#too exhausted to explain themselves ;-;

[monthofsick]

Day 6 - Post-Adrenaline Puke

fandom - SHINee

sickee - Onew

caretaker - mostly Key

summary - After a stage filming and a stressful schedule, Onew pukes in the car ride to a photo shoot.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: emeto, stress, overwork, motion sickness, real person fiction

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53746774

If this is too late, I'm sorry 😭

[semiotomatics]

:/

[chron0ph0bia]

you parents constantly telling u the shit that you've been trying to unlearn surely is smth

[pupkinpumpkin]

Thinking of Rook always having this mask of humor and chillness at all waking moments, but there are these little moments, where the worry and the stress and the fear are shown in a small downturn of the lips, a quiver of the voice, a furrow of the brow, or a nervous laugh. And then their mask is right back on.

The companions joke about how hard it is to read Rook or they comment on how confident they always look. Rook is their leader and sometimes they seem utterly untouchable.

Then they get sent to the Regret Prison. Everyone is obviously terrified and worried for their safety, but they don't imagine Rook being scared. They imagine Rook blazing through the prison, too stubborn and fierce to be kept down. So the only option is to meet them in the middle. Rook has inspired and helped them all so much that they spend those missing weeks working to get them out, because Rook would've done the same for them.

Finally, after weeks of trial and error, they find a tear in the Fade, just big enough to pull Rook out of. When they pull them out, they expect to see Rook exhausted but relieved. They expect a joke or for Rook to tease them for worrying so much. But that's not what they find.

They find Rook, shaken, sobbing, and scared. There is relief in their eyes, but that mask they always wore is gone, worn away by the prison, revealing all the terror and doubt that they tried so desperately to hide.

For the first time in this entire adventure, Rook is the one who needs to be comforted and taken care of. But that's a lie. Rook always needed help. They were just so busy helping the others with their problems that they never allowed themselves to feel the true weight of their emotions and they NEVER allowed their friends to see how fucking fragile they constantly were. How they were always so close to losing themselves. Rook never truly allowed anyone to see them. Not even their lover.

And now, in this moment where they are finally letting out everything they've kept so hidden, the companions rush to their side. Emmrich is checking if they're hurt, Bellara or Lucanis insists on making them food, Taash or Davrin go look for the comfiest blanket they can find(if Davrin is alive, that blanket is Assan), and, if Harding or Neve is there, they calm Rook down enough to where Rook can finally speak without their voice shaking. Rook's love holds them close while the others all sit around Rook and just listen.

Rook never expected anyone to take care of them, that was their job. They're the leader. Helping everyone else with their problems was enough. But as they explain what happened in the Regret prison, and realize that their friends don't judge or see them any less, Rook feels this profound sense of catharsis. Before Tearstone Island, all the companions set out to deal with their own problems and worries, with Rook by their side, and now each one is here for Rook as they finally let that mask fall and allow themselves to feel everything.

[homosexuhauls]

It's just bizarre that so many people managed to get to adulthood without learning the "two wrongs don't make a right" lesson

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Finding out that your ex-best friend might have smelt you in the Amortentia feels as surreal as you smelling him.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: harassment, non-consensual touching (non-sexual), insecurities

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

When you hear the door to the classroom swing open, slam into the wall, and as if on cue a chorus of laughs resound around the room, you know it's James and his imbecile friends.

Your lips thin into a tight-lipped smile as you send Marlene an exhausted look.

"Gentlemen," Slughorn drones on as he turns to look at the boys, who comedically trip over themselves to find their spots in the crowd of students, "You're late." 

"Evidently, Professor." Sirius Black quips and nudges his shoulder into James. The latter smirks.

James has somehow found his way next to you. He hasn't done it on purpose but when he turns his head and sees you beside him, his smirk turns into a wide smile.

A smile that never fails to make your knees shake and your heart feel like it could explode.

"Y/n," James whispers. 

"Hi Potter," you roll your eyes, hiding a smile behind faux frustration.

You and James aren't friends. Well, unless you counted the years from ages four to eleven, when you had been inseparable. You'd grown apart these last years and while you'd cried over your lost friendship in first year, you had decided it was for the best to distance yourself from him anyway. 

Having a crush on your best friend is incredibly cliché.

Still, although you weren't friends in the same way as you had been, James has always been kind to you.

He says hello to you when he sees you in the hallway. You have had pleasant conversations in passing, and when his family occasionally has yours over – for old times sake – you both sit on the balcony outside his window and talk as if nothing has changed. 

You shift away from James a little, feeling too close to him, and cross your arms. You turn your attention to Slughorn as he clears his throat and lifts the lid from the pot, "Very well then,"

His sentence is drowned out by the soft, delicate smell that fills the room. You pin-point the scent of broom-polish immediately. Rosemary, vanilla, bergamot and cedar. Your expression falls. Bergamot and cedar. Your head spins and you wonder if James put on too much cologne this morning or if — 

Your mind suddenly goes completely blank when you feel James's breath against your ear, uttering exactly what you had been wondering, but this time about you, "Hey, did you put on more perfume than usual? I can smell it from here," his voice is teasing and you feel just a little fainter than you already had been. 

"Amortentia," Slughorn interrupts, "The most powerful love potion to exist. It smells differently to everyone, depending on what attracts them — or sometimes who attracts them," He continues on, explaining the dangers of the potion, but you aren't listening anymore. 

You look up. James has gone quiet and he's staring at the bubbling liquid, a vacant look in his eyes. Your heart clenches and you turn your head, inclining it down. You must have heard him wrong. James must have been confused.

A pit forms in your stomach when James moves away from you, leaving your side feeling empty. You hear him laugh with Remus and your hand squeezes around your arms. 

You hadn't worn any perfume this morning.

"Hey, Y/n/n," You're pulled from your thoughts when William, another Gryffindor, comes up from behind you and shoves into your shoulder so he's standing next to you.

"I knew I'd smell someone as hot as you in there," He teases, leaning in close. "Just like fucking vanilla," Williams brings his hand into your hair, twirling some strands in his fingers as he presses his nose close to your temple and inhales. 

"Hey," You move your head away, feeling disgusted. William just barks out a laugh and his arm extends to grab yours. Suddenly, you're almost pushed to the side when James stands in front of you and shoves William away. The boy bumps into the cauldron and the Amortentia spills all over the floor. 

"All three of you," Slughorn suddenly booms, his cheeks flushed crimson, "McGonagall. Now."

So you find yourself standing in the middle of James and William in McGonagall's office. The older woman is sitting at her desk, her arms crossed as she stares at you all from behind her small glasses. She looks at William first considering his shirt is drenched in the thick liquid from the Amortentia, "What happened?"

"Potter shoved me," Williams states quickly, glaring at James.

"And I'd do it again," James snarls, crossing his arms. 

McGonagall looks utterly exhausted at their bickering and turns her attention to you. "What about you, Miss Y/l/n, care to explain what happened?"

William sends you a dark look, but when you look at James his expression is soft. "William made me uncomfortable in class and when James saw, he accidentally shoved him into the Amortentia and it spilled all over."

"It wasn't an accident! He did it on purpose!" William argues like a child and James sends him a knowing smirk.

"Oh yeah, the shove was intentional," he grins wolfishly, "Although, I didn't mean to knock the potion over, Minnie," James looks over at McGonagall and this time he looks a little sheepish. McGonagall just stares at him as if he has gone insane and then she looks at you.

"You can leave, Miss Y/l/n," she says and looks back at the boys and hums, "You two may not."

You glance at James a little nervously but he sends you a reassuring smile. So, you ignore William's loud complaining and thank McGonagall as you walk out of her classroom.

* * *

A few hours later, when you're walking out of the Great Hall after dinner, you and your friends run into James again. He's also with his friends, leaning against the wall, and they're laughing obnoxiously loud.

However, when James sees you his smile widens. "Ladies," he says, crossing his arms cheekily.

"Gentlemen," your lips curl into a smirk as you nod at Sirius, Remus, and Peter. James tilts his head at his friends, his expression quirking almost as if he's annoyed that you mentioned them and not him. 

"You feeling okay?" James asks. 

You stare at him, trying to understand exactly what he means.

Does he really care or is he only asking because he's in trouble because of you. Is it mocking?

You start to overthink and James can sense it. So, he moves a little closer to you and you can smell his cologne. It sends heat creeping up your neck.

He asks again. "After what happened with William," he whispers, "when he made you uncomfortable. Are you okay?" James looks genuine and you see his hand hesitating to touch your arm.

You look up at him, staring into his eyes, "O-Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I was just - I didn't think anyone would have smelt me in that potion," you laugh, rambling because that's what you do when you're nervous. You can see James's expression shift into a small smile.

"You'd be surprised," he says, rubbing his nape, "Hey, can we talk in private? I wanted to ask you something?"

Once you say yes, you find yourself in a small, empty, classroom with James. You lean against a desk, hand gripping the edge as you stare at him. "What's up?" you ask. James has never asked you to talk like this.

"My mum is having one of her family dinners for Christmas," James starts, "I wanted to invite you, personally," he adds, as if he's been rehearsing. 

Usually, his mother will invite yours and then by proxy you'll show up. But, this is different. "You want me to come?" your eyebrow raises in confusion, "Personally?"

"Yeah," he sounds unsure, "I mean we're friends, right?"

Is that what we are, you want to ask him but you don't. "I didn't think we were friends anymore," You say honestly and James's expression falls.

He fiddles with his hands nervously but walks closer until he's directly in front of you. You lean away from him and into the desk, chin tilted up to look at him. 

"I'm an idiot," he whispers, looking at you intensely, "I shouldn't have let you slip out of my hands like that. I, well, miss you, a lot."

You listen to him with harsh breaths, trying to understand where this all comes from and why now.

James's hand reaches out and hovers over your cheeks until he holds you and brings you closer to his face. Your eyes round. You're so sure he'll kiss you with how close you are and by the way he's looking at you. You don't have time to make up your mind if you'd want to kiss him or not, because instead, he guides your cheek to his chest and his arms wrap around you. 

He crushes you into a hug. 

Your breath escapes you in a sigh, "James?"

"Y/n," he says your name smoothly and soothes a hand down your hair, "You smell like vanilla and cinnamon. With just a hint of freshly-mowed grass, probably because whenever I see you after a Quidditch match you always have some grass in your hair, right here," James says in a whisper and his finger traces behind your ear.

"Usually from a small tumble," he adds, "You're so clumsy sometimes."  

You pull away only to have him hold you closer. 

"I can't keep pretending I don't think about you," he admits and that sends all emotions crashing over you. You stare at him, lips parted and eyebrows creased, as you try and understand the meaning behind the words. "I smelt you in the Amortentia," James admits.

"You smelt me? You're joking."

James suddenly frowns and he watches as you practically try and sink into the desk behind you. He can take a hint and he moves away. "What? No?" 

You feel your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. "You aren't joking?"

James's face softens and he smiles. "Of course I'm not – I smelt you and also your perfume which," his smile turns into a smirk, "I can tell you aren't wearing right now." James chuckles happily, his eyes crinkling in the corners and your heart flutters. "Merlin I gave myself away in that classroom, didn't I, love?" 

Your insides become mush at the nickname and you find yourself nodding. 

James looks at you fondly even when he says, "I understand if you don't feel the same. If I'm not the boy you like or a boy you want. I have been a foolish ass for the majority of our time here at school. I've ignored you and worse than that, I let myself forget how lucky I was to have you as my friend and I'm so sorry."

As you hear his words, you can feel tears brim in your eyes. James's fond smile disappears and he starts to panic. "Hey, hey, hey!" his hands cup around your cheeks without even thinking. "I don't want to make you cry, love. Y-you're okay," he promises frantically. 

James is so close. His cologne has invaded your senses until you can't think clearly. All you can do is lean in closer until your nose brushes his. James is surprised but when he looks into your eyes, his body relaxes as he understands what you want. You like to think it's all the years you were friends that makes it so easy for James to understand.

"You want me to kiss you?" he whispers, his voice husky and low.

You feel warm all over as his arm slides behind you and he holds your lower back, waiting for a yes so he can pull you closer. You nod, smiling. You wonder if I have to tell him he's the one you smelled in the potion or if he'll understand by the way you kiss him. 

James's lips press onto yours. He's testing the waters, making sure he's not moving too quickly or too slowly. You let your hand find his hair as you pull him closer. James's hand wraps around you and in the passion, he hoists you up onto the desk behind you and you pull him in.

You kiss him like you've never kissed anyone and it takes your hand on his chest to snap James back into reality. He gently disconnects your lips and leans his forehead on yours.

His eyes are still closed when he says, "Shh, we have all the time in the world. I don't plan on letting you slip away from me again, Y/n," he says it like a promise. Like a prayer. 

Finally, you speak, "James. I missed you," you admit in a whisper. 

James holds you closer. "I missed you more. You don't know how much you mean to me." 

You laugh, feeling how close he is and how badly he doesn't want to drop your hand. "I think I can guess," you say teasingly.

James shakes his head. "My love goes beyond any words I could possibly muster." 

You stare at him with a raised eyebrow. "Since when is James Potter such a hopeless romantic?" 

James grins, his hand sliding down to your thigh as he draws soothing circles on your skin, "He's always been a romantic, darling. He just hasn't had the chance to show you," he whispers and quickly kisses the tip of your nose. 

"Well, he can start now," you smile.

James nuzzles his nose into your shoulder. "So, does this mean that we're friends again?"

You pull away and send him a playful look. "Can this mean we're more than friends now?"

James looks into your eyes and deep in his brown ones, you can see his sincerity, "We'll be whatever you want, love," he says. He hugs you close and your face is buried in his neck. You sniff, your smile widening.

You whisper into his neck, "Bergamot and cedar."

James chuckles, still holding you, "What was that, love?"

"Nothing," you smile, simply content with holding him. 

[zvdvdlvr]

Do I Look Scared? + Silco

Synopsis: You’re Silco’s bodyguard. Nothing more, nothing less. Until you heroically take a bullet for him.

You and Sevika had grown close during your time working for Silco. So close, in fact, she considered you blood: and having a bond so tight in a world so cruel meant everything. Tonight was one of the only slow-paced nights at the bar, which gave you the rate opportunity to snatch a bottle of bourbon and have a ‘gossiping session’ with Sevika about the scandals, murders, and secrets you’d encountered on the job.

“I’m not telling him anything,” you say with finality as you pass the bottle to the other woman. “Emotions only get into the way of the job.”

Sevika clucked after taking a swig of the alcohal. “Yeah, but have you considered that he reciprocates your affection?”

You scoffed. Tracing the edge of your bloodstained finger with your blade, you let your head thunk into the wall behind you vibrating with bass from the music below. “No. He does not. Besides, I do not care at all. I do my job and I get paid,” you explain. Sevika shoots you a glare over the rim of the bottle. “It is better this way. Everyone I get close to dies or leaves anyway,” you drawl, grasping the neck of the offered bottle.

From across you, the other woman sighed. “You meed to pull your head from your ass and see what’s right in front of you. If you don’t make a move now, there will be a day you can’t.”

“Sev,” you say. “I don’t care about anything except my money.”

Sevika lets you shove the bottle into her chest as you check your watch and stand up. You’re on your way to get paid, no doubt.

As you make the trek to Silco’s office, Sevika shakes her head. She knows you’re lying- you do care about Silco. But she also knows you want to remain as detatched from everything as possible so it’s easier for you to leave when you make that decision. Sevika just wishes you knew that Silco doesn’t let his eyes stay glued to just any bodyguard.

