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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months ago

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Chapter 22

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: there might be some spelling errors here and there which I’m sorry about—I’ll try and remember to check through in the morning <3

word count: 7,866

-Part 21- -Part 23-

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More than once, you find your feet leading you in the direction of Bas’ house, but you always turn before you can reach his street.

A few days ago you’d thought it would take a fortnight for the transition between autumn and winter to truly become apparent. You were wrong.

There’s no way you could mistake it for anything else, with the way breath now huffs from chapped, rosey mouths like ancient, angry beasts prowling across an early morning moor; how now when you step outside and leave the warmth of the heating enchantments the cold nips at your throat, splashing ice into your lungs, encasing your arched ears in snow-kissed winds; how even without much sense left in your hands you can feel as your blood recoils from the temperature, scrambling back to be closer inside your body and abandoning your limbs for the sake of comfort. Useless body. If you were instead one of the massive bears kept in the Winter Court with thick coats and dense, padded bodies this would be much more bearable.

As it is, you have to settle for keeping a brisk pace and wrapping yourself in an uncomfortable amount of layers. Layers that wrinkle too easily beneath one another and store sweat in their fibres. It’s always a relief to be once again indoors so you can shed the many skins. Especially when so much of the cosier cloaks are inlined with fur. You try not to let it bother you but as soon as that particular smell of leather creeps in, or meat with a little too much preserving salt…

Winter’s gotten a little easier. You can appreciate some of its beauty now it’s less likely to kill you. Its glittering exquisite.

“What about this?” Elain gestures to a folded quilt that’s laid out amongst other similar items: bedsheets, pillowcases, towels, flannels, cloths. The quilt is a patchwork of small squares about the size of your open palm, each one different in pattern but similar in colour—pinks, pale pinks, whites, creams, oranges, pale oranges, a glitter of egg-yolk yellow. Around the hem hangs a slight frill made up of white lace. On its underside shows the padding designed for comfort, perfect for maintaining heat and being a cozy blanket to nestle under.

An image passes through your mind then of all four of your crammed into that tiny bed, stuffed beneath a blanket like this in the depths of winter. Fingers so cold they felt like ice, cold enough to wake you from your sleep if a bare foot grazed your calf. Nesta and Feyre would usually be on the outside during the colder months, rarely taking place in the cozy, warm centre. You and Elain ever the middle children.

A second image forms soon after, except instead of being set in an alternate past seems to fit more with a branch of the future: all four of you stuffed on the long sofa in the River House’s living room, the fire crackling behind its muffler but Nesta still on the furthest side. Some of you would be reading, Nyx might be cuddled beneath the quilt, close to Feyre’s chest, and maybe you might be stitching something together or sewing a pattern onto the sleeve of Elain’s top. Nyx would probably be briefly fascinated by the lace frill. Then if it was interesting enough he might try to eat it.

You zone back in when you realise Elain’s looking to you for an answer. You wince, wanting to pull back into yourself and hide in your skeleton, sit on one of your own ribs, arms hung over an upper one. “I really… It’s lovely, but the bedroom I have is fine. We don’t need to find replacement stuff.”

Elain seems a little crestfallen but quickly blinks it away, already turning her head to scour for something else that might take your interest. “Are you sure? It looks so warm,” Feyre pipes up, inspecting the little patterns of the squares. “I can imagine you all wrapped up in this, tucked away into a chair with a book heavy enough to break someone’s foot.”

“I’m sure,” you assure her. “Really, the bedroom in your house is more than enough. I’m not sure I even wear half the clothes in the wardrobe—I’m fine.”

After the news had been announced, tears had been shed, and you’d all spent the night on that sofa too afraid to let go of one another, Nesta had been the one to suggest fixing up the House of Wind again. It had been patched up after the initial explosion, but Nesta had suggested making it somewhere nice, reasoning all of the furniture had been destroyed anyway, so your room would be in need of some redecorating anyway. ‘Besides,’ Nesta had pointed out the following morning, ‘It’s mine. I can do what I like with it.’ And spend Rhys’ money while doing it, had gone unsaid, but after Nyx’s birth at least some of their aggression seemed to have boiled off.

“This just seems like too much,” you admit while walking at Feyre’s side, Nesta strolling along the far side of the street while Elain’s already begun appraising a new set of pale green pillowcases. “You don’t have long,” Feyre murmurs in reply, her voice straining toward the end, “six months will fly by.”

“I don’t mind,” you whisper absently. “My room’s fine as it is. We don’t need to redecorate the entire House of Wind.”

Feyre falls silent, feet tapping in time together along the icy cobbles. Then her arm is tentatively slipping beneath your own, gently linking at the elbow, careful not to cause any aches in your flesh. You squeeze her faintly, bodies pressing closer in the cold, arms locked to try and keep up warmth while walking through the city.

You glance up at the clock tower constructed at one end of the main square. It reads midday. Elain will be leaving for the human lands in a little under an hour and none of you have yet had lunch. Feyre follows your gaze, reading the time. “She won’t be gone for long, remember?” Feyre assures quietly. “She’ll be back before night.”

You blink, turning to face your younger sister, “Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking…” You flush, averting your eyes as you pull your arm from Feyre’s, “I’m not that clingy.” It comes out sounding more defensive than you’d thought it would, the tug of your arm rougher than you’d anticipated, but you speed your pace regardless, crossing the street to instead join Nesta. She’s looking into the window of a large bookshop, her sharp eyes picking out titles even through the warped and rippling glass panes.

Nesta reads even more than you do, which is saying something. You’re not sure you could even read a romance book anymore. Not without a piercing sense of loss pinned through your heart.

“I’ve been thinking,” Nesta muses, pulling from your thoughts, standing straighter as if she’s considering entering the shop, “of having a meal up at the House of Wind. Would you come?” You blink, looking over to her inquisitively, “Just…a meal?”

“I was thinking of bringing Emerie and Gwyn to it, too. None of you have met one another.” Nesta turns back to the window, though she doesn’t seem to be looking at the books anymore. “Elain and Feyre would be there, too.”

“For sometime near solecist?”

“That could work.”

You pull a part of your lower lip into your mouth, nipping at the interior. “Have you thought of a present for Feyre this year?” You ask, still being without a gift. It’s still about two months away, but…time has a habit of slipping through your fingers. Silverish eyes slide sidewards to you, and you glance at her questioningly. Nesta looks back into the window, “I think the plan is to all do something together. Elain seems to think that’s what Feyre wants.”

“Do you think she does?”

“Probably,” Nesta replies. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“Won’t that ruin the surprise?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to know what she wants so we don’t do something she won’t enjoy?”

You purse your lips. “Elain can ask.”

Nesta seems to decide she’s done with the bookshop, turning her body to move on ahead and you follow quietly. “So, about the meal?” She reminds, and you swallow but manage a short nod of your head. “It sounds nice.” Your lips part, throat flexing in preparation to add on, I’d like to meet them, but something stops you and then the moment has passed. Nesta seems satisfied enough with your answer.

Had she also mentioned Elain and Feyre intentionally when bringing up the dinner?

You worry your lower lip. It’s been nice spending time with them again. Being on the sofa. Feeling bones press together. Hair sliding over shoulders. But has it been too much for them? Feyre has a husband and a baby and a court. Nesta has Cassian and her own life. Elain…is who you’d usually spend time with, but she’s leaving to visit Lucien.

Bas is leaving too, soon.

Maybe you should be returning to the House of Wind on your own instead of making them take you there and pad the way. You’re not ready to go back. Maybe you should just lock yourself up in the Prison. But that’s a stupid thought, one that’s not going to help you. Why try and make things worse for yourself?

Your stomach grumbles and you flush, putting your hand over it in attempts to quiet the noise.

It’s about time for lunch, anyway.

————

“You haven’t been up to the House since, right?”

You startle, spinning around as your hand recoils from the door handle, chest rising and falling so rapidly that saliva gets caught in your throat and you have to cough into the crook of your arm. At least you didn’t eat too much over supper, or you might have been worried about being sick.

Azriel stands silently in the hallway a little distance away, his eyes vaguely alarmed at your abrupt reaction. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I thought you’d heard me.”

“It’s fine,” you excuse, coughing once more before lowering your arm, going to straighten your skirts before a rush of something shy flutters through your chest and your hands instead join at your front. “You’re just…very quiet.”

Azriel hums, and you shift on your feet. You’ve been spending so much of your free time with your sisters that you haven’t really seen anyone but them over the past two days. Well, aside from Madja, who you’re still seeing every morning at ten o’clock, much to your relief. You lick your lips, finding them chapped and dry. “So…was there something you wanted?”

Azriel nods his head once. “Not exactly. I was thinking it would be a good idea for you to readjust yourself to the dimensions of the House, since Nesta’s told me you’re redecorating.” You flush, eyes dipping away, once again shifting on your feet. “Well, it’s more her idea…” you hedge, “since…you know, it’s hers now…?”

“I know. But you’ll be wanting new furniture,” he reasons. “The walls had to be realigned so your room will be wider once it’s complete.”

“Once it’s complete?”

He nods his head. “You blew it up, remember?”

The flush deepens and you take a subconscious step back towards your room. You hadn’t meant to wreck the House, even if it was only your room that was really ruined. “I just meant…you mentioned walls needing to be realigned, so I was wondering whether they’ve yet been…”

Azriel nods his head. “They have.”

A beat passes. “So, are you coming?”

You look up, surprised. “Hm? Where?”

His eyes narrow. “To the House. Is your head okay?”

“Fine.” Your brows furrow. “Fine.”

“No headaches?” He pushes, hazel eyes scanning swiftly over your body in a painfully analytic fashion. “No bouts of forgetfulness? Brain fog?”

“No. No, I’m fine. None of that,” you assure, glancing down to the hardwood floor, a small part of you still stumbling at his attention. But it’s all good and fine noticing a problem once it’s obvious. “Besides,” you add, “I’m sure Madja would have picked that out by now…” Right? Madja’s been nothing but dependant as company. Competent and kind, so gentle with your skin and flesh and mind.

Azriel seems to disagree, his head tilting slightly and you wonder if it’s a movement he’s showing intentionally or whether it’s simply something he’s learned to do when around other people after having every reaction trained out of him. “You’re only seeing her for about twenty minutes each day. It’s easy to miss some things.”

“Yes, but isn’t she…? It’s Madja. Isn’t she supposed to be…I don’t know, one of the best healers in Velaris?” Isn’t she? Arrogance aside, wouldn’t it make sense Rhys would only want someone he could trust around during Feyre’s birthing? Madja must have proven herself to be reliable hundreds of times to be trusted enough to work so high up. Azriel nods his head, confirming your inner thoughts, “Probably in all of the Night Court.”

“So, she would know if something was wrong.”

“There’s no harm in double checking.”

You swallow, eyes awkwardly scanning him and the hallway, too nervous to look at him properly. “Well,” you say, once more clearing your throat, “I think I’m fine.”

Azriel nods his head. “Shall we go?”

You brows furrow deeply. “Where?”

“To the House of Wind,” he says, stepping forward as if to reach for you, “Did you forget already?”

Your nostrils flare, lips curving at their edges. “I’m messing with you, Azriel.”

His hand pauses in mid air, then it retracts and he stands straighter again, a look of faint displeasure held between his brows, “You shouldn’t joke like that.” Tension coils in your chest, and you look away from him, lips pursing, “life’s dismal enough as it is. I’ll joke about what I want to.” Azriel sighs, taking a step back to where he’d originally been standing, reinstating that cold distance between you that has your heart stretching thin.

“Joke about what you like, but keep that humour away from your sisters. They’ll be going through a lot, right now.”

You look at him then, arms lightly folded across your chest. “Will they?” You ask, tension coiling tighter. “Yes. I’m sure they’ll be finding it the most difficult right now.” Azriel’s chest expands, then he’s blowing out a harsh breath, “you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You know you could have said it better.”

Quiet hangs in the air, then your throat is rolling, fight disintegrating when he makes no move to respond, shame at your snappiness creeping to your surface; disappointment he didn’t attempt to amend the exchange. Just one sentence would have been okay. You’re past pretending like you’d demand a lot from him. A few words and forgiveness would fall from your lips in a desperate spill, hungry for his care.

Your lips press together. “Shall we go, then?”

Azriel had flown you up—he hadn’t wanted you to winnow. You hadn’t thought much of the House since you’d been staying in Feyre’s home, but now you’re back and the smell is wrapping around you and it feels like you never left. It’s after a family dinner, you’re not yet obviously ill, warmth from Bas’ palms lingers on your hips and you’re still on good terms, Mor’s offered to take you out into Velaris and you never wrote back to Eris. You never told Azriel how you felt, and you still speak regularly in the library, your heart fluttering every time your eyes would meet, and you still think you’re in with a chance of keeping his attention.

They hadn’t felt good at the time—they hadn’t felt enough—but you’d take them back in a heartbeat if you could.

The two of you walk in silence down the hallways that lead to your old room, but when you reach for the handle you almost pause, able to feel the weight of Azriel’s attention on you and for a truly awful moment you worry they’re all inside, your room already done up, money already wasted on you, and you’ll have to pretend some kind of gratitude for the debt. But you cast the thought away, because that’s ridiculous—you’d been out with your sisters just this morning.

