#I try not to harp on this but seriously. SERIOUSLY.

[alpydk]

Communication

It's that time of year again when I am unexpectedly hit with a smutty idea. Seriously, I've been pretty antismut recently and was almost accepting it wouldn't come back. So... here we go. (Also I wanted an excuse to use this gif even if it doesn't match anything in the plot.)

Tav and Gale are happily married... sort of. Tav takes matters into her own hands.

Word Count - 3571 - C/W - Smut, Gale needs a suck hug

A year they had been married, one of blissful exploration of the senses, days lying on picnic blankets with wine and poetry, nights with gentle prayers on flushed lips. Gale had learnt her body as if it were the Weave itself, the way the curves dipped and rose like the valleys beyond the coastal mountains, the way she would whine when his tongue flicked upon sensitive flesh. He played her delicately, the sweetest symphony of harp strings at his fingertips. 

Whispers of love and devotion filled the air as he lay with her, worshiping her body, giving sacrifice after sacrifice. His goddess. His Tav. She was his world; she was the stars and moon; she was magic. And he swore he would make her complete in every way he could.

A short giggle could be heard from the library, the kind given when eyes met a longed for but unbefitting sight: the lustful suck of a finger, a bead of sweat rolling down a firm abdomen. Her cheeks blushed like that of the ripest apple. Tav lowered the letter she’d received, the words leaving her heart beating rapidly and mind on a trail of adventure. As Gale entered the room, she quickly hid it behind her back, the smirk however remaining against her will.

“A beautiful smile on a beautiful morning,” he commented, choosing to ignore the sheet of paper she clenched in her hand.

This hadn’t been the first letter in the past tenday that she had hidden from him, her eyes bright and mood giddy. He’d seen the penmanship, the curved AA that lay at the bottom with the red rose wax seal. He had tried to approach her on the matter, only for her to dismiss his concerns. Rather than open the discussion further, to outright ask her what the letters were about, he instead tried to do better by her. He put himself more into complementing her, into cooking and cleaning. He used his practiced tongue in the way he knew best and hoped that it would be enough to keep her sated.

The broad grin she held wavered, her eyes dimming a little as the words of the letter thankfully secluded themselves in the deepest part of her mind. “I’m to take a trip. I received the letter but a moment ago.”

“A trip?”

She had not spoken of anything of the sort recently, but then secrets were becoming more common with each passing day. The letters, the odd sending spell he detected as he watched her from the balcony. Words he never heard; words not meant for him to know. He stepped towards her, trying to push down the budding anxiety in his chest. He was losing her, and a trip would merely be the apparition fading into the unknown.

“You never mentioned…” His voice trailed off, hoping she would explain further, hoping he wouldn’t have to piece everything together and find a conclusion that would strike him painfully down to the core.

She kept the letter clutched behind her, feeling the coarse creases of the paper in her grasp. His worry was evident. It had been each night she had slid out of the bed away from his embrace, as she had smiled without happiness at his conjured stars, as she felt the brush of his lips upon hers but not felt the passionate fires of their first nights together.

“I didn’t think it was going to happen. It’s only a few days in Baldur’s Gate on behalf of the library there.” She knew the lie wasn’t the best, but anything like sick relatives or another serious matter would have resulted in Gale wanting to attend with her. “I’ll be staying at the boarding house at Wyrm’s Crossing. You remember the one, don’t you?”

“Not exactly the safest or most extravagant of establishments, my dear. I could always come with you, and we could stay at the Elfsong.”

She was quick to cut off the idea. “Oh no, you can’t. You have that seminar.” Tav had already taken all the dates into account. How Gale couldn’t get out of the conference on Netherese lore and fable and would be forced to stay in Waterdeep. “Besides, it will be an adventure of sorts for me. Just like old times.”

That was what concerned him most. She would find someone else if she hadn’t already and that would be it between them. Searching for solutions, he was met with nothing. Days passed, the trip nearing, and he found that each question he had was met with an already summoned answer, all ideas met with criticisms. She had planned this journey far in advance and she was leaving, whether he liked it or not.

“Tav, my love. You know I do not wish to smother you, nor stifle your free-spirited personality, but I cannot help but be concerned that something is amiss.” He took her hand in his, desperately searching her eyes for the truth, for the love he had once known from her.

All Tav could do was place her lips to his, ignore the burning in her closed eyes of the tears which threatened everything. She hated how she was hurting him, but this was for the best. If he was to be happy, to be complete, she had to leave. “I love you.”

He didn’t know if he believed the words she whispered, if her kiss was anything but a cruel substitute prize to soften the abandonment. She said she would come back, and Gale clung to that thread as if it were his last lifeline, a magical artefact to quell the destructive orb within. “And I love you.”

---

The tower felt cold and empty without her there. It would be a tenday travel to Baldur’s Gate, then however long she stayed there, then a further tenday back providing no issues occurred with the transport. She claimed it was the quickest she could do, the spells too expensive for teleportation, that the route was nice to travel this time of year, and again he had accepted her words. He knew more time away gave her more distance to cover before he would accept the truth, but he was too blinded by love, too desperate to be loved, that he accepted it all and clung onto hope.

Spending his days throwing himself into his research and teaching, he hoped it would help the time pass quicker. The AA on the letter bothered him more than it should have, the image of red rose petals she would no doubt be lying amongst distracting him from his tasks. Gale knew Tav’s past with the pale-skinned elf, someone he considered a friend, and he also knew that despite his own physical skills, he did not have two hundred years of experience to fall back on. Making love to a goddess was not the same as worshipping a mortal, and it was there he would always fall short if compared.

The route home was dismal as the rain came thundering down late in the evening. Tav had been gone for two tenday and Gale was slowly finding the routine of loneliness once again. There had been no contact since she’d left, no replies to his sending spells, no letters to know she had arrived safety. The library of Waterdeep had no confirmation of any trip, only that she had scheduled days away with an open return date. It had been that result which had confirmed everything to him, and he had prepared to move on, no matter how much it hurt.

He opened the door to the tower, his cloak drenched and knees aching from the icy winds that blew. Finding a light glimmering down the stairwell from the upper floor, he felt his heart rate increase, an igniting of the buried ember of hope he’d tried to bury.

“Darling, a little deeper… How does that feel?”

Gale heard the familiar purr and with it the soft whine of Tav, one he’d learnt himself by heart.

“Oh… again, right there…” she whimpered. “Astarion, you’re so good at this.”

Gale chucked off the sodden cloak and ran up the stairs, ignoring the pain in his legs. Wet footprints lined the stone steps, a trail of the storm left in his wake. Anger burnt deeply inside him, that they would have the nerve to return to his home and partake in such intimate activities, that she would hate him so much that she would hurt him in such a way. To abandon him without a word was something he could unfortunately handle, experience no difference between goddess or mortal, but to have the relationship trampled on, to so ashamedly flaunt someone else in his face, was simply cruel.  

He pushed open the heavy oak door to the bedroom; the laden fireplace flickering, creating dancing shadows on the walls of books and paintings. Ruffled navy-blue bedsheets lay exactly how he had left them in the morning, not twisted with the sight of two lovers in the throes of passion. What he had expected to see naked and entwined instead sat fully clothed on the sofa, both staring at him with a mixture of embarrassment and humour on their faces. Wine glasses lay on the wooden table before them, various books opened to random pages, abandoned with the night’s discussions.

Tav grinned, removing Astarion’s cool hand from her shoulder as she went to get up. “You’re late,” she joked, standing and approaching Gale. The confusion merged with anger was evident on his face, but she hoped it would pass quickly now she had returned.

“And you’re back…”

She stood within arm’s reach of Gale, wanting to lift her hand and touch the soaked white shirt and dripping chestnut hair, but not knowing if it would be the right thing to do. Neither knew what to say, how to start the inevitable discussion of her previous whereabouts.

Astarion broke the awkward silence, rising from his seat, and sipping the last of his glass of red wine before him. “I’ll take that as my cue.” He sauntered over to Tav, placing a soft but goading kiss upon her cheek. “Enjoy your night lovebirds, and if you need me, don’t be afraid to send one of your little spells.” He chuckled to himself, seeing the way Gale’s jaw tightened. “Oh, don’t worry, love. She’s all yours.”

The slamming of the door to the tower left Gale and Tav in a heavy silence. He was hurt, ready to fight, but he wanted to take his time first, draw the truth from her until she was begging for his forgiveness. “Astarion looked well,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

She sighed, bringing her soft palm to Gale’s dampened face, feeling the moisture cool her hand. Ignoring the tension was impossible and so she wanted to diffuse the hate fuelled situation as quickly as she could. “He is… Look, what you saw-”

His mood was quick to falter, too many lonely nights spilling over against his will. “What I saw was someone who I believed was my best friend cavorting with my wife,” he interrupted, twisting away from her touch as if it were a weapon ready to cut. He didn’t want to hear her excuses, her snake tongued deceit, not whilst the image of her body being touched burnt so fresh in his mind.

“Gale, just-”

“No, don’t Gale me,” he spat. “You left. Without any word or explanation, you left.” He wanted to compose himself, to approach this rationally as he did all things, but he couldn’t accept what had happened, and he certainly couldn’t accept any more lies. “I would allow it if you no longer wished to be wed, but these things should be discussed first. Instead, you lied to me, claiming you were on some trip because you lacked the common decency to say you did not love me.”

“I do love you!”

“No.” A flicker of doubt lulled in his voice, a worry that maybe he had been mistaken all along, that his history with Mystra still wormed its way in his skull and he had acted on trauma rather than truth. “I am not some fool you can toy with, Tav. I saw the letters. I know about the spells. How long has it been going on for?”

She looked at him perplexed, trying to work out where his mind had been going the last few weeks. “How long has what been going on?”

Gale scoffed at her ridiculous question, feeling insulted by her continued acting. He paced the room, his boots leaving their dampened marks on the floorboards. “Oh, don’t play dumb with me. The affair!”

Without realising, she let out a laugh, her shoulders relaxing as she finally understood why he was so wound up. “It’s not like that at all. Me and Astarion are friends, you know that.”

The doubt snowballed quickly. They’d been fully clothed, but maybe he had arrived too early rather than late as they claimed. Maybe the journey to Baldur’s Gate had been innocent, but then why had she not contacted him? He stopped his movements and turned to her, taking in her soft smile, the warmth in her eyes he’d memorised on long nights of desire. “Then what is it like? Because right now, all I hear is conjecture.”

Tav took a seat on the sofa, patting to the place next to her closest to the fire. “He was teaching me some massage techniques.”

“And the letters? The trip?” Gale didn’t want to take her offer close to her, afraid that it might lure him in to a false sense of security. He was torn between believing her as he always had done and pulling away to save himself from further harm.

“Was meant to be a surprise for you, which is why I didn’t contact you. Come, sit down and I’ll explain,” she replied, her tone calming. She waited for him to be next to her, gently placing her hands on the ties of his shirt to remove it. “You’re soaked.”

“And you’re avoiding the subject…”

The loose cotton shirt came off and was thrown aside, the warmth of the fireplace hitting his flesh welcomely. She traced her finger up the centre of his chest, seeing as small, deserted raindrops collected on her nail. “Astarion has been helping me. I wrote to him asking for advice.”

Gale sighed at her touch, his body reacting despite his emotions. Usually he took charge, led the dance, orchestrated the symphony, but he was tired, longing for her touch after so many nights apart. “It went amiss to discuss matters with your husband?”

“It was advice regarding my husband.”

Heated kisses were placed on the cool skin of his neck. He leant back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest under her lips, a path of love and devotion being marked upon his body. “And what is so problematic about me that you must hide it?” He gasped as he felt the flick of her tongue against his nipple, a technique she had never used before, but one he found himself responded to strongly.

A devious playfulness filled her eyes at his reaction, observing the way he relaxed into her touch, the way his head hung back and his wet hair fell behind him, allowing droplets to descend to the floor without obstruction. “I want to make you happy.”

The words caught him off guard and he glanced up, seeing the way she gazed up at him, her tongue travelling lazily up to the middle of his chest, collecting the moisture. He took a deep breath with the sight, resisting taking control, trying to remain grounded to hear the truth. “You do make me happy.”

Her tongue reached his other nipple, a quick flick causing his head to fall back with the pleasure yet again. The quickening of his breathing provoked her to do it again, the writhe of his body with the stimulus too much to stay still. She’d always suspected he would be sensitive in such areas, but never understood what it would take to get such neediness from him. Not until now. “Not in the same way you do me.”

She pulled herself back, satisfied with the state he was in. “Me and Astarion took a trip to Sharess’ Caress,” she continued, shrugging off the black fabric of her own clothes from her shoulders, her bare breasts visible in the dim light of the fireplace. “He showed me how I could complete you in the same way you do me.”

Gale responded to the words by sharply sitting up with a confused but offended look on his face. “You spent the night with him?”

Shaking her head with a subtle smile, she placed a palm on his chest, pushing him gently to lie back down. “No. Just like you did so many moons ago, I simply watched.” Her fingertips trailed down the centre of his stomach as he reclined back and as they reached the hem of his trousers, she continued speaking, seeing as he calmed if a little unsure of her actions. “He spent the night pleasuring the young Drow there, demonstrating to me the various areas of which he was skilled.”

Tav’s hand slipped into Gale’s trousers, and he let out a held breath. Her touch was featherlight, not the inexperienced gasping he’d once tried to talk her through. Now it was a light stroking, a twist around the shaft that made him want to jolt further into her palm. Just as he would get used to the rhythm and feel the precipice approaching, she would change gears, her grip becoming firmer, the pace quickened. 

“You see, too many nights have you have made me see stars,” she purred, watching as his hand clutched the shadow touched fabric of the chair, the way he bit his lower lip at the sight of her naked breasts. “And I know you’d be okay to continue doing that. But I wanted to be more, to give you more. You deserve more.”

He felt as her other hand pulled at his trousers, forcing him to lift his hips so they could be removed. He quickly brought his arm up, taking her breast in his hand and bringing his mouth towards to the hardened pink flesh. Before he could suck on it deeply, she pressed him back yet again.

“Ah ah. Not tonight.”

Gale kept his hand firm on her chest, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin. He wanted to continue playing, wanted to do as he always did and devote himself fully to her, but curiosity got the better of him. What had she learnt from her little adventure to the Keep? It was as he let go on his control, feeling the warm pressure of her mouth around his cock, that he knew.

Gone was the innocent woman he had married, and now before him was a mistress of seduction. Her soft moans as he attempted not to buck upwards filled his senses. She pulled away for a second, soft kisses placed down his shaft, leaving him breathless and needy, her hand taking over with the slight twist at the head.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long to you. You feel so good,” she whispered between the soft placement of her lips.

He could feel himself getting closer, the sway of her breasts no longer in view as he leant back, closing his eyes and panting into each carefully executed movement upon him. The pressure built with the firm wrapping of her lips around his length, her tongue pressed to the underside, forcing him to the back of her mouth. He wanted to rut into her, wanted to lift her and fuck her in front of the fireplace, but with each moan she gave, each pulse of his cock within her, he lost himself further.

