#so many little details I can dig my fingers into

[melit0n]

I love Jaws with all my heart, so, here I come with a little analysis again!

First off, the title. Bite my neck, drink my blood and make us one type vibes. Sleep Token in general has a massive thing with biting, teeth, consumption and chewing (there's a massive post on Reddit with all the times it's been mentioned, which, if I remember correctly, is around twenty), across their discography, and Jaws is the immediate beginning of this trend.

Jaws are a sign of power, destruction, love, sadness and joy. We bear our teeth when we're happy, when we're angry and when we eat. It is the ultimate metaphor for so many emotions. You don't know someone until you've seen them destroy something, to shout and scream and chew and bite, hence the line "show me those pretty white jaws; show me where the delicate stops". He's asking to see the real them, whoever they are.

All the lyrics have this underlying religious tone, as most Sleep Token songs do, but here it's more directly addressed. "Stained glass" is almost always associated with Churches and Cathedrals, and presents 'them' as something Holy; something that can and will be worshipped. However, the line "Whites of your eyes burn" completely removes all the ideas of safety that surrounds a religious figure. Of course, when it comes to divinity and sin, fire is a massive symbol we have to talk about. To burn is to suffer, but to be cleansed. It's this double entendre that presents this figure of safety as one who is also a threat. A predator.

Then, of course, we have "And I'm not here to be the saviour you long for". Unfortunately, Vessel seems to be in this constant battle of 'I can fix them; we can fix eachother. We're gonna be fine!' and 'I fucking hate you; leave me be or I'll have at you', which is what's seen in this one. Neither of them are the saviour the other one yearns for, yet Vessel still tries. He asks, and then repeats over and over, creating the tone of begging and pleading, for them to show him what they've lost and, in turn, show him love.

He's asking them for the two things they can never genuinely give, but he never stops trying because God forbid the things he'd do if he was alone again.

[redcoralpot]

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

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Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink. 

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.” 

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice. 

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right. 

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss. 

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color. 

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate. 

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare. 

-

Taglist: @cannabrisano @kai_beanz @fandomz-brainrot @slimemakermas

[hw4-l1z]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Stray kids reaction to you having tattoos

Hyung line / Maknae line

Sub!skz x Dom!m!reader

Cw: slight size kink// choking// belly bulge// hand kink// punishment// pet play// mentions of cock stepping and spitting// scratching

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Han

Han would instantly be attracted to you when he met you. He thought you were the coolest person he had ever met and instantly started chatting you up.

You knew he'd be too scared to ever ask you out so you helped him out by asking him out yourself. Sungie was ecstatic to know that you returned the feeling and proceeded to go on the date with you. He'd be so giggly the whole time, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

You're big long tattooed hands would make him go feral evertime they gripped onto his tiny waist.

Evertime you'd give his waist or thighs a slight squeeze, he'd let out a soft, quite whimper. Sungie loves the feeling of your big, strong hands digging into his skin

Like many people do, he has a huge thing for your hands, especially your fingers. He loves the way they reach that spot inside him perfectly, rapidly moving in and out of him as you use your free hand to cover his mouth to prevent any of the members hearing

He'd want you to choke him, not to tight but not too soft. He absolutely loves watching you tightly grip his hips as you pound into him, watching the bulge form in his belly. He loves to trail his eyes down your stomach tattoos that stop right slightly about the base of your dick, it makes his head spin.

Felix

Felix never thought he'd be so attracted to someone who's quite the exact opposite of him, introverted and quiet, dark hair, multiple body tattoos and a couple of facial piercings, nails painted jet black, dark makeup around the eyes, alt styled clothing and multiple pieces of jewellery.

Your tattoos are what really drew him in, admiring the intricate details on your skin. You'd catch him staring, smirking slightly to yourself as you ask him if he wants a closer look. And ofc he'd never let down that offer.

Whilst he was checking out your hand tattoos he couldn't help but notice how big and veiny you hands were. He softly opened your hands and put his hand on top, giggling to himself when he saw the massive difference between the two. Lix knew his hands were small but my gosh your hands could probably fit both his fists in one.

As I mentioned before, Lix couldn't help but notice how big and veiny your hands were, the rings and tattoos only adding to the hotness.

He's been dreaming of you pinning both his wrists above his head while you fuck him into the mattress. These thoughts became so often that he eventually just told you about it, big beady eyes begging you to give him what he's been dreaming of.

Once you finally do pin his wrists he'd be a whining mess, thrusting his hips up in a needy, hungry way. He just wants to feel you close, whispering the filthiest things into his ear making his face flush bright. He loves how deep your voice can go, he loves thay it goes lower than his whenever your in the mood, fuck it turns him on so much.

Seungmin

Min would be slightly intimated by you at first but would see how your actually a very shy person so he would eventually ease up and talk to you alot more. He never knew how much you'd like to be praised until he told you how badass you looked with all your tattoos and dark look, causing a slight red tint to form over your cheeks and ears as you thank him with a shy tone.

He would get so flustered whenever you'd push him against the closest surface and push you pelvis right against his. He couldn't help but get turned on everyime you did this.

Sometimes you'd leave him hanging and sometimes you'd take him right on the surface you trapped him against.

Whenever Min acts up you'd punish him by putting a collar with a leash on him and a pair of dog ears. You'd make him put on a rubber tail plug that bounced with even the slightest movement, paired with some cute little laced panties with a hole in the back for the tail.

You'd make him sit there whilst you toyed around with him, stepping on his cock and spitting on his face making him hang his head in shame. He definitely learns a lesson since the embarrassment is too much. Although yes from time to time he'd decide to act up, forgetting what his punishments were.

I.N

Innie would instantly feel super flustered around you, blushing at the littlest things you do. He never usually likes to feel babied since he's growing up now but he couldn't help but love the way you'd pinch his cheeks whenever he did something slightly adorable.

He'd probably purposely act cute around you just so he could get you to pinch his cheeks again, to feel your soft hands touching his face.

One time he was acting all baby boy and you couldn't handle it so you grabbed his entire face with both your hands and smooshed it whilst cooing at him like he was a baby. He had to admit though, as weird as it was, he couldn't help but feel butterflies as your big hands held his face whilst you leaned in closer to coo at him

Innie would love to have you wrap your arms tightly around his as you fuck him. You love the feeling of him desperately clawing at your back as he starts to let out a few sobs

You'd be hesitant on choking him at first but Innie was very persistent on you doing so, getting a clear view of the snake tattoo that travels up your arm and stops at your shoulder.

He loves it cause it makes him feel like the snake is wrapped around his throat, sending an adrenaline rush full of fear and pleasure through him.

He usually isn't a very vocal person, just a few sobs, whines and whimpers here and there. But when you angle his body in the right position and attack his prostate, he'd be almost screaming. He would be gripping you shoulders harshly, digging his nails right into art on your skin.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[coffeegnomee]

Something that has always fascinated me deeply is how UNintelligable PrinceZam is when viewed from any pov besides his own. 

Because from PrinceZam’s pov, his lore is deep and rich and filled with struggles and worries and regret and fear and paranoia and justifications and good reasonings to do evil arcs. He really crafts the most interesting and sympathetic characters of all of lifesteal. He responds to the happenings of the server with deep lore every time. Pours everything out to chat, giving us the littlest details about his mindset at every moment. 

But from EVERYONE else’s pov he just does’t make sense. Like even I feel confused about PrinceZam when I watch him from other povs. There’s something about it that I can’t put my finger on. But more often than not, everyone views him with utter confusion. 

But this is the ONLY way other lifestealers interact with Zam. They don’t get to watch PrinceZam streams. They don’t see him like we do. Ever. 

And this really applies to every lifestealer ever, none of them get to see the lore from within that person's mind. The can only react to the external view of it.

What a fascinating little conundrum. 

Because with the Saturday session and Flame, I could not help but feel like he was actually just doing a Joker arc. Not Abyss, Joker. 

Because the Abyss was about player activity, sure, but it was more about the trap, and it grew into a “we will destroy all of spawn” over time.

The Joker arc was about making minutetech and jumper see that pacifism does not belong on lifesteal. This is the killing people server and you should kill people. Kill me. I will blow up builds until you kill me. 

Now, Flame does not have the pizzazz of the gay joker. He never will. And he probably will never make anything truly interesting with this lore from his own pov. (and bro keeps not streaming any of it)

But that’s not what intrigues me about it and made me so happy seeing it unfold. 

It’s because Zam was walking around saying the same damn lines that Minutetech said about Zam all throughout the joker arc. Some of them lines that were said between Minute and Ash without Zam around. The following are Zam quotes from the Saturday stream.

“they just want attention, if we don’t give them attention they’ll give up” almost word for word from minute about mapicc and zam. 

“If he’s going to throw a tantrum we mighteswell just not give him the fight”  

Them digging their heels in and not doing the one thing Zam/Flame wanted them to do: kill them. Not doing it because it was the one thing the crazy evil guy blowing up bases told you he wanted. 

“if i fight them i give them exactly what they want. It’s so fucked up. There’s no, there’s no winning option here. There’s nothing I can do to win”

“maybe some people can’t feel regret the way I do, that’s fine, i guess, that’s whatever.If that’s how he is, that’s how he is. But i don't believe that for a second” (remember who you were in s3 Zam!)

“He’s just going to blow up more. And that’s okay. I’m willing to let him do that. I honestly don't care. Like, if that’s what he wants to do then that’s what he does I guess”

“YOURE having fun, but no one is gonna log on and see this and say oh I wanna fight flame now. No one’s doing that dude. This isn’t how this works.”

FLAME: “it makes me happy bro, that’s all that matters” How many times did Zam insist that the Joker arc was fun. How many times did Jumper go “why are you doing this” and Zam said “it’s fun” without elaborating the nuanced undertones of the arc. 

Zam even dropped the MinuteTech patented "okay"s when Flame and Wemmbu were saying they were doing it for fun.

From the outside the lore was the same. The damn same. But this time we have the pb&j side from PrinceZam. And it fascinates me how similarly they approached the situation. 

And then as a final bonus, there’s the question about moral high ground. On the first day of the server, Ash was talking to Wemmbu and the following conversation unfolded (1:38:00) 

WEMMBU: “I have done nothing evil this season. Leowook killed me for no reason, then I died to fall damage for no reason, well, because my water glitched out, and then I died to Spoke for no reason… DUDE I’M ON THE MORAL HIGH GROUND THIS TIME! Without having to like, make things up. This is great.” 

ASH: “Yea, don’t do that bro. It’s not worth it. Seriously. It’s not worth it and you won’t even get a good video. Do you know how easy it is to be a good guy, and then last second go ‘I want to be an agent of chaos’ and how much that fucks everyone else on your team up?” 

And Zam on Saturday, “Why does it even matter? What the- what does moral high ground get me?!”

Ominous shit man.

[sminiac]

Heyy can we get soul bf if not its okay i really live your intak,theo and keeho ver.

⋆ Haku Shota + Reader

💌 — Of course I can my sweets! Thank you sm <3!!!

Bf!Soul who buys you the silliest gifts whether he’s travelling or not, the type to see ads of utterly ridiculous items that would have no practical value to it and still put them into his cart without hesitation and giggles to himself when handing the package to you when it comes in, wouldn’t say a word even if you repeatedly ask him what it is, just sits and waits patiently for you to open it.

Ex: Sometimes he even goes out of his way to buy you matching accessories, but sometimes it’s the most absurd looking thing you’ll ever see. Also yk how he has 2 custom rings of his dogs? He’d 100% get custom pieces for the two of you, the design pertaining to something that only you and him understand! Would also get a few pieces with your initials engraved in the back, another little secret only you’d know about.

Bf!Soul who doesn’t like messaging you when he’s away, he absolutely will when there’s no other option but he’d much rather hear your voice, and he makes sure to tell you too! “I just missed hearing you talk to me that’s why I called, it makes me feel better, you know?” He’d also send you little texts throughout the day to keep you updated on where he is, what he’s doing, but they’d never be in great detail, you’d look down randomly at your phone and there’s just: “Baby I ate a bug!!” and “Walked head first into a pole >ヮ< I’m okay I think”

Ex: He’d also frequently tell you “I miss you” but every time he’d explain why, and it would almost always be a different reason each time :,)

Bf!Soul who is such an affectionate person, hugs and kisses given to you for the smallest reasons, you open something for him? You’re suddenly being smothered in kisses, they’re so quick and gentle that before you know it he’s pulling away like he didn’t just leave you blinded and dizzy from his lips. Also the type to hug you unexpectedly, just slowly raises his arms leaving his chest open until you get the hint and pull yourself into him, the same with holding your hand, but instead he’d keep reaching, pulling, trying to dig his fingers to his designated spot between yours.

Bf!Soul who builds you the cutest, most aesthetic buildings you’ve ever seen in your shared Minecraft world, the amount of time and effort he’d put into making everything pretty for you is insane. Takes care of your cats, dogs, and other random plethora of animals when you’re offline, would also leave you random little signs with messages on them for you to find whenever you’re active again, sometimes they’re just silly nonsense, others you’ll find really cute ones of him just completely gushing over you.

Bf!Soul who I feel like is so “Guess what Y/n did?” To his members, a constant yapper about you, if you’ve done anything to your hair recently, that one makeup look you did, that outfit you wore, that thing you said, everything and anything he’s constantly connecting to you and then he just has to tell everyone!

Bf!Soul who lets you do anything you want to him, he’s just pure putty in your hands! You want to put his hair in cute pigtails again? He’s already finding a spot between your legs so you have easier access to his head. You want to see him in a certain outfit? He’s laying out all of his options for you to pick from, and he doesn’t complain even one bit throughout the process.

Ex: Small spontaneous photoshoots happen quite often with this, does so many poses for you, even refers to you as his ‘pretty photographer’ when crediting you in the caption of his posts for taking the pictures of him.

Bf!Soul who would request of you to send your favourite songs to him just so he can make a freestyle video for you :,)

Bf!Soul who I feel like puts an incredible amount of effort into conveying his love for you, he really appreciates someone who can even help him, whether that’s guiding him into the words he can’t seem to find or just simply being patient with him. Likes cuddling into you while you play with his hair as he rambles on and on about you, what you mean to him, how lucky he must be to have found someone so reactive to his energy that not a lot of people can match in the way he feels is genuine. When he has the time he really gets into the details about how he feels, the emotion behind it, I feel like he’d really like the deep, touching talks late at night where everything just pieces together right in front of his eyes thanks to your presence, your kind heart. He could talk to you for hours, things are just easy with you.

[noisyquokka]

October Eyes

PAIRING - Minho x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Every inch of him is beautiful and captivating to you, always and forever. But his eyes. Oh, his eyes...

WORDCOUNT - 1.4k

WARNINGS - Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, kinda lovey-dovey, teasing if you squint, two (2) idiots hopelessly in love with each other

A/N - My little addition for Lino Day! Enjoy, Darlings!

It's somewhere between mid morning and noon with the way the sun bleeds light into the living room. Not that you care, oh, no. Not when you have the perfect view at this moment in time.

Your head is resting against his thigh, his current read propped up on the other. Your body has settled into the cushions beneath you, your heels digging into the fibers. Brown eyes flit across the page they're on, blinking closed every few seconds as if to hide from your adoring gaze. It's cat-like in nature; a contented half-lidded slip that has your fingers twitching to run through the dark tresses that frame his face.

"You're staring again."

He hasn't looked your way, but he can feel your eyes on him. Your lips twitch in a half grin.

"Am I?" 

Time almost comes to a standstill as you slowly drink him in. You know every detail of his face like the back of your hand; the way his brows sit above those amber eyes, arching higher when you make a snide remark or he's being cheeky. Feline eyes that carry an impossible intensity. How they shine like fool's gold when they settle on you.

Another blink. Slender fingers twitching between your own. Cat eyes shifting.

You look away, back to your own book propped up on your knees. There's always a sharpness to his gaze — so precise as to shatter you like glass. Brown eyes hold you in their focus and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep your eyes on the book in your lap, turning a page with your free hand.

Minho is a patient man, he could wait for your eyes to meet his again. He could wait for minutes, hours, weeks. Years. But he doesn't, not at this moment.

His novel closes, the pages whispering their inked words into the crown of your skull with the force. You blink but you don't look away from your book, turning the page as if you're properly comprehending anything your pupils sweep across. Fingers brush against the flesh of your jaw, tapping softly under your chin to get your attention. That move. That move always works on you, and it's no different now. Eyelids flutter open as you tilt your head back to meet maple and cinnamon. 

Your mind is somewhere entirely different now, as if Minho is the Sun and you're the planets that revolve around him. You breathe inward, the soft noises of the outside world seeping in but becoming nothing more than background static as your attention is captured once again. His body wash floods your nostrils.

"What's got you so enamored with me, Baby?" The way he asks is cocky in that signature Lee Minho way, a dark brow shooting up in question.

"Many, many things." You hum, letting your book fall between your thigh and the sofa. His right hand finds your left, fingers lacing together, wrapping over the skin in a sure squeeze. Your thumb grazes his knuckles in response.