You’d been unfair to Feyre. Short-tempered. Intentionally choosing to keep misunderstanding her. And then you’d done the same with Nesta, pushing your emotions onto them.

Maybe it would be better for you to return up here again, so you’re away from them. Isolated, so your foul moods don’t bleed onto them. So they can stay happy, and you can deteriorate without having to feel bad about your inner necrosis. So they don’t see the way you’ll fall apart over these last six months.

The handle twists in your palm and the door swings open.

Azriel was right about the walls—they’re further apart than they used to be, your room suddenly a few inches wider, enough to disorientate you. But that’s not it.

Your hand falls away from the handle, breathing shallow and deathly as you step back into the room. A small bed has been pushed where the old one used to lie, a similar looking desk up against the wall, a wardrobe near the windows, all resembling their previous pieces but so clearly different. Emptier.

Your stomach drops, and the ground falls out from beneath your feet.

“Where-” Your throat strangles the words in your mouth. Warping them to a hoarse rasp. “Where are my things?”

You hadn’t thought about it. You’d put it out of your mind. Made sure to lock it up tight in a box along with the rest of the mess because you’d fall apart time and time again if you could think about it. But if the furniture was obliterated, and the walls destroyed…

“They were blown apart, too.”

The far end of the room stretches, distancing itself further and further from you as the walls either side become narrower, the floor beneath your feet groaning as if it’ll give any second. All of it’s gone? Everything? Everything?

You walk over to the desk, fingers tracing the surface, lips stitched shut. A painting had once sat there…greens, and golds, and falling stars. A romance book sat in solitary on an upper shelf. A bookmark with silver thread. A pendant with a small map contained inside.

Your feet carry you to the wardrobe. There’s no smile drawn into the dust on the mirror. No lipstick, nor nail polish. The jigsaw you never touched, still wrapped in its bow. All of it? All of it’s gone?

Scared eyes turn to the bed, glancing once to the empty bedside before you’re faintly walking over, lowering to your knees to peer beneath the mattress. Staring into the empty space beneath. Dark and hollow. No box holding your golden solar system. No bags from a shopping trip with Mor. No comfy slippers, and that dress that you’d only worn once, in the shop. The one that had looked nice, and you’d never worn it, too ashamed of yourself.

“Did the-” The words are sticky, drying your throat together, tongue stuck too the roof of your mouth. “My orrery…?”

Your heart is pounding and there’s a delicate fire beneath your skin, a cool sweat glossing your flesh. A soft roaring around your ears. You can’t have lost all of it.

“A couple of things made it,” Azriel says from the doorway. You turn to look at him, the air around him warping and spinning faintly. Shallow and shimmering. Azriel shifts, something about his expression changing that you can’t quite pick out. “Are you feeling alright? You look…”

“I’m fine,” you whisper, staring at him because it seems too much effort to really move your eyes elsewhere, lids pinned to your brows. A couple of things made it. A couple of things survived.

Azriel nods his head. “Wait here,” he says, “I’ll get them.” He looks like he might says something else, hazel eyes flicking over you, but he keeps his mouth shut and turns, disappearing from the doorframe.

In his absence a wave of dizziness overcomes you. It’s without nausea, but the room is shifting, your head unable to find a balance to keep your body upright and you end up settling lower to the ground, lying on your side, knees curled to your chest. The room is so empty without any of yourself in it. Is this what Bas’ home will look like once he’s gone?

Is this what your room will look like, once you’re gone?

You picture it, the raised bed with the thick duvets, the desk pushed up against the wall to lie beneath the window, the bathroom connected with its cool, pale tiles. The room you and your sisters spent an afternoon and evening contained in, chatting and drinking tea; the room Madja’s tried to heal you in; the room you found out you were going to die in. Will it stop being your room once you’re gone? Will Feyre repurpose it? Keep it as it is?

A floorboard creaks in the hallway, but you just don’t have the energy to move. Choosing to instead curl tighter, allowing your eyes to close in order to try and contain the hot pressure that’s building behind them. You don’t want to cry.

Can death come any quicker?

Footsteps pause on the threshold, and shame tugs on your gut, wanting to scuttle away and hide beneath the dark hollow of the bed. To crawl away to some dark space and be out of everyone’s way, keeping to your own corner far from anyone else. Safe and alone in the darkness. Like a small spider lurking on the top shelf in a wardrobe, just trying to keep out of someone’s way. You could get so far if you had eight legs. If you were as small and nimble as a spider you could go anywhere.

The mattress stretches as a weight is delivered to it, then a presence is gathering at your back.

A few seconds pass, then he’s asking quietly, “What are you thinking about?”

You take time evening your breaths before you answer. “Spiders.”

“Is there one under there?” Azriel asks, still keeping to that soft, low voice. Your lips tremble, but you open your eyes enough to look into the darkness, peering about for any eight-legged creatures. You shake your head faintly. “What got you thinking about spiders?” He asks next, and you realise his voice is close enough he’s probably sitting behind you. On the floor with you. You try to shrug your shoulders, not wanting to answer, but the movement is stunted from lying on your side.

“Do you mind them?” He asks.

“No,” you reply, voice creaking through the quiet. They’d made you uncomfortable at first, when they’d started creeping into your house all those years ago. Spinning their webs on bookshelves and between table legs, down the hinges of doorframes, where the breeze brings in smaller bugs for them to catch. “They’re small.”

“Even the big ones?” Azriel replies.

“They don’t hurt anyone.”

“They look creepy.”

Your brow furrows, then you’re rolling over on the floor to face him. Sure enough he’s sat a little distance back, arms around his parted knees. “Are you scared of spiders?”

Azriel’s eyes twinkle. “Not the small ones.”

You blink, unsure what to make of that. “Then, the big ones?” He hums in a way that might be a yes. It’s hard to pick out what he means by that one, smooth noise. “Which ones?” You ask, watching him quietly. “I know there are large ones in the Summer Court jungles? Arachnids as big as your torso.”

Azriel smiles. “Those are fine.”

“But their venom can paralyse you,” you argue softly, brows furrowing. Small ones are fine, small ones can’t hurt you. But the larger ones, those can bite. Those ones can be dangerous. “They’re easy enough to avoid,” Azriel reasons.

A look of concentration knits itself between your brows, and you push yourself up from the floor, shifting back to lean against the bed. “What court do they come from?” Azriel’s lips curve faintly—he’s not going to tell you. “The continent?” You ask, trying to work around it, but this time he shakes his head. “On Prythian?” He nods. Your eyes narrow, inclining your chin by a singular degree, “how big are they?”

Azriel pauses, thinking. “Curled up…probably as large as that bed,” he answers, nodding to the bed you’re leaning against. “Splayed out…each joint in a leg was probably around your height.” Your eyes widen in fascination. Then they narrow again, suspicion rising in your mind, “is this creature magical?” His lips don’t smile, but his eyes do, and he nods his head. Your mouth parts, “that’s cheating.”

“How’s it cheating?” Your mouth opens again but you can’t give an answer, eyes darting about as you think. “You’ve done most of your learning while you’ve been here, haven’t you? We have books on the creatures here. I’m sure you know some of them.”

“I don’t know of any spiders that big,” you reply with your brows furrowed, frustrated you don’t know the species he’s talking about. Azriel laughs and you avert your eyes, scowling into the floorboards.

“She’s locked up in the Prison now, anyway,” he says casually, as if that makes it better. You look at him again, “‘she’?”

He nods. “Can you guess?”

Your brow tightens again. “I don’t want to.” You pull your knees up to your chest, readjusting your skirts so they’re covering your ankles. Leaning your chin into the dip of your palm, a downward tug to your displeased lips. Azriel raises a brow, “I didn’t know you were a sore loser.”

“We weren’t competing.” You mutter.

“Are you really upset?” He asks, sounding perplexed. You sigh, shifting on the floor now the bed is beginning to dig into your spine. “No,” you mumble, “I’m used to it.”

He smiles, eyes twinkling, “used to what?”

You don’t smile back. “You.”

Azriel’s features mellow out, light winking away in his eyes and you watch the warmth sift down and out from his expression. “You aren’t entitled to my affections, just because of your situation,” he says softly, but sternly. No leniency afforded to you. No padding or gentleness to muffle the hurt. An ashamed blush creeps up your neck, spreading through your cheeks as you lower your head. “I’m not talking about that,” you mumble. Gloved fingers wring together and you pull your legs tighter to your body, “I’m talking about how needlessly cold you were. How clearly you cared for Elain without thought for me.”

“You needed a clear answer. I was helping.”

“You used me,” you whisper.

Across the floor, you can feel it as Azriel stiffens. Almost freezes.

“You used me,” you repeat, this time looking at him, “you knew how I felt about you. There’s no way you couldn’t have, Azriel. You-”

“You kissed me back.” Hazel eyes pierce into you, the shadows at his back stirring as though raising from their sleep. “You-”

“I’m talking about before.” The whisper rushes out of you on a swift exhale, hurrying to get the words past your lips so he doesn’t remind you any further. You swallow, a familiar feeling of shame coating your skin. “When I would speak with you in the library. And you would only speak with me to learn more of Elain. You were using me.” Azriel’s brows narrow and your heartbeat quickens unpleasantly. “You know I was making sure she was okay,” he claims softly, “the Mother knows you were too preoccupied.”

“Stop lying to me.” A hot pressure is building behind your eyes again, staring at him in this room with the walls that feel like they’re closing in. “I know you love Elain. I know that, so stop trying to pretend like I’m imagining it. You wanted to know more about her so you spoke with me to learn more. You must have known how lonely I was, how hard it was for all of us after being ripped from our home, from our lives, and shoved into a world we had never wanted to be a part of. It’s like you’re just trying to get me to hate you.”

As soon as the words leave your lips you freeze, staring at him with widened eyes.

“Is that-?” You cover your mouth, toes curling in your socks as you huddle your limbs together. “Is that why you were so cold afterwards? Was it so horrible to deal with? Was it really so disgusting to you that…?”

Azriel says nothing and you feel at that moment like the earth might split open and swallow you whole, suctioning you down far below the ground for discovering such a horrible secret, snatching you away before you can tell anyone and sealing you a thousand times in jagged stone beneath cold, damp earth.

————

Her eyes are wide and her chest is heaving, knees pressing tight together as if to hide her body from him. He should lower his head to respect her dignity, look away to offer her privacy but that in itself would be yielding too much information. Doing anything other than watching her crumble would be exposing a part of himself and no matter how much she’s hurting, he cannot. He will not.

Azriel doesn’t care if she hit the nail on the head. He hadn’t meant any of it. But had he really been expected to simply accept her tenderness for him? Even if he wasn’t the spymaster he’d be able to see how much she thinks of him, how she listens to him and hangs on his words as if they heal wounds. If she thinks she loves him, she should know how awful he is.

————

You shake your head, still staring at him. Then you try to push yourself to your feet.

You need air. Need fresh air, and to get out of a room as cramped as this one. But when you stand you spot the things he’d laid on the bed. The things that had survived the blast, and you freeze.

On top of the bare mattress, weighing into the bed is a thickly bound volume. The spine reads: Prythian: An Anthology Of Discoveries, in golden lettering. Sitting small atop the book however, is a familiar silver band, its narrow edges smooth and shiny. It’s the ring Eris gifted you on that last day in Autumn. The one he’d told you would help keeping your magic in check. The one you’d left discarded then nearly killed Azriel by being unable to control yourself.

“This…? This is all that made it?” Your fingers trace the title, and you consider for a moment raking your nails down its surface, scalping its smooth leather and ripping the pages from the spine. The silver is cold against your fingers, and you imagine casting the window wide and throwing it out to the winds. Throwing it far, far away, somewhere you’ll never have to see it again, where you’ll never be reminded of the poor choices you made that brought such an unbearable amount of shame into your life.

You can feel it begin to crush into you again, and your knees shake like they might buckle. Why is this all that lasted?

“The book was enchanted, as many are nowadays.” Azriel’s voice is far off in your head, the world tipping beneath you. “The magic protecting it was ripped apart, but the book’s still intact. The ring seems to have its own magic warding it, though it’s been damaged.”

“Is this-?” You turn to face him, arm banding across your stomach, able to feel as the shame and hurt squeezes you insides. “Is this your way of punishing me for what I did? By showing me this?” Azriel’s brow furrows, and he takes a step forward, “No.” You’re not sure you believe him. He takes another step forward, so he’s stood before you and you have to tilt your head slightly to look at him. “I thought you’d be happy. I thought it would make you feel better. That you had something to keep.”

“That reminds me of why you all hate me,” you say, hot tears spilling from your lashes, scalding your cheeks. “You can’t be expecting me to believe that you’re showing me these things because you’ve forgiven them. That you’ve so suddenly had a change of heart about what happened. Not this.” You sniff, trying to hide your face. “Not you.”

Silence hangs in the air, stretched and painful until, “You think we hate you?”

“I know you do,” you whisper, “and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Scarred fingers collect around your wrists, and you try to cover yourself as he gently pulls your palms from your tear-stained face. “Look at me.” Look at me.

