#they plucked the fields
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Plucking away at your happiness.
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Another fic fanart, this time it's inspired by another @merakiui's masterpiece: His Blueberry Eyes đđ Go check the fic out! But do read the warnings first cause, boy... ngl, this one's heavy--
#i decided to color this digitally#tried extracting the lineart but can't do anythin abt the paper texture-- so we got this instead heh#my mum said it made the drawing look gloomy. she's not wrong--#anyway. had the idea of Azul plucking at a sunflower going like 'love me. love me not' the moment i read the 'painting the wall' scene#that's one of my favorite parts. right before things went downhill for Azul and Reader :))))#also flower symbolism my beloved <333 a sunflower in the midst of cornflower fields... it's a lovely image#*sighs* Bless all of you fic writers for giving the most delicious of brain rots <3#twisted wonderland#azul ashrengrotto#yandere azul ashengrotto#kheyy's art#why am i not drawing anything for disney 100th anniv? or for the new JP Halloween event? simply cause i got priorities â¨â¨#love me fics that can rip my heart out and scar me mentally uwu
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if I may offer a word of advise to any person out there who may be as stupid as me - do not walk through a field of stinging nettles barefoot
#Iâm not about to post a photo of what the bottom of my feet look like (at least not for free) but#just imagine the absolute last thing you would want the bottoms of your feet to look like. Thatâs what mine look like rn#I havenât been genuinely fr fr drunk in a long ass time (2 weeks) so I guess this is what I get eh#this happened last night btw I was too drunk to notice the state of my feet so I slept like this đđđ#so now Iâm going to have a hangover soon AND Iâve got a literal BILLION tiny needles in my feet#Maybe next time I decided to get hammered Iâll put locks on my shoes to prevent myself from taking them off#Although bright side Iâm glad I was just in a field and not walking around barefoot in a street where#I could step on broken glass or hypodermic needles or something lol so. silver lining#But fr idk what to do about it I feel like Iâm still too drunk to start plucking them out rn my hands are too shakey#So I guess Iâm just going to wait around like this until Iâm sober enough?#& love how I was posting about staying in last night lol. Nice try mf you really thought you were just gonna watch a movie then go to bed đ#I drank well over half a bottle of whiskey last night lmfao I donât wanna know how many shots that comes out to be⌠over 10 at least đ#Maybe I have a problemâŚâŚ. nahhhhhhhjhjjjhhhhhh
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#đ chuca rambles#oughhrbrjfne#i miss you every day my love#your beauty grows expontentially every year that passes!! you're so ���đĽš#i love you so much#hhrhrbr the flowers#sobs the fucjrkjf flower field#i want to whisper to dandelions every good wish i have for you#i want to hold your hand and kiss your palms and fingertips and smooch you breathless#until we tumble to the grass in a heap and there's blades of grass i'll so tenderly pluck from your hair#oughrjtj to lay with you among the blooms and to gaze into your sunset hues and to breathe you and the world in#ouhhththt... i love you!! i never stopped!!! i always will!!!#happy birthday my love!!!!
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Astarion and Karlach are perfect foils showing how trauma from having autonomy ripped from you, your body forcibly changed, and then used as a pawn serving a master can present wildly different, but still with that same under layer of RAGE.
#bat rambles#i'll touch back on this#but these are the two who express rage so purely#like neither of them hold it back and the narrative validates their rage towards their abusers#i am also just feeling a lot of karlach feels with having your body not only permanently altered#but in a way that guarantees death#like the horror of feeling that heat building for 10 years#just knowing#you either stay in this bloodbath and evenurally become one of the many slaughterd in a war waged by creatures who wull never even#see the battle field#or you can escape#enjoy a brief respite#she never thought she would see anything outside of Avernus again#but she kept trying to escape#and now that she has it she just wants to enjoy all aspects of life before hers ends#and like astarion is plucked out of his personal hell knowing if he plays his cards right#he'll have an eternity to catch up on what he lost in 200 years#karlach is having to make up her 10 years of hell in as short a time possible#bat muses#karlach#astarion#bg3
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The eternal tension between genuinely wanting to watch/read good horror media and wanting to sleep for the next week.