"Enlighten me, would you?" His voice is a smooth, velvety croon, traveling through your ears. Messing with your brainwaves in the best way. His mouth curves into a smirk as he speaks, those tiny divots creasing at the corners of his lips. It's such a simple thing, small and inconspicuous when he smiles. But you notice it. You adore it.

"It's those eyes of yours," you murmur, your tone delicate as you study the man that gazes upon you. "Your eyes are like a deep forest, a mystery that pulls and pulls. Intimidating as a mountain lion. But lucky for you, I don't back down from a little mystery. Once you get through the darkness, they're the river that carries and cradles the forest's autumn leaves. They're dappled sunlight through a jar of honey. Just as warm and sweet. And that mountain lion? Just a tortoiseshell cat searching for a warm lap to curl up in."

You're rambling like a poet, passionately and ever longing for your muse. Every inch of him is beautiful and captivating to you, always and forever. But his eyes. 

Oh, his eyes.

Your heart flutters in your chest, your brows twitching as you study his face. 

Minho shakes his head slightly, and you have to suppress a gasp as he lifts you onto his lap, your hands clinging to him instinctively. Your words make Minho's stomach flip, a deep shiver rising up from it as your fingers twine tighter with his. He gives you a look, as if he's trying desperately to figure you out despite years of being together.

"I'd sell my soul to understand what goes on in that mind of yours." He says, voice soft, whispery. A crisp Autumn breeze on the lake, inviting goosebumps over your skin. Yet you feel warm having him so close to you, his hands running the span of your back. Your lips twitch up, fingers coming up to trail his jaw. 

"Why sell your soul when you can hear every little thought straight from the source?"

 "What else do you love about me, then?" His head shifts, a little light spark in those bourbon eyes at your gaze.

And you would. God, you would spill your guts just to see him glow with affection. But it seems that your little poetry session has ended because the words fail to come to you. You know exactly how much of your own emotions are written all over your face in this moment, and you make no attempt to hide it from him. You allow yourself to stare with soft eyes, smiling like a lovesick fool. Minho's hand runs along your back, fingers dancing down your spine.

"You."

The word is said with the utmost certainty, your eyes drifting to Minho's lips. "Every part of you."

Your lack of words are made up for with touches, hands caressing your Lover's skin with attentive care as they brush past a sharp jaw and collarbones. 

It's intimate. You're not pawing at each other in a sexual haze. This isn't about lust and desire. It's intimate in the way two souls weave into one another after lifetimes apart; deep and delicate and raw and heavy. Safe. Sacred.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your entire body feeling lighter with each brush of Minho's hand along your skin. Your fingers trail up the side of his face, the palm of your hand pressing against the skin as you gently caress his cheekbone with your thumb. You know that what you're doing would make most partners feel insecure, but Minho presses into those touches like a needy feline. Holds your gaze as if there's nothing else on the planet to distract him from you, unabashed by all the attention you're happily giving him. Your chest rises and falls with your breaths, his thumb drawing tiny patterns into the soft flesh of your hip.

"I feel it's only fair to ask what you love about me?" You say, lashes fluttering as you lean back in his hold, draping your neck over the armrest of the couch.

Minho smiles down at you, that half-grin he often sports in your company making its way onto his face. He shifts so he's leaning closer to you, his breath hot on your neck as he speaks just above a whisper.

"Everything. Your eyes… your laugh… that little grin you give me when I try to kiss you- there it is," He leans in to press his lips to yours, smiling into it when you laugh between kisses. He leans back just enough to lock eyes with you again, those browns all consuming. "...the way you look at me… like I've created the universe just for you. I love everything about you."

You're looking up at him with stars in your eyes, completely and utterly devoid of anything other than a soul shattering affection as Minho's words sink in. His freehand comes to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you up to press a kiss to your forehead. It's long and lingering as he breathes you in, your pulse steady under his fingertips. Your lashes flutter at the contact.

"Love you." You mumble, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"I love you."

You lean back into Minho's embrace, basking in the heat of his body and the softness of his touch. His gentle smile is like a warm blanket, wrapping you in a familiarity that's as cozy as any real fleece. It's intimate, but not like before. There are no long gazes or deep sighs, just the quiet comfort of being near each other.

Minho's hand rests over your shoulders and you lean into the gentle affection, your forehead resting against his chest. His breathing slows as the two of you sink into each other's embrace, October eyes watching over you as you begin to doze off.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[thot-writes]

i just posted art of my werewolf tav & astarion so y’know what?? take this fic to go along w it. what would astarion/the gang do if u were a lil werewolf (i did not mean for it to get this long lol)

your vampire not-quite-boyfriend + the gang find out you’re a cheeky little pup (act i post-grove);

Lycanthropy wasn’t something you were born into like some. No, like most others bearing the curse you were infected with it. The transformation process was an excruciating, torturous one that is still branded into your very bones.

The bloodlust festers in you, day and night, like a splinter that’s burrowed too deep for you to dig out. It calls for you to rip, tear, dominate— kill. But you can suppress it. Mostly. You refuse to be one of the many werewolves that is controlled only by their base instincts.

But every full moon the beast blood takes you completely, and you have no choice but to transform. You never remember the night after you’ve turned back. Only brief snippets of red, pain, and fur.

Despite not tracking the stars, you can normally tell when a full moon’s coming because your body begins to ache, preparing itself to split open to birth the savage wolf that slumbers within. Usually you’d start your preparations to restrain yourself, to limit the carnage as much as possible.

But these aren’t usual times.

Three weeks ago you were captured from your home by mind flayers and infected with a tadpole, your entire world turned inside out with stranger things happening every day.

You now travel with a Sharran, a githyanki, two ticking time-bombs, a warlock, and a vampire.

One of their spawn, at least. It’s a good thing that in Faerûn, vampires and lycanthropes tend to be neutral towards each other — unlike what the romance novels would have you believe. Otherwise it’d make the regular sex you’re having with Astarion quite awkward.

You’d think that knowing all the sordid details about your travelling companions would bid you to confess your lycanthropy, but you could never find a way to bring it up.

Or, more accurately, you could bring it up you just didn’t want to. Not necessarily out of trauma, just convenience on your part. Confessing lycanthropy normally comes with questions, and the way you were turned is… kind of embarrassing, so you’re never keen to retell it.

But tonight, the moon will tell everyone for you. if you don’t get out in time.

The whole day your blood hammered in your flesh, your head splitting apart in a horrific headache and your bones feeling as if they could break and reshape at any moment. You lied to your companions, insisted you must’ve just drank too much last night at camp, and they bought it. Kind of. You hope.

You retired early for the day and whilst the others lounge about the camp you’re near biting your fingers off in uneasy anticipation of what’s to come. You need an excuse— any excuse to get the fuck out of here before the moon fully rises. You think you have an hour at most before you’re no longer you.

“My, but you’ve been looking ill all day, [Name]. I don’t recall you drinking that much last night.”

You almost jump out of your skin. Your heightened senses of smell and hearing usually help in preventing unpleasant surprises, but not today, not when you’re so on-edge. It was Astarion’s lilted voice that called from behind you. A sweet tune you’re all-too-happy to hear, in regular circumstances.

He gazes at you with that hard-to-read gleam in his eyes. The kind of gleam where you’re not sure if it’s because he knows something, is hiding something, or wants to tease you. You manage a shaky smile in response.

“You weren’t with me the whole night, Astarion. We slept separately,” you attempt.

“That night anyway,” he adds with a pretty little grin on his lips. You notice his gaze flickering over your body. “So you’re saying after I drank from you, you… what? Went back to your tent for some late-night binge drinking? Not that I’m surprised, you seem the type, but even still. Your hangover looks particularly… aggressive.”

You throw your hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “What, are you gonna throw an intervention for me? Gonna beat me up? Write me a letter about how much my drinking affects you?”

He chuckles. “Oh please, as if I care that much. I’m just saying that you seem a little sicker than alcohol would leave you.” He gasps, then presses a hand to his face. “What if you were poisoned? By someone in this very camp? How scandalous! My money’s on the gith.”

“If I was poisoned my money’s on you bitch.”

A grin. He always seems to smile so much in your presence. You wonder how much is real. You wonder if you’re overthinking it, or if you smile just as much as he does.

You’re ripped away from your thoughts as a terrible pain grips you. It takes all your strength not to double over right there— you’ve already drawn too much scrutiny, you don’t want more. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your trembling hands still as the curse makes itself known. The pain you experience in transforming is what you’d imagine childbirth to be — if you gave birth to a baby out of every pore. You’ve only had this curse a scant few years, how have people managed to live entire lives with it?

Astarion notices your struggle. He tilts his head and looks on. “You really do seem like you’ve been poisoned. Or at least I hope that’s all it is. If you’re sick then I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping alone for a while longer yet, pup. I don’t want… whatever that is.”

You grit your teeth to prevent a cry. “I’m fi—iine!” you grunt. The pain lapses for a moment, this is your chance to leave. “I just— I have—uhh— really bad diarrhoea!”

“What?”

You make a show of holding your stomach and slouching. “Oh man it’s soooo bad right now, I’m probably gonna be shitting up a storm in the forest all night!”

“Gods above, please… spare me the details. Just go.” Astarion waves you off and grimaces at the mental image you’ve conjured for him.

“Okay, I better go have violent diarrhoea everywhere in the forest now— don’t follow me! Don’t look for me! Don’t let anyone look for me! I gotta go, goodnight! Don’t look for me!”

You give him no time to answer as you sprint into the wilderness. Your heart is hammering and your pulse quickening. You feel you only have a few more minutes until…

A scream escapes you before you can stop it, your skin is starting to bulge and split, revealing [colour] fur beneath it. No— not now, you’re still too close to camp— just hold on a little longer.

You gather all the strength you have, which is more than usual with the wolf so near, and run.

-

You’re deep in the wild now. Your screams are more frequent, your body produces sickening crunching sounds as the wolf starts its escape. You collapse to the forest floor, writhing in abject agony as your body tears itself apart. Transforming like this only ever takes a few minutes, but it always feels so infinitely long.

Soon your cries morph into a pained howl, and the birthing process is complete. Your mind has now been banished to the darkest recesses of you, and in its place is a beast.

It’s a blur each time you’re turned like this. When it’s of your own volition the process is simpler, quicker— though no less painful. You can maintain control if you focus hard enough. But the forced transformations are a different experience entirely. There is no control, only hunger. Only fangs, claws, and a deep, insatiable yearning for prey.

Astarion did as you asked. He didn’t search for you, not even when he heard that first scream. The thought of walking in on you… projectile excreting was enough of a deterrent to stay his curiosity.

But hours have passed since then. He couldn’t hear you, there was only quiet. When Gale asked where you were, he simply said you had taken ill. But now Astarion was the only one left awake, and there was still no sign of you.

You had been acting off all day. He didn’t believe it was simply a hangover, he’d seen many in his lifetime but they never caused anyone to disappear into the woods. As far as he knew.

But then… what was this odd subtle tightness settling in his chest? The thought that maybe something had happened to you, and you were no longer safe?

Could it possibly be that he was… worried about you?

He shakes his head. No, of course not. You’re nothing more than a target, a meat shield for if and when things go wrong. He didn’t have any feelings towards you, and certainly not enough to worry.

Astarion stays awake. Not for you, of course— perish the thought— he just wanted to get more reading done. Obviously.

Another hour passes.

Then one more.

Still nothing.

He’s coursing with anxious energy now and gets to his feet. What if you’d been turned into a mindflayer? What would that mean for the rest of them? Because of course it was his own well-being he was concerned for— definitely not yours!

He goes to the tent nearest to him, Lae’zel’s, and shakes her awake.

She grunts and sits up. “Chk, what is it Astarion? Why have you disturbed me?”

“[Name] still hasn’t returned, and dawn’s almost here,” he answers. His voice is a little shaky, but it’s probably because he’s a bit cold. “We should try to find them.”

Lae’zel nods curtly and begins to rise. She slings her sword over her back and says to Astarion, “Wake the others. If [Name] has become ghaik, we will need to put them down.”

A knot forms in his stomach as he turns to rouse the others. He finds himself hoping you haven’t been transformed— then quickly catches himself and buries the feeling.

He wakes them and explains the situation, and the group splits off into pairs to search for you; Wyll and Karlach, Shadowheart and Gale, Lae’zel and Astarion.

One would think someone with your supposed illness would be leaving… traces. But there’s nothing. It was almost like you’d just vanished— until Karlach had found your clothes. There was no blood on them, no damage, no filth (at least no more than usual).

The search continues.

Dawn isn’t far. Just a little longer.

As Astarion and Lae’zel scout together, he catches a whiff of blood in the distance. Animal blood, certainly. But it seems like… a lot. He notifies Lae’zel and they follow the scent, only to come across a mauled boar carcass. It’s practically been reduced to a puddle with how much carnage was heaved upon it, and what’s more…

There’s massive paw prints in the dirt. Soaked in the blood of the boar. Could this creature have hunted you? Is that why you never returned?

They alert the others and follow the tracks, along the way finding great claw marks in the trunks of the trees, various piles of viscera from unfortunate beasts, and small patches of fur. Fur the exact same colour as your hair…

The tracks lead to a small clearing in the forest, and in the middle of said clearing is… you.

Well, not you-you, but the hunkering direwolf-humanoid you turned into.

You’re crouched down, curled into a ball as your mind rends itself in twain. As dawn approaches, so too do your senses begin to return, but the wolf is not ready to relinquish control — it never is. The two of you battle for dominance in a silent struggle, ignorant to the group surrounding you from the trees.

Your werewolf self is a grotesque, fearsome thing, even as you’re lurching in pain. Your fur is an exact match of your natural hair colour, as are your eyes, even though in this form they’re clouded in rage and hunger. If you were stood upright, they’d see how you reached just over nine feet tall, how your hands and paws were lined with razor-sharp claws. Even as pathetic as you are in your current state, you’re still no creature to be trifled with.

Shadowheart steels herself as Lae’zel raises her sword high, prepared to strike you while you’re distracted.

“Abomination,” she spits, venom heavy on her tongue. “Lurk in these woods no longer, you die by my hand.”

She brings the blade down in a wide crescent motion, and you barely move out of the way in time. She’s managed to cut you, but you’re lucky to have missed the brunt of the attack.

You leap away from Lae’zel only to move into Karlach’s range of attack. She strikes you with her battleaxe and you roar as it slices into the skin of your back. Your wound quickly heals, and you spin around to swing a clawed hand in her direction. Your fist meets her side, and she’s flung feet away.

The group— your group— begins their surprisingly well-orchestrated assault, and it becomes clear that, as strong as you are, you cannot hold out for long. Not against all of them. Probably not even against half of them.

But the gods sometimes grant small mercies. The sun finally breaks, the Dawnlord’s radiance has weakened the wolf’s chokehold on you, and you stumble backwards. Your body begins to rapidly decay and break apart, and the others step back and watch the spectacle cautiously.

In less than a minute, the vicious wolf you were has become naught but gore, and underneath is your naked body, soaked in blood.

“What the fuck— [Name]?! I’m not seeing things am I? Tell me I’m not seeing things!” Karlach exclaims, suddenly overcome with guilt at having tried to kill you.

Gale watches in resignation as you limp, holding your beaten and broken body. “You’re not. That’s our [Name], alright. A lycanthrope... What a shock.” Because of course the group can’t have one normal person, can it?

Astarion is simultaneously the most and least surprised at this revelation. “So you’re telling me this entire time I’ve been sleeping with a werewolf? Ugh, there’s a joke about giving a dog a bone in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to think of it.”

You collapse, exhaustion claiming your mind after a long, blood-filled night.

-

When you awake a couple hours later, you find you’re tucked in your bedroll, wounds tended to and dressed once again. How did you get here, you wonder? You leave your tent to find your friends waiting around in a circle by the long-dead fire.

Astarion’s the first to notice you. “Ah, darling, you’re finally awake! I don’t suppose you’d be up for a little chat, would you? I believe we’re owed an explanation.”

You freeze. An explanation for what? Did they find you and take you back here? Do they know what you are?

You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“After everything we’ve been through, travelling together these last few weeks, I’d have thought we developed enough trust between us. But apparently not.” Gale pauses, then looks you in the eyes. “Why did you hide what you are from us?”

“This fuckin’ world is so fucked up,” you say, folding your arms and scrunching your face. “We got two people with bombs in their chests and a guy who drinks blood but because I turn into a rabid dog once a month I’m the bad guy, really?”

“We’re not saying you’re a bad guy, we’re wondering why you didn’t trust us!” Karlach protests. “We’re supposed to be friends aren’t we?”

You frown a little and slump your shoulders. “We are friends. But we’re already dealing with sooo much bullshit I just thought it’d be better if I dealt with it myself, y’know. I mean it’s not like you can help me with it anyway, cures are hard to find and lycanthropy isn’t as bad as tadpoles and orbs and devils.”

“I’m fine with your condition [Name], so long as you don’t transform in front of me, that is,” Shadowheart chimes. “But aside from that… that wolf form seemed quite formidable. Perhaps we can make use of it, now that we know.”