Does he know what he’s doing? Or are you joining dots that have no business being joined? You open your eyes but look away, staring at the floor, at a section of wooden panelling that must have been redone when- “Look at me.”

His shadows cooly gather beneath your chin, lifting your head but you stubbornly refuse, instead casting your gaze to the right where the door is. Just anywhere but him. Anywhere but his eyes, eyes that will make your heart splinter. You look at the threshold, the handle of the door-

Azriel’s wings open, and then you’re ensconced in night.

His shadows gather between your feet, circling overhead so there’s nowhere for you to look anymore but him, everything else inked out to be bland and uninteresting. Only a very small amount of light is allowed through the darkness, like a dozen black veils of silk have been thrown over you to keep you together. Slowly your breaths begin to settle, transported away from the demanding present and instead somewhere else entirely, where time has been paused and you have no pressure of worry beating down on you.

Your nostrils flare, but your breathing has become even. Chest slowly rising up and down, calmed and quietened.

Your throat trembles, but you look at him.

His hazel eyes are normal. No disgust or revulsion to be found. No ice, either. At first glance you might have called the look indifferent, but…calm. Quiet.

Hands release your wrists, one lifting to the circle of your shoulder, but the other moves for your chest. You inhale softly as his fingers graze across the fabric of your top, his touch featherlight and careful. They pause, coming to a stop in a place you’re certain he’ll be able to feel the pounding of your heart. But he makes no remark on the wild rhythm, instead pressing the pads of his fingers down so they’re resting atop your breast. “You have a scar here, don’t you?”

Something tugs from beneath your ribs, an alertness jerking awake beneath his touch.

“It’s small, isn’t it? Barely there. Less than a scratch, but it’s scarred.”

What? How does he…?

His hand finds yours and he guides you a step closer to him, then lifts your palm to the side of his stomach, his ribs. “I don’t hate you,” he says quietly, but in the shared silence you have no need to strain your ears; you can hear him perfectly. “None of them hate you either.”

“You’re lying,” you whisper.

“I’m not,” he replies, pressing your palm flat to where that matching scar lies, embedded deep in his flesh. Where he’d stolen the arrow you had meant for yourself.

Your head hangs in defeat, and your forehead meets his chest. His hand releases your shoulders, scarred fingers skimming the small hairs sprouting from the top of your nape.

————

Night has fallen by the time you return to the River House.

It’s dark and you wrap your arms tight over your chest, wind playing with your hair, kissing ice up your neck. At your side, Azriel seems unbothered by the descending winter, appearing as stoic as ever.

Coming up the pathway that leads past the front lawn you can see the lights in the House are one, letting you see in to the living room and kitchen, each separated by the hallway that connects to the door before you. No one’s in the living room, but you can easily make out the figures of two of your sisters in the kitchen—Feyre and Elain. You wonder what they could be speaking about when Elain soundlessly slams her hand down on the table.

You pause, and you know Azriel’s watching too.

Elain’s teeth flash in the faelight and your brows narrow, pulse spiking—they look like they’re arguing. You hurry a step forward, hand falling to the handle but Azriel places his palm atop your shoulder, pausing you. You look back at him. “We should give them space. Let them sort it out on their own.”

You consider, glancing between him and the front door. Teeth nip at the interior of your lip—you’ve not seen Elain like that in a long time. She’s not one to become easily agitated. “No,” you say, “they’re my sisters. I want to know what’s wrong.”

“It looks private. You should wait-”

But you turn the handle, giving him a strange look, “They’re my sisters.”

As soon as the door opens, Elain’s voice rings through the halls, bouncing off the walls with crystal clarity, “I want to know why I had to hear it through Lucien, Feyre. Who, I might add, didn’t even hear it from one of you.”

Quiet settles, tense and taut and you halt, blinking. What have you just walked in on?

With as little noise as possible you push the cloak from your shoulders, hanging it on one of the hooks in the entryway. Elain’s voice carries on, unaware of the new listeners. “Are you going to explain it?” She asks, voice softened from its previous cut, still bearing a nasty edge. “I didn’t want to worry you,” comes Feyre’s quietened reply. “I didn’t mean to hide it, Elain, but the timing was never right, and you’re both…”

“We’re both what?” Elain asks sternly, her voice tight. “Untrustworthy because we aren’t as tightly knit with others in your circle?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” Feyre replies, with soft steel. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Then tell me why you didn’t think to mention it.”

Silence falls, and you feel guilt gather in your chest for eavesdropping. You turn to glance at Azriel but he seems to have vanished into shadow at some point. Maybe he actually had intended to give them privacy, but you’re in too deep now. Instead of hiding you straighten your skirts, quietly stepping further along the hallway until you reach the kitchen, peeking your head around the doorway, “is everything okay?”

Cocoa coloured irises flick to you and Feyre turns in the kitchen, spotting you in the hallway. “Fine,” Feyre says—too quickly. You look over to Elain, but she’s watching Feyre instead, coca eyes simmering. You swallow, and step decisively into the room, steadying your voice, “What’s wrong?” Because something’s clearly amiss.

A tense silence passes and you can feel your insides trembling, as if the quiet is a living, breathing creature, gently but increasingly firmly pushing against you, weighing on your shoulders, pulling on your back, an invisibly current slowly trying to drag you from the room. You stand still.

Feyre’s shoulders sag in a way you haven’t seen before, her can lowering in a way that casts heavy shadow beneath her eyes and into the downturned corners of her mouth. “We’d thought to keep you out of it,” she says, much too softly for High Lady. “You’re both…” But she trails off, landing her face in her hands and rubbing along the narrow lengths of her curved brows. Her hands fall to her sides and she leans back against the table, arms moving to fold over her chest. “I know what it’s like, to be kept out of something…” She looks at both of you in turn, blue-grey eyes anguished and distraught, showing a turmoil she’s been battling with for quite some time. And what she’s said is true—she knows what that’s like. How she almost died without knowing the circumstances of her own child. She knows better than anyone what it means.

So what could have made her decide…?

You release the tension of your stance, settling back against the wall since this seems like something important.

“You may have seen us to be more on edge than usual…” Feyre confesses, casting a glance to Elain. Your older sister’s expression doesn’t give, but acknowledgement passes through her eyes and Feyre continues. “Nesta’s been practicing with Ataraxia more frequently, despite how little we know about its nature; Amren’s been trying her efforts at furthering her understanding of The Old Language; then the trip Nesta and Cassian went on to the Day Court…to visit Helion’s libraries.” She swallows thickly, shadows accentuating the roll of her throat. “Helion, Spell-Cleaver.”

“Nesta mentioned a binding spell,” you now recall from that supper all that time ago. Amren had bitten her off. Nesta had Ataraxia out on the table when you’d gone to visit her. What Eris had been talking about during your visit to Autumn. It must have something to do with why he was surprised you weren’t learning to fight.

But why would you need to?

“We…” Feyre starts but swallows her own words. Besides her, Elain shifts on her feet, her attention casting skittishly around the dimly lit kitchen, only small yellow lights lighting the large room. Your younger sister sighs harshly, rubbing her face once before looking at you fully, hands again to her sides. “We think the Prison is collapsing.”

Her words settle into the quiet of the kitchen and seem to disappear in the external world while they ring endlessly within your mind, repeating in a space away from the linear passage of time and instead growing louder and louder with every hurried repeat. We think the Prison is collapsing.

What are you supposed to say to that?

You can feel your eyes stretch, throat turning dry from breathing through your mouth, lips open while you stare.

“Why?” You manage to gasp out, throat closing up on itself. Why would the Prison be collapsing? Why now? Why?

“When Nesta fought Lanthys,” Feyre begins solemnly, “perhaps even when she first retrieved the harp…whether it was Ataraxia, one of the Dread Trove, or Lanthys exploiting a worn fibre of the spell’s fabrics…maybe a combination of the three…we don’t know for certain.”

“You don’t know why the Prison is breaking?” Elain asks, staring at Feyre.

“We know the wards are weakened,” she corrects, as if savouring the small grace that they seem to still be holding. But for how much longer? “We think it’s in relation to a magical object imbued with Cauldron-made power being in close proximity to such an ancient antiquity…that their magic might have abraded the spells of the Prison… But no. We don’t know for certain.”

The walls tilt, shadows stretching and you’re thankful you’re leaning against the wall. Feyre meets your gaze with a look you could call grieving. “Please let’s discuss this further in the morning. I’m sorry it was kept…that I helped keep it from you—both of you—but for a conversation like this…” Feyre looks to Elain, a bit of that strength being forced to her surface. “We can speak in the morning.”

Elain watches Feyre silently, and for a few moments you think you might see anger in her eyes, but it’s turned calm and quiet. “I imagine it’s difficult, in some respects,” Elain says, “to play the role of High Lady.”

You can’t tell whether it’s meant as consolation or a jab, but Elain’s already departed from the room, leaving just you and Feyre.

“How long have you known?” You ask in the quiet. Feyre shifts but doesn’t look away from you, “Long enough that we’re running out of options.”

You nod your head, more than just fatigue now weighing on your lids. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

————

It’s strange how you find yourself meandering the opposite way from your bedroom when you reach the top of the stairs. Seeking out a room you’ve never once tried to approach without explicit permission beforehand. But the whole night had been strange, and your head is swimming slightly, paddling in the shallow part of a clear river.

Your hand lifts, but at the last second, and for no discernible reason, you change your mind, opening the door quietly without knocking.

Azriel is sat at his desk, a low light atop the surface, a lampshade tinting the colour a pale yellow. Ink scratches over parchment, and you pause on the threshold, leaning against the doorframe. You could understand the pleasure of spying, if it means seeing people like this.

He looks up after a moment, seemingly finished with his task as he sets the paper aside and lowers his quill.

“It was Blue Annis, wasn’t it?” You speak before he has a chance to. “The spider you were telling me about.”

“Yes.” Azriel inclines his head. “It was.”

Something big enough, cruel enough, powerful enough to strike a chord of unease into Azriel. And the container holding her and countless others is fraying?

You lean a little more of your weight into the doorframe. “How long do you think is left before the wards are sparse enough for one of them to slip through?”

“Probably another month,” Azriel replies. His expression doesn’t falter as he adds, “one might’ve already managed.”

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, fear twisting in your stomach. He must be able to smell it on you. Azriel leans back into his chair, “We’re checking each cell to make sure. So far everything’s been where it should, but it’s a slow process. By the time we happen across an empty one…” He raises a brow as if to say: Who knows how far it’ll have gotten?

A shudder spider-walks down your spine. “Are they all as scary as she is? As Blue Annis?”

“You’ll work yourself up into a panic like that,” Azriel tells you, his face remaining serious. “You’re already imagining the worst possible creature you can think of, aren’t you?”

“Is she less scary than I’m imagining?” You ask dryly, forcing a wry curve of your lips.

Azriel’s eyes seem to twinkle, but maybe it’s the light.

“What’s she like?” You force yourself to ask, voice lowered beneath the night. But Azriel shakes his head, “Ask me another time.”

His lips curve, but the light in his eyes has winked out. “You don’t want her to be the last thing on your mind before night.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101

#azriel x reader #can’t bring myself to hate you #azriel x reader angst #cbmthy #azriel x reader fic #azriel x reader multi-part fic #azriel series #cbmthy chapter 22

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johnbrand · 3 months ago

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Full-Time Members

“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence!” Andy chuckled. “Get over here, dickhead!”

Nathaniel swaggered over to the group, each step in his attire deceptively erotic. The starched white shirt rubbing across his sensitive nipples, the tailored khakis juggling his testicles in a back-and-forth moose knuckle. The suede bluchers, the shoulder pads in his jacket, the overly-expensive sunglasses perched on top of his perfect nose. Anyone could guess what type of man Nathaniel was just by looking at his outfit, but the four boys he drew closer to were focusing on what was in his hands.

“Is that…champagne?” Harry’s eyes were wide with admiration.

“Three bottles of it too?” Zack’s eyes were wide with wonder.

“What could possibly be the occasion?” Ricky’s eyes were wide with longing.

Nathaniel drew closer, disposing of the bottles and flutes beside his best buds. “The reception staff offered them to me, a welcome package for our admittance into their fine establishment.”

Andy frowned, “That’s a bit strange, right? Do they know we are only here because we won an auction for a day pass?”

“It’s a country club man, they’re supposed to be filthy rich!” Harry immediately got up and started pouring himself a glass. He did his best not to spill onto his shorts or the sweater his girlfriend had gifted him.

“They’re probably just showing off,” Zack added, his disdain for traditional culture evident by his counterculture outfit: an all-black simple tee and skinny jeans ensemble. “Probably are trying to get us to become full-time members.”

Ricky was already hoisting up his first glass to his lips, drops splashing onto his unruly beard. “And most importantly, it’s free liquor!”

Nathaniel watched contentedly as the three downed their glasses. He could sense the slightest hesitation from Andy.

“Have you tried any of it yet, Nathan?” Andy questioned.

“Certainly, and it was quite divine,” Nathaniel responded. “But why not ask the other fellows for further conclusions?”

“It’s the finest drink I’ve ever had,” Harry replied, scratching at his legs a bit before they disappeared under two white legs of slacks.