#I was trying to watch through HBomberGuyâs pathologic video again#because I do really genuinely like Pathologic and I think he does a good job of explaining why itâs cool#but I had to stop about 15 minutes in bc the anxiety thoughts started and I clicked âit is late at nightâ#âif I keep watching I will not sleepâ#I wish I had thicker skin when it comes to horror#even little things get to me p bad even when theyâre not related to any trauma or anything#like there was this one game that the sleepover society played through#it was rly cool and I loved it bc it has that old Win95 aesthetic#complete w/ DOS startup interface showing up each in game day#old outlook style email#itâs so fun#but it is a horror game. even though the horror is 1) clearly implausible to real life and 2) not Smth thatâs related to anything religious#itâs abt a pest company that fields calls and at first it starts normal#you get calls and you have tabs to click on abt different pests like raccoons and ants and stuff#and some stuff for like. black mold. house problems you might mistake for pests.#and then it nosedives into âtiny creatures that live and your walls and if you donât give them offerings they turn into boggarts and eat you#or fae which claim your house and swallow you aliveâ#and thatâs genuinely cool worldbuilding and I liked it and I loved the ending of it#but I did struggle to sleep for days afterwards bc I got irrational thoughts like âwhat if the pretend glowy fungus is realâ#bc a lot of the horror creatures were stuff that you explicitly wouldnât notice or would write off as being poor memory or regular pests#like plucking your dreams out of your head or a mirror making you forget who you are#spookie. to me. and I know thatâs the point I just feel like itâs the equivalent of calling paprika spicy.
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This cat is such a fucking moron
#his name is tony and is the epitome of the orange cat stereotype#he ALWAYS puts up both his hind legs when lickin himself#from the other side he looks like a chicken#kitties cat#cat#feline#orange cat#domestic shorthair#orange tabby#galconphi#he was plucked from an auction mart parking lot (re: gravel lot) in the middle of some fields#surprisingly tiny meows
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getting new followers after last night is fascinating. like ur coming in NOW?
#are u studying me like a bug under a jar. if so that's perfectly fine im actually really happy about the attention#in my head im wearing a flowy sundress and spinning around a wild flower field plucking petals to see if you love me#wytxt
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The only regulars we hated at the place I was a server were two girls who constantly skipped checks. It was a ploy where at the end od the meal one would go to the bathroom and the other would pay Just zher Bill and leave. They switched who would be the one to walk out. We finally caught them because a new manager recognized their faces from when he was a server and finally had the authority to do something about it.
Unless you are literally scamming the restaurant out of money, I promise-- no one thinks badly of you as a regular!
Starving to death this morning because ive been to the new local cafe twice this week already and if i go a third time ill look desperate.
#i now am a regular along with a large group of field scientists who get lunch on the weekends after we finish work#the restaurant is always kind to us bc we come back often and have simple orders#we tip moderate. maybe my coworkers tip better bc theyre better off than me#but the owner knows us. hes let a friend of mine pluck fruit from their prickly pears#we are not the 'oh god its Them' ppl and man that feels nice
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suddenly thought about ma.ruki per.sona 5 roy.al again.... god. if i hadnt had that dream of ren a couple of weeks before looking into this guy, it would have been SO joever for me. i would have been the most annoying motherfucker alive. can you pinpoint the exact moment he made me ill? :3c and i can't talk about the nuances of how i feel about him without spoiling his entire social link ksjdnfkjn UGH!!!!!
#đ [ my posts. ]#hint for the vid: bonk :)#though i think if you've been following me for more than a couple of weeks you could guess without any hints LMAO DKJNDAFKJ#saw that moment and literally had to sit like :0 for a minute as my brain processed my immediate 'chew on him like a squeaky toy' reaction.#i have. a type. and idk how to describe it any other way than 'competent failguy'. đ¤đťđ¤đťđ¤đť#i worry so often that it appears like i yoinked this guy's design to make ren('s initial design -- he's changed a lot since then obvs)#bc it's like my brain reached into the morphogenetic field and plucked him out of the collective (per.sona fan) consciousness#to put him in my dream :')))#đ [ my thoughts. ]
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I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon
mail-order bride
reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+
simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.
when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.
but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.
a pretty girl.
he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.
but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.
simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).
when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.
and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).
it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.
"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.
one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--
"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."
bloody fuckin' christ.
your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.
"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"
instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.
you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.
he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.
he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.
you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.
"we shouldn't," he mutters.
"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--
you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.
"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"
"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.
he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.
holy fucking shit--
"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"
"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.
"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"
"shit--"
you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.
he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.
your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.
"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.
"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."