Astarion claps his hands excitedly. “Oh yes! I’d love to see that! Werewolves can be quite vicious you know, always good fun to see the hounds on a hunt.”

Shadowheart turns to him. “You’re not mad that your lover’s a werewolf, Astarion? I’d have thought you’d be more upset, as a vampire and all.”

He rests a hand on his hip and half heartedly inspects his nails. “Oh please, werewolves and vampires are just as likely to be allies as they are to be enemies. Cazador has had so many wolf pets over the years, I suppose it was only a matter of time until I got my own.”

“You’ve got it ass-backwards Astarion, if anything you’re my pet vampire,” you tease.

“How dare you! Here I thought puppies were supposed to be cute and obedient,” he cries in mock offence.

“Says the one who gets on all fours for a dog—”

Gale clears his throat loudly and claps his hands. “Ahem! Alright, now that that’s settled, I hope there won’t be anymore surprise revelations about the members of our group. Gods know we have more than enough of them to last a lifetime. Shall we get on? We have a long day ahead.”

It’s of a great relief to you that they didn’t ask too many questions, though you somehow suspect you’ll be telling them the humiliating story of your infection someday soon. In such a short time, you’ve grown fond of your new friends, and even fonder for a certain vampire…

And you’re sure you have a long, long road ahead of you yet.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 35

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Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 7.2K - This definitely could have been split into multiple parts but I started foaming at the mouth and have no self control.

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Additional Note: You may have noticed that I’ve replaced all the images in previous parts with GIFs or photos linked to their original sources. A friend was helping me with the original images and I later found out they were primarily using AI-generated content. To support independent artistry, I’ve decided to remove those images and replace them with original works that include links to the sources. This decision aims to combat the negative impact AI can have on artists and creators. I apologize for the earlier oversight and will ensure to uphold artistic integrity going forward.

Three days. Three days in the House of Wind with just Azriel. The thought was exhilarating and a little terrifying, as you pondered the possibilities of what those days might hold. Azriel did have his personal home in Velaris, the Town House, but since your return, he had essentially relocated his life to the House of Wind to be near you. Now, you had three days of isolation with him, or so you thought.

Nesta paced about your room, her bare feet whispering against the plush blue carpet. You sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a pillow in your lap as you watched her braided hair slowly unravel and the tension radiating from her every step. 

“Why did I do that? That was so stupid,” she muttered, her eyes flicking anxiously around the room.

“Nesta, you have to tell him,” you said softly, your voice steady but gentle.

“I could have waited longer, and now I’ve put myself in this situation,” she groaned, rubbing her temples as she sank into the chair in the corner, her fingers tracing erratic circles on her skin.

“How long did you think you could hold off?” you asked, knowing the answer was not much longer.

“Longer than this! Longer than this weekend.” She huffed, her fingers now digging into her scalp.

“Do you really not want to go?” you asked, watching as she chewed her lower lip, avoiding your gaze.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, her eyes darting to the floor.

You leaned back against the headboard, drawing your knees up. “You know, it’s probably going to be a little strange, given you asked to stay at the cabin and now you’re the one backing out.”

Nesta sighed. “I can’t back out now,” she said, her voice wavering, as if she were trying to convince herself more than you.

“You could always figure out a reason not to go,” you suggested, half-heartedly. 

She peered up, her brows raised slightly as though the idea were preposterous. “Like what?”

You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her reluctance, but the desperation in her eyes made you ignore your better judgment. “You could say you don’t feel well.”

Nesta scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Yeah, like that won’t raise more questions.”

“Or you could say you just don’t want to go. That you’re not feeling up to it,” you offered, rolling your eyes slightly.

She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands, rubbing them up and down as a groan escaped her. “I can’t back out,” she finally sighed, leaning back again, “I need to just get it out there. I can’t hide from it if he’s standing right in front of me.”

“To be fair, he’s been standing in front of you for the last week, and you’ve been avoiding it,” you pointed out, your tone light but with a hint of sarcasm.

Nesta’s glare could have melted stone, her eyes sharp and venomous. “That’s different,” she snapped, before her hand unconsciously moved to rest on her womb, a tender touch to the life growing inside her. She turned to gaze out the tall windows overlooking Velaris, her eyes like reflecting pools of fear, guilt, and perhaps hope.

You observed her quietly, noting the new radiance pregnancy seemed to give her. Despite her worries, her skin glowed with a renewed vitality, her eyes, though filled with uncertainty, shone brighter, and her hair had gained a lustrous fullness. It was remarkable how quickly pregnancy transformed her. Your thoughts drifted to your own mother, wondering if she too had experienced that early glow, if she had known about her pregnancy at four months, or if you had been a secret she kept even from herself for as long as she could.

You tried to pull yourself from that daydream, reminding yourself that your mother was more a figment of your imagination than a memory. It felt childish to pretend she was anything more. “Nesta,” you began gently, “I can’t say I know exactly how you’re feeling.” Her eyes flicked to you, her finger tracing her lips absently. “And I won’t say everything’s going to be okay because, well, we both know that’s a promise I can’t keep.” Nesta’s delicate finger paused on her lower lip, her other hand pressing gently on her stomach as you continued, “But carrying all this stress alone,” you gestured to her, “it’s not good for you or the babe.”

Nesta’s eyes hardened, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Cassian wouldn’t want you to go through this by yourself,” you added softly.

Her gray eyes, clouded with grief, locked onto yours. You could see the inner struggle, the battle between her fear and the need to share her burden. Silver began to line her eyes, the tears she fought to hold back shimmering like tiny stars.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you whispered, leaning forward from the headboard. “It’s okay to worry about the worst and try to prepare for it.” As a single tear escaped down her flushed cheek, you added, “But it’s also okay to feel joy about this. To celebrate. This is a big deal, Nesta—this is amazing.”

She sniffled, her attempts to brush away the tears only making them fall faster. You offered a reassuring smile. “Enjoy these moments with Cassian. He’d want to share this with you.”

Nesta nodded, her tears now flowing freely despite her efforts to contain them. She sniffed, her smile watery but genuine. “What about you? Plan for this weekend?” she asked, clearly eager to shift the focus. ”

You looked down, rubbing your hands over your thighs, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Not sure what you mean,” you muttered.

A crooked smile tugged at Nesta’s lips. “Three days alone with Azriel,” she reminded you, her voice laced with teasing.

You nodded, still fighting the blush spreading across your face and, perhaps, a few other places.

“No big plans?” she pressed.

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing formal.”

“How’s everything going with Azriel?” she inquired, her tone growing more earnest.

You glanced up at her. “You mean with me and Azriel?”

She nodded, her gaze intent.

“It’s good. Things are good,” you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to keep your composure.

Nesta let a silence settle between you, her smile turning knowing, almost cheeky.

“What?” you asked, finally meeting her gaze.

Nesta shook her head, crossing one leg over the other casually. “Just seems like you two are enjoying each other's company a lot.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “We do like spending time together.”

“A lot of time,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

You glanced at her, your cheeks burning. “We get along.”

Nesta’s catlike eyes gleamed with amusement. “You know, I’ve never seen Azriel look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

You didn’t respond, but her words struck a chord, making your heart race.

“It’s like he can sense when you’re about to enter the room and drops everything just to see you first,” she continued.

You shrugged, trying to deflect. “Isn’t that part of his job? To be observant?”

“Sure, but he doesn’t get that goofy smile for just anyone,” she teased.

You knew the smile she meant—the half grin Azriel couldn’t seem to suppress. You wanted to dismiss it as Nesta reading too much into things, but deep down, you couldn’t ignore that Azriel had confessed his feelings to you. Feelings he said he hadn’t even realized he had until you came along.

“So?” Nesta prompted, her voice light yet probing.

“So what?”

“So things are going very well then?” she asked, her question thinly veiled as a statement.

“Yes,” you admitted. “Things are going well.”

“And things…” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, “down south?”

Your eyes widened in shock.

“Oh come on,” she groaned, her hands slapping her thighs in exasperation. “You read as many of those smut books as I do. Give a girl some details.”

You laughed lightly, embarrassed but amused by her persistence.

“You know the boys have a joke about wingspan being related to… other sizes?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

You looked down at your hands, “No, I didn’t.”

“Mhm, and Azriel always goes oddly quiet when they bring it up.”

You giggled, making Nesta’s grin widen. “So… it’s good?” she pressed.

You shook your head, still laughing. “I wouldn’t know.”

Nesta’s face fell slightly, confusion clouding her features. “Wait, you mean you haven’t-?”

You shook your head, meeting her gaze. “We haven’t. Not yet.”

“But he’s been in your bed for months!” she exclaimed, a note of desperation in her voice.

You shrugged, feeling a mix of awkwardness and honesty. “We just,” you paused, “We haven’t gotten there yet.” And now pink rose to your cheeks for a different reason. 

Nesta broke her gaze, her own face flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

You cut her off gently, “No, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

Her interest sparked again, though she still looked cautious. “Have you two talked about it at all?”

You pulled the pillow closer to your lap, your fingers nervously tracing nonexistent frays. “Not really.”

You’d shared more of your past with Nesta than with anyone else, down to the painful details you tried to bury. Her voice, gentle and filled with concern, asked, “Are you ready for that?”

You kept your eyes fixed on the pillow. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with,” she began, her tone careful, “but I guess I just want to know if you’ve been intimate like that with anyone other than… him.”

A shudder ran through you at the thought of the 'him' she referred to, memories of past pain and harsh touches flooding back. “No,” you replied softly. “Not fully.”

Nesta nodded, understanding. “Do you think you’d want to try?”

You considered her question. Your body responded intensely to Azriel, your stomach fluttering at the thought of him, and his touch sent electric shocks through you. Physically, you were more than ready for something beyond mild petting. But those memories were powerful, and they had interfered before. They had with Kai, where attempts at intimacy had often triggered terrible flashbacks, forcing you to stop. Now, knowing that moments of vulnerability could open a line to Caelum, you worried if you could ever enjoy intimacy without the fear of what might slip through the bond. You looked up at Nesta, your voice trembling slightly, “I don’t want to go my entire life without being close to someone like that.”

Nesta gave you a gentle smile. “I think we both know that Azriel would understand.”

You returned a tight-lipped smile. You wanted to believe he would understand, that maybe he would even forgo that aspect if you asked. But then you thought of his skin against yours, the longing you felt for him, and the dream of a life you wanted, one that included closeness and a future you couldn’t have if you couldn’t be that intimate.

Nesta’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “I know it’s a little hypocritical, but,” she met your eyes, “just talk to him.”

She smiled softly, and you found yourself smiling back. You chucked the pillow across the room at her. She laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the room, and you laughed too. It felt good to laugh like that, to share a moment of joy with her, a moment that just felt normal. 

—

Nesta made good on her word, and when the morning finally came for her and Cassian to set off, she did so with a determined gleam in her eyes. When she hugged you goodbye, she lingered a bit longer than usual. You couldn’t tell if the prolonged embrace was for her or you, or perhaps for both—a silent recognition of a weekend that might have you both coming back changed.

As for Azriel, he missed the departure, having been called to the River House by Rhysand early that morning. He’d roused you slightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple, urging you to go back to sleep, promising he’d return before Nesta and Cassian left. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case. You didn’t know when he’d come back, but as you wandered through the hall, hands mildly dirty from prepping the rooftop garden for overwintering, you paused by the library, rocking back on your heel as you saw the outline of wings.

Peeking through the entrance, you found Azriel at the writing desk, his hand pressed to his temple, his leg bouncing under the table. His boot squeaked softly on the floor as shadows curled around his feet like restless cats.

“Hey,” you chirped cheerfully, stepping into the room.

Azriel started slightly at your voice, turning to you with a surprised smile. “Oh, hey!” he replied, that goofy grin lighting up his face.

You walked over, wiping your hands on the small towel you'd brought with you before tucking it into your back pocket. “Where have you been?” you asked, leaning your hips against the desk, your body angled towards him.

Azriel’s hazel eyes, sparkling with mischief, met yours. “Got caught up with Rhys,” he said, leaning back in the chair, his hands interlocking behind his head, causing his biceps to flex slightly.

“Everything okay?” you asked, arching a brow, noticing the way his eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, his posture relaxed yet commanding. “Yeah, yeah, fine.” But his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

Deciding to trust that, like Nesta with Cassian, Azriel knew what he was doing, you chose not to pry into matters beyond your reach. Instead, you nodded, and his eyes flicked to your hands.

“You’ve been busy,” he noted, gesturing towards your fingers.

You glanced down, seeing dirt still peppered under your nails. You began to dig them out, a sheepish smile crossing your face. “Oh, yeah. Elain had me prepping the soil for overwintering, but I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know how you manage it, but it seems like every time you walk away from me, you come back covered in grime.”

Feigning offense, you scoffed, “Okay, well, every time you leave, you come back smelling like actual shit and death.”

“I’m talking about leaving you alone for five minutes, and you come back like that,” Azriel countered, his grin widening.

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes. “What can I say? I like dirt.”

“Dirty girl,” he purred, his tone taking on a teasing edge.

Heat crept up your cheeks as you looked away, biting your lower lip to suppress a smile. “Gross,” you replied, though a laugh slipped through.

Azriel’s laugh was a low rumble as he stretched back in his chair, his wings flaring slightly. His black shirt rode up, revealing the tantalizing V-lines that disappeared beneath his waistband, along with a glimpse of his defined abs. You tried to keep your gaze on his face, but your eyes betrayed you, flicking down for just a moment.

As he straightened, catching the way you looked at him, Azriel’s smirk deepened. “Enjoying the view?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush threatening to deepen. “Don’t flatter yourself, Shadowsinger.”

His chuckle was warm, and his eyes sparkled with teasing affection as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate murmur. “I think I already did.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed off the desk, catching Azriel’s eyes trailing your hips as you walked away. It seemed he might have been entertaining thoughts of potential weekend activities himself. Letting yourself flop backward over the couch, you landed with a thud on your back, legs dangling lazily over the backrest. “Plans for the rest of the day?” you asked, casually picking at the dirt caked under your nails.

“Actually,” he replied, “I was wondering if you might be willing to do something for me.”

Your ears perked up just as you pulled a piece of your nail off completely, hissing slightly as a small bead of blood welled up in the tiny wound. “What is it?” you inquired, pressing your thumb to the spot.

“I have to meet someone from the Summer Court this afternoon.” Your heart sank a little, imagining Azriel’s weekend filling up with more responsibilities. “But I was supposed to pick up something from a shop in the city. If I drop you off, would you mind getting it? I can swing by and pick you up on my way back.”

You flipped your legs over the back of the couch, peering up over the crest of the sofa to meet Azriel’s eye. “Sure,” you agreed, though your voice lacked enthusiasm.

Azriel’s face relaxed, and the tension that had coiled around him when you walked in seemed to dissipate. “That would be fantastic, thank you.”

You smiled lightly, “Just let me clean up first,” you said, scooting off the couch.

“Thank the gods,” Azriel replied with mock relief. “I was worried I’d have to carry you down there smelling like dirt and sweat.”

As you walked out, you stuck your tongue out at him over your shoulder. He laughed, leaning back in his chair again, and you had to stop yourself from turning around to admire the view. 

“Careful, you might catch flies,” Azriel called after you, his tone teasing.

You snorted, waving him off as you headed to clean up.

—

When you finally finished getting dressed after your shower, you opened the door to find Azriel standing across the hall. You jumped slightly, hand flying to your racing heart. “Gods, Azriel! We need to get you a bell or something.”

Azriel smirked lightly. “Ready to go?” He seemed anxious, perhaps pressed for time, though he hadn’t exactly given you any.

“Now?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

Azriel glanced around in confusion. “Yes?”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” You opened the door wider as Azriel crossed the hallway, tossing you your jacket from the front entry hall.

It seemed he’d been waiting on you—how long, you had no idea. He threw open the balcony doors, letting the cool air rush in, a sharp reminder that winter was on its way. Azriel smiled over his shoulder, extending a scarred hand to you. “You haven’t told me what I’m getting for you yet,” you noted, taking his hand. He scooped you up under your knees, cradling you close as his wings took a few powerful flaps, lifting off the marble floor. Your stomach flipped at the quick descent down the mountainside.

“I wrote the address down for you. Just give them my name,” he said, the wind biting at the tips of your ears.

You furrowed your brow. “You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking up?”

Azriel glanced down at you, his smile widening. “What? You don’t trust me?”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Not even a hint?”

“Okay,” he responded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just trust me on this one. It’s nothing bad.”

“I’m not collecting the head or fingers of your enemies?” you joked.

Azriel chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “That would be an errand I’d want to handle myself.”

“So it’s you who doesn’t trust me?” you countered playfully.

“I wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun,” he replied, smirking.

“Gross.”

“You love that word today, don’t you?”

“When I look at you, it’s the first word that comes to mind,” you shot back, your face breaking into a smile.

Azriel landed gracefully on a deserted sidestreet. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” he said, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket. “Here.” He handed it to you, leaning in to place a light kiss on your temple.