Oh well, she thinks, letting her eyes flutter shut.

“Good morning,” you greet.

Silco looks up and watches you slide into your designated spot on his couch. “Good morning, y/n. I imagine you are mentally prepared for the meeting later?”

A sly smile pulls at your lips that pulls at your one dimple. “I’m prepared for anything, Silco.”

The man told his head up and leans back in his chair. “I know,” he says. He can’t count how many times you had jumped into action to protect the Eye of Zaun. Too many times have you put yourself in front of bullets to prevent them from reaching their tatget and each time grew harder for Silco to tolerate as he grew more amd more fond of you.

Though he had the solace of knowing none of the bullets had ever buried themselves in your flesh, his fear was that one day you would be hit. Fatally.

“I understand you are aware of the repercussions of your actions,” Silco spoke to the three of trenchers in front of you.

You stood beside Silco, to the right of him with your hands at your side. The group in front of him had broken the deal Silco had offered- choosing to disregard his warnings of provoking the other dealers under Silco’s protection. An exhausting, stupid, and uninteresting experience overall, you conclude boredly. Until-

Click. Your left eye twitches as you focus your ears for the-

Click. Again. Realization flashes in your eyes at the same time the third gun cocks. “Guns,” you bark out, stepping forward with your gun drawn.

You fire two bullets at the two mutated men on the left as you shove Silco down behind the wooden chair. As two bodies fall, it seems at least ten more burst through the doors of the abandoned building chosen for the ‘meeting’. “I’m hungry,” you mutter absently as you drop three more lackeys. You duck under the fist of a stocky man. You sweep his feet from under him and bring your steel-toed boot down onto his head without glance as you send a bullet straight into another woman’s head.

“Are you seriously thinking of food while my life is in danger?” Silco asks dryly.

You scoff. “Do I look scared?” You leap at a pair of legs and bring down the lackey. Holding his body in front of you as a shield, you easily take out the last four shooters. Dropping the body riddled with bullet holes, you rush to Silco.

“No,” he answers quietly. “You don’t look scared.” He lets you pull him to his feet and examine him closely. “Y/n.”

You are still determining if the bloodstain donning his leather jacket is his or not when he steps closer to you and hesitates before placing his hands on your face. You feel his thumb rub gently at the dripping blood from your face as his eyes search yours. “Boss?”

“You… Y/n, I don’t know how to say this,” he starts. His feather-light hold on your complexion tightens as his breath shakes.

“Am I fired?” You ask, dread filling your face as you attempt to step back.

“No, y/n, you-“

On your right, you see movement concealed by the table. As you reach from your gun, you realize you missed one of the lackeys. “Fuck,” you curse, wrapping one arm over Silco and falling to the ground as the random fucking machine gun the idiot lackey somehow acquired fires. You shoot, but miss and hit the wood.

Silco groans under you, arms tight around your waist. You don’t realize his lanky legs are wrapped around your legs as you wrap your arm over his head for protection.

For a split, weak second, Silco’s eyes close as his limbs tighten around you for the illusion, that maybe you could be his and he, yours. You smell like gunpowder, the jasmine and saffron perfume you always wear, and the familiar iron fround in blood. Silco hears his ears ringing but if that’s the price he has to pay for your hand in his hair, then that shall be what he pays.

Silco is still zoned out when you flinch violently on top of him. You squirm to the other side and tighten your hold on him like a boa constrictor on it’s prey- and even though Silco is used to being the predator, he doesn’t mind. And then finally, he stops hearing the gunshots and his ears stop ringing. And when his ears stop ringing, a��� longing fills his senses as you pull your protective hold from his head and roll off of him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, sitting up with a wince. “Silco?” You wince as you sit up, grabbing his chin and turning his head back and forth looking for blood or injury.

“I’m fine,” Silco answers. “Let’s go.”

As he brings himself to his feet, he gathers his senses and pushes his disappointment of not having your touch down to the bile in his stomach for the acid to dissolve. When you are not immediately at his side, he sees you sway on your feet and press sharply on your side.

“Y/n.” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet as he watches your chest heave as you fumble to put your gun into it’s holster.

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “I need to get you-“

“Y/n.”

Silco easily beats your limp with his long strides and pulls your hand from your side. Thick, dark blood stains your hands and bleeds into your shirt. “You cannot think I would not find out about this,” Silco informs you with a reprimanding tone.

You throw your hands up and immediately wobble. Silco reaches out to steady you as you answer: “As long as you are safe, I couldn’t give two shits if I got shot between the eyes,” you rasp. “This is what I’m paid to do,” you remind him.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line. “Do not ever say something so careless about yourself again.”

You look at him in confusion as he wraps your arm over his shoulder and takes a step forward. “Okay.”

Silco finally scooped you into his arms and started the trek to The Last Drop- which, was luckily only one block away. “Keep your eyes open,” he told you.

If you weren’t so lightheaded you would have thought he cooed at you. “Okay, boss.”

“Tell me something, y/n,” Silco said, glancing down at your crumpled form. He felt his jaw tighten as your face screwed up in pain as Silco took a step. He felt guilty for jostling your injured body around so much. “Tell me anything.”

Your breathing has slowed considerably. “I…” your hand reaches up to trace the curve of Silco’s nose as you fail to gather your thoughts. “I used to dance. Ballet. My mama… she was a dancer. My papa was a fighter. When I told my pa I wanted to start boxing like him, he told me I had to dance if I wanted…” you yawn and feel your head grow heavy. Your arm is too heavy to lift. Normally, that would bother you but you’re in Silco’s arms. “If I wanted to be ‘swift as a fox and precise as a snake’.”

Silco’s hard eyes soften. He quivers as you run you knuckles over his chest. “Do you still talk to them? Your mama and papa?”

“Nah,” you drawl. “Papa, mama, and Derri are dead. They… I don’t want to talk ‘bout ‘em.”

“Who’s Derri?” Silco asks.

You answer despite your ‘I don’t wanna talk about them’. Silco feels his heart beat irregularly as you burrow into his body as he carries you home. “My brother.”

Silco stays quiet. When you don’t elaborate further, he looks down and sees your eyes closed. “Y/n. Y/n!”

You blink owlishly. “Silco.”

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you reply. “My side hurts really bad and you’re carrying me. That’s not… Am I fired?”

Silco turns the corner to the main street and sees the familiar sign. “No, y/n. I would give you anything- even a job- should you ever need it.”

“I’ll be okay, right?” You ask, blearily examining Silco’s eyes for any sign of lies.

“Do I look scared?”

Blinking, a small smile pulls at your lips at the words you spoke earlier. “No,” you yawn. “You don’t look scared.”

You can’t hear Silco’s next words because you are too preoccupied with falling unconscious.

Silco shifts in his seat when he hears you cough. It’s when you try to pull your hand from his does he open his eyes. His mouth opens and he feels a wave of relief crash into him because you’re awake. “Hello, y/n.”

You shoot him a wry smile and attempt to sit up. When Silco wordlessly pushes your fatigued body back to the bed, you decide it better to lie till and be a bad bodyguard. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have-“

“What? Shouldn’t have done your job flawlessly and get yourself injured saving my life? Y/n, darling, do not apologize for things that are my fault,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “Forgive me if I’m reading the situation wronf, but… I care for you. More than necessary. I will be here for you unless you tell me to walk away and leave you to your life. But believe me when I say: thank you. Thank you y/n, but never do that again.”

You blink. “Silco,“ you begin with a raspy voice. “Slow down… for my sake. Just, be here. Or,” you shrug. “I know you probably have work to do. If you want to leave and work on that, I won’t be offended-“

“Let me be here for you.” Silco finally asserted.

You just smile and look down to see his nimble fingers tenderly tracing your veins and occupying himself with you. “Okay.”

[prythianpages]

Out of My Head | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader x Eris | Your father, the Night Court’s astrologer, is called to Velaris and you tag along with the hopes of catching a glimpse of Azriel, the one you’re madly in love with. The opportunity for Azriel to show you around comes up and you take it, unaware that things are about to become messy…

warning: this was meant to be cute & short to show your relationship with Az but it ended up being 5,685 words oops lol, some angst, rhys kinda being an asshole again

a/n: Eris does make an appearance in this if you look closely 🤭 I tried to write this fic off as a stand alone so it's still easy to follow but if you need more context, here is the masterlist.

Meeting Azriel had felt like fate, as if the stars and his shadows themselves had conspired to cross your paths. Becoming his friend had been a choice. But falling in love with him? That was out of your control, like being swept away by a tide you hadn’t noticed rising. 

Now, you were drowning and happy to drown. To let the flood of him consume you entirely. Every time you’d see him, even from afar, it’d fill your chest with a feeling you couldn’t explain, your heart leaping at the mere thought of catching his gaze.

You welcomed the flood of emotions, let it carry you to depths you’d never dared to explore. Your heart was so irrevocably his, you had no desire to find the surface.

So when Rhysand had invited your father to Velaris to discuss his first born’s birth chart, you insisted on coming along. It had taken days of pleading to wear down his resolve, but you had done it. Manifested it, rather, with the help of the moonwater you kept hidden beneath your bed.

Seeing Azriel was not guaranteed, as you were unsure if he’d even be in Velaris. But that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to go. Leaving behind the harshness of the Court of Nightmares, even for a short while, was reward enough. And if fortune smiled upon you, perhaps your father would let you assist with the reading, just this once.

Your father had never quite embraced your desire to follow in his footsteps.  The way he’d look at both you and your brother with that disappointed gleam in his eyes stung. He had always hoped you would stay at home and learn the ways of a “perfect,” traditional Night Court wife, much like your mother. His dreams of a successor rested squarely on your brother’s shoulders, not yours. But much to his dismay and your relief, your brother had chosen to become a warrior in Keir’s army.

Everything you knew of astrology, you’d learned by sneaking into his sessions, stealing glances at his star charts, or losing yourself in the dusty books of the Night Court’s observatory. That cold, stone-walled tower had become your sanctuary—your only glimpse of the night sky.

Though still in the Night Court, the air in Velaris was different. It felt cleaner, lighter. Freer. A wonderful contrast to the oppressive weight of the Court of Nightmares. You took a deep breath, savoring the rare glimpse of the day sky from the High Lord’s impressive townhouse, your father having just winnowed you both.

The sun felt so warm and soothing against your skin. Too caught up in the beauty of the daytime sky, you didn’t notice when your father abruptly stopped. You walked straight into him, sending the heavy box and stack of books in your arms tumbling to the ground.

A hiss of disapproval escaped your father as he turned to scowl at you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, quickly dropping to your knees to gather the scattered items.

“I should’ve left you at home,” he said with an exhausted sigh.

"But who then would assist you in bearing the weight of all these books, given the state of your back? Rest assured, my arms are more than capable,” you said with a huff as you slowly rose back to your feet, arms overwhelmed with the weight of your father’s things. “I shall gladly bear the burden for you, father."

“Clearly.” Your father said dryly, his gaze pointedly lingering on the dented corner of one of the boxes.

You winced at his tone, grateful his back was turned to you again. The door to the High Lord’s and High Lady’s house opened, the former being the one to greet you. Even Rhysand was different here. His violet eyes gleamed warmly, free of the cruelty he wore like armor in the Court of Nightmares. The smile he sent you both softened some of the tension knotting your chest.

 “Damus, Y/n,” he greeted. “I appreciate you both coming all this way.”

Rhysand gestured for you to follow him. This was not your first time in Velaris but it was your first time meeting Rhysand in a private residence of his here. You couldn’t hold back the small gasp that escaped you as you marveled at the beauty around. Paintings, no doubt crafted by the hands of your High Lady, adorned the wall and there was light. So much light and warmth in this house. It truly felt like a home. No stone walls, no darkness, no cold.

There was a flutter in your chest when you felt something cool and velvet-like brush against your legs. You instinctively glanced down, though the books obstructed your view. And when you looked back up, there it was–that giddy leap in your heart.

Azriel immediately rose from the couch he had been seated on, his hazel eyes meeting yours before they dropped to the weight in your arms. With a few swift steps, he was in front of you, plucking the boxes and books from your grip as though they weighed nothing. You exhaled softly, your thanks barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears.

Azriel smiled, shadows curling gently around him as he shifted closer. “I wasn’t sure you’d be coming along today,” he murmured.

“Neither was I,” you admitted, turning your head toward him as you continued to walk. “But I’m glad I did.”

“So am I,” Azriel said.

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you quickly averted your gaze. Azriel was glad you were here. Perhaps, even waiting for you, hoping for you to show up. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Perhaps it was proof of what you’d always suspected—that the bond you felt pulling you toward him wasn’t one-sided. A spark of vindication flared as you imagined Eris sneering at you from some dark corner of your mind. If only he were here to witness this moment. To see just how wrong he’d been.

Azriel did like you and it was only a matter of time before it evolved into something more.

You frowned, shaking the thought away. Why were you even thinking about Eris? And since when did proving anything to him matter?

“Y/n.” Your father’s sharp tone dragged you back to reality. “The books.”

“Oh,” you breathed, glancing at Azriel, who still held them. Before you could speak, your father’s gaze darkened as he realized the task you were supposed to handle had been passed off.

Azriel’s jaw tightened but he said nothing as he handed the books and boxes over.

You moved to follow your father into the study, but he blocked your path, his glare cutting through you. “Stay here and don’t cause trouble,” he said before the door shut with a resounding thud.

You flinched, staring at the closed door. “Sweet Cauldron,” you muttered under your breath, “did Mercury retrograde move into his mood?”

A shadow curled around your wrist, the soft caress of it soothing the sting of your father’s dismissal. The corner of your lips lifted slightly. Azriel had told you once how the shadows came to him during a time of unbearable darkness, offering comfort when nothing else could. They showed him that darkness wasn’t inherently wicked, that it could hold its own kind of solace and strength.

Azriel had also told you that his shadows didn’t approach others. At least not like this, so openly and friendly. To them, you were one of the few exceptions, having met them before you properly acquainted yourself with their master.

You often wondered why. Did they sense the sorrow you tried to bury beneath and conceal? The longing that seeped into your soul–longing not just for their master but for freedom, for a life beyond the suffocating confines of the Court of Nightmares?

Your gaze lifted, finding Azriel’s attention focused on the tendril wrapped around your wrist. His hazel eyes darkened slightly, thoughtful, as if trying to decipher a mystery.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now?”

Azriel blinked, his attention falling back to you, gaze softening. The siphons on his leathers caught the light and your eye. You followed the movement of his arms as he slid his hands into the pocket of his leathers and wondered what they’d look like in casual clothing. And how far did those tattoos stretch, the ones that peeked above his collar and disappeared into those leathers? 

“We could go for a walk?”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “A walk?”

Azriel sauntered closer to you and a tingly sensation bubbled up in your stomach. “It’s a beautiful day outside and I would hate for you to waste it in here.”

“But my father…”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Azriel replied with a small, sly grin that felt almost boyish, his shadows dancing around him. He then gestured toward the door to Rhysand’s study, where some of his shadows had already slithered beneath the gap, lying in wait.  “Your father will be in there for a while. And besides, I did promise you I’d show you around, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip in contemplation, gaze flickering between the door and Azriel. This was what you’d wanted, been hoping for, wasn’t it? A chance to see Azriel, and now here he was, offering you his time. Your heart leaped at the opportunity, already screaming yes.