"w-wha--! simon!"
you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.
but when you laugh, he does, too.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon ghost riley smut#ghost smut#simon riley smut#order up
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The horror of attempting an interest for the first time
#I collect bones. I love bones. I find them on my walks#mostly deer bones. I have one (one) fossilized fish skeleton#all my bones come pre-skinned (because nature cleans soft tissue super well)#home for the weekend and went hunting with my old man#we got two grouse (grice?)#eating those little fellows for dinner#but Iâm. plucking the skull and boiling.#and it is difficult difficult lemon difficult.#first time dismembering a bird#I have field dressed deer with my dad when I was younger#but I have never done a bird.#ITS SO FRAGILE GAHGHHHH#tw taxidermy#tw bones#should I post the finished result???#idek.#I collect all sorts of crap from outside.#I have a lot of bugs. none of them are pinned because they are so small#but they do have little display cases
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Take it Off - Azriel x Reader
Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?
Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him
Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes
Is this a fucking game to you?
Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. Heâd been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.
Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his metaâs chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin.Â
Iâve not the faintest idea what youâre talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.
Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips.Â
You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. âAre you ok?â You whispered low and just for his ears.Â
The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you werenât aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was.Â
But that was his own fault.Â
Youâd watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought heâd finally gotten over his feelings for her, heâd chased after Elainâs heels like a dog in heat. You didnât even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way sheâd trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, âI love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.âÂ
No. It was entirely his fault that youâd learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep theyâd become background noise â as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing.Â
Still⌠you couldnât help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Whoâd hurt him this time? You wondered.Â
âIâm fine.â Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there.Â
You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azrielâs fingers off his injured glass.Â
His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured.Â
As Madjaâs apprentice, youâd acquired a special interest in botany â an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyreâs studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When youâd complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now.Â
Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that youâd secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame.Â
No.
 Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.
You looked comfortable and happy in Cassianâs clothes â a fact that escaped no oneâs notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. Youâd worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own.Â
Still, you were wearing another maleâs shirt⌠and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.
âI was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for⌠painting.â Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you.Â
You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.
You held one up for a better look.Â
âAzriel, you were just wearing this last week.â It still smelled like him â the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. âI canât take this. Or this. Or this!âÂ
âI have more just like them.âÂ
You huffed, fists balanced on your hips.Â
Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasnât in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldnât be giving away clothes, it was Azriel.Â
âI really appreciate it, Az, but Iâm ok. I donât need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.âÂ
A muscle in Azrielâs jaw jumped out. âWell Iâm glad for that.â He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldnât imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations.Â
âAre you sure youâre alright, Az? Youâve been acting strangely the past few days.âÂ
âItâs nothing.â
âI doubt that.âÂ
There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch youâd extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out.Â
He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another.Â
You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo.Â
âYou know you can tell me anything, right? Thatâs what friends are for.âÂ
Right⌠friends. He was starting to hate that word.Â
âYes⌠I know.âÂ
How long do you think heâll last?
Nesta felt Cassianâs soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.
Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morningâs sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home.Â
Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. Heâs practically vibrating.
Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter.Â
Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. Heâd had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But youâd only shrugged and said, âItâs my painting shirt. Itâs meant to get dirty,â before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment youâd turned your back to him, heâd silently cursed the ceiling.Â
Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching.Â
He hadnât expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. Youâd been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldnât imagine living in a world that didnât have you in it.Â
It had been such a silly moment as well. Youâd been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. Heâd come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then youâd politely asked him to lace up your dress and heâd nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods heâd wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because youâd be the one tasked with healing him.Â
He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldnât have to make a fool of himself in front of you⌠again.Â
I give it another week. Nesta declared.
Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He wonât last another three days.
In the end they were both wrong.Â
It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.
âTake it off.âÂ
You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand.Â
âWhat?â You asked, furrowing your brows.Â
Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching.Â
âTake. It. Off,â he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. Youâd been wearing Cassianâs clothes almost every day this past week and he couldnât stand it anymore. He couldnât stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassianâs scent drifting off your skin.Â
It was maddening the way you didnât think anything of it.Â
Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but⌠fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another maleâs clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldnât be him.Â
Heâd tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but youâd shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something â anything â else.Â
âIf you want painting clothes, why donât we go shopping this afternoon? Iâm sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.âÂ
âIâm not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.âÂ
âWhy donât you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? Theyâll fit you better and the sleeves wonât drag so much.âÂ
âI like it when my clothes are loose.âÂ
Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azrielâs nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried heâd crack a tooth.Â
âIâm⌠going to leave now.â
âWaitâFeyre!âÂ
The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door.Â
Donât scowl so much, Az, youâre making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing.Â
She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, âItâs happening!â to the others.Â
Itâs happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. âFeyââ she hissed.
Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. Theyâre in the art studio now.Â
I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward.Â
I won the bet, Nes.
