#Y’ALL REMEMBER WHEN HE WAS LIKE “what training? you guys have been training??”

[clairifys]

You are mine, and I am yours.

Benjicot Blackwood x Fem!Targ!Reader

w.c: 3.0k

18+ minors dni!!

c.w: violence, blood, death, 18+ content, nsfw, tent sex, fingering, making out, kissing, p in v, descriptive words, not-canon (sorry!)

ok guys i finally finished.. lmk if y’all like it!

There had been whispers from the Riverlands. You sat in on your mother’s council as you listened to the lords brabble around you. It wasn’t until Maester Gerardys spoke up that everyone went silent.

“Your Grace, a raven from Raventree came in, unfortunate news.” He spoke slowly, “Samwell Blackwood, Lord of House Blackwood was slain. His heir, Benjicot Blackwood now sits where he once sat.” Maester Gerardys concluded.

“Unfortunate news indeed..” Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra spoke saddened by the fatality.

“..Along with that news, the Riverland houses have expressed concern.” Maester Gerardys added.

“And what concern is that?” Your mother spoke cautiously.

“News that Aemond Targaryen’s dragon, Vhagar has been flying above them on multiple accounts.” He concurred, upon hearing this, you speak up.

“Mother..” You began, “Allow me to go out on Vermithor and keep our troops protected from the sky.” You suggested slowly, your mother looking at you with uncertainty and love in her eyes.

“My daughter, my only daughter,” your mother began before being cut off by Princess Rhaenys.

“Rhaenyra. We are at war, only few of us have dragons and Vermithor would be the best chance against Vhagar.” She affirmed strongly, “Vermithor has been with (Y/n) since she was a babe. She’s been riding much longer than Aemond.” Rhaenys left no room for objection and your mother looked at you with determination and melancholy.

“Alright.” She spoke firmly. “You will go on Vermithor before break of day.” Rhaenyra stood up and softly grabbed your arm to lead you with her to her room.

“My love, be careful and stay concealed until you reach the Riverlands.” She spoke lovingly as she took off the necklace your father, Daemon, gave her when she was a teenager. She fastens it around your neck before speaking, “Take this with you, to remember and to hold when you feel lonely.” She finished as a tear rolled down her cheek. She gives you a kiss on the forehead and holds you in her arms.

Benjicot had received no letter of affirmation from Queen Rhaenyra and only hoped she’d seen it and considered sending a dragon. The Northerners had arrived the previous day with Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. 

“Oye, Benji get your arse back in and train with me.” Kemit Tully taunted with a smile. He had been training with two of the boys he grew up with, Kermit and Oscar Tully.

“Yeah, yeah keep up with your taunting when I have my dagger at your throat and my foot on your chest.” Benjicot spoke up, a glint of madness in his eyes, the same as when he was on the field.

Benjicot Blackwood was a strange man. Soft and sensitive in any other occasion, even crying after his first battle once he saw all the casualties, but there was a reason he was named ‘Bloody Ben’ when he began his fights.

Kermit and Benjicot were about to start sparring when they noticed Oscar was silent, looking up in fear.

“Oscar..?” Benjicot spoke softly, unsure.

“Dragon.” He mumbled before shouting, “Dragon!”

As the men around them turned to look up, ready to be set aflame by Vhagar, they noticed the bronze color and tan wings. Still weary, the men around them took shelter under the trees as Benjicot, Oscar and Kermit stood planted in their spot, marveling at the sight of the beautiful beast.

You commanded Vermithor to land when you had seen the men cower under the blanket of trees. Flying downwards, your pearly ivory hair whipping behind you as it stayed in the same braided style, lest you need to engage in combat. Guiding your dragon to landing, you slowly climb down off of him as you pull your riding gloves off with your teeth. Your black and red dress blowing behind you as the men who ran to the trees slowly come out. Before you can speak, a man of considerable size, donned in Northern armor approaches and bows before kissing your hand. Cregan Stark you come to realize as he begins to speak.

“Princess (Y/n). It is good to finally meet. I met with your brother, Jacaerys a moon ago. I thank you for coming.” He finishes politely. You feel your face flush at the open show of adoration, it’s never not embarrassing for you, but you give him a soft smile, albeit awkwardly before he leads you to the tent where all the lords were meeting.

Benjicot had already made his way to the tent when Lord Stark greeted you, he was too nervous to go up to you, due to your lineage and beauty. When you made your way in the tent and situated yourself, you spoke confidently.

“I have been sent by Her Grace to ensure the safety of our men who have selflessly put their lives on the line for my mother’s cause. Whilst I am here, I assure you, if Vhagar is to begin attacking, there will be a dragon in the sky for you, to protect you.” You stated confidently, hoping none of the men could notice your nerves. You hadn’t ever been the highest of royalty as your mother was always there. Now though, you needed to keep your promise to your mother to ensure her birthright, even if it caused you to perish to achieve it.

“So..” Oscar started as he and Kermit looked at Benjicot when he met up with them after the short-lived meeting. 

“What?” He asked softly.

“What was she like? It’s not everyday a Princess as beautiful as her flies down from the sky to protect an army.” Oscar pleaded for information.

“Gods, she’s..” Benjicot trailed off as he looked at you from the training ground to see you lovingly caress and speak to your dragon in a language he didn’t understand.

“..we should be glad they sent someone as fierce as they did, she promised that if Vhagar were to return attacking, she’d meet him in the sky.” He finished softly, still watching you.

“Alright you two, let’s stop talking about her before she has her dragon eat us and start training.” Kermit insisted, secretly in awe.

Benjicot and Kermit were up first, not being able to begin their fight due to the Princess’s arrival. The only sound around them was the clashing of steel and the thumping of their hearts, which in turn, distracted the Princess from what she had been doing prior.

You walk over to where you see two men fighting, you notice them as Lord Benjicot Blackwood and Lord Kermit Tully battling it out. Benjicot gains the upper hand eventually as you watch in a trance of the crazed man’s ability and soon, Lord Tully is on the ground with a dagger to his throat. Ser Oscar Tully, you come to believe, begins cheering as Benjicot puts his hand out to the Tully on the ground. His back to you, you begin a gentle clap which sends all three men’s spine straight up. They all turn to you as you focus your gaze on Lord Blackwood while he maintains eye contact before nervously fiddling with his fingers and averting his gaze.

“Princess,” Lord Blackwood speaks up, meeting your eyes again with a slight flush on his face. You wonder if it’s because of the sparring, or maybe because of you. Normally you’d get weirded out when men expressed any sort of adoration towards you, but this time it was different.

“I can see where the name ‘Bloody Ben’ comes from, Lord Blackwood.” You state gracefully. You notice the two Tully’s giving him a look and smirking. His face flushes red as he responds,

“Thank you, Princess, but please call me Benji.. or Ben.. or whatever you wish.” He stumbles on his words and you find it endearing, you hear his friends laugh and you chuckle softly.

“Alright, Benji.” You speak as his face flushes an impossible red, “I’m glad to have you on our side, your swordsmanship is unlike any I’ve seen.” You state clearly before taking your leave to your tent.

.. 

“‘Please call me Benji, or Ben, or whatever you want, My Princess, please take advantage of me!’” Kermit taunts him as Benjicot swings around and begins to wrestle with the Tully boy.

You hadn’t lied when you told Benjicot that you’d never seen skills such as his. It was true, you think as you lie awake in your tent. You feel your face heat up as you think about the timid, yet brutal man. He fought without grace, he fought like a real warrior. None of that pansy dancing you’d seen around you growing up in King’s Landing.

You awake in the midst of the night to the sound of your dragon's calls. Something was wrong. Vermithor only ever made noises such as that when there was a threat evident. You rush outside, regretting not getting a cloak as it’s freezing in the dead of night wearing only a nightgown. You notice some of the men stepping out of their tents, sleep ridden eyes soon turning to determined anxiety. Benjicot steps out of his tent and you rush past him, almost knocking into him.

“Princess?” He questions before hearing the roar of a dragon overhead. Vhagar. You rush past him, grasping his arm gently and run up to Vermithor, who is undoubtedly concerned, climbing up him quickly, you command him to fly.

Before you can situate yourself, you hear Aemond.

“Dracarys”

Suddenly, the trees are ablaze and men on the ground begin to shoot arrows at Vhagar in hopes to weaken him. Commanding Vermithor forward behind Vhagar, you ready yourself.

“Dracarys!” You scream as Vermithor lets out a wall of fire onto Vhagar, Aemond, noticing, turns Vhagar around to attack. You quickly fly up in hopes of Aemond following, you turn your head to see him behind you, gaining on you.

As a last resort you make a hard right and when Vermithor flies close enough past him, you jump. 

Landing on Vhagar’s tail, you begin to try and climb when Vhagar whips his tail around to shake you off. Your dragon, Vermithor, begins to shriek in despair that his rider had ‘fallen’ off. Vermithor, being a war dragon, circles behind Vhagar, before coming to the front of him and sinks his teeth into Vhagars neck. In the midst of this, you had climbed up his tail and when your dragon attacked, so did you.

Vhagar descends down, thick, gallons of fiery blood spewing from his neck as you and Aemond clamber about, trying to plunge your daggers into each other. Noting that Vhagar was descending into The Fork, you grasp onto Aemond and jump. You hear your dragon scream and screech in agony of losing his rider.

In your struggle as you and Aemond begin to fall to your descent, you plunge your dagger into his one good eye, and you let go of him.

You knew dying was a common occurrence, and you had been ready to die for your mother’s cause, but you hadn’t known it’d be so soon. You prepare yourself for the plunge into the deep, cold water of The Fork, and you hope your mother is proud of you for going down with a fight as you close your eyes.

You feel yourself fall as you try to slow your breathing, but before you can feel the hard slap of the cool water, you feel the hard slap of your stomach hitting a dragon saddle. Wrenching your eyes open, your head whips around as you grab onto scales to prevent yourself from falling. Vermithor. He had seen you falling. He came and he saved you from the terrible fate you were about to be bestowed upon. Vermithor flies up and begins to spit fire, unable to hide his joy at saving his rider as your eyes well up with tears that threaten to spill. After calming him down, you fly over where Vhagar and Aemond met their demise. You see Vhagar’s huge body float slowly over the river, but Aemond begins to sink down.

When you land back on the ground, cheering erupts from all around you. Everyone comes up to you and gives you their appreciation, some of the older Lords even ask for a betrothal between you and their sons from your stunt. Once the crowd dies down, and eventually disperses, you fail to see the one person who hadn’t come up to you yet. Benji. You walk around for a little in hopes to see him, but eventually you retire to your secluded tent farther from the rest of the men as they begin drinking at a fire.

Hoping to see him in the morrow, you enter your tent smoothing down your disgruntled nightgown before looking up. Your big, purple eyes meet his stormy brown ones and you make a noise of surprise. The two of you stare at each other, taking each other in for the first time. You notice his eyes hold that crazed look, but something else glosses over them. Love? Lust? You couldn’t tell. Your eyes meet with his before he quickly looks down at your lips. He takes a step forward and you meet him in the middle.

The kiss was sweet, a gentle, sensitive thing. Your hands tangle in his hair as one of his hands cradles your neck, the other coming down to squeeze your waist. You gasp in surprise and when he hears it, he smiles against your lips before gently meeting your tongue with his. Your thoughts are clouded with the thought of him, so much so, you completely forget your near death experience. Breaking apart for air, he leans his forehead against yours and whispers, “You’re mine, and I am yours.” 

He leads you down to your futon in the tent and lays you down gently before pressing a loving kiss on your lips. Your mind is dazed with desire as your body begins to react to the growing bulge in his trousers. You rut up into him, not in control of your body, blinded by the feeling of his body being so close to yours. He laughs softly before asking, “Are you sure? If you want me to stop, just tell me.” Beginning to get irritated at the lack of attention to your body, you grab him by his hair and your lips meet in a searing kiss. He pulls your nightgown down your body with a featherlight touch, leaving you in only your shift. The cool air makes you shiver as you grab his tunic and shove it off of him. Your lips meet again, your mind going dumb. He pulls his trousers off, leaving him in only his breeches before taking your shift off in one motion. Laying bare in front of him, he feels his breeches tighten as he takes you in. 

You begin to feel nervous as his full attention is on only you, and you’ve never laid with someone before. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He groans out, looking at you as if you’ve hung every star in the sky. You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter before he pulls his breeches down and leans down on his forearms on top of you. Your lips meet again for the umpteenth time and he begins to slowly rub his fingers through your slit, catching your slick. You moan out in pleasure, bucking your hips up when he pushes two of his fingers inside and groans. He pumps them in and out of you before adding a third finger, and you begin to feel a pressure building in your abdomen. You moan out in desperation when you feel his fingers leave you and you crack open your eyes that had been sealed shut. 

“Well, aren’t you needy?” He purrs before taking his slick covered fingers and shoving them in his mouth. You moan at the sight and let your head fall against your pillow. Suddenly, you feel him hovering over you and something prodding at your entrance. Slowly guiding it in, you both moan out in ecstasy. The stretch is insane, if you hadn’t been so aroused, you’d say it hurt. Once it’s fully sheathed in, you wriggle around, drunk off the pleasure of it all. Benji lets you adjust to his size before slowly rocking into you.

“Benji.. Please” You moan out in pleasure. His eyes darken, as if he had just won a battle and he begins to slam into you. You mewl out sounds as he grunts and groans. Your abdomen begins to tighten and your legs begin to uncontrollably shake. His thrusts get messier, before the white, hot pleasure rips through you. You hear Benji groan on top of you before his thrusts get deeper and faster, overstimulating you. He grabs onto one of your breasts, softly massaging it while his lips connect with your other peak. Your womb is suddenly coated, and you feel the beautiful feeling of being stuffed full.

Benji collapses on top of you, his head on your bare chest as you pull the blanket up over you two. You run a hand through his sweaty hair and he looks up at you with love in his eyes.

“Please, please, come home with me when this war is over. Let me love you for the rest of our days.” He practically begs and you make no objection. Kissing him softly as one of your hands holds his head and the other rests on the necklace your mother gave you.

hope you guys liked it!!

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Nanami Kento NSFW alphabet

I hope you guys enjoy this long awaited headcanon! If you enjoy pls leave a like,rb and if you’re feeling extra girly pop maybe a little comment ^_^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kento is very practical in his aftercare to the point of it being a bit boring and routine, but that's the way he liked it. He wasn’t too fond of surprises in general, but especially not during a time that was meant to be soothing and bring both of you back to a leveled headspace. In other words, he’s basic. Two glasses of water on the nightstand, balms for soothing and dinner laid out on the stove in case you two had jumped the gun and hadn’t gotten to it yet.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Kento is very proud of his chest and his thighs. In coming back to Jujutsu society and being back on a strict training regiment, he’s happy with the fruits of his labors and he’s even more pleased when you grope around his chest and hum in appreciation. He’s a simple guy and having his lover’s hands all over him is a simple pleasure that he wishes to overindulge in whenever given the chance. If you were to ask him your favorite part about you, he would say everything and kiss your temple. If you were to ask him again and ask him to be brash, he would say with a red blush on his cheeks your ass. He loves how plush it feels, how it molds perfectly against him when the two of you cuddle and the sounds you make when he strikes it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not the biggest fan of mess so if you’re having protected sex he prefers to just cum inside of a condom for easy disposal. If you two are fucking raw then he’s cumming so deep inside you that if you weren’t on birth control there wouldn’t be a year you weren’t pregnant💀

But Kento is Kento and he’s nothing if not safe so it takes months before he’s fucking you raw and he’s very dilligent about making sure your pill is taken on time and regularly. He does want kids with you but he doesn’t want any surprises.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes when you play with his nipples. He’s got a sensitive chest and even though it’s slightly embarrassing and he likes to act unbothered, he’ll let out the cutest little sighs and buck his hips up if you twist the rosy buds between your fingers and stroke him nice and slow. He likes when you take control occasionally, but he would never outright admit it. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s only had one partner before when he was a lot younger, so most of his experience has been developed through you. He was basically a virgin when you two met, but he’s a diligent learner and we know when Kento is locked in he is LOCKED in.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He really like missionary 🥺 He wants to be able to see your pretty face when he’s making love to you. In general he prefers to have you on your back, and if he’s feeling rougher than usual he’ll put you in the mating press. It’s a win-win situation for both of you, you get your shit rocked and he gets to blow off steam. He likes the way your eyes roll back when he’s fucking you nice and deep 🥴

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’ll let a little chuckle slide now and then, but as mentioned prior when he is locked in he’s locked. When he’s in the moment, he wants to remain in the moment with you, like he’s painting every sound, every twitch of your lip and jerk of your hips to memory. He’s just about as aware as any sorcerer that life is fleeting so he wants to remember every moment he can with you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Yes y’all the carpets match the drapes 🙄 i’m just playing, his pubic hair is more of a dirty blonde brunette color than the hair on his head. He likes to keep things neat and tidy so he manscapes every week to make sure things are smelling good and its not too rough, because his pubes are actually quite coarse. He worries about your skin when you’re down there so you don’t get irritated. 🥺

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

We all know I am a big fan of tender lover Kento. He’s not a casual lover type of person, so when he finds the one he’s an all in kind of person. He wants to give his body to you, mind and soul, he wants to marry you one day, but due to life being so fleeting it's not something he can promise. So every time he makes love to you, it’s a silent promise he’s making to you, a vow of body and blood. Tied together by your pleasure. Sex isn’t just sex to Kento, it’s love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He is but a man. It's not as often as when he was single, but when he’s pulling over time and his mind wanders to you asleep in your shared bed he gets a little hot and bothered. He’d pull his cock out of his slacks with a hiss and have a napkin ready on standby.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

BDSM. Every aspect of it appeals to Kento. He lives a very high stress life so being able to come home and have a sense of control for once. He’s also not opposed to occasionally giving up control, if you’re into that. It wouldn’t be his first time doing so. He does his research and actually finds the practice to be really stimulating to his mind. He’s more involved in the community than anybody would assume given his looks. He goes to workshops in his own time and comes back looking absolutely pleased with himself as he relays the information he’s learned.

He thinks you look very beautiful tied up and wanting for him. He also can’t help himself but to press on the bruises he’s given you to tease you throughout the day.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Home. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Submission. Complete unabashed submission drives him crazy. He finds it cute when you’re bratty but it makes him melt when you’re good. He can’t help but dote on you and give you whatever you want if you behave and ask him nicely. He does think it’s cute when you think having an attitude is going to get you what you want.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t like pain being inflicted on himself or degradation. Those are the two things that would have him safewording. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Like most of the JJK men Kento is a munch. This is a show full of munches and he’s got his degree in munchology from the university of headington. He loves to come home from a long day at work and lay between your thighs, lapping at your clit giving you nice slow orgasms.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It honestly depends on the situation. He’ll give it to you however you want, unless you were being especially bratty. If so then he’s going to tie you up and give it to you so mind numbingly slow until you’re crying and giving him an acceptable apology.

“I-ah! Kento!”you cry out. His hands grip your hips tightly as he pushes in slowly.

“That’s not a full sentence, my dear”he coos, sliding his hand down to rub his thumb teasingly over your clit.

“Mmm fuck!”

“So close baby, but it's not nice to curse your dom”he chuckles, increasing the speed of his thumb, but stopping anytime he feels you get a little too tight.

“Try again.”

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

It’s not really his thing 🤷🏾‍♀️ he really enjoys taking his time when it comes to these matters, so quickies don’t necessarily appeal to him. If you push him enough to make him snap tho, let’s just say the bathroom of the fancy restaurant is starting to look acceptable.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Kento kinda just follows the motto of RACK(risk aware consensual kink) he would argue that every type of sex has some level of risk involved(um actually 🤓☝🏻 headass 😒) but since so much of sex is new to him in this relationship he’s game to try new things.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Kento has a good 2 rounds in him I’m ngl🧍🏾‍♀️ but he lasts an almost abnormally long time during these two rounds. He has an immense amount of self control during sex and will hold back his own orgasm until you’ve cum. You can sit there and ride him to your heart's content and he’s not busting until you’re seeing stars.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has an extensive amount of toys in his collection and it’s still growing. He thinks that toys enhance play so he’s completely down to use toys in the bedroom. He likes nice, well made things so he’s got a few small businesses that he gives his business to. He’s on a first name basis with some of the shop owners and he tips handsomely so he’s given tons of freebies. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nanami Kento is one fucking tease alright. He enjoys teasing you and he’s very eager to use it as punishment because he’s so fucking good at it. It’s mainly because he has unwavering patience and self restraint especially when it comes to making a point. He leans towards edging vs overstimulation when he’s teasing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a sigher and a groaner. He prefers to keep his noises to a minimum so he can hear you, but there’s a really cute thing he does when he gets close in missionary. His cheeks go pink and his ears go red, and he’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck to hide his stuttered moans and grunts. He gets really soft and keening when you rub his back or stroke his hair while he’s thrusting in you. Call him a good boy at the right time and he’s sobbing.

Kento praise kink supremacy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His scalp is really sensitive so he likes having his hair pulled. It drives him crazy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Kento is a good 6-7 inches, he’s definitely packing. The girth of his cock is average and he’s got a slight curve to him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s got a pretty routine sex drive if that makes any sense 💀 like he’s pretty predictable so it’s easy to fall into a pattern with him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t fall asleep until you’re asleep. It’s always been a thing with him to make sure you’re asleep before closing his eyes. He likes to debrief right after scenes during aftercare so he’s getting you two nice and cozy in the living room with cups of tea and pastries he’s stashed. He’ll hold you close to his chest and praise you tenderly while you guys discuss the scene.