But your mind wasn’t so easily swayed. What if your father needed you? Wouldn’t this be your perfect chance to prove your worth, to show him how capable you were? Then again, the way he had dismissed you earlier, slamming the door in your face, made it clear he wasn’t expecting or even wanting your help…

“Only if you’d like, of course,” Azriel added, his tone soft. He must’ve sensed your troubled thoughts. “I can always keep you company here instead.”

The flutter in your chest returned with full force. Azriel seemed to really want to spend time with you. Alone. And as much as you admired the beauty of the High Lord’s house, the promise of fresh air, open skies, and Azriel’s company was too tempting to resist.

You found yourself nodding, your heart overriding your head. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

**

Velaris continued to take your breath away. 

Children darted between market stalls, their faces alight with pure delight as they chased one another without fear. So incredibly and unbelievably different to the cold silence and rigid rules of propriety in Hewn City. Here, no one glanced over their shoulder with suspicion or hurried along with their head bowed.

The people of Velaris moved freely. Kindness radiated from strangers who greeted one another warmly, who paused to chat in the bustling markets or helped an elder carry their bags. Artists lined the streets, painting the city’s beauty on canvas while musicians filled the air with beautiful melodies.

Azriel led you through the city, showing you as many places he could. He took you to a small bakery first, where he swore the best chocolate croissants were made. Then, to a cafe that sold a variety of appetizing teas. You drank it all in, committing the wonders of Velaris to memory.

As you walked along a bridge, the river’s gentle current caught your eye. It was broad daylight yet, the water glimmered like liquid starlight. You paused, resting against the bridge’s railings. Azriel moved to stand beside you, tucking in his wings so they wouldn’t bump against you. 

You couldn’t help but think how unfair life could be. For a place such as Hewn City to exist at the same time as this one. Both of the same court, yet so divided. And why had you been born in the wrong one? 

Azriel picked up on the way your expression had fallen. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said and at the way Azriel’s eyes watched you closely, you knew he was not convinced. You let out a soft sigh, relenting.  

“It’s just…I thought places like this only existed in my dreams,” you glanced down at your hands. “And now, I just can’t help but dread my attendance at the next Court of Nightmare’s ball even more…when I could be here instead, watching the stars from the City of Starlight itself..free of any worry, any burdens.”

Azriel frowned at the hidden implication of your words.

A dark tendril fluttered toward you, brushing the hair that had fallen back behind your ear. Another softly brushed against your face and wiped a stray tear away. More went to you, wrapping around your hands, seeking to give you comfort and you honestly weren’t sure if it was of their own will or Azriel’s.

Their comfort brought you back to the fateful night you first met them. You’d known of them–of the Night Court’s shadowsinger, at least–long before you actually knew them. The same way you had known Cassian was the Night Court’s leading general and Morrigan, the court overseer.

**

Things had changed after the events under the mountain. High Lord Rhysand had gathered the Court of Nightmares council, a tense meeting filled with bitter accusations thrown across the room. Keir and a few other noble lords, including your father, sat around the table, each one arguing fiercely over who did what under Amarantha’s rule.

As the heated exchange unfolded, your father’s loyalty was questioned, and the words left you unsettled. You had nearly spilled wine over one of the lords in your discomfort, hands trembling as you failed to properly grip the chalice.

But then, a dark shape emerged from the shadows, winding its way around your wrist like a silent guardian. The shadow stayed there, curling around you in such a way that was strangely comforting.

You had snuck glances at the shadowsinger then. 

Azriel stood just behind Rhysand, his face a stoic mask. His attention was elsewhere, either unaware or pretending to be, of the shadow that had strayed from him and wrapped around you.

A break was called. And then, Keir, always the one to provoke, threw an insult at your father. You had no control over your tongue, the words slipping from you without thought. It was in defense of your family but speaking out of turn was a dangerous thing for a female to do. Especially in this court. 

And though you had done it in your father’s defense, he did not return the favor. His face twisted in a mixture of disgust and disapproval, making you feel smaller than you ever had.

Keir’s face reddened with rage and as he glared at you, the shadow around your wrist tightened. Azriel’s eyes flashed, a cold, sharp stare locking onto Keir. It was the closest thing to protection anyone had offered you in this ruthless court. It left you stunned and wide-eyed. 

You had been quickly dismissed by your father then. The weight of your court’s cruelty pressed down on you, suffocating. You fled, finding an empty room, locking yourself away in a cold, lonely corner of the building.

And then the tears came. You didn’t even notice the darkness that had formed around you, so accustomed to the shadows yourself. But this wasn’t the same darkness. This one was… different. Comforting. Protective.

You could only stare at them in awe, one hand reaching upwards to touch the shadows.

But when the door creaked open, your hand fell back to your side. Fear had risen in your throat as your gaze shot to the tall figure in the doorway. You shifted backwards, your back hitting the stone wall behind you, fearing the worst. It was the shadowsinger. And he had come to punish you on behalf of your father.

But he did no such thing.

His eyes swept over the shadows surrounding you—his shadows. The mask of indifference he always wore slipped for just a moment. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, shock flashing in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, sending the shadows a look that had them slithering back to him, albeit reluctantly. “If they’ve scared you. They don’t normally do this…are you alright?”

You blinked the tears from your eyes. “You’re not going to punish me?”

His brow furrowed deeper, confusion crossing his face. “Punish you? For what?”

There was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, followed by a soft exhale. He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. His shadows swirled around him, some curling around his ear, whispering to him. Whatever they whispered to him had his expression softening.

“If anyone needs punishment, it’s Keir. For having the nerve to talk to you like that.”

Azriel took your silence as an invitation. He lowered himself, slowly, attentive to the way your breath hitched. Finding no resistance from you, he flared his wings slightly to allow him to settle on the floor across from you. His boots brushed against your shoes, and he gave a quiet apology. Others had done much worse and yet, no one had ever apologized to you.

“I’m Azriel,” he told you with a small smile, quickly adjusting himself to the cramped space. “You’ve met my shadows. Though I control them, they don’t always listen. Sometimes, they follow their own will. I really hope they didn’t frighten you.”

You were still frozen in disbelief, but in that moment, something inside you shifted. A spark of hope—a spark you hadn’t known existed in the Court of Nightmares, didn’t know could exist.  

“They didn’t. They’re nice,” you admitted quietly, gaze following the movement of his shadows. Your eyes then met Azriel’s, surprised at the warmth you saw in them.

And then slowly, you felt your body relax. “I’m y/n…”

**

A shadow wrapped itself around your wrist, squeezing you gently, pulling you from your thoughts. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one from that night.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured sheepishly, the same way he always did when his shadows caught him off guard.  “They really like you.”

The shadow unraveled from your wrist, slowly and reluctantly. It returned to Azriel, the others that had begun to surround you doing the same.

“S’okay,” you shrugged, though a small wave of disappointment settled over you at the thought of his shadows acting on their own will and not his. “I like them too. My little friends, they keep me company during those dreaded court events. Them and Eris, though the latter isn’t exactly one I welcome…”

Azriel’s body tensed at the mention of the Autumn male.

“But it’s strange,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Azriel this. “Despite all the insults he throws my way, he’s somehow kinder than all the other males at court. Maybe Autumn males are–”

“Please, don’t ever pair Eris and the word ‘kind’ in the same sentence,” Azriel interjected, his tone filled with disbelief. “You have to be careful around him, Y/n. I don’t know why he gravitates toward you…” Your heart stuttered in your chest and Azriel's gaze hardened. “But he’s not to be trusted. If he continues to bother you…”

Was that… jealousy? The thought made your pulse quicken, but you kept your expression steady.

“He’s fine,” you said, your voice a little too casual. Azriel went still, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. You felt the heat rise in your neck, and you hastily added, “I mean—it's fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Azriel insisted. He turned to face you fully, and your stomach fluttered at the intensity in his gaze. “I can handle him for you.”  

Azriel’s presence alone was enough to make anyone think twice before crossing you. It sure kept Keir from lashing back at you all those years ago and the handsy, sickening males away from you during court events. You knew he would handle Eris without hesitation. So you should’ve said yes, and accepted his offer. 

But, as the words settled on your tongue, you hesitated. You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

However strange and uncomfortable your encounters with Eris often were, there was something intriguing about him. Something that pulled at you despite his sharp words and caustic demeanor. It was almost like a game, a dance of sorts, and you found yourself drawn to it. To him, more than you cared to admit.

A small part of you wanted to continue this twisted back-and-forth with him. He was not a welcome companion but one whose absence would, much to your denial or disbelief, go noticed. The way he challenged you, made your pulse quicken, even when you didn’t want it to. The way his eyes lingered just a little too long, and how he always seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin…

No. You didn’t want Azriel to step in. Not yet. Not while this strange curiosity about Eris still simmered beneath your skin. 

“I can handle it,” you murmured, though the words felt more like a reassurance to yourself than to him. Your gaze trailed after the fae strolling along the river’s edge. Before Azriel could protest, you turned to him with a smile, changing the conversation. “Can we walk along the shore?”

The Sidra river was even lovelier up-close. With the sun beginning to set, the sky blushed in hues of pinks and oranges and you felt as if you were walking through a dream. A dream you didn’t want to wake up from. Azriel walked quietly beside you, the tension from earlier gone.

You breathed in deeply, reveling in the sweet mixture of fresh air and Azriel’s scent. The sound of water rippling against the shore was just as soothing as the early evening breeze. Your gaze fell on a rock ahead, its smooth surface glimmering in the fading light, and you quickly bent down to pick it up. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, watching as the stone sparkled like starlight cupped in your hand.

“It’s a rock,” Azriel said drily.

You couldn’t help but grin, lifting the rock to show him. “It’s not just any rock,” you corrected him. “It’s a rock from Velaris. It’ll make a perfect addition to my growing collection of–”

“Rocks,” Azriel finished for you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

He knew about your rock collection. Of course, he knew. How could he not? Azriel had been the one to enable it. It had started as a joke, a silly request from you when he had mentioned visiting Spring. You had asked for a souvenir, half expecting him to politely decline.  

"What could you possibly want from Spring?" he had asked. “A rock?”

And out of all the things you could’ve chosen, you had simply nodded your head. “Sure.”

The way he had returned from his mission, slipping a smooth rock from his leathers and placing it in your hand, had been so unexpected, so sweet. You’d gasped, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He had remembered. 

And when he mentioned going to Winter Court next, you had shyly grinned at him, asking for another “souvenir.” What had started as an innocent collection had become something far more significant to you. Azriel didn’t know but that rock from Spring was the first gift you had ever received in years–decades, almost.

You treasured those silly rocks, keeping them lined up neatly on your dresser. You even painted them with little designs—daisies on the rock from Spring, a tiny shell on the one from Summer, and snowflakes on the one from Winter.

“This may actually finish my collection,” you mused, slipping the rock into the pocket of your skirts, your smile soft.

“I thought I had brought you one already?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” you replied with a playful shrug of your shoulders.

Azriel’s expression shifts into one of mock seriousness. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, bowing his head before his voice turned teasing. “What will I bring you now, then? I’ll be flying out to Dawn next week. You sure you don’t want another rock from there? Or perhaps, this time, a jar of dirt?”

You rolled your eyes, the motion automatic but immediately followed by a sharp pang in your chest as your heart seemed to freeze. A lady, especially one from your court, rolling her eyes at a male? No matter how familiar you could be with a male, a gesture such as this was dangerous and unforgiving.

But Azriel only chuckled, his gaze warm and unbothered. Relief rushed through you, leaving you momentarily breathless, though you tried to play it off with a dry tone. “Ha,” you said, your thoughts already drifting to other possibilities. “But, if you are going to Dawn…”

He tilted his head, eyebrows raising slightly as his lips curved. “Go on.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a feather…”

His dark brows furrowed in confusion, and you felt your heart beat louder in your chest. “A feather?” he repeated.

You shrugged again, trying to look casual about it. “A feather from a swan from Dawn. They’re native to the court and mate for life, you know. Some see them as a symbol for love and fidelity. I’d like a feather so that I can add it to my Aphrodite altar.”

“I see.” Azriel’s gaze had turned thoughtful, clearly processing the information. There was a brief pause, and you held your breath, suddenly aware of how ridiculous your request might sound…

 “Y/n, are you… practicing witchcraft?”

You react almost too quickly, it’s suspicious. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. Even though you had sought out the help of a witch not too long ago, something you’d probably take to the grave with you, given the failed results. Or the fact that this feather would be an offering given with intent to Aphrodite for luck and blessings in love…

”Well, not exactly, I just–it’s a…”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Azriel mused with a chuckle, saving you from whatever disaster of an excuse you could come up with. The sound of his laughter was like a release, the tension in your shoulders easing. “If it’s a Swan’s feather you want, then I’ll make sure I bring one to you.”

There was something in his tone, the certainty in which he said the words, that had warmth pooling in your stomach. It was the kind of warmth that spread quickly, making your whole body feel lighter and creeping up into your chest. 

You turned to look at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Your feet faltered as the rush of emotions made you dizzy. You barely noticed the uneven ground beneath you, and before you could regain your balance, you felt yourself tipping forward. Azriel’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you steady against him.

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his touch, gaze falling to where his hand rested on your arm. Slowly, your gaze trailed upwards. Azriel’s gaze was soft, his eyes searching yours in that way that made your heart race. 

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“Of course.”

You were both so close now, you could feel the heat of his breath. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. The sound of the river faded, replaced by the pounding of your heart. His free hand brushed against yours, a touch that sent a spark skittering across your skin.

And then, it happened.

A sharp, sudden tightening in your chest.

It wasn’t the pleasant flutter you’d grown accustomed to in Azriel’s presence. No, this was something else entirely. A pull, intense and demanding, like an unseen thread yanking you backward. You gasped, flinching out of Azriel’s grip, who immediately let you go when he felt your resistance.

Your hand flew to your chest. Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern and his shadows stirred anxiously, circling you as if they could shield you from whatever had caused your distress. “Are you alright?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, your fingers pressing against the spot where the ache had settled, desperate to soothe the inexplicable burning. “But I think I’m fine now. ”

You weren’t sure if you were reassuring him or yourself. But you pushed the feeling aside, turning back to Azriel with an uncertain smile.

He took a hesitant step closer, hand hovering over your shoulder. “Are you sure? I can take you to a healer–”

“No,” you immediately shook your head, eyes widening. Calling for a healer meant risking your father finding out you had not heeded to his order of staying put, of you not causing trouble. You’d rather suffer the consequences of whatever sickness had suddenly struck you than be left to deal with your father’s reproach.

“I’m okay. Could we–could we head back now?”

**

Azriel's pov

Worry continued to brew in Azriel’s mind as he watched you settle onto an armchair, hand still rubbing at your chest. His shadows twitched restlessly, curling tighter around him. You had always been easy to read but he found himself struggling to decipher the distant look in your eyes. You hadn’t even looked his way once since he winnowed you both back to the townhouse.

He parted his lips, ready to urge you to see a healer, despite your earlier protest. But a shadow curled itself around his ear and he made himself busy with the book in his hand instead.

The door to Rhysand’s study opened. Azriel’s shadows whispered to him as they noted the way you had stiffened the moment your father stepped out and forced a smile onto your face. He was always unsettled by your father’s indifference to you, his grip on the book he held tightening.

"Let’s go home."

Lord Damus’s voice was detached as he dumped the books in his arm into yours. Azriel noticed immediately that it was a smaller load than what you had arrived with, but that did little to ease him as you winced under the weight.