He opened his eyes, wordlessly longing for her to remove the rest of her clothing, to lay herself upon him so he could give to her, just as he had so many times before. The gentle rise and fall of her head, her darkened eyes pinned on him, were almost too much and he released a groan of need.

As her soft hand grasped the base of his cock, joining the dance, he knew he was perilously close to his edge. “Tav… I…” Her pressure changed. Words were gone, thoughts were gone. There were only white-hot stars that filled his vision as his release hit, her tongue lapping up his seed whilst still massaging the sensitive flesh it held. He jolted into her, the pleasure continuing without remorse, his nerves on fire as she slowed her pace to extend the ecstasy as long as she could. He may have once had the practiced tongue, but on that night Gale, usually so verbose, was left with only the energy to give a quiet whimper of contentment.

Tav licked and rolled her lips as she sat back, observing what had become of her husband, his skin now moistened with sweat rather than rain, his tongue tied rather than its normal loosened state. Touching his body was met with a shiver, which caused a smug satisfaction to rise on her cheeks.

“Hm. If that’s what happens on just the first night, I wonder what will happen with a thousand more.”

[katyspersonal]

God, not to be one of those "hateful anons" but you really need to drop the "holier than thou" type thing on all of your lore posts. As much as I'd love to debunk why half your arguements are overused and don't work, I'll save that because that's not my point.

On almost all of your lore posts you mention at least once how "people aren't ready for stories of this level" or some shit along those lines, and let me ask you this: Why do you think people like you can digest these stories better? You would probably answer something like "Because I can understand these stories unlike these stupid from haters" or something.

You aren't digesting these stories better then anyone else just because you spend 1000 hours looking into what Morgott's moldy toe item description mentions. Like seriously, all this complaining about why the fandom sucks yet youre just like all those "holier than thou" people in the fandom who keep mentioning how THEIR perspective is better then someone else's.

You also keep acting like personal interpretation doesn't exist on some note. Saying how [X] is actually what happened and that people are denying [X].

I looked into your blog because I thought some of your posts were interesting, but it turns out youre literally just like all the other fromsoftware fans you complain so much about. Hopefully this gives you some perspective, I guess.

Nah, it "didn't give me the perspective", because you are the one seriously misunderstanding here. I say that we as a fandom are not ready for Fromsoft stories SPECIFICALLY to criticize fandom behavior.

We as a fandom are not ready for Fromsoft stories because there are people who claim that "Miquella's character was assassinated by bad writing because in the base game he was hyped up to be kind and compassionate", when his arc was a fall from grace. How falling from grace equals writing him to never have had that grace to begin with? We as a fandom are not ready for Fromsoft stories because whenever Fromsoft does not directly state something, fandom splits into two hostile groups each accusing another of media illiteracy or even various -isms and -phobias. (I advice you to ask Gehrman fans from Bloodborne fandom for extra insight on this one) We as a fandom are not ready for Fromsoft stories because when they DO state something directly, the "cool kids" of the fandom decide it was either a bad writing or that they know better, and start to side-eye everyone who prefers canon over their """improved""" fanon. We as a fandom are not ready for Fromsoft stories because Miyazaki's brand of moral ambiguity, admission that there is no clear solution to world's problems and questioning the nature of humanity itself OFTEN falls on the deaf ears.

Like... you do realize that I still consider myself part of the fandom, despite not engaging beyond what is on my feed? That I do not claim that /I/ am ready for Miyazaki's writer genius? Just like everyone else, I can only do my best to TRY to understand him! Nonetheless, I am trying my best to be mature, and encourage maturity in others. It is hard to remain always calm and nice in a fandom that feels like a battlefield, everyone will get a bit rude! The point is to TRY to be better, which most people don't see the need for! I am calling out fandoms bad behavior and refusal to look deeper into story and characters than their habits and preferences, especially because these preferences often lead to conflicts and toxicity, not claiming moral superiority over my headcanons!

Personal interpretations are fair. What is NOT fair is when someone harps on a very well-researched post with easily debunked arguements, basically doing the "your post is nonsense because in my fanfic things are different" on them, and then another person that did not even read the post nor actually researched the lore beyond their preferences passionately agrees.

I'll have you know that I never spent "1000 hours on analyzing". I am autistic, you goddamn coward. I understand some obscure detail in a flash by just looking, or suddenly come up with an insight while busy at work. Sometimes I literally dream a theory or observation! I do not understand where the misconception that everyone needs to spend a lot of time to be hyper-observant about their special interest comes from. However, you believing that about me makes your claim even worse. You seriously just said that analysis of someone who.... well, analysed the lore, is not as valid as analysis of someone who just took scraps of lore they personally enjoyed to create their own thing. How does this make sense, exactly? Again: you'd have SOME point if you spoke against a stuck-up Reddittuber who makes it their daily mission to ruin someone's joy if their headcanon is not 100% accurate to the source, however, so far the inverse has been happening. People who decided something about lore just because it appealed to THEM will go and be rude to people who are trying to be objective. Not only this; I've had my headcanons (!) "corrected" multiple times because they were different from popular fanon!

.........speaking of certain people who think it is okay to harp on someone's lore post to downplay it when they are not even lorediggers themselves.... -_-

The way you glazed through my blog and jumped into an extremely inaccurate conclusion about my personality and attitude reminded me of the same impulsivity when someone took "stop treating Marika as noble hero against Hornsent evil, here are bad things that happened during her reign" as as "just another poorly researched Marika hate 🥺". 🙃 Your obvious vitriol for thorough lore research, your poorly disguised manipulation (you clearly did not think my posts were "interesting" with how much disdain you just expressed FOR them, but you wanted to wound me by faking "disappointment"), and above all, timing. My tone in yesterday's Marika and the fandom rant was in no, NO way different from how I usually speak in my blog! My mutuals (all 8 of them lol) can confirm! Yet I've never received (inaccurate) anon hate for this.. until now. Until recent very unfortunate encounter with extremely shallow individuals that started a debate yet refused to finish it when hypocrisy of the both was pointed out. 🌛

I think I know who you are. :/ 🤔 I'll keep that in mind, and being "prepared" will definitely lessen the effect if you try anything of the sort again, be sure of this.

(At the same time, IF I am wrong and you are just a fan that found me through that interaction, I'll have you know that your lowly cowardice by using anon instead of showing your face has put someone else under suspicion, and it will remain so unless you show yourself. In which case, hope you are proud of yourself. 🤦‍♂️)

[regallibellbright]

According to the fashion game, leggings appear to be exclusively menswear and tank tops are exclusively for women. If there ARE Type A leggings and Type B tank tops, they’re locked only at the highest ranking, which given how simple a basic tank top would be I’m suspecting means they’re not there.

I’ll note that this was not the case for either item type in Styling Star, which makes this decision/oversight/Weirdass Choice even more baffling.

I hate this gender lock so, so much on practical levels alone.

[visualtaehyun]

I keep finding ZNN's very different approaches in how they talk with the press and fans so fascinating. They're both used to getting teased and being asked personal questions of course. But where New is usually the type to imply, cutely and sassily show off, teasingly state "I'm not telling 🙂‍↔️", try to downplay, and getting endearingly teased by fans and reporters-- P'Zee jokes too, absolutely, but he sometimes casually and intentionally slips out more info than New would ever share lol but then he can also get really sincere and serious like at the end of today's interview (clip below). I'm also thinking about the countless times he's asked fans not to scream when all they're doing is taking care of each other (e.g. P'Zee wiping New's sweat for him), like all he wants sometimes is for the public to take him/them seriously.

Anyway, here's an update of sorts on the Much Discussed™️ kisses during NuNew's 1st concert (translations below the clip again, translated to the best of my ability but still keep in mind I'm not a native speaker 🙏)

NN: Behind the fan, I... the time I was wondering and brought my face closer, "Eh?" When he did [🪭💋], I guess I was a bit stunned but not much. But- the second one when he suddenly asked... I didn't think he'd ask... like- (Z: Yeah) somewhere with as many people as this.

Z: Because [unintelligible] shy/embarrassed.

NN: Right.

🗣: Shy

🗣: Have you stopped wondering yet? ×2

NN: ...

🗣: At first you were wondering but after the cheek/sniff kiss, did you stop wondering?

NN: Uh, well-

Z: After the sniff/cheek kiss, nhu criedddd

NN: 😸 ...well- no- ah- /shy shy shy

Z: 😁 & 🗣: 😂

🗣: Yeah, why did you cry?

Z, in reaction to whatever the male voice joked about: Don't tease nhu ×2

NN: Why did I cry? Because, like, what Hia said was so touching.

🗣: Ahh profound

NN: Hia spoke movingly and that was emotional (Z: Right) in terms of my feelings at the time because I'd been practicing for the concert... really hard and extensively, very tiring/tired (Z: Absolutely), and wanting it to turn out well. And me and hia have been walking this path together for a long time now, too. Hia has been part of every single step and journey of mine. When hia spoke, it moved me, and then hia suddenly asked to sniff/cheek kiss, even though- before this, hia has never- never, like- done... in a public place/in public at all. (Z: Yeah) So, I was, like- ...happy and also embarrassed. I just started crying all of a sudden, I didn't want to cry.

🗣: You just said 'never done this in public at all' (🗣: Uiii) meaning that- aside from this, there is something happening~

NN: 🤭

Z: There is ×2 [confirming - Yet Again. - that they often sniff/cheek kiss]

🗣: /acting like fujoshis lmao while NN giggles and Z tries to steer back to the sincerity of what this means to him/them

Z: I feel it [sniff/cheek kisses] is-

🗣: /more noises and yapping

Z: I- I/We're giving encouragement, meaning it's a way to show love and give encouragement.

🗣: Ahh~

[ereborne]

✨⚡️ Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday ⚡️✨

Tagged by @acountrygirlsfun (a couple times by now, though not actually this most recent time, but I figure it still counts!) Thank you, Caitlin <3 <3 <3

Helix took a deep breath in, counted four flashes of the desperate direct-@ lights coming in from his side chat panels, and breathed out.  His voice came out steady, and miraculously casual.  "We understand why you did it. You were trying to keep our brothers safe." He watched Harp's eyes go wide at the 'our' brothers. Like he hadn't expected the rest of them to claim the Corries. Because he'd been hiding from them just like from the longnecks, he had falsified his— Deep breath in. Two flashes, no time for longer, leave no silence for Harp to panic in.  Breathe out. Keep going. 

This is not seven sentences, but it's also largely not complete sentences anyway, and it is literally what I just seconds ago finished writing. Still counts!

No-pressure tagging uhhh @ialpiriel, @goingsparebutwithprecision, @anaclastic-azurite, anybody else who might want to play?

[wyattjohnston]

oh my god idk what triggered this memory but when i was reading wrestling fic on ff.net there was one person who had marked their fic complete… but were only posting chapters the chapters once a week

is this a big problem? no, of course not. did it bother me every time i saw their “this fic is finished i’m just posting it one chapter at a time!!!” note in the summary when i was filtering for completed fics? yes. very much.

[sabohime]

♡ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

multi x fem!reader

♡ . eek my first post!! some simple headcannons for you guys! enjoy :) nothing explicit (for now 😈) but! there are references to dicksucking!

♡ . includes: law, sabo, sanji

LAW

Law is constantly on edge. It hurts seeing your captain so stressed all the time.

So, being the dutiful crewmate you are, you decide to…provide him with a little ‘relaxant’. It’s not your fault he’ll have to work for it…

“Y/n-ya, what are you-“ “It’s hot, Captain!”

Law blushes at that. You can barely see it through the Tang’s dim lighting and his tanned skin, but from the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches, you can tell your plan is working.

Why is he harping about your wardrobe? Well, your typical Heart Pirates boiler suit had been traded in for a tight tank and skimpy shorts. How old were these? With the way your thighs were pinched by the elastic of your shorts, and the way your breasts practically fell out of your top, Law was certain you had dug deep in your closet to fish these clothes out.

“Y/n-ya. Seriously,” his tattooed hand rests on your shoulder now, dangerously close to the thin strap of your tank top. “We have uniforms for a reason.”

“Are you really gonna make me change, Captain?” you pout. You watch his brow furrow, and you know you’ve got him now.

“I think I’ll have fun ripping this off of you, Y/n-ya,” he grunts, hot breath now in your ear. His hands wander down to your shorts, palming your ass and taking notice of your lack of panties. “Even more dress code violations? I might just have to punish you tonight, Y/n-ya.”

You gulp. Law says Room and suddenly you’re in his bedroom.

“Regretting your decision, Y/n-ya?”

SABO

Once again, Dragon’s given him far too much paperwork.

As his secretary, it’s your job to provide him with some repose from his workload.

So…What better to let him take another load out on you? Maybe you should snag a pillow from your desk chair next time…

“Chief, I brought you the tea you asked for. A splash of milk and extra sugar,” you say, repeating his order sweetly and perfectly from years of practice. When you cross the threshold to his office, you find your chief of staff with his vest off, cravat undone and on the table, and his shirt partly unbuttoned.

The sight of his scarred, muscular chest makes you gulp. It’s okay Y/n, you can do this, you assure yourself.

“Thank you, Y/n-chan. You’re so kind, helping me out,” Sabo says, his cheeks rosy and smile innocent. You think him the perfect caricature of a schoolboy.

“It’s nothing, chief. I am your secretary after all. It’s my job,” you grin, placing the tea on his desk in front of him. You make sure to lean over and give him an eyeful of cleavage, just in case he might be interested.

“Is it your job to tease me as well?”

You freeze. You didn’t actually think he’d take the bait. Shit.

“Don’t be shy now, Y/n-chan. I’ve already gotten a nice view of your tits. And your skirt could be pulled down a tad, I suppose. You’re hardly professional these days,” you listen, face hot, sweat beginning to run down your back. At least he wasn’t scolding you— that was evident in the fact he said ‘tits’, and the generally teasing lilt in his usually silky smooth voice. It’s gotten deeper because he’s so tired, and it’s starting to make you clench your thighs.

“I-uh, I’m sorry, chief. I- I figured…” you scramble, trying to think of some excuse to remedy this situation. “I figured you might want a, uh, distraction. Right! A distraction from work!”

“Oh really?” the blond grins, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving his hands to unbutton his trousers. “Dragon-san has been giving me so much paperwork. It’s the least you could do, right Y/n-chan?”

You watch in awe as he takes himself out of his boxers.

“Now, Y/n-chan…How much of a distraction can you be?”

SANJI

Sanji gets hard just from smelling women’s perfume. So seducing him is easier than…really anything.

So, one night you can’t sleep. And the chef in the kitchen preparing recipes seems like a wonderful target for your affections.

“Sanji-kun, what’re you making?”

Sanji jumps from his place stirring on the counter, surprised at the sound of your beautiful voice.

“Oh my! Has an angel descended down on me to try my humble cooking?” the man swirls around you with hearts in his eyes, eventually bending down on one knee to kiss your knuckles. “It’s nothing special, my dear Y/n-swan. Simply practicing recipes for fruit tarts.”

You cup his cheek. A trickle of blood comes down his nose, but he pulls away from your touch to quickly wipe it away.

“Sounds yummy, Sanji. Could I try one?”