You opened the paper, squinting at his neat, thin handwriting. No name of the building, but you recognized the street. “So I can’t know what I’m picking up or where I’m going?” you asked, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be late. Consider it a trust exercise. Do you know where it is?”

“Well, I don’t know what ‘it’ is, but I do know where it is,” you replied.

“One hour. I’ll meet you there.”

You watched as he shot back up into the sky, wondering why, if he was meeting you there, he dropped you off a good fifteen-minute walk from your destination. But again, trust. So instead of calling out to question him, you sighed and began your trek through the city, shaking your head with a bemused smile. 

Local shops were already setting out items for Winter Solstice gifts, the streets adorned with twinkling lights and festive decorations. Your heart ached a bit, reminded of how different your life had been just a year ago. For a moment, you wondered if you had moved on too quickly from everything that had happened. You shook the thought away; dwelling on others’ perceptions of your healing wouldn’t help. Or at least, that’s what you tried to remind yourself.

You knew the shortest route to this particular street cut through the city near the entry gate, but the memories there were too sharp to face today. So, you opted for a longer, winding path, adding about ten minutes to your walk. The detour gave you a moment to breathe, to let the festive atmosphere seep in without the weight of the past pressing down too hard.

When you finally reached the correct street, you followed the numbers until you stood in front of a small bakery. The sweet scents of fresh breads and pastries swirled out from under the door, mingling with the crisp winter air. You rechecked the address Azriel had given you. This was definitely the place. Stepping up to the front door, your mouth watered at the sight of cranberry tarts with their crystalline sugar gleaming in the window, boxes of dark chocolates overflowing with cream, ganache, and fruit, and cakes delicately frosted with winter themes of ice and snow.

The bell above the door chimed softly as you entered, the warm, cozy interior a sharp contrast to the chill outside. Your eyes adjusted to the dim, inviting light, and you noticed a few other patrons standing in front of the large glass counter, debating their purchases. You approached the rather plump, cheery-eyed male at the register.

“Hi,” you greeted as he smiled down at you. “I’m here to pick up something for Azriel.”

“Oh!” The male’s eyes lit up with recognition. He nodded and disappeared into the back of the bakery. You must have been in the right place. While you waited, you watched a female baker behind the counter delicately package pastel macarons into a cellophane box, her hands flying yet precise as she tied a pastel blue ribbon over the top.

The male reappeared, holding a small white box secured with red twine. He handed it over the counter with a broad smile. You thanked him, looking down at the box with curiosity, slightly disappointed that you couldn’t see its contents like the macarons on display.

Given that the sun was beginning to set, you figured you didn’t have much time left before Azriel would come to retrieve you. With the mystery box in hand, you crossed the street and sat on a bench, pulling your jacket tighter around you as you watched fae bustle by.

A few small children barreled down the street, chasing each other and giggling wildly. They stopped in front of the bakery, pressing their noses to the glass, their eyes wide with longing for the delectable treats inside. You watched as the female baker inside noticed their hungry faces. She smiled warmly at them, exchanged a few words with the male baker, and then disappeared into the backroom.

Moments later, she emerged with a white paper bag and stepped outside, beckoning the children closer. They approached cautiously, eyes alight with excitement. She handed them the bag, her smile radiant as she reminded them to share. 

The children eagerly took the bag from the baker, nearly ripping it as they peered inside. Their eyes lit up with delight as they distributed various cookies and candies among themselves. You smiled, remembering how, when you were young, the baker Henri used to give you scones that hadn’t sold the day before. A memory that once included your mother, now replaced by Titania. There was something comforting about these children, nearly a century later, still engaging in the same rituals. Adults continuing to offer sweets from the kindness of their hearts, expecting nothing in return but a smile and the hope that these children might someday pass on the same acts of kindness.

You heard footsteps crunching on the sidewalk next to you and looked up to see two large, winged shadows approaching. Azriel’s face was partially obscured by the late afternoon sun. He took a seat next to you, crossing his legs casually and draping his arms over the backrest of the bench, one foot jostling slightly.

“Hey,” you greeted, moving the box to the other side of you.

“Hi,” he replied, his warm smile melting away the chill in your bones.

“All set?” you asked. He nodded. “How did it go?”

His face conveyed a sort of nonchalance, his mouth twitching slightly downward but not quite frowning. “Fine,” was all he said, shrugging. “How was your little errand?” He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the white box.

You handed him the box, feeling its light weight in your hands. “Fine, I think.”

Azriel took the box from you, untying the twine and turning slightly away to examine the contents. You strained to see over his shoulder, but one large wing blocked your view.

“If all you wanted were pastries, why be so secretive?” you scoffed, amused, as he replaced the lid and turned back to you with a cheeky grin.

He rolled his eyes. “Can’t a male have a little fun?”

You huffed, your eyes scanning his face. There was something about his presence you couldn’t quite place. The look of hesitation behind his eyes, the continuous bouncing foot, and the odd secrecy made you think Azriel might be nervous about something. But what, you couldn’t quite figure out.

“Ready to go?” he asked quickly, standing and adjusting his jacket. You watched him, taking the hand he extended to you, agreeing quietly while complaining slightly about the cold. He just called you a crybaby in response.

The two of you walked through the streets, searching for a quieter sidestreet where Azriel could fully stretch his wings for takeoff. When you finally found one, he picked you up gracefully, asking you to hold the pastry box, which you obliged. The entire flight home, you debated just opening the lid for a peek inside.

As you landed back on the marble balcony, Azriel gently placed you on your feet. You adjusted your top, smoothing the fabric with a quick tug, while he reached for the double doors and swung them open, reclaiming the white pastry box from you. The warm glow of the fire beckoned from within, its gentle crackling drawing you closer. You shrugged off your jacket, tossing it casually onto the bed as you entered the room.

“Thanks,” Azriel’s voice followed you. “For doing this for me.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, flopping down onto the plush bed, your arms stretching upwards as you tried to ease the ache in your muscles. “No worries.” You expected Azriel to make a swift exit, eager to tackle the next task on his agenda, but he lingered. Standing near the double doors, his eyes stayed on you, a quiet intensity in his gaze.

Lifting your head off the bed, you noticed his prolonged stare. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you asked hesitantly, “Everything okay?”

Azriel snapped out of his reverie, his scarred finger tracing the twine of the pastry box absentmindedly. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he replied shortly, a touch of awkwardness in his voice. “Dinner?”

At his offer, you sprang up from the bed with eagerness. “Yes! I’m starving,” you exclaimed, your voice edged with a playful whine.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a soft, fleeting smile, the sound of a light laugh escaping him. As he started towards the door, you stumbled over your own feet, trying to kick off your boots in a rush. You fell into him, face-first against his chest, his warm laughter rumbling through you and making your stomach flutter. “Careful,” he chuckled, steadying you with a gentle hand.

“Sorry,” you murmured, pushing back slightly, your hands pressing against the hard muscle of his chest. You glanced up, your chin hovering mere inches from where your fingers rested.

Azriel’s gaze softened, his other hand still clutching the pastry box. With a slight nod, he led you out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards the kitchen. Normally, you and Nesta or Azriel would eat casually around the kitchen island, but tonight was different. Azriel walked past the kitchen doors, his pace quickening with a hint of excitement.

You paused in front of the kitchen, a confused look crossing your face. “Aren’t we eating?” you asked, glancing towards the familiar island.

Without stopping or turning back, Azriel urged, “Come on,” his tone carrying a trace of anticipation.

Puzzled but intrigued, you followed him, your stomach rumbling in sync with your growing curiosity. As you trailed behind him through the sunken living room and past the cozy library, you realized he was leading you towards the grand dining room. A room you had only seen used for formal family dinners hosted by Nesta.

Azriel reached the doorway, his imposing wings nearly filling the large frame. Turning to face you, his smile broadened, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile back, still trying to decipher his peculiar behavior. Azriel pushed open the door, stepping aside with a radiant, cheeky grin that made your heart skip a beat.

As you stepped through the doorway, Azriel trailing behind, your breath caught in your throat. In the center of the grand dining room, which typically housed a vast, imposing table fit for large gatherings and entertaining, stood a much smaller, more intimate table, set elegantly for two.

The table was adorned with an elegant lace tablecloth, its intricate patterns catching the flicker of candlelight. Candles were placed strategically around the room, their soft, golden glow dancing off the walls. The centerpiece was a lush arrangement of flowers, the key flowers being purple hyacinths—your favorites.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the exquisite spread laid out on the table, a feast of your favorite dishes, each more mouthwatering than the last. Golden roast chicken, perfectly seasoned with a medley of colorful, caramelized vegetables, parsnips, and baby potatoes crisping in the tray. A bowl next to it held bright, emerald-green steamed asparagus drizzled with a cream sauce, a favorite that Titania used to make for you as a child, you had recently learned. Sautéed mushrooms and wild rice pilaf made your mouth water, and a few freshly baked rolls, still warm from the oven, rested in a basket lined with a blue towel. 

You stood there, momentarily stunned by the sheer meticulous effort placed on each part of the room and table. You couldn’t conceive of any other food on the table that wasn’t one of your favorites, as though someone had crawled into your mind, into your childhood, and handpicked out the moments you held with reverie. Azriel came to stand next to a chair, pulling it out slightly as you approached.

“Az, this is—” you stammered. “How did you—?”

Azriel merely chuckled as you took your seat, sliding it in behind you, then crossing around, pouring a sparkling purple wine into a crystal-clear glass and passing it to you.

“This is,” the words couldn’t even come to your mouth as you took the glass, staring down at the food in front of you. “This is insane.”

Azriel poured himself a glass, swirling it lightly as he gazed across at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement as you tried to get your mouth to close from awe. He took a light sip from the cup, the first taste hitting his palate as his face scrunched up, eyebrows drawing together and then widening in surprise before narrowing into discomfort. He peered into the glass, mildly confused, and then slowly processed the unexpected saccharine assault on his taste buds, followed by a sharp exhale through his nose. “This is so sweet,” he said, shoulders and wings rising in an involuntary shudder.

You looked down into your own glass, the sweet aroma of blackberries filling your nostrils as you took a tentative sip. You were greeted with an intense burst of blackberry flavor, as if a handful of the plumpest berries had been freshly crushed, the taste rich and succulent with small hints of dark chocolate and vanilla coating your throat. You almost moaned in sensual delight. Your eyes shut as you melted into your chair. You finally managed to moan out, “This is delicious.”

Your eyes fluttered open to see Azriel swirling the wine in his glass, peering into it with his mouth pulled up in a sneer as though a fly had landed in it. “Oh come on,” you said, taking another sip.

Azriel’s eyes flicked back to you, his sneer growing more exaggerated. “You actually like this stuff?”

“What about it don’t you like?” you asked, your tone slightly accusatory.

“It tastes like pure sugar,” he responded flatly.

“No, it doesn’t! It tastes like blackberries.”

“Blackberries that have been coated in sugar.” He glanced into it again, “There’s probably one blackberry for three cups of sugar.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against your chair as you took another delectable sip, eyes shutting again as you felt the warmth of the wine trickle down your throat. You hadn’t had this kind of wine since—

Your eyes shot back open as Azriel tried another sip, the same reaction flying from him. “How did you know I liked blackberry wine?”

Azriel seemed to pause in stillness as he gulped down his drink. “Lucky guess?” he offered.

You shook your head, leaning forward. “You were spying on me,” you said, eyes narrowing.

Azriel’s own eyes went hollow as he considered the best way out of this situation. “I wasn’t intending to.”

You laughed lightly, “So your shadows just followed me around on their own accord?”

At that, you felt the cool breeze around your ankle as one shadow skirted past you. “To be fair,” Azriel offered, “they are fond of you.”

Your gaze turned into a glare as Azriel tried to dig himself out. He placed his glass on the table, leaning his elbows onto it, eyes lined with sincerity. “Look, it was right after you left, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“So how long were you watching me?” you asked, slightly more forcefully.

Azriel’s palms faced upward. “Only until it seemed you and Kai were getting more serious.” He paused. You scanned his face for any sign of deception but found none. Only pure sincerity. “Once you seemed like you had someone to rely on, I stopped.”

You leaned back, calming yourself again. In truth, you weren’t too upset that it seemed Azriel had been pining after you much longer than you had thought. Not to mention that knowing there was someone watching over you who wasn’t your mate allowed you to breathe a bit of a sigh of relief. You picked up the glass, swirling it so the sweet wine scent hit your nose again, breathing it in deeply.

“So you’ve seen me drunk?” you asked, taking another sip, eyes heavy as you cocked a brow at Azriel.

Azriel chewed his lower lip, trying to contain a slight smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps,” he offered back.

You quickly tried to sift through your memories, wondering about the things you had said or done that might now cause some embarrassment. “You’re giggly when you’re drunk,” Azriel remarked, a playful glint in his eye.

You set your glass down on the table, leaning forward as he carved a piece of chicken for you, placing it on your plate. The warm juices from the pan flowed onto the dish, tantalizing your senses. “And what are you like?” you inquired, arching a brow.

Azriel let out a breathy laugh as he served himself. You grabbed the tongs, dishing asparagus onto both your plates. “I haven’t gotten drunk in a long time.”

You handed over the tray to him as he passed you the rolls. “How long is a long time?”

Azriel pondered for a moment, setting the pan back down on the table. “Half a century?” he responded, sounding like he was questioning his own memory.

You picked up your fork, eyeing him with a smirk. “Sometimes I forget you’re ancient,” you quipped, taking a bite of the chicken. The savory sauce melted in your mouth, making you moan with delight.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It stops being important once you turn one hundred.”

You opened your eyes again, taking another greedy bite. “That’s what someone who’s too old and boring to get drunk would say,” you teased.

“I got my days of heavy drinking out of the way before I took on one of the most important roles in the Night Court,” he countered, leaning back. “It’s not exactly a good look to be falling all over yourself in front of those in power.”

You scoffed, “Cassian seems to have no problem with it.” It’s true, Cassian seized every opportunity to get absolutely sloshed at formal events, often challenging other warriors to drinking contests.

“Let’s not use Cassian as our standard for formality,” Azriel replied with a chuckle. “But when I used to get drunk, I’m told I got rather chatty.”

You almost choked on your food. “Chatty?” you questioned, wide-eyed.

Azriel flicked his eyes at you from under his brows as he took a bite. “Is that surprising?”

You shrugged, chewing a bit more carefully this time. “Chatty with everyone? Or just the people you know?”

Azriel leaned back in the chair, his wings casually lounged behind him. “According to Rhys and Mor, everyone.”

The thought of Azriel being the life of the conversation somewhere in a bar in Velaris, chatting it up with strangers, almost made you laugh out loud. “I’m sure you were fun at parties,” you offered, swallowing down your bite with another glass of wine.

“I would say I still am,” he replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“You think fun is brooding in the corner?”

“You’ve only ever seen me at Night Court events,” he countered.

“But you’re a party animal at the tavern?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “Maybe that’s why you don’t like sweet wines,” you teased, leaning over the table. “You’re too old to enjoy something so youthful. You’d rather have a dry glass of white wine or some liquor that burns like firestarter.”

Azriel scoffed at you. “Am I going to regret doing all this for you?” he joked back.

You smiled at him sweetly, looking back down at your plate. “No,” you replied, a touch quieter and sincere. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Azriel’s face lit up slightly at your response. “I just thought you deserved a nice night,” he said.

You gestured to the table, “You really got all my favorites, even the ones I haven’t told you about or eaten in front of you.”

Azriel glanced toward the ceiling. “I’ll admit, the House did provide me with some insight on things you ask for late at night.”

You followed his gaze up, whispering in a hiss, “Those moments were supposed to be secret.”

Azriel laughed, “That and Titania helped fill me in on the rest.”

You ran your finger around the rim of your glass, heart and belly slowly filling with a feeling of deep adoration and joy. “This is really nice,” you finally whispered.

Azriel reached a scarred hand across the table to you, taking yours. “You deserve to enjoy the things you love,” he offered, his voice filled with quiet sincerity.

Azriel shared with you that, unlike what you might have considered, he actually prepared all the dishes himself. He prepped the meal early in the morning with the help of Nuala and Cerridwen at the River House and then took the hour he had misled you into going to the bakery to set everything up. He really had thought of everything.

As you settled back in your chair, the plate nearly licked clean, you let out a sigh of gratification. Azriel, who had indeed brought out some nasty liquor you refused to try despite his imploring, swirled his glass across from you. His eyes lit up suddenly as he jumped from the table. “I almost forgot!”

You straightened slightly as he brought out the white box from the bakery, setting it in front of you to open. You glanced up at him, smiling. “You made me get my own dessert?” you teased.

“Oh yeah, I’m so sorry,” he replied sarcastically. “How foolish of me to ask you to do one thing so I could do all of this for you.” He gestured around the room with a dramatic flourish.

You smiled back as you undid the twine, peeking in at two delicately crafted tarts. The rhubarb, lemon, and berry compote glistened up at you, the crust perfectly crisped. Your mouth fell open again as Azriel looked down at you, joy in his eyes. You peered back up at him, “These are the tarts that Elain made when I first came here,” you said, breathless.