He moved instinctively to help you, but the harsh stare Rhysand shot at him from across the room made him pause. Azriel blinked, momentarily stunned by the anger that flashed in Rhysand’s eyes.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Damus. I wish you both a safe trip back," Rhysand said, his voice smooth and composed, contrasting the look he had sent Azriel.

Lord Damus bowed in respect and you did the same. Albeit, with a struggle, given all the weight in your arms. Some of Azriel’s shadows darted toward you, hiding within the shadows of the sitting room. They settled underneath the books you carried, helping you silently. And at the way your arms eased, so did Azriel’s.

It was short lived because as soon as you and your father disappeared, Rhysand turned back to him.

“My office. Now.”

Rhysand’s tone left no room for questioning or contemplating. Azriel’s shadows hissed at the sharpness but the shadowsinger yielded to his High Lord’s command. As he entered the office, the faint traces of Feyre and Nyx’s scent lingered in the air, but neither was there now. 

“Did something happen?” Azriel asked, senses on high alert.

Rhysand leaned against the front of his desk, his gaze locking onto Azriel. "I didn’t think I’d have to ask this twice, but... are you out of your mind?"

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him, speaking in tongues. He let out a sound, a mix of disbelief, defensiveness, and the all-too-familiar hint of rage that had been waiting just beneath the surface. Not again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Rhysand’s humorless chuckle cut through the air. “Oh, trust me, I wish I was.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. 

“I can’t believe you would be so careless as to sneak her out of here when…”

“Her father has no clue,” Azriel shot back, trying to defend the choice, though even he knew it wasn’t enough.

“I bet your scent still lingers on her,” Rhysand snapped. “Do you know how dangerous that could be? For an unwed lady of her status to be caught alone with another male, to smell like another male? It could ruin her. I don’t know what you’re intentions are with her but Y/n is in love with you—”

“I know.” Azriel cut in sharply.

Rhysand’s expression darkened further, his voice hardening into ice. “So you do know. What’s your game here, Az? Because all I can think and worry about is how it will end for her.”

Before Azriel could respond, Rhysand’s voice rang out again, cutting through the growing tension like a blade.

“You will stay away from her.”

The words hit Azriel like a slap, his body going rigid as the words seemed to echo in his mind.  Because this was not his brother talking to him. It was his High Lord. His shadows were seething, reflecting the storm brewing inside. How had it come to this…again? The same damn warning, as though Azriel couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions. 

First, it was Mor. Then, it was Elain. And now you.

Unbelievable. His lips twisted into a humorless, bitter smile then. “Should I just ask you for a roster of females I’m allowed to be with? It would save us both a lot of time and trouble.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again.” Rhysand breathed in sharply, barely able to restrain his vexation. “And I pray to the Mother I won’t have to say it for a third time...”

Azriel’s shadows froze mid-whisper. The room grew quiet and unnervingly still. His wings twitched, as if they too, braced themselves. Because he already knew what was coming. 

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall. Heck, I’ll offer to pay for it this time.”

And the words stung just as sharply as they had the first time.

“Just stay away from y/n.”

[series masterlist]

A/n: I had fun writing this <3 and I hope you can understand a bit more of why reader is madly in love with Az. I mean, who isn't? lol But does he like her back or simply like the idea of someone being in love with him for a change…😈

series tag list: @kaitttttttt , @nebarious , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @justyouraveragekleemain , @tothestarsandwhateverend ,

@ratgirl2020 , @myromanempiree , @vanserrasimp , @itsswritten, @acourtofbatboydreams

@imjustagirl713, @paleidiot, @scarsandallaz, @marina468

@utterlyhopeful-fics, @bia-wayne-west

if you asked to be put on the tag-list and don't see your username, please remind me!

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[yelenasbraid]

home to me — joe burrow

summary — bengals are now 0-3, and joe couldn’t feel worse about it. luckily, you’re there to help pick up his broken pieces

warnings — fem!reader, major angst, fluff, crying joey (SORRY)

note — surprise! and don’t come after me!

YOU WATCH WITH AN ACHING HEART the last 4 seconds of the game. you wished so badly for a miracle, for an interception, for something to turn that 33 into anything higher than a 38. offense looked great, defense? you could do better than they did without the padding.

that was your bitterness talking.

you filed out of the stadium and down to where you usually met joe; outside the locker room. you knew that this wasn’t going to be the celebration you hoped for. you knew that joe wasn’t going to have that boyish grin on his face, and it broke your heart. you felt like you haven’t seen joe smile in weeks.

you stood there, anxiously swaying as you watched player after player shuffle in from the field. those who noticed you gave you a small, sad smile. others kept going, angry at themselves and at the world.

joe appeared at the end of the crowd of players, as he usually did, with his head down. his shoulders sagged, but it wasn’t until he looked up and locked eyes with you that you saw everything.

joe was devastated, and rightfully so.

he parted from the staff member and walked over to you, a small pep in his step as he did so. no words were spoken as he threw his arms around you, bringing you as close as he could get you. you embraced him back, cradling his head as he nuzzled into your neck.

he’s never done this before, even after a win. for joe to express this level of emotion right after a game was unusual. it worried you, but maybe you were overthinking. you hoped you were.

joe separated from you, sniffling and keeping the tears at bay. you held onto his hands and watched him with a worried eye.

“i’m fine,” he answered your silent question. you knew he wasn’t, and he knew that you knew. that much was obvious.

“ok,” you hummed, but that’s all you were going to say right now. you didn’t believe him, and he knew that. joe gave you a single look, his eyes opening a gateway into his heart, the depth of his sadness. he was beating himself up, and pretty badly too.

“i might be a minute, go on home. i’ll see you later,” he told you. driving separately wasn’t abnormal, sometimes you had to. especially if it was an away game. what was odd was the way he seemed to stick around, unable to move his feet.

“ok, i love you,” you reminded him. his face softened, letting your words permeate through the tension in his chest. he just needed to make it through the press conference.

“i love you,” he replied. he gave you a lingering kiss on the forehead before he stepped away. he didn’t want to, though. he wanted to stay where it was safe, where it was comfortable. he wanted to stay with you because he didn’t have to explain himself. somehow, you always knew.

—

you were showered and in your pajamas by the time joe got home. you sat on the couch, blanket draped over your legs and your phone in your hands. you saw the comments, the videos of disappointed fans. you saw the posts all about how much of an upset the loss was. the more you read on, the more you realized that the fans didn’t think joe was at fault. they’d be right, it wasn’t his fault.

your eyes flicked up from your phone as joe made his way further into the house. his footsteps are heavy, as is the rest of his body. he’s exhausted, and there’s only a thread keeping him from falling apart.

“babe?” you called out to him, and he slowly turned his eyes towards you. his eyes were puffy, his face was red; did he cry in the car on the way home? silence met your questioning tone, but it did stop him in his tracks.

usually after a bad game, or a loss, joe needed space. he’d trudge up to his office and stay there for a few hours, pouring over film and noting strategies they needed to try next time. he was still going to do those things, but tonight was different. you knew it was the second he hugged you like he did after the game.

“i’m fine,” he replied, his voice breaking. joe didn’t like crying, in fact, he hated it. but he grew used to it, learning that just because he cried didn’t mean he was any less or he was weak. it took him a while for him to trust you with that vulnerability, but once he did, the flood gates couldn’t be locked tight for long.

“you’re not,” you hummed softly. he knew he wasn’t, and he wasn’t trying hard enough to hide it. he screwed his eyes shut, trying to make the tears go away, but all it did was make his eyes burn more.

“don’t run away from me, don’t shut me out,” you stood up from your spot on the couch, slowly walking over to him. he was battling himself as he stood there, tears sliding down his raw cheeks. his mind was waging a war against him, telling him lies about himself and about how he played.

“why?” he asked you.

“why what?”

“i’ve lost three games, and i’ve treated you horribly after two of them. why are you still with me?” he voiced his vulnerability, his fear. his heart told him you wouldn’t leave him because of a losing streak, but the malicious whispers in his mind told him a different story.

“one, you apologized to me and we talked about it,” you started, “secondly, joey, i’m still with you because you are the love of my life. you’re there to pick me up when i’m down, you’re able to make me laugh, you’ve helped me put pieces of myself back together that you didn’t break in the first place. you’re protective, and you’re a fighter, that’s why i’m with you and will always be with you,” you finished, peering into his eyes. you saw your words sink in and start to meld him back together, but it wasn’t enough.

“i’ve lost three games, three. no matter how hard i fight, no matter how well i think i did, i can’t seem to win a damn game!” joe spoke through gritted teeth, his hands going through his hair. he’s frustrated, he’s angry, and he’s beating himself up. he’s not blaming the team, he’s blaming himself.

“all of these people, all of the fans, you, i’ve disappointed them. i’ve disappointed you, i promised myself that i was going to bring home a superbowl ring, for both of us, and if we keep losing-”

“stop, joey,” you interrupted his spiral with a soft hand to his chest. he’s panting, out of breath from the amount of anxiety he’s giving himself.

“listen to me, look at me,” you tilt his chin so his eyes meet yours, feeling the soft starts of scruff against your finger tips, “you did not disappoint me, and you most certainly didn’t disappoint the fans watching you tonight. you played well, you made decisive plays, you were quick to release the ball. you did your job and did it well. and you will get that super bowl ring, i believe that, and so do you. you’ve beat the odds before, you’ve showed the world to never underestimate joe burrow, the small town kid from athens, ohio. so, show them again. show them what this kid can do,” you went on, shining light on the things that made joe joe.

“i’ve failed that kid,” he whispered, afraid to say it out loud. he’s fought so hard his whole life, and he still fought. joe’s never given up and he doesn’t plan on it, but the anger hasn’t settled in yet. the vengeance hasn’t taken root yet.

“no, no love you didn’t, you haven’t. you didn’t fail him when you tore your acl, you didn’t fail him when you went to the superbowl, you didn’t fail him when you went to the afc championship, you didn’t fail him amidst the injuries and the doubts. that kid would do anything to play football, and that’s exactly what you’re doing,” you told him, cradling his cheek with your hand. you could see the crack in his hard exterior, the way his blue eyes showed the depths of his soul. you could see glimpses of baby joey, the anxiety that ran deep, that threatened to take hold.

when joe looked at you, that anxiety slithered away. it tucked its tail and ran; you were his god given solace. he felt at home, he felt the warmth and the safety that radiated off of you.

“what did i do to deserve you?” he asked, melting into your touch.

“absolutely nothing,” you replied. you took his hand, guiding him back to the couch. you sat down, resting your back against the arm rest. you didn’t have to offer him, joe just found himself laying against your chest, his arms wrapped around you. you wrapped your arms around him, kissing the top of his head and threading your fingers through his frosted tips.

“i’m so proud of you, you know that?” you asked.

“i do,” he replied. he melted into you, relaxing against the feeling of your fingers against his scalp and your steady heartbeat in your chest.

“panthers don’t stand a chance,” he mumbled against your chest, making you laugh.

“show em who’s boss, baby,” you chuckled. joe would always come home to you, which wasn’t always physically. sure, home was a place, but it was also a person. you were his home, and he was home as long as he was with you.

i wrote this in one sitting!!! it took some editing and some rethinking, but i’m pretty proud of it! this may not be totally accurate joe but whatevs. enjoy this lovely, angsty piece!

[yoyomomiko]

AAAA we seriously need more Daisuke x reader fics (|||´Д｀)

May i request something fluffy for the boy? (-ε- )

Drift to Sleep

Pairings: Daisuke x F!reader (gender isn't mentioned)

Summary: You've been having trouble sleeping properly, maybe your boyfriend will help out with that.

Warnings: a bit cringe, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

(A/N): I'm sorry this is so short!!😔 Btw just to throw this out here I wish Jimbo didn't exist. -> m.list

You dragged your feet on the ground, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as best as you could. Your eyelids drooped down, threatening to shut completely over your eyes and lead you to sleep.

You can't remember the last time you've had proper sleep ever since you stepped foot on the Tulpar. You've had trouble staying awake, yet you couldn't even take a nap.

You don't understand why you can't sleep for more than two hours. Seriously, you keep waking up in the middle of the night, either by nightmares or simply because fate has other plans for you.

At least you had Daisuke.

The way his smile would click something in your brain and instantly power you on, matching his energy. He could easily brighten up your day, even when you felt dull.

"Good morning!" Daisuke beamed, immediately grinning as he saw you entered the room.

"Morning..." You muttered, forcing yourself to smile back, barely managing.

"Not 'good'?" He tilted his head to the side, noticing your tired expression.

"If it was good I would be sleeping." You mumbled in a flat tone, taking a seat next to him.

"What's wrong?" He asked, genuinely concerned at the way you were so drained out.

"It's hard to sleep... I don't know why or how, I just can't." You explained, furrowing your brows. "I'm tired, but I just can't..." You added, gazing in front of you as you zoned out.

Daisuke only gave a head nod in response, smile faltering for a bit. He didn't like seeing you in such a state, he just had to figure out how to make you feel better.

"Maybe you can get Anya to check on you." He suggested, gently wrapping an arm around your waist loosely to keep you closer to him.

"It's not worth it... I'll just waste her time." You replied, closing your eyes but to no avail. You knew you had work to do, had to force yourself to stand up and do your chores. It was just so hard...

୨୧ • ★ • ୨୧ • ★ • ୨୧

You turned in your bed from side to side, forcing your eyes closed as you tried to control your breath and count sheep, hoping that you'd fall asleep that way.

You tried every sleeping method you could think of, but none of them have worked so far. You figured out you could just give up and walk circles around your room to exhaust yourself even more.

Just then, you heard a soft click, and then a creak coming from the door. Light came in through the crack, revealing Daisuke's smiling face.

"Daisuke? What's wrong?" You asked in a hushed tone, sitting up on your elbows to look at him. You squinted your eyes due to the blinding light as Daisuke made his way into your room and shut the door silently.

"I can't sleep either." He shrugged with a big, dorky grin on his lips. He started walking towards you with light steps, just so that he's not being too loud to alert any other crew member.

"So... Why not try to fall asleep together?" He suggested, silently making his way over in your bed as it shifted under his weight.

You chuckled at him, watching as he layed down with open arms, waiting for you to throw yourself into him so he can cuddle with you.

You shook your head, pulling the blanket over the two of you as you placed your head on his chest, throwing one of your legs over him as his arm wrapped loosely around you.

His body was so warm, the embrace you two were in felt heavenly, and you certainly didn't want to pull away from it.

You felt your eyes close themselves, feeling Daisuke's chest rise up and down from his soft breathing.

You could hear the way his heartbeat was increasing, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back while you were slowly drifting to sleep under his touch.

If you knew it was this easy, you would've done this from the start.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[pha55ed]

Painfully Oblivious || F2/F3

type :: crack/angst tw/cw :: none contains :: ollie, kimi, paul, dino summary :: reader is completely oblivious to the guys' crush on them, no matter how hard they flirt - made as driver!reader in mind but can be ignored - inspo: glue song by beabadoobee f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

Ollie Bearman | 03

Flirting is already hard enough for Ollie, but you make it 100x times harder

He literally has no clue on how to get you to understand that HE LIKES YOU

Ollie usually flirts in subtle ways, like slightly lingering touches, complimenting your outfit, doing small acts of service, etc

Only problem is, you don't notice them at all

And when you do notice them, you just assume he's a super nice and friendly dude! :D

One time you were complaining about how cold it was, especially since you forgot your jacket

Ollie instantly took off his jacket and gave it to you, not saying another word out of shyness

But your dumbass thought he just wanted him to hold his jacket...