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones: Wanted

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: After the defeat of Arlong, at Arlong Park, the five of you promised to yourselves, and each other, to achieve your dreams on your way to the Grand Line helping Luffy search for the One Piece. It seems simple enough, except for the minor detail that you died. Coming back from the brink of death, Zoro and the others have noticed you haven’t been the same. You aren’t sure if it’s Death himself chasing after you or something far more sinister. But facing your inner demons won’t be the only fight you’ll have to worry about when family comes calling. 

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: established relationship, idiots to lovers, angst, mentions of smut, (will add stuff later) it’s an adventure, y’all!

Words: 6.3+

A/N: Hello my darlings! It is I! Your resident clown! I hope you are all doing well!! Finally, I have finished the prologue to my version of One Piece filler. I am so incredibly excited to share this with you guys while we wait for the next season of OPLA to arrive! I’m even more excited to share in this journey with all of you. This first chapter is pretty heavy and gives a brief backstory to what took place in season one with CITB, just in case anyone comes in reading this one first.. I’ll always do my best to make sure there are proper warnings in place for each chapter and, if I ever happen to miss one, please let me know. Now, let us properly get on with our new adventure.  As always, I hopeyou all enjoy this! Much much love, Jenn

p.s. shout out to @deadneverlander for always being my clown bestie and the bestest editor-in-chief

Warnings: mentions of previous torture, trauma, and gore

Chaos in Their Bones Master List

It was odd how the body adjusted to change before the mind realized what was happening. How Zoro could barely remember when he’d strictly stopped thinking of just singularly him and began to think about them. The one specific goal he’d carried with him his whole life - an armor that entombed him - suddenly no longer held the same weight as it had before.

Zoro was part of a crew now. It felt unbelievable when he thought about it, but he wasn’t a part of just any crew.

Zoro was a part of Luffy’s crew - his first mate. 

Kuina always told him he needed to lighten up. Get some friends. If only she could see him now. A band of misfits who’d become family. 

(Except for the waiter. Zoro still wasn’t sure about that guy.)

That one word, family, bounced around the inside of his skull, shattering every ounce of the solitary life he still tried to hold on to. After Kuina died he used their promise for a solid reason for his loneliness. It protected him - shielded him from having to go out and be a part of the world. While others thought he led a lonely life, Zoro believed it was simply a life free from distractions. A life centered around one goal,  a promise, and that didn’t allow room for error. 

And then everything changed the minute a boy in a straw hat stumbled on him tied up in a yard. Zoro recalled how instantly he’d found Luffy annoying; a pest. A nuisance in the form of gangly limbs and possibly too much leg, until Luffy asked him one simple question: “Is that all you are? Is that all you want?”

It surprised the hell out of him when he’d considered answering him. It surprised him even more when he did. Luffy didn’t laugh when Zoro told him, either. Instead, he listened and looked at Zoro like it was more than a possibility. Anything felt possible when you were with Luffy. The words spilled out of him with such conviction he was sure they could raise Kuina from the dead. He wasn’t sure why he’d even answered Luff. Once he did there was no denying his words had solidified a belief in Luffy that Zoro’s dream wasn’t just a possibility, but that Zoro would succeed in doing it. 

The only person who’d shared in his dream believed it would become a reality the harder they trained, had been Kuina. Sharing your hopes and dreams with another person was one of the deepest connections you could inadvertently make. Suddenly, just from sharing a few words, your entire being was stripped bare. Open for everyone to see down to the very marrow of your bones who you were and, because of this, Zoro didn’t share lightly. He couldn’t risk someone laughing at him or telling him he never stood a chance. 

The Demon Pirate Hunter would burn the heavens down if it meant he could get what he wanted.

So, Zoro waited for Luffy to laugh in his face. To try and curse his spirit along with his dream. Instead, Luffy believed just as vehemently as Zoro believed in himself. The possibilities were endless. One distraction - addition - to his life was something he could handle. 

Then Zoro stumbled upon you and having just one more distraction didn’t seem all that bad.

 Suddenly, being the world’s greatest swordsman wasn’t all he wanted. 

He wanted you too.

The universe seemingly conjured you into existence - a magical pain in his ass. The more he’d tried to deny his feelings, the more annoyingly louder they grew. If fate was real, it had a terrible sense of humor - reminding Zoro a little too often that even the best-laid plans carried detours.  

Neither of you was willing to admit that the universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke. The universal bingo card the two of you carried, chock-full of goals and aspirations, and not a single mention of…well, not a mention of either of you were on it. 

Zoro didn’t believe in fates. Magical beings who dictated your future and the outcomes of your life and the supposed powers they wielded in who entered and left. He could be incredibly stubborn. You called him hard-headed. He just liked to think of it as knowing what he wanted. The universe proved to beat him at his own stubborn game, however. He’d been a fool to try and reject what everyone saw, but Zoro and you…the two of you felt it. 

Falling in love with you had been as easy as breathing.

He tried to deny it for so long - his tunnel vision widening just to catch glimpses of you - bright and warm and alive to cast sunshine into the hollowest parts of him. The ones he’d left empty ever since Kuina died. He protected himself from having to feel that overwhelming feeling of grief again. No matter what anyone said, it never got better. It didn’t get easier. You just slowly learned to live with the empty space their loss created and, because of this, Zoro never allowed people to get too close. 

His drinking kept him languid and carefree.  

Zoro didn’t believe in magic. 

It wasn’t in his nature to believe in things he couldn’t see - couldn’t feel their weight in the palms of his hands to make or break his world. The very idea of magic alone was the biggest unseen force he could think of. But when you looked at him, cheeks rosy with a blush he gave you, he swore he’d become a believer. The world was brighter, anything was possible, and the stars in your reflected a constellation of every step you’d ever taken that led you to one another.

He didn’t think it was possible for his world to shift - to change - all over again until that night in your room. 

Zoro stood there paralyzed - transfixed. Cool, remain cool were the words that darted through his head but how could he? He’d spent all day endlessly teasing you. Every chance he got to bump against you, shamelessly removing his shirt just to feel the hunger of your gaze slid over his skin, or to dip his hands low, impossibly lower, was a chance he had to take. Just to make your cheeks flush that pretty pink hue that was just for him. 

He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t miss the heat that shimmered underneath. How could he miss it when he’d felt it too? The pleasure in knowing he was the cause for every heavy breath that rose in your chest. Pupils blown wide and body preening at his touch. No matter the breath that stuttered out of you or the looks you gave, Zoro remained in control. 

Perfect. Control.

Until he’d opened his door to find you covered only in a towel, droplets cascading down your skin and those eyes - god your eyes - looking at him like that. 

Cool. Play it fucking cool. 

He’d repeated it to himself over and over. A mantra that wasn’t much of a mantra because he was failing miserably. Even after he admitted he’d been waiting to hear you make it safely back to your room. He would’ve left it at that - teasing you one more time to have that good ol’ blush of yours see him off to bed. But then his eyes caught the way your hands protectively tightened on the towel. 

The way you self-consciously hide the worst of the damage that Arlong - that fucking fishman - and his men had done. You tried so fucking hard to make everyone believe you were okay. The wounds on your body practically all but healed, while some were slowly beginning to show they’d remain as scars. He worried that you’d see yourself as less because of it. How could he get you to see that your scars were beautiful because those scars meant that you were still here. With him. 

But Zoro knew the scars that plagued you the heaviest were in your mind. 

You thought you were less because of them but, god you were so much more because of them. And suddenly, hiding inside the safety of his room didn’t matter anymore. 

Zoro had to show you - make you understand - how remarkable you were. Arlong and his men could never take away the way his breath still caught - trapped and frantic - in his throat every time he looked at you. You’d been doing it since that first night at Kaya’s: his eyes held prisoner as his gaze helplessly followed your every move.

Even when you were a brat and stole his glass of wine.

He didn’t think it was possible for the feelings that brewed behind the safety of his walls could get worse. To overwhelm and flood his senses until what little common sense he had left evaporated completely. 

He was wrong. 

That night, Zoro learned the only thing prettier than your blush was the sounds you made. Just for him. 

Always for him.

He knew everything changed that night in your room. And how could it not? The desire to touch you, show you with his mouth, his body, all of him, every piece of himself that you’d claimed, just how much you were a part of him. How deeply you’d woven yourself into the fabric of his being, hollowed out his bones, and made a home. 

There was an unmistakable connection Zoro felt towards you. It was something new that he’d never felt. He didn’t know what to call it. Love? How could one word seem to hold so much weight? The power to plant flowers in the garden of his rage or completely shatter it. There was no fucking in between and that was frightening. 

Fucking terrifying

Zoro couldn’t formulate words to describe the invisible teether that coiled around you both. Or the fear it created. A terror like a serpent that constricted tighter and tighter around his heart, more and more with every passing second. If Arlong could take you. If he could…you almost…

No no, don't fucking think it! Don’t speak it. 

The reality was it could happen again. 

The fear of someone taking you - hurting you -  became all too real. 

He’d almost lost you. 

Zoro would never admit to it. Say it out loud or allow it any space during his waking day. But when he was asleep the fear threatened to slip through his control. It formed itself into nightmares that painted out every outcome that could’ve happened in vivid detail. Painted in tragic detail into the whites of his eyes on how close he’d come to saying goodbye. 

Save me… pirate hunter…

He had saved you, hadn’t he? 

That day haunts his waking hours even now. It’s what wrestles him awake even with your head tucked underneath his chin, his arm draped across your back, and the steady beating of your heart pulsing against his chest. He’d arrived busting through Arlong’s gate with Luffy and crew, his breath caught in his throat not knowing what they’d find. 

What greeted him was the last thing Zoro thought he’d find. Your body, crucified, arms painfully splayed to make a perfect T shape. Gore. It was the only way his mind could describe it - screaming at him not to look. You were a decorated gory masterpiece. All the light and sunshine of who you were was dimmed in a blanket of blood. The stench of burned flesh clung to his nose the way the taste of chopper lodged itself in the back of his throat. 

You seemed so lifeless. So fucking lifeless. Zoro felt his knees threaten to give out on him in seconds. You couldn’t be alive. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he listened as the chains chimed at your movement. A fucked up wind chime of dread and hope that carried on the wind and told him all he needed to know. 

You were alive. 

Zoro could still save you. With that knowledge blacking out all reason, Zoro created hell inside the walls of Arlong Park. He would do it over and over, becoming a demon, a king of monsters,  to burn down the world if it meant saving you. 

And yet…it almost hadn’t been enough. 

There were times Zoro wondered if this is how you felt as you watched him give himself up to Mihawke. He could still remember the look of agony that bloomed across your face. The way it stole the spark Zoro loved to see in your eyes, bleeding them dry until all that was left was an emptiness that he gave you.  

Zoro had willingly gone to death. 

And you saved him. 

You cared for him even then - when he didn’t deserve it - after everything he’d done to try and prove to you, and himself, that the universe was wrong. It was just a sick joke to believe that fate itself had woven you both from such different clothes to somehow make each other whole. Zoro gnashed his teeth, swore, and fought his own demons to try and prove he didn’t need you - want you - but he’d been a goner the second he opened the guest room door. 

Plus, it didn’t hurt that you packed one hell of a punch. 

Zoro could still feel your knuckles connecting perfectly on his nose. The impact of it shocked him so hard it’s what caused him to lose his grip on the well. It was a damn good hit. 

He’d woken up to the emptiness of a bed Zoro shared with you. In the privacy of the cabin you both now called home, Zoro would admit dread tied his stomach in knots. That it spurred his legs to swing over the edge of the bed and his hands to furiously move around the room looking for clothes. All thoughts he used to have about pretending he wasn’t looking for you - searching for you - when he always had been, dissipated with his next breath. 

Even still… Zoro had almost died and came back more or less himself. Deep down, however, In the dark recesses of his mind, a nagging voice reminded him endlessly that something was… off. Something was wrong. 

Wrong with you.

Zoro hated that he even entertained the thought. In the privacy of his own head, it still felt like a betrayal. A dishonor of the trust you’d placed with him. He tried to knock the thoughts away because now wasn’t the fucking time. You were missing – again – in the middle of the night. He had to find you but no matter how hard he knocked away the nagging thoughts of growing questions, the voices persisted.  

Nami was the first to notice, which wasn’t surprising. She was always carefully crafting plans and backup plans with backups to the backup plans if those fell through. Zoro came to understand the second they stepped into a room, that Nami was twelve steps ahead of everyone else. Her eyes scanned the room for marks - the weakest links in the chain of command - so that was why it wasn’t surprising, not in the least, that Nami noticed the oddities about your recent behavior first. 

“She’s doing it again.” “Doing what again?” Every time Nami brought it up, Zoro couldn’t keep the irritation from shifting heavily in his tone. The annoyance at throwing around large sacks of grain that the waiter just had to have turned his mood even more sour. More than the fact Usopp somehow magically disappeared from having to help load all of this below deck.  Zoro followed Nami’s gaze until it landed on you. A hand wrapped around the rope of one of the sails with your eyes turned out towards the sea. Zoro imagined a passing ship would think you were a statue the way you barely moved. Shit, he even started to worry if you were even breathing. Unlucky for them, this wasn’t the first time you’d started doing this. Your eyes focused out on the ocean, almost as if you were searching either the water or somewhere farther.  “She’s just looking at the waves.” “No,” Nami replied, a shake in her head reflecting the word. Just the one word alone held a lifetime of worry as her eyes cautiously watched your head tilt. A motion that spoke volumes of words being carried on the wind and you were listening. “It’s like she’s hearing something, or someone, speaking.” “Yeah, it’s the sound of the birds above us. I think they’re called seagulls,” Zoro shot back.  Zoro didn’t know why he needed to protest their concerns so much. Zoro had his own but when it came to you a protectiveness he couldn’t fathom seized every last available brain cell. Their words sent his body immediately to defend you even though Nami’s concerns only voiced the ones he was too afraid to say himself.  His words earned him a glare from Nami as she moved next to him. A hand playfully smacked his shoulder, but her eyes never strayed from you.  “No, you asshole, not the birds. It’s like someone is… talking to her.”

Zoro had thought Nami was crazy. She had to be. You were fine. She was just being a protective mother hen again, which she’d promised you she wouldn’t do anymore. The look on his face must have said the same thing causing her eyes to narrow in on him all before her chin jutted out towards your direction. He wanted to call Nami crazy, but when Zoro glanced back at where you stood, your head was cocked further to the side. Your lips parted, eyes focused, like you were about to reply. 

A few days after that incident on the deck you began talking in your sleep. It started off as grumbles and grunts until it graduated to lazy words and, finally, short sentences that burst from between your lips in reply. Sometimes though, the voice that came out of you… it didn’t sound like your own. The words hissing and breaking from your lips in jagged whispers that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. 

The worst part was, if Zoro asked you, you’d never remember or know you’d done it. Zoro had promised to save you, and he had. So, why did he feel like he’d been too late?  

And that thought alone is what startled him awake. 

Zoro finally located a pair of pants that he’d thrown haphazardly in his earlier haste to get into bed. Your scent was still pressed into the sheets - pressed into his skin. It was enough to inform him you’d been there beside him. He hadn’t been dreaming - not that he would since you’d both agreed that him sleeping over in your room just made sense. 

He didn’t bother putting on his boots. The only thing he made sure to grab was the Wado Ichimonji that rested on his side of the bed. You’d strictly forbidden him from sleeping with it in the actual bed after you woke up with the hilt pressed against your ribs. 

The sheets had long since gone cold and that told him wherever you’d gone, it’d been a while since you’d left. Zoro wasn’t known for having tact or being quiet. If he was being honest, Nami often called him a brute and she wasn’t incredibly far off. He didn’t have any plans to quietly walk out of the bedroom or make his footsteps dainty soft like a whisper. He didn’t have time for pleasantries. 

He didn’t bother wasting time looking for you in the kitchen. There had only been a handful of times he’d caught you bravely traipsing around the waiter's kitchen. Banging his beloved pots and pans around like you had a death wish. Zoro wasn’t too keen on hearing him bitch later about the sanctity of a man’s kitchen and his utensils after Sanji had caught you. Zoro was, however, willing to admit the food you’d prepared that night tasted a thousand times sweeter knowing Sanji would be having a heart attack about it later. 

No. By now, Zoro knew there was one place and one place only that he would find you. 

With the swaying of the ship under his feet, Zoro made his way towards the stern. The Wado clutched tightly in his fist in a weak attempt to keep him grounded. He ran a hand through the mossy haphazard strands of his hair in hopes of soothing its messy state but knew he was only making it worse. His fingers tugging too violently like he could rip his thoughts out by the roots. 

There was nothing he should be worried about - you were fine. He was going to walk up those stairs and find you just enjoying the night breeze. It was what he needed to see because he didn’t know what to say if he didn’t find you standing there. How he could fix it if you weren’t admiring a view; waiting to share whatever was on your mind. 

One by one he released his hair from his fingers. The ache of his scalp was enough to help focus him back into the present. To ground him just enough for when his eyes finally landed on your frame. 

You weren’t standing at the edge of the stern, safely behind its railing like he imagined, or admiring the view of the midnight water. Instead, your legs were precariously over the side of the Merry. So painfully close to the edge that one wrong move, a simple shift in the wind or the way you were sitting, and you’d simply go over. 

An image of you going over, a sudden flash of your body disappearing into the darkness below, sent his steps widening, eager to reach you. To close the remaining distance between you, as if it would ever be enough to keep you there.

His bare feet thundered loudly across the remaining feet that were left between the two of you. The heavy thumping scraped away whatever chance he had at catching you off guard. The sound alone should’ve been enough to draw your attention but when he arrived at the edge of the banister, one hand holding on to the ashen wood while the other curled around your shirt - his shirt. After all this, you still hadn’t acknowledged him. 

Your eyes were locked on a horizon of midnight - obsidian, endless, with promises of nightmares etched out of brimstone lying underneath. Your head tilted, just like before, just like it always was, listening to something none of them could hear. 

Zoro wasn’t much of a praying man, but he found himself silently making one as he sucked in a breath. 

“It's a little late for a midnight stroll, don’t you think, Snowdrop?”

You weren’t surprised Zoro found you. 

You knew he would. Since the minute you woke up in bed curled up beside him, an arm tucked behind his head while the other draped itself loosely over your shoulders, pressing you closer, that once you left he’d be up. Maybe not right away, but it will happen. Gradually or all at once. 

Even in his sleep, Zoro searched for you. His fingers stroked the curve of an arm; swirling into the crease of an elbow. His nose buried itself in your hair or the sensitive spot just under your ear. Zoro searched for you as vigorously in his sleep as he did while he was awake. 

You expected him to come find you. It wasn’t a surprise when the sound of padding feet on cured wood imploded the silence you’d come in search of finding. His presence was unforgiving heat across your skin. Unspoken questions hanging between you. A part of you prayed he would ask them. Another part of you hoped he didn’t. 

Maybe that was the voice that made you wish he hadn’t found you. That Zoro had stayed blissfully asleep enjoying the blanket of restful sleep instead of the restlessness of whatever you now had to offer. The thought gnawed on your nerves, brewing an annoyance that soured the comfort you’d found looking into the vast darkness of the waves. 

During the day, everything was bright and inviting. The sea most of all. Its multitude of hands that rolled against ships and overlapped wave after wave to create a white froth was a silent beacon to come explore. It promised relief from the scorching heat of the sun and an endless supply of food to fill a starving sailor. Underneath all of that brightness, however, you could feel the darkness that took shape in the form of monsters underneath. Sea beasts that swallowed entire ships with crews. Sirens seducing men and women from their beds with a song - pulling them screaming, lungs heavy with water, down into the deep. 

It was this darkness that began to call to you. A disease that infiltrated your body slowly, without warning so as not to cause alarm, until it completely plagued every sleepless hour. You weren’t aware it’d been happening until the third night you’d woken to the spray of the ocean on your face. You found yourself standing on the rail of the ship. The threat of a harsh wave possibly sending you over was imminent. Yet there you stood, your arms splayed out at your sides, waiting for an embrace that hadn’t come. Yet, when you opened your eyes it wasn’t terror that turned to ice in your veins. You knew the ocean wouldn’t claim you.

It couldn’t. 

You didn’t belong to this graveyard. You belonged to something else. There was a power that resonated below the murky depths. A force that felt ancient and terrifying. It felt like it created the dark; and devoured it until it became whole again and again. It writhed and moaned like the damned, as it searched for more life, more souls, to devour and own. This blackness demanded worship like an old god and that same darkness was what called to you now.  

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be: a sacrifice or a sacrificer. But one thing was clear. Whatever it was, it was inside of you and it was calling you home. 

Naan strived to make sure she was careful - that you were careful. She shared warnings in the forms of stories and fairytales as a child to soften the terrifying meaning that lay underneath. All this time she painstakingly put in to make you understand and, in the flash of a second, it took less time for you to choose Nazifa’s life over your own. 

It’s what Naan had taught you to do: protect others. How could she ever think, or believe, that you made the wrong choice? How could you regret saving someone’s life? Saving people was who you were, who Naan raised you to be, down to the very marrow of your bones. 