“It’s clean, delicate,” Zack noted, toying with the intricate front bit of hair that was meant to appear natural but was actually tediously maintained. “A lovely body of flavor.”

Ricky’s statement was as tight as the rolled up sleeves of his designer button-up. “And it’s champagne.”

Nathaniel made no visible reaction as the preppification completely rewrote his friends. His eyes did not waver as Harry’s curls were mowed down into a lackluster business cut, while Zack’s counterculture apparel burst out into the traditional blazer-button down-slacks combo, or when Ricky’s facial hair fell away to reveal a face that had never seen the inside of a lower-class home. Nathaniel made no visible reaction, but he did experience great satisfaction. He was disappointed however when he realized Andy had still not yet poured himself a glass.

“Is there a problem with the gift, Chandler?” Nathaniel allowed the presumptuous snarl to creep out of his voice.

“It truly is marvelous,” Harrison’s eyes were wide with arrogance.

“There is nothing quite like it,” Zachariah’s eyes were wide with vain.

“What could possibly be stopping you from having a glass?” Cedric’s eyes were wide with greed.

Andy’s eyes were wide with fear.

The photographer was out a few minutes later, just as Nathaniel had recommended. The country club liked to promote their organization through whatever means they could, including social media. And Nathaniel knew he and his men would enjoy the extra attention and promotion, particularly Chandler, who always went the extra mile to stand out just a tad more. Today, that meant a salmon blazer paired with the lightest of mint-colored shorts.

The crew had no problem posing for the photographer, their cheers to becoming the newest full-time members of the country club wholly authentic.

#male tf #male transformation #preppification

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yoonkinii · 7 months ago

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Jealous Y♡u

Warning(s): cursing, jealousy, flirting with a taken man, hints to having sex (no smut though), anger, extreme kissing :3 Requests open (only for this AU) Masterlist (check for more AU content!) note: Sorry it's short! I couldn't get this idea out of my head and had to write it.

No matter how extravagant the restaurant was, your mood remained sour - a shame, really.

Nestles in the heart of the city’s glittering downtown, the restaurant gleamed like a polished gem beneath the soft glow of its artfully arranged lighting. The entrance, framed by lush greenery and a discreet brass plaque, hinted at the understated elegance within. The sounds of lively conversations mingled with the gentle clinking of fine china and crystals, creating an atmosphere of refined luxury.

Inside, the restaurant was a harmonious blend of contemporary design and classic sophistication, while the walls, dressed in muted shades of ivory and taupe, provided a serene backdrop. Large, abstract paintings added splashes of vibrant color - mesmerizing, but now only contributed to your growing headache.

You couldn’t sit still at your designated table, too restless and irritated to remain in one place. The business party was still in full swing, with unfamiliar faces chattering about topics you didn’t understand. When Sukuna invited you to his yearly business event, you were excited. It was a formality he dreaded but had to attend to maintain business relationships. But now, surrounded by strangers and trapped in your own thoughts, the excitement had long faded, leaving you adrift in a sea of discontent.

A burst of laughter causes you to drag your eyes away from the expansive window, where the cityscape below had tried and failed to distract you as you sipped on your champagne. The laughter of the very person responsible for your agitation was hard to ignore. Your anger had been simmering for the past hour, and it was about to reach a boiling point. Perhaps it was the alcohol buzzing through your system, fraying your patience more than usual. Maybe it was a combination of everything. Either way, you were livid.

Your eyes lock onto the two figures who have you clenching your glass a little too tightly, a tight-lipped grimace playing on your mouth as you watch them for what feels like the umpteenth time. You don’t know who she is or what her name is, but at this moment, you don’t care. To you, she’s simply that woman.

She was pretty, very pretty, and she knew it. It was evident in her choice of attire - a brown bodycon dress that hugged her figure, accentuating her curves and leaving little to the imagination. You had noticed her the moment you walked into the restaurant. She had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, with a smile a little too wide as she greeted your boyfriend. Normally, you wouldn’t have minded; it’s not like you’re the jealous type. But after her backhanded comment, something inside you snaps.

“Oh! I totally expected you to be with someone else.”

From that moment, everything went downhill. She completely disregarded the seating arrangements, forcing someone else to take her original spot so she could sit on the other side of Sukuna. Her behavior escalated from a harmless crush on your boyfriend to blatantly throwing herself at a taken man. It started with seemingly innocent compliments before progressing into something worse.

“I like your hair today.”

“That shirt looks great on you.”

“Your piercings suit you.”

And poor Sukuna, completely oblivious to this woman’s intentions, responded to her words with a simple hum, not truly paying attention to her at all. To his credit, Sukuna was focused on one thing - you. His hand rested on your thigh, the pads of his fingers massaging the delicate skin of your inner thigh absentmindedly. Throughout the main course, Sukuna leaned into your ear, whispering who was who or making sly comments about others, relishing in the way your soft laughter danced in the air.

Sukuna remains oblivious to the woman’s intentions, his mind filled with thoughts of you, and only you. He doesn’t notice the way she inches closer, or the way her laughter seems to cling to his every word. His focus is entirely on you, but you don’t see it that way. You don’t see the way his gaze softens whenever you meet his eyes. Dressed in a cream-colored dress with a square neckline that leaves your collar bones on display, you’re the picture of elegance. Sukuna is sure that anyone who cared to notice would definitely see how his expression changes when he looks at you.

But she doesn’t give up easily. Even after the meal, her persistence lingers like an unwanted shadow. She laughs at everything Sukuna says, her hands constantly finding its way to his biceps, her body icing closer with each passing minute. Even as Sukuna excuses himself with a kiss on your cheek to speak with a close business partner, she follows, as if tethered to him.

And so, you find yourself in your current state, scowling as you watch her from across the room. Her laughter is loud and shrill, cutting through the fin of conversations around you. A server passes by, and you force a strained smile as you exchange your empty glass for a full one. The rim of the glass soon bears the stain of your red lipsticks as you hover it near your lips.

Then, it happens in slow motion. Sukuna’s lips move as he speaks, a faint smile gracing his face as he talks with an older gentleman. But her reaction is out of place; she laughs far too heartily for something that isn’t even remotely funny. As her shoulders shake with her exaggerated laughter, she wraps her arms around Sukuna’s arm, pressing her chest firmly against him.

Before Sukuna can even register what’s happening, you’re already by his side. Your champagne glass is abandoned on a nearby table as you wedge yourself between them, forcing her to disentangle herself from him. She stares at you, wide-eyed, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to whip that look of confusion off her face with your fist.

With barley concealed sarcasm, you address her, your voice dripping with venomous politeness. “Sorry, I need to borrow my boyfriend. Is that alright with you?”

She’s visibly taken aback, her pout deepening as she glances at Sukuna, as if expecting him to rescue her from this situation. But Sukuna, feeling the tug on his arm, follows you as you lead him away, guiding him to a secluded area- the restroom.

The restroom is dimly lit, with warm hanging bulbs casting a soft glow. The black wooden floors and walls accentuate the golden accents of the large, well-lit vanity. A few potted plants sit in the corners, adding a touch of life to the otherwise moody atmosphere.

Sukuna barely has time to react before you push him into the restroom, the door clicking shut behind you as you turn your back on him, your breaks deep and uneven in an attempt to calm your rising anger. But it’s not working. The fury simmering inside you is only growing hotter.

“I’m going to fucking kill her,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“Jealous, are we?” His voice laced with amusement.

You whirl around, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. Sukuna’s lips curve into a smile, clearly entertained by your fiery demeanor. It’s not often he sees you this worked up, and he can’t help but find it endearing, even if the pout on your lips is more adorable than intimidating.

“I am not jealous,” you retort, though your words come out less convincing than you intended.

“Oh?” His brow arches in mock surprise, arms crossing over his broad chest. The fabric of his dress shirt strains against his muscles, the buttons barely holding on, as if threatening to pop off at any moment if he breathes too deeply.

Damn him for looking so good. Damn him for those tattoos that decorate his skin. Damn his piercings, and the new one on his lip. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

Before he can tease you further, you grab him by the collar, pulling him down as you rise on your toes. Sukuna grunts in surprise as your lips crash into his. His hands instinctively slide down your back, finding their place on the curve of your ass, where he gives a gentle squeeze, encouraging you.

“I hate her.” You mumble against his lips.

Sukuna smirks, ready to make a playful comment, but it does on his lips the moment your mouth moves to his neck. Your kisses are wicked, nipping, and sucking at his skin, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake. He shudders, feeling the sting of each possessive kiss, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

You both stumble in the small space of the restroom, Sukuna pushing you back until your spine meets the cool surface of the locked door. A breathy exhale escapes him as he tilts his head, granting you better access to his neck. The sensation of your lips painting his skin with red blooms sends a shiver down his spine.

“Shit.” He mummers, his legs slotting in between yours, pressing himself impossibly closer to you.

Your brows knit together as you guide his face lower, your fingers firm on his chin. Sukuna feels like he’s burning up from the inside, his eyes darkening with desire as he takes in the intensity of your gaze. The sight of your smudged lipstick only adds fuel to the fire, tightening his grip on you and stirring something primal in him.

You cup his cheeks, your lips leaving no inch of his face untouched - his cheeks, his forehead, the corners of his mouth. Everywhere. When you finally try to pull away, his reaction is swift. One of his hands that had been resting on your ass shoots up to the nape of your neck, pulling you back into a fierce kiss.

A soft breath escapes your lips, and Sukuna seizes the opportunity, deepening the kiss as he explores your mouth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. A needy whine escapes you as his hands rove across your body, squeezing and caressing with a possessive hunger. Every touch, every press of his fingers, feels like he’s staking his claim on you, and it only intensifies the fire within him. He wants more. No, he needs more. How dare you make him feel this way- jealous of him, when every fiber in his being is devoted to you? How dare you kiss him with such need when he’s been restraining himself, battling the urge to ravage you every waking moment.

A sudden knock on the door startles you, causing you to jerk back so sharply that your head smacks against the wood. A hiss of pain slips from your lips, and Sukuna’s deep laugh rumbles through his chest, the sound vibrating against your body.

“Um, excuse me, you've been in there for a while and-”

“Leave before I kill you with my bare hands,” Sukuna growls, his eyes never leaving yours, even as you shy away, your cheeks burning with embarrassment at being interrupted.

Silence follows as the unwelcome intruder quickly retreats, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Sukuna exhales, the tension in his body still palpable, but now there’s a look of pride in your eyes as you take in his disheveled appearance. His lips are swollen, his hair a tousled mess from your hands, and his skin is covered in red marks left by your lipstick - a masterpiece of your own making. His body is a canvas, and you’ve painted it with your passion.

He forces himself to step back, muscles taut with restraint. He wants nothing more than to take you here and not, but duty calls, and he knows he must stay for the remainder of the party. If not for that, he would have dragged you out of the restaurant to finish what you started in the privacy of his home. If he could even make it that far.

“Leave,” he orders, his voice tight with the effort it takes to say the words. It’s the last thing he wants, but if you stay, neither of you will be leaving the restroom anytime soon.

You smile softly at him, noting the frustration in the slight downturn of his lips.

“Don’t take it off,” you reply, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you turn to leave.

Sukua gives you a confused look before glancing at the mirror. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the array of kiss marks you’ve left on his skin. He turns back, but you’re already gone.

You are not a jealous person. That’s what you tell yourself as you cast a knowing glance at the woman who had dared to overstep her bounds. It’s not jealousy that fuels you as you reclaim your seat, your once-discarded champagne glass now back in hand. It’s not jealousy that brings a surge of satisfaction when you see the disheartened look on her face as Sukuna emerges from the restroom, his skin marked with the evidence of your affection. It’s not jealousy that makes you giddy as he resumes his conversations with business partners, completely unbothered by his less-than-ideal appearance.

No, you are not a jealous person.

Taglist (open): @kalulakunundrum , @fushipurro , @sad-darksoul , @cupcaketeddybehr

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s4svnn · 2 months ago

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Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Five

The morning light spilled through the sheer curtains, stretching shadows across the bedroom floor as I stirred awake. My nerves flickered to life before my eyes had even opened, a heavy reminder of what today meant.

The day I’d face the mysterious Formula 1 driver who had taken an interest in my work. The day that could either push my dreams forward or drag them back into the depths of doubt where they’d lingered for far too long.

Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. My chest felt tight, like I’d strapped myself into a race car and was sitting at the starting line, waiting for the lights to turn green. Today would either make me—or break me.

I dragged myself out of bed and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to jolt myself awake. My reflection stared back at me—wide eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and dread.

“This is it,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t screw it up.”

I stepped back and made my way to the closet, already doubting every outfit I owned. Should I wear something bold to stand out? Or go sleek and serious to prove I meant business? I pulled hanger after hanger, tossing rejected outfits onto the bed until my room looked like a hurricane had torn through it.

Finally, I settled on a black backless top that hugged my figure, paired with a leather jacket and fitted jeans. The top exposed my tattoo—a cascade of delicate flowers winding down my spine with a quote woven between them: “Rise above the ashes.”

I hoped it would make a statement. A reminder of everything I’d fought to leave behind.