“Of course, mellorine!” Sanji keens. You smile at how cute he is. The blond grabs a fruit tart, which happens to be your favorite fruit, and brings it over to you.

He sits it on a plate in front of you, waiting like a lapdog as he anticipates praise for his cooking. However you don’t move to pick up the tart.

“Y/n…swan?”

“Feed it to me, Sanji-kun?” you say seductively, leaning over the kitchen island so your breasts pop over your crossed arms. Immediately Sanji is staring, but you don’t scold him this time. This was your goal.

“Of- of course, anything for my Y/n-swan,” Sanji stutters. He brings the small tart to your lips, and as you reach the last bite, you grab his wrist.

You decide to be extra bold, and lick a stripe up his finger. Your mouth detaches with a pop, and Sanji looks like he might pass out.

“That was good, Sanji-kun. Do you have any other special treats for me?”

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 6

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, Azriel is an idiot, Eira has a well-deserved crying fit and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

"Do I want to know what your mother said to you?" Cassian asked him with a sigh the next morning. They were at the River House. 

Eira was still sleeping. Or again. Resting. Pure exhaustion apparent in every fibre of her being. She had stumbled up the stairs the night before, fell into her bed and hadn’t moved. Feyre and Nesta were both with her, had been with her since then... 

Azriel let out a small huff, and glanced at Cassian from his couch seat.

“No,” he said bluntly. “No, you really don’t want to know.”

"You're brooding," Cassian pointed out. Azriel snorted at his brother’s observation, crossing his arms.

“And you’re observant,” he said dryly. “Your point?”

Cassian huffed in amused annoyance and shoved him playfully. “Come on. Out with it,” he said, propping his feet on the coffee table, his wings shifting behind him. “You’ve been quiet and broody and grumpy all morning. You need to talk about it.”

"Talk about what? Talk about the fact that whatever Amren said to my mate was enough to push her head first into a panic so bad that she winnowed? Burned down half a forest accidentally?" Azriel asked, his voice forcedly even. "Or about the fact that I needed my mother to call me out on my bullshit because I am a fucking idiot ?"

"Language," Rhys said with a sigh, trying and failing to feed Nyx his porridge.

Cassian rolled his eyes in annoyance at Rhys’s words, while Azriel gave his high lord a flat look.

“Are you seriously going to get on me for my language?” he asked Rhys dryly. “Out of everything I just said?

"I do not need a fight with Feyre, because our son starts repeating your curse words," Rhys muttered.

Cassian snorted at that, and Azriel couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head.

Somehow, even right now, when everything was such a mess, Rhys still managed to find ways to be a caring father.

“Can we focus on something more important?” Azriel said, his voice a grumble. “Like the fact that I’m failing as a mate?”

Cassian’s snort turned into a choke at Azriel’s comment, his eyes going wide. “Failing as a mate? You? You’re kidding, right?”

Azriel scowled at Cassian’s shocked response.

“And how exactly is it possible that I’m not failing?” he demanded, his hands clenching into fists. “Because I can think of many, many ways, Cass.”

“What exactly have you done that qualifies as failure?” Cassian countered, shifting position so that he mirrored Azriel’s pose. “Because I’m really drawing a blank.”

"I fancied myself in love with her twin sister and pretty much used Eira as nothing but a source of information about Elain. Then, when I realised that Eira was my mate, I asked for permission to court her and within that conversation somehow found it prudent to say that Elain was the pretty one but Eira was the kind one and would protect our children fiercely. Then I gave her a harp as a courting gift, while she needed to sell her old one to keep her family from starving and nobody ever even thought about the fact that maybe that would bring up some bad memories. Then instead of asking what she wanted to do, I decided on the symphony, where I spent 3 hours sitting next to her in silence because all I could concentrate on was the fact that she held my hand . I have no fucking clue if sewing and baking and cooking are actually her hobbies or just the chores she liked best and I don't even know her favourite colour. Tell me how I am not failing, Cassian!"

Cassian opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for words.

Azriel let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

He knew he had screwed up. That he had failed miserably in so many ways. But saying the words aloud…hearing them said out loud…somehow just made it even more real.

He slumped down in his seat, burying his head in his hands.

“You…you really are an idiot, Az…” Cassian finally managed to say, his voice quiet as he spoke. 

Azriel knew that. 

"I told Nesta that everybody hates her," Cassian admitted quietly. "I didn't tell her that I loved her until after our fucking mating ceremony. I have no clue what her favourite colour is either, now that I am thinking about it."

When Cassian told him that, Azriel’s eyes flew open and he looked up at his brother, his jaw slackening.

“You what?” he demanded, not quite believing what he’d just heard.

"Not my best moments," Cassian admitted drily.

Azriel let out a choked snort at his brother’s reply, and he buried his head in his hands again.

“And you said I’m the idiot?” he asked faintly.

“We’re both idiots,” Cassian said matter-of-factly, flopping back against the couch cushions. “Maybe all males are idiots.”

"I didn't tell Feyre about the dangers the pregnancy put her in," Rhys said quietly. "I didn't tell her we were mates at first either. I am sure there are dozens of other things I did, where I failed as a mate."

Azriel sighed, and he let his hand drop to his lap, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re really not helping,” he said, his voice quiet. “I shouldn’t feel better about being a failure as a mate because my brothers are failures too.“

Cassian snickered at Azriel’s response, but Rhys let out a huff and gave him an amused smile.

“I’m just saying,” he began, his eyes soft. “You’re far from the only person to have ever messed up with a mate, Azriel. Hell, the list of things I did wrong with Feyre is longer than your arm.”

Azriel closed his eyes again, letting out a sigh as he rested his head back against the couch cushions.

He knew that Rhys was right. Knew that all the males around him were speaking the truth. He wasn’t the only one to have messed up with a mate.

But somehow, knowing that didn’t make the knowledge that he had failed feel any less raw. Any less painful.

“I don’t want to fail,” Azriel said quietly. “I don’t want to put her through…this pain. But I feel like that’s all I’m doing. All I did was let my own emotions and wants and desires drown out what Eira really needed“

"Then maybe you should ask Eira what Eira actually wants," Cassian said with a snort.

...And he was already back to making the exact same error as before, wasn't he? That should have been his first thought.

Azriel closed his eyes again, letting out another weary sigh.

“How?” he mumbled. “How do I go to her and say ‘Hey, I realize that I did everything wrong so far. And I failed you and I’m an idiot, so how about you and I can start everything over from the beginning?’”

A hand, strong and heavy, descended on the top of his head and ruffled his hair.

“By doing it,” Rhys said firmly, a hint of a smile on his face. “By looking her straight in the eye and telling her what you just admitted to us. She deserves the honesty.“

“And when she says ‘no’? When she says she wants nothing to do with a failure and idiot of a male like me?” Azriel asked bitterly. “What then?”

"She won't," Rhys said calmly. "She won't, Azriel. She has been in love with you for years."

Azriel let out a sharp huff at Rhys’s statement. “Even more reason not to take me back,” he grumbled in response. “She’s loved me for that long and that’s all I come up with? Silence and stupidity? If I were her, I would reject me too."

"Just talk to her," Cassian said with a sigh. "We have enough other problems to deal with that aren't your brooding, Az."

There were so many other things to deal with. So many other things more important than his brooding.

Maybe there weren't many other things that were more important than his relationship with Eira, but still…

“Fine,” he mumbled at last, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll talk to her.” 

He needed to talk to her. Once she was awake. In the meantime… "What did you do to Amren?" he asked Rhys, who looked up startled.

“We had words,” Rhys said clippedly. “I suggested that she'll stay with Varian in the Summer Court for a few weeks. She’ll be welcome in Velaris when she can apologise to Eira and actually mean it.” Rhys’ voice was icy when he said that. “And I am due to have another conversation with Morrigan because I am not letting her get away with it either. Which reminds me, Cassian, you also owe Eira an apology,” Rhys pointed out evenly.

Cassian grimaced. “I know,” he admitted with a sigh. “I just really doubt that she wants to hear it,” he admitted quietly. 

Rhys sighed. "Which brings me to our next problem: I didn't want to push it...but we need to get Eira to train."

Azriel inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Of course, they would need to talk about that. Part of him was even surprised that Rhys had waited that long to bring up training.

"She needs control," Rhys continued, holding up a hand. "I am not talking about training her to kill anybody. I am talking about her learning to control her...lightning. And maybe some self-defence if she is up to that."

Azriel nodded in agreement. As much as he hated the thought of any sort of violence being aimed toward Eira — hated the mere idea of seeing her get hurt again — he knew that Rhys was right.

She needed to know how to control herself. To protect herself. She needed to know how to fight.

Azriel nodded again, raking a trembling hand back through his hair.

A part of him felt like he was betraying Eira by agreeing to this. Like he was failing her again. But another part, the part of him that was a warrior, that knew how to fight, that knew the dangers that came with not being able to defend yourself…that part of him agreed with Rhys.

"I'll be the bad guy," Rhys said with a sigh. "I'll be the one asking her. I hope I'll get away without outright ordering her."

Azriel let a small huff at Rhys’s comment.

He knew that if anyone had a chance at convincing Eira to train, it would be Rhys. But that didn’t help the pang of guilt at the thought of his mate receiving further training — being forced into training to begin with.

“And this arrived yesterday,” Rhys said with a sigh as he dropped an envelope in front of them. 

Azriel’s mouth flattened as he looked down at the envelope, his heart dropping at the sight of the Day Court symbol.

Cassian let out an identical, weary sigh as they also caught sight of the symbol.

Everyone in the room knew what that invitation meant.

"Feyre and I are required to attend," Rhys said quietly. "If Nesta won't go...there will be talk. Maybe less talk if Eira doesn't attend, but there will be talk about strive between the sisters, regardless of what information we feed them."

Azriel had to grit his teeth to hold back from letting out a snarl.

He knew Rhys was right. Knew that there would be talk no matter what.

But the thought of Eira being forced to attend that wedding...forced to endure Elain’s presence… He clenched his fist and took in a deep breath through his nose.

He was not going to like this. “If Eira goes, I go,” he spat out. 

Rhys’s mouth flattened for a moment, and Azriel braced himself for a fight.

Instead, his brother just gave him a short nod. “I expected nothing less, brother,” he said quietly.

****

Eira had slept. The first restful night in quite a while.

She still felt exhausted. Still felt like the world around her was...blurry. But it didn’t feel like all her energy had been sapped from her body, forcing her into unconsciousness.

It was an improvement.

"How are you feeling?" Feyre asked her softly. Nesta and she were curled around Eira in her bed...reminding her of their days in that bed in that cottage. Just one thing was lacking: Elain.

“I’m...better than I was last night,” she mumbled truthfully, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “…Still tired though.”

"You winnowed without training. That should probably be expected," Nesta said drily. 

"You also nearly put Amren on fire with your lightning," Feyre said with a grimace, and Eira flinched.

"She had that coming," Nesta growled. "What did she tell you? Were you a waste of life as well?" Eira flinched again, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

She didn’t want to talk about Amren. Didn’t want to talk about anything that had happened. Didn’t want to think about anything that had happened.

She just wanted to…sleep. She wanted to forget. Let her eyelids close. Drift away. Not feel so goddamn tired…

"She told her that not training her powers was a waste," Feyre said quietly. "That Eira owed it to me because I hunted and apparently kept her alive . It was absolutely out of line and ridiculous."

A fresh wave of heat rushed to Eira’s cheeks as Feyre explained what had happened, and a pang of shame went to her stomach. 

Because Amren was right. She did owe it to Feyre. That, and so much more. Feyre had cared for her. Hunted for her. Protected her. And what had Eira done in return? Nothing. Nothing but fail.

“You know-“ she began to ask, her words cutting awkwardly off as she felt a pang of guilt stabbed her chest.

“Yeah, I know what she said to you,” Feyre replied, her eyes soft. “Rhys got the whole thing out of her…He had a few things to say…I had a few choice words to say to her myself.”

Eira’s heart dropped into her stomach. She should’ve known that Rhys would have found out. He seemed to find out everything sooner or later. She winced, suddenly feeling even more guilty.

"I am sorry," Eira whispered. "I didn't want...I'll...I'll train. I'll learn how to control it. I'll..." She would hate every minute but if it made it easier for Feyre, she would...

“No,” Feyre told her softly, but firmly. “You will not be doing anything to make my life easier, Eira. You owe me nothing. Do you understand me?”

She wrapped her arms around Eira tightly and rested her head against Eira’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to do anything. For me. For anyone. Understand?” she murmured softly. 

"Training would be a good idea, but you don't need to do that for me," Feyre whispered. "Do it for yourself, Eira."

Eira’s throat tightened, and she swallowed thickly.

She didn’t want to do any sort of training. She didn’t want to do anything in that moment.

She just wanted to lie in bed. Forget about the world. And yet…she knew that training would be a smart idea. That she did need to learn how to control her...lightning. And she didn’t want a repeat of last night. With great reluctance, she swallowed again. “I…alright,” she mumbled. “I’ll…I’ll train. And learn how to control…my…lightning.“

She hated the words as soon as they escaped her mouth, but she didn’t take them back. She knew it was the right thing to do…even if she didn’t like it.

"I know you're not looking forward to it," Feyre said drily, and Eira smiled despite herself. A tiny, reluctant smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Who's…going to…" she began, before trailing off. “Who's going to be training me?”

"Not Amren," Nesta snapped immediately.

The words were like a weight being lifted from Eira’s chest. She was relieved more than she cared to admit that Amren wouldn’t be the one training her…and then guilt immediately set in. She shouldn’t feel so relieved. So happy. Amren had done nothing but be harsh but the truth to her, and yet…she still couldn’t stop herself from being happy that the female wouldn’t be training her.

“…That, we know already,” Feyre deadpanned as she shot her sister a fond smile. “But you’re right. Nobody is thinking about having Amren train Eira. It’ll probably be Rhys if you are comfortable with that.”

She took a deep breath.

Rhys.

Rhys was…good. She could deal with Rhsy training her. Out of all the options…he was good. It could be worse, she tried to tell herself.

“Doesn't he have...anything more important to do?” Eira asked hesitantly.

She knew that Rhys was the High Lord and…surely he didn’t have time to deal with her. Surely, he had more important things to deal with than training some…somebody like her. 

She was…waste of time, and she didn’t want to be any more of a burden on him than she already was.

“He’ll figure it out,” Feyre replied, giving her a soft smile. “He’ll make time, Eira. He’s good like that.”

Nesta made an annoyed sound, making Feyre roll her eyes.

Eira swallowed again, the words not really doing anything to reassure her that she wasn’t wasting Rhys’s time.

Rhys was important. The High Lord. He shouldn’t have to waste his time with her . She knew that she couldn’t say those things. Couldn’t make Feyre or Nesta realize how ridiculous this whole thing was…how insane it was to have the High Lord of the Night Court as her teacher .

“It’ll be fine,” Feyre repeated, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Now...how was...your meeting with Azriel's mother yesterday?" Feyre asked. "I need to admit, I didn't even know that his mother was still....alive," she admitted with a grimace.

"He mentions her...very rarely," Nesta disagreed quietly. "She's a seamstress though...She made him a jacket he wore for solstice once."