You didnât win, we both lost!
Semantics.Â
Why you basâ
Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldnât overcome.Â
âThatâs it!â The chair youâd been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. âWhat is your problem, Azriel? Youâve been agitated for weeks now. You wonât tell me, or any of the others, whatâs wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!âÂ
Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand â the hand you currently had closed around his wrist â and he shuddered.Â
You didnât even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go.Â
He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace.Â
âI need you to take this off.â He repeated with a frown.
âWhat kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?âÂ
He flinched at that word â friend.
âAz!â Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. âWhat is going on with you?!âÂ
âItâs nothing.â He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.
âClearly itâs not nothing.â
âCan you just take off your shirt and put this one on?â
You shoved him away. It wasnât even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves â like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.
âNo.â You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didnât care.Â
His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. âPlease?â He begged.
âNo! Not until you tell me whatâs going on and why youâre acting this way!âÂ
âI donât want to have this discussion while youâre standing there smelling like another male!â
That was⌠not what you were expecting.
You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face.Â
âThatâs what this is about? Youâre upset because Iâm wearing Cassianâs clothes?â You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating.Â
âWell that was a little hurtful.â Cassian mumbled.Â
Mor slapped the back of his head. âShhhhh. Iâm trying to listen.â
Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. âItâs not about Cassian⌠not reallyâŚâ
You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their masterâs back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave.Â
âWell?â You snapped.Â
Azriel shrank back, âI⌠I like you, Y/n.âÂ
You rolled your eyes, âI know, thatâs why weâre friends. I like you too.â
âNo. Not⌠not like that.â Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. âOh Iâm fucking this up so badly itâs not even funny anymore.âÂ
âI donât even know what it is youâre fucking up. Iââ
âI love you, ok?â He said in a burst of energy. âI love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassianâs an idiot and Iâm a jealous bastard and I⌠IâŚâÂ
You stared back dumbly. âYou canât mean that.âÂ
Azrielâs face fell. âAnd why not?â
âBecause I have been here for decades, centuries,â you jabbed his chest with a finger, âAnd you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. Youâre upset because Iâve been wearing Cassianâs clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, Iâve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone elseâs.âÂ
âWell I want you to!â He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. âI want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions Iâve made because Iâm yours. Iâm yours to shout at. Iâm yours to get angry with. Iâm yours to love if youâll still have me andâŚâ Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that heâd just said those words out loud. Those words that heâd kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was.Â
Please say youâll still have me. His eyes begged.Â
When you didnât move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, âForgive me. Iâm⌠Iâm sorry I didnât⌠I shouldnât haveââÂ
âYouâre a fucking idiot, Azriel.â You muttered breathlessly.Â
Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his.Â
Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies youâd constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs.Â
His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic.Â
But his hands.Â
His hands.Â
You couldnât get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until heâd memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste.Â
He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.
This⌠this was everything heâd ever wanted. You were everything heâd ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone whoâd seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone whoâd nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree.Â
You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there.Â
He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt.Â
You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and⌠Cassian.
Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt.Â
Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassianâs shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.
You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.
Azrielâs pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each otherâs air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more.Â
âAzrielâŚâ You whispered, chest heaving.Â
He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. â... yes, Y/n?â He asked breathlessly.
âI think you ripped through my dress⌠and my bra as wellâŚâÂ
âOhâŚâ He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. âOhâŚoh gods.âÂ
One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth.Â
Azrielâs ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadnât been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago.Â
âIâm so sorryââÂ
âAzriel, itâs ok.âÂ
âNo, I was being an ass and now Iâve ruined your dress andââÂ
âYou can buy me more.â
Azrielâs shoulder dropped. âI can?â âYou can.âÂ
He shook his head very seriously. âYes, yes youâre right, Iââ Azriel had always been the beautiful one â the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it.Â
Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azrielâs chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldnât be contained no matter how hard you tried.Â
He couldnât help himself.Â
He started laughing too.Â
What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support.Â
Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled.Â
âOh gods. I canâtââ You hiccuped. âI-I-I canât breathe.âÂ
Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each otherâs arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.Â
Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought youâd experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldnât begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere.Â
Wordlessly you tugged off Cassianâs shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance.Â
âA little dramatic, donât you think?âÂ
âWe can agree to disagree.â Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily.Â
His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes.Â
âAm I dreaming, Y/n?â He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones.Â
You smiled softly, âHave you dreamed of me before?â
âYes. Many times.â He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. âBut we never got this far.âÂ
âHmmmm, I think we could go a little further.âÂ
âNOT IN MY STUDIO!â Feyreâs voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away.Â
Azrielâs wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!