Curling my hair in loose waves, I added just enough makeup to look polished but not overdone. When I finally stepped back to examine myself in the mirror, I almost believed I was ready. Almost.

But the nerves still churned, threatening to make me sick as I grabbed my bag and stepped out the door.

The design firm looked even more intimidating today than it had the last time I was here—its towering glass walls reflecting the gray skies above. My heels clicked against the marble floors as I walked inside, trying not to let my insecurities show.

The receptionist greeted me with a polished smile and directed me toward the waiting area.

“You can take a seat.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. The room was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than noise. I couldn’t sit still, so I stood and smoothed my jacket for the fifth time, staring at the abstract art on the walls and wondering if it was supposed to be calming or just another reminder of how out of place I felt.

My stomach twisted painfully. I needed a minute. I spotted a hallway leading to the bathrooms and slipped away, grateful for the excuse to escape—even if only for a moment.

Inside, I leaned against the sink, gripping the edges as I took slow, shaky breaths. “Get it together,” I told myself. “You deserve to be here.”

But before I could fully convince myself, the sound of heels clicking against the tiles pulled me out of my thoughts. The blonde. The one who was always draped over Jungkook like a designer accessory.

She caught my reflection in the mirror as she touched up her lipstick, her eyes narrowing slightly before she spoke.

“This bathroom’s for authorised personnel only,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

I blinked, stunned for a moment before my frustration bubbled up. “I am authorised,” I shot back. “I have a meeting here.”

Her eyes flickered to my reflection again, scanning me up and down before she smirked.

“An interview isn’t the same as being authorised.” She capped her lipstick and turned to face me fully. “You might want to drop the attitude. Confidence doesn’t suit girls like you.”

Girls like me.

The words hit harder than they should have, stirring up old insecurities I thought I’d buried. But instead of letting her see how much it affected me, I straightened my shoulders and smiled.

“Thanks for the advice,” I said sweetly. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m signing my contract.”

Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked out, her heels echoing down the hall.

I let out a shaky breath and turned back to the mirror. “Don’t let her get to you.”

After fixing my hair and reapplying my lipstick, I forced myself to leave the safety of the bathroom and head toward the interview room.

I knocked lightly, but no one answered. Frowning, I pushed the door open just a crack—and froze.

Jungkook.

He was sitting in the chair with the blonde straddling his lap as they kissed like they were the only two people in the world. Her hands tangled in his hair, as his rested low on her hips.

Heat rose to my cheeks, not out of jealousy but pure anger. Was this a joke? Was the interview even happening?

I slammed the door shut before they could notice me and stood there for a moment, my fists clenched. “Professionalism, my ass.”

The blonde emerged a few minutes later, looking smug as she sauntered past me with lipstick smudged and hair slightly disheveled.

“Good luck in there,” she said with a wink before disappearing down the hall.

I was still fuming when the receptionist appeared, smiling like nothing was wrong.

“Mr. Jeon will see you now,” she said, gesturing toward the door.

Wait—Mr. Jeon?

I stepped inside cautiously, my pulse pounding as I took in the sight of Jungkook leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk. A lollipop dangled from his lips, and he didn’t even bother to look up from his phone.

I cleared my throat, and he finally looked up.

“Why are you just standing there?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Why are you here?” I shot back, crossing my arms.

He smirked, clearly enjoying my irritation.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” He stood and sauntered toward me, stopping just close enough to make my heart race. “I’m your new boss.”

My jaw dropped.

“You? Are you kidding me? Why would you—”

“Why would I what?” he interrupted, leaning in even closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Take an interest in you?”

His eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

He smirked. “Get out your designs.”

The air in the room felt heavier as Jungkook stepped back, leaning casually against the desk with his arms crossed. His gaze stayed locked on me, expectant and challenging. I wanted to say something sharp, something that would put him in his place, but my words stuck somewhere between disbelief and fury.

Instead, I set my bag down with more force than necessary, pulling out the black folder that held my sketches. My fingers trembled slightly, but I masked it by flipping the pages quickly, spreading the designs out across the desk.

He didn’t move at first—just stood there, letting me squirm under the weight of his silence.

“Well?” I snapped, hating how defensive I sounded. “Are you going to look at them, or did you just drag me here for fun?”

Jungkook’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk, and he finally pushed off the desk, circling around to where the sketches lay.

“You’re impatient,” he said, scanning the designs without much expression. “That’s good. Means you care.”

He spoke so casually, like he hadn’t just blindsided me with the news that he was my so-called “anonymous boss.” My shoulders stiffened as I watched him pick up one of the sketches, turning it over and holding it to the light as if he actually knew what he was looking at.

“Do you even understand what you’re seeing?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharp and dark.

“I understand more than you think,” he said, setting the sketch down. “And I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you were useless.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stalled when he came closer, so close that I could smell the faint traces of leather and expensive cologne clinging to him.

“Show me,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Show me what you’ve got.”

His tone was low, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it—something that made my heart pound harder than it should have.

Swallowing my nerves, I launched into an explanation of each design, detailing the thought process behind the curves and lines, the aerodynamics, the balance between performance and aesthetics. My words came faster as I tried to keep up with his unreadable expression, my confidence flickering every time he glanced away or leaned back as if he were bored.

Finally, I snapped.

“Are you even listening?”

Jungkook looked up slowly, his head tilted like I’d just asked him the most ridiculous question in the world.

“No,” he said flatly.

I froze. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.” He pushed his chair back and stood, rounding the desk until he was right in front of me. “You talk too much. I don’t need an explanation—I need to know if you’re someone who can deliver under pressure.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides. “I can.”

He smirked again, and I hated how much I wanted to slap it off his face.

“Prove it.”

Before I could respond, he gestured for me to stand and then pointed to the space beside the desk.

“Come here.”

I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me not to give him the satisfaction of controlling the situation. But I forced my feet to move, stepping around the desk until I stood exactly where he wanted me.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I hesitated again, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to let this go. Grinding my teeth, I turned so that my back was to him, my heart hammering in my chest.

I didn’t expect him to step closer, but he did—so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him. When his hand brushed against my waist, I nearly jumped.

“What are you doing?”

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice so close to my ear that it sent shivers down my spine. “I just want to see if you’re as steady as you claim to be.”

His hand rested lightly on my hip, the touch almost too casual to call out—but not casual enough to ignore.

“Explain the designs,” he said, his breath warm against my neck.

I tried to focus, tried to find my words, but it was impossible to think clearly with him standing so close. When I didn’t respond right away, his grip tightened slightly.

“Keep going,” he prompted.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to speak, stumbling over my words as I pointed to each sketch and explained the details. His hand stayed on my waist, his thumb brushing lightly back and forth in a way that felt deliberate—and maddening.

By the time I finished, my cheeks were flushed, and I could barely breathe.

“That’s all of them,” I said quickly, stepping away and turning to face him. “Can we talk about the contract now?”

Jungkook’s smirk widened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he moved back to the desk and pulled out a thick folder, sliding it across the surface toward me.

“There,” he said. “Read it.”

I sat down, flipping the pages quickly until my eyes caught on something that made my stomach drop.

“What the hell is this?” I snapped, looking up at him.

Jungkook just leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“It’s the contract.”

“You can’t be serious.” My voice rose. “You’re asking me to be your designer—but with the condition that you can do anything you want to me?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“You can leave if you want,” he said, his tone calm and careless. “But if you walk out that door, don’t expect to get another offer like this.”

I stared at him, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“This is insane,” I hissed.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it’s also your best shot at getting your name out there.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He wasn’t wrong, and we both knew it. Still, I couldn’t let him see how much the offer rattled me, so I stood quickly.

“I need a minute,” I said, already heading for the door.

Jungkook didn’t stop me.

Outside in the hallway, I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I hated him—hated how he got under my skin and made me second-guess myself. But most of all, I hated that part of me was actually considering his ridiculous proposal.

Just then, I heard voices coming from another room.

“Are you serious? That’s it?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re just not good enough.”

I turned to see a girl storming out, tears streaming down her face as a sharp-dressed man followed, looking bored.

“You’ll never get another chance like this,” he called after her. “Might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

The girl didn’t even look back. I swallowed hard, the reality of my situation hitting me like a punch to the gut. If I walked away now, I might never get another shot at this industry.

Taking a shaky breath, I straightened my shoulders and pushed open the door to Jungkook’s office.

He was sitting exactly where I left him, but this time his jacket was off, exposing the tattoos that curled around his forearms. Dark and intimidating just like him.

“Well?” he asked, his gaze pinning me in place.

I hesitated, my hand trembling slightly as I reached for the pen.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Jungkook’s expression flickered—surprise, maybe—but it disappeared quickly, replaced by that same infuriating smirk.

“Good.”

He slid the contract toward me and handed me the pen.

“Sign it.”

I hesitated, my fingers trembling as I reached for the paper. But before I could sign, Jungkook grabbed my waist again—this time pulling me back onto his lap.

“What are you—“

“Sign it.”

He rolled the chair forward, pressing me into the desk so the papers were directly in front of me. His chest was warm against my back, his breath brushing the curve of my neck as I took in a sharp inhale. My heart beat wildly against my chest as I pressed the pen to paper, scrawling my name across the line right beside his own. It was done.

The moment the ink dried, Jungkook shifted. He released his arms from my waist making me believe it was his way of asking me to leave. But as I attempted to free myself from his lap, I felt his fingers brush my hair aside, exposing the back of my neck. Before I could react, his lips pressed against my skin—soft and deliberate.

“Welcome to the team.”

And just like that, my world changed.

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #racer #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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ladykailitha · 5 months ago

Text

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 7

This story is just coming right along. I've decided that it is split into three acts. The Arrangement, The Turn, and The Embrace. The first is about Steve adjusting to his new life. The second is thinking he needs to get out of the situation. And lastly the third is about finding acceptance and love with Eddie.

Yesterday for WIP Wednesday, I finished act 1. I figure if I pace this right, each act will be roughly ten chapters. But we'll see.

In this Eddie is sweet as always, Steve goes clothes shopping, and Chrissy misunderstands what Steve is trying to do.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Steve woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He looked at the clock on the nightstand blearily. It was a little after nine am.

The knocking began again and he got unsteadily to his feet and wandered over to the door. He opened it.

Behind the door was a porter. “My apologies for the rude awakening, sir. But this came for you, marked ‘Urgent’.”

In the porter’s hands was a small box. Steve nodded and took the box. He set it on the side table and grabbed his wallet. He tipped the porter and grunted his thanks before slamming the door.

He trotted back over to the bed and flopped face first back into his pillows.

The next time he awoke it was more naturally, and closer to 10:30am than 9am. He rolled over on his back with a sigh. He’d missed breakfast, but he didn’t mind. He was tired. Just the feeling of nothingness clung to his chest like a heavy blanket.

He sat up and spotted the box. He picked it up and padded over to the desk. He looked around it for a moment and to his delight he found a letter opener.

“Thank god, for fussy hotels,” he murmured as he used the letter opener to open the box. He set the letter opener down and then took the box over to the sofa. He loved comfy it was despite it being black in color.

He pulled at the packaging to reveal a pair of designer sunglasses. Steve smiled as he pulled it out. Eddie must have thought of it when he heard Steve’s message about his day. All the driving around he did.

He picked up the phone and called Eddie.

“Hey, little Canary,” Eddie purred. “Did you sleep well?”

“Nearly,” Steve said with a hint of smile in his tone. “I got this urgent package from this hot rich guy that the front desk just had to wake me up for.”

“Whoops!” Eddie said, chagrin. “I didn’t think it would get there until this afternoon, sweetheart.”

Steve laughed. “It’s okay, I was able to go right back to sleep. Even remembered to tip the porter.”

“All’s well that end’s well,” Eddie said softly.

They talked for a bit before Steve said, “Oh, I was meaning to ask you. I have something I wanted to send to you. Is there an address or something I can send it to, to make sure you get it?”

“Aww...little Canary,” Eddie teased back, “you don’t have to send me anything. I like buying you things.”

“Oh I know,” Steve replied. “But I think you’ll really get a kick out this one, though.”

“Sure thing, baby,” Eddie said. “I’ll talk to Chrissy and she’ll give you a call with the information. How does that sound?”

“That sounds perfect, Eddie,” Steve murmured.

“What are your plans for today?”

Steve licked his lips as he thought about it. “Probably some clothes shopping now that I have this fancy black card to splash around.”

Eddie laughed. “You do that, baby. Just tell me which stores you’re going to so I can make sure they’re warned ahead of time about the card. Places like that are super weird about new people coming in with that kind of cash.”

“Ooh...” Steve said with a grimace. “Yeah, I saw that happen once. This woman had won the lottery or something and she came into the shop when I was there with my mom. The sales woman was absolute horrid to her and chased her out. My mom threw the newspaper on the counter and walked out. The front page had the picture of the woman and her three million dollar prize check. It was one of the few times I ever saw my mom do something remotely nice like that.”

After they hung up, Steve got up grabbed the box of truffles. He took a couple out to the box to eat while he gather up his things for a shower. He thought about hitting the gym again, but he wasn’t sure if the pink bitch was still here and he wanted to avoid her like the plague. And while he knew he could swim instead, he decided to take the day off.