So you and him were walking side by side, with you carrying his jacket in your arms whilst still complaining about how cold you are

Ollie looked at you, dumbfounded, how could you not piece together to wear his jacket???

So he had to explain to you to wear his jacket,,, and that he was giving it to you on purpose,,, not for you to carry around,,,

You literally went:☝️😲💡 OHHH!!!!

He laughs it off, helping you put on his jacket (which was extremely oversized on you)

Yet still, you have the audacity to jokily say: "Haha this is so rom-com! It's just like those movie scenes when the guy likes her and then gives her his jacket hahaha"

Ollie looks at you deadpan,,, he regrets liking someone who oblivious...

But he's fallen too deeply to back out, so he's stuck pining after someone who's dumb as shit

Maybe one day he'll confess, but not yet, not for a very long time

Kimi Antonelli | 04

Getting a crush on someone is kind of new territory for Kimi

He's extremely realistic, and he knows that relationships most likely won't work when being so busy with racing

But for some reason, his brain completely malfunctions every time he sees you, it's as if you rewired his entire mind

He hates it, but he can't help but smile every time he's around you

Following old traditions and media is basically what he tries to do to get you to understand his feelings

But you're so blinded and naive that you can't piece it together

One time he got pole position after a super exhausting race, giving him such an adrenaline boost that he got the balls to ask you out

He asked you out to dinner, which you said yes to eagerly

And he was on top of the world, he’s never felt luckier: to not only win a race but to win over his crush???

He gets dressed super nice, does his hair, and even gives himself a pep talk

The dinner between you both goes amazingly, and he’s over the moon

That is, until you say: “Where’s everyone else? No one else came to your Winner Dinner? :(“

And he literally wants to strangle you…

A great dinner that lasted almost two hours of chatting and eating great foods

Connecting on so many different topics, relating to each other

So he face palms, making you confused as hell? Cause what you asked wasn’t odd in your eyes???

But he gets so frustrated that he just says, “No one else came because this is a DATE!!!”

And instantly you’re like 😧, blushing even. You had zero clue and were too dumb to piece together that all of this was a date

He can’t even be mad at you because he finds your obliviousness kinda cute - but he does hope you get the hint that he likes you from then on

Paul Aron | 17

Everyone knows Paul is a bit of a player, but contrary to popular belief: it’s not on purpose

Ladies just throw themselves to Paul, which is super understandable

But Paul literally has no clue how he has so much rizz despite him doing literally NOTHING to earn their affection

(It’s because he’s gorgeous and flirty on accident)

Despite how many girls like him, for some reason he can never get you to like him,,, or at least acknowledge he likes you

He’s been pretty forward with his crush on, the most forward out of all of the guys by far

Giving you flirty compliments, always searching you out in crowds to talk with you, being possessive over you when anyone else tries to get your attention, even remembering what you said you liked so he can buy it for you

He’s basically already your boyfriend, just without the title and without you knowing

And he kinda likes it? But also hates it?

He loves not having the complete title of a relationship so he’s not fully committing

But he also hates it since he can’t stop feeling jealous when others hit on you or when others crush on you

So he decides to just blatantly ask you out, hoping you’d finally understand that all this times he’s been trying to pin after you

He sets an entire day dedicated to you. Giving you a beautiful flower bouquet, taking you to your favorite restaurant, and even taking you on a night walk on the beach

It’s extremely cheesy, but he doesn’t even care

So at the end of the day, when he’s dropping you off - he goes for it

He kisses you in his car, right in-front of your house, exactly like every rom-com movie to ever exist

He does it because he knows there’s no way words will get through you dumb pea brain that he actually likes you

So when he gently removes his lips off yours and looks at your shocked face, he’s hoping you say you like him back

Or even better, he hopes you kiss him again

Dino Beganovis | 01

You two are kinda in the same both, you’re both insanely oblivious to your feelings to each other

Dino only realizes he likes you after Ollie and Kimi point out how much happier he is with you: as if he’s on cloud 9 the second you’re in his vicinity

He’s in denial at first, he asks Paul and Paul straight up says: “I thought you two were dating already???”

And now Dino is having a crisis because OH MY FUCKING GOD HE LIKES HIS BEST FRIEND??? THIS WHOLE TIME??????

So now he’s super nervous around you, he can’t even mutter a word to you without looking away

Your eyes have suddenly gotten 10x times prettier, as if they were a black hole sucking his soul in

Your hair is suddenly so much shiny and soft, making everything else in the world seem rough and coarse in comparison

Everything about you is stunning, and he can’t get you out of his head

He wants this crush phase to be over, but you won’t allow that since you’re too blinded to see that he likes you

It makes him go crazy because he’s so anxious of you not liking him back and possibly ruining your whole friendship

But every driver encourages him to make a move and test the waters - which takes him weeks of planning of how he’s gonna do it

So, while you two were having your usual movie night: he made his first move

He stretches his arm and rests it on your shoulders, basically side hugging you

But you confuse his action as wanting popcorn, you shove a handful of popcorn into his hand and smile at him

He smiles back, kinda disappointed his flirting didn’t work but he tries again

Being super risky, he decides to put his hand on your thigh

And you look at him like: 🤨 what? meh,

And go back to watching the movie without caring at all

All he does is just sigh and take his hand back, he decides he'll just try again a different day

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || more here!

[valkyriexo]

You Faint | Bang Chan

ᑉ³pairing; Bang Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Fainting due to Dehydration and being busy, mentions of not eating, mentions of not drinking water, kissing, Implied Female reader, Established relationship

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon!

Part of the "He helps you when.." collection. Other members parts: Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

In the flurry of your responsibilities as a personal assistant to the CEO of a massive corporation, every second counts, every task critical to the smooth functioning of the business. Despite the hunger gnawing at your stomach and the parched feeling in your throat, you soldier on, driven by the need to ensure that everything operates seamlessly for your employer.

Hours blur together as you navigate the demands of the corporate world, your own needs pushed to the sidelines in the relentless pursuit of success. The weight of expectations presses down on you with each passing moment, propelling you forward even as exhaustion threatens to overwhelm you. You don't have time to notice the way your limbs grow heavy with fatigue, the world around you fading into a distant blur as you push yourself beyond your limits.

But as the day wears on, your body begins to rebel against the neglect it's been subjected to. Dizziness clouds your vision, a warning sign of the toll the day's exertions have taken. With every step, your limbs grow heavier, protesting against the punishing pace you've been maintaining.

And then, without warning, it all becomes too much. Your vision blurs, black spots dancing at the edges as dizziness overwhelms your senses. Your knees buckle beneath you, unable to support the weight of your weakened body, and before you can even comprehend what's happening, darkness claims you.

As consciousness slowly seeps back into your awareness, you find yourself nestled on the plush couch of the CEO's office, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the room. Your head throbs with the remnants of your fainting spell, a dull ache echoing through your skull.

Blinking groggily, you glance around the room, your eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. To your surprise, you find yourself surrounded by two or three other assistants, their faces etched with concern as they hover nearby, murmuring amongst themselves.

"Hey, are you okay?" one of them asks, her voice laced with worry as she kneels beside you, her hand hovering over your forehead. "You gave us quite a scare there."

You nod weakly, the events of the day slowly coming back to you in fragmented pieces. "I... I think so," you mumble, your words slurred with exhaustion.

The other assistants exchange worried glances, their concern palpable in the air. "You should rest for a bit," another assistant suggests, her tone gentle as she helps you sit up, offering you a glass of water.

Taking a sip, you feel the cool liquid soothe your parched throat, the sensation a welcome relief. As you lean back against the cushions, you're grateful for the support of your colleagues, their presence a comforting reminder that you're not alone in your struggles.

"Thanks," you murmur, offering them a weak smile. "I appreciate it."

"We were so worried about you," one of them says, her voice filled with genuine concern. "You gave us quite the scare."

You offer a weak smile, still feeling disoriented and unsure of what happened. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your words barely audible.

Another assistant nods sympathetically. "We called for help," she explains gently. "We wanted to make sure you were okay."

You furrow your brow, confusion clouding your thoughts. "Called for help." you repeat, the words sinking in slowly.

Your mind feels foggy, memories hazy and fragmented, making it difficult to grasp the severity of the situation. The concern in the assistant's eyes only adds to your growing sense of unease, prompting a knot of anxiety to tighten in your chest.

Before anyone can elaborate further, the door to the CEO's office swings open, and Chan rushes in, his expression a mix of panic and relief. "I got here as fast as I could," he says breathlessly, his eyes darting around the room until they land on you. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You swallow hard, the reality of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. They called Chan, your emergency contact, before they even called the paramedics. You feel a pang of guilt knowing that he's here now, worrying about you, when you hadn't wanted to burden him.

As Chan rushes to your side, his expression a mix of relief and concern, you can see the worry etched into every line of his face. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to grasp yours, his touch both reassuring and desperate.

"I... I don't know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I fainted, I think."

Chan's eyes widen with alarm, his grip on your hand tightening. "You fainted?" he repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief. Chan's concern deepens, his brows furrowing with worry. "Do you know why?" he asks gently. "Did you eat today? Drink enough water?"

You shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, the guilt of neglecting your own well-being weighing heavily on you. "I... I may have forgotten," you admit sheepishly, avoiding his gaze.

His expression softens with understanding, but a flicker of frustration dances in his eyes. "Y/N.."

"I just didn't have time," you whine, feeling the weight of his disappointment settle over you. "I have deadlines to meet, and it's been really busy here with the CEO prepping for a major partnership with another company. Plus, I'm in line for a promotion, Chan. If I do well, it's almost guaranteed. But if I fail, then I have no shot."

Chan's expression doesn’t give much away, but his resolve remains firm. "It's not that important," he insists, his tone gentle but firm. "There will always be other opportunities. Your health should come first."

You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Not everyone can lead and be super talented like you, Chan," you argue, your voice tinged with emotion. "Some of us have to work twice as hard just to keep up."

"I know it feels that way," he says gently, as he reaches out to cup your cheek, his touch warm and comforting. "You're already doing more than enough," he assures you, his gaze unwavering. "But your health should never be sacrificed for success."

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words settling over you. "I know," you whisper, your voice heavy with resignation.

Chan's hums at your response, his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he reluctantly withdraws. "Let's go home," he says gently, " You need rest."

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch, your legs trembling beneath you as the full extent of your exhaustion becomes apparent. Chan's eyes widen in concern as he notices your struggle, his expression softening with empathy.

"Here, let me help you," he says, moving to your side and slipping an arm around your waist for support.

You lean into him gratefully, feeling the warmth of his embrace. With Chan's steadying presence, you manage to make your way out of the CEO's office and towards the elevator, your fatigue pressing down on you with each step.

As you reach the lobby, Chan guides you towards the exit, but when you attempt to take a step forward, your legs buckle beneath you, weakened by fatigue. Chan's eyes widen in alarm, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he catches you before you fall.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You nod weakly, feeling embarrassed by your inability to stand on your own two feet. "I'm just... really tired," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, Chan sweeps you up into his arms, his strength a reassuring presence against your exhausted frame. "Let's get you home," he says softly, his voice filled with tenderness.

You nestle into his embrace, feeling safe and secure in his arms as he carries you out of the building and towards the waiting car.

Once you're settled into the car, Chan drives you home with careful attention, his concern never wavering as he steals glances at you from time to time. When you finally arrive at your apartment, he helps you out of the car and guides you inside, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

As you enter the cozy sanctuary of your home, Chan guides you towards the couch. However, he senses your hesitation, the way you lean heavily on him as if struggling to keep your balance.

"You need to rest," he insists softly, his voice laced with concern as he helps you settle onto the cushions. Despite his gentle urging, you remain silent, the weariness evident in every line of your body.

"I feel gross," you finally murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, admitting to the discomfort that weighs heavily on you.

Chan's brows furrow with worry, his gaze searching your face for any sign of discomfort or pain. Seeing your distress, he nods in understanding.

"Would you like to take a shower?" he suggests gently, his tone filled with empathy. He waits patiently for your response, ready to provide the support and comfort you need

You shake your head slowly, a feeling of exhaustion washing over you. "I don't think I have the energy," you confess, feeling a pang of guilt at the admission.

Chan's expression fills with empathy as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently squeeze yours. "That's okay," he reassures you, his voice soft and comforting. "Why don't we start with something smaller? Like washing your hair?"

You blink back tears, starting to feel overwhelmed. "I just... I feel so drained," you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

Chan nods sympathetically, his gaze filled with compassion. "I understand," he says softly, his words a soothing balm to your weary soul. "Let's take it one step at a time, okay?

As Chan helps you make your way to the bathroom, you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at your limbs. With his steady support, you settle on the edge of the bathtub, feeling drained and weak. Chan kneels beside you, his gentle hands reaching for the shower head. His concerned gaze meeting yours.

"Lean back," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet bathroom. You obey, allowing your head to rest against the edge of the tub as Chan pours the water over your hair, the liquid cascading down in a comforting stream.

The sensation of the warm water against your scalp is both soothing and revitalizing, washing away the weariness that has settled deep within your bones. Chan's touch is tender, his fingers massaging your scalp with care as he works shampoo into your hair, creating a rich lather that fills the air with a subtle scent of eucalyptus.

As Chan tenderly tends to your needs, a wave of helplessness crashes over you, leaving you feeling small and useless. The inability to perform even the simplest tasks on your own gnaws at you, a constant reminder of your vulnerability. You watch as Chan effortlessly takes care of everything, his competence highlighting your own shortcomings.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you struggle to suppress the rising tide of frustration and self-doubt. "I hate feeling like this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with the bitterness of inadequacy.

"Like what?" Chan's voice is gentle, his concern evident as he seeks to understand you.

"Helpless," you confess, the word heavy with emotion.

Chan notices the heaviness in your sigh and the sorrow in your eyes, and his heart aches with empathy. Leaning closer, he places a soft kiss on your lips.

"You're not helpless, love," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with affection. "You're just taking a break. Everyone needs a little help sometimes, even superheroes like you."

His words are like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with love and understanding.

"You're my baby," he whispers, "And I'll always be here to take care of you, no matter what."

As Chan rinses the shampoo from your hair, the water running clear and pure, you feel a sense of renewal wash over you. With each gentle stroke of his hands, you can feel your energy slowly returning, a flicker of hope igniting within your chest.

When the task is finally complete, Chan reaches for a fluffy towel, wrapping it around your shoulders with care. He helps you to stand, guiding you away from the bathtub.

"Let's dry your hair a bit so you don't go to bed with it wet," he suggests, his lips forming a shy smile. He grabs a hairdryer, carefully adjusting the settings before starting to blow dry your hair, the warm air a comforting embrace against your skin.

As he works, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, the sound of the hairdryer a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Chan concentrates intently, his brow furrowing as he focuses on the task at hand. His brow furrows in concentration, his lips pursed in determination as he attempts to weave the strands of your hair into a braid. With each failed attempt, a mixture of frustration and amusement flickers across his features, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.

You can't help but find his earnest efforts endearing, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you watch him work. The sound fills the small bathroom, mingling with the gentle patter of water droplets.

"Where did you learn to braid?" you ask, genuine curiosity in your tone.

Chan looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I've been teaching myself," he admits, his fingers still fumbling with the strands of your hair. "I thought... one day, when we have kids together, I want to be able to braid their hair. I want to be the kind of dad who can do that."