Naan’s trade was never forced on you. She never held you back from thoughts of going to school, leaving the island, or if you wanted to learn a different trade. It was always very clear it was your choice to spend hours in the garden and in the forest scrounging for ingredients. Your choice in agonizing over the creation of your book of remedies. It felt natural. Your whole purpose is wrapped up in easing the pain of the dying and the chill of the sick. 

But this darkness…it touched what was yours. It cascaded oil thick, blackening the seas of your memories. The shared dances in Naan’s kitchen as she taught you how to move across the floor, ‘like a young lady’. The spring in her gardens, surrounded by bergamot and cardamom. 

Every last memory of joy and hope and happiness was suffocated until the only thing left were nightmares. This darkness – this sickness – writhed under your skin. It changed who you believed you were, who Naan loved and cared for you to be, and stripped it all away. 

Brick by brick every belief you held was knocked loose and replaced by something grotesque; vile. It whispered ways to silently kill those you loved aboard the Merry. Townsfolk and villagers whenever you stopped for supplies. It slithered black chords of strength in your muscles, seizing your hands to tear apart and break dressers. The doorknob to Luffy’s room completely caved in as you struggled and fought to not take that final step inside. 

The voices were growing louder with each denial you gave them. Each life you refused to take - each villager you saved instead of maimed - turned them rabid. The whispers grow into shrieks:

Belladonna to strip a man of pride and the air from his lungs - closing up his throat with froth and screams. Mosswood burns the mouth and twists the gut making them turn liquid.

‘We can break them. Grind their bones into dust. Lay it like powder on our skin. Let us make them putrid! Skin soft and pliable like pudding - flesh that caves at the touch. One touch from us, from you, OUR TOUCH,  and we can rot them from the inside out. Listen as their tongue turns liquid and they gurgle liquid sweet! Let us rot them! LET. US. ROT. THEM!’

It whispered and screamed until you thought you would go mad. It took every ounce of willpower you struggled to hold on to your sanity. Not to claw at your ears. As if it would ever be enough to make the whispers just stop. 

Something inside you came back wrong. You were wrong. You thought about the possibility that you might be imagining it. This call of chaos - of sinister dread - swirled inside of you like a whirlpool threatening to suck everything down around you. The more you tried to ignore it, the louder it grew. The voices were no longer murmuring - their words were convoluted - gargled as if held underwater. 

Now they were screaming, demanding to be heard, and they were always the loudest when you were sleeping.

You were so lost, so completely lost, consumed with your thoughts, these fucking voices, that you weren’t sure when your body turned to face him. Maybe Zoro had asked you a question or been asking questions. The usual mask of careless indifference he wore was there, but it was easy to spot the worry that etched itself into the fine lines around his eyes. 

His brow creased, drawn tight, which reflected the dark panic that was pooling to the surface in his eyes. If you didn’t answer him soon he was going to shake an answer out of you. Just to hear something. 

What could you say? 

“Do you hear them too? They’re whispering for me to do things and the more I ignore them, the more their fingers seem to dig holes in my mind.”

No. 

You couldn’t ask him that. It sounded crazy. You would sound crazy, and maybe you were. This whole thing felt like a waking nightmare. You thought you could keep it at bay as you attempted to work through it. There had to be a scientific explanation for something like this or at least a psychological one.

Death came to claim you. You’d felt the clutch of cold hands eager to drag you away, drag you down into the earth kicking and screaming. It felt greedy. Excited. 

But you came back. 

Maybe this madness was a form of penance. Maybe this truly was what it was: madness. 

You couldn’t look at him anymore as you tried to swallow the bitter truth down. Underneath, however, you knew you lived in a fantastical world where boys were made of rubber, Devil Fruits existed, and so did magic. 

But what did that make you? You with your voices of chaos. 

Death bringer, They whispered, clamoring against your skull. 

What if the part of you…the dark part Naan always feared would consume you, festered like a cordycep eating its way through your soul until there was nothing left? What if it ate and ate until you were just…gone? The only thing left was an imposter who’d taken your place.

The thought was enough to make your mouth desert dry. Your heart clamoring against the ribs in your chest demanding for you to take it back! You weren’t being eaten starting from the soul and outwards. You were in control. Perfect control. 

“I’m okay.” The words croaked around an unused throat forcing you to clear it and try again. “I’m okay.”

“Who are you trying to make believe that? You? Or me?”

When Zoro looked at you, like he did now, all the world grew quiet. The sound of the ocean, her waves, and the lapping at the hull of the ship all died away. It was harder to catch a breath, the air denser somehow, as everything came grinding to a halt. 

The only thing that mattered in this moment, in every moment, now and always, was the way he looked at you. But the moment didn’t last - it couldn’t - when the current underneath your feet began to pound against the hull of the ship. A seismic rhythm that vibrated through your body in earth-shattering ferocity. 

You looked out across the water around you and found her unchanged. Her waves thrashed at their own speed to collide against the Merry before they rested back down into the murky midnight of the water. 

“Zoro, do you feel that?”

The need for confirmation that it wasn't just you who felt this primal call was palpable. You grasped at whatever reasoning made sense but there was none. A sharp sting on your fingertips brought a hiss of pain from your lips. Your eyes darted down to find that same inky blackness that had burned the flesh of the face of the fishman like acid was crawling up your arms. You tried to swat it away as a fresh flood of panic gripped you. 

“Zoro!”

Your eyes flew up to look for him beside you. You wanted to reach for him - you needed him to hold onto you - but if you touched him would you hurt him? Would you kill him? 

Fear and panic constricted your throat turning your next sentence into a delirious garble of words. All attempts at civility and calmness ended when your vision centered on his body next to yours. Zoro was covered in the thick black ink - your darkness. You heard the sizzling of muscle and tissue melting away. The wet sound of flesh hitting the deck. You watched as a piece of his cheek, the top of his eyelid, slid down his face as his hand reached out for you. 

“It’s going to be okay, Snowdrop.”

The horror of what you were seeing grabbed a hold of your throat and worked the earlier sounds free. It knocked them back down to be digested to allow them to come back up at something brand new. 

A scream housed from despair and grief tore through your body and released itself there on that deck. A panicked heart filled with regret left you shattering into a million pieces and it wasn’t until you were sitting up in bed, thrashing around in the sheets of your shared bed, that you realized it was all just a dream. 

Your eyes bolted open but the frantic terror that left your heart thundering in your chest was still there. It made you search the room like crazy, grasping for things that were real. 

Zoro was standing by your desk. His hands fastened the last button of his shirt while a cool set of eyes watched over you. It was then you felt how your body was coated in sweat; your hair clinging to your neck and cheeks. The shirt you’d worn to bed sticking in thick hot clumps against your skin. 

“What happened,” you rasped. 

Zoro finished with his shirt but didn’t make a move to answer. The Wado was secured at his hip and you watched him drop a now free hand onto the hilt. A comfort you could only assume he needed as he showed no immediate sign of replying. 

After a long pause, Zoro let out a sigh as he moved towards the bedroom door. 

“I found you sleepwalking on deck. Again,” he replied. His voice was all smoke and velvet. It should’ve brought you comfort hearing him, but it wasn’t hard to notice the cracks that formed around his words. “This is the eleventh time you’ve woken up screaming, Doc.”

“Zoro–“

“After we get supplies at our next stop I’m asking Luffy if we can turn around.”

He spoke to the door. The decision he was making seemingly cost him his own grief as your own. You threw the sheets back. Your legs scrambled to make it over the side of the bed before he could completely exit the room. 

“Turn around for what?”

You wanted to sound tough, demanding even. Instead, you just sounded small. Scared. Your mouth dried up around every word, every sentence, you tried to formulate. The sick idea that he was trying to say goodbye, to let you go, making it damn near impossible to even breathe around a thought. 

“To find someone willing to give me some answers.”

Zoro didn’t wait for you to reply with the usual weak promise of telling him. It was only when you were ready to share and that could be never. He was tired of waiting and didn’t bother to wait to hear an even weaker response before Zoro walked out the door and quietly shut it behind him. 

As always, thank you all so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated.

Taglist: @honeyoru @oneandonlyizabelle @shanshan4143 @naomihatake @tombraiderjones2505 @illusory-segurity @hippieele @nadlx33333 @fancifulrealist @litlebruh @jonnelpunk

[etherealxwitch]

High For This

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie gets a new strain of weed from his dealer and it sends the tension boiling over into something you’ve always wanted.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), drug is (weed), mutual lining, teasing, oral (m and f receiving,) fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, pet names, finger sucking, squirting, slapping, choking, rimming (m receiving), breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie

WC: 3.5K

(yes, this is a re-upload, but i still hope y’all enjoy!)

Remember to reblog and support the author!

As soon as you set foot in the trailer, smoke surrounded your body. You could feel it as it guided you through the small trailer and into Eddie’s bedroom. 

You found him, lying on his bed, his eyes closed and enjoying the almost finished joint in his hand. “Knew I’d find you here," you plopped down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Are you going to share or just make me suffer?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at you before finishing the joint. You laughed as he coughed. The hit obviously way too big for him, “with that attitude? I’ll make you suffer.” He laughed with you, already rolling up another smoke to share with you. 

This became a routine with the two of you very quickly. You’d come over after a work shift and just unwind with him. Smoke and a movie or some music, anything to make you forget the rough day you always seem to have. 

“I got this new strain from my guy.” Eddie handed the lit joint to you and you quickly plucked it from his fingers. He was always taking care of you. “It hits you fast, so be careful.”

You put a hand over your heart and faked being emotional. “Oh, Eddie! What would I ever do without you looking out for me?” 

“Probably die, who knows?”

The second you took a hit, the smoke filled your lungs in such a blissful way. It was as if you could already feel it take the weight off your shoulder, and push every stressful thought to the back of your head. This is what you look forward to everyday. 

“Holy shit,” you coughed and quickly handed the joint back to him, tears forming in your eyes. “You weren’t wrong about this being strong.”

Immediately, it felt like the effects of the weed were hitting you like a train. You felt like your body was floating above the bed, and when you got a good glimpse of Eddie lying beside you, suddenly, something changed. 

You noticed his eyes and how they got a little bit brighter from the sun shining through the blinds. You saw how his jeans hugged him just enough that you could see his bulge in his pants. 

Eddie noticed you staring at him, how your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as your eyes raked down his body. 

His cock jumped when you made eye contact with it, and you couldn’t help but let out a gasp. It was bigger than you imagined, and you haven't even seen it yet. 

“You see something you like?” Eddie adjusted himself, turning his body to the side, so he was facing you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to look for an excuse for staring him down and all but undressing him with your eyes. 

“I- I was just,” you were stuttering. Eddie had caught you red handed, and you haven't a clue how to explain yourself. 

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind.” His hand roamed down his body, stopping above his jeans, fumbling with his belt. His nerves were starting to show. “If you want more, I’d love to put on a show for you.”

Usually, neither of you was this confident with each other. Was it the weed? Or was it finally feelings and tension that was always there coming to a head and spilling over?

“A show?” Your mouth watered at the thought of seeing Eddie fully. And the thoughts that floated around your head? You couldn’t shake them. 

“I’ve been wanting to for a while, really.” He undid his belt, purposefully slowly. “I can stop if yo-“ 

“No, don’t stop.” You moved his hands from his belt, undoing it faster and tossing it over your shoulder. “I want to watch.” Your voice was barely a whisper, suddenly becoming shy. You had to take this opportunity, though. It may be only a one time thing, and you couldn’t miss out on it. 

Eddie pulled down his pants, just under his ass. You could see the bulge more prominent now, see it throb through his boxers. This is something you’ve always wanted to see, and now that you are, you’re not sure how to react. 

The joint that you two had started to smoke now lay in the ashtray, long forgotten.

“You wanna touch it?” Eddie softly grabbed your hand and guided it to his clothed cock. 

Your hand touched it, felt it throb, and goosebumps rose across your body. “Oh- oh my god.”

“I’ve always wanted you to touch it,” he slipped his boxers down, his cock hitting against his happy trail wetly. 

Precum leaked from the slit of his cock, and you felt your mouth water with need. 

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock, pumping ever so slowly. You watched as his stomach muscles tensed, his cock throbbed in his big hand, and the precum leaked down the tip. You’ve never seen something so hot; so beautiful. 

“Just sit back and relax, okay?” Eddie positioned himself so he was sitting, facing you. The only thing you could focus on was him. 

You were in awe as you watched Eddie spit in his hand before wrapping it back around his cock, squeezing at the tip. Precum kept bubbling from the slit, and the urge to take him in your mouth was at the front of your mind. 

“You know what’s got me like this?” His hand sped up just as his other came down to cup his heavy balls. The schlick sound of his spit mixed with precum flowing to your ears. “You, you and your body. Fuck- the way you’re looking at me with those big, innocent eyes.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing, a silent beg to be filled with Eddie’s cock. “M-me?” Never did you think that he got this hard over you. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Eddie locked eyes with you, as he kept pumping his hand over his cock, squeezing it, imagining that it was your pussy instead of his hand. “Even before this, it’s always been you on my mind.”

“Eddie, I-,” you gulped, placing your hand over his. “I don’t want you to cum unless it's inside me.” 

Knowing that he was like this because of you made you feel like you could do anything you wanted to. Watching him jerk off and look at you while he does it, gave you confidence like you never had before.

Quickly, Eddie stood up from the bed and stripped himself of the rest of his clothes. He stood in front of you, naked, hair and tattoos scattered across his skin. You’ve never wanted someone more. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He pulled you to the side of the bed, your legs now dangling to the floor. Eddie bent down, making him eye level with you. “There’s no going back.” 

You took a deep breath and nodded, not being able to find the words to tell him just how sure you were.

A nod wasn’t good enough for Eddie. He gripped your cheeks with his hand and squeezed them. “I need to hear you.” 

“Eddie, I’ve never been more fucking sure of something in my life.” You spread your legs, showing him just how sure you were. The wet spot darkening your shorts. 

It was silent as Eddie laid you back against his bed, his touch gentle and slow. He lifted your shirt away from your stomach, pressing soft kisses across it until he trailed up to your bra. 

Taking matters into your own hands, you slung off your shirt, it ending up somewhere in Eddie’s messy room. 

Eddie, not wanting to waste anymore time, reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, sliding the straps off your shoulders. His cock jumped when you took it off the rest of the way, your nipples hard and begging for attention. 

It only took you looking down at Eddie for him to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, rolling his tongue around it, and nibbling on it. His other hand finding your other tit, squeezing it. 

“I’ve craved this for so long,” your voice cracked from pleasure. Eddie had barely started, and it felt like you were on fire. 

For a second, Eddie pulled away with a smirk on his face. “Let’s make it last then, yeah?” 

He kissed across your chest and back down your stomach. His hands popped the button on your pants, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

You helped Eddie, sliding your pants and panties down your legs in one go. Your arousal stringing to your panties as they were pulled off. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie spread your legs wider, getting a good look at just how soaked you were. Your pussy shined with the wetness. “Is this all for me?” He kissed your inner thigh, patiently waiting for an answer. 

“Yes, it’s all for you.” Both of your hands grabbed the back of his head and pulled him forward. You needed to feel something, anything, against your pussy. 

“Now, now. Be patient, baby.” His finger slid up your slit, barely putting pressure against your swollen and throbbing clit. “Where’s the fun in rushing?” 

The second he finished talking, he easily slipped a finger inside you. Your pussy immediately clenched around it, and you couldn’t help the whine you let out. “Eddie…” 

“You sound so pretty when you say my name like that.” 

Without another word, he dove in like a starved man. His tongue flattened against your clit, putting the perfect amount of pressure causing you to pull on his messy hair. 

Eddie groaned against you, not just from you pulling his hair, but from how good you taste. Your pussy flooded his taste buds, and he wanted more.

“I'm never going to forget how good you fucking taste,” his voice was muffled as he practically smothered himself in your pussy.

“Just like that,” you always heard Eddie ate pussy like a god, but to have him eating your pussy? You’re a believer now.

Eddie pulled his finger out of you, both of his hands gripping the back of your thighs and pushing them against your chest. This angle was perfect for him to slide his thick tongue inside your aching pussy. 

Letting out a strangled moan, you sat up from the bed and looked down at him. His lust blown eyes were looking right back into yours, right into your soul. “Right there, Eddie!” You looked around for anything to grab ahold of, needing to sturdy yourself. 

A sweat broke out over your body. You were so hot, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold your orgasm at bay. 

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” Eddie wrapped his plump lips around your clit, his teeth grazing at it. 

You felt pain and pleasure all at once, and you let out a sudden scream. “H-holy…” you threw your head back against the pillows just as Eddie’s hands came up to grab at your tits. 

“Do it, do it now.”

The words left his lips, and your orgasm consumed you. Your whole body shook, and your legs clamped around Eddie’s head. “Yes, yes, yes,” you couldn’t say many words, the pleasure taking over your whole mind and body. 

Eddie hummed against your pussy as your orgasm gushed in his face, dripping below you on the sheets. “That’s my good fucking girl, make a mess.” He slid two fingers in, curling them against your g-spot and pumping them in and out fast enough that you were crying out in pleasure. 

“Eddie! I can’t take much more.” Your legs continued to shake around his head as you soaked him and the sheets. 

When you finally opened your eyes, your vision was blurry. You felt euphoric. 

You felt as Eddie placed soft kisses across your legs and up your body, stopping at your lips. “Open your mouth.” 

His fingers slid inside your mouth, your tongue swirling over it and cleaning up the mess you had made. “You taste yourself?” You licked your lips, letting yourself really get a good taste. “Tastes like heaven, huh?” 

“Coming from your mouth, yes.” You used what little strength you had to flip the two of you over, Eddie now under you. “Now, it’s your turn.”

Eddie gripped the back of your head, pulling hard. “Think you can take it all?” He grabs his cock stroking it, tapping it against your thigh. “Gonna stretch your mouth wide open.” 

You smirked as you kissed down his body, sucking on his neck. You left sparse hickeys, wanting him to remember this after it was all done. “I want you to make me take it.”

He moved to the side of the bed, smirking as you crawled to your knees in front of him. “Make you? Oh, baby, you might regret that.” 

Your soft hands rubbed up his tattooed thighs, squeezing his soft skin. “I don’t think so,” your lips kissed along his inner thigh. “I like it very rough.”

Without warning, you took his cock in your mouth, suckling in the tip and swirling your tongue around it. You were in heaven as the salty taste of his precum hit your tastebuds. You had found your new favorite place to be, on your knees in front of him. 

Eddie let out a choked sob, his eyes immediately squeezing shit. “Oh- oh, fuck.”

He pushed your head down, his balls pressed right against your chin. Drool dribbled out of your mouth, coating his heavy sack. 

“You said you like it very rough, yeah?” Eddie thrusted up into your mouth, his cock sliding further down your throat. You gagged around him, your throat constricting. “Then fucking take it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through your nose. The pain of him using your throat was mixing perfectly with the pleasure you were feeling. You could feel yourself drip down your thighs. 

Eddie slapped your face, his rings stinging your cheeks perfectly. “Keep your eyes open. Look at me while my cock is stuffed down your throat, baby.”

You pulled up from his cock, spit trailing from your mouth to it. Your hands wrapped around him, pumping, and squeezing just like had done to himself earlier. “Like this?” You bit your lip and batted your eyelashes up at him. 

Proudly smirking to yourself when he couldn’t answer you.

“What if I did this?” You licked down the underside of his shaft before taking his cum filled sack into your warm mouth. 

“God, that’s so fucking hot.” His fingers laced through your hair, pulling and making you whine. 

You licked over his balls, inhaling his scent. You accidentally dipped your tongue lower, swiping over his tight hole. 

The loud whine Eddie had you let out had you quickly pulling away. “I-I’m so sorry, shit.” 

Eddie laughed, pulling your head back between his thighs. “D-don’t be sorry, just do it again.”

Your tongue dipped under his balls again, spreading his cheeks as you licked around his puckered hole. You hummed as your tongue slipped further, the tip of it sliding in.

“Holy shit! I-,” Eddie spread his thighs further apart. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Eddie’s hand on your head didn’t let up, he held you still as he grinded his ass against your face. Your tongue and spit making his hole a wet, hot mess. 

You moaned against him, your hand trailing down your body and finding your clit. You timed your rubs with the licks over his pretty hole. 

The sounds of wet schlick echoed off the walls, you couldn’t tell if it was from your pussy or his ass. Either way, you didn’t want to stop listening. 

“Touching yourself while you eat my ass? You dirty fucking slut.”

Eddie talking the way he was, only egged you on. Your tongue slid deeper inside him, making sure to lick everywhere you could. You couldn’t stop; you didn’t want to stop. 

“I can’t take it anymore. I need to be inside you, inside your pussy,” Eddie quickly pulled your head away, your mouth swollen from being used. “And I only want to cum if I’m inside you.”

You pushed him down on the bed. He crawled up the bed until he was sitting against the wall and resting against the pillows. “Someone’s in a rush.” 

“I just need you,” you straddled his waist, hovering over his waiting and aching cock. “So bad.”

Eddie grabbed his cock and ran it through your folds, getting it wetter. “Yeah?” He grabbed your hips and slipped the swollen tip of his cock inside you. “Then what are you waiting for, pretty girl? I’m all yours.”