Yesterday had been rough and he wanted to do a little bit of retail therapy.

Steve got dressed in his most high end clothing he had and made his way out to his car. Which he knew would be another indicator that he had come from money. His new wallet was designer, just like his new sunglasses.

He primped in the mirror a little to make sure every hair was in place and then he gathered all his stuff and made for his car.

He pulled up to the row of boutiques his mother used to frequent before she started getting her clothes from Paris and Milan. Steve personally thought these places had better quality stuff, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

He walked into the first boutique and looked around. He kept his sunglasses on until one of the sales women came up to him. Then he lifted him and set them on top of his head. He smiled at her brightly.

“Welcome to Le Chique!” she said cheerily. “How can I help you today?” She was dressed smartly in a knee length pencil skirt and cream silk blouse. She wore high heeled pumps and had her hair pulled back into a tight bun.

“Hi,” Steve greeted back. “I’m just looking to update my wardrobe. Get a little more of an adult style.”

He could see the fucking dollar signs lit up behind her eyes. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them greedily.

“Right this way,” she said, waving her arm in front of her and Steve stepped forward, further into the store. “I’m Olivia and I’ll be happy to assist you today.”

Steve tried on so many clothes he thought his head was going to spin. But never once did Olivia falter. He finally got an updated look. It was similar to what he usually wore with the jeans and polos. But he also got button down shirts and tailored slacks and pants. Everything that fit went with him and everything else that needed to be tailored would be picked up by a PA of Eddie’s and brought to the hotel.

In fact when he got back to the hotel, the mysterious PA had struck again. On his bed was a large box. As he got closer he could see it was from the shop he was at earlier today.

He didn’t know what it could be. He had everything he wanted from the shop. He had even gotten help carrying all his bags up the hotel room by a couple of porters, both of whom Steve tipped well. He kept an eye on the package the whole time he took off the tags and put away his clothes in the dresser and closet.

Once Steve was done he walked over to the package a tad warily. He knew it had come from Eddie. There was no one else it could have come from. He undid the silk ribbon and pulled it off gently. He lifted the lid and set it to the side. He then moved the tissue paper out of the way.

Inside was the most beautiful cream colored suit he had ever seen. He opened the jacket touched the black silk lining. Sticking out of the pocket of the breast pocket was a note. He pulled it out. In the loopy handwriting of the sales woman were the words, “I wanted to get you something special. I hope you’ll wear this for me when I get back to Hawkins.”

Steve shook his head, smiling fondly. He walked over to the phone and called Eddie. He bounced on the bed as it rang through.

“Hey, little Canary,” Eddie purred. “How was your shopping trip?”

“It was marvelous,” Steve giggled. “Though if you want me calling you at times other then when you buy presents, you’re going to have slow up a bit. It’s gorgeous, by the way.”

Eddie laughed. “You got me there, hon. But I’m glad you like the suit. I wanted to surprise you with it. I when I called about the card earlier, I told them that once they got your measurements to set it aside.”

“How did it get here before I did?” Steve asked, twirling the cord around his finger.

“See, I knew you would have a lot of clothes and couldn’t carry it up yourself, so I just made sure to have my little elf slip in while you were dealing with the porters.”

“Sneaky!” he crowed. “I love it. I even bought the perfect shirt to go with it. It’s black and grey in kind of watercolor like stripes. Add a black pocket square and some nice shoes I bought and I’d be the talk of the town.”

“Well you’re already the talk of my world,” Eddie murmured, causing Steve to blush dark red. “Have you eaten yet, little Canary?”

Damn. Steve knew he had forgotten something.

“No...” he whined. “I just got so excited about shopping that it slipped my mind.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll have dinner sent up to you. I think you’ll really like their hamburgers.”

Steve smiled at that. He had gone out to Benny’s to get a good burger, and they had them here. “Sounds good.”

They talked for a little bit more before Eddie had to go so that he could order Steve dinner, so they said their goodbyes and hung up.

Steve decided to take a shower while he was waiting on his food. He gathered up his things including his new hair products he bought yesterday.

He got undressed and turned on the hot water, letting the steam fill the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at every angle of his face and had to admit that he actually looked happy. And wasn’t that a fucking trip.

He had thought he was happy before all this. Yeah, sure his dad was a jerk and his mom was useless, but he had friends, money, a car. Hell, he even had a boyfriend in this backwater hick town.

And then it all fell apart.

He hated how all his friends scattered the second the chips were down. He hated how Tommy turned tail and didn’t even try to take Steve with him. He had no doubt that soon enough the town would be all a twitter about Tommy and Carol and how cute they were together.

It was all bullshit.

The only people that cared about him were the people that would get hurt the most by all this and Steve was determined to keep them out of it.

Just before he got into the shower, the phone rang.

He let out a sigh and went to go answer it. There were only three people who had his number, Eddie, Dustin, and Eddie’s manager, Chrissy. All people Steve didn’t want to leave hanging.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Steve?” a cool female voice asked. “This is Chrissy, Corroded Coffin’s manager. I understand you wanted to send Eddie something?”

“Oh!” Steve cried. “Yes, thank you for getting back to me so soon. Yeah, it’s not very big, say about the size of a 3x5 picture frame?” He hurried over to the desk, dragging the phone and stretching its cord to the limit to pull out a pen and some hotel stationary.

She hummed. “It’s not, risque is it?”

He laughed. “What? No! It’s nothing like that I promise.”

“Okay,” Chrissy said skeptically. “We have people opening packages before they get sent to the band so don’t send anything you don’t want a total stranger to see.”

“I promise it will mean absolutely nothing to the poor soul that opens their mail,” he informed her, “but he will absolutely get a kick out of it.”

Steve could tell she was still leery about it, but he wasn’t going to ruin the surprise.

She let out a sigh. “Fine. Here’s the address to send it to.” She rattled off an address and Steve dutifully wrote it down. “By the time it gets there, they should be back in LA, so it’ll go to their main mail box.”

He wrote band PO Box over the address and underlined it. “Great, thanks.”

“Now do you need anything else that isn’t their personal information?” she huffed.

Steve winced, he could tell she wasn’t happy being Eddie’s errand girl and by extension, his.

“No,” he said, “Just that. It’s just a small token that I think he’d like.”

“All right,” she said. “Good evening.”

“Good evening!” he chirped back.

Once she had hung up, Steve shook his head. He knew it was her job to to look out for the band. But it wasn’t that big of deal. What she think she was going to do send his dirty panties to the guy?

Not!

He looked down at himself and sighed. He had carried that whole conversation completely naked. He padded back to the bathroom and stepped into the shower.

He stepped under the stream of water and let it soothe him. He was still smarting a little from Chrissy’s attitude. She seemed friendly enough at the bar and genuinely wanted to see Eddie and Steve hit it off.

But something between then and now she had completely soured on him. That was a problem for future Steve, though. Right now in this moment he was going to enjoy his shower, watch some TV and enjoy the burger Eddie was having sent up.

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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dhampling · 1 year ago

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sunburn dadstarion, <1k

She runs in with cheeks flushed, head wet with a thin clad layer of sweat. Remnants from some form of cool treat dry on her chin. Plaits - neat this morning - loose now with tangles and damp as she beelines straight for his workroom.

Face scalding as she buries it in his abdomen.

“You’re getting muck on my shirt, little one.”

She mimics his words with a cutting tone as she burrows deeper, wraps even tighter around him. Smells like cloves and hot paving and the dry-sweet musk of city dust. As he presses a kiss to her head he feels the sun lingering in her hair. Little white cowlicks brushing his nose.

If he stills he can hear you out on one of the cast-iron chairs with a glass of red in hand, talking to a friend of some parental variety in the early evening heat.

“You’re so cold”

His heat comes from woodsmoke and yours from the sun. Both familiar to her. He could light a fire but you’d moan at him for it.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He pokes at her clammy arms with a fat laugh and she winces away, pulling a face.

“It’s hot.” She sneers. He quirks a brow.

“Sounds like a you problem.’

He lifts the last of her plaits and looks round at the ruddy blush beginning to bloom at the nape of her neck. She squirms at the ice of his fingers.

‘Run up to the washroom and get the cream. Quick.”

You sit just beyond the window - he can hear your laughter, the muffled lilt of your voice by the climbing ivy. He imagines the ornate carafe - left to aerate all afternoon - rich and ripe as the wine within soaks on your tongue and darkens your teeth. Your loving grin. The little wave you’d do; the light clothes he’d spent all winter designing for you to sit out front and feel comfortable in, in spite of the sweltering sun.

To throw a casual look through open shutters and see you out there again. A wink. A little sign that he’s thinking of you.

Maybe he’ll head out, when the stars are newly minted yet the sun still lingers. Feel the iron sear his skin through his clothes. The warmth of your palm as it wraps around his forearm.

It’s not until the youngling returns that his gaze shifts from the dark to her, a tired furrow on her brow.

“I’m too hot.”

Her mouth hangs open in a wide pant. Astarion kneels before her.

“Have you had any water?’

No.

‘Right then.”

Hours pass and you shuffle back in with a thick-knotted shawl draped lazy over your shoulders, the singe of a giggle still whisper-light in your breath as your friend shouts their farewells.

“She burned today, you know.”

He’s quiet as he stitches, merely an observation; thread between teeth. You sigh fondly in the doorway.

“She’s a child. It’s what children do.”

You bring your warm chalice to his mouth and he lifts his head to take a sip, humming softly. He looks up at you with a raised brow.

“Get burned?”

“You morose bastard. Sun-burn. Children get sunburned.”

She’s lounging on his worn chaise, hair wrapped in towel, with a small bowl of plums at her side and a drawing pad atop her knee. Contented in new pyjamas and the cool dim of her father’s workroom.

The cream has seemingly worked. The cool bath you heard her splash about in not so long ago must’ve been some clever placebo work.

“Found some pretty beetles today, but wasn’t allowed to bring them in.” She speaks as usual with Astarion’s theatrical whine, riddled with fatigue. You roll your eyes affectionately.

“What were they like, darling?”

He’s preoccupied, stitching something small in the gilded embroidery he works at; but there’s the persistent glimmer of interest in his tone. The slightest tilt of his head as his eyes find her in the periphery.

“Really pretty. Different colours. All pinky and greeny.” She waggles her fingers and sighs with a start.

“Draw them for me?”

She looks at him warily as you watch on.

“Will you keep it if I do?”

At that, Astarion stops. A gentle halt. The needle and thread in hand gently tucked into the stitchwork.

“I keep everything you do.”

You scoff. She looks at him with a tiny glare.

“Where is it then?”

“What?”

“All my drawings?”

“It’s where are they, darling.’ He chides, the smallest chit of his fangs.

You move to sit and your daughter lifts her head from the chaise, so it rests on your settled lap when dropped once more. The hint of a grin plays at his mouth.

‘And I keep them somewhere safe so when you’re old - like me - you’ll be able to look back on you now. You’ll be able to remember the beetles.’

He shuffles over to where you both sit, cross legged as he rests his chin on the chaise. Brings the back of a hand to her forehead and swears a sizzle as he pulls away.

‘Plus. I can’t see these beetles now, can I? My sunburn gets a fair bit more serious than yours in nature. I’d like to see them.”

She pauses for a moment.

“Okay. But ONLY because you can’t go and see them for yourself.”

#my writing #dadstarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3

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blogwan · 2 years ago

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Watersplashnet - Gold

A Splash Pad/Splash Park Manufacturer plays a crucial role in the design and development of Splash Pads and Parks. They work with clients to create custom designs that meet their specific needs and requirements, ensuring that the final product is safe, functional, and aesthetically pleasing. These manufacturers have a highly skilled team of aquatic play experts who guide clients through the process of planning, designing, and installing their Splash Pad or Park. Splash park manufacturer are responsible for the manufacturing and installation of Splash Pad/Park equipment. They use high-quality materials to ensure that the equipment is durable, safe, and long-lasting. Leading manufacturers like Empex Watertoys® and Rain Deck offer a wide range of commercial splash pads and spray park products that are designed to deliver a twist of watery fun for kids of all ages. Proper installation of the equipment is critical to ensuring the safety and longevity of the Splash Pad or Park. Maintenance and upkeep of Splash Pad/Park structures is also an important responsibility of Splash Pad/Park Manufacturers. Regular maintenance is essential to ensure that the equipment remains safe, functional, and attractive. Proper maintenance can also help reduce long-term costs associated with repairs and replacements. Manufacturers may offer maintenance services or provide clients with guidance on how to properly maintain their Splash pad or Park. Overall, Splash Pad/Splash Park Manufacturers play a vital role in bringing water play fun to communities and ensuring the safety and longevity of these popular recreational spaces.

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empexwatertoys · 10 months ago

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Inclusive Design in Splash Pads: Making Water Play Accessible for Children of All Abilities

Who doesn’t love the idea of splash pads? As the summer sun is up and hot in the sky, everyone has intuitive water playon their minds, and there’s no better way to cool off than splash pads. Especially, kids love the idea of recreational water playgrounds with fun water toys. However, conventional splash pads may not cater to the needs of children with disability. Nowadays, commercial spaces like malls include splash pads in their perimeter to keep children engaged, and if you are planning one too, prioritizing inclusive design is the key. Wondering how inclusive design can make splash pads accessible to children of all abilities? Here you go!