His vulnerability touches your heart, and you reach out to gently squeeze his hand, a tender smile playing on your lips. "You'll be an amazing dad," you assure him, your voice filled with love and admiration. "And you're already an amazing partner."

"I want to be better,"he says softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "For you."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His lips are soft against yours. As he pulls away, his eyes shimmering with adoration, he presses another tender kiss to your forehead before returning to his task.

"You did great," Chan whispers, his voice filled with pride and admiration, as he guides you to your bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, comforting light across the room as he fusses over you, fluffing pillows and tucking blankets around you until you're cocooned in warmth.

With gentle hands, he arranges the pillows behind you, ensuring you're propped up just right for maximum comfort. He tucks the blankets snugly around your shoulders, his touch tender and reassuring as he ensures every corner is tucked in securely.

After making sure you're settled, Chan disappears into the kitchen, the faint clinking of dishes drifting through the air as he prepares your meal. Moments later, he returns with a tray laden with food – a simple yet nourishing meal, prepared with love.

The aroma of home-cooked food fills the room, mingling with the soft scent of freshly laundered sheets. Chan sets the tray down on your bedside table, arranging the dishes with care before settling in beside you.

As you eat, Chan sits close by, his warmth radiating beside you. He regales you with stories and jokes, his laughter filling the room with a sense of joy and ease. Each tale is punctuated by his infectious laughter, and despite your weariness, you can't help but smile at his antics.

As you finish your meal, feeling the warmth of the food spreading through your body, Chan rises from his seat beside you, his movements fluid and graceful as he clears away the dishes. The clinking of plates and silverware fills the air as he tidies up, his attention to detail evident in every gesture.

Once the dishes are cleared, Chan returns to your side, settling in beside you on the bed. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace. The familiar scent of his cologne envelops you, soothing away the remnants of tension that linger in your muscles.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to him, reveling in the warmth and security of his embrace. Chan presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his touch a silent reassurance that everything will be okay.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice low and raw. As he speaks, he guides your hand to his chest, letting you feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath his shirt.

"Every time you're in pain or in danger," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's like my whole world stops."

You feel a lump form in your throat, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "It wasn't on purpose."

Chan shakes his head, his grip tightening around you as if afraid to let go. "I know," he says softly. "But I need you to promise me something."

"What?" you ask.

"Promise me that you'll always try your best to care of yourself," he says, his tone earnest. "Promise me that you won't push yourself too hard, that you'll listen to your body and prioritize your health."

You meet his gaze, seeing the depth of his concern reflected in his eyes. With a nod, you offer him a small smile, filled with gratitude and determination.

"I promise," you vow, your voice steady with conviction.

Chan's eyes soften, a tender smile playing on his lips. "And I promise in return," he says softly, "to always be there when you need me, or a little extra help."

He settles back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you're both comfortable. As you nestle into each other, Chan reaches for the remote control, flicking through the channels until he finds a movie that catches your interest.

The soft glow of the TV bathes the room in a warm, flickering light as the movie begins to play. You rest your head against Chan's chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat getting faster beneath your ear. It's a comforting sound, a reminder of the love and stability that he brings into your life.

As the movie unfolds, you lose yourself in the story, the worries and stresses of the day fading into the background. With Chan by your side, you feel safe and at peace, cocooned in a bubble of love and warmth.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon's body matures into its prime. There's only one mate he wants. #GhostPriceWeek.

Day One: Confession/Kneel.

cw: omegaverse, penetrative sex, dubcon by nature of Price's sex negative attitude, gentle sex, bonding. ( @gomzdrawfr )

Simon wasn't sure what had changed or why, but he knew he was looking at Price differently these days and he couldn't ignore it for much fuckin’ longer. It was driving him even more insane than he already was.

Price had been helping him–them, all of ‘em–through ruts for the last few years. When it had just been the two of them, Simon would spend the few days leave in Price's Hereford flat exhausting himself between Price's legs and then they would return to normal once the cycle had passed. It had been hard at first, trusting someone, but like in everything, Price had his back. He had only ever treated Simon with dignity and respect.

When the other two joined, Simon didn't bat an eyelid. It made sense. Price was logical like that; easier for them to fuck him and get it over with in a few days, than long it out over a week and risk them snooping around the local villages, potentially ending up with a pup brewing and an angry farmer at the barrack gates with a shotgun. Johnny had priors with it too. Simon had seen the indiscretions on his record, and Gaz was so painfully good-looking that Simon wouldn't be surprised if there were already a few Garrick pups knocking about North London. 

The arrangement bloody worked. Everyone seemed satisfied. So why had Simon started… yearning?

The word had appeared when he'd googled his symptoms one day in a coffee shop. He'd headed off base to do it because all the search histories passed over Price's desk at some point, with questionable or worrying shit highlighted by the IT team for review, and he really didn't need that conversation. “Why are your guts aching, Simon? Do you need medical?” Price would ask, that stern line between his brows, lips pressed down in a deep frown. 

No, sir, my intestines seem to twist themselves in knots every time I see you shirtless at the moment and I can't stop thinkin' about how much I want to shove my tongue down yer throat, now about that requisition form… 

But it wouldn't be like that. Simon would stand there in dumb silence trying to find the words to explain that being around Price at the moment made him ache in ways he had never experienced before. That when he was alone in his own flat a short bus ride away from base, he thought of their time together with a hand around his knot and his knuckles between his teeth. He thought about how good the indomitable John Price would look in the throes of heat, completely vulnerable.

He must have been acting differently, because Price had become more distant. Detached, almost. He was shorter, sharper, than Simon had ever known him to be, even when his temper occasionally flared in the face of red tape and stupidity. Simon needed to get this, whatever this was, under control.

Sitting in that café with his black coffee and Bakewell tart, Simon had learned that an alpha of his age was reaching full maturity and his body was ready to find a permanent mate. By mid-thirties, an alpha’s strength and esteem within a pack was fully established, or it would be if the world still worked like it did a few thousand years ago. If they were still in loincloths, Simon would have battered his fair share of pack alphas and worked his way to the top by now. An omega would select him as worthy and choose him to father their pups. His body was just doing what it had done throughout millennia. Preparing.

In all honesty, his sex ed’ had been woefully lacking. Partly because the mixed comprehensive he had attended had been in special measures and the PSHE lessons had been all out brawls at some points, but also because his attendance had dropped below fifty percent fairly regularly throughout his compulsory education. ‘Very intelligent and capable, but limited by his frequent absences,’ had been his school report a few months before he had scraped just enough GCSEs to fall into a trade apprenticeship, and then September eleventh had happened and his whole world outlook had changed.

The guidance on the website also told him that his scent would change. That he might experience more attention from fertile omegas, and notice their scents more, their bodies. There was a paragraph about consent that followed and Simon had winced at the implications of needing it. He had met enough knotheads in his time even outside his own deranged father, fuckin’ Roba, to know why it was there. While most omegas were dominant and fierce by nature, the modern world had flipped things. Sometimes it just wasn't that straight forward.

The notes said it would pass. By late forties, his hormones would ebb away to normal levels again and by then he'd either be mated or, in his case, probably dead. The odds weren’t exactly in his bloody favour with his current choice of career. They also said his attention would probably flit between options, from omega to omega, as his body sought to spread its genetics as far as possible.

Except it fucking didn't, did it?

There were other omegas on base. A gorgeous blonde in logistics with tits and arse for days, a strapping redheaded mechanic with strong thighs and a pretty smile, then there was the brunette in medical. But those are cursory observations. Simon saw them as attractive in the detached manner you looked at someone who was attractive in the traditional sense. Yeah, he could see it, but he didn't want it.

He wanted Price. His fockin’ captain.

Tart and coffee finished, Simon had headed back to base. He tried to exhaust himself in the gym, finished some paperwork, and eventually wandered to the mess hall for some dinner. It was just as he was tucking into a pile of mashed potatoes and gravy that his phone pinged. 

CJP: My office.

Simon chucked his tray onto the trolley and headed out. By the time he was knocking on Price's door, his heart was beating hard in anticipation. Of fuckin’ what, he had no idea. Clearly needed to watch less porn because the image his mind provided of Price spread out on his desk, presenting, was bloody unhelpful.

“Simon.” Price acknowledged him with a glance as he shut the door behind him. The room was warm, the old radiator beneath the window chucking out more heat than was strictly necessary this early in October. The lights were dim too, the brightness on Price's monitor turned down lower, and there was a subtle, sweet scent beneath the must of paper, furniture polish and old wallpaper that usually hung in the air. 

The primal part of Simon recognised it for what it was, and the rest of him caught up as he got a good look at Price; his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes bright. Pre-heat. Price was getting more sensitive to everything; light, the cold. The smell in here had to be bloody awful to his sensitive nose. Simon blinked slowly, taking a deep breath through the fabric of the mask just to taste more of that glorious promise. If he could lick it out of the air, he would.

“We've got a problem,” Price murmured, slumping back in his chair, his fingers wounded together over his belly.

Simon didn't need to ask. He knew. “S’not a problem, sir. I can keep it under control.”

Price looked down, his face twisting in a brief grimace as he considered the edge of his desk. “S’not just you, Simon. It's me as well.”

Simon blinked, shifting his weight. “Wot?”

“Yer think I can't smell ya? When ya left the gym few hours ago I was meetin’ with Saunders about some performance data. Could smell ya from the otherside of the corridor.”

“Weren’t that fockin’ bad…”

“T’ normal man, no.”

There was an edge in Price's voice. Simon knew his secondary sex was a sore spot. If Price could have chosen, he would have been born an alpha. He despised everything about what he viewed as his ‘condition’. No one else knew, of course. The captain played his personal life close to his chest. Most of the time people assumed he was an alpha and didn’t look any closer. He was six foot two, built like a soldier should be; there was no reason to assume otherwise.

Perfect in every way, Simon's mind offered unhelpfully. Followed by an intrusive thought about how strong and intelligent their pups would be. Fuckin’ ‘ell.

“Was’the plan?”

Because there was always a plan and Simon would follow Price into hellfire if he asked. 

“Thought about sending you away, reassigning you,” Price said, his gaze flicking up to level Simon with a pensive look. “Bu’ I couldn't. Need ya. 141 needs ya.” 

Simon realised he could breathe again. The mere idea that Price would send him away - to fuckin’ where? No reasonable officer would take him on - left him frozen, every muscle seizing like he'd been turned to stone. Need ya.

Not just the 141. But Price. Price needed him.

“Then wot? Wot we doin’ ‘ere?” Simon’s voice crackled, the words cloying in his throat.

That grimace was back. A pinched look of regret pulled Price’s lips back, his eyes squinting. He scrubbed a hand over his beard and breathed in a deep breath through his nose. “Gonna ask ya sommin’. Ya can say no. S’your right t’ say no. Ya’understand?”

Simon’s fingers clenched into his palms, and he dipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod. 

“This… whatever it is. Could put ‘em danger, Johnny, Gaz, any soldier we have with us. It's foggin’ our minds, distractin’ us. I can't afford that in the field,” Price spoke slowly, like he was trying to reason with himself as well as Simon. “Way I see it is we need t’ nip it in the bud. Best way to do that is give it what it needs. A bond.”

An errant gust of wind could have knocked Simon to the floor at that moment. Like a giant rotten oak tree barely clinging on in the soil. His mouth went dry, huffing in another deep lungful of Price's scent as his heart accelerated in his chest. 

“I know ‘m askin’ a lot of ya. More an’ I ever have. But what we do, the greater good we fight for, s’too important t’--”

“Yeah.”

“Wot?”

“Yeah, I'll do it. I wan’ it. Wan’ you.” The confession tripped out of Simon's mouth before he could stop it. He stepped up to the desk, his hands planting on the surface, which, in hindsight, had probably been a poor choice. He watched Price tense in his chair briefly, before he slowly rose to his feet, weathered palms planting opposite Simon's to level him with a stern look.

“That's the hormones talkin’. Ya need t’ think it through.”

“Naw, I don’t,” Simon said, studying the freckles on Price's face, the sun damage on his forehead, the wrinkles around bright blue eyes, strong jaw framed by his uneven beard. A face he linked with safety and certainty and leadership. “S'you, s’always been you.”

Price dropped his eyes away, his head hanging for a moment, the sigh that followed sounded dog tired. When he looked up, those blue eyes had hardened, the light dulled.. “Simon, ya committin’ to a bond. S’for life. And ya not gettin’ a sweet thing that’ll fawn over ya. I'm not gonna give ya a pup, no family of yer own, ‘m not gonna kneel for ya, not gonna walk barefoot round yer kitchen, do ya laundry. ‘m not some pretty arm piece, Simon. Few years of lookin’, ya might find yerself a proper mate.”

“Don't care ‘bout any of that. Never have.” 

“Because ya never gave yerself a chance,” Price growled, rubbing at his face again. “Take a day. Think about it. Fer…” he swallowed, “...fer me, if not for yerself.”

Simon could smell something new. It was bitter on the back of his tongue. Distress. He lifted one of his hands without thinking, reaching for Price's face, but the captain flinched back. It was an involuntary response and Simon hated himself for causing it. “Sorry,” he grunted, fingers curling into his palm. 

“S’fine, jus’...” Price stood up straight, adjusting his t-shirt, thumbs hooking in his belt. Recovering himself, “...go, fink it over, don't give me an answer ‘til tomorrow after work.” 

“Right.” Simon stepped back from the desk even though every instinct was screaming at him to protect Price from whatever was causing that smell. There was no immediate threat so he couldn't even fight something; his entire skill set rendered useless in the face of whatever battle was going on inside Price's head. “See you for mornin’ briefing, sir.”

Price nodded. Simon left.

He didn't sleep that night. He stared up into the gloomy grey above his bed, wholly fixated on the parting image of Price, his face pinched, his scent riddled with distress and misery. He didn't want this, did he? Didn't want Simon like Simon wanted him. But what was new? Simon was perpetually unwanted. It was the story of his life. 

This was the right thing though. For the 141 and, Simon knew, for him. A mate like Price was more than he could have ever aspired to in normal circumstances. He had resigned himself to dying unbonded, to never experiencing what it felt like to be one with another person, to hear their voice and feel peace, to smell their scent and feel joy, to taste their skin, hold them, and feel whole. 

He had given himself to Price in all but bond anyway. This was a natural next step, even if Price himself seemed conflicted. It was an imperfect solution, riddled with grey, the cracks in the facade papered over, but that was them through and through.

The following day went by slower than a slug crawling across a salt flat. Price was nowhere to be found, sequestered away in his office while he tried to tidy up urgent matters before his three days of booked leave. Simon ran courses with the new batch of rookies up for selection and sparred with Johnny in the gym. The opportunity to exercise his physicality was welcome. His body was strong, capable, the best part of him. The part of him that would serve Price loyally. 

After dinner, Simon headed back to Price's office and tapped the door. The voice from the other side sounded even more exhausted than it had the night before. “Simon,” Price said, not looking up from the form in front of him. “Got yer answer then?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, “it's a yes. I accept. I… wan’ to bond with ya.”

Price placed his pen down slowly and leaned back in his chair. There was sweat on his temples and Simon could smell him even stronger than the day before. Fuckin’ delicious. “Right,” Price said. “Simon, you, uh… you need to know my heat, it's uhm… I find it difficult. Never shared it with anyone before.”

Simon could see Price's discomfort. How much he hated exposing this vulnerability. He sniffed, scratched his chin, and finally looked up at Simon's masked face. Simon blinked slowly. “S’ok. We’ll take it at your pace. You headin’ off tonight?”