You sank down the rest of his cock, until you were perfectly seated. The thatch of his pubic hair catching against your clit. “I’ve never had someone so deep, fuck.”

Quickly, you rocked your hips back and forth. You and Eddie groaned in unison, his hands coming to stop your hips. “Slowly, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Eddie reached over to the forgotten joint and relit it, placing it between his lips. He helped you find a slow rhythm, grinding your hips slowly against him. 

“You feel so good inside me,” you placed his hands on his chest, looking to sturdy yourself. “I don’t want it to stop.” 

Slowly, Eddie inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs before pulling your head close to his. Your lips barely touched his as he exhaled the smoke into your mouth, filling your lungs now.

You moaned at the action, at the feeling of his cock brushing against your g-spot. Your orgasm was starting to creep up on you. You could feel it travel in your veins, and all over your body. The weed was helping it come faster, taking over you. 

Eddie flicked out the joint and flipped the two of you over while he was still deep inside you. He pinned you between his sweaty body and the mattress, the weight of him leaving you with nowhere to go. 

“You look so good under me,” his hand wrapped around your throat. He held your head still as he slowly kissed you, molding his rough lips with your soft ones. 

“Please, just- just fuck me!” You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you. “I need you to fill me up with your cum, I need it to drip out of me.” 

“Yeah? You want my cum?” He quickly pulled out before slamming back in, making your body move up the bed. “Want me to put a baby in you, huh? Really make you mine?” His hold on your neck became tighter. 

“Please, give it to me!” You raked your nails down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake. “I want to be yours, always have, Eddie.”

His cock felt like it was splitting you open, and you craved more. 

“You’re so wet for me.” His hand left your body and found your clit, running harsh and fast circles. “You gonna cum for me again?”

You nodded your head fast, repeatedly. “Yes, please let me cum, please.” 

Eddie rested his forehead against his, “cum for me, fucking cum for me, sweetheart.” 

You let go as your orgasm crashed. Your toes curled and your mouth opened in a silent scream. Everything around you became white as you came around Eddie’s cock, gushing around it and soaking his waist and everything below it.

“Yes, baby. Just like that!” Eddie came with you, his stomach muscles tightening as he filled you up just like you said he would. 

His eyes stayed open though, he needed to see you cum. “You look so pretty when you cum on my cock- shit.”

It felt like hours had passed before you felt Eddie pull out of you, bringing you back to reality. He laid beside you, his body touching yours as the two of you caught your breath. 

“I never thought that was ever going to happen,” you looked to the side, catching Eddie looking right back at you. 

He let out a breathy laugh, turning his body to the side to get a better look at you. “I’m glad it did, I’ve been waiting.” 

“You have?” 

“I meant what I said when I’m all yours,” Eddie pulled your sweaty body closer to his. “If you’ll have me that is.” 

“With the sex like that? Who am I to pass it up?” The high from the weed and sex was starting to wear off, and so was the feeling of your soon to be sore body. 

“You want to go again?” Eddie held up the baggy of drugs, a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Yes,” you sat up and searched in the messy bed for the lighter. 

“I want you to do that thing with your tongue again.” 

You shot him a wink, “I’m so glad you don’t have to be high for me to do that.”

[malusmagpie]

Unbreakable Bonds

Pairing: Master!AnakinxPadawan!Reader

Summary: A master is supposed to care deeply for his Padawan… Right?

Word count: 3.8K

A/N: IMPORTANT: Anakin is 26 in this one. You’re 21. Okay? Okay. First. Sorry for disappearing! I’m fine and thank you so much for all the kind words in my inbox they meant the world to me. I just got uninspired for writing and burnt out from work. Second. I genuinely thought this was way longer than it is. Uhhhhh it’s a two parter. Maybe a three. No promises. Can y’all tell this is my fav trope? But i missed u guys 🫶🏼 lazy ending warning i didn’t wanna keep going i wanted to split it in two.

The sounds of the 501st yelling around you was not what you expected to wake up to. The men of the battalion had set up a camp for everybody on the remote planet you’d landed on in the Outer Rim the night before because the walk had been far too long to do in one stretch. You couldn’t even remember what the planet was called. You just knew your Master was assigned to a mission here and that meant you were assigned to it as well.

You shot out of your sleeping bag when you heard blaster shots above head. One flew through your tent, barely even a foot away from you. Your hand reached for your lightsaber on the ground and it flew into your grip as you ran through the flimsy tent door.

The bright suns of the desert planet blinded you for a moment and you adjusted your eyes before whipping your head toward all the commotion.

“They’re flanking left!” You heard Fives yell. You ran over to where you saw Anakin using a rock as cover.

“Master, why didn’t you wake me?” You yelled over the sounds of blaster fire and explosions with wide eyes. He smiled at you, a smile that didn’t aid your panic.

“Well good morning, Princess. Sleep well?” He always had time for jokes, even in an ambush. You groaned and ducked further down when you felt a blaster shot coming directly at you. “If you didn’t already notice. We’ve been ambushed, but I have a plan.” He finished and you stared at him with a blank expression.

“What would that be, Master?” You said wearily, you were preparing yourself to hear what could be considered by most to be an insane string of words in response to your question. To you though, it would be a normal Anakin thing to say. The 501st was doing a fantastic job at keeping them at bay for the short duration of your conversation but instead of responding, Anakin simply smiled before running right at the blaster shots, blocking them as if the ambush meant nothing to him.

The five year difference in your ages didn’t seem to matter. You tended to act and feel like the older one most days. It was a shame when your previous Master died, you cried in your room for days when the news arrived and you still flinched when you heard his name, it gave the council pretty much no choice but to put you under Anakin’s charge until you finished your training and completed your trials.

Regardless of who was more mature, you followed him blindly. The knowledge that you could trust him not to get you killed at the very minimum was reason enough to stay right on his heel. He was running toward a tank that was firing explosives at your camp. You tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself when he climbed up on top of it, dodging whatever came his way in the process. You followed him, doing the best you could with what you had been taught.

You stood with him on top of the tank and he used his lightsaber to cut the locked door open. It dropped to the floor of the small space inside the tank, crushing a battle droid in the process. Anakin jumped down to the bottom and you opted for climbing down the ladder, following him closely. He took the second battle droids head off with one swing of his lightsaber and took the piloting chair when the droid fell to the ground. You stood watch behind him, in case anybody came in behind the two of you.

With an aggressive turn to the handles that controlled the top half of the machine, Anakin turned the tanks artillery around causing your body to jostle around. You caught your footing and within moments, most of the battle droids around you became victim to the explosives flying out of the tank.

You heard something above head and your eyes caught sight of a droid holding a blaster toward you. You expected the thing to climb down before it blasted but when it shot at you from its vantage point you stumbled back with a stagger. Using a relatively easy Force ability, you pushed it off the tank and it landed on the ground. The tank moved as if it had gone over a bump and you safely assumed that you had done your job at getting rid of the droid.

“What was that?” He called over his shoulder and you looked down at your arm where your previously dry robe now had a small, blood-soaked patch.

“Nothing. I took care of it.” You replied with no hesitation. You heard the commotion eventually come to an end and Anakin let the 501st finish off the few remaining droids before getting up out of his seat.

“Thanks for trusting me, Y/N.” He said as he walked by you in the dimly lit space. You placed your lightsaber on your hip and followed him as he climbed up and out of the tank. You winced every time you pulled yourself up the ladder with your injured arm but you still got to the top fairly quickly. Anakin hopped down to the ground and held his hand out to help you. His eyes trailed to your stained robe as you reached your own hand to meet his.

Anakin pulled you down with both haste and caution. His eyebrows furrowed as he examined your wound as best as he could and you stared at him with an expression that screamed silent apologies.

“I’m sorry. I misread the situation and it shot me-“ You started and he didn’t let you finish.

“Next time I check in on you. Tell me the truth.” He spoke sternly as he guided you back to what was left of the camp. You closed your eyes for a moment, beating yourself up for not speaking up.

“I didn’t want to distract you.” You spoke softly and he scoffed.

“You know what’s worse than distracting me? Letting me turn around to see you bled out on the ground.” He stopped walking and his hand still held a firm grip on your uninjured bicep. Your eyes watched your shoes, feeling Anakin’s gaze bore into you.

“Never lie to me again. Mistakes happen, don’t let them fester.” Anakin’s voice was softer now. He let go of your arm and he continued walking before you could apologize again.

Your head hung low as you approached the men who fought valiantly for your Master; not because you were embarrassed, but because you couldn’t keep your head up. You felt your body begin to lose stability and you looked at your arm again, the patch had become almost the entire lower half of your arm and you were beginning to feel the pain. The adrenaline wouldn’t bring you much further and you knew it.

You opened your mouth to speak but you began to see small black dots in your vision. Your head spun slowly and your eyes fell shut. You had very little control over where you dropped, but you felt the impact right before you blacked out and you knew it was going to leave a bruise or two.

You woke up to see the interior of Anakin’s star fighter. You blinked slowly, wincing in pain. You looked down at your arm, it was dressed professionally and your sleeve had been cut off, likely to access the wound without undressing you.

“Keep still. You’re still healing.” A voice rang through the room and you turned your head to find the source. You winced when the movement caused your wound to burn. You heard Anakin sigh and stand up. He stood over you, eyebrows knitted in concern with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What part of ‘tell me if you’re not okay’ do you not understand?” He said sternly. You watched his eyes analyze your dressings from afar and you let out a sigh of your own, your voice sounded cracked and dry.

“I’m sorry-“ You started. Anakin held a hand up, signalling for you to stop speaking. His head angled itself away from you and he took a deep breath with his eyes shut. The way he always did when he had to calm down.

“I care about you.” He said after a moment of silence as he let his hand drop to his side, his voice sounded softer again. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died under my charge. Do you understand?” He gazed at you, looking for a sign that you did in fact, understand. You nodded.

“Good.” He pulled his chair over by the small cot you were laying on and sat down. “How’s it feeling?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

You looked at the wound with a shrug. “Could have been worse.” You seethed causing him to deepen the lines in his face, resting his hand on your arm.

“Just… Rest. That’s all you can do until we get to Coruscant.” He looked at you for a moment before getting up, presumably to fly the ship. You leaned back against the pillow and shut your eyes, letting sleep take over you. All you heard before sleep took over your body were the four words he let slip earlier. They echoed in your head as you lulled away.

“I care about you.”

You didn’t dream. At least you thought you didn’t. It was a shock to you when in your slumber, your mind filled with images of your own master smiling, laughing, and holding you. Soft words were whispered behind the backs of the council. His hand reaching for yours to squeeze it because he knew you were nervous. Kisses placed on foreheads and lingering touches were halted when you heard the 501st clanging around beyond your minds eye. In the cockpit on Anakin’s ship. Your eyes snapped open and you immediately closed them again, pretending to stay asleep and trying to grasp what the hell your brain was doing.

By the time the ship arrived on Coruscant, you’d rested and the bacta-bag wrapped around your arm seemed to have worked wonders on you. You opened your eyes to Anakin shaking you softly and the sound of his voice made a small part of you fill with an unexpected warmth.

“I’ll deal with the Council by myself, let me get you to your apartment first.” He said when you finally sat up. He rested a gentle hand on the back of your waist and you felt tingles over your entire back from the contact. The feeling shocked you, causing you to clear your throat to suppress a gasp. Anakin guided you off the bed and helped you off the bridge and onto the landing pad of your balcony.

“Are they angry?” You asked with a look toward him. He smiled, the kind of smile he held on his face when he had a joke in mind.

“They’re not allowed to feel angry remember?” He muttered humorously and you cracked a half smile. “Don’t worry about them.” He finished as he sat you down on your couch.

“Master, I really am sorry.” You spoke as he mindlessly placed the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your legs. Anakin shook his head.

“Really, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He said, settling down on the couch beside your legs. His forearms rested over his knees and he clasped his hands between them. You looked at him for longer than you thought appropriate. He looked tired and it took everything in you not to reach out and place your hand on his cheek.

He cared about you. He said it himself. Surely it was the same kind of care every Master had for their Padawan.

But it didn’t feel that way when he looked at you now.

You grappled with your thoughts, convincing yourself you were imagining things, that it was delusion. You almost didn’t hear him speak when he did.

“I almost lost you today.” Anakin said sternly. “I don’t have the time between all my meetings for a funeral, believe me.” He chuckled humourlessly.

“But you didn’t.” You shrugged and played with the frayed edge of the blanket over your legs. He shot you a look that made you smile and he followed with a chuckle. His hair pushed further into his face as he shook his down turned head.

A silence crept its way between the two of you and you watched his every move. You couldn’t explain the feeling that arose every time he smiled at you. It was like a switch had flipped and you desperately tried to figure out a way to flip it back while you watched him place his hands on his knees to push himself to his feet with a sigh. You gnawed at the skin inside your cheek as you watched him.

When he finally looked at you again, your mouth opened to say something, but it shut just as fast. You couldn’t trust your own words right now. Not with the way you were feeling. His lips thinned as he glanced at your arm again and he cleared his throat.

“Rest. I’m leaving you with C3-PO. He’ll help you get back on your feet so we can get back to our job.” He said, not bothering to look at you. You tried to ignore the pang of disappointment you felt at that. You gave him a nod as he retreated to his ship, leaving you with nothing more than a small nod in return.

You worked your jaw as he ascended and sped off. With a swift movement you pushed the blanket off your legs and stood. You felt fine, sure maybe a little bit weak from the blood loss but him calling in a babysitter for you felt unnecessary. You channeled your confusing emotions into annoyance at his childlike treatment of you. Because that seemed healthy.

As you paced your living room you swung your arm around gently to test how mobile you were. It seemed alright, nothing to pause missions or call reinforcements in for. You planned to give him a mouthful when he came back, you practiced your speech out loud as you walked around your apartment.

~•~•~•~

Anakin left yet another long winded meeting with a sigh, closing the door behind him as he left the council chambers. The meetings were a lot more tedious when he didn’t have Y/N with him. She tended to soften the blows, her charm and kindness carried them through plenty of scoldings and lectures from the council. He ran a hand through his hair as he stalked the busy hallways of the Temple.

All he could think of was how dumb he’d been. How blind he was to her struggle. If he’d just taken one second longer to check on her, she wouldn’t have that nasty bruise on the side of her face from the fall. Maybe if he’d kept a better eye on her she wouldn’t have gotten hit with the blaster at all.

Not only did he have to deal with the guilt of letting her get hurt, it was only a matter of time before he finally faced the reality of his feelings toward her. He knew it was coming, he couldn’t hold it back much longer. It already pained him immensely to hide it before she got hurt. Now, the very real fact was, he could misstep once and lose her forever. That dwelled on him and he wouldn’t let anymore time go on without telling her he cared for her in a way a Master shouldn’t care for their Padawan.

He sighed again, turning a corner and making for his speeder that was parked in the corner of the hangar. He’d give her a choice, of course. He’d tell her it was fine if she wanted to ask the council to place her with somebody else. He’d even go as far as push for her trials to be done quicker if it meant she could leave his charge if this all made her uncomfortable. He had every aspect planned but he needed to do it. If not now it would eat him alive forever, possibly until it was too late. He shook the thought from his head as he sped back to her house.

He arrived, later than he wanted, but with flowers and her favourite fruit. It showed he paid attention, at least in his mind. As if any of that would matter if she rejected him.

None of this was right, nor okay. He knew this all too well. He knew exactly what he was doing here and he’d weighed out all the pros and all the cons. Pros, he might have her. Cons, the Code. The damned Code.

He ruffled his hair nervously before taking one final deep breath and exiting his speeder. He caught sight of her pacing around and his eyebrows furrowed. 3PO intersected his path.

“Master Anakin, I fear Miss Y/N has lost it.” He said nervously. Anakin quirked a brow, smirking at the girl pacing her apartment and mouthing things.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thanks 3PO. Stay here.” He muttered as he pushed past the droids and left them on the balcony.

With a swift hand motion, Anakin opened her balcony door and placed her gifts on the table next to him. It wasn’t long before Y/N turned to face him during her paces.

~•~•~•~

“You. What have I done to lead you to believe that I would need not one, but two damned babysitters when I’m realistically only mildly hurt- What’s that?” You stopped in your tracks as you pointed to the flowers on the table. Your eyes landed back on Anakin where he leaned his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed.

He gave you a smile and you couldn’t seem to remember where you were in your speech. In fact, you couldn’t remember the speech at all.

“A gift. For you. I guess it’s more of an apology now though, isn’t it? Since you’re upset at me.” He shrugged, looking down at the bouquet and back at you.

“I’m not upset.” You shrugged, crossing your own arms as you took a few steps toward him. Your eyes fixated on him, you didn’t even care about the gift.

“Is that so? I could have sworn..” He trailed and you shook your head.

“Not upset. Glad you’re here.” You muttered and he chuckled as you approached him to snatch up the flowers and fruit to place them their respective places in a home.

“Right.” He nodded, that crooked smile never leaving his face. You didn’t even have to look at him to know what he looked like right now. You muttered something in agreement as you filled a vase with water and began cutting the stems. After a few moments of letting you arrange the flowers, Anakin rounded the counter to stand beside you and cleared his throat. Your breath caught as you looked up at him.

“You feel it too don’t you?” He asked quietly, leaning against the edge of your counter as your hands worked away at the flowers. His words gave you pause, and you placed the flowers neatly in the vase before sliding it to the middle of the counter.

“Feel what?” You questioned, barely looking away from your finishing touches on the arranged bouquet before you grabbed a cutting board for the fruit. His hand rested over yours where you held the board, causing you to look at him again. You studied his features and somehow you knew. You knew exactly what he was talking about, what he was eluding to. Your heart raced as you watched his eyes scan your face, looking at every inch of you to gauge your emotions.

“Don’t make me say it, Y/N. Just tell me if you want it as badly as I do..” His voice was barely above a whisper. Your eyes fell shut for a moment and you took a breath, trying to steady your thoughts. To see reason.

“Say it.” You replied without thinking.

Anakin sighed. “I care about you far more than what would be considered normal… Or.. Correct. In the eyes of the Jedi.” He said, his mouth formed a thin line as he gauged your response.

You stared at him, long and hard. You couldn’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen, that it was always going to happen, that nothing could have stopped it.

“I care about you too, Anakin. But-“

“Show me.” He breathed.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Show you what?” You asked, already knowing the answer. It was always like this. You were always one step ahead of each other. Which made this conversation feel all the more tedious.

“Show me how much you care. No buts. Use your feelings.” He said, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath shuddered again as you placed your hands on the counter next to him and pushed yourself up toward him. Your eyes watched his flutter shut and you followed suit before placing your lips against his.

You melted into him when his hands circled your waist, bringing you directly in front of himself and a small sigh left your lips between kisses. It felt perfect. It felt right. Fated, even. His warm hands sent shivers through you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer.

When you finally broke the kiss, he almost chased you before retreating and placing his forehead against yours. His heavy breaths matched your own and your eyes finally opened to see blue hues looking back at you.

“Well. Shit.” You whispered and he chuckled. “What now?” You asked.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly. “I know I’m screwed if you change your mind though.” He finished with a cocky smile.

[wannabehockeygf]

calgary - matthew tkachuk

part of the think later fic series

“I’m drunk, oh wow,

All my habits came back around.”

***

this has two parts!

part 2

***

request: “could you do calgary with matty tkachuk?? maybe something fluffy, and him being overprotective?”

summary: an attempt to relive your highschool glory days turns into a night of drunken confessions.

word count: 7k

pairing: matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol, unnamed pills

notes:

- ty for requesting! fun to write! keep ‘em coming <3

- ^ you guys already knew your girl had to go all out for her hometown, because calgary natives fuck it up the best!

- the plot is basically the lyrics of the song

- some friends to lovers because it makes me feel so lonely and I have to make y’all suffer too

- not super proof read

***

At some point in every Calgary native’s life, those wild, reckless nights of stumbling down Stephen Avenue after too many shots morph into something that feels suspiciously like maturity—like finding yourself sipping ritzy, overpriced cocktails on Seventeenth at six-something pm, wondering when your life turned into a scene from a yuppie rom-com.

The moment you realized this was your new reality, you spiraled. The “Oh my god, I’m so old, I can’t have fun anymore” pit of despair opened up beneath you, and you were falling fast. You had your shit together—no, scratch that, you have your shit together. You’re a bona fide adult. But still, you can’t help but yearn for the glory days of sneaking into clubs with a fake ID at fifteen, batting your lashes at some guy named Jason in a cowboy hat just to get him to buy you a drink.

But then, just as you’re about to spiral further, you remember tonight’s mission. Matthew, one of your closest friends, is back in town. The guy is practically a legend in your life—a hockey player sent off to South Florida but always makes his way back to Calgary for Stampede. You met him in the most random way—some Tinder date with a different Flames prospect gone awry. Who could have guessed that a failed date would lead to one of the most solid friendships of your life?

Matthew is that rare breed of guy—fun, charming, and completely non-threatening in the “someone’s gonna catch feelings” department. At least, that’s what you’ve always told yourself. But let’s be honest, there’s something about him that’s always felt…different. You’ve sworn up and down that, it’s not you, that you’re just friends, but there’s always that little nagging thought in the back of your mind. Could there be more? Should there be more?