Azriel shrugged, “Not the exact ones. But they’re as close as I could get to the real thing without cluing Elain in.” In fairness, Elain couldn’t keep a secret, and for something of this nature, which included romance and food, she would have spilled every detail the second Azriel told her.

You found your hand seeking Azriel’s as you marveled at the beautiful little desserts, eyes welling up with emotion. This entire dinner was a three-course journey through your life, from childhood to now, all prepared for you, all a reflection of who you were and the things you had experienced. You felt a tear start to fall, but Azriel caught it, tilting your head up to face him, his own eyes filled with a sincerity and care you don’t know if anyone had ever had for you before. “Thank you,” you whispered lightly.

Azriel leaned down, his lips meeting yours, the oils from the chicken mingling with the sweet wine on your own lips. While you could taste the fiery hint of his drink, you didn’t pull away, lost in the soft caress of his lips as his thumb drew a lazy line down your face, his other hand coming to cup the other side. The kiss held no intensity other than pure adoration, care, and unbridled joy. When he pulled back, Azriel smiled down at you again, and you giggled lightly when he reached into the box, pulling out one of the tarts with his hands and taking a crumbling bite from it.

“Hey!” you protested, laughing as he chewed. “That’s mine!”

Azriel shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Consider it a toll for the perfect evening.”

To my readers, I'm hot, bothered, and need to be put back into my enclosure. We about to get wild: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - "Open wide, Prinzessin"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

a/n: a little chapter i wrote this week, mostly while on the go, so i hope there aren't that many typos hehe

CW: arm p*rn, rough bj, light degradation

(NSFW)

The atmosphere is quite different today. Chatter is filling the team tent, everybody's sitting in loose groups and me right in the middle. Not on the outside like it has been the case some times before that. The team is coming together, especially on missions like this. On the other side of the tent, Horangi is cracking jokes and telling stories from times when he and König went to bars in the villages. Beside me Nikto and Aksel are philosophizing about how they don't miss the midnight sun, but I'm only half participating in the conversation because my attention is on the other side of the room. On the tall austrian man standing behind Horangi to be precise. On his arms to get even further into detail. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt with short sleeves that hug his bizeps in a certain kinda way. Get yourself together, it's only fabric around some muscled arms. But oh lord, what arms. My minds flashes back to when I was holding onto them - for dear life! - as he was fucking me senseless.

He has his arms crossed in front of his chest, only his hands covered by gloves. His hood is tucked into the t-shirt, secured in place by the clothing item. So, really, the only parts of his body are his arms and his eyes. And those got me feeling like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. He's not really participating in the conversation, not talking a lot at least, but every so often he laughs about one of Horangi's raunchy jokes and his whole body is shaking with laughter.

His arms tense and relax with his movements, the cords in his muscles moving under the inked skin, the outlines of his veins fighting the shapes of his tattoos. I will myself to look away, to pay attention to what the others are chatting about, but my eyes always wander back to him. His gaze is already on me, every single time, but with the hood it's always hard to make out where he's looking except if his stare directly on you because the white of his eyes contrast with the darkness of the hood around them. And it's always on me.

And he sees me practically drooling over him, over his arms. There's a smirk on his face, i can tell, there's this cocky aura about him. He knows exactly how his arms are making me feel. My eyes drop down to where he's leaning on the table, his hips swayed to the right. I know now what they are capable of and the thought sends a pang of dirty need between my legs. I don't even dare to speak about how his cargo pants hug his lap, because... Well, there isn't much left to the imagination. Why are they so goddamn tight? My mind directly goes to the naughty places, letting the possibility linger to maybe unzip them and freeing him. And maybe put him in another tight space.

I curse under my breath as I hold myself back from squirming in my seat. I focus my attention on Nikto who is telling a story about his youth when he lived at his uncle's for a whole month, driving the tractor and repairing an old shitty car. Aksel is laughing so hard by now as Nikto talks about the one time he drank so much and then got groceries with his uncle's tractor. Great, more drinking stories. I huff a bit, and I mean, I get it. It's just not the thing I'm most enthusiatic about. For obvious reasons. My drinking stories wouldn't be that fun.

My eyes find their way back to him in no time. He's looking at me and I can see the hint of worry on his face. I shake my head minimally and smile at him weakly. He gives me a little hidden thumbs up which turns my smile up. Then his hand is gripping his bicep again, the muscle on his arm jumping as the gloved fingers dig into it. My mouth falls open a bit, because it just got harder to breathe. His upper body shakes again and I can see the little chuckle he's hiding while his gaze on me gets all lusting.

His head tilts to the side again, and his eyes dart to the entrance of the tent. A subtle yet-not-subtle-at-all move. A little "let's go get out of here". I nod the tiniest nod I can manage, and that's all he needs. He speaks up, but over the distance I only hear words like 'Wachablöse' and 'gotta relieve them'.

Smart move, Colonel. Nobody is going to be suspicious if he goes to relieve the other guards on a huggelig evening like that. A few words to Horangi and a general nod to the rest of the people. He heads out the tent, his gaze on me, filled with desire and pure filth. It makes me want to follow him in an instant, but that wouldn't be very subtle now, would it?

I wait a bit, a few minutes, nodding along to the other's conversation like I did the whole time, then I get up. "What's up with you?", Nikto asks me. "You're not going to bed, are you?" I shake my head. "No I'm only taking a leak.", I joke with a grimace, imitating their gruff voices. They all laugh. "Look at Müller, already one of the guys.", Aksel says, seeming a little bit too proud of me. It's fine, he's got more of a dad energy anyways. It's what I like about him. He's also the only one who’s older than the Colonel himself. Well, except for Ridgeback because he is ancient, but he never goes on missions anyways. I digress. I shoot them all a look as I go which only makes them laugh more, then I leave the tent.

The darkness and the cool night air surround me like a chilling hug. I shiver and look around. No 6'10'' silhouette in sight. I take a few steps, trying not to make too much sound. "König?", I whisper into the shadows. I feel the warmth of his body before I hear his chuckle right next to me. "For a recon sniper you're not that stealthy, huh?", he teases me. I turn around with an exasperated gasp. "Well, I'm not really on enemy territory right now.", I shoot back, but he doesn't continue the banter and steps closer towards me, until he presses me against the wall behind my back, caging me in.

"Did you tell them you were going to bed?", he asks, his voice all hushed, so he almost seems breathless. I shake my head. "No, I only told them I was going to the toilet." His hand drops to his belt and he undoes it with a single smooth motion, before he says: "Then you better drop to your knees quickly like a good little slut, so they won't get suspicious what's taking you so long." My body already moves before my mind has even registered every last one of his words. I don't think I've ever been asked to give oral this brazenly before, but the blunt filth only turns me on when it's with him. Kneeling before him I have to stretch to be at eyelevel with his crotch. My hands latch onto the side of his hips and I look up at him while he strokes his dick a few times until he lets the tip rest against my lips. "Open wide, Prinzessin.", he orders softly and my jaw drops down as I lick him for the first time.

He groans and his head rolls back while his hips buck forward. "More.", he pleads harshly. I close my lips around him as well as I can, licking and sucking his dick as he pushes into me. He hits the back of my throat, not even fitting halfway in, and I start to gag, drooling all over him. He doesn’t let up, taking what he so desperately wants. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”, he groans. His gloved hand grabs the back of my head, his fingers in my hair as he moves me to his rhythm. He’s fucking my mouth now and I can only take it. Hot tears stream down my cheeks and his other hand holds the side of my face, swiping some of them away as he looks down at me. Our eyes meet and I feel a zap of pleasure running through me with the way he’s looking at me, downright feral. He groans again and the sound rumbles in his broad chest. It’s all so much, almost a little bit too much with how he stretches my throat.

This is the exact thing I expected when I got myself into this … deal with the Colonel. Me at his mercy, him in charge taking what he wants that I give to him oh so willingly. I look up at him, his stature towering over me, and the thoughts vanish from my mind as he face-fucks me senseless. My little whimpers are getting muffled by his dick that’s still pushing into my mouth at an almost ruthless speed.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”, he breathes. “Bitte, ah, fuck, I’m so close, scheiße, I’m gonna…“ and he spills in my mouth. I keep sucking him, licking up every single drop of cum that he’s giving me, humming satisfied around him. Then he finally pulls back and I take a deep breath of air, almost toppling over when he lets go off me, but his hands are right on me again pulling me to my feet.

“Fuck, that was…” His strong arms, the ones I’ve been eyeing up all night, wrap around me, pressing me against him and we just stay like that for a moment. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”, he mumbles into my hair as he nuzzles his face against the top of my head. I breathe heavily so my whole chest rumbles, and he looks at me again. “Fuck, are you okay?” I nod quickly. “I’m sorry, I…” His eyes gloss over, his two sides fighting over what to say. “I ruined you.”, he finally says and I can hear the gremlin voice coming out. I laugh, sounding hoarse because of the state of my throat. “I think you did.”, I admit, wiping some spit off my chin. “What are you doing to me?”, he asks then with a sigh and the deeper meaning is not lost on me. “I could ask you the same thing.”, I smirk up at him which pulls a chuckle from his lips. “Even after I stuffed you like that, you’re still mouthing off at me.”, he says with a little edge to his words, but I can see the grin behind his mask.

“We have to hurry now.”, I remind him. The others must surely think I’ve fallen down the loo by now. “Right, right, but…”, he trails off. “But what?”, I want to know. “Can I- can I wake you when my watch is over?”, he asks. “Why do you- oh…”, I blush. I get what he means. “Yes, you can.”, I tell him, not hiding the smile forming on my face at all, which earns me a satisfied grunt and some more smore smoldering heat in his gaze. He caresses down my back once, then we part ways. I try to make myself presentable again before joining the others. They’re all laughing and chatting away, so they’re not paying attention to me anyways. I get a drink and sit back down at one of the tables, to calm myself down. And ignore the pulsing need and wetness between my legs.

And he does. Wake me up in the early morning hours. I’m still all drowsy and sleepy when he pulls my panties to the side and slips two of his fingers into me. I whimper and squirm against him. “Good morning, Liebes.”, he whispers as he starts to play with my pussy. I’m still all worked up and needy from yesterday (just few hours ago really), so it doesn’t take much until I gush around his fingers with his name on my lips. He undoes his belt again and crawls over me, the camp bed aching under the added weight. He pushes into me, stretching me around him and the pressure draws moans and high sighs from my lips. His hand clasps over my mouth shutting me up as he starts to fuck me, hurriedly and hard. Goddamn, this is the best morning sex I ever got. He fucks the sleepiness right out of me until I come a second time, this time around his dick, then he fills me up.

König pulls back with a satisfied hum and tugs my panties over my pussy again, stroking me through the soft fabric. “Don’t you dare change them today.”, he orders me, the inflection of his voice turning unhinged. “I want to know every time I look at you today that my cum is still inside you, that this pussy is all mine.” His words take away my breath as I look up at him, loosing myself in his eyes that pull me in with the intensity of his stare, and all I can do is nod. “Good.”, he gets up, all breezy now. “See you then, Sergeant.” He winks at me and leaves my tent. I hide my face in my hands for a moment, just breathing and calming myself down. I brought myself into this whole ordeal and I’m not complaining, but oh boy. This is intense. I finally get up and dress myself, following his order. Of course.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 13

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC

A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this so any feedback would be amazing. I really hope you enjoy it. I will openly admit there is not much plot to this chapter. Enjoy. Warnings: smut 18+ The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Garrick easily picks me up, my legs wrapping instantly around his waist as he backs us up. My back meeting the wall behind me. Garrick is everywhere. His lips trail down my jaw and neck. Kissing and biting at the skin. I don’t hold back from the noises that escape my lips, which only seem to spur him on, his hands griping me tightly. As my fingers lace themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck, a groan rumbles through his body, his eyes opening and I can barely see the usual hazel due to how blown out his pupils are. I can see the lust and desire burning in them, and I have no doubt my eyes are the same.

Garrick decides the wall isn’t the best place anymore and quickly moves us so I am sitting on my desk, kicking my chair across the room as it slams into the armoire. His hands quickly move to the zipper of my jacket, sliding it down in one swift motion and pushing it down my arms. Garrick was not wasting his time. He knew what he wanted and what I wanted. He kneels in front of me, kissing down my legs as he makes quick work of unlacing one of my boots which I bring my other leg up to do the same. They soon join my jacket on the floor, quickly followed by his jacket and boots as well. As he stands I tug on the bottom of the shirt he is still wearing, he grabs it and pulls it off in one swift movement. Gods it was hot, and so was the view underneath. I’d seen him without a shirt many times due to him and Xaden often opting to train without them. But up close it was something else. I reach out and run my hand down his chest and I feel him shiver and groan at my touch. He loops a finger in my pants and pulls me up flush against him, his mouth meeting mine in a passionate kiss as he runs his fingers through my hair.

His hands continue their exploration, trailing down my arms, leaving a fiery path in their wake. His touch both thrilling and tormenting. I clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I seek something to anchor myself to amidst the whirlwind of sensations he's stirring within me.

I tug on his hair, bringing his face closer to mine. His lips meet mine once again, the taste of him intoxicating. Our breaths mingle, each kiss more urgent, more demanding than the last as we lose ourselves in the rhythm of the dance we've begun. He breaks away from the kiss and trails his lips along the curve of my jawline, his teeth grazing my skin in a tantalizing tease that sends a shiver down my spine.

He pulls back and meets my gaze, his eyes a storm of desire and promise. It's an unspoken conversation, a promise of what's to come that leaves me breathless in anticipation. His eyes are the last thing I see before he dips his head, his lips tracing the pulse in my neck, making my heart race even faster.

It his turn to tug on my shirt as my fingers fumble with the ties on his pants. He quickly knocks my hand away, bitting my neck playfully. But also in warning. He’s in charge right now. He breaks away from my neck to pull the shirt from my body with one hand, while the other is already working on the ties of my leather flight pants. He wraps an arm around my waist, picking me up and in one swift motion I am seated back on the desk with my flight pants now on the floor. Leaving me just in my underwear. His eyes rake over my body as if taking in every detail. The smirk he gives me as his eyes meet mine sends heat rushing to my core. He reaches down, his fingers stroking me through the thin fabric. My back arching into him as my moan echoes off the walls.

“Gods, Ophelia.” Garrick huskily whispers into my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “You keep this up and I’ll be done before I can properly feel you.”

He applies more pressure, coercing another moan from my lips as he lightly bites my earlobe. My hand flying to his hair and pulling on the curls. This time I pull the moan from him. His lips are on mine again in a blatantly carnal kiss. He pushes my legs apart further with his, a rip echoing through the room as the fabric is discarded. I’m too lost in the moment to care as his fingers delve deeper and plunge inside. A hiss leaving Garrick’s lips as my finger nails dig into his shoulder, and my hand tightening on the curls in his hair. I quickly make work of the last of the ties on his flight leathers, and push them down far enough to free his cock, grasping it in my hands. The moan that rips from his lips has me clenching around the fingers he has inside me. He’s eyes almost look black as he leans his forehead against mine as we both touch each other, our heavy breaths almost in sync. Garrick with his free hand loosens the ties and pulls the last of his pants off with his free hand. He removes his fingers from me and I huff at loss as he removes my hand from him.

He pulls me to the edge of the desk, the head of his cock rubbing against me, a gasp leaves my lips as his eyes lock with mine, hunger and lust evident in them and I have no doubt mine are the same. He rocks back and forth, teasing me, the laugh that leaves his lips telling me he’s doing it on purpose as I whine. I take matters into my own hands by locking my legs around his hips and pull him into me, both of us gasping as the first few inches enter me. He holds me against him as picks me up and takes us back to the wall where we started. As he leans me against the wall, I sink down on him, taking him completely. Both our heads rolling back at the sensation. Garrick gathers his composure first as he pulls out and thrusts back in, both our moans echoing off the walls of my room. Every thrust hitting the perfect spot almost every time deep inside me. Garrick slams back into me over and over again at a brutal pace that does not surprise me. Honestly I had always imaged that this is what it would be like. Intense, intimate and passionate. It’s as if Garrick already knows everything about my body as he reaches down to rub the sensitive bundle of nerves,, his mouth latching down on one of my nipples. My fingernails rake down his back, and I know tomorrow there will be deep red marks down it from me. But neither of us cares right now as a groan rips from his lips, the pace of his thrusts increasing.

I feel the coil building inside me and Garrick must notice it to. “I’ve got you little one. Let go.” He whispers in my ear.

He pulls us from the wall, my back hitting the bed as he drives into me even faster and deeper than before, my eyes rolling back at the intense feeling. Garrick reaches down to rub on my clit again and I’m coming undone beneath him.

”Shit.” Garrick mutters, his pace faltering as he finishes seconds after me.

Garrick picks me up, laying down on my bed and laying me on his chest. His arms wrapped around me, tracing patterns over my sensitive skin. Every time I shiver I feel his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“I should have confronted you about that day earlier if I knew this is how it was going to end.” He teases as I smack him lightly on the chest.