Eira hadn't known that…but then she also hadn’t known that his mother was still alive. He had never mentioned her to Eira at all. And Esmeray…Esmeray was the last thing Eira wanted to talk about. Eira didn't want to walk about...about what she had said.

"She…was nice. Sweet, like Azriel," Eira answered quietly, swallowing. "She was...maternal. Not like our mother was." It was true. She was sweet…kind…lovely. 

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a glance. "But?" Feyre prompted her quietly. "Did she say....anything?"

Eira didn’t say anything, just closed her eyes. “Talk to us,” Nesta said softly. “What did she say, Eira?” 

"She figured out who I was after I told her my first name...and then she said that Azriel is fond of me but he is fonder of Elain..and that it's too bad that she is mated to another," Eira blurted out, her voice shaky. "He didn't tell her...He didn't tell her that our…that the mating bond had snapped." She could feel the tears burn in her eyes.

"Oh, Eira," Feyre breathed, sounding heartbroken for her.

"I am going to fucking kill him," Nesta muttered.

“Get in line,” Feyre grumbled, and Eira could just feel the scowl her friend was shooting at Azriel in her head.

She swallowed again, feeling the guilt and the shame and the hurt and the….everything, rising up in her chest.

She didn’t want to be upset at this. Didn’t want to feel like…like she had a claim over Azriel, but she couldn’t help the painful pang in her chest at the words Esmeray had said.

Too bad that Elain is mated to another… 

He is fonder of Elain… 

Those words, they just hurt. They burned. And she felt so...helpless.

And the thought that he hadn’t told his mother about their mating bond…it just made the pain even worse.

"Azriel...he said…when he asked me to court…he said that Elain was the pretty one but I was the kind one," Eira choked out. "He wanted her. I am just...I am just a consolation prize to him, aren't I?"

For a moment it was silent. 

"First of all," Feyre said firmly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You are not a consolation prize. Don't ever let me hear you say that again, alright? You are not a consolation prize, you are a treasure ."

"Second," she continued, her voice growing cold. "He is an idiot. Who the hell tells you that? Why would he say that?"

Eira shrugged, feeling her eyes burn.

She didn't know. She didn't understand why he would say that. Why he had said any of what he had said? 

But she knew that...part of her, part of her hoped that he had meant it in an endearing way. That he had called her kind because he liked that about her.

"I thought...I thought just having him could be enough," she whispered. "But how am I supposed to live my whole life knowing that he would be happier if he was mated to Elain? To be compared to her day, after day, and found lacking?"

"For Fuck's sake, Eira!" Nesta snapped.

"He only wants me because of the bond. And maybe because of the vision he saw...he wants the babies we would have together, but he doesn't want me," she choked out. "Every other female would suffice as well."

"Stop that. You know that's not true," Feyre said firmly, wrapping an arm around Eira's shoulders again. "He cares about you; I've seen it for myself."

Eira choked on a bitter laugh. "What does it matter," she whimpered. "He might care...but Elain is still what he wants. Nothing will change that...not even the Mating Bond."

"Azriel...he's an idiot," Nesra agreed angrily. "A complete idiot who can't see that you...you're right in front of him. Yeah, Elain may be the most beautiful out of us all, but she’s clearly bone deep ugly, if she…she tried to keep your babies from you?” Nesta asked and Eira just nodded, tears pouring out of her eyes. 

“A girl,” she choked out. “A girl. Azriel’s wings but my hair. We looked so happy in that stupid vision. And I was pregnant again.” 

Feyre’s mouth fell open as she stared at Eira in shock, while Nesta’s eyes hardened furiously. “She...really…” Feyre’s voice trailed off, sounding heartbroken.

Nesta let out a loud, furious snarl. “She’s a monster . Elain is a monster ,” she spat, her hands forming into fists. 

“She…she tried to keep my babies from me,” Eira repeated, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Azriel and I…looking happy…and...and now...I..."

She had to pause, the tears making it impossible for her to continue.

Both Feyre and Nesta wrapped their arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“It’s not fair,” she choked out. “It’s not fair. I saw us. I saw how happy we were…”

It was as clear as day in her memory. That vision of them in that garden, of Azriel kissing her, of the little girl being hoisted up in the air by him…

Eira had looked so happy. Everything had been so perfect, so right…it had almost made her dizzy. It had been everything she had ever wanted. 

Only to have it ripped away. To know that she’d had a chance at happiness, a chance at…of a family, of everything that she had always wanted…only to have it ripped away so cruelly…

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt in her entire life.

"It's not fair," she mumbled hopelessly, burying her face against Feyre's shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's not fair...He wouldn’t have even cared…he wouldn’t have even…looked in my direction…if the bond hadn’t snapped…he wouldn’t even have looked at me…”

Don't cry, the shadows whispered, coming to wrap around her hands. Don't cry. Master was an utter fool. Blinded by a pretty face. But he does care about you. 

She let out a sob, feeling more of the shadows slide up her arms to wrap around her.

She didn’t know that. Azriel cared…but it didn’t change how he felt about Elain. It didn’t change that he didn’t care for her, for Eira. He only…he only wanted her because of the bond.

He only felt responsible for her because they were mates. All the...feelings...he had towards her...were all just because of the bond.

The shadows only continued to coil around her as she wept silently into Feyre’s shoulder, her heart aching.

She had known from the beginning that Azriel didn’t care for her beyond the bond.

But...until she had heard what Esmeray had said, and learned that he hadn’t told her the truth, she’d still had some tiny part of hope. Some small, stupid part of her that had clung to the hope that maybe, maybe, he would start to feel for her the same way that she felt for him.

"I loved him from the moment I saw him. I looked at him and it was...it was like coming home," she choked out.

“Of course you did,” Feyre said softly, gently stroking her hair as the tears continued to fall. “Of course you did…”

Nesta said nothing, the only sound that escaped her was a low, furious huff.

"I am really going to kill him," she hissed.

“Save some for me,” Feyre grumbled as she held Eira fiercely, her free hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

His Mother had words for Master, the shadows said quietly, coiling themselves into her hair. He's brooding. 

“Good,” Nesta said firmly. “I hope he’s miserable.”

“Nes,” Feyre said quietly, giving her sister a gentle nudge.

“What?!” Nesta said, scowling. “Seriously, he deserves it.”

Eira couldn’t help the tiny part of her that felt bad for him…that felt guilty thinking about him being miserable.

She knew Azriel didn’t love her, and didn’t feel the same way, but…a part of her cared about him. She didn’t want him to be miserable.

 "Why is he brooding?" she asked quietly.

The shadows hummed again, making a soft whispering sound before they spoke again.

His Mother told him he was an idiot. 

"She did?" Feyre perked up in surprise, while Nesta’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk.

Yes, the shadows confirmed, coiling themselves into Eira’s hair like a strange, sentient snake.

It made something warm stir in Eira’s chest, imagining Esmeray calling Azriel an idiot to his face. Master realised that he hasn't been doing right to you...Not with the courting and not with...anything else. 

The words made more tears burn in Eira’s eyes, while Feyre shifted to give her a gentle hug.

“He’s realising, huh?” she grumbled. “That he’s been screwing up?”

Yes. The shadows coiled a little tighter around her, almost as if they were trying to comfort her. It made her heart ache in a different way, feeling warm and painful at the same time.

Will you talk to him? the shadows asked softly. Let him apologise? 

She was upset, she was hurt. She didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted to avoid him and forget this whole mess even happened.

But the shadows...they wanted her to talk to him. They…wanted her to let him apologize.

Another wave of guilt and shame washed over her.

Azriel had done…nothing wrong. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he merely didn’t…care towards her.

He wanted the bond, he wanted the comfort, he wanted a mate, he just…he just didn’t want her .

The thought made a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes, which she promptly buried against Feyre’s shoulder.

Feyre hugged her tightly, while Nesta gently rubbed her back as the shadows continued to coil themselves around her. “It’s alright,” Feyre whispered soothingly, as more shadows drifted down to comfort her. “It’s going to be alright.”

The shadows continued to hum and shift, wrapping themselves around her like a protective, comforting blanket. It was somewhat soothing, the sensation of their coolness, the feel of them wrapping around her, almost like they were trying to tell her it would be alright.

Master has a lot to say to you, the shadows spoke up again. Please, just listen to him, Eira. 

So she just nodded.

Thank you. 

The shadows hummed again, coiling a little tighter around her, and it was almost as if she could feel a sort of pleasure coming from them that she had agreed to talk to Azriel, to listen to whatever he had to say.

"But they'll stay," she choked out, pulling Nesta's hand tight around herself.

“Of course,” Feyre said instantly, wrapping her arms around her as well. “We’ll both stay. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Damn right,” Nesta said, tightening her grip as well. “I may need to restrain myself from knocking any sense into him.”

In any other situation, Eira may have laughed at that, but instead, all she did was give a shaky nod, letting herself be pulled in tight by her sisters.

The gesture was comfort, the feel of them around her reassuring and warm, even as her heart ached in her chest.

A few seconds later, the door opened slowly, and Azriel walked into the room.

Every bit of his usually impassive, stoic demeanour was gone, replaced by a look of anxiety and worry. Eira could see the tension in his shoulders, and the way his hands were clenched into fists.

He stopped a few meters away from them, his gaze locking on Eira instantly.

She could feel his eyes raking over her, like a physical caress, taking in the sight of her clearly tear-stained face. The way her hands were being clutched by Feyre and Nesta.

He looked desperate like he wanted to walk over and touch her, but one glimpse at the way Feyre and Nesta had her wrapped in their arms had him hesitating.

"How...how are you feeling?" he asked her, and she could see his throat bob as he swallowed.

“How do you think she is, you idiot?” Nesta snapped, her voice low and cutting.

Azriel didn't pay any attention to her, his gaze firmly locked on Eira, staring at her as if he was waiting for her to say something.

And Eira…she had no idea what to say. She had absolutely no idea.

She sat there silently, letting words and thoughts and questions swirl in her mind, but saying nothing. And it only seemed to make the tension in Azriel’s shoulders grow even more, the worry in his gaze deepened.

“Eira…” he breathed out, his voice soft and raw, and she could see his hands twitch like he wanted to reach for her. “Can…can we talk?”

Both Feyre and Nesta tensed, their grip on her tightening.

"You can talk. She will listen," Nesta said, her voice icy. "And then she can decide if she wants to take pity on you, or if she never wants to see you again. Did you seriously tell my sister that Elain was prettier than her in the same breath as you asked to court her?!?"

Azriel closed his eyes, looking pained at that, and she could see his shoulders slump. But he didn’t deny it, didn’t try to defend himself, and Eira just…felt her heart ache even more.

"I was an idiot," he said quietly, his voice low and thick. "I…I was a fool."

He sounded so miserable when he said that, and something in Eira just…wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him that this was hurting her more than he seemed to comprehend…but she just sat there, saying nothing, letting the tears still fall silently down her cheeks.

Azriel took a few steps closer, his gaze still firmly fixed on her. He looked miserable, like a wounded animal, like he was in pain.

And a small part of her…a small, stupid part of her wanted to reach out to him. Wanted to tell him it was going to be alright, to hug him and tell him she wasn’t angry.

But it wasn’t going to be alright, and she was angry. So she said nothing.

The silence seemed to drag on, the tension rising thicker in the room. The two sisters held her tighter still, their hands clenched around her, their own gazes fixed on Azriel, shooting glares at him.

It made him look even more miserable, and she could see him taking another cautious step forward.

“Eira…” he tried again, his voice so soft and pleading. “Please, please say something…”

The silence seemed to drag on, the tension rising thicker in the room. The two sisters held her tighter still, their hands clenched around her, their own gazes fixed on Azriel, shooting glares at him.

It made him look even more miserable, and she could see him taking another cautious step forwards.

“Eira…” he tried again, his voice so soft and pleading. “Please, please say something…”

"What do you want me to say, Azriel?" she asked, her voice weak. She wanted to scream and shout but she didn't have it in herself.

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to talk about how your mother had absolutely no clue that we are mates ? How she told me that you were fond of me but fonder of Elain? How it was just too bad that Elain was mated to another male?!"

She could see his body go tense at that, his eyes widening.

It hurt her, to see the realization and pain slowly spreading over his face. He knew what she had gone through, what she had to hear, the truth that his mother had revealed.

But he didn’t understand. He had absolutely no idea just how much all that had hurt her.

"I thought I was alright with it. I thought I could live with it. I could live with the fact that you didn't actually want me. That you wanted the life that vision promised you...that you were in love with my twin sister and not with me."

The words stung both Azriel and her.

She could see him shifting, and hear a low, pained sound leaving his lips. She could see something in his expression…a pain and hurt so deep she couldn’t even find the words to describe it.

"You…you think I don't want you...?" he breathed out, his voice so low she almost didn't hear it.

"You don't want me," Eira choked out. "You wanted Elain. And before that, you wanted Morrigan. And then Elain's vision promised you me and you go along with it, because of the mating bond."

Azriel flinched at that like each word was a physical blow. He looked sick, the misery on his face growing with each statement.

And a part of her was satisfied, seeing him look like that, seeing him look in pain. It was what he deserved after everything that he had done.

But the other part of her…the other part of her ached and bled at every expression of pain on his face.

The silence again continued to drag on, the air still and tense with the heavy atmosphere between the two of them.

He hadn’t denied it, she knew he hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t said that she was wrong, that she was wrong in thinking the only reason he pursued her was because of the bond.

The thought made her eyes sting, tears brimming and overflowing. Her heart ached, hurt, felt like it was bleeding.

"I am sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry, Eira."

The words stung, just as much as they gave her hope.

Her heart was aching in her chest, tears still falling slowly down her cheeks. Her shoulders trembled, and she took in a few shaky breaths.

She had been hurt by him. He had never even considered her before the bond had snapped. And he hadn’t denied it when she had called him out on it.

And still, she wanted him to fix this. Wanted him to find some way to fix this.

"I am not...I am not going and try to defend myself," he whispered. "I am not going and lie to you. And yes, Eira. I did see that vision and I felt that Mating Bond and I did want to pursue you. Because I want that future. I want that future with you."

She wanted that future with him as well, she longed for it, but she wanted him to come to her because he wanted her. Because he desired her, the vision be damned.

But instead, she came second fiddle to an image in a vision. Instead, she came last to Elain and Mor.

"And I went about it wrong," Azriel continued. "I should have...I should have actually made the effort to get to know you, Eira. I should have talked to you. I should have asked what you wanted. I should have asked for your favourite colour. And I should have..."

He trailed off, the words leaving him in a choked gasp. Eira could see the misery on his face, the suffering.

He looked completely miserable, his hands clenching into fists, his shoulders hunched and tensed, but he kept on going, his voice thick and low in his throat.

"I should have cared. I should have seen you. I should have noticed you."

"And I can't change it. I can't change what I did know. I fucked up, Eira. I fucked up so badly, that you have every reason and every right not to want to see me for centuries."

The words stung, and Eira just…she ached.

She ached, she hurt, and everything inside her had tears welling. She ached because…she wanted to forgive him. She wanted to give him a second chance.

But the thought of being second rate again, of being the last choice…it hurt.

