. He drives into her with a force he didn’t know he was capable of, and finally she lets go as well, rewarding his efforts with the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard. “You want it like this?” he asks, his voice rough. “Then fucking take it.”

“Yes,” she breathes, “That’s better.”

They’ll break the bed, he thinks, and she can explain that on their expense report. She’s the one who asked for this. He holds her in place with his free arm slung around her and, with his last functioning brain cells, wonders if this should feel as good as it does. “God, Scully,” he manages, and she moans out loud.

“A little more, just—” She slips a hand between her thighs and he knows she’s close, and he’s relieved because he honestly doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

But he will make her come, and he will make her come from this. He’ll make it so good for her she’ll be too fucked out and orgasm-high to continue this stupid argument. He doesn’t know why he thinks that will mean he’s won, but he’s not thinking straight, so it doesn’t matter.

She comes hard, crying out loud enough for the neighbors two doors down to hear her. He falls over the edge right along with her, ramming himself into her as deep as he can go, filling her up as the world fades to black for a second.

As reality swims back into focus, he’s on his back with her half draped across him, and he’s exhausted, but it feels amazing. “Holy shit, Scully,” he says, and she laughs softly against his chest.

“Yeah. I think that sums it up.”

“That was…”

“A very good end to a very long day?” she suggests, and he cards a hand through her hair and leans up to kiss her forehead.

“Are you…are you okay?”

“Better than okay.” She sighs. “I don’t really remember what we were fighting about, to be honest.”

“You were angry because I made you do that autopsy—” He bites his lip, mentally kicking himself for bringing it up again.

She raises her head to give him a dark look. “Oh. Right. The one I repeatedly told you would be entirely pointless.”

He closes his eyes and puts one hand over his face. “Scully…”

“I mean, seriously, what were you even hoping to find…”

He groans. He should have known better than to think he could win this one, but he’s definitely not ready to give up.

[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.

[shewolfofvilnius]

there's a story beat i've been flirting with as I write the last act of The Sorceress of Ramazith's Tower and start thinking about the 'Road to Hell' Avernus fic with Tavaria.

Does she deserve a happy ending? Deserve that 'happily ever after'? Does any Durge, really?

The challenge I'm facing down is that...I'm not sure she does. I'm not sure any Dark Urge truly does.

You led the Cult of Bhaal in one of the largest cities in the lands. Your death toll just from that (direct killings or ordered) is likely in the hundreds if not thousands of murders.

On top of that you engineered the Absolute plot alongside Gortash, meaning Dark Urge bears a share of responsibility for every death therein. Again, thousands.

Quil Grootslang in Tavaria's case, an innocent young bard who just wanted shelter for a night (or, gods forbid, Alfira). Even I'm not that cruel as an author, but regardless, even post-Orin's scrambling, Tavaria still killed. That's not even including all of the game-reliant deaths everyone has a hand in as part of game mechanics. (But that's okay, they're 'bad')

And the only reason they're still standing, that Tavaria will still be standing, is because she managed to tell Bhaal off once, something she only had the temerity to do because Orin scrambled her brains over easy (and because she really fucking loves Rolan specifically in Tavaria's case).

But is that enough?

The struggle I'm having is that...I'm not sure "she's my OC and I like her" and "Rolan deserves a happy ending" ais enough. I'm not even sure "she saved the world she helped damn" is enough.

Maybe Tavaria deserves her eventual fate in Avernus? Or to spend a few decades (centuries) in a jail cell.

The Dark Urge has opened up a dimensionality in my character she was sorely missing. But now I have a new problem, and it's one I need to address in the Lia/Gale and Avernus fics:

Does The Dark Urge deserve salvation? Does it matter if the Dark Urge deserves it or not, here's grandpa Withers bailing them out.

Maybe like Withers/Jergal says the real punishment is having to live (possibly for a very long time) KNOWING what she did and that she gets to live while scores of others died at her hands.

The Dark Urge: I deserve to die — for all the evil I have done. Withers: The sole way to atone for thine actions is to do better, in a new dawn. That dawn has come.

But

I've been watching an old media lately where one of the 'intended' protagonists winds up being one of the main evils instead. Near the end of it, she's redeemed...but ultimately dies a perma-death because she knows she has blood on her hands, and she can never truly go back to that happy innocent existence she wanted; never truly go back to that idyllic happy life with her love interest. I cannot get it out of my head, and I'm wondering whether that character had it right, that a character like her - and like The Dark Urge/Tavaria, even before their first death/resurrection, is so far over and past the line that maybe they'll never see the proverbial promised land.

I have no idea and am interested in what any of you think.