”Don’t think the other first years would have appreciated seeing that.” I reply.

”Could have always taken you to my room. Bigger bed as well.” He whispers flirtatiously.

I shift and look up at him with a raised eyebrow. “The room that is right next to Xaden’s? Yeah, great idea.”

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah that one.”

I roll my eyes at him and place my head back on his chest. “Good to know you like a side of murder with your sex.”

I feel his chest rumble with laughter again as a yawn escapes my lips. It had been a long day of dragon bonding, celebrating and now this. Garrick tightens his grip on me as he places the blanket over us. With a wave of his hand the mage light in my room turns off, plunging us into darkness as moonlight fills the room.

As I drift off in his arms to the steady beating of his heart, Garrick places a kiss to the top of my head and whispering into my hair, so quiet I nearly miss it.

”Mine.”

Part 14

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh

[subskz]

showing channie how exactly you like to be fingered!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

sitting in his lap, placing your feet on his knees or thighs and guiding one hand underneath your shirt and the other down your legs and over your panties. showing him how to build desire and tension instead of just diving in straight away. channie nodding against your shoulder as you show him how to tease your clit over the panties you've got on. putting your hand over his and showing him how to play with your tits while he tries to continue the "teasing" heehee he's doing his best<33

making out with him all slow and sensual and then guiding his other hand down to your pussy, shoving your soaked panties aside. you'd make a comment like "look how wet I got because of you baby, you're doing so well! my sweet boy" and channie's brain short-circuits so bad!!!! and then you make him soak his own fingers in your juices, showing him how to finger your properly, how to curl his fingers, how much presure to use, how fast he should go and so on. with the other you let him circle your clit, or whatever motion you prefer, up and down or sideways or tapping, whatever you like hehee

leaning back against him fully, allowing him to put the lesson to use right away. gripping his forearms or reaching back to dig your nails into his hair and tug on it, making his hips shoot up into you <3 he'd become so worked up and desperate, wanting sooo bad like to be able to make you cum! also if writhe and squirm in his lap the closer you get, you need to tell him to hold on tight🩷🫶🏻🥰 heehee hugging you closer🫂🫂

or how cute if you bend over like making him lean on your back and reach around to reach your soaked folds, pressing kisses into your shoulder or neck as you shake and tremble with the impending orgasm that washes over your body and you feel his erection press against you, ignored and neglected🤭🤭

how sweet~ when it comes to learning how to please u suddenly channie is the most dilligent student in the world

he’d be so cute and earnest, his breaths would get even heavier than yours the moment his fingers rest over your underwear and he can feel the damp spot spreading through the material. he just keeps letting out tiny, awed little hums and mumbling out “oh, wow” and u can feel his heart pounding wildly against your back as he tries his best to focus on circling the pads of his fingers steadily over your clit without getting too excited and losing his rhythm. he’d ask so many questions to make sure he’s doing okay too ㅠ

the part abt his brain short circuiting when you coo over him as he feels how wet u are…it’s so channie ❤️‍🩹 he’s already so weak for your praise, but getting to actually feel the physical arousal in your body while you murmur sweetly in his ear abt what a good boy he is for you…baby boy would be throbbing so hard in his pants he might actually cum untouched. but he’s way too concentrated on doing well for you to even care abt the growing pressure inside him, he just wants to absorb every last detail abt your body so he can know how to always be of good use to you <3

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

꧁༺ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼 ༻꧂

Listen, I know I have like 8008 wips right now but we don’t need to talk about that. What we do need to talk about is Janny angst, and I’m here to supply in the form of Jake confessing to Danny at a Halloween party and Danny not knowing how to respond. Hope you enjoy!

Pairings: Jake Kiszka X Danny Wagner *slasher

Warnings and tags: 18+ only! Please consider all of my work to not be suitable for minors at this point, unrequited love, angst, Halloween party, brief mentions of sexual activity (Sam and OC), drinking, making decisions while under the influence, sharing a bed, literally one singular kiss

Word count: 2.7k

I’m sorry Jake, but I don’t think I can like you that way.

His response rattled around in his head for the rest of the evening while the rest of the party raged on around him. Why did he say that of all things? Honestly, it was the best excuse he could think of on the spot.

Jake had just caught him off guard. Didn’t corner him or anything, didn’t speak in a way that made Danny feel like this was actually a big deal or not. Danny couldn’t help but keep replaying the interaction over in his mind, thinking of ways he could have responded differently. It got to the point he couldn’t even decipher which memory was real anymore or which was just a scenario hoping for a better outcome.

It had been nearly three hours ago. Danny was the first one to arrive, having brought over some last minute things Sam had text him to pick up on his way. Jake answered the door, quickly offering to take some of the many shopping bags Danny held in his hands and brought them along to the kitchen.

“Where’s Sam?” Danny asked immediately, not thinking anything of it.

Jake’s brows furrowed for only a second, or had they? Danny wasn’t exactly sure now that he tried to recall each detail.

“He went to go pick up Cheyanne” Jake answered as he started to dig into the bags.

“So he expects us to just set up his own party for him?” Danny scoffed, and he did remember the way Jake cracked a smile. Jake always smiled when he said something snarky or witty.

It wasn’t long after they finished setting everything out. They were just waiting around for more people to show up, or Sam and his girlfriend to make it back. Danny was on his phone leaning against the island in the kitchen when Jake slowly approached and placed his hands on top of the granite across from him.

He knew Jake didn’t just come outright and say it, but how the conversation started exactly alluded him now. First Jake asked him if he’d been seeing anyone interesting lately, and Danny simply answered no without looking up from his phone. How could he when the band kept him so busy? He was surprised Josh and Sam found the time to date, but then again even though they put a lot of effort into it the band just didn’t mean the same thing to them as it did him and Jake. Even when they weren’t rehearsing they were constantly messaging each other, sending back and forth clips of chords they were working on together.

When Jake finally worked up the courage to ask him, Danny thought for a moment that he couldn’t be serious.

“Would you want to hang out sometime? Go, I don’t know, see a movie or something?”

“Sure,” Danny finally locked his phone and stuffed it back into his pocket. “I thought you didn’t like movie theaters though?”

Jake might have blushed at that point, his fingers idly poking at the flakes of quartz sealed into the countertop. “I mean, that’s usually where you go when asking someone out on a date, so”.

“Oh”. Danny stood up straight, blinking a few times as he watched Jake for any sort of indication that he was just joking. It was hard to take him seriously when he was standing there in his Halloween costume, dressed as a pirate with the flowy blouse exposing the chains that adorned his chest, and a bandana tied around his freshly trimmed shoulder length waves still a little damp from the shower. Danny felt silly himself when he left his house in his cowboy get up, almost forgetting his hat in the passenger seat of his car because he didn’t want to wear it in the grocery store.

“Can we talk about this later?” That was one of the responses he could have given, but he knew that would have only made Jake’s anxiety spike. He chose to ask him now, who knows how long he had already been waiting?

He watched as a few different expressions flashed across Jake’s features before finally settling on something Danny was unable to read. “Is it Sam?”

“What?” Danny questioned a little defensively. “Sam is with Chey”.

“I know he is” Jake quickly continued, “but just knowing someone is off limits doesn’t stop you from feeling certain ways”.

Danny got his double meaning. Jake must’ve known there was a lot riding on this, but he chose to ask anyway. It made Danny’s heart pound even now as he thought back on it. If it were him in Jake’s shoes, he didn’t know if he would have been able to do it.

Jake finally accepted his answer and they awkwardly agreed that this didn’t need to change anything between them, they could just go back to being close friends, band mates, until Sam and Josh bound through the front door.

The party only got more and more loud and unruly as more and more people showed up, crowding every room on the ground floor of the townhouse. Danny stood idly by in the living room, having been abandoned in his conversation with Sam as he made out with his girlfriend on the couch.

He sighed and left for the kitchen to make another drink, not really feeling the party after the whirlwind of emotions from earlier. Jake had made himself scarce, no doubt hiding out on the back patio where it had to be quieter. Going to find him drifted through his mind, but he figured that probably wasn’t the best solution to his boredom considering the way they’d left things. If only there was a way he could go back and say something else. Anything else.

The statement wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. Danny didn’t know if he could like Jake that way because he had never thought about it before. Now though, now that he knew how Jake felt it sparked a tingling inside him. Like the time when he played his first successful copy riff on the guitar, or when he was asked to join the band.

When he returned to the living room, Jake had emerged. His was the first presence Danny caught from across the room despite his small size. Jake quickly shifted his gaze to avoid eye contact, but he continued to smile softly as he listened to the person in front of him talking.

Danny wanted to make his way across, past the couch with the happy couple still on it, and join in on the conversation but instead he kept his distance. Continuously he found himself looking back in Jake’s direction though, who didn’t once glance his way again. Or if he did sneak a peak Danny didn’t notice, but that seemed unlikely considering the amount of times he had his eyes on the other man.

Finally after midnight the house started to clear out and the familiar quiet of Sam’s place returned. With the living room at least a little picked up Danny decided to call it a night and climbed the stairs to retrieve his change in clothes and toothbrush from Sam’s room, but inches away from the door he heard what was inside. Soft moans, the repetitive squeaking of a mattress in motion.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Danny whispered with a groan, leaning his head back against the far fall and staring at the door in frustration.

Seconds later, the door to the upstairs bathroom creaked open and out stepped Jake in his pajamas with rings of smeared eyeliner still clinging to his waterline.

“Hey” Danny waved, trying not to scare him.

Jake jumped anyway, having expected everyone to have gone home by now.

“What ar-”

Danny cut him off with a finger to his lips, then pointed at Sam’s door. “My things are in there”.

Still clutching his chest, Jake’s eyes darted over, then he heard it too. “Oh”.

His voice came out in a matching hushed tone now. “Were you supposed to be crashing here?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to sleep on the couch downstairs. Would’ve liked to change and brush my teeth first though”. Danny’s tongue ran across the face of his teeth, feeling the sugary coating of all the mixed drinks he’d consumed throughout the night sticking to their surface. He pushed off the wall and started to walk towards Jake who instinctively backed away. “Guess I’ll just find some mouthwash in the bathroom or something”.

Jake stepped aside and allowed him to pass, their shoulders bumping slightly in the narrow hallway. After swishing with a nearly empty bottle of Listerine and washing his face with some cool water from the sink, Danny shut off the light to the bathroom and gave up on trying to retrieve any of his items from Sam’s room. For a brief moment he debated on just trying to go home, but he had definitely had a few too many ‘beverages’ as Josh liked to call it to believe it was safe. He snuck his way back down the hallway, trying not to disturb any of the rooms’ occupants, but when he reached the top of the stairs he heard a door creaking open.

“Danny” a voice carried through the dark. It wasn’t Sam, he usually preferred to use his full name for whatever reason.

Danny turned to see Jake standing in the hallway again, waiting until he had his attention to disappear back into his room again only to pop back out with a stack of clothes. “These should work for the night”.

“Thanks” Danny graciously took the shirt and pants, examining them in his hands, they certainly looked comfier than his silly western jeans and button up.

“I’m sorry, the couch downstairs is really uncomfortable” Jake folded one of his arms across his chest, his hand gripping just above his elbow.

Danny thought back on how Sam and his girlfriend had spent most of the night making out there before deciding to take it further in the bedroom. He shuddered at the thought of trying to stretch out in the same place, that paired with all the other thoughts he already had racing around up there meant it was likely to be a long night. “Yeah, I don’t really expect to get much sleep”.

He could tell Jake was running through scenarios in his own head now, internally trying to calculate what his next move would be, until finally he spoke again. “You don’t have to, I wouldn’t be hurt at all if you said no, but if you wanted, I mean I have a king size bed so…”. His words came out in a stumbling slur, like every which way he had thought of asking jumbled together into one hardly coherent sentence.

“Umm” Danny gathered enough to understand what it was Jake was offering, and usually he wouldn’t think anything of sharing a bed with a friend, but after earlier he stopped to consider how that might translate.

“It doesn’t have to be weird or anything” Jake added, “I’ll stay on one side. I have an extra blanket. Just don’t want to see you suffering down there”.

It warmed Danny’s heart to see how much Jake cared, even with the reveal of his hidden feelings, Jake was always a generous person. He liked caring for people, and Danny trusted that this was just another example of how Jake always looked out after him.

“Yeah, alright, guess it would be nice to actually get some sleep”.

Jake nodded and Danny followed him into his room. He hadn’t been staying with Sam for long, ever since Josh and his partner got serious and he offered to move out so they could have a bit more privacy. For now he was living in Sam’s spare bedroom because it didn’t make sense to sign a lease anywhere right before they were about to go on another long stint of touring.

Danny looked around, even with the short amount of time he’d been here the space already felt unique to him. Guitars were scattered about, some on stands and some just propped up against the wall or dresser. He watched as Jake made his way back to his side of the bed, the covers pulled back like he’d been waiting to hear Danny emerge from the bathroom, and then he realized he still needed to change.

Jake picked up the book he’d turned over on the page he was at and stuffed his bookmark inside before setting it on his nightstand and clicking the small lamp off. He crawled back into bed but looked up to see Danny frozen in place staring down at the clothes in his arms.

Oh god. He doesn’t feel comfortable around me anymore. Jake beat himself up, not exactly regretting trying to make his move, but still worried Danny might act differently around him now, and not in a good way. Trying to pretend like he didn’t notice Danny’s hesitance, Jake shifted down into a lying position, tucking his hand underneath his head and closing his eyes to try and feign sleep.

After a few minutes and the quiet rustling of clothing, the bed beside him dipped and he felt Danny lay down next to him.

It wasn’t the first time they had shared a bed, more than likely wouldn’t be close to the last either. Certainly, it also wasn’t the first time Jake felt his heart fluttering at the thought of how close Danny was, yet still so far away.

Time passed slowly, Jake could feel the seconds ticking on with each thump against his chest. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to resist the urge to open them and check to see if Danny was still awake too. His answer came in the form of a warm hand sliding across the sheets, stopping just a mere centimeter from where his head rested on his pillow.

Jake dared a look, and when he did he was met with the overwhelming sight of Danny’s radiant irises. Greens bursting from brown in a way that captivated anyone who got close enough to witness their magic first hand. And captivated Jake was.

“Danny I-” Jake attempted to correct whatever it was that had settled between them. He couldn’t apologize for his feelings, but he could at least attempt to explain himself in a way that Danny might understand.

That was all cut short though, because Danny’s hand reached further, coming to rest on Jake’s cheek. Danny inched closer in the bed, waiting a moment for any signs of reservations from Jake who was caught frozen in his touch.

Without another word muttered between them Danny leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was an odd feeling at first. He had never kissed another man before, not that he had anything against it. But kissing Jake? Even he was shocked at his actions.

Jake parted his lips slightly to let out a content exhale and slotted Danny's bottom lip between his own. He took command of the kiss, knowing full well that Danny was probably still feeling lingering effects from the alcohol. Should he have instigated a more intense kiss in return? The answer was definitely not, but Jake feared this might be his only chance to feel what it was like to have his feelings reciprocated, so he greedily took all he could get.

In an instant Jake stole Danny’s breath, and in the same aching heartbeat Danny pulled away.

They laid there in silence, staring at each other through the dark as they both searched each other’s eyes for the answers to their unspoken questions.

Even if those answers were to remain shrouded in the darkness of this bedroom, they would always share this moment. Jake clung on to that sentiment as he closed his eyes again, forcing his breathing to steady out and for sleep to pull him under.

“Good night Jake” Danny whispered in the end, leaving it to fate to decide whether or not Jake heard him.

Tags: @scarletvanfleet @kultavalo

[adalwolfgang]

Can you write about Sinclair brothers and Rusty nail's S/O is an artist but S/O's sketch book all only draw about them.

Thank you and I really really love your any creation or other thing else!! Really thank you and hope you have a wonderful day like you!!💜

Slashers coming across s/o's sketchbook

A/n: Thank you Nina, I love you too!! And again, Im so sorry for taking so long on your reqeust!

Warnings: Jonesy is the queen bee. Bite me. Not proofread.

Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner(s)

Beaugard (Bo) Sinclair

Bo didn't mean to stumble upon your many drawings.

He was up at the house, trying to tidy up a little (shocker I know) and happened to knock over a stack of books. One of them being your sketchbook. He kneels down, picking up the books but pauses once reaching for yours. After a few seconds of glancing around the room, he grabs it and starts skimming over the many pages.

As he flipped through its pages, he was taken aback by what he saw. Each page was filled with intricate and lifelike drawings of only him. His heart swelled with a mixture of surprise, and a touch of vulnerability. He had never imagined that anyone apart from his brother could make something so beautiful.

Bo's fingers gently traced the lines of his own face in awe, realizing just how deeply you had been observing him. His mind began to race before quickly being interrupted by the sound of the front door being opened. He smirked to himself, keeping his back turned from the door as he kept flipping the pages.