Nah, you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about overthinking. Tonight is about channeling your inner fifteen-year-old, if only for a few hours. You’re on a mission to relive the glory days, and Matthew—well, he’s the perfect partner in crime.

The pulsating bass of the club thunders through your veins, the kind of beat that makes your heart race and your feet move, even if you didn’t want them to. But you do. Oh, do you ever. You’re dancing like you’re possessed, limbs flailing in a way that’s somewhere between “I just got electrocuted” and “I’ve been training for this moment my entire life.” You’re definitely more of a mosh pit person than a rhythmic dancer, but tonight, it’s all about the vibe, not the technique.

The lights are flashing wildly, casting everyone in an array of colors—red, blue, green, pink. It feels like you’re inside a kaleidoscope, everything spinning and twirling and making your head buzz in the most exhilarating way. The crowd is a sweaty mess of bodies, a hotbed of random hookups and questionable dance moves, but you’re right there in the middle of it, soaking it all in like the club’s ambiance is your life source.

“Another one?” someone yells over the music, thrusting a shot glass in your face. You don’t even see who it is, but hey, free alcohol is free alcohol. You down it in one go, the burn of the tequila (or is it vodka? Who even knows at this point) sliding down your throat and settling warmly in your belly.

You’re officially shitfaced. You can’t even remember how many shots you’ve had, but counting stopped being a priority after the third one. Or maybe it was the fourth. Whatever. You’re having fun—so much fun that you’ve completely lost track of time. How long have you been here? Is it still tonight? Did you miss Matthew’s arrival?

No, you tell yourself. There’s no way you could miss him. Matthew Tkachuk is not the kind of person who goes unnoticed, even in a crowded club like this. He’s the kind of guy who walks into a room and makes heads turn, who laughs so loudly you can hear him over any DJ set. You’d know if he was here.

Still, a small part of your brain—a part that isn’t totally soaked in alcohol—reminds you of tonight’s mission. You try to channel your inner teenager, that reckless, carefree girl who did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And right now, what you want is to dance. And maybe make out with someone. Or eat a greasy cheeseburger. The list is long, okay?

It’s in this haze of euphoria that you notice him—a man with a slicked-back ponytail that’s trying too hard to be edgy but just comes off as greasy. He slides up next to you, his cologne almost as overpowering as his confidence. You give him a half-hearted smile, not really paying attention, too busy reveling in your own carefree abandon.

“Hey,” he shouts over the music, leaning in too close, his breath warm against your ear. “You want something to really get the night going?”

You blink, trying to focus on his words through the fog of alcohol. His hand is outstretched, palm up, and there, sitting innocuously in the center, are two little pills. Your mind stumbles, trying to catch up with the situation. Pills? Like, drugs? The room seems to tilt slightly, the strobe lights throwing everything into sharp, disorienting relief.

The room seems to spin faster as you stare down at the tiny pills in the man's hand. They look so innocent, like candy, but you know better. Your brain, soaked in alcohol and barely clinging to reality, tries to do the math. Pills equal bad. Very bad. But you're also floating on a cloud of recklessness, and there's a small voice in your head whispering that maybe, just maybe, these little white ovals could make the night even crazier.

You can't quite decide if that's what you want or if you're just drunk enough to think it's what you want. Your vision blurs, the man’s face morphing into a smudge of colors and cologne. He leans in closer, his greasy ponytail brushing your cheek like a wet mop. “Come on,” he urges, his voice slicing through the booming bass, “just one, for old time’s sake.”

Old times? You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen this guy in your life. But then again, you’re also pretty sure you saw a unicorn prancing through the dance floor five minutes ago, so who knows what’s real at this point?

Just as you're about to reach for the pills—because why not?—you feel a hand grip your arm, firm and unmistakable. You whirl around, nearly losing your balance, and there he is: Matthew Tkachuk, your knight in a tight-fitting black tee that clings to his shoulders like a second skin. Even in your drunken haze, you can tell he’s pissed. Like, really pissed.

You’d seen him mad before, like that time when someone cut him off on the Deerfoot trail and he laid on the horn for so long that you thought it would get stuck that way—or, that one time when a ref made a call that had him throwing his helmet at the glass, shattering it. This feels so different, especially since he just got here.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matthew’s voice is like a thunderclap over the music, his eyes narrowing at the greasy-haired guy who suddenly looks a lot less confident. There’s something about Matthew when he’s angry—a fierce, protective energy that’s as magnetic as it is intimidating. He’s not the tallest guy in the room, but he doesn’t need to be. He’s Matthew Tkachuk, for god’s sake.

You blink, trying to process the scene. This isn’t the carefree, dancing-like-you’re-on-fire vibe you were going for. This is… something else entirely. The man with the pills tries to pull a sneer, but it’s more of a grimace. “Hey, man, just offering her a good time,” he slurs, attempting to puff up his chest in a way that’s more pathetic than threatening.

Matthew’s grip on your arm tightens, and you can feel the tension radiating off him like a furnace. “Yeah, well, she’s not interested,” he snaps, stepping between you and the guy, effectively cutting off your view of the man’s greasy face.

And for a moment, you’re glad. You’re glad Matthew’s here, glad he’s taking charge, glad he’s keeping you from making a possibly life-altering mistake. But then, that little rebellious streak in you flares up. Who is he to tell you what to do? You’re a grown-ass woman, a bona fide adult, remember? You don’t need a babysitter.

You yank your arm out of Matthew’s grasp, wobbling slightly as you do so. “I can handle myself,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. It sounds stronger in your head, but the words come out slurred and weak. Matthew’s eyes flicker with something—concern, frustration, maybe a mix of both.

“Yeah, it sure looks like it,” he says dryly, and even in your intoxicated state, you can catch the sarcasm. You want to snap back, say something witty and sharp, but your brain is moving in slow motion, and the words get tangled in your throat.

The greasy-haired guy takes a step back, clearly not wanting to get into it with Matthew. “Whatever, man. Just trying to help,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Who even are you, anyway?”

Matthew steps forward, blocking your view of Ponytail Guy entirely. The energy in the air shifts from fun and carefree to something sharp and heavy. The club’s lights seem harsher now, flashing in sync with the tension bubbling between them. Matthew is all broad shoulders and clenched fists, the muscles in his neck taut like he’s seconds away from doing something reckless.

And as for you? You’re swaying slightly, blinking like you’re trying to remember where you are—or maybe why you’re here in the first place. The tequila haze is doing you no favors, and all you can focus on is how intensely Matthew is glaring at Ponytail Guy. It’s like watching a lion size up a gazelle, except you’re the one caught in the crossfire.

“Who am I?” Matthew’s voice drops, low and dangerous, a tone you’ve only ever heard him use when talking about losing a game he should’ve won. “I’m the guy who’s about to ruin your night if you don’t get the hell away from her.”

Oh, god. Oh, no. You can already feel this heading toward disaster, but your reaction time is slower than usual. The alcohol has turned your brain into mush, and you’re having a hard time deciding whether you’re more turned on by Matthew’s sudden intensity or mortified by the scene unfolding in front of you.

Ponytail Guy, to his credit (or lack thereof), doesn’t back down. “Relax, man,” he sneers, taking a step forward like he’s trying to prove something. “She’s not your property.”

It’s a bold move, considering the sheer size difference between him and Matthew. And judging by the dark look in Matthew’s eyes, you’re not sure this is going to end well for Mr. Ponytail.

You should probably intervene. You should definitely say something, do something to diffuse the tension before Matthew decks this guy in the middle of the club. But you’re still trying to figure out why the room keeps spinning, and why your feet feel like they’re glued to the floor.

“I’m not anyone’s property,” you slur, finally finding your voice. It’s not as commanding as you intended—it’s more of a drunken mumble, but hey, you’re trying. Matthew glances back at you, his expression softening for a split second before snapping back to hardened fury as he turns toward the guy again.

The guy doesn’t seem to take the hint. “She said she can handle herself,” he repeats, puffing out his chest like some budget version of an alpha male. “Why don’t you back off?”

There’s a pause, and for a split second, you think maybe—just maybe—Matthew’s going to back down, let it go, and this whole thing will blow over without anyone throwing hands.

But then, Matthew steps forward, closing the gap between him and the guy with a terrifying calm. “Listen carefully,” he says, his voice so low you can barely hear it over the pulsing music. “If you don’t walk away in the next five seconds, I’m going to make sure you regret ever coming here.”

Okay. Yep. This is escalating.

Your drunken mind is slow to react, but you know one thing for sure—this is not going to end well if it keeps going. You need to say something, anything to stop this from turning into a full-blown fight in the middle of the club.

“Matty, come on,” you say, stumbling a little as you step forward, reaching out to grab his arm. Your fingers barely graze his sleeve before you lose your balance and fall right into him. Smooth. So smooth. “Let’s just—let’s just go get a drink or… or something.”

Matthew catches you with ease, his hand steady on your waist as he looks down at you. “You’re drunk,” he mutters, his voice softer now. “You don’t need more drinks.”

You blink up at him, trying to focus on his face, but everything’s a little fuzzy. He’s so close—close enough that you can smell his cologne, a mix of something woodsy and clean, like he just stepped out of a forest after a fresh rain. God, why does he always smell so good?

“I’m not that drunk,” you protest weakly, even though you totally are. The tequila haze is thick, clouding your judgment, and you’re still thinking about those little pills in Ponytail Guy’s hand. It would be so easy to take one. Just one. You’d feel amazing, right? Invincible, even.

But Matthew’s grip tightens slightly on your waist, grounding you. “Let’s get out of here,” he says firmly, his eyes flicking back toward Ponytail Guy, who’s still lingering like a bad smell. “Before I do something stupid.”

Ponytail Guy seems to get the message this time. He mutters something under his breath—something about how you’re not worth the trouble—and slinks off into the crowd, disappearing in a sea of bodies and strobe lights.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The room still feels like it’s spinning, and your head is buzzing, but you’re suddenly grateful that Matthew’s here. Even if he’s being overprotective, even if you’re still mad that he’s acting like your personal bodyguard.

Matthew keeps his arm around your waist as he leads you out of the club, guiding you through the sweaty, writhing crowd. The cool night air hits you like a splash of cold water when you step outside, and you sway slightly, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. The bass from the club still thrums in your chest, an echo of the chaos inside, but out here, the world feels quieter, slower.

“Okay, you’re definitely done for the night,” Matthew mutters, more to himself than to you, as he helps you toward a bench near the entrance. You plop down, the wooden slats cool against the backs of your legs. Your head tilts back, and you look up at the sky, where the city lights drown out most of the stars. The world is spinning, a slow, lazy carousel, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself.

Matthew kneels in front of you, his hands firm on your knees as he tries to get your attention. “Hey,” he says softly, and even in your drunken haze, you can feel the concern radiating off him. “You okay?”

You open your eyes and blink down at him, the edges of his face blurring slightly as you struggle to focus. He looks so serious, so worried, and it tugs at something deep inside you. You don’t want him to worry. Matthew’s supposed to be your fun, carefree partner in crime, not your babysitter.

“I’m fine,” you slur, trying to wave him off, but your hand misses the mark and flops uselessly against his shoulder. “Just… spinning. Everything’s spinning.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he replies dryly, his brow furrowing as he studies you. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. The word sounds nice, comforting, but also distant. Like it’s miles away instead of just a short walk. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Matthew’s chest, and he stiffens for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you steady.

His heartbeat is strong and steady against your ear, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the chaotic whirl in your head. He smells so good, like fresh pine and clean linen, and you take a deep breath, trying to anchor yourself to him, to the solidness of his presence.

“You’re so nice, Matty,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Like, really nice. And hot. Why are you so hot?”

You feel his chest rumble with a quiet laugh, but there’s a tension in the way he holds you, like he’s trying to keep his composure. “You’re drunk,” he says gently, one hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Let’s focus on getting you home, okay?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes wide and earnest. “No, seriously. You’re like… you’re like a hot lumberjack or something. All rugged and… and strong.”

Matthew’s lips twitch into a smile, but his eyes are still filled with that soft concern. “I think you’re mixing me up with someone else. I’m not that rugged.”

“You are,” you insist, your fingers fumbling to grip his shirt. The fabric is soft under your fingertips, and you run your hand down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath. “You’re… you’re like… if a grizzly bear was also a teddy bear.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “That makes no sense.”

“It does,” you argue, though your voice is thick and sluggish. “’Cause you’re big and strong, but also… also soft and warm. Like, I just wanna hug you forever.”

You press yourself closer to him, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm, and you can feel the faint prickle of stubble against your cheek. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you sigh contentedly, your body relaxing into him.

“Come on,” Matthew says, his voice a little strained now as he tries to coax you to your feet. “Let’s get you home.”

But you don’t want to move. You’re too comfortable here, wrapped up in his scent, his warmth. It’s like being swaddled in a blanket made of pure safety and affection. Why would you want to leave that?

“Nooo,” you whine, your arms tightening around his neck. “Wanna stay here. With you.”

Matthew sighs, though there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “You can stay with me, but let’s at least get you up.”

He stands, pulling you up with him, and you stagger slightly, your legs unsteady. He keeps a firm grip on you, one arm around your waist as he starts guiding you down the street. The city is a blur of neon lights and passing cars, and you lean heavily into him, your head lolling against his shoulder.

“Okay, but do you know how hot you are?” you ask, your voice soft and dreamy. “Like, I’m pretty sure you’re the hottest guy in Calgary. And Miami, or… wherever it is you’re playing now.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” he says, though there’s a faint blush creeping up his neck. “And talking nonsense.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouting up at him. “You’re so sexy. And nice. And I bet you’re really good at kissing.”

Matthew clears his throat, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Let’s not talk about that right now.”

“Why not?” you press, your eyes half-lidded as you gaze up at him. “’Cause I bet you’re amazing at it. Like… like you know exactly what to do with your hands and your tongue and…” Your voice trails off into a giggle as you try to imagine it, but your thoughts are too jumbled to form a clear picture.

Matthew doesn’t respond, his jaw clenched as he focuses on getting you down the street. You don’t notice the tension in his shoulders, too lost in your drunken haze to pick up on the way he’s fighting to keep his composure. All you can think about is how close he is, how solid and warm he feels next to you.

Matthew unlocks the door to your apartment with one hand, the other still holding you steady against his side. The hallway is dim, the faint hum of the city outside seeping through the walls, and the familiar smell of your home—clean linen and a hint of vanilla—greets you as you step inside. But you’re too lost in the comforting haze of alcohol and the warmth of Matthew’s body to notice much else.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” you mumble, your words slurring together as you nuzzle closer to his neck. “Like, really amazing. And hot. So, so fucking hot.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he guides you through the living room and toward your bedroom. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his voice, like he’s trying to keep his emotions in check.

Your head spins as you lean heavily into him, your body swaying with the remnants of the alcohol coursing through your system. The room seems to tilt slightly, and you cling to Matthew, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

He helps you sit on the edge of your bed, kneeling down in front of you as he starts to untie the laces of your shoes. The motion is gentle, almost tender, and you watch him through half-lidded eyes, your vision blurry and unfocused. But even in your drunken haze, you can see the concentration on his face, the way his brows knit together as he works to loosen the knots.

“You’re… you’re the best, Matty,” you mumble, your voice thick with affection. Your words come out slurred, but the sentiment behind them is clear. “So good to me. Always so good.”

Matthew lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s something strained in the sound, like he’s trying to hold back a flood of emotions. “Just trying to make sure you don’t sleep in your shoes,” he says, his voice low and calm as he pulls off your first sneaker, setting it aside before moving on to the next.

Your head lolls to the side as you watch him, your gaze tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. He’s so close, so solid and warm, and you feel an overwhelming surge of affection well up inside you. It’s like a tidal wave, crashing over you and drowning out everything else.

“You’re too good to me,” you murmur, your fingers trailing down the side of his face, clumsily brushing against the stubble on his cheek. The texture sends a shiver through you, a spark of electricity that ignites something deep in your chest. “I don’t deserve you, Matty.”

Matthew’s hands still for a moment, the laces of your shoe halfway undone. He looks up at you, his expression soft but serious, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze. “You deserve the world,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid of saying it too loud. “And more.”

Your chest tightens at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. It’s like he’s seeing right through you, straight to the core of who you are, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. You’re not used to being seen like this, not used to someone looking at you with such raw, unfiltered care.

He keeps moving, finishing with your shoes and gently lifting your legs onto the bed, his touch careful and precise. He doesn’t respond to your words, but there’s a tenderness in his actions that speaks louder than any reply. He’s taking care of you, making sure you’re comfortable, and that’s all you can ask for right now.

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” he says softly, his voice soothing as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

You let him lift the fabric over your head, your arms limp and uncooperative, but he’s patient, guiding you through the motions with practiced ease. You’re left in your underwear, feeling oddly vulnerable but also safe in his presence. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no discomfort—just pure, unadulterated care.

He’s trying to focus, to keep things as platonic as possible, but your touch, your words—they’re making it difficult. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for your pajamas, and you can’t help but notice the way his breath hitches when your fingers brush against his.

“Matty, you’re so warm,” you mumble, your voice thick and slurred. You cling to his arm, burying your face in the crook of his elbow. “And soft. Like… like a big, comfy pillow.”

His chuckle is soft, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to keep himself from reacting too much. “That’s a new one,” he says, his voice a little strained as he helps you into your pajamas. “Never been compared to a pillow before.”

You giggle, your fingers fumbling with the hem of his shirt as you try to pull him closer. “But you are! So warm and nice. And you smell so good…”

He’s trying so hard to keep things light, but your words are cutting through his defenses, making him acutely aware of every little touch, every breath you take. He knows you’re drunk, knows you won’t remember half of this in the morning, but that doesn’t stop the way his heart clenches in his chest at your every compliment.

“Let’s get you into bed, okay?” he says softly, brushing your hair back from your face with gentle fingers. “You need to sleep this off.”

But you’re not ready to sleep, not yet. There’s too much you want to say, too much you’ve been keeping bottled up. The alcohol has loosened your tongue, and you find yourself blurting out things you’d never have the courage to say otherwise.

“I love this shirt,” you mumble, nuzzling into the fabric as he helps you pull it over your head. “Smells like you. No matter how much I wash it, always smells like you…”

He freezes, his hands stilling on your shoulders as your words sink in. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink up at him, your vision blurry but your heart full of unspoken emotions. “It’s yours,” you admit, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I took it before you moved away. Couldn’t… couldn’t stand the thought of not having you with me, so I… I took it.”

The room feels like it’s holding its breath, the air thick with the weight of your confession. Matthew’s grip on your shoulders tightens slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re joking, but all he sees is the raw honesty in your gaze.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, his voice rough. “I thought I lost it.”

His hands tighten on your shoulders, a grounding touch as he steadies himself. He can’t dwell on that now, not with you looking at him like that—soft, bleary-eyed, and so heartbreakingly vulnerable.

“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he helps you finish pulling the shirt over your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Your arms flop uselessly as he tugs the shirt down, your drunken limbs not cooperating, but Matthew’s hands are steady, guiding you with a gentleness that makes your heart swell.

“Matty…” you mumble, your voice trailing off as he helps you stand, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. The world tilts slightly, and you grip his shirt, your fingers curling into the soft fabric as you try to steady yourself.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, his voice a steady murmur against your ear. He’s so close, so solid, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, soothing the edges of your spinning thoughts.

He leads you to the bathroom, each step slow and careful as he supports your weight. The cool tiles under your bare feet send a shiver up your spine, and you lean more heavily into him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and you close your eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence.

Matthew lifts you up onto the counter with ease, standing between your legs. His fingers brush your cheek, tilting your face up so you can meet his gaze, and even through the fog in your mind, you can see the worry etched in the lines of his face.

“I’m just going to help you clean up, okay?” he says softly, his thumb stroking your cheek in a soothing rhythm. “Then you can get some sleep.”

You nod, the motion making your head spin, but you don’t care. All you want is to be close to him, to feel his hands on you, gentle and caring. You let your eyes flutter closed as he reaches for a makeup wipe, the cool cloth sliding over your skin as he carefully removes the remnants of the night. “God, why do you even wear all this gunk anyway?” he mutters, more to himself than anything.

Matthew’s fingers move with such tenderness, tracing over your skin with the makeup wipe, and you can’t help but giggle softly as the cool cloth sweeps across your cheek. The sensation is oddly comforting, like he’s erasing more than just makeup—he’s wiping away the stress, the insecurities, the fear that’s been knotted in your chest for far too long.

You blink up at him, watching through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrow in concentration. His touch is so delicate, so reverent, like you’re something fragile that he needs to take care of. The thought makes warmth bloom in your chest, spreading through your veins until it tingles in your fingertips. You can’t resist reaching out, your hand finding his on your face, and you let your thumb rub along the edge of his wrist. The soft, steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips makes you sigh, content and drowsy.

"You're so... nice," you slur, even though you’ve said it about a million times tonight. "Like, really nice. And strong. And... you smell good."

Matthew doesn’t say anything, just hums softly in acknowledgment as he moves on to brushing your teeth. He grabs your toothbrush, carefully squeezing the toothpaste onto it like he’s done this a thousand times before. The bristles hit your teeth, and you wrinkle your nose, the minty taste sharp against your tongue. You attempt to brush, but your hand is wobbly, barely cooperating, and soon enough, Matthew’s hand covers yours, guiding the motion in slow, methodical circles.