But…she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him, either. Couldn’t look away from the sight of how miserable he was, how distressed and in pain.

It hurt, it hurt so badly…but a part of her just wanted to hug him, to reassure him…Azriel took another few steps towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. He looked so wretched, his eyes pained, his whole body shaking as if it was taking him a monumental effort to remain standing there. To force himself to remain standing so close to her, to keep looking at her.

He was still a good few meters away from her, but the expression on his face, the look in his eyes…

It was like he was in agony.

She could see his hands clenching into fists, and could hear him taking a shaky breath.

"You…you don’t have to forgive me, or even want to talk to me again," he said, and she could hear how hard it was for him to form those words.

It hurt…it hurt seeing him look so miserable, looking like he was in pain. And it hurt because she wanted him. She still wanted him.

And the fact that it hurt was what got to her, what finally made her move. She shoved off Feyre and Nesta, who were still holding her, both of them looking startled.

They protested, clearly wanting to hold her back, but Eira pushed her way through, walking towards him.

Azriel hadn’t moved, his body going tense, his eyes going wide as she approached him.

And she hated that part of herself. She hated how much she still wanted him, despite everything that had happened. How much she ached for him, in ways that should be impossible.

It was a sharp, dull ache, a desperate and constant pain, a desire to reach out to him, to pull him closer, and at the same time, shove him as far away as possible.

She wanted to shove him away, push him further away. She wanted to tell him to suffer, to hurt the way she was hurting.

But at the same time…she wanted to pull him closer. To feel his skin against hers, under her fingertips. To feel his arms around her, holding her tight, his lips against her skin.

It was maddening. He was maddening.

“I am sorry,” he said, the truth flowing like clear spring water from his words. “I am so sorry. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

His words…she wanted to believe them. Wanted to believe that he was being sincere, that he truly was sorry, that he wanted to make it up to her.

And a small, naive, foolish, hopeful part of her, the part that was desperate and hopeful and greedy, did believe him. Wanted to latch onto the words, to hold them tight and not let go.

“I want to get to know you. I want to learn your favourite colour and your favourite place in Velaris. I want..”

He paused, taking a shaky breath. His eyes were still fixed on hers, pleading and desperate and aching, his entire body practically aching with the need to come closer.

“I want to learn everything there is to know about you. I want to learn about your smile and your laugh and your tears. I want to be with you, Eira.”

The words…they were everything that she wanted to hear. Everything that she had wished he would tell her, and more. They felt like a caress, like a gentle breeze, a soft comfort. And they hurt.

They hurt because she wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out and hold him close. Wanted to forgive him and let herself be close to him in the way she longed for.

“I want to be with you,” he repeated, his words a choked gasp. “I want to court you. I want to mate you. I want to…I want…”

He trailed off, choking on the words, taking another deep breath. His body was shaking, his shoulders tense, his expression aching with the effort of it all.

He looked in pain, so utterly hurt, like every word out of his mouth was agony. But he was still talking, still trying to get out the words, trying to make her understand.

“I want to spend every waking moment of my day with you,” he continued, his tone so raw and open and aching. “I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you. I want to hear your voice and see your face every damn day.”

“I’ll do better, I’ll be better,“ he whispered.

He sounded so desperate, his voice thick and raw and pleading. It was like he was being ripped apart from the inside like he was in physical pain.

And Eira…she couldn’t help it.

She couldn’t help but believe his words, couldn’t help but let her stubborn, foolish heart hope.

“Please,” he continued, his voice breaking. “Please, please give me a second chance. I’ll…”

Another breath, another choked gasp. His shoulders hunched, his fists clenching tighter.

“I’ll do anything, just please give me a second chance. Give me the chance to right this. Give me the chance to prove to you…prove to you how much I want you. Just…give me another chance.”

His voice was so raw, so open, the look in his eyes pure pleading. He looked like he was ready to beg, ready to do anything for her. Anything to give him another chance.

And her heart, her foolish, stupid, hopeless heart…the part that wanted to hold onto him, to forgive him, to give him that chance ached.

She still hurt, still ached, the words from his mother still so fresh in her mind. The thought of being second, of being his last choice…it was a sharp blow against her.

But at the same time, she couldn’t stop the part of her that wanted to hold onto him. That longed for just a chance, just a moment where he was hers, where she was first and last and everything in his heart.

Azriel looked ready to continue, but he stopped when he saw the look on her face, her conflicting emotions warring inside her chest.

He closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping. He was probably expecting her to say no, to turn him down. He probably expected her to…

To do the sensible, rational thing. But sensibility and rationality were the last things she was feeling right now.

Her heart was aching, her body trembling, her emotions a swirl of conflicting feelings. Her mind was screaming at her, telling her just how idiotic she was for considering this.

And at the same time, her heart was yearning, longing for him. Wanting to grab onto him and never let go.

Azriel’s entire body was shaking, his eyes still closed, looking like he was bracing himself for her answer, for the words he expected her to say.

The words she should say, the words that would send him away, that would make her turn and walk away.

And yet…she found herself taking a step closer towards him. And then another.

She wasn’t even sure why she was doing it, why her body was moving before she even knew it, her mind screaming at her to stop and turn around and walk away.

But she kept moving towards him, each step sending a strange, giddy rush shooting through her, her heart aching and fluttering at the same time.

And she stopped in front of him, less than a foot of space separating them, her eyes fixed on his.

Azriel still hadn’t opened his eyes, his face tense and taut as if waiting for the blow to come.

But the blow never came.

Because Eira reached out, her fingers trembling as she reached up to touch his cheek.

Azriel's entire body jerked as if he had been struck, a gasp leaving his mouth. His eyes flew open, shock and surprise clear on his face.

But he didn’t move, didn't pull away or even flinch as her fingers made contact with his skin.

He just stood there, frozen as he stared at her.

Her hand trembled, her throat tight as she felt the warmth of his skin. His face was tense, his breath catching with every moment her fingers remained against his skin, like he was fighting the urge to turn his head and press his lips to her skin.

“Eira,” he breathed out, the word a whispered plea, a prayer. And then he seemed to realize he had moved, was on the edge of reaching out to her in turn.

But he caught himself, his hands hanging at his sides. He was holding himself back, holding himself from reaching for her…

And somehow, that made her even more determined, her decision stronger.

She wanted him to reach for her, wanted his hands on her skin, wanted him to hold her close and never let go.

She slid her hand along his cheek, her palm caressing his jaw. And she stepped even closer, closing the very last bit of distance between them.

They were so close, her body almost pressed flush against him. He was so warm, his body burning, and so large, like a rock, unflinching and steady against her.

She could feel him trembling, just barely holding himself back from wrapping his arms around her. His eyes were fixed on hers, longing and pleading and aching.

Her breath caught when she realized how closely she was pressed against him, how only a fraction of distance separated their bodies. She could practically feel his racing heart under her skin, hear every quick and desperate breath leaving his mouth.

He was breathing fast, ragged and sharp, every little inhale shuddering from his lips like a gasp. He looked like he was about to snap, his entire body visibly trembling like a taut thread on the edge of snapping.

“Don’t do it again,” she said softly. “I won’t…I won’t be able to go through it a second time.”

Her words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, his breath hitching in his chest. She could see the pain that flared on his face at her words.

“I-I won’t. I swear,” he responded, and his voice was so gentle, like he was talking to a wounded bird. “I swear on my life, I’ll never let you go through that again.”

He was holding himself back, every muscle and sinew in his body tense with the effort of it. It was like he was fighting the urge to pull her flush against him, to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.

“I swear, Eira,” he repeated, his voice a low and achingly sincere promise. “I swear I’ll be better. I’ll be everything you need, anything you want.”

“The only thing I want is for you to be yourself. I want you. All of you.”

A choked gasp left his mouth, his eyes going wide. He looked almost stunned like he couldn’t quite process what she had said.

“I…you want me?” he asked, his voice rough and raw, filled with disbelief.

She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. “Yes. I want you,” she confirmed, her voice firm and unwavering.

The words had a strange effect on him. It was like they had knocked the air from his lungs, leaving him looking completely awed and shocked.

He took another shuddering breath, his body trembling as he stared down at her. “You…you really still want me?” he asked his voice barely a whisper.

And just like that, the dam broke inside him. He reached out, pulling her flush against his body, his arms wrapping tight around her.

His head dropped to her shoulder, his body shuddering as he pressed his face against the crook of her neck. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, his voice ragged and raw and desperate. “I’ll be better. I’ll be the male you deserve. I promise.”

His body was shaking against hers, holding her tight like he was afraid she would disappear. He was breathing fast, hard and frantic, his chest rising and falling against her body frantically.

She could feel him shaking like a leaf, every muscle in his body taut and tense as he held her tight but oh so gently. And under that, she could feel his racing heart, beating so fast and intense that it was dizzying.

“I’ll be everything you need,” Azriel repeated, his lips moving against her skin, his words spoken in a low, ragged whisper. “I’ll be your male, your mate. I’ll never leave you, never hurt you or let you down again. I swear it, Eira, I swear it on my life.”

His fingers were digging into her skin, clinging to her so tightly that she could feel the slight, sharp pressure of his hands against her like he was trying to hold her to him, keep her as close as possible.

He was holding her so tightly that it should have hurt, but it only felt good. It felt like a comfort, a reassurance like he would never let her go.

[ebodebo]

Backyard Barbecue

NSFW CONTENT

—alex is your friends-with-benefits, and it’s your cousin's wedding, and you need a date.. (this whole plot was made just so he could eat box)

—alex keller x f!reader

—2.7k+

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"Please.." You beg Alex as you sit up in his bed, naked, with his fluffy comforter covering you. He sits on the edge, carefully putting his boot on, with his abdomen bare.

"You know I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't  desperate." You enunciate the last word. He turns to face you. "Desperate. Huh?" He raises a brow and turns back down to lace up his boot.

"Yes." You sigh. "My cousin is younger than me, and she's already getting married." You bring your knees up, so you can rest your head on them. "My aunts are always nagging me about when I'm gonna finally get a boyfriend." You huff out.

"Look, I feel for you—I really do—but they're going to know I'm not your boyfriend," he said, bending up and turning towards you.

"Don't make that face at me." He says, noticing your big puppy-dog eyes and deep frown. "What face?" You murmur, obviously lying.

"You know the face." He leans down to pick up a white shirt and slips it on. You silently curse and crawl your way across the bed to him with the whole comforter wrapped around you.

You rest your chin on his shoulder. "Please.." You purr as you press a kiss to his clothed shoulder.

"Uh-uh." He tuts. "What?" You question as you kiss your way up his neck and gently nibble at his ear. "I'm not-fuck-I'm not falling for that." He protests but makes no real effort to move away.

"Please.." You say again, this time whispering it directly in his ear. He could feel your hot breath, full of need. "Go with me." You leaned more on him, slowly dropping the blanket encasing your naked body so he could feel your nipples graze his shoulder as you leaned to look him in the eye.

He turned to look down at you, now at his eye level. "I'll make it worth your while." You grin, threading your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on the roots.

"Are you trying to barter sex?" He groaned out, a smirk playing on his lips. "Maybe." You play with the hem of the joggers he had on, slipping a finger beneath the waistband.

"God, you're gonna be the death of me." He huffed, roughly gripping your waist and pulling you onto him so you were straddling his lap. You could feel the fabric from his shirt rub against your bare nipples and the fabric from his joggers rub against your cunt.

He gripped you tighter, dragging his hand from your waist to grip your ass. "Uh-uh." You say, gripping his hand on your ass and moving it away. "You don't get to touch if you don't go." You use your hand to tug at his hair again.

"Fuck, fine." He gritts, bringing both hands to grip your ass. 

"Yay! Thank you." You exclaim, sliding off of him.

"Seriously." He huffs as you wonder to pick up your dress and bra off the floor, as you laugh at him. He doesn't stay sour for long as he notices the way your bare ass swings as you pick up your clothes.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. You pop back up and look at him. "Bad boy." You laugh out. "Quit looking at my ass, and get yours dressed."

"Why?" He sighed as he laid back on the bed. "Because we have to leave in thirty minutes." You casually said as you slipped your dress back on.

"It's today?" He twisted his head to face you, his voice carrying a lethal tone. "Surprise. Get dressed." You harp as you swipe some lipstick over your swollen lips. "God damn it." He grumbled as he begrudgingly got off the bed to head into the bathroom.

The ride to your cousins felt exhausting and long because Alex kept whining the whole time. Though, you didn't take his complaints too seriously because his hand rested on your thigh the entire drive.

You looked out the window to see the white, bricked, picked-fenced house—the house you had spent so many summers at. 

"We're here!" You chimed as you scooted closer to him to pull up the neck of the tie he pulled down as soon as you put it on him. 

"Was the tie really necessary?" He tilted his head, raising his hand to push a strand of hair away from your face. "I want you to make a good first impression." You gently pat him on the chest. 

"Let's go." You beamed.

You both made your way to the front door, which swung open without you even knocking on it.

"You made it!" Your cousin chimed, bringing you in for a tight hug. She made quick notice of the hunk of a man behind you. "You must be the boyfriend?" She asked, shamelessly looking him up and down.

"Yes, ma'am." He politely said, sticking his hand out.

"Oh, please. We're family!" She quickly brought him in for a hug, and he gave you a "help save me look" and you let out a quiet laugh. She let go. "Well, come on in! Your dad's inside." She stepped aside so you could both come in, but she gently grabbed your wrist and gave you a wink and a thumbs up.

"Nice catch." She whispered, referring to Alex. You let out a little laugh, covering your mouth. She led you both to the kitchen, where the rest of your family was. Alex noticed a familiar man leaning against the counter. He made his way over to him.

"Keller, what the hell are you doing here?" Captain Price questioned as he took a sip of his whiskey.

"I could ask you the same, Captain." He laughed out.

"Well, I'm-" Price begins.

"Dad!" You chimed, making your way over to Price and hugging him tightly. Alex's eyes widened. "Wha- Dad?" You pull away and tug on Alex's arm, so you're side-by-side. "Dad, this is my boyfriend, Alex." You beam as you thread your fingers through his.

"Boyfriend?" Price questions as his eyes dart to Alex's.

"Maybe boyfriend is a... strong word," Alex says, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "We've been dating for five months." You inform your dad, smiling.

"Is that right?" Price's eyes are still on Alex as he slowly sips his drink.

"Yes," you say as you turn to see your cousin struggling to bring in some fruit trays through the front door. "Sorry, let me go help her. Stay here." You say to Alex. His eyes widen, and he tries to grip your hand, but you are already off to the door.

"Keller." Price starts, as Alex turns back towards him. "What the hell are you doing with my daughter?" He gently places his whiskey glass down.

"Look, I didn't even know you had a daughter. You think I would have started dating her if I knew she was yours?" He counters. 

"I would hope not." Price cooly says as he crosses his arms. He notices Alex's pleading expression and decides to cut a little slack—just a little, though.

"Look, I know you're a good guy, and hell, she looks smitten. But that's my baby." Price gestures to her over by the door.

He continues. "If you do anything to hurt her, Keller, I'll-" 

"You'll kill me?" Alex interrupts, causing Price to let out a low chuckle.