Price glanced at the duffel bag on the chair by the window and nodded. “Yeah. You, uh… we can wait ‘til next time if you were savin’ yer leave for somethin’ special.”

“Naw, I'm good. You alright to put it through so I can go shove some pants in a bag?”

Price huffed. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, not only approvin’ your leave requests but now I'm fillin’ ‘em in for you lazy bastards.” He tapped at his keyboard and jutted his chin at the door. “G'won. Leavin’ base at nine. Don't be late.”

Simon left Price to do his paperwork and headed back to his quarters. He grabbed some underwear, some clean t-shirts and a pair of flannel shorts, his headphones and the Asimov paperwork he was chewing through at the average pace of a single page every three days. Omegas needed to sleep at some point, right? 

The final hour for departure sped by and soon Simon was heading out into the base car park to find Price's old Land Rover chugging away on the tarmac. Price sat in the driver's seat, wrapped in his coat and scarf, beanie pulled low over his ears, breathing into his hands.

“All good?” Price asked as Simon climbed into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. You… uh, you ok to drive?”

Price’s jaw twitched and Simon regretted opening his stupid fucking mouth. “Yeah. Fine. Stupor will set in later. Once I'm…” his voice dropped, “nesting.” He said it like it was an embarrassing admission, not a natural part of his instincts and cycle. Simon didn't probe any further and sat in silence as Price pushed the Landie into first and pulled away. The drive into town was quiet. Price turned on the radio once they'd pulled off base and they listened to the latest chart on BBC Hereford & Worcester. 

Price had a little one bedroom flat in Leominster that he commuted from most days. Sometimes he kipped over in the barracks after a long shift and it wasn't unusual to find him asleep in the rec room if a briefing had over run and he was too tired to drive back. The 141 knew it well as they had spent their ruts there since they'd joined the task force. It was cozy, clean, with traces of their captain as a man rather than a legend. 

When Simon stepped through the front door, the Land Rover tucked up for the night in the carport, he drew in a deep breath and felt his eyes flutter. He shed his coat and kicked his boots off and watched with no small amount of affection as Price grabbed them immediately to stack next to his, before slipping into a pair of well trodden slippers. “Brew?” Price asked as they headed into the open plan living room.

“Yeah, gaspin’,” Simon said, placing his duffel down by the arm of the couch before slumping into the middle of it. The material was a well worn brushed cotton, with two tartan fleece blankets thrown over the back. Simon pulled his mask over his head and ruffled a hand through his flattened hair, before burying his newly naked face into the scent of Price soaked into the soft material. He could picture him here in the evenings, wrapped up and snoozing, probably snoring his bloody head off like he did on op. But relaxed, at home, nested.

“Yer like a fuckin’ bloodhound,” Price grumbled as he walked over, a steaming mug of tea clutched in each hand. 

“I ain't drinkin’ outta that Liverpool mug.”

“Ahh, wind yer neck in, it's mine.” Price dumped the other mug on the coffee table in front of Simon, and then fell into the armchair. Still keeping a slight distance. This was different from when they met to weather Simon's rut. Simon was the vulnerable one in that and he trusted Price implicitly, but now their roles were reversed, and Price wasn’t used to not holding the leash. 

Simon slurped a mouthful of tea - perfect brew, strong, two sugars - and glanced at the telly when Price switched it on. The ten o’clock news, a slew of reports about how the world was going to shit and the rich were benefiting from it. Simon was only half paying attention, maybe not even half, because from the corner of his eye he was observing Price. 

He was slumped low in the chair, his lips parted, his eyes misty. The scent rolling off of him was saccharin, deeply appealing, and Simon's fingers twitched against the warm ceramic of his mug. Price managed to finish his before his eyes slid closed, his breathing growing a little ragged as his fingers kneaded at the arms of his chair. “Captain?” Simon prompted, his mug landing softly on a coaster. 

“Yeah, I'm good…”

“D’ya need anythin’?”

Price swallowed, observing Simon from beneath low lashes. A grimace passed over his face, his thighs pushing together. “Gonna shower… there's scran in the fridge, help yasel’.” His accent thickened briefly as his mind struggled to find purchase, and Simon watched him head into the bedroom with a faint smile. He listened to Price move around his bedroom through the wall, and then the rush of water as he turned the shower on. 

How long did he wait? Did he coax? It was usually easier than this. Price led the way, tugging Simon's clothes off, praising him in that rough, no-nonsense way he had; stable, certain. This Price was different. He was distant, anxious, even. Simon waited until the stream of water was disrupted, sloshing against the glass and tiles, before he rolled to his feet.

Maybe it was a shitty thing to do, but he knew he needed to do something. Price was clearly struggling. Limping through the last few hours before his heat settled in and dreading every moment of it. Simon pulled his clothes off, folding them over the laundry basket near the bedroom door, before he walked into the bathroom. He found Price panting in the steam, his hands against the wall as the water streamed down his freckled back, head bowed low between his shoulders.

He wasn't quiet as he slid the glass shower door to the side and slipped into the cubicle, his palm sliding over Price's ribs to glide up his chest. Price startled with a snarl, twisting around to latch a hand around Simon's throat as the other snatched his wrist. “Easy,” Simon whispered, airways restricted as Price squeezed. “Lemme help. Not gonna hurt ya, John.”

Price's shoulders heaved, blue eyes bright and feverish. Simon leaned into the palm at his throat and realised Price’s arm gave. He was shaking. Simon slid a palm up the tiles and eased Price back against his forearm as he pushed further, closer, until his lips slotted to Price’s and his tongue swept into his mouth. Simon used his greater height and bulk to his advantage, enveloping Price in his arms and drawing him into the warmth of his body, hand sliding down his back to his arse to bring their hips together.

Price was skittish, he wanted the kiss but kept drawing back before licking forward again, like he was clinging onto the cliff edge by his fingernails. His hands scrambled over Simon's chest, pushing him, gripping him, uncertain how to respond to the alpha swamping him. Price wasn't small, not by any standard, but Simon had a little extra, enough to cradle him, make him feel safe. Where Price was athletic and lean in his height and strength, Simon was bulky. Lots for a hungry omega to sink his teeth into.

“Simon…” Price grunted, tensing up as Simon's mouth kissed down his throat to the slope of his neck where his gland sat beneath his skin. His nails bit into Simon's shoulders, lips peeling back in a low growl. “Don't… not… not ready, can't…”

“S’ok, I know,” Simon murmured. “Relax. Need ya t’ trust me. Not gonna hurt ya.”

“‘m… don't judge me, for…”

“Not gonna. None o’ this will make me think anythin’ less of you, sir. S’a gift.”

Price flinched. “S’a curse. I… I fuckin’ hate it.”

“I know,” Simon murmured, opening his mouth to suckle on Price’s neck as he caressed up and down his body. Every pass of his palms over flushed skin seemed to be easing the tension, gentling him into his heat. His touch only paused to grab the soap and shampoo, washing Price tenderly, encouraged by the way he arched and writhed beneath the smooth glide of skin on skin. Simon worshipped every scar, every mole, every dip and curve of muscle. Those ragged pants broke around soft whimpers and soon the steam was saturated with the scent of an aroused omega’s heat. 

When his fingers slipped over the full curve of Price’s arse to the crease of his thigh, Price’s foot shifted out, inviting Simon's caress between his legs. Simon gladly provided, fingertips stroking gently over slick folds, pressing a little firmer with each pass until he was teasing Price's hole, tight muscles fluttering at Simon's finger in eager anticipation. “Fuck… you're wet…”

“‘m.. in the shower..” Price rasped, sounding dazed, and Simon smiled against his neck. Tentative hands began to explore Simon’s body, following familiar paths around his full tits and down his stomach to the thick, hot length of his erection pressing into Price’s hips. Simon shifted his own until his shaft could slide between Price's thighs. Spread as they were, it was just a tease, the ridge of his crown drawing back and forth over Price's slit, glans catching across the swell of his own small cock and making him stutter. 

Simon moaned into Price’s neck, the scent, the heat, the feeling of Price's strong body yielding to him inch by inch, it was a heady mix that was teasing him higher into feverish excitement. But he couldn't knot Price here. The first one took a while to go down and he didn't fancy keeping six foot plus of omega pinned to cold tiles while they waited for the tie to end. 

Simon drew Price out of the water and wrapped him in the warm towel from the radiator. The bedroom was warm, the bed even warmer as Simon lowered Price into it, tugging the towel into the floor, and nudging his thighs apart as he leaned down for a kiss. Simon ground his cock through Price's folds, smearing slick and precum over flushed hot skin. Price arched, opening his hips and hitching his legs high up Simon's sides. 

Simon gathered one of Price’s hands and wound their fingers together, pressing them into the mattress above Price's head as he reached down to guide his cock. He held it steady as he thrust his tip into the tight clutch of Price's body, teasing back and forth. It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Simon, hnn, ahh… please…”

“Tell me ya wan’ this.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck… ahh, please…”

“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous, sir. Look at you.”

Simon kissed him, sucking his lips, his tongue, but drew back when he began to thrust in deeper. He wanted to watch Price’s face as he was taken for the first time. The way it relaxed in bewildered pleasure, blue eyes rolling; glistening, kiss-swollen lips parting as a low moan trembled from his chest. Simon bottomed out, his balls pressed to the underside of Price's arse, full and heavy in the heat. 

He had never wanted to knot and breed so much in his life. Not even in the chokehold of rut did the urge feel this strong. The scent of heat soaked his tongue, cloyed in his throat, and as Simon began to thrust deep into Price's body, the snug, warm grip of it sucking so eagerly on the thick girth of his prick, Price finally relaxed, his head tilting back as he panted and moaned. 

The sheets dampened beneath his arched back, Simon's hand slipping beneath him, encouraging the curve of his spine as Simon sat up on his knees, drawing Price up onto his lap to bounce him down onto his cock with his furred chest pressed up and open, letting Simon suck and kiss his full tits, his dusky nipples pebbled hard in arousal as tongue and teeth swept over them.

Price clenched a hand in Simon’s hair, the other dropping behind him to support his weight against the mattress so he had agency in the roll of his hips, meeting each of Simon’s thrusts over his sweet spot. Now that he didn't need both hands to support Price’s body, Simon snuck one between them, thumb rubbing the swell of Price’s leaking cock.  Price got loud, more than the stifled pants of their usual trysts. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck–”

Price's thighs pushed wide as his orgasm curled through him, sinking down until every inch of Simon’s thick cock was inside him. Simon ground in, growling low in his chest as he felt Price pulse and throb around his cock, slick dripping down his balls and thighs. Price was completely lost in pleasure, fockin’ beautiful, flushed and euphoric. He didn't fight when Simon shifted him onto his front and raised his hips, mounting him while on his feet, two big hands pressing down on his waist. Price dropped his chest to the bed and spread his knees wide, cocking his hips so that Simon could thrust deep. It was a natural breeding position and Simon's arousal intensified, cock rock hard as his omega presented. 

Watching Price's back muscles flex, his arse cheeks ripple under the force of Simon's thrusts, hearing his blissed out noises as they were punched from his chest, soon teased Simon's knot out of him. It swelled just as Price's second orgasm tightened his hole, and Simon ground forward, circling his hips until it popped inside clenching muscle. 

Price cried out, his orgasm intensifying as his body pulsed, instinctually milking Simon for every drop as he came. It was intense; mind-fuckingly good. Simon scrunched his eyes closed and saw lights behind his lids, and he listened as Price’s gravelly voice broke and whimpered through the swells of pleasure rolling through him.

When the aftershocks calmed, Simon eased them onto their sides, wrapping Price in his arms as his knot stayed snug inside his body. He pressed kisses into his damp hair, teased sensitive skin, and whispered praise. They dozed like that, surfacing to exchange lazy kisses before drifting off again. When Simon's knot went down, he drew out gently, only to replace his cock with his fingers. Price's hole was sloppy, loose and relaxed, and Simon groaned low in his throat. “Gonna breed you, love. Gonna make you mine.”

Price chuffed softly in response, thighs flopping open so that Simon could caress him properly, pushing his leaking seed back inside. Simon didn't need asking twice.

They mated throughout the night into the early morning. Simon left the bed long enough to get some food and water, and helped Price with both as the haze of heat made his movements sluggish. After a few hours of sleep, Simon woke him with another knot, holding him back to chest as he slid into him from behind. Each knot was a thorough breeding, their hormones, their scents, their bodies mixing until Price was ready to be bonded. 

Simon was hilt deep when he finally sank his teeth into Price's gland. His omega draped over him, back to chest, strong body arched in submission. Simon cupped beneath a thigh, thrusting into him with a semi-inflated knot that was making his eyes roll in overwhelming bliss. He tilted his head away under the guidance of Simon's hand at his chin, and Simon finally claimed the object of his desire, knot swelling inside him and triggering an intense wave of pleasure that made Price's body seize up.

The wound stopped bleeding as Simon licked it. He remembered vaguely reading something about alpha's having a clotting agent in their saliva sparked by the process of mating. Price’s pained huffs faded into softer sighs, and Simon held him as his body adjusted to the sudden surge of hormones in his bloodstream. Simon slid his palm over Price’s belly and cupped beneath its slight swell. 

“I know ‘m not your first choice,” Simon whispered in the quiet, his throat hoarse. “But…”

“Simon,” Price murmured, soft, wistful. “You're it. Jus’... always thought ya deserved better ‘an me.”

Simon's heart clenched in his chest, his nose burying in Price's hair. “Ain't nothin’ better ‘an you.”

“Got… bad taste in clothing and men, that bloody bally…”

“Olrigh’ boonie hat,” Simon chuckled, rocking his hips up a little in revenge. Price groaned, his body bearing down around Simon’s knot in a sudden throb of pleasure. “Heard bonded mating is a whole new level, but this… fuck, the noises you make.”

Price huffed softly. “Gettin’ a big head, Riley…”

“Naw, reckon I'm on the money, maybe I need t’ remind you again.” Simon slid a hand down Price's body to stroke his cock, rolling his hips slowly to grind his knot over Price's sweet spot, the stretch just the right side of too much. Price gasped, his back arching, and Simon clamped an arm around his chest to keep him still, giving him no choice but to endure the heated pleasure curling through his hips.

They had another day and a half to secure their bond before they had to return to work, and in that time, Simon would make sure Price never had a reason to dread his heat again. 

[novemberheart]

{overview} Simon makes an upsetting discovery

{warnings} fem reader, poly141, a/b/o dynamics, cursing, angry Simon, fighting

Chapter 13 <- Chapter 14 -> Chapter 15

You didn't see John the next day either. But the thumping and groans had stopped. You could only imagine how exhausted he must have been. Simon took you to his office with him. He could tell how antsy you were for a change of scenery. He didn't pay much attention to you but you entertained yourself by playing on your phone and making a card tower with a deck you had found. You had eaten a big lunch and Simon had dropped you back off at home. You were drifting in and out of sleep when the couch dipped right next to your head. No words were spoken and you were too comfortable to move your head.

A large hand rested against your back rubbing smooth circles. The smell of fog and campfire rolling over you.

“I missed you,” you mumbled. He shifted on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table, and resting his head on the same pillow as yours. His arm went under you, tugging you so you were curled up against his side. He breathed you in, the stiffness in his body already loosening.

“I missed you too.” he sighed contently.

“I dunno. Sounded like you were having fun in there.” you teased. He chuckled, his head resting against yours.