Jonesy came trotting into the room with the wag of her tail, tongue carelessly hanging out. You weren't far behind as she walked up to Bo, giving his leg a short sniff before carrying on toward the basement.

"What'cha doin'?" you quirked a brow as you quickly caught on to him seeming to be hyper focused on whatever it was he was reading. When he turned his body, your book coming into view, your pupils dilate at the realization and embarrassment.

"Ya've really captured my good looks darlin! I never took ya for an' arti-" before he could finish his next sentence, you ran up and tackled his ass to the ground in desperation to get the book back and out of his eyesight. This caused him to laugh as he kept holding the book farther away from the both of you on the ground. After a couple minutes of teasing, he hands your book back, adding one last cherry on top.

"I also seen that ya've been studyin' anatomy~" He immediately got an elbow to the ribs in response.

Lester Sinclair

Had to take a double take.

He was digging under his trucks seat, looking for a toy Jonesy had dropped. He grabs ahold of something, thinking it's the squeaky toy, he yanks his arm out only to raise a brow in confusion when seeing it's only a book. The kind of book people use to draw with. He looks over to Jonesy who was sitting in the passenger seat, waiting patiently for her toy to be returned to her.

"I'll git yer toy in a second, alrigh'? Let me jus' look at this real quick," he sits down in the truck, carefully opening the book. His eyes growing wide when he spots your initials signed into the first page. He looks up at the front door to the house, seeing as the coast was clear, he looks back down at the book, peeling back another page. The first page was just little doodles of Him, Jonesy, and you. He flips another page, this time met with much more detailed sketches. Them being of only him. His eyes stayed glue to the pages as he skims each page with great precision.

"What'cha reading?"

He jumps in his seat when you pop up beside his truck window. The book again falling to the floor. He clears his throat, trying to calm his breathing.

"Erm...Would'ja believe me if I said nothin'?"

You quirked a brow before leaning inside the window and looking at the book on the floor of the truck. A look of embarrassment washes over your face.

"You were looking at my drawings...Weren't you?"

After that, he apologizes profusely, ending with you quickly forgiving him but taking the book back inside with you, deciding it best to keep it somewhere else and not in his truck anymore. As he watched you walk but up the steps into the house, his thoughts were interrupted again. This time by Jonesy barking at him. He turns around to see her still pawing at the seat, wanting her toy.

"Oh shoot! Sorry girl!" he quickly goes back to the task he was doing before, reaching under the seat for the dog toy.

Vincent Sinclair

His face gets so hot from the discovery, he almost thought his body heat melted his mask.

You both were in the basement. He was at his desk, working on another mask mold he had recently got from Bo. You were sat on his bed with Jonesy laying her head on your lap asleep. Currently you were drawing another sketch of Vincent, this time sitting at his desk working on the mask mold. After a few hours, you were almost finished with your drawing. Jonesy had already woken up a few minutes' prior. You were putting on the finally details when she trotted back into the basement, carrying her dog bowl in her mouth. She placed it Infront of the bed, nuzzling it with her snout closer before sitting down and looking up at you. You stare between her and your almost completed sketch before letting out a small chuckle. You set down your book on the bed, picking up the bowl and walking toward the stairs.

"Ima go feed Jonesy, be right back Vinny"

He let out a Mmhh in acknowledgement. When you leave with the dog, he continues working. That doesn't last long though when his focus goes to the open book on his bed. He looks over to the stairs then back to the book. He sits there for a moment before deciding to stand up and walk over to the bed. He pulls the book toward him, looking over the page you were recently drawing on. He's beyond surprised. The talent and detail is admiring to say the least.

By the time you return to the basement with Jonesy, he had already seen every single drawing you had in that book. He had already gone back to his wax mold, trying to keep his focus on something else besides all the thoughts and images in his head from his discovery. His face was almost as warm as the boiler that was a few feet away. You didn't seem to notice though as you went back to your spot on the bed and get right back to sketching.

He ratted himself out later on.

Rusty Nail

Flattered and impressed as hell.

After not getting to see each other for what seemed like a month but was only a week, Rusty finally pulled up to yall's shared home. The only thing on his mind was finally getting to sleep in his own bed with his only and favorite person. Upon walking through the door, he was immediately tackled by your affections.

"Welcome home old man!"

He lets of a rumble of laughter, giving your head a quick peck while wrapping his arms around you to also return the affection.

"Someone missed me eh?"

As you both go to your shared room, Rusty plops down onto his side of the bed as you walked over to your side, grabbing a book off the nightstand.

"I know you're probably exhausted but I want to show you something since I don't have the patience anymore."

You walk back over to his side, taking a seat beside him as you open up the book for him to see. Inside it was sketches you've drawing over the past week of his absence. Even though he was tired, his eyes grew a little surprised as he skimmed over the drawings. It was like looking in a mirror. He traced his hand over some of them, a soft smile spreading gracing his lips.

"These look beautiful sweetheart" he looks up at you with a smile before leaning forward a pressing another kiss to your cheek.

Now every time he leaves for a long drive, he takes a drawing with him and keeps it on his person at all times.

[sweepingboy]

"General Ming Guang is doing palm reading!"

Gods surround the ruler of North giggling and shoving each other like a bunch of teens. They're hooting and hollering as they listen to old Pei's fortune telling, teasing each other. Sex, love... It seems that some topics will always bug people no matter how many centuries they lived.

Mu Qing rolls his eyes at them but keeps watching from his seat across the table as Pei Ming masterfully flirts with young goddesses clearly abusing his palm reading excuse as he brushes his lips against their delicate hands. They blush and squeak and look at the deity oh so hopefully.

Mu Qing came in terms with his fate long time ago - always in a rush he had no time to fool around. He took his vows, sharpening himself like a sword. A blade that had passed the fire of the forge and the icy waters, the singing steel praising the scarlet drops on the grim metal. Protecting attacking - he has a duty, he chose it himself 800 years ago.

He feels a tug in the ribcage as Pei Ming grabs Xie Lian's hand.

" Ho-ho!, Your Highness! I see a long and happy marriage" Ming Guang winks "death won't be enough to set you apart!" The prince blushes and laughs awkwardly placing a hand over his chest where, Mu Qing knows, the diamond ring is hidden. He clenches fists under the table the bandages digging uncomfortably into his skin.

Quietly he gets up and leaves.

Gentle wind plays with his hair as he stands in the shadows of the garden feeling like a shadow himself; frozen in his power he watches the life passing leaving him behind.

"General Xuan Zhen," familiar voice calls "may I have your hand?"

Mu Qing sighs in annoyance as steady footsteps approach him "I'm not interested, Ming Guang."

"Xuan Zhen," the other general teases " is this how you treat your elders?"

Mu Qing scoffs at him, while Pei Ming smiles charmingly. Exasperated, he lifts his hand and starts taking off the bandages slowly, arranging them into a neat roll as he does so. Inch by inch he reveals areas of burned skin - some pale pink, healing already, some still aggressively red. At least they aren't wet with ichor he thinks. He hated feeling moist cloth against his skin.

General Ming Guang takes his hand carefully.

He traces the lines gently - Mu Qing thought they wouldn't be visible at all remembering how tight was his grip on the red-hot hilt of Zhanmadao but they are even more defined like that, long curves against the puffed flesh.

"Your heart is covered in thorns."

"How original."

"Shush! You're listening to me now, young man!" "It's hard for a living creature to get through the thorn bushes."

Mu Qing rolls his eyes "It's not how you read a palm."

"Many people see it as cruel and dead" the god continues patiently "but I can see that this heart has bled enough. General you have lived many troubled years without warmth - but you know what cold is because you have something to compare it to" the younger god listens to him, as calloused bog fingers dance over the creases of his skin "This stubborn heart will do anything for those it cares about. It will endure pain, reproach, misunderstandings. I like that little guy."

"My dear Xuan Zhen," Pei Ming's thumb is gently massaging the center of the palm "you carry the most beautiful rose in your chest. A lover worthy of you should be willing to prick himself dozens of times to see it's bud. And you must be ready to let it bloom when the time comes."

"If the time comes." Mu Qing whispers.

Pei Ming calmly looks him on the eyes "When. The Heavens are full of brave men."

"Thank you general" he says quietly " I will treasure your very accurate detailed prediction."

"Sure. Want me to do your horoscope too?"

"Please spare me that honour."

Pei Ming laughs and hugs him with one hand and Mu Qing can feel a small smile forming on his lips.

[http-drabbles]

soulmate, soulmate where are you? 2

1.3k words of absolute crushing angst, it's 7am and i woke up to write. shall i be evil and let this be the final part? mayhaps.

warnings: s/h and making jungkook sad (:W)

fuck fuck fuck.

skimming every question and typing out my answer feels a lot like betrayal. name, age, country of residence, when my soulmate mark appeared, contact details, translator needed, agreeing to a declaration that if my soulmate mark was found to be fraudulent i could face a fine or jail time. i tick the box by his name, attach a photo of my mark and send the form off. the confirmation email is too cheery it makes my jaw ache at how i grind my teeth.

i don't want to talk about the circumstances that lead me to fill out that form, to apply for a loan that covers travel cost and a hotel for this. the woman who helped me fill out the form was again all too cheery, wishing me a good luck and all i could do was smile so fucking limply back at her while noticing lipstick smudged against her teeth.

a month passes and i'm gleeful, maybe it's a network error and my form never submitted. i'm free and can tell the loan company to cancel my plan, i don't go on social media to see what jungkook is up to and in those weeks the nightmare is over and i embrace my loneliness.

the email arrives at 16:21. heathrow to seoul, a contact at hybe will meet me at the airport. id needed. date of when i'm expected to actually meet jungkook, with a disclaimer that it may change due to fluctuating schedule. the tiger lily tingles, and i almost see the petals opening ready to accept him.

"don't get your hopes up, i can always email them back to get out of this."

i don't. of course i don't because i'm standing in a Costa in London Fucking Heathrow next to the hybe contact who is analysing their croissants like it's the key to end all misery. i wished i could look at croissants with that much intensity.

she asked once to see my soulmate mark, gave it a one second glance over and then typed something down in her phone, i wondered how many people she's flown with to Korea. more than ten i would bet. i don't ask, i'm not conversational but when we're waiting in the queue holding out boarding passes i blurt to her.

"i haven't flown before. i've got a fear of it i think."

she passes me a sleeping tablet and i bump her number from ten to a solid fifteen.

korea is pretty, face practically smushed against the taxi window i take in every single detail i can. there's an over-abundance of signs, low hanging wires and roads so tiny it's a miracle a car can pass through them. i don't take photos, i rely on my brain to remember and then forget.

hybe is anything but pretty, more like a grey lump of concrete and glass. i sign two more documents and the translator informs me that in two days time i will be meeting jungkook, but not officially meeting. more like my arm will be stuck through a gap and our soulmate marks will touch, i will have to wear a mitt because some people had become a little too excited and scratchy. my mark is thoroughly inspected this time, deemed official and not a tattoo i'm driven over to my hotel.

i don't unpack, staring at the forms in my hand which are a mix of korean and english i almost laugh. traitor. stupid traitor.

over the next two days i come to two big conclusions, one kimchi is too sour but the rice cakes should be considered a universal delicacy and two, is it too late to back out?

is it too late to back out? i'm in the taxi, i consider clawing the windows for escape but i decide that digging my fingers into my belly helps ease my nerves. can i back out? hybe is cold, the ac is too strong and there's other girls in the room i'm lead into. shy smiles as i plop myself in the back. we are called alphabetically. is it possible to back out? there's four of us left now, i didn't bother counting us as a whole. i can't stop digging my nails into my stomach.

i can't back out. my name is called and somehow my body removes the hand from my belly and i walk myself over to the room. there's a row of grey screen partitions that divide the room, a small slither in the middle presumably where my arm will go. it hits me jungkook is on the other side and i bite my bottom lip hard to avoid laughing. tugging my sleeve up a staff member puts the mitt on securely, another verbal warning to not do anything harmful to the artist.

artist and not his name.

i sit down on the chair, staring into that small space to catch a sight of him but there's nothing. i don't mind a fine, or jail time. i hope it's not real. deliberately slowly i raise my arm, putting it through the gap with my tiger lily facing upwards. the air shifts around my arm and i feel him. warm as his tiger lily presses against mine.

at first nothing, and i almost let out the loudest sigh of relief and then it is everything. in the mitt my fingers jerk, i pull away like i've been electrocuted clutching my arm but it's energy, pure energy. thrum. drum. drum.

he's tearing the partitions apart and i stagger back, nearly falling over the chair to get away from him. frantic korean, something more reassuring from a staff member and then he pokes his head through. beaming smile, he's so happy to see me and i guess i'm somewhere between absolutely mortified and in complete shock. his sleeve is rolled up and i notice his tiger lily has fully blossomed, a quick glance down at mine and i realise mine is the same.

he speaks again, approaching me like he wants to hug me but seeing that i'm backing away like a rabid animal he slows, contains himself and glances at the translator and back at me.

"hello. i'm jungkook. it's nice to meet you finally." oh god. too much. he's too kind and his cologne has infiltrated my nostrils and i'm so glad the mitt is still on because i'd be clawing at my nose to stop smelling it.

"s-sorry.. can't." i give the staff member who brought me in here the universal look of, 'get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here-now.' i am ignored.

"sorry?" he tilts his head in pure confusion, he looks worried. i hate him for it. "don't be sorry. it's okay. i'm happy."

i glance around the room and notice i'm being recorded, i don't know what sets me off more. he's too close, the camera, him, why is he so close? he touches my shoulder to comfort me and i jerk away, i can't stop looking at the camera and the other staff members who are beaming at us.

"i'm sorry," my eyes lock with his, "i don't want you." he doesn't understand and i glance at the translator.

she looks sad and very softly tells him what i've said, he doesn't seem to believe her because he presses his fingers against the tiger lily and shakes his head.

"us. this is us." he's struggling to speak himself and i can see him remembering. he's really looking at my arm now, clearer. the burns, the cuts. all the times i've tried to prune that cancerous flower from my arm. almost physically wounded he takes a step back.

"i'm sorry, i don't want this." the translator repeats my words and all he does is nod.

he nods and i leave.

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 10 - Family History

master list

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part9

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Includes many other characters from Fallout

Synopsis: Cooper worries at his lip, grabbing the ledger, notebook, and bible. He opens the bible up, running his fingers across the inside cover, his fingers moving along where the edges are glued to the front cover. He digs out his pocket knife, flicking it open. 

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Animal/people death, dead animal mutilation, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Older Man/Younger Woman

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

*it's here, it's a week late, but it's here. There is so many details, i needed to make sure it was working!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lucy wakes up to an empty bed, she huffs, wishing Cooper would have woken her up. He had taken to letting her sleep in since all the cows had calved. It wasn't that she didn’t appreciate the rest, it was more that she wanted to contribute as much as anyone else. Maybe more she wanted to be seen as an equal to everyone else. 

Her body aches uncomfortably as she moves, grabbing enough clothes to shuffle to her room. She grabs a towel and some clean clothes before going to take a shower.

The hot water soothes some of the aches from the previous few days. Lucy wants to stay longer but knows there is work to be done. Instead, getting out she towel dries herself, surprised that there were no bruises considering she had collapsed at some point.

Dressed and somewhat ready to face the world Lucy heads downstairs. Fingers running over the braid in her hair as she makes her way over to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup of coffee Lucy sees a note beside the coffee maker. 

Chickens

Is all that is written on there. Lucy grabs a few bites of toast, before filling up two thermoses of coffee. Walking to the front, she stops her ears ringing. Eyes scrunching tight as she leans against the wall for a moment. The whole world going quiet except for the non-stop high-pitched ring. For a moment Lucy believes it will never end unless her ears drums break. 

Then it stops. 

Lucy takes several deep breaths, the world spinning as she opens her eyes. Placing the coffee on the ground she rubs one of her ears fully expecting blood. Nothing. 

Righting herself she grabs the coffee and puts on her boots, trying not to think too hard about the ringing. She hopes that the doctors and nurses were right and that it would stop over time. Walking down the gravel drive, taking in the fresh air, and peace that comes with being in the middle of nowhere. 

Going past the house and shop, she hears the unmistakable sounds of chickens. Cawing, clicks, and general noisiness of the little dinosaurs. The Howards had gone all out for their large flock of feathered beasts. A space had been cut into the forest, then large hardware cloth walls erected around it with a netted roof. The trees provided shade, roosting purchases, and endless shenanigans for them; while the net kept predatory birds out. The chickens also regularly free-roamed the place. 

Today they were kept inside, squabbling and screeching as they chased after different bugs. Cooper sat on a stump in the middle, occasionally throwing handfuls of grain into the flock around his feet. Lucy carefully opens and closes the latches, the chickens running over to see if she has any goodies.

“Nothing today Ladies. But after dinner, I will see what I can scrounge up.” Lucy told the little minions as she walks over to where Cooper sat. 

He smiles at her, “Good to see yah, gorgeous.” 

Lucy hands him the coffee before rolling a stump over to sit on. 

“You can wake me up, you know,” Lucy says, accepting her thermos back as she gets settled. 