His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.
âGodsdamnitâHAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!â Azriel shouted.Â
A moment passed before Feyre answered, â... No,â in a much softer tone.Â
âWe missed part of the beginning,â Cassian chimed in.Â
Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, âI swear Iâm going to kill him one day.â
Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt.Â
âAre you happy now?â You teased, arms dropping to your sides.Â
The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked⌠very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath.Â
He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, âI would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.âÂ
His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening.Â
All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe heâd taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didnât want him anymore.Â
You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this.Â
A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsingerâs ears.Â
âI think that sounds like a very good plan.â You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.
He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms.Â
âAz, where are we going?â You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. âWe just passed your bedroom.âÂ
âWeâre not going to my bedroom.â
âWell we missed my bedroom too.âÂ
He didnât respond.
Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions.Â
Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. âWhen I take you to bed properly, it wonât be with our nosey family members in the house.â He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, âI want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.âÂ
âYou are certainly a man of poetry, Az.â
He smiled. âOnly for you.âÂ
âWell, well, well if it isnât the two loveââ Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. âHEH! Azz! Whazthfââ
âIâll see you in a week.â He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House.Â
âWhere are you going?â Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.
âNone of your business. Iâll see you in a week.â Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. âWeâll see you in a week,â he corrected himself.Â
Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.
"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.
"Ready."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air.Â
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a blossoming dilemma
# where you ask them how many flowers they would pluck if they were in a field and are at the liberty to do so. only twist is, the amount of flowers they choose directly equates to the amount of love they have for you. simple, right?
## incl : gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, yuji, megumi, yuta, toge and shoko.
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jjk text#jjk smau#jjk crack#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#gojo x reader#gojo smau#geto x reader#geto smau#nanami x reader#nanami smau#choso x reader#choso smau#toji x reader#toji smau#sukuna x reader#sukuna smau#yuji x reader#yuji smau#megumi x reader#megumi smau#yuta x reader#yuta smau#inumaki x reader#toge x reader#shoko x reader#shoko smau
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REACTION SPEED [Heroic: failure] - a single ravioli, damp from the water, still pleasantly steaming, lands with a defeated slap, on the linoleum floor. You see it happen, watch it flip through the air, like an Olympic bronze off the high-dive, or a suicidal veteran of war. you feel yourself shout a "No!", but it is too late. there, the ravioli, impossibly, lays limp. FORSAKEN RAVIOLI - Why, it thinks, why me? For all the time I was grown and processed then crafted and for all the time I have waited for the only purpose which I was made for. To be cast so suddenly, so errantly, into the realm of the beyond? Beyond savior. DRAMA - And here you stand, clad like a captain with your wooden spoon, watching as an honorable soldier, nay, a man, lies without your hand to aid him, on the kitchen floor.
VOLITION - you must act, now! first it must be picked up, then its fate can be decided. COMPOSURE - Its fate is the trash. AUTHORITY - Its fate is the trash. YOU - You pick up the ravioli, it is hot, nearly still boiling, gushing steam and hot pasta blood down your hand. It hurts, but standing here, there is nowhere else for it. PERCEPTION - It looks fine... LOGIC - Don't do this. SHIVERS [Heroic: Success] - Somewhere southeast of here, perhaps hundreds of miles, grain sprouts in a field, rich wheat, and butternut squash, only an acre over. The wind whistles through the fields, running like gleeful children through the tiny, green plants. Some will be eaten by birds, worms, or moles, but some will reach high into the sky, where they will be plucked and ground into pasta dough. You have seen the birthplace of this soldier. It is humble, a beautiful childhood, and so, so long ago. An entire pasta-lifetime, now. FORSAKEN RAVIOLI - I thought I had finally made it. And with my brethren... YOU - You look at the bowl, the rest of the ravioli, steaming in mournful, pyrrhic celebration. My company... EMPATHY - This ravioli could be you. You can't give up on it now. Not because of your own mistake. AUTHORITY - This is not what a dignified man would do. send him off and mourn, perhaps, but do not spend one moment more considering his limp, cooling corpse. DRAMA - Where has your heart gone, O Honorable One? Authority - ⌠EMPATHY - the greatest service you could do for this little soldier, and for all those beyond you that forged him, is to eat him. What else is rightfully to be done? VISUAL CALCULUS - It was on the floor for less than 4.7 whole seconds. ENCYLOPEDIA - most forms of bacterium are able to jump, especially to wet materials, in about 1.2- PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - any residue on your kitchen floor may well be material which was once already in your stomach. CONCEPTUALIZATION - if you think about it, that means you've already kind of eaten the ravioli.