"Christ, no. She would never speak to me again." Price leans a little closer to Alex. "But, I do know some guys who would if I asked." He's quick to step away from Alex and chuckle as he sees you approaching. He gives Alex a nod, and he puts on a fake laugh.

"Sounds like you two are getting along." You smile, grabbing Alex's hand. "We're going to go grab some food. You want anything, dad?"

"No, no. Your aunt already made me eat three plates." He pats his bloated stomach. You let out a laugh and drag Alex outside the back door to the burger station.

You assemble your burgers, carefully adding an array of veggies and a slice of cheese. As he puts ketchup on his bun, you turn towards him.

"Are you having fun?" You question shyly. 

"Why're you actin' all shy, sweetheart?"

"Well, you know." He raises a brow. "Because we aren't really da—" You are interrupted by a hand gently moving you aside. "Excuse me," the voice says. "Oh, sorry—Jack!" You smile, raising your arms to bring him in for a hug.

"I was wondering how long it would take ya," Jack said, encasing your body in a hug. It felt strange seeing him after all these years. You never dated, but your parents always joked that you two would get married.

You pulled away and looked at Alex, whose eyes were narrowed and his body visibly stiff. "This is my boyfriend, Alex." You grabbed his hand.

"Boyfriend?" Jack questioned, his eyes drifting to where your hands were connected. 

"That's right. Boyfriend." Alex confirmed, enunciating the last word.

You looked at him and made a confused expression but turned back to Jack. "So, are you having a good time?" You took Alex's cup of iced tea in his hand and sipped some. 

"I'm... ya." Jack's gaze slowly fell to the dip in between your breasts. 

"Eyes up," Alex commands, bringing his hand to rest on the small of your back. Jack immediately raises his eyes to meet Alex's as his face reddens at getting caught. "Sorry. I should. I... okay." Jack steps away from both of you, forgetting his plate with his burger on it on the table.

You turn to Alex with your hands on your hips. "What was that?" You question. "I don't know. Maybe he was busy?" He picks up his burger and takes a bite, playing dumb.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Keller." You continue. "I'm talking about you getting all jealous." He swallows. "Me? Jealous? When?" Widening his mouth at the accusation. 

"You so were. Oh my God!" You say, lightly hitting his bicep.

"I wasn't jealous. He was being weird." He explains. 

He pauses for a moment, trying to ease out his next words. "Have you two had sex?"

"What?" You laugh out. "No, Alex, we have not had sex." You grab a napkin off the table. "But, we've... done other stuff."

"Other stuff?" He shifts on his feet. "What other stuff?"

"Like you know.." You trail off.

"No, I don't know." He tilts his head, feeling his body tighten. "Go on." He pushes.

"I can't believe you're making me say it." You look down at the ground briefly. "Fine. Like oral or whatever," You continue before he can speak. "Well, he didn't like going down on me. It was mostly me going down on him."

"You're fucking serious?" He put his burger down on his plate. You nodded, taking another sip of his tea.

"I'm glad you like to though." You smile, drinking more tea. You tilt your head a little, a puzzled expression taking over your face. "You like to, right?"

He laughs. "You don't think I like to?"

"I don't know.." You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth.

He takes another bite of the burger, scanning your needy face and puffy lip tucked between your teeth.

"Where's the bathroom?" He roughly asks after swallowing. You weren't picking up what he was putting down. "It's... ah... to the right of the front door, then your turn to the left."

"Care to help me?" He asks, setting his burger down. He then grabs his tea from your hand and sets it next to his plate.

"Oh.. sure." You smile as you grab his hand and direct him inside.

It was nice everyone had moved outside, so now you and Alex didn't have to worry about anyone hearing you two.

You stepped into the bathroom first, and Alex followed suit, locking the door as soon as he stepped in. He was quick to connect his lips to yours. His hand wandered down your body, stopping just above your ass.

You begin to sink to your knees, but Alex quickly pulls you up and places you on the edge of the sink.

"You don't want me to?" You skeptically question, shifting on the cool porcelain of the sink.

"I only want to taste you." He sinks to his knees and pools up the fabric of your dress so it's gathered around your waist. You eye him and bring your hand to thread through his light hair. 

He places hot, open kisses on your lower thigh, slightly nipping at your skin, causing you to squirm. He continued moving up your thigh, painfully slow. You could feel his facial hair graze you, sending goosebumps across your skin.

"Can you.. can you just.." You threw your head back as he made contact with your upper thigh, grazing your cunt. 

"What was that?" He said, a smirk playing on his lip.

"Can you just.." You tried to gently scoot his head closer to where you ached.

"Talk to me. What do you need?" He gruffly said against your thigh.

"Fuck. I need your tongue." He let out a rough laugh that vibrated throughout your entire body. He leaned in closer and licked a small strip across the outside of your dripping cunt.

"Fuck." You moaned, tightening your grip on his hair.

His tongue was firm but not too firm. It felt just right against you. You craved more. No, you needed more. It was almost as if he read your mind because he slipped his tongue in you so it was grazing your clit.

You buck against his face at the contact. "I swear you're a mind-reader." 

"I know what you like." He gently licks your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"We gotta' be a little quiet, baby. You know I like to hear you, but I don't think your family would." He gruffed as he took your clit between in lips and sucked it slowly.

"Alex." You moaned out, leaning your head against the bathroom mirror. 

"Feel good?" He murmured against you as he licked your clit.

You quickly nodded.

"What was that?" He paused his actions, awaiting a response.

"Yes. So good." You whine out, trying to move him back.

"Good." He dipped his head back down and lightly licked your clit, then dragged his tongue along your inner lips, earning sweet moans from you. He moved back to your clit and drew soft circles on it. Once your legs began to shake, he knew you were close.

"I'm so-" You began, voice gravely.

"I know." He finished as he started to increase his pace. He kept it consistent as your moans became more frequent and your body pulsed.

He reached his arm up to gently caress your inner thigh, squeezing and kneading the fat of it, just how you like him to. You felt your stomach tighten, and the pleasure clouding your mind as your arousal covered his tongue.

He hadn't stopped his pace until he knew you were down from your high, standing up and letting you lean on him. 

You pulled back a little to look up at him. "I know you didn't want to come to this. But I'm really glad you did." You smile, gripping his arm.

"You're just saying that because I gave you an orgasm." He laughs, gently rubbing your cheek with his hand.

"No. I'm serious." You laugh. "I know you don't want to label this, but-"

"I want you to be my girlfriend." He says, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Really?" Your eyes widened in surprise. "What changed?"

"Just came to my senses." He confessed. "And the thought of you with any other guy doesn't make me so happy." He smiled.

You smile back at him before your eyes widen again. "You'll have to meet my uncles. Don't worry, they're great." You say as you grip his shoulder to slip off the sink. 

"They work with my dad." You confirm as he fixes your dress.

"Oh, maybe I know them. What are their names?" He casually questions. 

"Simon, Johnny, and Kyle." Your eyes beam. "They're the best!"

"I'm so fucked." He sighs. 

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 65: Alexander's Lesson

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: kidnapping, branding, body control, blood drinking

December 1815

Lex was glad that he'd made it out the door early, especially since Anders wouldn't stop badgering him about where he was heading on such a cold night. He'd made up some excuse about an errand, but he seriously doubted his ability to keep this secret from Anders for long. Maybe once he'd had a lesson or two with this teacher and made up his mind about whether he was going to stick with his instruction, he'd tell his friend. Master Laurent wouldn't approve, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

It was somehow even more bitterly cold than it was the previous night, and Lex dearly wished that he were back home by a fire. He wasn't fond of the idea of spending the next several hours in the company of the frigid and imposing man who'd glared at him for his entire practice. Still, if he was such a fine and exclusive vocal teacher, beyond even Master Laurent's skill, this would be worth his while.

He arrived at a manor as icy as its occupant. It was surrounded by a wrought iron gate, and inside was a stone courtyard covered in snow, with no living plant in sight. The windows were all shuttered and there was no sign of any light. Anxiety sat like a stone at the bottom of his gut, urging him to turn back -- but he could hardly tell Master Laurent that he was like a child, spooked by the thought of a haunted house.

He picked up the brass door knocker and rapped on the door.

The door opened right away. A stiff and pale looking man in a well-kept suit beckoned him inside. "You must be Alexander. My master is expecting you. Please enter."

"Good evening," said Lex as he stepped in, trying not to flinch as the door shut behind him. There were a few gas lamps flickering on the walls, barely enough to penetrate the gloom. In the dim light, he could see that the entrance had oppressively patterned wallpaper and objets d'art in every nook and cranny. It looked more like a museum than a home anyone actually lived in.

"This way," said the servant, leading Lex down a foreboding hallway. The servant's manner of walking was odd and unnatural, almost like a puppet on strings. He thought he saw a pair of eyes peer out at him from one of the darkened rooms, but it disappeared as soon as he turned.

Just a music lesson, Lex reminded himself to soothe his heart. He's an old and eccentric music teacher, nothing more.

At the end of the hallway, the servant opened the door to a room far better lit than the rest of the home, the most extravagant music room Lex had ever seen. His fear was forgotten for a moment as he admired the wide variety of perfectly kept and cleaned instruments lining the floors and walls. Polished horns glistened on their stands, stringed instruments were hung perfectly straight in brackets on the walls, and one corner was occupied by a beautiful gilded harp. The center of the room was dominated by a grand piano. It was a much older sort than Lex was used to, but in ideal condition, and his fingers ached to play it.

To do that, though, he'd have to get past the man who stood from the piano bench to receive him. He was dressed all in black, as he was the previous day, and his piercing gaze was all the more impossible to ignore when Lex was the only other person in the room. There was something oppressive about his presence that gave Lex a senseless urge to turn and run.

Oh, how he wished he were already by the fire with Anders, laughing about this whole thing!

Lex bowed, and he felt almost as stiff as the servant (who had already fled the room). "Good evening…" He realized that somehow he'd completely neglected to get his new teacher's name.

"When you are here, I am your Maestro. You may call me that, or sir," he said.

"Yes, sir," said Lex. No greeting, apparently.

"Come. I wish to hear your talent." He gestured to a stand with sheet music arranged on it.

Lex stepped forward and took a look. The music was handwritten but impeccably neat; the piece was complex and the lyrics were in a language he was not familiar with. "What language is this, sir?"

"Irrelevant."

"I'm going to need to know how to pronounce it."

"You will learn."

Lex scowled. This Maestro's style couldn't be more different than Master Laurent's. Master Laurent was stern and critical, but not harsh like this man, and the things he asked of Lex were always reasonable. He could already tell they would be butting heads.

Well, if he didn't like the instruction, he could always turn down future lessons and give his apologies to Master Laurent.

"I'm going to need to warm up first, sir."

"Very well. I will observe how you go about it."

Lex sang a few notes, loud and soft, up and down the scales, all the while conscious of the Maestro's gaze upon him. Lex couldn't help but think if he was going to be so nakedly judgmental of Lex's warm-ups, he could offer instruction on how to improve them. Wasn't that what he was here for? Instruction?

As he warmed up, he scanned the music to get a sense of it. The difficulty must be to test him. He wasn't about to shy away from a challenge, especially where music was concerned. No doubt the Maestro wished to see if he was actually a prodigy in vocal skills, or yet another mediocrity propped up by his family's wealth.

He finished his preparations, and he sang.

The acoustics of the room were excellent, and Lex's voice rang out clear and pure. He stumbled over a few of the unfamiliar words, but the notes he sang were true.

It was objectively an excellent performance, given the circumstances, and yet his new teacher sat there stony-faced without a glimmer of a reaction.

"Again," he said, a moment after Lex finished.

"Sir, before I sing again, I'd like to know how to properly pronounce some of these words."

"Again."

"You said I would learn how to pronounce them. I can't learn that if you don't teach me."

"I will teach you much before we are through. But now I am ordering you to sing again."

Frustrated, Lex was even more determined to put everything he had into it. Surely there must be some level of effort and talent that could budge this man. Now that he'd sung the song once and had a feel for it, he was able to sing without hesitation, not caring how he pronounced the unfamiliar words as long as the sound fit the melody.

The Maestro may as well have been a statue throughout Lex's virtuoso performance. "Again."

So he sang it again. And again. By the fifth time, he'd lost his patience.

"With all due respect, sir," Lex said, "I came here for instruction, and so far, you haven't offered any."

"You are mistaken. You came here to see if you are worthy of instruction. Most men, even those who imagine themselves to be musicians, can produce sounds little better than the barks of dogs. I don't wish to waste any more time than necessary in the company of such men."

"Surely my voice is better than the barks of dogs."

"Again."

Lex was burning with irritation now. He knew very well he was in possession of a temper, one which he preferred to keep under check, so that his classmates and teachers found him patient and easy-going. This man, however, was determined to fray his patience to the breaking point.

He certainly wouldn't be coming back. He'd have to tell Master Laurent that the so-called instruction wasn't worth the frustration, and hope his teacher would be forgiving.

This time, he sang the song with the passion that was boiling over in his heart, determined to either provoke a reaction from the Maestro or at the very least know for certain that he had done his best.

The Maestro stood from his place on the piano bench at the end of this rendition, walking over to Lex, who couldn't help his defiant glare. Let him find fault with that, if he could.

"One hundred and sixty."

"Excuse me?"

"One hundred and sixty mistakes."

He was certainly just trying to get a rise out of Lex. "There aren't even that many notes in the song."

"I'm well aware," he said with that insufferable glare. "The mistakes begin even before you open your mouth, with your breathing and posture." His eyes swept over Lex, analyzing. "Stand up straighter. Eyes forward. Chest full. Deep breath from your chest. Allow your lungs to inflate fully."

To Lex's surprise, he felt himself following the instructions automatically, his back and neck straightening to the point of stiffness, taking in a deep breath. He felt strangely out of control, almost as if the Maestro had some sort of unnatural hold on him.

It must be his imagination. He complied with the instruction so quickly because he was intimidated by that icy glare, nothing more.

"Now, sing a scale."

Lex did so, and it sounded improved from his usual, and he hated that it did.

"A passable result, for an untrained voice."

"I've trained with Master Laurent for years, sir."

The Maestro scoffed. "You would never achieve perfection with him."

"While music is my passion, I don't think it's reasonable to aim for perfection. That's an impossible goal."

"So you aspire to mediocrity, then, as does the rest of humanity," he said. "Very well. The choice has been taken from your hands. I have made my decision. I will train you."

At this point, Lex hardly cared if he was the finest music teacher on the green Earth, he didn't want to spend another moment with this man's constant insults and sour look. "I've made my decision as well, sir. I appreciate your time, but I'm afraid I have to turn your offer down. I will not be training with you."

The fleeting ghost of a twisted smile appeared on his face. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir," said Lex, backing towards the door. "Now, if you'll allow me to take my leave, it's getting late and it's very cold outside tonight, so I'd like to return to my dorm as soon as possible."

The Maestro gave no response as Lex turned and started towards the door.

And froze.

His eyes went wide with terror even as every other muscle in his body tensed, caught mid-step. He tried to take another step, to move his arms, to even make the smallest movement of his fingers. No part of his body would respond to his most desperate entreaties, completely paralyzed except for his pounding heart and ragged breathing. He couldn't blink, couldn't shout.