Key Elements of Inclusive Splash Pad Design

When we are talking about inclusive design, we are talking about an approach that considers the needs of different users, including those with disabilities. When you apply this design to splash pads, it focuses on creating environments that can accommodate children with a wide range of abilities and ensures that everyone can participate and enjoy the experience. The key elements of an inclusive water playground design are listed as follows:

Wheelchair Accessibility: For one, you need to ensure that your splash pad is wheelchair accessible. Add ramps, pathways, and water features that are easily navigable for children using wheelchairs or any mobility aids. In addition, you need to eliminate any barriers to entry, so children with physical disabilities can engage in water play alongside their peers without any issues.

Sensory Integration: If you are designing an inclusive splash pad, consider incorporating elements that appeal to children with sensory activities or processing disorders. These elements may include features such as gentle water sprays, interactive water toys, textured surfaces, and different themes that cater to different levels of sensory input.

Safety Measures: Safety should be your top priority in an inclusive splash pad design. You can add features such as slip-resistant surfaces, shallow water depths, and clear signage to prevent accidents and ensure a secure environment for all children. In addition, you can also add shaded zones and seating areas for children with mobility issues or sensory overload, so they can take breaks as needed.

Universal Design Principle: Switching to a universal design means you have a design that focuses on flexibility, simplicity, and intuitiveness. Instead of making the features in your water playground way too complicated, you can have easy-to-use features, such as push-button controls, and adjustable water flow, so all spaces can become accessible to children with diverse disabilities without the need for special accommodations.

Conclusion

Feeling left out is the last thing any kid wants or any parent needs for their children. If you are designing a splash pad for water play, features like tipping buckets, water cannons, and spray jets can be an exciting idea. However, you also need to make everyone feel included with an inclusive design. Children with disabilities struggle in all aspects of their lives, but when you are planning a water playground, try to configure inclusive design principles to ensure every child has the opportunity to splash, play, and thrive.

Blog Source: https://waterparktoys.wordpress.com/2024/04/23/inclusive-design-in-splash-pads-making-water-play-accessible-for-children-of-all-abilities/

#Inclusive Design in Splash Pads #Water Park Equipment #Splash Pad Manufacturers #Splash Pad Design #Splash Park Equipment

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edutainer2022 · 11 months ago

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A cold, vicious cyclone caught me unawares in the middle of the city the other day, right as I decided it was too hot for the coat. So, naturally, Scott gets under the weather in NYC, quite literally (and is being a stubborn doofus about it). It's an Earth and Sky fluff, but in the end, John decided he wanted in, so Earth and Star have a good hearty chat too. Virgil and John are being very good brothers. Absolutely nothing hurts. A greatful boop to @idontknowreallywhy, @astranite and @janetm74 for soft fabrics and Top Gun featuring.

UNDER THE WEATHER

The perks of living on a tropical island included not only it being remote, secluded and perfect to house a state-of-the-art rescue operation. It was also the whole being TROPICAL deal. Whenever one stepped out - it was reliably warm. The downside of living on a remote tropical island was losing the habit to navigate the regular four-seasons weather. Or the fickle New York City climate.

Truthfully, Scott didn't miss it much. Of course, he'd be fondly nostalgic about Kansas and snow slides, or, would occasionally get caught up in the inherent wistful mood of early NYC fall. But he definitely didn't miss THIS - being caught up in the icy torrent and orange warning winds two blocks away from the Tracy Tower. In nothing but his dress shirt and slacks.

They were at Tracy Industries headquarters with Virgil for the better half of the week. Virgil was involved in pre-screening the latest batch of R&D pitches, before they would move on to Brains and John for the final approval and production. Scott was held hostage by the Department of Finance for budget amendments and redistribution.

When the opportunity presented itself, well into the afternoon, to escape his own untimely death by paperwork or premeditated murder of a high ranking employee, Scott ran for the hills, slipping expertly beneath the radar of Kayo's handpicked security detail.

His underlying motive was quite noble - to walk to that coffe-shop Virgil liked and get his brother and himself some decent coffee. Virgil loved coffee and Scott loved Virgil - the rationale for his sortie was ironclad. Of course, pursuing exclusively immaculate fraternal care didn't provide for ditching his earpiece and wrist com. The hasty retreat also meant his designer (and more importantly in his current predicament - woolen) jacket got left hanging on the back of his chair by the bay window. He forgot this wasn't Tracy Island, the sun outside the window and climate control in the offices and their penthouse at the top of the Tracy Tower lulled his vigilance. And now, without a comm to get a timely warning from Eos or to call a cab (or the security SUV with a profound apology, or One from the landing pad on the roof), Scott was caught in the sudden onslaught of a cyclone.

The prudent thing to do would be to go back to the Tower. So, of course, Scott decided in favor of the opposite and broke into a run for the rest of the distance to the coffee place. The relentless laws of physics - speed and resistance - made sure he was soaked through the very last thread of clothing on his body and chilled to the bone by the time he got there.

His hair plastered to the forhead, the supershiny gel having lost the round with the freezing downpour, rivers of water drained down from the top of his head all the way past the suit slacks and dress shoes splashed in muck. There were poodles of water INSIDE his shoes. His socks were wet. His shirt was drenched. The squelching of the fabric as he walked up to the counter suggested he was wet EVERYWHERE. Yuk! That, at least, he didn't know as he was getting numb all over from the cold.

Scott was aware he probably looked like a wet stray cat. It was that or his shirt became see-through in the rain - as a barrista with a cute smile tried to waive his fee for the coffee. Unacceptable! He paid for two extra large, extra strong brews, and rushed out, stifling a sneeze. Must have been the shirt, since one of the take-away cups had a phone number scrolled on the side. Which was a small consolation, as he broke into a jog again, making his way back through the raging elements.

***

The Tracy Industries front desk in the lobby, thankfully, didn't detain him, so he snuck into the elevator, not making eye contact with anyone. It was getting increasingly hard to hold the coffee cups - his hands were numb and shaking, and his teeth were clattering in time with full body shivers. Scott was sure he had hit the executive floor button, but the elevator made no stop, gliding all the way up to the private penthouse. Figures. He'd probably earned himself a lecture not only from the on site security team, but from John as well.

The door slid open on his approach across an antechember and he was welcomed in the hallway by a wall of flannel presided by furrowed black brows. Scott brandished the procured coffee cups like a shield, instinctively. He would sound more nonchalant if he were not stuttering from the cold.

"Hey, Virg, I got your favorite coffee!"

His face muscles were too frozen for a smile.

Virgil was holding a massive towel, or maybe a full body length terrycloth sheet, like an unfurled banner, and appeared completely unmoved by Scott's heroic endeavor.

"How very kind of you! Now step on the rug and strip. I'm not mopping after you!"

Scott looked down and found himself standing, indeed, on one of Gordon's old bright pool towels. It was already soaked halfway through with all the water Scott was dripping. He felt marginally ashamed as the elevator likely sported poodles too. But it was hard to maintain several self-deprecating emotions at once, being that cold and miserable.

The styrofoam cups were tentatively deposited on the glove table. Scott peeled off his soaked dress shirt and shed the trousers more than eagerly, toed off wet (and probably ruined too) shoes. Francesco the designer would bite his head off. But that could wait. He needed something warm off the rack now! A move off the towel was aborted, however, by the reappearance of the Eyebrows over the terrycloth edge.

"Uh-uh! Everything, Scooter! You're NOT wedging your undies behind the shower stall. Again!"

Scott sighed. That was ONE TIME! He was sneaking back past the curfew and tried to conceal evidence. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out. The moment the last wet cloth on him joined the pile on the floor, he was wrapped head to ankles in the sea of soft blue fabric and steered in the general direction of the shower.

"You know the drill! Try to warm up under hot water as long as you can. If you feel lightheaded - yell, I'll be right here."

The scolding shower helped somewhat. He could still feel the freezing grip around his ribs, but his extremities were not as numb anymore, at least. There was a stack of warm sleepwear waiting for him as he stepped out in the cloud of fog. Scott smiled - it was a motley assembly of his own clean trunks and sweatpants, a well-worn soft flannel shirt and a Denver Engineering hoodie, that swapmed his frame. Hair toweled off and curling every which way, he was mostly ready to venture back out into the colder world, but felt dead tired.

There was a nest of throw pillows and a blanket, assembled on the couch, unfolded to full length, in the living room. Scott made an immediate beeline for it and tugged the blanket around his shoulders, trying to fold his feet beneath as well. The shivers were crawling back. Virgil emerged from a door that was decidedly neither Scott's nor his own room, carrying a pair of fluffy bright orange socks and an extra comforter.

***

After some gentle, yet determined, coaxing, the orange socks were tugged onto Scott's icy cold feet and a second blanket was tucked snuggly around him. Virgil settled by his side against a couple of snatched pillows, pondering idly that they would need to get a spare weighted blanket for the penthouse too. They would also owe John more socks. The Scott-sized frozen burrito shuffled closer and Virgil wrapped an arm around his wayward big brother, offering more of his body warmth. The chills worried Virgil. Scott was fit and healthy, but he was chronically exhausted and hadn't been exposed to cyclones without IR-grade water-proof gear, or at least a raincoat, in a while.

"So... you wanna watch Top Gun?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Scott's face immediately shot up, beaming with a thousand suns. He also did an enthusiastic giant caterpillar wiggle, blanket and all. Virgil thought in that moment his core memory was probably Scott, all bright eyes, gap-teeth smile and dimples, bouncing with excitement and unbridled energy. He wished he got to revisit it more often.

The opening frames rolled on the holoscreen to the sound of the all too familiar Anthem. Virgil finally reached for so hard earned cup of coffee, now reheated, and couldn't contain a snort.

"Aw, Scooter, you actually scored a number for your troubles?"

It was obvious Scott wasn't going to last through the movie - his eyes were droopping and voice slurred, mostly muffled by plaid flannel.

"M'dashin'!"

A smaller hologram appeared at that exact moment on Virgil's comm. John looked way too amused:

"Actually, that's the number of a homeless shelter around the corner from the coffee shop."

Virgil's laughter full on rumbled at that. He raised a hand to ruffle the back of big brother's head:

"Oh yeah, you're a dashing idiot."

"M'cold."

The muffled complain was exemplified by a full body shiver.

"Sure, Scotty! You're a cold, wet, dashing idiot."

There was no protest to that, just a soft, slightly stuffed snore. Virgil adjusted the hold on the now sound asleep biggest brother to snuggle him closer.

***

The F-14A Tomcat was playing chicken with a MiG-28 on the screen. John's hologram lingered. Virgil could tell the space ginger was concerned more than he let on. John finally spoke.

"Is he gonna be alright? Should I cancel his Friday?"

Untamed by the gel, the now dry and fluffy ringlets made it difficult to reach Scott's forhead, but the back of Virgil's hand found the way, careful not to disturb. The skin was cool to his touch, no signs of fever.

"He'll be alright. He just needs to warm up and sleep it off."

He moved to rub a soothing circle over Scott's back as the big brother relaxed deeper into sleep. It was sorely tempting to clear Scott's schedule for the next day and mandate more rest. But Virgil was aware it would pose a risk of Scott, not held down by a cold, hairing off to the island in One, insisting to be back on the roster, if not on TI business. That would be a shame, as a big part of the weekend, Virgil had been looking forward to, was going to see Tosca at the Metropolitan Opera with biggest brother.

John was still hovering, unconvinced. Virgil siged, but smiled:

"Well, Johnny, unless you want to come down from orbit and join me at the box, I'd rather our reservation to a sold out six months in advance opera didn't fall through."

John looked appropriately appalled and quite earnest:

"I love you more than my life, brother, but I do draw a line at too many people doing too many loud things in a confined space. Call me Johnny and see how often I come down from orbit!"

Virgil stifled a huff of laughter, as Scott shuddered and groaned quietly, but, thankfully, didn't wake up. The warm-up circles over his back and shoulders resumed. Virgil hugged him closer. John shifted attention to the swaddled biggest brother in fond amusement.

"What did you bribe him with, anyway?"

Virgil didn't have the energy to protest.

"Apfelschtrudel from that place Gordon found. And he can preview the R&D projects I selected for Brains, if he gets bored. No call-outs, no reports, no work mail though."

The gazed Virgil fixed on John was full of fair warning. It was John's turn to smile.

"Don't worry. You love watching opera and Scott loves watching us doing what we love. He'll be fine. And locked out of his work accounts, for good measure."

Silence stretched for several moments, interrupted only by Scott's soft snoring.

Virgil looked down on the slumbering brother in his arms, then back at John.

"I wish he did more of what he loves. Just Scott. For himself - not for us, or for the company, or the world."

That wasn't an issue easily solved in a casual conversation through an impromptu movie night. If at all. John knew that too, all too well. The brother in orbit chewed on his lip, lost in thought.

"You could sugget he get coffee in that place again. She's a Hudson Uni postgraduate. Cultural Anthropology."

Virgil was mostly used to John's the Resident Genius thoughts veering in unexpected directions, but the ginger thoroughly lost him there.

"Huh? Who's a postgrad where?"