You close your eyes, letting him take over, and your mind drifts again, this time to all the little things you’ve never said, all the feelings you’ve buried because they’re too big, too scary to voice. But now, with him here, being so sweet and careful, the words come tumbling out before you can stop them.

“I think about you all the time, you know,” you confess, your voice muffled by the toothbrush still in your mouth. “Like, all the time. It’s... it’s stupid. But I do.”

He pauses, his hand stilling for just a moment, and you blink up at him, your gaze fuzzy but earnest. His eyes meet yours, and even through the haze of alcohol, you can see the way his expression softens, something tender and raw flickering across his face.

“I know,” he says quietly, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I think about you too.”

The admission settles over you like a warm blanket, comforting and soft, and you can’t help the dopey smile that stretches across your face. “Good,” you mumble, your words slurring together as the toothbrush is finally taken from your mouth. “’Cause I’m crazy about you, Matty. Like, really crazy. Like... I wanna marry you, crazy.”

Matthew’s breath catches in his throat as your words hang in the air, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm, like the very walls are leaning in to listen. “I wanna marry you, crazy,” you’ve just said, and the words are like a punch to his gut—equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

He forces himself to focus, to stay grounded in the moment, because you’re here, drunk and vulnerable, and he can’t afford to lose his head, even if his heart is racing like it’s trying to break free from his chest.

You’re still smiling up at him, your eyes droopy but sparkling with the kind of affection that only comes when the alcohol strips away every last ounce of inhibition. He can’t help but smile back, his heart squeezing at how utterly adorable you look, all soft and pliant, just a little messy around the edges.

“Marry me, huh?” he teases, trying to keep his voice light as he puts away the toothbrush and reaches for the hairbrush. “Didn’t know you were planning on proposing tonight.”

You giggle, a sound so sweet it sends a shiver down his spine. “Mmmm, maybe…” you mumble, swaying slightly as you lean forward, your hands finding purchase on his chest. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and you let out a contented sigh. “You’d say yes, right? You… you love me, right?”

The question is so simple, so innocent, and yet it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. Matthew swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, and he’s thankful you’re too drunk to notice the way his hands tremble slightly as he starts to brush your hair.

He feels like his heart might burst from the sheer force of how much he adores you, and he has to blink back the sudden sting of tears that threaten to well up. You’re so open, so honest in this state, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. He doesn’t deserve this—doesn’t deserve you—but God, he wants you so badly it hurts.

The brush catches on a small tangle, and you whimper, the sound so pitiful that it pulls him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, quickly working the knot out with his fingers before continuing. He can feel you relaxing more and more with each stroke, your body leaning into his as if you’re trying to meld into him.

You’re so beautiful to him, even like this—especially like this. Hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy from the alcohol. You’re vulnerable, open in a way that makes Matthew’s throat tighten. He’s never seen you like this, not really, and he’s terrified that if he blinks, you’ll disappear, or worse, that this version of you will be gone by morning.

He’s trying so hard to keep things platonic, to not let his feelings slip through, but every brush of your fingers against his skin, every slurred word of affection, makes it harder to keep the walls up.

His thumb brushes against your cheek again, and he can’t help but smile at the way you nuzzle into his hand, like a cat seeking warmth. “You’re gonna feel so embarrassed in the morning,” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “But you’re lucky I’m such a good friend, huh?”

You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes his chest tighten. “I’m not embarrassed,” you say, words slurred but insistent. “I’m just being honest. You’re amazing, Matty. The best friend ever.”

He chuckles, a soft sound that rumbles in his chest, and he can’t help but shake his head. “Yeah, well, I try,” he says lightly, though his heart is heavy. “Let’s get you to bed, alright?”

You whine, a soft sound that tugs at his heartstrings. “Don’t wanna sleep yet,” you mumble, your hands fisting in his shirt. “Wanna stay with you. Wanna… talk.”

Matthew sighs, but it’s more fond exasperation than anything else. “You can talk to me all you want tomorrow,” he says gently. “Right now, you need to rest.”

But you’re not having it. Your grip on his shirt tightens, and you look up at him with those big, glassy eyes that make his resolve waver. “Please, Matty,” you whisper, voice so soft and pleading it makes his heart clench painfully. “Just… stay with me a little longer. Please?”

And damn it, how can he say no to that? How can he say no to you, when you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded in the spinning world around you?

“Alright,” he relents, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a little bit, okay? Then you really need to sleep.”

You nod eagerly, a bright smile spreading across your face, and he can’t help but mirror it, his own smile soft and adoring. He guides you back to the bed, helping you sit down gently, and you tug him down beside you, your hands still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

You can feel the world spinning in slow, lazy circles as you nuzzle into Matthew’s shoulder, your hands weaving through his messy curls. They’re soft and unruly, just like you imagined. You’ve always wanted to do this, to run your fingers through his hair and tell him he looks like some sort of Disney prince that got lost on his way to a ball.

“I love your hair,” you mumble into his shoulder, your words slurring slightly as the alcohol works its magic. “’S..so fluffy, like a… like a golden retriever.”

Matthew laughs, the sound vibrating against your cheek where it rests on his shoulder, and you smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the sound. You’ve always loved his laugh—how it’s deep and rich, like dark chocolate, and makes your heart do weird, fluttery things that you’re definitely not thinking about right now. Nope, not at all.

“You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. If anything, he sounds amused, fond even, like he’s secretly enjoying this, watching you unravel and spill your guts like you’re auditioning for some tragic role in a romance movie.

You let out a contented sigh, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you turn your head slightly to look up at him. He’s so close, his face just inches from yours, and you can see every detail—the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the way his lips quirk up at the corners, and that stupid little dimple that only shows up when he’s genuinely smiling. It’s not fair how pretty he is. It’s not fair that he gets to be your best friend and also make your heart do that weird, fluttery thing you’re definitely not thinking about.

“Why are you so pretty?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not fair. You should be illegal.”

Matthew’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck. “Pretty?” he repeats, his voice a little strained, like he’s not sure if you’re serious or just really, really drunk. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me pretty before.”

“Well, they should,” you insist, your fingers curling tighter in his hair as if to emphasize your point. “You’re like… like a prince or something. A really hot prince who’s also really nice and sweet and—”

Matthew clears his throat, his face turning a deeper shade of red, and you giggle, the sound light and airy. You don’t know why he’s so embarrassed. It’s not like you’re saying anything that isn’t true. He is pretty. And nice. And sweet. And also really, really hot, which you’re definitely not thinking about right now. Nope, not at all.

“Okay, okay,” he says, cutting you off before you can go on another drunken tangent. “I think that’s enough compliments for one night.”

You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that you know drives him crazy because he’s always telling you to stop doing it. “But I’m not done,” you protest, your voice whiny and petulant. “You’re… you’re the best, Matty. The best friend ever. And I just… I just love you so much.”

The words are out before you can stop them, and you immediately feel a flush creeping up your cheeks, hot and mortifying. Did you really just say that? Did you really just blurt out your deepest, darkest secret like it’s no big deal? God, you’re an idiot. A drunk, stupid idiot who can’t keep her mouth shut.

Matthew is silent, his gaze soft as he watches you, and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, the thump-thump-thump almost deafening in the quiet room. You want to crawl under a rock and die, or maybe just pass out and pretend this never happened. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

But before you can make your escape, Matthew reaches up, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he tilts your head up to look at him. His thumb brushes against your skin, soft and warm, and you shiver at the touch, your breath catching in your throat.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right? You’re my best friend, and I… I care about you a lot.”

You blink up at him, your vision swimming slightly as you try to process his words. He loves you. He cares about you. But… does he love you like you love him? Does he feel that weird, fluttery thing in his chest when you’re around, or is that just a you problem?

Before you can ask, Matthew is guiding you back down onto the bed, his touch gentle as he tucks you in, pulling the covers up around your shoulders. You’re too tired to protest, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy, and you let out a soft sigh, your head sinking into the pillow.

“Sleep, okay?” Matthew murmurs, his hand brushing a stray piece of hair out of your face. “We can talk more in the morning.”

You want to argue, to tell him that you’re not done, that there’s so much more you need to say, but your body has other plans, and before you know it, you’re drifting off, the sound of Matthew’s steady breathing lulling you to sleep.

As you drift off, you can feel his hand resting on your head, his thumb brushing softly against your temple. The last thing you hear before sleep pulls you under is his voice, quiet and filled with something you can’t quite place.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, crazy girl,” he whispers, and then everything fades into darkness, his touch the only thing anchoring you to the world.

[goldenchunkycat]

Dirty things Neteyam does that you like

[He do or he does ? Hm, nevermind...

Neteyam is aged-up unless stated otherwise]

Being kind. Like I'm sorry but it's a big turn on. He smiles to everyone, helps everyone, he is honest, fair, brave; he always listen carefully to everyone requests and do his best to fulfill them. He's a sweetheart and he has a pretty smile. So why are you aroused every time you see him help an old Na'vi ? Why are you horny everytime you see him help his mother cook ? Because you knoooow. You know that the boy isn't like this when it's just the two of you. Don't get me wrong he's a darling with you, always helping you around, carrying you on his back and making you laugh. But when it comes to more...suggestive things, he's MEAN. I just know that he is a mean dom. The kind of guy who will make you cry after teasing you endlessly without giving you his dick and then fake sympathy. So when you see him being nice to everyone you just remember how mean he can be when he is fucking you.

"Oh, my love, crying over my dick. You poor baby."

"My sweet girl, do you want it ? I'm gonna give it to you. Or not..?"

That boy love to pull something while fucking you. He ALWAYS have something in his hand. Like that one time where he was pulling your tail while fingering you, or when he was pulling your hair while you two were making out. Oh ! And when he was pulling your arms while fucking you from behind - this one isn't your favorite but he really likes it. He needs to pull on something because your reactions are so cute ♡ You whimper, pant, moan, and sometimes, when it's too much, you cry. He loves those sounds and he loves the fact that it brings him a feeling of power (?) ♡

"What ? Am I pulling it too hard ? But your tail was practically begging to be held, it was wagging so frantically."

"Love it when you're so malleable."

PRAISES. You should love praises. I just KNOW that Neteyam is the kind of boyfriend who will tease you as if he was degrading you but yet still praises you to no end. Sweet nicknames between two laughs, comforting touch between two rough fuck. The man would LIVE to let you know how pretty you are and how good you are to him, letting him fuck you anywhere and everywhere. You would definitely love hearing him telling you how good you are sucking him or how well you take his dick. It helped with your self consciousness and he knows it. You just love being called a good girl ♡

"Ah, you're doing so good, my perfect and pretty little mate..."

"You love being praised, don't you ? I can feel the way you're clenching around me whenever I call you my good girl."

Last but not least, Neteyam fucks you everywhere. Like, at this point it's concerning. It's been a recurrent topic in my Neteyam pics but yeah, daddy's son can fuck you everywhere. There's two reason; First, he's horny and you are pretty, can you blame him ? I said it before, pussy drunk Neteyam is a must. Like just imagine that you are in the middle of a feast and suddenly he's all about 'nice to see y’all but we gotta go for a bit, we'll be back'. You follow him because he asked you to, but turns out he just wanted to fuck you behind some rock or tree. Or you would be training with the Tsahik when he would come, all smiles, and gently ask if he can take you because 'you need to eat something and rest a bit'. Rest what ? He just wanted to suck on your breast with his fingers deep inside of your cunt. The second reason is because he wants to know how long his 'nice' act would last. He would love acting all innocent in front of his people when he knows that he's just going to fuck you somewhere not so private. How long until someone notice what's behind his smile ? You two bet on it.

"Can I borrow her ? We have some unfinished business..."

"I love seeing their face when they think that we are going to do some leader things when in fact you're just going to open those pretty legs of yours to let me do my things."

"What about the place that we saw last week ? We can leave during tonight's feast to visit it." "..." "You know me so well my love. Yes, I just want to see you on your knees in the middle of the beautiful flowers."

"I think that Dad is suspicious. He will be the first to figure it out." "..." "No way, my mom don't know, wanna bet on that ? If you're wrong you will not cum for a whole week."

"Qu-Quiet love or else they will know that I'm ravaging you. They are barely a few feet away you know ? You know what- Ah- Keep moaning, I want them to ear."

[Next will be about dislikes !

The other way around —> Dirty things you do that Neteyam likes

Feedback is appreciated ♡]

Masterlist

[shurisleftearring]

Green Eyes Pt 2

a/n: Thank you so much for the love on the first part! I am so shocked by the love its gotten so far! I have many more parts to come! Enjoy! (Also bear with me it get juicier each part I promise) (Also I know that I’m late but better late then never 😚).

But I don't love you anymore, i'm so insecure, never knew that love did this...

Pairing: Shuri x Black!fem!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Summary : Five years. It’s been five years since the blip. And even longer since you’ve been in a relationship. Maybe it’s for the best. The last time you were in a relationship, it just ended in disarray. But, when your ex comes back into your life, can you start over and do it again? Or try to move on with an unexpected love?

Part one is pinned on my page!

You felt a certain sense of nervousness around Shuri now. Even though you were secure in yourself now, it just felt different. She was different. 

“Hello…y/n?” Shuri said

You snapped out of the train of thought you were in.

“Huh?”

“I said do you like my car uthando?” 

You had no idea what that meant but you were turned on by it. You loved it when she spoke her native language. 

“It’s aight”

She chuckled “Just alright? Even though you were just gawking at it a minute ago?”

You shrugged. 

Kaira felt all the of tension between the two of you.  

“Well, sorry about that Your Majesty, it’s just stunning,” Kaira said breaking the silence

“No worries, and please call me Shuri,” Shuri said to Kaira

“Ok!” You could tell that she was trying to flirt with her eyes.

All you wanted to do at the moment was leave.

“Well, it’s late, see you around.” You said

 Kair tried to wave goodbye, but you grabbed Kaira before she could do anything.

“See you around…” Shuri said.

She didn’t recognize you. Inside and out. She only recognizes you by the birthmark on your lower back that you rarely showed. Damn, after all of this time, she still remembers every little detail. She didn’t know what happened to you, but she was going to find out.   

“y/n, she is fine as fuck! Can you introduce me?”

You just rolled your eyes.  “No, let’s go”

_____________________________________

A few days later

It is your first day at Stark Industries and you already have two meetings, and four deadlines to meet. I guess they have been struggling since the infinity war. 

“You have a meeting in five minutes,” says your assistant. You promised yourself that the assistant that you had at your old job would come here. He is the best there is, it’s just a guy plus he's black. 

“Thank you, Anthony.” 

You look at yourself in the mirror one last time and then go to the meeting room. You're fortunately early so you give yourself a little pep talk. 

“You got this, this job will help you, not hurt you. You will become CEO soon, and won't have to deal with this bullshit.”

“You have a long way to go, my love.”

Shit. It’s Shuri. 

“Stop calling me that, we're in a public place.”

“Oh, so you don’t mind in public?” She said smugly.

You hated her newfound cockyness. It was getting annoying.

“No, not anywhere. Shuri, let’s make something clear. We are not together, stop calling me these pet names.”

“...No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No uthando, no” -love

You knew she called You forgot how petty she was. You were having a staring contest with her and you were losing. She was just too fine.

“Hey ladies, I can see y’all are gay as fuck but please, let’s not be in  the office.”

“Peter shut the hell up.” You say.

“How long has this been going on? Shuri only calls her girlfriends ‘love’”

“Nothing is going on I can assure you that”

Shuri is looking at you so smugly. “I mean..”

 You looked at her “What the hell you mean ‘I mean’?” 

“...We could've been at least engaged by now if it wasn’t for you ripping my heart out to shreds.”

“Excuse me?! It was your MOTHER who broke us apart. She told me never to contact you and to break up with you. That-”

“Don’t. Don’t you start y/n”

“OR WHAT? SHE RUINED MY LIFE. OUR RELATIONSHIP, MADE  MY LIFE A LIVING HELL UNTIL I LEFT. FACE IT SHURI YOUR MOTHER IS A HOMOPHOBIC BITCH. SHE HATED ME AND MANIPULATED YOU AT EVERY TURN” you screamed. 

“Y/N WATCH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH”

Peter was just watching in awe and confusion. 

You and Shuri are now close. Your face is so close, your noses are touching.

Shuri was mad at you, but she knew that she was right. Her mother told her before she died about what she did. Then something clicked in Peter’s mind.

“...wait…y/n you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what Peter?” You said irritated.

“That Queen Rom-”

“SHUT UP PETER”

“What? She what?”

“Nothing” Shuri gritted through her teeth.

A massive silence fell until other people started coming in. You just sat down and looked away mad. Shuri just stormed out of the room.  You just sat there in anger and confusion. What was Shuri hiding from you? What happened to her mom?

_____________________________________

After the meeting, you just felt drained, especially after that fight you had with Shuri. You just got into your apartment when your phone buzzed. What now?  you thought. You kicked off your heels and put your coat on the rack. You looked at your phone to see that an unknown number texted you. Be downstairs in five, it’s important. You had a feeling it was Shuri. You were just drained and wanted to deal with it later. You set up your I’m drained the fuck out set up on the couch and was about to put on Living Single when your doorbell rang. You sighed and went to open the door. When you opened it, it was Shuri. “I told you to be ready in five. It’s been thirty minutes.” 

“That should have been the green light to go. home. I don’t wanna deal with anything right now so please leave me alone.”

“No, we need to talk. NOW”

Her aggression took you aback. 

“I said no Shuri” Shuri just sighed.

“Love, please, this is important” You gave her a look. 

“...It’s about the project,” She said

You sighed and just looked at her. 

“Fine, just let me try to look decent”

“Not you getting dolled up for me”

You just rolled you eyes and went into your bathroom to clean yourself up from the day. _____________________________________

Shuri felt bad for going off on you. I mean, you didn’t know that her mother was murdered. But, You still crossed a line and you needed to know that. Now that Shuri is going to be your boss, she can’t have you mad. It'll ruin your performance, plus, she wants to say pet names to you and not have to worry about another screeching match. You came out of your bedroom and holy shit. Every time she saw you, you fell in love with your curves, hips, and even how your ass jiggled when you walked. She missed that. She missed your hug and your smile. She just missed you. 

“I’m ready,” you said 

She could tell you were tired, but she couldn’t let you go to sleep mad at her.

“We won’t be out long, I promise” 

“Yeah, yeah. Can we just go?”

_____________________________________

Y’all just came from the car and saw the restaurant. It was beautiful. The neon signs were your favorite. 

“Wow, Shuri, this place is amazing.”

“I know, when I saw it I thought of you. Also, is gumbo still your favorite?”

Omg…you haven’t had gumbo in so long. Since you've been on that keto diet, you have forgotten what gumbo tastes like.

“They have gumbo here?” Your face lights up.

She whispered into your ear, “Yes, uthando”

You eventually get seated and then order a big pack of those dinner rolls. All of the hard work you put in is now gone once you eat the first roll. Your eyes start rolling back and Shuri can’t help but laugh. 

“What have you been eating? Grass?” 

You can’t even hear her. All you can think about is having another roll. 

“Oh my, love slow down”

“These are so fucking good, oh my god!”

Shuri was having a field day, taking pictures, and laughing her ass off, she didn’t notice you had about 5-6 rolls. 

“Well shit y/n”

You looked at the plate so embarrassed. It just hit how much of that you're gonna have to cut back to even make on how many pounds you ate. 

“y/n it’s ok, you just got hungry. That’s all” 

“No, I lost control”

“Look, I know that you have problems with your eating, but please just enjoy it. Please? For me, love?” 

You just sighed “Ok, I will”

Shuri smiled “Good, now I already ordered ahead”

You looked at her confused “huh”

“What did you order…”

“You’ll just have to see love,” she said as she winked at you

Now you were intrigued. Shuri was not the person you once knew and it was scary. The “baby lesbian who doesn’t know shit” is gone. You didn’t know how to feel. A part of you loved it, and a part of you was sad that those simpler times were over. 

“Ooo, your song is on!” she said, swaying to the music in her chair.

Oh shit. It was Rain by SWV. You laughed. You forgot that she loved this song as much as you do.

She stood up and offered her hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

You were a little hesitant but then obliged.

She pulled you into her and started dancing. With her soothing hands on your waist and her warm scent, you let loose. And started doing something that you thought would never happen again: dance. 

“Look at youuu, dancin’, and shit”

You rolled your eyes and started singing some of the lyrics. 

“Raiiiinnn downnnn on meee, let your lovee just fall on meeeee”

At this point, both of you guys were singing and dancing. Everyone was looking at you. There was a karaoke place, but y'all didn’t use it. 

The song was at a close end. 

“Sometimes it's soft as a mistyy raiiinnnnnn” both you and Shuri sing.

You both busted out laughing, walking to go back to your seats. Sitting down, you couldn’t contain the new excitement you just found. When you looked down at the table you saw gumbo, jambalaya, curry chicken, coco bread, and much more. 

“Holy shit,” You said.

“Shuri…how tf am I gonna eat all of this food?”

“You won't, I invited some extra people last minute. I underestimated the quantity of the food so I called some people. They should be here any minute now.” 

“Oh”

You were a little disappointed that it wasn’t going to be just you and her. Wait no you didn’t, you just got your life together. You can’t ruin that.