"I did tell you that the choice had been taken from your hands," said the Maestro.

Slowly, methodically, Lex's body was turned around against his wishes, even as every instinct was calling on him to flee. He began to walk forward to where the Maestro was sitting on the piano bench, helpless as a sleepwalker as he drew closer.

It must be a nightmare. He'd been anxious about this lesson and the strange man who had been at practice yesterday, and he'd fallen asleep by the fire, his mind turning a man into a monster. He would wake soon and tell Anders of his nightmare to make him laugh.

Lex was stopped just before the Maestro, and was dropped into a kneel, his knees hitting the wooden floor with uncomfortable force. His head was forced into a bow as his arms were arranged behind his back, the very picture of a submissive servant.

"How are you doing this?" said Lex, as soon as he realized that control of his mouth had returned to him.

"All humans must obey me, just as the ocean must obey the moon," said the Maestro in an incongruously melodic voice. "It's a simple, unchangeable fact."

"What are you? Are you a demon?"

"Some might consider me a demon, but no." He reached down and tilted Lex's head upward by his chin, and Lex was looking into his eyes, as cold and hard as stone. "I'm a far more miserable creature, a lonely thing that must rely on the blood of inferior beings in order to survive. In short, a vampire."

A vampire! Lex had never believed in such things, thinking that they were superstitions of the uneducated. But if this wasn't a nightmare or a fit of madness, then he had been very much mistaken. There was little doubt in Lex's mind that this man was exactly what he claimed to be.

And that meant that he was going to die, wasn't he? An undignified whimper emerged from his throat. He was only just a man, with many winters and summers yet ahead of him. He hadn't even finished his education or courted anyone. To die here, in this dreadful place, to feed a monster…

Icy fingers traced over his jaw. "It's exceedingly rare to find such exquisite blood, especially paired with musical talent of even meager promise. Perhaps I have the unwise hope that your company will please me."

Lex's throat felt as though it'd been coated in sand. "Are -- are you going to drink my blood and kill me?"

The placid, unreadable look did not leave the Maestro's face as he slapped Lex lightly across the cheek. "Idiotic child," he said. "Did I not already tell you that I will be training you? In exchange for instruction, you will provide me with your blood and your service."

So he wasn't to be killed, but would be a slave instead. It might well be a worse fate -- but one with some possibility of rescue. "My classmates and teachers will notice I'm missing," he said, hoping to sway the vampire into freeing him.

"Yes, so they will."

"My parents will be informed," he tried. "They're going to search for me. They'll surely get the police involved, as well."

The Maestro gripped his chin, leaning further into his face. "They will not find you," he said with stern finality.

"But what --"

"And if they did find you, how do you suppose mere humans will deliver you from a being that can control their bodies with the slightest effort?" He dropped Lex's chin. "Instead, you should wish for them to forget you, rather than perish by my hand."

He could picture it all too vividly, his parents coming to his aid, become frozen in place as he was, and swiftly cut down. Lex didn't doubt for a moment that this monster would do it, either. There wasn't a trace of fear in his eyes. He seemed used to this, almost bored with the business of kidnapping -- of course, if he lived off human blood, he would have to be used to it, wouldn't he?

As Lex trembled in fear, turning over his desperate position in his head, the Maestro stood up. He pulled a small metal object from his pocket, and began to heat it in the flame of one of the lamps. As Lex watched in horror, his arms were released from his back, and he felt himself unbuttoning his shirt, removing it…

He tried to scream, but he had been silenced once more, a prisoner in his own body.

The vampire's power held him completely rigid as the dreadful brand neared his chest, pressing into his skin with a sickening noise and smell. Lex would have wailed if he were able, or vomited, or fainted dead away, but he was held fast in the vampire's spell. His vision blurred, his reason leaving him, as all he could think about was the intense pain and fright.

"It has been a very long time since I've had truly satisfying blood," said the Maestro, sitting down in front of Lex once more. "I'm loathe to indulge myself in the pleasures of consumption, but even I cannot ignore my earthly needs forever."

Perhaps it was a mercy that Lex was already driven from his mind as the Maestro dug his fangs into the place where his neck met his shoulder. With his rational thoughts gone, he was left to the primal parts of his mind, screaming within him to remove the predator from his flesh. Yet none of this inner turmoil was allowed to surface, as he was kept perfectly still for the vampire to drink his blood at leisure.

As his blood was drained and his head further fogged, foreign and unwelcome emotions invaded his consciousness. He was drowning in it, pitch-black waters closing in above him as he sank into the depths. It was a quiet, lonely, empty place, numb and freezing, a vast expanse of despair.

Lex was barely aware as he collapsed into the Maestro's waiting arms, the spell over his body finally lifted now that he was too weak to move. He shivered violently and gasped for air, wanting to push the vampire away but unable to lift his arms to do so.

"I will take you to your chambers now," said the Maestro, picking him up as though he were a doll. Lex tried to summon up the will to fight as he was lifted, but as soon as he began to stir, he felt his limbs unnaturally shackled once more.

Defeated, he fled into the recesses of his mind, where a chair by the fireplace and a stack of books waited for him. Anders would notice his absence when the hour grew late, and Lex fervently wished that he would not investigate, lest he find himself in this same hell.

If he were fortunate, his dear friend would never find this place, even if it meant Lex would never see him again.

Lex was carried into an austere chamber and placed upon a cold, firm bed. The Maestro removed his shoes and placed them by the bedside, then placed several rough, wool blankets over him.

"You will sleep," the Maestro said.

Lex couldn't imagine being able to sleep through the agony and terror racking his body, but then the vampire placed a hand on his forehead, and his eyes began to drift shut against his will. The sleeping spell did nothing for the pain, and so he sank into an unnatural, agitated sleep full of nightmares that he could not wake from.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Lex would rate this experience one star.

Next week, Fitz is doing extremely okay.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

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@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

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@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush

[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again

summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language

word count: 3.5k

listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine

a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.

on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.

read: chapter four

April 2022 

“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover. 

“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’

“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes. 

“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation. 

She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.

“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders. 

“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction. 

“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.

Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you. 

“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder. 

Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend. 

“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly. 

“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”

You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you. 

“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”

“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”

“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”

You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things. 

It all just felt… messy. 

As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead. 

You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him. 

You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.

“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth. 

He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking. 

He’s not sure what to say. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it. 

But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving. 

He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way. 

He hates this. 

He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him. 

“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks. 

“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said. 

He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:

“I think it’s time for me to go home.”

You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.

Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces. 

Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you. 

“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. 

Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying. 

“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect. 

You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him. 

As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways. 

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes. 

You nod, “Yeah.”

May 

Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?

It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement. 

You’re really fucking pissed off. 

And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.

You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other. 

Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last. 

“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar. 

“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him. 

Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you. 

Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head. 

“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks. 

You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions. 

“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink. 

The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain. 

You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you. 

You shake your head, “I don’t!” 

Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink. 

“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll. 

“Don’t say that,” you relent. 

“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious. 

“Nate!” you protest lightly. 

“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you. 

Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice. 

“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him. 

“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours. 

Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying. 

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head. 

It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see. 

“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat. 

“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door. 

Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar. 

June

Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again. 

He looks down. 

Shit. 

Fuck.

It’s a text from you. 

His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes. 

Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you. 

Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’ 

And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.

It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you. 

She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself. 

He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him. 

Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too. 

But he doubts it. 

You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos. 

What would he even say?

Sorry I'm such a prick.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.

I love you.

It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways? 

Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:

You’re better off without him.

August 

“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him. 

“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”

“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly. 

You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that. 

“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier. 

“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds. 

Sabbatical. 

Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break. 

But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change. 

Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”

“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself. 

The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter. 

Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right. 

Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while. 

Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back. 

You feel lost. 

It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it. 

You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.

Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter. 

Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too. 

Soon-To-Be Fall 

It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer. 

The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late. 

You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz. 

Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?

You: Yeah. 7 pm?

Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀

You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through. 

‘Carmy.’ 

Carmy is calling you. 

Holy fuck.

It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about? 

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 

And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.

“Hi,” he replies.

a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.

read: chapter six

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Other Half Part Twenty Two

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Notes: Angst was requested, so angst ye shall receive. Welcome to the Thanksgiving episode.

Warnings: Smidge of fluff with a heaping of angst; reader has a mother and father, neither are described physically

Summary: It had gotten off to a good start. 

Your parents had been so buoyant and excited as they’d gotten off of the jet, and as Bruce had driven you all to the manor. The manor had incited a wave of ooing and aahing as Bruce had given them a tour. You’d departed for the kitchen, trying to help Alfred, but he’d merely steered you onto a stool and made you a strong cup of tea to steady your nerves. 

You're a little surprised when Bruce’s eyes glaze over at the idea. You’ve never seen him actively check out from a conversation like this before. You raise your hand, gently waving it in front of his face.

“Honey?” You press. “Did you hear me?” 

Bruce clears his throat, averting his gaze to the kitchen counter. You frown as he takes up his glass of wine, drawing deeply from it.

“I haven't thought about it,” He finally admits.

“Well, what do you usually do for Thanksgiving?” 

He shrugs. “Not much. Alfred makes dinner.”

“So it’s like any other day?” You tease, trying to lighten the mood. He smiles tightly, taking up the bottle of wine and topping off your glasses. 

“I guess,” He offers. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out where you can possibly take the conversation next. 

“Well,” You lean into it a little, drawing your wine glass closer to yourself. “My parents have invited us to Metropolis for Thanksgiving, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come.”

“You’re definitely going?”

“I mean, you said you don’t have any other plans, and I don’t. Michelle is doing a Friendsgiving that weekend, but I don’t have anything else going on, day-of. And…” You press your lips together, trying to gather your thoughts, fighting off the swell of emotion. You focus on your wine, incredibly wary of how you go on: “I haven’t seen my parents since you brought them here. Mom’s been harping on me to visit.” Among other things—but you don't want to get into all that now.

“Why haven’t you?”

“Work, and the press, and just,” You shake your head. “There’s been a lot going on. I haven’t accrued any time off at work, but we get Thanksgiving and the Friday off, so I figured I’d leave Wednesday night, and get back on Saturday in time for Friendsgiving.” 

“How are you getting there?” 

“I’ll rent a car.”

Bruce gives you a stern sidelong glance. 

“You can borrow one of mine if you insist on driving.”

“The tumbler?”

“You’d be disappointed in the gas mileage.” 

“Bummer.”

Bruce thinks for a moment before he leans against the counter. 

“Is anyone else going to be at Thanksgiving?”

“Just the three of us—four, if you decide to come.” 

“Alright. Tell you what: why don’t you invite your parents here. We’ll have Thanksgiving at the manor. They can stay the night.” 

Your brows raise in surprise. 

“You seriously want to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“...Are you concussed?”

Bruce rolls his eyes, resting his arms atop the counter and taking hold of your hands in his. 

“Invite them, see what they say. Alright?”

“Alright,” You nod. “We’ll have to tell Alfred.”

“Let’s just see what they say first.” 

Your eyes narrow slightly. He’s got to be bluffing. Thanksgiving is next week—there isn’t much time to get everything confirmed. Travel plans need to be made, shopping lists need to be created, rooms at the manor probably need to be aired out. 

“Alright,” You shrug. “Let’s ask.” You draw your phone out of your pocket, swiping open to your contacts. 

“You're going to call right now?”

“Sooner’s better than later, right?” You tap your mother’s contact, then put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter. Your eyes flit toward Bruce, and you find him eyeing your phone like a ticking time bomb. 

“Sweetie!” Your mother screeches, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Hey, mom.” 

“How are you? I’ve been trying to reach you all week!” 

That’s on purpose. There are some things that your mother’s been bringing up lately that you just don’t want to talk about…Things that you haven’t even told Bruce. 

“I know, it’s been a lot of phone tag, I’m sorry about that. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving—” 

“Oh, me, too! What time does your plane land?” 

“Well…” You look at Bruce again, waiting for him to call it off—last chance to back down. But he nods and waves you on, so you go on, “We know it’s last minute, but Bruce and I were hoping that you could join us here this year, at the manor.” 

“The manor?” Your mother’s shock and glee are delightfully clear, even through the tinny audio. 

“Mhm!” 

“Oh, I don't know, it’s awfully late to get a flight—” 

“I’ll send the jet.”  

Bruce’s assertion shocks you both into silence for a moment. Your brows raise, mouth falling open in surprise. 

‘Are you kidding?’ You mouth over your mother’s fumbling insistence that it’s too much of an expense. 

“Not at all,” Bruce shakes his head. “We really would love to host you. It’s been too long since you’ve seen Gotham.” 

“Been too long since I’ve seen my daughter.”

“Mom,” You groan, wincing. 

“Let me talk it over with your father—We’ll let you know in the morning. Thank you for the offer, Bruce.” 

“Of course.” 

“Talk to you later, mom,” You add. 

“Bye! Love you!” 

“Love you, too!” You tap the button to end the call before you look at Bruce again. “The jet?” 

“It’s just sitting there,” Bruce shrugs, taking up his wine again. “And this way they won’t have to go through security. I hear holiday lines are a real killer.”

“You are…” You shake your head a little, chuckling, “Such a fucking enigma.”

“I don’t think I am.” 

“No?” 

“No.” Bruce straightens, rounding the counter. “I don't do anything by halves, I don’t back down from a challenge…” He comes to a stop beside you, gaze searching your face, “And I love you very much.” 

You reach out, gently hooking your fingers in the collar of his shirt and tugging him closer for a kiss.

“Right back atchya, Mr. Wayne.” 

--  

It had gotten off to a good start. 

Your parents had been so buoyant and excited as they’d gotten off of the jet, and as Bruce had driven you all to the manor. The manor had incited a wave of ooing and aahing as Bruce had given them a tour. You’d departed for the kitchen, trying to help Alfred, but he’d merely steered you onto a stool and made you a strong cup of tea to steady your nerves. 

“If I may say so,” Alfred had offered, “You hardly seemed as tightly wound the last time Master Wayne brought your parents into town.” 

“Well, I was blindsided last time,” You’d admitted, “And I haven’t…” You’d trailed off, shaking your head a little as Alfred had cast a curious eye toward you. 

“Haven’t what?” 

“...Nothing. Are you sure there isn't anything that I can do to help?” 

If Alfred hadn’t bought your brushing him off, he hadn’t chased it down—and as much as you’d entreated him to eat with all of you, he wouldn’t hear of it.

It had been a good start.

Dinner is delicious, Alfred makes sure the wine continues to flow, and you think, you think that your mom isn’t going to bring it up, but— 

“Have you put in for your transfer?” 

Your blood runs cold, and your face goes hot. The sudden change of subject makes your stomach heave in such a way that you're sure you're about to lose your dinner. You keep your focus on your nearly empty plate as everyone’s attention turns to you. You swallow thickly. Your transfer. 

“You said that you would,” Your mother adds.

“I told you I would think about it,” You argue. “I never said it was set in stone.” 

“Transfer?” Bruce prods. Damnit. 