John rolled his eyes in exasperation commonly reserved to explaining things to the bristling rescuees and a five year old Gordon.

"The barrista that gave Scott a shelter number today. She works part time and volunteers there often. One time she even volunteered at the IR disaster site. Remember, the sinkhole? She seems nice."

Top Gun closing scenes were replaced by assorted social media pages and university profile pages. Virgil gulped.

"John! You can't go doxxing random people!"

John's hologram up in orbit shrugged:

"I have Eos run background checks automatically on anyone who comes in contact with you guys. We can't take any chances!"

There was sound and, sadly, field proved reasoning behind what nearly cost them barely averted tragedy on several occasions. But still... Virgil kept staring at a pretty blond smiling from the holoscreen.

"That gotta be illegal!"

"Only if I get caught."

Turquoise eyes twinkled in nothing remotely resembling remorse. He still didn't cut off the call.

"Do you wanna come down here for the weekend?"

Virgil suddenly felt the need to have more brothers accounted for and within reach. There was hope in the way John actually gave it a thought.

"Only if you don't make me go to the opera. I ordered you pizza, by the way."

A wave of warmth washed over Virgil and he tightened the grip on Scott's frame instinctively.

"You're my favoretest brother not asleep at the moment!"

He was graced with another eyeroll.

"You spend entirely too much time around Gordon. I'll have Eos screen the calls and land the elevator on the Tower tomorrow evening, your time, if there's no major catastrophe."

Virgil resisted the urge to fistpupm in the air. Definitely too much time around Gordon. Another thought occurred to him as he remembered a detail John mentioned when vetting the unsuspecting compassionate barrista.

"Hey, John! Could you..."

"Right ahead of you, brother. An anonymous donation was made to the homeless shelter and free kitchen an hour ago."

And they said Virgil and Scott were uncanny telepathic. Then again, it was to be expected. Anyone who was genuinely kind and considerate to their favorite Idiot, or attempted to course-correct his destruction path, inadvertently gained a lifelong ally in every one of them. Maybe he really needed to nudge Scott to go get more of the good coffee tomorrow. Equipped with an umbrella that time around.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #and gets one #scott tracy needs a cuff up his head #virgil tracy #did sign up for this #earth and sky #john tracy didn't sign up for this #earth and star #tracy brotherdom of love #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #methinks i have astronomy

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alexissimsblog · 1 year ago

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930 Medina Studios 3br/1ba

A simple apartment reno for my "and they were roommates" savefile. Originally home to Austin Wentworth—the flat is now shared by him and two other buddies of his from high school/college.

I wanted to keep it simple, dark colors + greens with splashes of white/cream to fit all of their individual styles. I meant for this to be somewhat of a bachelor pad/hangout spot for their friend group so big open windows to let that natural light in was a must. Honestly, Medina Studios has some of the best lighting in San Myshuno.

Which is why I always have the lights off. There is one light in the living room but its a low light so it doesn't overshadow that natural sunlight :)

Download info under cut! ❥

PACKS NEEDED

growing together, highschool years, seasons, and bathroom clutter kit!

CC NEEDED

house of harlix - orjanic part 1

pierisim - MCM all parts

myshunosun - 2023 tranquil bedroom

clutter cat - sunny sundae part 1 (small candle)

sixam - artz living room (plant small)

novvvas - rahat set (eucalyptus plant)

myshunosun - 2022 dawn living

pierisim - david's apartment part 1

myshunosun - 2023 vanity nook

kaiso - rusti.co living

rvsn - back that glass up

harrie - coastal part 5

harrie - octave part 1

myshunosun - 2022 lottie

harrie - Kichen (nectar glasses)

pierisim - living room mini kit

charlypancakes - insomnia

Madame Ria - Basic Luxe Kitchen (plant 01 Fig)

rvsn - on cloud wine bottle

littledica - H&B wall curved tv

littledica - delicato lounge (focused on you wall light)

rvsn - sip sip hooray bar cart

redheadsims - nintendo switch

charlypancakes - miscellanea stuff pack

harrie - kwatei part 1

littledica - eco kitchen (ceramic farmer sink)

*after some testing please note that the update is causing the ceramic farmer sink from the eco kitchen collection to behave strangely for me. if you are also unable to wash dishes with it, please feel free to change it! :)

nickname - playstation 5

peacemaker - hamptons retreat

taurus design - lilith chilling area part 1

charlypancakes - lighthouse

pierisim - tilable kitchen

awingedllama - nostalgia living

sixam - home office (wall screen projector)

peacemaker - hudson bathroom (dynamic hamper)

myshunosun - luna bedroom

syb - fitness (boxing gloves floor)

syb - fitness (medicine ball)

peacemaker - kitayama bedroom

rusticsims- simple kind of modular life

MTS teknikah - amy's garden plants

syb - crossfit (gym bag)

zulf and hakrabr - lets get fit

syb - traveller

illogicalsims - home office

felixandre - florence part 3 (simowa luggage)

sixam - boho bathroom (botanical beauty stool)

house of harlix - bafroom

littledica - chic bathroom

pierisim - winter garden part 2 (i believe with the new update the windows will show up so yay)

OPTIONAL PACKAGES

zulf - bathroom kit becomes functional

basemental drugs - for ashtray

DOWNLOAD OPTIONS

EA ID: midsapphire

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norman-fucking-reedus · 1 year ago

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high late night thought but I have this crazy idea about the reader making Daryl a multifunctional wooden crossbow and its frying my brain

It happened as the two of you were making your way back to your campsite after a long day of splashing and hand catching fish in the lake, Daryl nudged your shoulder with his and pointed to a deer. “M’gon get it” He whispered, already aimming his crossbow.

You turned your head briefly, checking to see where Dog had wondered off too when you heard what sounded like elastic snapping, followed by Daryl’s very frantic cursing.

“What happened?!” When you whipped around, Daryl was already crouched around the bow as he made an attempt to fix it. You got next to him to try and see what was wrong. “It didn’t fire like it was supposed ta… Hold tha part” Your fingers pinched the piece he pointed at, watching as his hands slightly trembled as he tried to re string the bow to the actual trigger, you holding down the piece that clamps the trigger into place.

Snap.

Daryl held up the fully broken string, feeling his heart break along with it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Daryl” You whispered as you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, once again trying to jam the string ends back into place but to no avail, only further damaging the weapon. He exhaled in frustration. “I’ve had this damned thing since I was a teenager, it was tha’ first thing Merle ever got fer me” Daryl mumbled, rolling the thick bowstring in his hands. His chest hurt and there was a small lump building in his throat.

You stared down at the crossbow, analyzing it’s shape before carefully picking it up to take a better look at the mechanics. “C’mon. We can figure something out handsome”

It took you a few months to figure something out.

Over that time period, Daryl was absolutely crushed.

He was visibly upset, snapping and yelling at anyone who talked to him, on one occasion at Judith, but he quickly apologized.

It was obvious to everyone that Daryl’s crossbow was of extreme sentimental value, and it would take time for him to heal. Carol had offered to teach him how to use a standard bow, only to be dismissed with an agitated “I used a goddamn bow ‘nd arrow before”

Daryl was frustrated with nobody but himself, frustrated that the countless times he’s had to fix the thing, he couldn’t do it one more time.

You spent the first half of the first month studying how all the strings worked and the mechanisms of the weapon in general. It wasn’t complicated, especially when you started to pick stuff apart. You spent the other half brainstorming and designing ideas for a more sturdier and functional crossbow, trying to stay calm as you watched Daryl intimidatingly stalk around the community. You felt bad knowing you both blamed yourselves, even though it was neither one of yours fault.

You got lucky in the second month, when you and Carol had gotten lost in the woods, and your only flashlight stopped working.

You just couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore, “I’m trying to make Daryl a new crossbow” You blurted out as the two of you stopped walking. Carol turned to you in the dark, striking a match as she did. “That’s nice, how’s it goin?” She smiled softly at your eye roll. “I just don’t know exactly to build it, let alone design” You scoffed, kicking a rock. You weren’t some kind of handyman, but it made busied your mind to have something to build or deconstruct. “Well, we’re in the forest. Why not get some wood?” Carol struck another match, your eyes flickering towards the sound, watching the stick ignite into flames. You nodded, smiling absently as you followed her.

When you got home, you dropped the logs and rummaged through the drawers, grabbing a box of matches and speed walking over to your drawing pad.

You pulled the crossbow out from where you kept it, placing it on the table and quickly walking back to snatch up the logs.

There was more than enough to make a decent amount of arrows, and to try creating a new piece to properly re-string the previously broken one, plopping down into a chair as you started to pick apart the weapon, creative thoughts beginning to flow.

You used your large knife to chop and carve the wood, occasionally nicking yourself or cutting just a little too much off. You took breaks inbetween to draw out ideas, standing up to get a better look before sitting back down, scribbling on the paper or dragging the sharp blade down a wooden piece.

By the third month, you were gluing and securing down new parts and pieces, following a vision in your head.

The crossbow has its original black structure, a small piece of wood right behind the formerly faulty trigger to help it fire once more. You had taken off the head in previous months, not sure what to do with it until recently, picking up the separate piece and turning it around in your hands. The idea of multi function flooded your head, staring down at the arched part and back at the structure as you already busied yourself with mending and bending metal.

You had to re-string and re-wire a few sections, standing up for a test run every so often as you worked vigorously. You were proud of yourself for being able to fix the trigger itself, however this was an even greater fix. You rose to your feet and slid the weapons end over your shoulder, aimming before firing. The string cracked forward as the arrow shot out, and you pulled it back into it’s wooden place, firing one more arrow.

You smiled softly to yourself for being able to fix it, and moved to once more pop the bows head off, only this time setting the structure down and holding it put in front of you, pulling the string back with your fingers and releasing, arrow flying to join the others. “Damn I outdo myself everyday” You pumped a fist in the air as you moved to yank the three arrows from out of the wall.

The head snapped easily back into place, along with the string. You added the dozen wooden sticks you had carved into various sized arrows into the crossbows original holder, staring down at weapon for any overlooked mistakes or potential last minute details. The matchbox briefly crossed your mind.

“Where’s Daryl?” You squinted your eyes and shielded them from the sun, glancing up at Aaron. “Said he was going out. Didn’t wanna push” The man shrugged and you nodded, thanking him for his help before going back to your house to put your gear on.

As you walked out the gates, newly modified crossbow slung around your shoulder, you couldn’t help but wink at your friends prying eyes.

Part of you wasn’t even sure where Daryl would be if not hunting out the woods, but then you realized he wouldn’t go anywhere but the woods.

Your feet led you back to your old campsite, where your heart soared as you spotted faint but very much footprints, following them with your knife drawn closely by your side. The prints were leading you to the lake, and at first you thought maybe you followed old prints, however held your breath when you finally spotted Daryl sitting on the edge of the water. You approached carefully, trying your best to keep the weapon concealed.

“Quit followin’ me” Daryl mumbled when you were standing behind him. You sat next to him, crossbow behind the two of you as you stared out into the water, then at Daryl. He simply looked at ground while digging a small hole with a rock, choosing to remain silent in your presence. It comforted him a little, and he spared a quick glance at you, head snapping upwards. “You- Did you-“ You placed the bow into his lap, fighting your smile as he carefully picked it up and analyzed it. “Why… How’d ya fix it?” He whispered, fingers caressing the wooden chunks and the bow head itself. “I’m sorry it took so long” You mumbled but Daryl shook his head. “Who cares? Ya still fixed it ‘nd then some!” His eyes sparkled as he was already positioning it onto his shoulder, aimming at a nearby tree and whooping at the sound of the string cracking and the arrow flying.

When he noticed the string out of it’s place however, he frowned. “It’s broke” You chuckled, taking the weapon from him and angling it so he could watch you. “It’s got lots of new feats. Bow and arrow good sir?” You popped off the head and handed it him, laughing at his stunned look. Daryl held the arch out in front of him and pulled the string back, sending an arrow next to the previous one. He whipped his head back around, eyes catching your fingers as they fiddled with a red stripe in the middle of the structure, right where the arrow goes. “I haven’t tested this myself” You whispered as you showed Daryl how to properly snap the head back on before rising to your feet.

“Ain’t a self-destruct is it?” Daryl stretched as he stood next to you, moving to yank the few strays out the tree. You shook your head, sliding one of your wooden arrows out the holder and bringing it to the stripe, quickly dragging it across and sliding it into position, flames licking the arrows head. Daryl whistled as it fired into a tree, fire still burning until it wasn’t. “Damn girl. I ain’t ever lettin’ ya get away” Daryl stepped into your space, one hand grabbing your waist and the other relieving you of the heavy weapon, slinging it over his shoulder. “Nice strap” He snorted, glancing down at the magneta shoulder strap replacing his black one. You softly kissed his lips, smiling as your hands rested against his chest. “How else will I identify you, huntermam?” His hands on your waist pulled you closer, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin. Daryl looked and felt much more like himself, an easy smile resting on his lips, his crossbow once again slung over his shoulder, and his woman warm under the touch of his hands.

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its 3 am and im fucking high as fuck guys live laugh love actually who’s down for a stoner reader fic thats sounds so fire

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