Shuri peeped at the disappointment on your face.

“I thought you didn’t want to be with me alone”

So did I  you thought. 

“I-I’m not disappointed” 

“Ndicela ungandixokisi sthandwa”- do not lie to me, my love

Her kimoyo beads translated for you. 

“I am not lying, I promise”

She chuckled at your failed attempt at trying to act tough. It was trash, but funny. Instead of grilling you about it, she just changed the subject.

“So, I need to talk to you about a few things”

“I figured that”

Shuri put down her drink. “What you said about my mother was unacceptable. You will respect her. Understand?”

Your lower regions were getting wetter by second. You didn’t know where all of this dominance came from but your vagina was wetter than NIagra Falls. 

“Yes. I realize that now, even though I am right, I could've said it better. I don’t even like to say that word, I was just angry”

“I understand. And I apologize for ‘poking the bear’ as you Americans say. I shouldn’t have done that”

You put down your drink trying not to smile. You loved this new her. She grew so much over the years. 

“Also,I thought you would know more about Xhosa by now” Shuri said, changing the subject again. 

“I stopped learning after I got my first promotion, I just didn’t have any time”

“Shame, because you’ll need to learn it”

You looked at her blankly.

“..why?”

She puts down her drink. 

“Because your first task is to help me in Wakanda”

[luffyvace]

Inosuke x black male reader

The last one from the poll!! Yippie!!

I love inosuke he’s so cool 😎

your hair is….very foreign to inosuke

this is Japan so when he sees you in general he’s very confused??

and confused=confrontational (like with giyuu)

so at first there’s a chance y’all beefed (it may have been one-sided)

but to talk specifically about your hair he probably pulls and inspects it a lot

or at least tries I know you don’t let that slide

he’d ask overly blunt questions like

“what happened to your hair, is it fried?!”

your skin is also new to him

the things he be saying is atrocious but he’s genuinely curious

mans also has no social cues

which makes him come off as rude

and even if he did have social cues he’d ignore them, cuz he doesn’t care 🤷‍♀️

to sum it all up, don’t take it personally

he be munching down on your cooking tho!

so at least that 🤦‍♀️

he always asks for so much / extras

he likes spicy too

He steals tanjiro and zenitsu’s food whenever you cook

When you use AAVE he doesn’t get it

and never will

you never even bothered to teach him

he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would get it

if you wanna say something and don’t want him to know just teach tanjiro and zenitsu AAVE

zenitsu will get it before tanjiro does-

”WHAT?? WHADDYA SAYIN?? STOP SPEAKING FUNNY!!”

”THAT DOESNT EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE IDIOT!!”

him calling you a idiot is irony I know 😂 /j

your culture/dances also don’t make sense to him..😞🙁

he might get the culture a little bit more than the dances

i mean it’s just dancing but he’ll be wondering why you have to do it a certain way

and as far as culture he’ll be like

”whaddya doin all this stuff for?! ITS POINTLESS!! lets go train instead!”

Tanjiro will get it tho!

he’ll explain his dad used to do a fire dance to ward the demons off

”is it something like that?”

close enough..🧍‍♀️

your bonnet/durag is very strange to him

He doesn’t get why you need something on your head to sleep

You explain to him that it’s to keep your pillow from soaking the oil in your hair and to keep your hairstyles neat

speaking of which when you braid your hair or if you have locs he thinks it’s very cool!

(that’s like the most positive thing I’ve wrote so far..)

Only problem is…..he wants you to do his hair like yours..

”but inosuke, your hair’s gonna fall out! And you can’t loc straight hair!”

He doesn’t wanna hear it..

he gets loud/starts yelling and you have to calm him down

your features are something he notices right off the bat but at the same time it goes right over his head

like he sees you may have a big nose/big lips but he doesn’t really pay much attention to it

like he doesn’t even think ‘everyone is different!’ so why would he pay attention to everyone’s individual features?

he’s looking for if your strong or not if anything 🤷‍♀️

im just gonna put a collage of his questions here cuz I can

”WHY CANT YOU DO MY HAIR LIKE YOURS?!”

”HOW’S YOUR HAIR SO BIG!?”

”HOW COME YOUR HAIR GOES BOING AND MINE DOESNT?!”

”what’s that black thing on your head?” (Durag)

”WHADDYA MEAN MY HAIRS’ GONNA FALL OUT?! YOURS DIDNT!!”

”is your hair a defense technique?? What does it do?”

“how’d you get your hair like that?”

”WHY DO YOU TALK LIKE THAT??”

”I CANT UNDERSTAND YOU!! SPEAK NORMAL!!”

”does your whole village look like that?? SHOW ME!”

his bluntness be getting outta hand ngl

You being a male doesn’t NOT affect inosuke whatsoever

he realized he wanted to be with you, and his mind, you were already his

(he didn’t actually ask you out 🤦‍♀️)

and yeah I pretty much have nothing else to say bc inosuke don’t care.

he’s him like that 🤷‍♀️

Inosuke’s love languages are quality time and gift giving

quality time = training

training = beating

not because he wants to beat you

but just because he doesn’t hold back at all

i hope your stronger than him

cuz if your weak……..😃

with gift giving he’ll remember the things you say you like but……it’ll just end up going..wrong..

for example! You say you need a new durag because it has a hole?

well! The great inosuke has taken the liberty to make you a new one!

like it? 😁

(oh gosh…..you don’t. What is this even made out of??)

”gee thanks..! Inosuke..”😟

”HHAHAHAHAHAH YOU BETTER BE GRATEFUL!! THE GOD OF MOUNTAINS HIMSELF MADE YOU A NEW DURAT!”😼

(yes durat 😋..he doesn’t remember the name)

zenitsu and tanjiro support you two

zenitsu was already aware of non het couples

he doesn’t see the attraction but it’s none of his business to him really

tanjiro is 100% supportive and doesn’t see it any different from a hetero couple

kind confused?? But he’s supportive :)

also commends you for taking on the rambunctious inosuke 😅

inosuke doesn’t care what anyone else has to say about your relationship

Now if they’re passive aggressive he won’t get it-

but if they directly insult either of you—your gonna have to stop him from beating them up 😜

(or join him! 😊)

all in all….your relationship is very chaotic!

you love him regardless <3

Lol inosuke so silly

Hope you enjoyed💝

[stxrmxtsu]

How would the brothers feel about femdom?

gooooddd question anon

let’s find out shall we?

(NSFW under the cut)

osomatsu is kinda meh when it comes to a dominant partner. what i mean by that is that he just wants someone around him and he doesn’t care what the hell he gets lmfao. he’s nearly reaching his thirties, he’ll take what he can get.

with that being said, he’s R E A D Y for you.

when you guys start a scene, he’ll do those moans that you hear in porn (you know the overly exaggerated ones) because he thinks it’s something you’ll like to hear, but you kinda just roll your eyes and go harder.

and that’s where you’ll get him to actually make noise for you.

and my god is it the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard come from a man’s mouth.

i think he prefers you taking him via riding however.

i mean getting ass fucked is great and all but the feeling of your walls tightening around him while you’re on top of him? and then the overstimulation after he’s been milked 2 times but you’re still fucking the lights out of him?

my boy’s addicted to that.

karamatsu likes to pretend he’s some dominant alpha male who takes no shit from anyone but we all know that he’s just a bottom ready to be taken at any given moment.

when you came into his life, he thought he could fool you

but by heaven’s grace was he wrong.

the way he portrayed himself at first was something you chuckle at when you remember it.

he kept lowering his voice around you, touching you, telling you that you were all his….

oh how the tables turned when you looked at him with the most dangerous eyes and smiled all pretty to cover up the glint in your eyes.

“yeah? i’m all yours, karamatsu?”

the way your voice dipped was something that stained his brain forever.

and then you chuckled darkly as you pulled him in by the collar, leaning in close to his ear.

“that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart…..”

let’s just say he ended up really sore the next morning and didn’t look anyone in the eye except yours.

oh please, its choromatsu’s dream! while yes, he’s supposed to be a manly man and a straight one at that….

my boy needs the stress taken off of him.

look, all i’m saying is….

fuck this boy till he cries 🤷‍♀️

he’ll beg, he’ll whimper, he’ll absolutely sob out of desperation for you.

i’m not saying he’d prefer a dominant partner but….he’s not entirely opposed to it

while most of us sees ichimatsu as some dom that does obedience training, i honestly see him as a switch that leans towards sub a little more. but truly, i just think he doesn’t really care what kind of partner you are.

you want it rough? sure.

you want to fuck his ass? go for it.

ichimatsu’s all for it.

on the other hand, i think he’s drawn to dominant women tbh, idk there’s just something so alluring about them that makes his dick hard.

he’s a sadomasochist. (and y’all know how he sounded when he had a fucking flag pole get jabbed into his ass)

jyushimatsu is the most obedient boy you’ll ever meet. the minute you said “i’m gonna take care of you from here on out”, he was all in. he does everything you ask him to.

sometimes he has a touch of disobedience but that’s just to somewhat get of a rise out of you.

but mostly it’s him being your good little puppy.

todomatsu.

need i remind you of my pegging hcs?

no but seriously.

i genuinely think that todomatsu is a bit iffy on having a completely dominant partner. i mean don’t get him wrong, it’s great because he gets mind blowing sex just by talking back at you.

but sometimes it makes him like…feel somewhat ashamed of not being able to ‘be a man’ and all that.

i’m not saying he has toxic masculinity or anything but it’s more so on my personal headcanon of him being like “i’m kinda tired of being seen as someone who can’t fight back”, you know what i mean?

but i think he can adjust to his dominant girlfriend…

besides….

who said you were done pleasing me, [name]?

and that’s that my loves!

hope you enjoyed it, sorry about the vaguness but i really could not think of anything better than this. i still hoped you enjoyed me genuinely answering your question tho!

love you and see you in the next one,

jarvis <3

[theimaginethinker]

Beyond the Walls (Gally x Female! Reader)

Masterlist

Chapter Warings: Language, Violence, Death, Use of Y/N

Chapter 1: Introduction

I stood at the gates of the maze with Harriet and Sonya waiting for the walls to open.

“To tell you both the truth, I’m ready to get out of this icy hell.”  I told the girls with a little laugh. Looking around the spring, seeing girls get up to get ready to go to work.

“Us too.” Harriet said back to me, rubbing her hands together.

“Well, look at this way we do get another girl today.” Sonya interjected with her joyful glee she always seems to have.

 “Well, a newbie for Ximena to welcome into our lovely Spring.” I said sarcastically and tightened my laces. The gates start to open, and I turn to the girls standing next to me. “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Stay safe” They yell at me as I take off down the corridor.

(7 hours)

“Hey, let me go” I yelled as men dressed in all black clothing carried me away. I had just found a way out and when they came out of nowhere to grab me. They put me in an all-white room, reminding me of when it snows in the Spring.

“Hello Y/N. Do you know who I am?” A woman much older than me in all white asked me. She was a little taller than me with blonde hair and a few wrinkles in her face. Her skin is fair with some color in her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back tight making her round face pull back with it.

“Should I?” I asked.

“No, you should not. But you found a way out faster than we planned.” She sat down in a chair across from me. “And we can’t have you go back in. So, we are going to put you through another test while we wait.” she told you with a smile. A smile I didn’t like, one that told me that the ‘test’ wasn’t going to be one that I’ll like.

“What is tha-” I started before I felt a prick in the side of my neck, and everything went black. When I awoke, I was in the hottest place I ever remember being in. Looking around all I see is sand, blue sky with a hot sun, and what looked like a building in the distance. “Well, this is different.” I said to myself, I put my hands in my pockets to find a piece of paper. ‘Survive. Find Safe Haven.’ is all that is written on it. Great.

Time skip (A week)

“Come on this way.” A man told me leading me down a tunnel underground. I had been in what these people have been calling the Scorch for about a week before these men found me. And decided that I was worth keeping after I was able to steal from them without them noticing, and that I was from WCKD.

“Lawrence, we found this WCKD Immune walking around the scorch. What should we do with her?” The man said, not mentioning I easily steal from them. Another man stood next to a plant that held flowers. The man turned to me showing that he didn’t have part of his nose. He stared me up and down, thinking.

“We could sell her back to WCKD. Bet they pay good money for an immune.” The man told the man who found me. No. I’m not going back to those people ever, if I go back terrible thing will happen.

“Or I can help you. I used to do the maze and I was also a medic in my maze. I’m one hell of a problem solver and a great negotiator. I can do anything you give me and help any way I can. Plus, I stole from your man without them noticing” I said quickly to not be sold back the WCKD. “Something this guy forgot to mention, probably to save his humility.” Both heads quickly turn to me then they look at each other. 

“Why were you in the Scorch by yourself?” The man asked me as he waved to me to come closer with his hand.

“I found my way out of the maze quicker than WCKD intended. They didn’t know what to do with me, so they stuck me in the middle of that waist land and told me to find a way. That was it. I wanted to go back for my friends, but they grabbed me before I could do so. Guessing so I couldn’t go and get the rest of them out, ruining whatever plans they have.” I explain to them.

“We keep her. Train her. She is going to become a great aspect to our cause.” He said, giving me a small smile. “She is not afraid to stand up and talk. We can use that to make alliances. She may also be able to help us with WCKD compounds.” He went back to his roses. “Jasper, get her a place to rest and new clothes.” the man nodded at me to follow him. “What’s your name sweetheart?” He asked me.

“Y/N.” I stopped and turned to him.

“Welcome to our world Y/N. You can call me Lawerence.”

“Thank you.” I gave Lawrence a nod before going back to following the man named Jasper.

Time Skip (4 months)

“Okay, this should be Maze Trial A. An all-boys group, from what we have gathered, they escaped just a few days ago. So, the compound should be abandoned.” I told my group as we got out of our vehicles. “What we are here for is information we can use, and any weapons left behind. But stay sharp. We don't know if WCKD has put any hidden sensors or anything like that.” We open the door with our guns ready. Walking in I see two bodies on the ground. The first one I came to was a boy no older than 14 years old, curly hair and a round face. God why does it have to be the younger ones. I pulled my mask off after feeling his pulse looking at the gunshot wound in his chest. His skin was cold and the was no pulse, not even a shallow one. “He's gone.” I told them moving to the older blonde headed looking boy, who looked to be my age. I hear a few curses from the men towards WCKD as I walk over to the other boy. He had a spear in his chest. Checking his pulse, I could feel a very light pulse. “He’s not thought. I need help over here, we got a live one.” I yelled out.

“Y/N he’s not going to make it.” The other medic of the group tells me.

“We need to save him, if he's immune. He’s worth saving.” I told him. “I need everyone else to spread out and search the compound. We move out in 30.” I yell out to everyone else as we get to work on the boy. Slowly getting him back stable and the spear out of him. That's when I notice his vines and start searching, seeing a needle looking thing next to me. “Hey, he’s been stung. I need the antidote.” I yell out, and he starts to shake. He gains some sort of consciousness back as he opens his eyes up some, looking at the other medic before looking at me. We lock eyes I give him a small smile. “Don’t worry we got you.” I told him as his eyes closed.

Time Skip (A few days)

I sat in my living area, being of a higher rank gives me a better space. Being a good friend to Lawrence gives me an even better space. I’m going over the files that were collected from our Maze A mission. Information left behind was more than we expected as WCKD usually wipe everything. I guess they didn’t have time to wipe everything, just the info on the test subjects that were being held and tested in the maze. I was focused on the task at hand when I hear a cough coming from my sleeping space. As I was the one that wanted to save the boy, I had to be the one to take care of him. One of the rules made by Lawrence. Getting up I walk over to see him already sitting up in my makeshift bed.

“How are you feeling stick?” I asked. The boy immediately jumped up and looked at me. Getting into a fighting like stance.

“Who are you, where am I, and how did I get here?” he questioned. I put my hand up to stop him.

“My name is Y/N. You're in my apartment, in a safe compound just outside the last city. We saved you from WCKD compound Maze A, a few days ago and brought you here to heal. And just so you know we are not WCKD nor selling you back.” I told him, walking farther into the room.

“How can I trust you?” He asked angrily standing up, walking towards me and towering over me. Something I didn’t take too kindly to, but it was kind of hot. Well, I can emit that the boy is a little cute.

“Because WCKD decided that they were going to take me. A female who spent the time of her life that she could remember in a frozen hell and throw her into the middle of the desert. Just because she finished one of their trials too quickly. The same female who saved you after the other medic in her group told her that it might not be worth it. That same female who gave you her bed to recover in, has been watching over you and who’s been changing your bandages for the past few days.” I say to him before turning around to walk out of the room. “You’ll meet with Lawrence in an hour, he is the boss around here. And you're welcome for saving your life.” I said as I walked away. “Oh, your new clothes are on the chair.” I called behind my shoulder. I told someone to inform Lawrence that the boy was awake.

A few minutes later the boy walks out now dressed in black pants and a gray hoodie. And if I was to tell you the truth, the boy is cute. With his short but not shaved hair and warm brown eyes. He was skinny but still built, most likely from the food WCKD gave them to eat. “You hungry?” I asked and all he does is nodded his head. I get up heading to my small kitchen, as he follows me. I make him a plain meat and cheese sandwich and he quickly eats it. Making me have a small smile which he gives back.

“Um…” he starts getting my attention. “You said something about WCKD, were you a part of it at some point?” He questions as I sit across from him at the small table.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to tell me your name first.” I told him.

“Gally.” He said very quickly as I chuckled at it.

“Hello Gally. Well, I’m just like you, a test subject of WCKD. I was put into a maze to be tested on. I got out too early and so they put me in the middle of the desert.”

“You said you came from a frozen hell. The maze I was in  wasn’t frozen, and it was all boys. Well, we were all boys until.” he cut himself off.

“They made our maze different. Yours was more of a heat and humidity type environment. Mine was cold and icy. I mean we had to use ice skates instead of running the maze because it was just covered in ice. They probably did it to see which environment worked better for whatever they were needing it for.”

“And then were you all girls or?”

“We were all girls, when I was there­.” I replied as there was a knock on my door. “That's the cue. Time to find out your fate Gally.” I told him with a smile as I walked him to where Lawrence was. “You’ll be fine. And don’t stare.” I said with a smile, and he just looked at me confuse before walking in.

tags list

@rosesareyellowtoo

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Anyone seen Lance?” Shiro asks, checking his watch. “We have to suit up in an hour, but I haven’t heard anything from him.”

No sooner do the words come out of his mouth does the man in question stroll into the kitchen, pausing in front of the table where everyone is gathered and clearing his throat.

“I will not be accompanying you guys on the mission,” he announces.

It takes everyone a moment to process that one. Hunk is the first to react, something clicking in his expression before he groans, resting his forehead on the table.

“Here we go,” he mutters tiredly.

Lance happily ignores him, pouring himself some food goo and taking a seat next to Keith.

“Are you ill?” Allura asks, when Lance fails to provide any further context.

“Nope! I’m just going to hang back from this mission because I Saw what’s going to happen last night and no part of me is interested in crawling through sewage. Y’all have fun, though.”

“Why the hell do you think we’ll be crawling through sewage?” Keith asks. “All the Yuvleans want us to do is find some crystal for them.”

“And I’m telling you it’s going to involve crawling through the sewage system,” Lance insists. “I’m not doing that. I’ll stay on the castle with Coran and do chores, or something.”

Shiro looks pleadingly to Hunk.

“Please translate,” he asks.

This is not unusual. Lance and Hunk frequently have to explain each other’s trains of thought to the team at large.

“Lance thinks he can see the future,” Hunk explains tiredly. “He is not a Seer. He just gets lucky, occasionally, and he’s observant. There is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise.”

“That’s because you’re wrong,” Lance says patiently. “I do so get visions. I told you about the mermaid planet when we were fifteen, remember?”

“Lance, you dreamed once about alien mermaids and the universe is so batshit insane that it ended up being true. That is not predicting the future.”

“Mhm, sure. And the fact that I knew the names of the mermaids we could trust was coincidence.”

“Exactly!”

Hunk and Pidge both look exasperated, but Keith looks intrigued.

“You can really tell the future?”

“Please tell me you don’t believe in that shit too,” Pidge groans.

Both paladins ignore her.

“Not as clearly as you’re thinking,” Lance says, making a so-so motion with his hand. “I don’t usually get full detailed visions, although I do occasionally. Usually I get bits and pieces, right before something happens. Like, if we’re on an infiltration mission and we don’t know which hallway to take to escape, I usually get a flash of images that tell me what’s down each one.”

Shiro, who had been eyeing Lance warily for the most part, tilts his head in consideration. “You do manage to lead us out of ships when everything goes to shit.”

Hunk looks at him incredulously. “You too?! What part of ‘Lance has good instincts and is crazy observant’ am I making unclear? Science, people!”

“I’m not saying I think he can see in the future,” Shiro says hastily. “But I’m not saying he can’t, either.”

“Thank you,” Lance says emphatically. “Finally, someone believes me.”

“Hey,” Keith protests. “I believed you the whole time!”

“‘Course, Mullet,” Lance says with a grin and a wink. Keith goes a little red. “I appreciate it.”

“I also believe you!” Allura says excitedly. “One of my mother’s handmaidens also spoke of an ability to see forward in time, and she often made excellent predictions about future trades!”