INLAND EMPIRE - From the Floor, Of the Floor, To the Floor. To be, or not to be, one with this eternal cycle? ENDURANCE - Anything the floor could not contain, you could digest. (with VOLITION) We are iron. HALF LIGHT - Bite into its soft, warm flesh. EMPATHY - Give it peace. ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Eat the floor-violi, pasta slut! YOU - weeping, bring the ravioli to your lips, and then, impossibly, with infinite mercy, love, bring it into you. It tastes fantastic. You would have never know it was on the floor at all. You can feel the hum of satisfaction, the glory of it in your lungs, swelling to fill you more than even a pasta-feast could. This is the mercy you wish your God could cast on you, when you fall. KIM KITSURAGI - "Harry,"
#disco elysium#harrier du bois#kim kitsuragi#should i start writing fanfiction#a little dicklet of fanfiction#i think they call it a drabble#based on a true story#i drabbled everywhere sorry#needs to be drawn
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Steve acts on instinct.
Thereâs this guy in all black walking in front of him, heâs too busy looking down at his phone to notice, but Steve doesnât trust that lamppost. Heâs been going for daily runs, he likes to keep it simple during the off-season, and that post has been getting more rickety every day. Now itâs swaying dangerously in the wind and he knows itâs about to tumble.
Thereâs no time to call out to the guy, so Steve just plows forward and tackles him out of the way.
They fall in a messy heap and Steve unfortunately lands heavily on top.
âHoly shit! What theâ ugh!â The guy heaves in pain and Steve hurries to scramble off of him.
âSorry, that post was about to fall on you, man. You alright?â
Pieces of grass stick to the guyâs long hair as he takes stock of Steve and what happened. With a labored breath, he surprisingly jokes, âGuess Iâm lucky the best football tackler alive happened to be right behind me.â
Itâs sarcastic as shit but Steve smiles with a tug of amusement as he offers his hand. âBaseball, actually.â
âYouâre in the wrong league, man,â he lets Steve pull him to his feet and groans on the way up. âWell, nice to meet you, Baseball, you pack a hell of a first impression. Iâm Eddie.â
Steve would appreciate his ability to joke so soon after taking a hit, but people are starting to gather around. Thereâs already phones pointed at them that probably caught the whole thing on camera. Steveâs used to public attention by now, knows the press is going to have a field day with this and he hates causing a scene, but he wants to make sure Eddie is okay.
âJust Steve is good. You wannaâŚ? This way,â he gestures toward the sidewalk and thankfully, Eddie seems just as eager to get out of there too, shuffling next to Steve as they round the corner.
Heâs wearing so much metal jewelry, itâs like a costume, the jingle jangle of his every step accentuating how shaken up he seems. They get far enough behind a building and Steve stops to have a real look at him and⌠well heâs interesting to look at.
Itâs like he hopped off the album cover of an 80s rock band, or one of Steveâs Bon Jovi posters that he hid under his bed in high school. Way too much leather and way too much hair for the California sun, all disheveled with grass and dirt.
âYou sure youâre okay? Here, you got a littleâŚâ Steveâs hand hovers until Eddie nods that itâs okay from him to pluck the grass from his hair and lightly brush the dust from his shoulders. Eddie watches him the whole time, his eyes big and dark, an intensity in them that Steve canât quite read but he can feel. âDidnât hit your head or anything, did you?â
Steve lowers his hands, stepping back a little when he realizes how close they are. Eddieâs eyes follow him, a slight quirk to his lips that makes Steve feel the heat of the sun a little warmer on his face.
âIâm touched by your concern, sweetheart, but my brain has been through worse damage than a little bump.â
Steve frowns at the ladder, but the first bit definitely makes him feel the heat. Heâs admittedly a bit out of practice but he can still recognize a come on. One that he definitely invited with all the touching and indulgent looks.
Then Eddie starts profusely thanking him for the whole ordeal, asking to treat him somewhere nearby for lunch. Itâs not that Steve doesnât want to, heâs very interested actually, and thankful that out of all the jewelry Eddieâs sporting, thereâs no wedding ring. Thatâs why heâs reluctant because heâs all sweaty at the moment. Not to mention, he didnât finish his run yet.
âSurely saving my life was enough cardio,â Eddie jokes lightly and Steve snorts.
âI saved you from a minor concussion, maybe,â and okay heâs gotta accept now.