“Sorry, you had to listen to that.”

“I didn't mind.” you said a little too quickly. “I- you know what I mean.” you corrected with a huff. John chuckled again.

“I know what you mean, pretty,” he assured. “How have you been healin’ up?” he questioned, his fingers skimming the area right above your knee. You had almost completely healed since your altercation. Perks of being an omega. There was still a bit of scabbing and redness on your left leg, but everything else had healed in the first three days.

“Good.” you hummed, lifting your leg to show him. “Which is good because now I can focus on getting you better.” you hummed, finally rolling over to face him. Your fingers itched to tangle themselves in his beard but you stopped. Instead, you rested a hand against his firm chest. He grabbed your leg, throwing it over his hips, making you flush. “You can't tell me you're not sore.” you finished, peering up at him with playful eyes.

“You got me there.” he smiled softly. His lips pressed against your forehead before he rested his cheek against the top of your head. The thought of your injuries made the memory of what Anais had said to you a few days ago:

“Well you won't be seeing much of Connoway. He was attacked, his whole face was scratched up and two broken legs.” Anais explained. Your blood ran cold.

“Scratched face?” you questioned.

“And broken legs.” Anais reminded. “Their beta is missing too. No clue where he is.” you swallowed thickly.

You didn't know if you should say anything. You weren't sure what good would come from withholding you knew, but you also weren't sure what harm it would cause either. Yet you were curious. Curious about what your alpha would say to explain his behavior. Curious as to what happened to that beta. Not that it was unjustified. Who knows what those assholes would've done to you if they had succeeded.

“You alright?” John drawled from next to you. You jumped- forgetting he was there. You hummed in assurance, settling on burying your face in his neck. You would be safe with them. That's all you need to know for now.

It was your fault. You had left the paperwork right on the kitchen counter for everyone to see. Simon had come to collect you for breakfast- a bit early admittedly. He could hear music playing from your room, so you must be getting ready for the day.

On the counter, you had left the paperwork the Omega Standards Bureau had wanted you to fill out. Would it really be Simon's fault if he peaked at it? He was on high alert, waiting for the moment your bedroom door would fling open. It took him a second to decode your writing. You didn't refer to them by their names but by their initials. Your try at anonymity he assumed. It was a nice gesture. You weren't waving their lives around. It wasn't till the second line did he get a sour taste in his mouth.

Who are your alpha/s?

The question was straightforward, just trying to get clarification on the pack dynamics. It was your answer.

J.P.

J.P. For John Price. No hint of S.R. anywhere. In fact he was hardly mentioned at all- only when they asked you to list every member of your pack.

He growled lowly, digging in his pocket for a cigarette to calm down. That was bullshit. He had spent the most time with you than anybody. Yes, most of the time he spent pushing your buttons but he had sincerely asked about you. How you ended up in an omega house. He asked about your family. He took you on walks- even in the rain because he knows how much you enjoy it. He could understand if your feelings weren't as strong for him as the others- he's guarded. But to not even be mentioned was a knife to the back.

He was just as much of your alpha as John was.

His growl must've alerted you. You slowly crept open the door, relaxing when you realized it was him.

“Smoking inside? It’s not the 1950s old man.” your smirk slowly fell when something seemed off. “You alright?” you asked a bit nervously. He tapped the counter where you had accidentally left your papers. You gasped quietly. “Those aren't for you, Simon.” you sputtered, quickly working to collect them. You raced back into your bedroom, reappearing just as quickly.

“Breakfast,” he grunted, putting his cigarette out. It didn't do anything to soothe his rattled nerves. It had been a long time since he had been so caught off guard. He thought you two were doing well. He thought he was doing well. Especially considering he was in a coma when they made the decision to add you to the pack.

You wracked your brain for a reason he would be upset. It had been a while since you had updated your paperwork- you think the night before your attack. A familiar uneasiness spread over you. You felt shaky and sick. The thought of someone close to you being unhappy at you twisting your stomach.

“Simon?” you began softly.

“Leave it,” he growled. “Breakfast,” he repeated. You couldn't eat even if you wanted to.

“I haven't updated it for a while. If there was something in there that”-

“Enough.” His tone was borderline vicious. “Your alpha is waiting for you in the cafeteria.” He spat the words like they burned him. They had.

You didn't want to go with him. Your instincts charging through you telling you this was not safe. He was not safe. You shook your head, taking a few cautious steps back towards your door.

He said your name as a warning.

“No.” you had no idea where the force had come from. “Whatever you saw I can explain. Why are you upset?” you demanded.

“Just put your bloody shoes on”-

“No,” you repeated. He snarled, turning on his heels and slamming the front door shut behind him. “Fuck.” you whimpered to yourself. You were shaking at this point, globs of tears spilling over your eyes. You went back into your room looking over your paperwork.

Who is your alpha/s?

J.P.

It clicked.

“Oh no,” you mumbled, flopping down on your bed. Truth be told you didn't really have an explanation for that- and you felt horrible. Simon had been an alpha to you. He protected you. He had taken care of you. He had taken an interest in you. You had opened up to your family about him. And you couldn't even bother to write his initials down.

The only explanation you had was the limited amount of time you had spent on the paperwork. You had given one-sentence answers for every question and hadn't taken it seriously. It never occurred to you that someone from your pack would read it.

“You alright, Bon?” you jumped as Johnny’s knuckles grazed against your doorframe. You wiped your tears quickly, but it was useless.

“No,” you mumbled pitifully. He came to immediately, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his lap. “I upset Simon,” you uttered.

“Peaches, I do that every day, twice a day”-

“No,” you interjected. “In the paperwork Kate gave me to fill out it asked who my alphas were and I just put John- and Simon saw that,” you explained. You sniffled, pressing yourself deeper into the Scot's chest. He was quiet for a moment. A long moment.

“Well I'm going to be honest, hen. I would be steamin’ too.” The honesty hurt. You pulled yourself away, but he quickly pulled you back. “He won't be steamin’ for long, though. He just needs a moment to himself and then he’ll be ready to talk.” Johnny explained. You had no choice but to trust the beta. He had seen Simon upset before, he knew how his mind worked.

“Wondering when you'd get back,” Johnny spoke, pushing Simon's bedroom door closed. He grunted in response, tugging his balaclava off and throwing it in his hamper. The scot made himself at home in his bed, taking up most of it. “Wanna talk about it?” he hummed.

“Nothin’ to talk about,” Simon replied coldly. Johnny sighed, sitting up.

“We both know that's no”-

“It doesn't matter, Johnny,” Simon cut off. “Now I'm relieved from having to put any more effort into that”-

“Simon,” Johnny warned.

“It's true,” Simon continued. “She just wants one alpha- one alpha she’ll get.”

“Simon you know that not how she fee”-

“It is.” Simon spat. “And that's fine with me. I mean what good is she doing anyways? We’ve had to change our schedule, our lives, our home to fit her, and for what? So we can heal a bit faster. She's not worth the trouble we’re puttin’ in.”

“You’re out of your mind.” Johnny snarled back, growing more and more defensive over you. Johnny moved from the bed heading towards the door, bumping into it when he realized he hadn't closed it all the way. He quickly heard your door shut.

His heart fell into his stomach.

You had heard that, didn't you?

Ohhhhh Simon! What are we going to do with you? Guess you’ll find out in three days for Chapter 15!!!!

Thank you for interacting with this post! 🧡

Dividers are by @cafekitsune

[surielstea]

A Sudden Elopement

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Reader and Azriel suddenly get married without telling any of the others, the silently watch while every one figures it out for themselves.

Warnings: just fluff.

A. Note: just a short fic because I feel bad for being inactive as of late :c but the good news is, is that I’ll be very active for Eris week!! So keep an eye out for more Vanserra content 😻🙏

1.7k words

My eyes drooped with exhaustion as I attempted to keep my focus on the book I was reading. I was seated between my mate's legs in his lap, leaning back against his chest while he combed his scarred fingers through my hair. I sighed and closed my book, deciding I didn't have enough energy to read another chapter. I tossed it to the side of the bed and shifted lazily, flipping around to meet his hazel eyes gazing down at me.

"How was your book?" He hummed and I mumbled something he couldn't decipher while pulling myself up and stuffing my nose into the crook of his neck.

"That good, huh?" He teased, his arms moving to wrap around my waist.

I nod, tightening my grasp on him, needing him closer, lazily clinging to him like moss to a damp wall, infectious and dependent. But he didn't seem to care, only returned my embrace with the same tenderness "We should get married," He said softly and my eyes widened, now fully awake.

"What?"

"We should get married," He repeated with a casual tone.

"As in, right now?" I tilt my head, raising a brow at him.

"Well," He gave me an incredulous look. "Not right now, eventually, I want to marry you," He reiterated. A soft smile pulls at my lips.

"We've only been dating for a few months," I argue and even in the dim lighting I can see him blush.

"Yes, and we've been best friends for a decade," He argues and my smile widens, I straddle over his hips, sitting up and debating it.

"Don't get me wrong, I'd marry you now if I could, but do you really want to go through the hassle of planning one?" I speak logically but it's as if he only heard the first half of my sentence.

"Let's get married, right now," He grinned wildly and I flushed pink. "We don't have to do the hassle, you hate parties anyway. It can be just us, somewhere far or close I don't care. I just want to marry you," He expressed, intertwining our hands as I debated the irrational and sudden decision.

"Though I love how eager you are, I don't have a dress— much less, we don't have rings," I explain. "And as rich as you are, your funds are not bottomless," I say but he remains looking at me with the same loving look.

"Tell me exactly how you want to do it, and that's how it'll be done," He prompts and lets go of my hands, favoring placing them on my waist as I leaned down on my elbow, propped up against his chest.

"Well, it being just us doesn't sound too bad," I say, tracing shapes on his bicep with my free hand. "And I'd want to have a pretty gown, and I'd want to have our ceremony somewhere beautiful." I flick my eyes up to meet his unfaltering gaze. "And rings, I want everyone to know we belong to each other," I add quickly and his smile grows.

"Anything else?" He tilts his head but I shake mine, cupping his face and leaning down, kissing his lips softly. "I think, I just want to be your wife," I finalized and that seemed to have pleased him because the next thing I know he's flipping me over and kissing down my neck. And despite my exhaustion, I knew sleep wouldn't come until dawn.

—————

"So, how was your trip?" Feyre said excitedly, settling into the barstool beside me.

Azriel and I had gotten back after a month's vacation only a day ago, but everyone was eager to catch up. So we landed ourselves at Rita's, a local bar beloved by the citizens of Velaris. "As romantic as it sounds," I say with a soft blush, propping my head into my hands.

"Gods, I wish Rhys would take me on a surprise trip like that," She sighed dramatically and my smile grew. We hadn't told anyone why we actually went, that our trip was more of a honeymoon, less of a vacation.

"I know," I turned back in my stool to look at my husband who was surrounded by his two brothers. "It's all still such a daze," I smile dreamily, looking back to my friend who was frozen in her seat, staring directly at the cut sapphire on my fourth finger.

"Are you engaged?!" She practically shouted and I giggled, shaking my head.

"Az and I decided to get married while we were gone," I shrug as if it was a casual thing. I didn't want it to be a big deal, because it wasn't really, we were the last of the group to tie the knot.

She just stares at me, slowly, she shifts her head back to the three males at the other end of the room, right at that chain around Azriel's neck, a silver ring hanging from it. He couldn’t wear rings because of his scars, but he still wanted to have that physical element of our marriage, as if to display how taken he was.

She nearly fell out of her chair at the realization, then tackled me into a hug, holding me tight as I giggled at her antics. "My gods, congratulations, I would have been sending gifts all week!" Feyre claimed and I shook my head at her nonsense while she pulled away.

"It's not a big deal Fey, if they haven't figured it out yet— you're the only one who knows," I smile broadly, looking back at Azriel, who happened to already be staring at me.

I brought my hand up, gesturing to the ring on my finger, then to his brothers. Silently asking if they notched yet. Azriel shook his head with a mischievous smile and I turned back to Feyre with a smirk. "I can't believe you guys didn't tell us," She huffed as if she'd failed me as a friend.

"As much as I would've loved for you to be there, it was hilarious watching how clueless you all were," I claim and she gives me a sidelong glare.

"Oh cmon," I lean over in my stool and bump her shoulder with mine. "Now you can be in on it. Who do you think is going to be last to figure it out?" I ask, gesturing to the group behind us who were all mingling with Azriel.

Feyre turned to look, the three-winged Illyrians all chatting with Morrigan, Nesta, Lucien, and Elain all accompanying them. "Cassian," She bets and I smirk, narrowing my eyes on the group.

"I think Rhys," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Feyre cracks a smile. "Whoever's right pays the tab," She says, slipping out of her barstool and I nod, agreeing to the challenge even though I knew damn well Rhys would be covering the tab regardless.

We saunter over to the group, wicked smiles on our faces. Feyre goes to Rhys, intertwining their hands while I come to stand between Cassian and Azriel, my husband putting his arm around my shoulders. "What's that look for?" Azriel asked me, noticing the mischievous glint in my eyes.

"Feyre and I have a bet going, and that's all you need to know," I shrug and he arches a dark brow but doesn't say anything more while silky shadows swirl up my calves as if they were trying to beckon more information out of me but I didn't budge, just leaned into his side and watched Feyre as she tried her hardest to get her mate to realize the wings on me and Azriel's fingers, eager to win our bet.

It took much longer than I thought it would for them to realize. Lucien and Elain had spotted it that night, pulling me to the side to ask about it. Morrigan and Nesta had done the same one night later, interrogating me and Azriel as if we'd committed a crime, they seemed to think not telling them was against some friendship code.

But Rhys and Cassian hadn't noticed that night, or the next, or the next. It wasn't until I was training with Cassian and punched him square in the jaw that he caught sight of the ring on my finger. He brought his fingers to his cheek, wincing as he saw blood when pulling his hand away.

I cringed. "Sorry, I forgot to take my ring off," I murmured shamefully, taking the sapphire off my fourth finger. He paused, staring at me curiously, with no malice in his eyes despite the fact that I just drew blood.

"Where did you get that?" He tilted his head. I froze. Would it be considered cheating me and Feyre’s bet if I told him Az gave it to me?

"I'll give you one guess," I sent him a wink and his brows shot up.

"No way," He whispered. "He proposed?" His arms went out wide and shock. I fought back a laugh. "Well, yes, but we got married already, when we took that month off to go to the Summer Court? That was our honeymoon," I shrug and his eyes nearly bulge from their sockets.

"He didn't tell me!?" Cassian exclaimed as if he was the one to be married.

"We didn't tell anyone, everyone else already figured it out." I chuckled and his eye twitched. "Rhys doesn't know, me and Fey had a bet going to see how long it'd take," I shrug. "Turns out longer than expected." I hummed and he scowled.

"Well, you think you know someone," He huffs pathetically and I laugh.

"It's not like that Cass," I roll my eyes while walking over to my water and placing my wedding ring down beside it. If he was actually upset I don't know what I'd do, and I found myself thanking the gods when he cracked a smile, unable to keep the facade up for too long.

"Me and Az are going to have a long talk about this," He warned and I chuckled, getting back into my fighting stance on the mats.

"All I ask is that you return my husband in one piece," I say, smiling at the sound of calling Azriel my husband.

"Fine, but only if I get to be the one to tell Rhys he lost the bet." He hummed, getting into his own stance.

I grinned wildly, Feyre was going to rage. "Deal."

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