“You looked so peaceful, figured rest was in order,” Cooper replies, taking a swig of the coffee. 

Lucy sighs, watching the chickens move around. Occasional squabbles happening as they fought over a bug. 

“It was nice to sleep in. But I want to pull my weight too. Don't mind getting up early to help with stuff.” Lucy adds as a red fluffed-up chicken comes over tilting its head to give her a better once over, before it hops onto Lucy’s knee. 

“Careful, she is known to win hearts,” Cooper chuckles as the bird carefully circles Lucy's knee before settling herself down.

Lucy gently ran her hand over the bird. “I am not easily won, little bird, but you're awfully sweet.”

“She doesn't lay much anymore,” Cooper says, scritching around the bird comb. “But she's a fantastic foster mom, so we keep'er. She looks after the new hatchlin's.”

“Good job little Mama,” Lucy says, shifting so the chicken has space across both legs to lay on. “Keep 'em nice and toasty under all those feathers, make sure the roos aren’t assholes.”

“Never had chickens down south,” Cooper adds, throwing some more grain out. “Barb wanted the kids to be a bit older before we had them.”

“I am sorry you never got that experience with her,” Lucy says, moving her hand to cover his. 

Cooper shrugs, squeezing her hand. “I don’t mean to bring her up all the time.” Cooper gazes out towards the treeline. “You’d think after so many years it won’t bother me so much.”

Lucy leans her head against his shoulder, rubbing her fingers over his. “She was your wife, your children’s mother. I would be surprised if it didn’t bother you.”

Cooper nods, holding onto Lucy’s hand, “Have I shown you a photo?” 

“No, you have not. But I would love to see her,” Lucy smiles, leaning away so he can fish out his phone. 

He scrolls through his photos, finding an album labeled: Barb with a red heart beside it. Cooper clicked it open, showing her a photo of the woman. She was neatly dressed in a lavender riding outfit and, shiny black helmet with purple hearts. The grin across her face was the same as her daughter Janey’s, along with the beautiful curly hair. Barb was standing beside her stallion, the big black horse’s head resting against the side of her face. 

“She is stunning!” Lucy exclaims as Cooper shows her a handful more photos. “I can see so much of her in your kids. The way Janey smiles, Matthias eyes, always with you. I can see why you would think about her often.” 

Cooper carefully closes his phone, “Thank you for understanding, Lucy. The kids sure have enjoyed your company. I have to.”

“Even if we end up in the ER after our first dance?” Lucy teases, as she kisses the side of his face. 

Cooper laughs, turning to her as he slips his phone back into his pocket. He leans forward and kisses her, hands holding her face, Lucy kissing back as she rubs her thumbs over his cheekbones. Leaning back he grins as he rests his forehead against hers, hat-tipping up. 

“Maybe more so. Keeps life interesting after all.” Cooper chuckles, eyes closing as the two sit there for a moment. 

***

“None of this makes sense,” Lucy stomps, looking at the pages and papers laid out on the tables. 

Cooper runs a hand through his hair, putting his hat on the table. “We got to be missin' somethin', it all seems so random.” 

Lucy rubs at her eyes, all the words seem to be doubling over themselves. “The bible isn’t even a bible as far as I can tell. Yes, it has the cover, but there are no actual passages, not like you'd see in a modern bible. It's more like journal entries and way more pages than you’d normally see.”

Cooper groans as he flips through the journals again, “Not to add to the confusion. But his journals don’t add much. There are some day-to-day thin's, but nothing' specifically mentionin' going't the forest.”

“Even in the ledgers. He misses some full moons, and then sometimes he is losing things weekly.” Lucy grumbles as she flips open her notebook to a blank page. “Maybe it’s not lining up with our calendar, but the lunar one.”

Cooper's eyebrows go up, “Doesn't our calendar follow the moon?” 

“No, not exactly. The lunar calendar was exactly twenty-eight days and had thirteen months. Some people believe it syncs more with the solar calendar.” Lucy is flipping open her phone. She scans over it, trying to see if it lines up with anything else, but it still doesn’t make sense. 

“Oh man,” Lucy sighs, “So the dates are a little more on point. But this doesn’t explain what he was doing.”

Cooper dug around his pocket pulling out a packet of cigarettes, he tapes them on the table a few times. Then pulls out one, fiddling with it before standing it filter down on the table. Opening a journal again, looking at the top, fingers running over the sentences

“What if the dates are supposed to be the passages from the bible??” Cooper asks as he gets up to stand beside Lucy. “Have we looked up if they reference the modern bible?”

Lucy felt her brows furrow, she opened a new google search, typing in the passage. “Philippians 4:18, I have received full payment and have more than enough. I am amply supplied, now that I have received from Epaphroditus the gifts you sent. They are a fragrant offering, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God. “

“Did he lose any animals that week?’ Cooper asks, Lucy flipping over the ledger. 

“No,” Lucy says quietly, finger on the date. “Nothing was lost that week.” 

Cooper let out a whoop, walking around the table a few times. “Well, I am thinkin' we may have figured somethin' out. The date is the passage, but why was he adding scripture at the top of the journal pages.”

Lucy grabs the journal flipping to a random page, “Corinthians 10:20 should be No, but the sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with demons. But he has written down Blessed are the destroyers of false hope, for they are the true Messiahs. For they will bring prosperity to your life and land.”

Cooper pulls his glasses out of his pocket, balancing them on his nose as he opens his phone. Lucy waits as he types the words into his browser. His brow scrunches as he reads what the search results show. 

“You sure that’s what he has written?” Cooper asks, peering at the journal and then at his phone. He hands her the phone Lucy’s mouth falls open. 

“The Satanic bible?” Lucy asks, her stomach twisting. “Seriously? He’s quoting Anton LeVay?”

Cooper’s eyes run back and forth over the different pages in the journal as he flips through them. “I am guessin' that each of these is a misquote, he puts whatever name and number so that if you were just flipping through it wouldn’t seem odd.” 

“Some of these are Druidic, Hindi, Jewish. There are hundreds of quotes, and only a handful of them relate to the English bible.” Lucy says, leaning back in her chair, feeling more confused than when she started. 

“Did he have other books around? Like different, umm, bibles? Not sure if that’s the right term.” Cooper asks, Lucy shaking her head. 

“We didn’t have a lot of books we usually just borrowed from the library. The only religious text I thought he had was this bible.” Lucy gestures at the massive leather-bound thing. 

“We could go to the library. See if they ever lent him something along t'ose lines.” Cooper suggests, fingers tapping along the hard plastic surface of the table. 

“Wouldn’t explain why he was bringing animals into the forest. Or misquoting the bible in the journals.” Lucy groans, fiddling with the pen before doodling on one of her notebooks. 

Cooper worries at his lip, grabbing the ledger, notebook, and bible. He opens the bible up, running his fingers across the inside cover, his fingers moving along where the edges are glued to the front cover. He digs out his pocket knife, flicking it open. 

“Do you mind?” He asks Lucy, “I think there might be something under here.”

Lucy nods her head, scooting forward to watch him work. Cooper carefully slides the knife along the edge working the page free from the front.  He does all four sides, before putting the knife down on the table, he tries to lift the edges but his fingers aren’t the nimblest. 

“I got it,” Lucy says, patting his thigh, he shifts away so that she can get closer to it. 

Using her nails she carefully lifts and peels the paper off the front. The paper is thin and much thicker than the rest of the book. The edges were glued and left small bits behind as she lifted it, but underneath the writing was in near perfect condition.  

It was a list of names, the whole front cover was full of names. Names and dates, going down four neat columns.

“Holy shit,” Cooper said quietly, leaning in beside Lucy to see them all. “This goes back dozens of generations.” 

“Earliest is sixteen fifty-six. Some kept it for a few years, others for decades.” Lucy says quietly.

“Not father to son either, sometimes mother to daughter, father to daughter, mother to son.” Cooper runs his fingers down the names. “Not all the same last name either."

“Hold on, hold on.” Lucy flips through the pages of the bible, stopping in one section and then going to the next one. “This isn’t just in English, it’s in several different languages.” 

Cooper squints at it, “How did we miss that?”

Lucy shrugs, laughing at the ridiculousness of it, “It’s not a bible, it’s my family's history. Past from generation to generation.” 

The two sit there staring at the book for a moment, Lucy struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that she was holding a piece of her family's history. Going back three hundred plus years, what it contained she could only imagine. 

“Your folks settled here hundreds of years ago,” Cooper said, walking over to the fridge and bringing back two beers. Lucy happily accepts one, maybe it will help her brain not leak out of her ears. 

“Tim always said we were some of the first in the area. Why it was important for us to make sure we looked after the community and the land.” Lucy says quietly, her fingers carefully moving more of the paper off the book revealing an inscription along where the page met the spine. “Wonder what this says?’ 

Cooper dug out his phone, typing the words into google, “Think google could translate that.” 

Lucy opens her beer taking a sip, it was only two in the afternoon but at this moment she could not care. 

“Ahh, so I think google is a little lost, First to be first, born to be born,” Cooper replies, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I think they mean from firstborn to firstborn.” 

“So it was passed down generationally from the firstborn father/mother to the firstborn son/daughter,” Lucy says, opening the book carefully again. 

“Won’t this be like dust or something? Like I didn’t think they had books this old.” Cooper muses, as he watches Lucy.

“Not many people had books, but I think this wasn't as big as it was,” Lucy states, flipping from the back to the front of the book. “The last few names are all MacLean. Past father to son.” A lightbulb goes off in the back of her mind. “Grandpa always said that I broke the curse of being the firstborn daughter after so many generations of sons.”

“The curse? What does that even mean?” Cooper says, taking a drink from his beer and looking as Lucy flips between pages. 

“My Dad was the one who was supposed to receive the bible.” Lucy states, her fingers going over what looks to be possibly old German. “But then he died. Died in the forest.”

“What are you thinkin?” Cooper pushes, his hand rubbing along Lucy’s hunched shoulders. 

“I think this book details my family, or my ancestors I guess, coming here. Settling here, and looking after the land.” Lucy sits down, rubbing at her face. “Which means squat. I knew my family was old, but why did he not pass this down to me.”

“He said you broke the curse.” Cooper replies, “Think we can assume, that he thought because your Dad passed, that there was no one to hand it to.” 

“We couldn’t have been the first family to lose a firstborn,” Lucy states, flipping open the book, and looking at more illustrations. “ Wait, look at this.” Cooper comes over, looking where Lucy is pointing at an illustration.

“Is that a stump?” Cooper asks, “It’s a stump with ruins and a head on it.” Lucy nods, sitting down and taking a long drink from the beer. “They were making sacrifices in the forest.” Cooper flips through the pages, finding one that depicted twelve stumps, each with different ruins carved on them, some had bloody heads, other loaves of bread, and fruit, but all unique.

***

Lucy and Cooper sit beside a fire pit, Cooper taking a draw from a cigarette before passing it to Lucy. Not thinking she takes it and takes a pull from it, eyes rolling at the pleasant buzz that settles over her. Her phone still in hand, more questions than answers swirling in the fire before her. She had called her Mom as they settled in, and Rose had danced around any answers, dismissing anything about the bible. She claimed to not know about the bible, or anything happening on the farm. Eventually telling her she needed to go.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she didn’t know. Feels like no one actually knows what's going on.” Lucy said quietly, flicking the ash into the ashtray before handing it back to Cooper. 

“Do you think Harris? Or Margie, have any ideas?” Cooper suggests, taking a puff of the smoke. 

“That is my next stop I think. Tomorrow sometimes, see if there is anything else they haven’t told me.” Lucy sighs, rubbing at her face.  “They had to know about the stumps. How does that relate to anything that’s been happening? The things we have both been seeing?”

The rest of the day had been helping with kids, discussing which fields to start in with Mark. Helping Dorothy with dinner, settling the kids, and making sure everything was closed up for the night. Lucy’s head had been spinning for most of it. She had more questions than answers, from what they could tell the bible had been handed down to the firstborn. But it hadn’t been handed to Lucy’s father Hank, or her. Tim had decided to stop, reasons unknown. 

Cooper pulls her against his side, “I can’er your brain runnin’, and it’s much too late for that.” 

“Just wish they'd told me. Wish, Tim had told me. Why keep all this a secret? Like it was clearly important to be carried around for so long.” Lucy snuggles in, enjoying his warmth. 

“He hid it in the back of a shed, in a metal box, with a lock.” Cooper squeezed her, kissing the top of her head.

“Do you think he thought that if it wasn’t passed down to me, nothing would happen?” Lucy asks, her mind running over all the possibilities. 

Cooper shakes his head, “I wish I knew Lucy, "More questions then answers."

“Thank you, for helping me,” Lucy says, her eyes closing, the long day catching up with her. 

“Don’t have to answer, if yah don’t wanna,” Cooper murmurs, “What happened with your Mom?” 

Lucy shrugs, “I am not sure, she dropped me off with my Grandparents. Haven’t really been in touch much since. She never came to the farm, we always went to see her wherever she was. Didn’t really think about it much till now.”

“Whatever the reason, we will figure it out, Lucy.” Cooper murmurs, the two continue to watch the fire. 

***

Going down the stairs, Lucy made out Cooper’s voice, Richard’s, and another not as familiar. As she walks towards the dining room, she sees the men along with John Roth.  The man was a good head shorter than Cooper, he had braided black hair down his back, tanned skin, and a black cowboy hat. He looks about the same age as Mark, maybe a few years younger. His eyes are a grass green, as he looks at Lucy with a small frown. 

“Hello, Ms. MacLean,” John said, forehead wrinkling as he looks between her and Cooper.

“Hi, Umm, sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Lucy tries to grin and moves towards the kitchen. “Just getting some breakfast.”

“Actually, Lucy. I think this involves you as much as anyone.” Richard said, gesturing for everyone to sit at the table. 

Lucy grabs the pot of coffee and some mugs, knowing that the table would already have some cream and sugar. She put the mugs in front of each man, pouring each some and then herself. Before sitting down herself, looking at everyone. Well, Lucy thought, she had wanted to be a part of the adult table. 

“I know, all of you have been through a lot this last year,” John said, fingers tapping at the sides of his cup before taking another sip of the coffee.  “We’ve all suffered, unfortunately, a cow has been missing. One of our last to calve.” 

Richard takes a sip watching John talk, Cooper puts his hand on top of Lucy’s knee. The warmth and weight reassuring her, grounding her to the moment.

“I was hoping to get your permission to go search through your land for her.” John asks, his green eyes shining in the light, “Harris has said that Bert could come help. It only be a few hours. I just need to know what’s happened to them.”

“Of course, John. I should have offered that, to begin with.” Lucy said softly. “I have two working four wheels, I know the woods I can take us through there.”

“Are you sure Lucy?” Cooper asks, looking more than a little concerned.

“Absolutely. If anyone is going in there I am coming with them.” Lucy responds, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. 

Cooper grips her knee, “I am coming with you, we can cover more ground that way.”

Richard puts his cup down looking between the three of them. “I would offer, but I don’t know how far I’d get.”

“I appreciate all the help we can get, Nicole would come but she is nearly due herself.” John smile making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “It means a lot to me.”

“Not a problem, how about we meet at two? It gives us enough time to get things done around here, get some supplies, and plenty of light.” Cooper states, finishing his cup of coffee and pouring another. 

“Alright, I will see y’all at two.” John nods, putting his cup down. “Thank you, again Lucy.”

“Not a problem, we’ll find your cows John,” Lucy replies, pouring herself another cup of coffee, and refilling Richards. 

John grabs his hat, thanking everyone again for the help. Lucy busies herself with making breakfast, a list of what she needs to gather forming in her mind. Cooper helps Richard get comfortable in his recliner, the man murmuring about hating chemo. 

Cooper comes over, grabbing his cup off the table, before coming into the kitchen.  Lucy had toast on, knowing that chores needed to be done. 

“You sleep okay?” Cooper asks as he puts on more coffee.

“Yes, thank you for letting me sleep in again.” Lucy replies, “Do you want some toast?” 

“Think I am gonna do coffee, gotta make sure the chickens have water and food,” Cooper says, dumping the coffee in a to-go mug.

Lucy grabs his arm before he takes off, “Cooper, I-,” She bites her lip, “I am worried about this afternoon.”

Cooper stops, putting his mug down so he can turn to look at her fully, his hands gently grabbing both of her arms. “I know. And no ya ain’t gonna convince me nota come with yah. I am comin’ with, we will figure this out together.”

Lucy slumps a little, her mind running over to the kids, “I- I know it’s none of my business. I worry about the kids, after what happened on Friday. It’s all I've been thinkin’ about.”

He lets out a huff of air, looking away from her for a second. “I know. But I ain’t letting you go in there alone either.”

“I won’t be alone. Bert and John will be with me.” Lucy says, hoping that she sounds convincing. “I know the place well, I am sure we will find the cows in no time.”

Cooper shakes his head, “I already told'ya, I am comin.” He tips her chin up so they are looking at each other. “In and out, all of us.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

PART 11

*things are just gonna get crazier!

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