The place is small and unassuming, burgers and sodas type joint. Steveâs likely to be recognized there, which he doesnât mind meeting fans in public just preferably not now, it might be jarring for Eddie.
He heads for the booth tucked in the back corner, the most private looking spot that Steve had his eyes on too. They get a round of sodas from the waitress and right away, Eddie starts thanking him again.
âI noticed that lamppost wobbling days ago,â Steve sparks a conversation instead of accepting any more thanks, âI was planning to let it fall on me so I could sue the shit out of the city.â
Heâs pleasantly startled by the big cackle that gets out of Eddie, âAny chance to stick it to the man. I admire that.â
ââCourse I wouldâve really stuck it to âem and donated it back to the community,â Steve adds.
âGiving the peopleâs money back to the people, imagine Big Brotherâs horror. Noble guy.â
Eddie seems to bubble with contagious delight that doesnât match his whole leather and chains thing at all, but it fits into the somewhat magic of him. It's a wonder to Steve.
âDo I know you from somewhere?â Eddie ventures, a glint of recognition in his eyes that Steveâs seen a thousand times. He doesnât ping Eddie as much of a sports guy and heâs not vain enough to assume everyone knows who he is. Eddieâs probably seen him while flipping the channel past ESPN or something. Or maybe an ad for that Netflix thing he did documenting last yearâs season.
âI think Iâd definitely remember you.â
Steve didnât mean it as a come-on, just that Eddieâs appearance really isnât forgettable, but he can tell by the wicked little grin Eddie sports that it was taken as one. Steve likes that even better.
âHave you ever modeled, or anything? Youâve got the looks for it.â
Biting back a smile of his own, Steve shakes his head. âI bet you say that to everyone who saves your life.â
âNone of them were half as good looking." That sounds concerning but Steveâs distracted by Eddie swirling his straw in his drink, regarding him with a long look. âReally though, I just feel like Iâve seen you before.â
Steveâs done a few covers of Sports Illustrated, but he doubts Eddie has ever picked up a copy of that, so he shrugs. âMustâve been in your dreams.â
Eddie laughs softer this time. âYou trying to sweep me off my feet or something?â
âAlready did.â Steve leans back, enjoying the way Eddieâs eyes follow him.
Conversation sparks and it never really dies out. Eddie just grabs topics out of thin air, talking about the city and what they like to do and movies and his amazement that Steve knows all about D&D because heâs a nerd magnet. Eddieâs personality spills through everything he says like it canât be contained. Heâs talkative in a good way, not to a point where Steve canât get a word in. He listens intently, has a way of putting all his attention onto Steve like heâs the most interesting person heâs ever spoken to.
Itâs surprisingly easy to relax. Not because Eddie has a super calming presence or anything, his energy is just all-encompassing, itâs hard for Steve not to get sucked in and hang on to every word he says. Itâs one of the rare times in public that heâs not hyper-aware of everyone around him and too paranoid of having a photo snapped and taken out of context to even enjoy himself.
That happens a lot, being one of the only professional athletes whoâs open about his sexuality. The media is extremely invasive with his private life. If heâs seen with any guy friend, thereâs a whole press storm about Steve Harringtonâs âsecret beauâ within the hour. Itâs ridiculous and he tries so hard to keep his lovelife under wraps that maybe heâs been neglecting it entirely, at least thatâs what Robin says.
Of course, thatâs when his phone lights up with a message from her. His heart sinks a little when he sees the title of the article she sent to him. He quickly shoots her a text and locks his phone without reading it.
âEverything alright?â Eddie notices the shift in Steveâs mood right away.
âYeah just,â he sighs, bracing for the inevitable part when Eddie realizes Steve isnât worth the hassle of all this, âSomeone filmed us earlier and now itâs all over the press. Iâm really sorry, I totally get it ifââ
âNah, donât worry about it, itâs fine. I figured that would happen,â Eddie brushes it off, but Steve shakes his head.
âI donât think you understand, itâsââ
âWanna bet?â Eddie smirks for some reason, âIâm fine with it, I promise.â
He tosses a chip into his mouth and picks right back up with the story he was telling.
Steve is stunned for a moment, wary that maybe Eddie doesnât fully grasp how deep this goes. But he stays there with Steve, seemingly thrilled to keep talking with him even when a family comes in and keeps staring their way, obviously building up the courage to come over and ask for a picture. Eddieâs acting like Steveâs the only person in the room and thatâs enough to assure Steve that heâs really fine with it.
Heâs so locked into Eddie, he barely registers when the older son from the familyâs table finally wanders over and asks for a picture.