[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.” 

[cluelessgeometry]

So this is a theory that has been gnawing at my last brain cells these days. Spoilers until chapter 1050~

Btw don't expect big words or something mind breaking, I haven't slept much reading this damn novel so this is the rambles of a mad woman who needs to lay these things somewhere so she can focus on her two cuties making out.

From the get-go, the novel's name always intrigued me. "Turning". Meaning change. And the novel deals with a hell of a lot of changes that happen to the world or to some individuals.

The most noticeable change being, of course, the red stone. It changes people's core and awaken in them the power to change their lives and destinies. It's like... literally said in the novel: most awakeners get their powers when they're desperate for something. The desperate need to hold his vessel (Kishiar), the desperate need to have someone take his place to confront his harsh reality while he hides in the shadows (Gakane), the desperate need to protect herself and her village (Ever) or the desperate need to get out and save his master from a burning building (Hosanna). You get the gist.

But what if it's part of some bigger scheme? Hear me out:

- Divine power precedes all the other abilities, it's said that it's the power of the sun God. But it probably wasn't enough to resolve the great destruction that happened a thousand years ago. And guess what (coincidentally?) appeared a thousand years ago...?

- Magic: it's described as something akin to how awakeners appeared. Mages could *instinctively* know how to use their powers. Mages even had their own specialties (for example, Luma saying to Enon he wasn't a master of all magic types but the specific magic that is "connection" circa chapter 1055, i think). But I've read some spoilers a bit ago (I like reading some spoilers so I can be attentive to details sometimes) that magic rendered mages infertile. Just like awakeners in the current era. And that's how they came about the whole "spiritual father" thing. I haven't reached this far in the novel, so I may be wrong. But then... it made me think about how the other power system affects the body

- Sword aura: BAM! There's nothing in the novel about when this thing appeared, but the first emperor was a known swordmaster. So it may preceded magic but not my point, anyway ^^ one thing that's emphasized a LOT during the southern earthquake arc is that swordmasters don't need much sleep, never catch a cold, live longer and appear younger... etc.. then there's that passage in the novel about Meghna and her kids when she invites Yuder to her home. And it made me think about how all of those noble families have some kind of disease. Herne all die young, Apeto are all physically ill and experience frequent seizures, and Tain are probably sick in the head (beside Pruelle and his siblings) with the way they treat their own kids... oh! And didn't Kuyu-nim say in the novel that whatever Nippy had was common in the Tain family? Just like Theo Tain and his obsession with swords? Which everyone in the fandom thinks is Autism? I now regret using the "sick in the head expression" (hey, I'm autistic and I'm *not* sick in the head... not because of my autism at least 🤔). And to become a swordsman, you definitely need to be rich and from a good family to be even allowed to be a knight's squire and learn the sword. So what if this new power appeared as like.. a solution to the declining health of people with magic? Since the 4 ducal families are all descendants of the first emperor and his magician empress. Yes, the system is not perfect, but had it been more accessible, maybe some teachings of the sword way could've saved a bunch of people. Well.. anyway, these 3 systems aren't enough to save the world anyway, so...

- Awakening: BAM! (again sorry for the loud noise) magic is dying and reserved to an elite, divine power is dying and reserved to an elite, sword aura is dying and reserved to an elite... and the world is heading to it's end so we need new heroes. People who gain the power to change things, at least at their level. A power that you can gain if you're desperate enough to *change* things. Isn't the end of the world an auspicious time for people to become desperate? The "reserved to an elite" thing is also mentioned in the novel: about how few noble families members had awakened (i can't remember how Kuyu-nim phrased it but I think it was something like people who have everything rarely are desperate enough to awaken.. and even if they do, it was seen as something shameful so I don't think these people's powers could've developed into something significant (we all know how external factors influence not only the appearance of Awakening powers but also their development like how all omegas suddenly had their power be less powerful when society began to consider omegas as lesser beings))

Soooo my theory is that something is watching over the world. Or (my fav theory) that the world, when in imbalance, creates something to balance it again. Giving tools (powers) to help fight against the disasters that will befall humans. These tools have been both catalysts for change, and to prepare for change.

The conversation between Enon and Yuder I'm currently reading (chapter 1056) about how humans have been the only race to survive the first destruction, the fact that even if it was a thousand years ago, Luma kinda already knew the second disaster was coming and prepared accordingly... comforts me in my theory.

I maaaay be stating the obvious, but anyway.

Also, like i said, I'm running on 3 hours of sleep, and english is not even my 3rd language, so if things don't make sense, it's probably normal xD

[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.

[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;

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

Seventh part here:

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

«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?»  

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

[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