“It was just something that my mom thought—” 

“That I know would be better for you!” Your mother argues. She casts a glance between you and Bruce, sighing. “Now I know that you’re both very fond of Gotham, but it just isn’t safe, and it isn’t getting any better. Besides the crime rate, your…” She trails off, seeming to try and tread carefully for once. 

“I think what your mother is trying to say,” Your father cuts in, “Is that as much as you can shrug it off, the fact of the matter is, your…Relationship,” He glances between you and Bruce warily, “Has put you in danger.” 

“Dad—” 

“If it wasn’t for Batman, you could have died—Or Bruce could’ve lost so much money—” Your mother cuts in. 

“I never cared about the money,” Bruce’s insistence is so heartbreakingly soft, and nearly drowned out as your mother goes on: 

“You can transfer to a branch of the Wayne Foundation in Metropolis. And who even knows how long Batman will be around to stop these kinds of things.” 

“It was a one-off,” You insist firmly. “I’m fine, I’m safe.” 

“But it could happen again,” Your father points out. “It could happen to either of you.” 

You sigh softly, glancing toward Bruce. He’s not looking at you. His ears are red; his jaw is clenched. You reach for his hand beneath the table, but he pulls it away, reaching for his glass instead. 

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” You say firmly, looking between your parents. “Okay? Can we just—talk about something fun and uncontroversial, like politics or euthanasia?” 

--  

It had been such a good start. 

But as your parents head up to their guest room and Bruce disappears to the study—as you hear the discordant clanging of the piano—you crumble. You bury your face in your hands, trying to stifle your sobs. Hot tears and hot breath press into your palms as your chest and shoulders wrack with sobs. You feel two hands rest on your shoulders, and you turn gratefully into Alfred, leaning into him heavily as he folds you into his arms. He smooths his hand over your back, shushing you softly as he steers you toward the kitchen. 

You sit numbly on the stool again, breath hiccuping as you scrub at your tear-stung eyes. Alfred comes back over to you with a small glass in hands. 

“What’s that?” You mumble. 

“Sherry. Steady your nerves.” 

You take hold of it and toss it all back—and regret it immediately. You cough roughly, wincing at the dry burn as it blazes down your throat. Alfred takes the glass back. 

“...It wasn’t a shot.” 

“I realize that now,” You grit out, clearing your throat. Alfred turns, refilling the glass and holding it out again. 

“Slower this time.” 

You take a small sip, brow furrowing at the taste. It’s almost pleasant. 

Almost.

You sniffle, looking down into the glass and swirling it slightly. 

“...I’m guessing you heard everything?” 

“I did.” 

“I didn’t think she’d bring it up,” You admit, "I kinda hoped she wouldn’t…But I didn’t have a moment with her without Bruce, and when she didn’t mention it on the way back from the airport, I thought…I shouldn’t have assumed, anyway. Now he’s pissed at me.” 

“...If I may,” Alfred says gently, “I believe he’s upset because he’s afraid that your mother may be right.” 

“She isn’t.” 

“Even you must admit that being in the public eye has changed things for you.” 

“I was held at gunpoint at work before Bruce and I were known to be together.” 

“Crime is still an epidemic in this city.” 

“Nowhere in the world is crimeless. I could just as soon be held up in Metropolis.” 

“...Perhaps,” Alfred nods. You sigh softly, taking in another mouthful of sherry and wincing. 

“I just wish he hadn’t left before we talked about it,” You shake your head. “I hate it when he does that.” 

“Stay here,” Alfred pats your cheek gently. “Relax.” 

“Can I help with the washing up?—Please,” You tip your head to the side pleadingly as Alfred opens his mouth to argue. “You’ve been working so hard all day, and everything was so delicious. It’ll go faster with two. Please let me help.” 

Alfred finally nods. 

“I’ll wash, you dry.” 

“Sure.” You stand, setting the sherry glass by the sink. You take up the dishtowel, still sniffling a little as you and Alfred stand side by side at the sink. 

“...Alfred?” 

“Yes?” 

“Thanks. For everything.” 

He smiles, lightly nudging your shoulder with his. It’s a gentle, familiar touch, one that makes you smile through your sniffles. 

“Any time, dear.”

Next Part

[tanadrin]

Reverse unpopular opinion: christianity

There is much to admire about Christian ethics; not just virtues which other religions also practice, like kindness and nonviolence and care for the poor and oppressed, but the particular Christian emphasis on forgiveness I think is extremely salutary. Our natural inclination as a species is toward something like generous tit-for-tat on the iterated prisoner's dilemma--that is, we may allow some leeway at first to account for mistakes or good intentions gone awry, but if someone is deliberately and repeatedly acting against us, we pretty quickly converge on harshly punishing them for their behavior.

This is socially useful, to a point, but it's ethically lacking, and Christianity not only offers an alternative, but builds what I think is a pretty useful ethical structure around that alternative; it also provides, in most of its forms, a ritualized path for the trangressor to be reconciled to the community, to restore breaches of the social order and to promote future peace and cooperation. All of these things are good! Mercy is good. Forgiveness is good. Reconciliation without retribution is very, very good.

In practice, these virtues have proven very difficult to implement, but it's not for lack of trying on the part of Christians. Many do take these and other ethics (like poverty, nonviolence, humility, charity, etc.) extremely seriously, even in big sprawling institutions like the Catholic church.

Christianity has produced vast quantities of art, poetry, architecture, and music as well, a great deal of which is very beautiful. I am very glad to live in a world that has Gothic cathedrals and Allegri's Miserere and Sacred Harp music and "Pearl" and Francis Danby's "The Opening of the Sixth Seal" in it. The narratives within the Bible, as interpreted and reshaped and made into something new by generations of artist and poets, can be quite powerful and resonant.

For much of the Mediterranean basin, Christianity was the first time the ambient background of "the set of spiritual beliefs and cultural practices in our society" was consciously forged into Rᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, and frankly I think that capital-R Religion had more staying power than the diffuse bundle of stuff it replaced. The peak of Greek paganism was some mildly interesting if slightly anemic philosophy, long after it has acknowledged that nothing in the myths was true or even all that useful. The peak of Roman paganism was elaborate rituals used reinforce loyalty to the state. These were not belief systems that could inspire thousands of years of artistic innovation; they could barely mobilize anyone to fight on their behalf as they disappeared.

[zahri-melitor]

I don’t get why people are always harping on about the Bats (especially Bruce) needing therapy.

Bruce has had PLENTY of therapy. You’re all also complaining about the outcomes of it right now (possession by Zurr-En-Arrh).

But seriously, off the top of my head, random forms of therapy Bruce has used:-

Sensory deprivation tank (Batman 156 aka Robin Dies at Dawn, Batman…136 revisit in the current plot)

The Thogal Ritual (52 and Batman 673, where Bruce just goes and sits in a cave for a while to meditate on life and death)

That time he hypnotised himself into forgetting he’s Batman (Transference, GK 8-11)

Getting gassed and requiring motivation to live (Batman 112)

Designing Zurr-En-Arrh as a backup personality (Batman RIP, Failsafe)

Punching his problems (see…most comics)

I am sure there are plenty more too.

But Zahri, hypnotising yourself to create split extra personalities isn’t a recognised form of mental health treatment!

Did I say this was positive mental health treatment? No. I said it was therapy. It’s all shit Bruce has done to his brain over the years.

Stop trying to turn poor Dinah into a therapist (there are at least a dozen named therapists all over DC that haven’t even turned evil - including the current Power Girl & Omen therapy team if you insist on a superhero), and start admitting Bruce HAS tried plenty of ways to deal with his problems. They’re just not board certified ones and they’re mostly hilariously dangerous to both Bruce and those around him.

[ninjagirlstar5]

*drags Tsurugi by the handcuffs* So I spun a wheel, and it landed on our favorite boy, the Ultimate Police Officer himself, Tsurugi Kinjoooo.

So, the first thing I wanted to mention was Tsurugi's skin tone. Obviously, when you compare his DRA sprite with his SDRA2 sprite, he is FAR paler than his younger self which can be an...odd choice to make. You can probably handwave it as Kinjo simply looking like that cause he's sickly, but with LINUJ's 2022 winter illustration, it's pretty much canon that he was always suppose to be pale. Honestly, the DRA sprites have their saturation turned all the way up to eleven, and in Tsurugi's case it makes his skin tone look darker than what seems to be intended. I used to turn up the saturation up a lot back in middle school while drawing, too, so I won't harp too much about it. Anyway, since this is Tsurugi from DRA before he, uh, got sick, so to say, I decided to try and strike a balance with his skin tone: pale but clearly very healthy (for now). Aside from that, Tsurugi's design was pretty much fine? When you're told that he's the Ultimate Police Officer, you can understand where LINUJ was going with his design, a simple police uniform but it doesn't exactly scream...authority, you know? So I decided to the push the Police Officer theme a bit more by giving him a vest, a radio, and even some gloves! It's also a nice callback to his friend, Kouhei Sasaki, who also wore gloves before he...well, died. Moving on from his Lore(TM), I rolled up his sleeves, rolled up his pants but still have it so long that it covers his ankles, and changed his loafers to sneakers. I don't know, there's something appealing about a serious, no-nonsense Tsurugi taking his job very seriously...while still wearing jeans and sneakers on the job. It kinda shows that he's still a teenager despite being a police officer even though he's so damn young. Kinda fucked up when you stop and think about that. I also gave him a few scars, not many, but mostly cause they're probably hidden underneath his clothes. Tsurugi has mentioned being in some pretty hostile situations (especially the one that involved Kouhei's death) and I doubt he always got out unscathed, so I decided to put one on each arm: a thin scar from a knife, and a star-shaped scar from a bullet. From there, I toned down the saturation of his color palette, and added more black and gold. Fun fact: the color gold can symbolize reputation, which is hilarious considering how much Tsurugi's reputation sinks during DRA, and how controversial he gets in-universe in SDRA2.

Anyways, Tsurugi is going to start a lot of shit, time to run.

[nnnyxie]

More Fan!Izuku because it’s sO good-

Imagine Fan!izu x Streamer!Reader..basing this off of myself shamelessly🤭 basically reader is like a singer or something…like does choir(me🤭)and sings in bands(also me🤞) and musical theater(surprise, me‼️)..also plays an instrument…but something fancy like harp yk?(I Play the harp💅) And they do like cosy lil streams of just singing and playing their instrument and Izu as the busy lil hero he is just likes their voice it somehow enchants him??? Helps him relax and calm down and he just loves hearing it and rewinding to it after a long day and reader ofcourse a loyal Deku fan but because reader is ✨shy✨ they don’t show their face while streaming (I just love any kind of reveals of identity idk) and they also keep their background minimal to not give away anything about them but one das they just have a little fangirling moment showing off their new favorite Deku Figurine and hearing praise from them drives Izu insane(in a good way) and yeah idk hope that gives you a good baseeee

#𖢥 izuku anon

omg choir twinsies !!

(also i love the harp??? i have NO CLUE how to play but it’s just so!!!! ahhh!!!! it’s so pretty look and sound wise)

so yk that one artist that does the omnichord songs?? so like— that’s what you do EXCEPT!!

it’s not the omnichord!! it’s the harp!!!

rn i’m a teensy bit obsessed with lana del ray and mitski so!!! you mainly perform their songs <3

i wholeheartedly believe izuku is ‘i bet on losing dogs’ by mitski and ‘dark paradise’ by lana del ray personified!!! (lowkey projecting?)

our dear boy loves when you perform their songs. he’s tried listening to the original artists but— your covers just hit different yk?? your covers are just so pretty!!

he found you thanks to ochako and mina!! one day they were talking about streamers and youtubers they watch (because mina games obvi) and ochako talked about your streams and your channel!! she talked about how your musical talent was amazing and how soft your voice was!! izuku loves trying out things his friends like so he decided to give you a shot!!!

and he just fell in love— the moment you said ‘hi’, he felt like fainting.

from then on, he started falling asleep to your videos, and tuning into your streams when he had the free time.

from time to time you’ll do asmr streams. like whispering and talking about your day!! talking about some of the new things you’ve gotten or some of your favorite heroes!!

when you do these asmr streams they always somehow lead to you ranting about pro hero deku!!

izuku usually isn’t around when you do these asmr streams but today??? this night??? right now??? he can!! and he most definitely will!! he was lucky enough to have today off and spent the majority of the day binging your videos while catching up on sleep.

anyways

he was cooking dinner (i like to think that he cooks dinner for his mom when he visits) when he heard a ‘ting’ (he keeps his sound notifs on for work!!)

he went to check it andddd it was a twitch notif from your channel!! the title being:

asmr chat pt.15 ; p.o. box

he’s quick to open the app, immediately pressing on your streaming clip.

“hello everyone!” you whispered. only your desk showed. it had various bags and wrapped boxes on top. “i was sent gifts through my p.o. box and i’ve decided to open them on stream.” you ran your hands over a box. “we’ll open this one first!”

as you sifted through each gift, you grew increasingly excited. your fans knew you well— as they all had gotten you some form of pro hero deku merch!!

when it came to your last box, it was a sweatshirt. the fabric was soft and the perfect texture. the design— the design was your favorite. it was black with small, thin green writing of his hero name on the forearms. the upper left front of the jacket had a green outline of his hero helmet. the sweatshirt also had green accents— his signature green on all of this, of course.

“i really appreciate all of these! you all know me so well! ah! i’m seriously in awe of all of these!!” you smiled behind the camera. “i love deku, he’s my favorite hero. ever since he started out, i knew he’d be the best. he’s always saving everyone with a smile, and god— it’s amazing! he’s amazing! i don’t know him personally but i’m sure that he’s just as kind on tv as he is in real life.” you ran your hand over the outline on the sweatshirt. “i bet he’s just as cute too,” you laughed along with the chat. they knew about your big crush on the pro hero and would tease you about it during small talks like this. izuku’s face flushed and it grew hotter as he read through the comments.

oilspill.in.a.cup : manifesting the love of ur life for you bae!!!

veianna.sausagezzz : ur in love w/ him atp just find him nd kiss him

nylie.kei : VEIANNA THATS ASSAULT??

pinky✔︎ : wiggles eyebrows

you laughed as you read through these. “i’ll have to agree with nylie, here. no matter how pretty his lips are, i wouldn’t do that.”

izuku typed out a comment— not sure whether to send it or not. you two have developed a sort of parasocial relationship with one another, a one-sided admiration. though, now it isn’t exactly one-sided.

he decides to send it though. ignoring the absolute anxiety he’s feeling as he waits for your reaction.

midoriya.izuku✔︎ : i dunno, i wouldn’t mind one!

carpool.toenail : AYO!?

vieanna.sausagezzz : SEEEEEEE SEEEEE @/nylie.kei

oilspill.in.a.cup : MANIFESTED 😩🤌

nylie.kei : OHMYGODBSLEVSLDB

pinky✔︎ : IZUKU??????

“oh— uhm. oh.” you were flustered. honestly, you couldn’t speak. you were both extremely embarrassed and very flattered. and very happy that he watches your streams. “uhm i gotta go clean up— see you all later!”

edit;

omg i forgot to add an end note????

ANYWAYS!! had fun writing this heheheh