Steve is in the middle of wiping his face with a napkin, about to greet him when suddenly, Eddie pops up and asks Steve to excuse him for a minute.
âCâmon little man, letâs do it,â he says and much to Steveâs confusion, the teen excitedly goes with Eddie to his familyâs table.
Steve watches, utterly baffled, as they start snapping photos and expressing what big fans they are and Eddie takes it with such bravado, laughing and chatting like heâs with a group of friends.
What theâ Steve grabs his phone, opening the article Robin sent him at lightning speed.
At first, he wonders how the press was able to find out Eddieâs full name so quickly, then he sees the words "troubled rockstar" and "recovering star" so many times, it becomes abundantly clear.
Oh.
Heâs not so worried about the troubled part, everyone has their shit and he doesnât read into any of it. Those are Eddieâs stories to tell Steve if he chooses, not some tabloid. But the rockstar part connects a lot of dots that have come up in the last couple of hours since meeting Eddie andâ
Yeah, just. Oh.
Part 2
#what if theyâre both secretly famous and clueless about each other#this is called âUpstagedâ#part two soon#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie fic#stranger things#steddie ficlet#rockstar eddie munson#baseball player steve harrington#famous steve harrington#meet cute#saved your life trope#famous eddie munson#rueswriting
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Title: Sacrifical Bride.
Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.
Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of RagnarĂśk).
Word Count: 3.0k.
TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.
The wedding was a solemn affair.
Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered âdullâ, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasnât one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gownâs train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and theyâd never once said a word to you.
There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing thatâd left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. Youâd always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, youâd spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, youâd find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.
As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that couldâve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. Heâd let you pick that out yourself, at least, and youâd taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure youâd never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you wouldâve liked.
There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. âOh, beloved.â His hand fell to your cheek. âYouâre as radiant as the day we met.â
The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day heâd forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. âPlease, donât draw this out.â
You were lucky youâd fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.
Youâd been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. Youâd managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies heâd suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.
You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. âPomegranates?â
âI thought it would be a nice touch.â For him, maybe. Heâd always struggled to see things from your perspective. âForgive my sentimentality.â
You wouldnât, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. âTo us, darling.â
You nodded. âTo us.â
He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.
~
A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed â your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.
Youâd hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didnât and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didnât settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.
When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct â your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldnât be able to forget as soon as he left the room. âPlease,â you said, not for the first time that day. âI⌠Iâd rather be alone, right now. If itâs all the same to you.â
His smile didnât waver. âYou know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,â he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. âBut we arenât done.â
Your expression fell. âIâve done everything youâve asked of me. I wore the dress, andâand I took your vows, andââ
âMy love,â he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. âOur union will have to be consummated, eventually.â
You felt your throat begin to swell shut.
âI know that, butââ You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy mightâve existed in his heart. ââdoes it have to be consummated now?â
You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. âI think,â he started, his voice muffled by proximity. âthat it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.â
It wasnât a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. âI donât want to hurt you.â And yet, your safety didnât seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. âIf I rely on my own self-restraint for another dayââ Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. âIâm afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.â
âLess than a day,â you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. âHalf a day. An hour. I justâ Hades, I canât do this right nowââ
âMy love.â Swift, blunt, merciless. Youâd been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. âI think Iâve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.â
Any protest you mightâve had died in your throat.
Youâd been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.
You wanted to scream. If you couldnât run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that heâd gotten everything he couldâve possibly wanted, but anything you mightâve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didnât draw blood, but he didnât have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. âHave I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?â You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, youâd had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.
Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it wouldâve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. âAnd you tried to play coy.â He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldnât touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he couldâve done not to draw it out. âThat mustâve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If youâd asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.â
Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation â bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. âYouâre a vice,â he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. âTo think my own wife wouldâve had me neglect her so severely for so long.â
You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldnât afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldnât afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. âIâm notââ
âDonât try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.â His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. âWhat a sensitive wife I have.â That word â that awful word â was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didnât deem it worth his concern. âI promise, youâll never feel so unloved in my care again.â
You wouldâve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods youâd once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. Heâd never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face â to the wide, fanged grin heâd been wearing for as long as you could remember.
He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.
The blow wouldâve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasnât. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.
Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.
âI wouldâve made love to you like a queen,â he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. âBut, if youâd rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, Iâm more than happy to oblige.â
You werenât allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal. There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.
It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything â all tongue and teeth â but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasnât far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you â his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.
You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that heâd had his fill of you and now, youâd be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. âOnce is a pitiful amount for a king. Donât you agree?â
You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.
âYou can forgive me when weâre done, love.â
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