“Ha,” Lance says, pointing his spork triumphantly at his best friends. Both of them roll their eyes in tandem. “Coran believes me, too. Said he can feel it in my quintessence, or something. You guys are outnumbered.”

“Whatever,” Pidge mutters, but she doesn’t really look all that annoyed. “I can’t believe you’re skipping the chance to flirt with pretty aliens just because you had a weird dream. I can’t believe you’re staying back to do chores instead of prancing around the planet’s canals and comparing the water to beaches back home.”

Lance shrugs, standing up to dunk his empty bowl in the sink. “Like I said, I’m not crawling through the sewer,” he says, heading for the doors. “But y’all have fun. Let me know if you meet the ninja turtles.”

———

Hours later, five very grumpy, very dirty paladins stomp their way back to the castle. Lance and Coran meet them at the decontamination chamber.

“Have a shitty time?” Lance asks smugly.

“Dollar in the bad pun jar,” Keith says immediately, just as Hunk says: “Can it, Cassandra.”

Hunk sounds cranky as he says it, but instead of being offended, Lance only laughs.

“Fitting,” he taunts, “since no one believed Cassandra and she ended up being right. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Hunky?”

Hunk levels him with a glare, but only lasts about three seconds before a reluctant smile spreads across his face.

“Alright, alright, touché. I still think you just made an educated guess. But I’ll give you that one.”

“Sure thing, bud. I’ve Seen the day you and Pidge believe me, you know. I’m going to be very smug.”

“More smug than right now?” Allura asks.

Lance smirks. “Exponentially.”

———

Shiro doesn’t let Lance skip any more missions because of his Sight. “If a mission is going to suck, then we get to suffer as a group. Team building,” he reasons.

He still doesn’t quite believe that Lance can See the future. But he does start to take Lance’s input in mission planning, so long as Lance can actually rationalize his predictions.

“That’s not going to work,” Lance says firmly, tapping the path Shiro has drawn down a hallway on the blueprints of the Galran cruiser they’re planning to infiltrate. “If we split up, Allura is going to get ambushed and hurt.”

Shiro inclines his head. “Reasoning?”

Lance pauses for a moment to study the blueprints further, trying to figure out why he knows that to be true. He saw the altercation in a vision, of course, but over the weeks of planning with Shiro he’s found that his divinations often follow a largely logical path of reasonings, Sherlock-style.

“This is a Druid-heavy cruiser,” he says finally. “See how the energy systems are rerouted to neutralize more power outbursts than usual? That means a lot of raw quintessence outside of its usual transport containers, which means Druids. And you know how freaky they are about trying to isolate Allura and take her for her quintessence abilities. She shouldn’t spend a second on this ship alone, and especially not down the corridors that are most heavily fortified and monitored. She’s our strongest, but in this case it will only make her a target.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shiro says, placing a proud hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We’ll work out something better, huh?”

———

It’s no secret that Lance spends at least two nights a week at the observation deck; missing his family and falling asleep to the projection of Earth’s steady turn. The team has quietly worked out something like a schedule, making sure he’s never there alone, and everyone makes sure he knows he knows they love him and are there for him.

Lance pretends to be oblivious to the schedule. He saw it in a dream before he’d even met most of the team, but he likes that they try so hard to keep it quiet anyway. It’s sweet.

“Do you know why I’m like this?” he asks one night, when Coran is the one to follow him in.

The advisor takes a moment to consider the question carefully, humming softly.

“I felt something different about you the second I saw you,” he says eventually. He huffs a laugh. “That’s half the reason I was so defensive of you.”

Lance snorts, remembering Coran’s flailing and threats. “I thought it was because I made eyes at Allura.”

Coran grins, checking him gently across the shoulders. “That, too, lad.” His expression turns more serious, pondering. “But I’ve always been very in tune with the energies of the universe, the balance of quintessence in every single thing that takes space. My father taught me to sit quietly with the space between things, to feel how they fit together. You, my dear —” he shifts to look at Lance directly, jewelled eyes meeting deep brown — “your quintessence reaches farther than most. For whatever reason, your soul is stretched wide, across space and time. Everyone’s is, to some degree, but yours more so. For whatever reason, when you came to be, the universe saw fit to grant you the burden of Knowing.”

He takes one of Lance’s hands in his, squeezing gently. “It’s a lot of responsibility, child. But there’s no one I would trust more to shoulder it with grace.”

———

Usually, Lance’s Gift is harmless. It doesn’t matter who on the team does or does not believe — it never has a great enough bearing on their life and mission to make a massive decision.

Until it does.

Until Lance stops mid-attack, freezing in his lion, shout ringing through the comms.

“Lance, come in,” Shiro demands. “What’s wrong?”

Everyone’s screen flickers for a moment before Lance’s comm feed pulls up, brown eyes wide and panicked, terror written all across his face.

“We need to pull back!” he says frantically. “Now, now, now!”

“We can’t pull back now!” Pidge protests. “That ship has the closest guarantee to finding Matt than any other we’ve found so far, and our intel guarantees we outmatch them!”

“I Saw differently, they have —”

Pidge bares her teeth at him. “If you think I’m giving up on my brother because you think you can tell the future —”

“You have to trust me,” Lance begs. “The entire fleet is a setup. All the fighter jets are manned by sentries, there’s not a single soldier on board the commanding ship. It’s a giant bomb. The second we touch it it’s going to blow so big it’ll start a new solar system. Please.”

“Lance, now is not the time —” Shiro interjects.

“I know, but —”

“We have every guarantee from the Blades that my brother may very well be on that ship!” Pidge says shrilly. “I know you think you can see the future Lance, but I just can’t trust that!”

“I’m not asking you to trust it,” Lance says again, more and more desperate by the second. “I’m asking you to trust me. And I promise you, Pidge, if we move forward than every single one of us is going to die.”

Tears drip from Pidge’s eyes. Her face crumples.

“Why are you making me choose between my brother and the team?” she sobs.

“Please trust me,” Lance begs again.

She swipes a hand across her eyes.

“If you’re wrong, I’m never going to forgive you.”

As soon as she says the words, Lance is yelling for everyone to pull back. Shiro echoes him, and the retreat back to the castle. As Allura opens a wormhole, the entire fleet starts to blow, every explosion tripping the ship next to it, until the entirety of the blackness of space is ignited in bright white flame and incinerating debris.

They barely make it through the wormhole in one piece.

———

“I still don’t believe you,” Pidge says stubbornly, once her tears have dried and they’re all safe in their hangars.

Lance smiles softly. “Thank you for trusting me anyway.”

———

Hours after everyone else has fallen asleep, after the last movie for movie night has ended, Keith and Lance sit facing each other on a mound of blankets, knees pulled up their their chins and arms held tightly around their legs.

“Your turn,” Keith whispers.

Lance hums. “How many questions do I have left?”

“We passed twenty forever ago. I think we’re just getting to know each other, now.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

Lance hides a grin in his pajama-covered knees. “Yeah.”

“Good. Ask your question, doofus. You’re taking forever.”

“‘Kay. How come you pretended not to recognize me when we were rescuing Shiro?”

Keith’s face flames. “I really didn’t recognize you!” he insists.

Lance shakes his head. “We had four group projects together, and you smirked at me after no less than twelve flight sims. I’m not buying it, Samurai.”

Keith holds his gaze for several minutes, glaring stubbornly. But finally he deflates.

“Fine,” he concedes. “I remember you. But if I tell you why I pretended to forget, you have to promise not to get mad, okay?”

“Fine, fine. Just tell me already.”

Keith looks away. He’s quiet for long enough that Lance reaches over to pinch him for not answering.

“Jesus, okay! I’m getting there.” He bites his lip. “Do you remember that dumbass line you used to say? About threading the needle?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Uh. I didn’t get it for a long time. I thought —” he grimaces, accepting Lance’s oncoming diva fit — “I thought your name was Taylor. So.”

To his surprise, Lance bursts out laughing.

“You dumbass! Did you really?”

“It was a valid assumption!” Keith defends. “You said that people called you tailor! What was I supposed to think?”

“Our names are right next to each other on roll call,” Lance chokes out, wiping a tear from his eye. He flashes a teasing grin as he slowly starts to calm down. “Guess there’s I reason I usually did better on the practicals, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” Keith says, scowling. “You barely did better.”

“Neck and neck,” Lance teases.

“Yeah, yeah, cargo pilot. Whatever you say.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, silence interrupted only by Shiro’s horrible snoring and Lance’s occasional giggle.

“It’s your turn,” he says, once he’s finally gotten himself under control. Keith rolls his eyes, but asks anyway.

“How come you don’t flirt with random aliens anymore?”

To his surprise, the question makes Lance flush darkly. He looks away, picking at his nails.

“I, uh, Saw that I end up with someone soon. Feels disrespectful to flirt knowing I’m gonna be with him any time now.”

Keith’s breath hitches. “Him?”

“Them,” Lance corrects hastily, but the damage is already done.

“Who is he? Do I —”

“Game’s over,” Lance says hastily. “I just had a vision. If we keep playing you’re going to choke to death and die after I make an excellent joke, so. Better safe than sorry.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Keith accuses, but Lance has never been wrong before, so he hesitates.

Lance notices, doubling down. “Yep. I try to give you the Heimlich and everything, but it doesn’t work. You die in minutes. Gotta prevent that.”

“Fine,” Keith says sullenly. “I guess we should go to sleep then.”

“Probably,” Lance agrees, audibly relieved. “Don’t want you to die or anything.”

His face is red until the second he falls asleep.

———

Lance has his impulsive moments, sure. But the real impulsive members of the team are Keith or Pidge, no question about it. They are the king and queen of dumbass, split-second decisions.

When Lance gets a vision, mid-fight, on a planet so overrun with Galran soldiers that ‘outnumbered’ does not begin to cover it, he kicks both of those losers off their thrones by a goddamn mile.

“Lance!” Allura yells, once she realizes he’s breaking formation. “What the quiznack are you doing?”

“The witch controls it all,” he gasps out, to quiet for anyone to hear. He ignores the shouts of his team, ignores their questions, ignores his own guilt for leaving them so abruptly, and books it, as fast as he can, straight towards the cluster of Druids. They stand in a perfect circle, all perfectly still, tendrils of lightning quintessence pouring out of them faster than Lance can track, all tunnelling towards where Zarkon stands suspended above them all, sending deadly bolts of attack at Voltron and their scrambling allies down below. Every time a Druid drops, their very life force drained from them, a new one fills their place, as quickly as possible.

But Lance doesn’t need to see what’s in the centre of their circle with his eyes. He’s Seen it. He knows who lies in the middle of the cluster, who is pulling the strings between the entire empire, who has been this entire time.

As he runs, he feels his bayard warm in his hand, feels the form change from the barrel of his beloved gun to something sturdy, smooth, curved. When he glances down, he sees the familiar contour of a bow.

It’s too simple.

Far too simple.

But Lance trusts himself. He trusts the universe, and the responsibility Coran says it has granted him. He knows it would not lie to him.

He stops hundreds of feet before the cluster of Druids, standing firm as they all turn to face him in unison. He does not flinch when they raise their arms towards him, does not move when Zarkon turns to face him, raw quintessence lighting up his arms as he takes aim directly where Lance stands.

Lance breathes in. He aims the bow high in the sky, not at the Druids, not at Zarkon, but where he knows the arrow will arch gracefully, and make it’s deadly decent: landing dead in the centre of the Druids, where Haggar stands, unfocused on the sky above her.

Lance exhales.

He fires.

He hears a wicked shriek echo louder than any person every could, just as Zarkon’s final blast hits him square in the chest.

His own agonized screams drown out the terrified yells of his team.

———

You’d think it would be quiet, death. It’s the absence of life, after all. The cease of all movement. The end of one’s time.

It’s not.

Lance feels every one of his cells as they sizzle and fry, his very molecules tearing themselves apart as the blast of quintessence breaks easily through his armour. He feels every part of his body and soul incinerate out of existence.

It sounds like one long, shrill screech of brakes stopping abruptly.

It hurts.

———

“There’s no way he’s going to survive that! It’s a waste of time to hope!”

“How can you say that? How dare you say that?

“You think I want to? You think I want this? His very soul was fried, Keith! He is my best friend, he is my brother, but I am not going to put myself or anyone else through the pain of hoping!”

“The pain of hoping is the only thing that can make the pain of giving up feel better!”

———

Coming back to life is shockingly silent, in contrast. Still, too. He knows he’s not dead — he can’t be, if he’s thinking — but he can’t feel any further than that.

Everything is quiet.

———

It’s barely noticeable, when he can finally feel again. The faintest brush of a hand through his hair, a whisper, the press of lips to his forehead.

Then nothing, again.

———

“You’re going to make it, Lance. I’ll kill you if you don’t, you dumbass, selfless bastard.”

———

By the time he can finally move again, he feels like he’s lived four thousand lives. It’s the barest twitch of his finger, but it makes someone gasp, and then there’s a hand grasping his.

“C’mon, Lance,” it says quietly. “Prove me wrong, okay? About Seeing and living and everything. Please. Show me how wrong I was. I’ll even let you gloat forever, okay? I’ll never complain again. I’m sorry.”

Lance tries his hardest to move further, to squeeze Hunk’s hand; hell, even to twitch his finger again.

Nothing.

“That’s okay,” Hunk assures quietly. There’s a slight pressure on his head, briefly, and the scent of Hunk’s face cream and motor oil, and then it’s gone.

“Take your time, okay? I’ll be here. We all will.”

———

The first person Lance sees when he finally opens his eyes again is Allura. He can’t make his mouth move, can’t call out, but he doesn’t have to — she smiles softly at him, never moving her hand from his hair.

“It’s good to see those eyes again,” she whispers. “We’ve missed you, Lance. You think you can try moving your hand? I’ll help you, if you like.”

Lance screws his eyes shut — not because he wants to, he doesn’t, he’s only just opened them, he never wants to close them again — but he can’t seem to stop himself. It takes so much effort just to lift his hand a millimeter up from the mattress it rests on.

“Good!” Allura says, and when Lance forces his eyes open again he sees that she’s smiling much brighter, now, although tears drip down her cheeks.

“You’re so much closer every day, asteraki. In a couple weeks you’ll be all healed up, I’m sure. Okay?”

Lance still can’t make his mouth move, but he manages a hum. That makes her smile wider.

———

Allura is not entirely correct. He is not entirely healed in a couple weeks. But he gets closer and closer every day. After one week, he can move his hands, even though they shake. After two, he can speak, although his voice is raspier than the desert.

The first thing he asks for is an update — did he do it? Did it work?

“Zarkon and Haggar crumbled to dust,” Shiro assures him. “The second your arrow struck. Ten thousand years caught up to them, I guess. The Druids died, too. The Empire hasn’t really gone anywhere, but it’s in chaos. No one knows what to do. Planets are revolting left and right.”

He squeezes Lance’s hands, lifting one up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You did it, kiddo. You and that goddamned gift of yours.”

———

It takes months. Months of physical therapy, if speech therapy, of disgusting nutrient-rich diets and fine-motor training that frustrates Lance to tears.

It works, though. Over time, he starts to come back to himself. Not everything is fixed — he needs hearing aids, now, because he was so close to Haggar’s final scream that it shattered his ear drums. His hair is bleached white, too, and lightning-shaped scars run up and down his skin — Shiro jokes that they should start a club. He’s unbelievably lucky that he regains all the mobility in his hands. He still speaks in a stutter, and he likely will for the rest of his life.

But he’s fuckin’ alive, goddamnit, so he’s sure as shit not complaining.

His visions stop coming, too.

He doesn’t mind.

“You were right, though,” Hunk says.

As promised.

“You really could see the fuckin’ future. I’ll be damned.”

“This moment was slightly less depressing in my vision,” Lance says, grinning wryly. “All I got were those two sentences. Who know I almost had to die to get ‘em.”

Hunk glares, flicking him lightly in the forehead. “Too soon, buddy.”

“It’s been half a goddamn year since I got nuked!”

“It will be too soon for the rest of our lives. Your lucky I didn’t build you the safety bubble I wanted to build you, you menace.”

“He really was going to,” Pidge pipes up. “I had to pry the blueprints from his hands.”

Lance tips an imaginary hat. “And I thank you for your service.”

“Whatever, goober,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling.

———

There’s nothing strange about the knock on his door. Keith knocks as he always does: just one singular knock, to make people on edge, because he thinks it’s funny.

But Lance freezes.

Because he recognises this feeling, the intense feeling of déjà vù mixed with clear memory — one of his old visions is playing out.

And there’s only one outstanding vision of his that takes place in his bedroom, with Keith, as he’s folding laundry.

“Come in,” he squeaks, desperately trying to compose himself and fight the blush off his face and failing horribly.

Keith steps in and immediately starts helping Lance with the laundry, even though he’s horrible at it and always insists that closets have more space if you roll up clothes instead of folding them.

Menace boy.

He’s quiet for a long moment, rolling laundry until Lance smacks him, and then begrudgingly folding it.

“Did you See this?” he asks eventually.

“Yes,” Lance admits, because he sees no reason to lie.

“Then you know what I’m going to say.”

“I do.”

Keith’s hands finally still, and he sighs, finally looking over at Lance with a smile that shows the barest peek of his crooked incisors. “That doesn’t make it easier, somehow.”

Lance’s belly curls, like he always does when Keith smiles at him like that. He tries to remind himself that he is a grown ass man and he does not need to swoon like a preteen when his crush looks at him, thanks. He forces himself to set the laundry down and take a step towards Keith.

“You should say it anyway.”

Keith hums, closing the distance between them and placing on hand on Lance’s hip.

“Is that how we’re gonna play it, Sharpshooter? You’re not gonna have mercy on me?”

Lance’s breath hitches. “Not for a second.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keith mumbles, and then his other hand cups Lance’s cheek and he doesn’t waste a second before pressing their lips together, firmly, like he knows Lance can take it.

“I’m in love with you, Lance. I want to be yours. Sound alright?”

“I suppose I could live with it,” Lance rasps, completely unable to dodge the flick that Keith aims for his head when they stand so close.

He decides he doesn’t mind, though, not when Keith shuts up any further teasing with another press of their lips together.

And another.

And another.

It’s just as good as Lance knew it would be.

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

Part 3!! Now with the Spider Society. Apparently at this point, I’m just doing a recap of the WHOLE MOVIE for this… (>.<)

Also, you guys are great, much love to y’all for liking this! Someone asked about being tagged in this part, so hopefully this works!

Tag list:

@hobiesgender

Part 1 Part 2

When the rumbling started and the destroyed AlcheMax building started sinking into a dark hole, the four of them raced the the bridge railing to watch. Pavitr sounded so confused when he asked what was happening, and Miles found himself putting his hand on his shoulder in comfort. And, right before they left, when he asked if everything was going to be ok…

Miles didn’t like the fact that he didn’t have an answer for him. He’d come to try and help, not make things worse, and it felt sort of like he’d done that. Made things worse for Pavitr when he didn’t mean to. Without thinking, he brushed his wrist across the kid’s neck, trying to comfort him the way his mamí did when he was younger. It seemed like it worked, Pavitr relaxing before throwing him a look that read as slightly surprised.

And then when Jess (he recognized her as the woman from Gwen’s watch) and her crew showed up, already equipped to help with the spot in the world, Miles felt his inner hackles raise slightly. He pushed it down, smiling brightly at her and introducing himself in the hopes that she would let him go with them to this Spider Society. She brushed him off, her voice cool even as she kept walking and didn’t even look at him. Miles clenched his fists, gritting his teeth under his mask, but Hobie was close enough to make him relax all over again, especially when he threw his arm around Miles’s neck and leaned into him; he didn’t quite do the same thing Miles did to Pavitr, but somehow what he’d done was so much better at making Miles relax fully enough that he almost leaned back into the other Spider. He didn’t want to think about those implications, either, and so locked them all in a chest and buried them deep.

He used the (reluctant, he could tell) invite to the Spider headquarters as an excuse to push away from Hobie, who he could see out of the corner of his eye; he watched as Hobie went from a faded bright pink back to gray when he pushed him off, and though his heart kind of, maybe, sort of twinged at the obvious disappointment, Miles brushed that aside too in order to get on the ship Jess arrived in. Gwen and Hobie followed after him (and he used them sitting to lean over and ask Gwen “hey, is she…?” and Gwen just looked at him and muttered back “She’s an alpha, yea.” That hadn’t quite been his question but Miles had left it at that anyway because his mamí didn’t raise a rude alpha), and then they were off.

Nueva York looked…different. Miles wasn’t entirely sure he liked the look of this sleek, futuristic version of his home, but it was awe-inspiring regardless; not as many skyscrapers, it seemed, but there were hover cars and what looked like a train that went…what, straight up to the moon? That was wild. He felt like his eyes were super wide as they took in everything, including the way Hobie pulled his mask off for the first time. His heart racing in his throat, Miles could only stare and whisper something he didn’t quite remember saying at all (“how are you even cooler under the mask?” “I was this cool the whole time.” And wasn’t that the truth, Miles thought).

The elevator doors opened to the biggest exclusive club he’d ever seen in his life, with Spiders of all kinds literally all over the place. There were people literally sticking to the ceilings and walls, and groups of Spiders ranging from trios to genuinely large groups. It looked sort of like a block party, like the one he’d left to go after Gwen. Miles stared around in awe, something twinging in his chest as things started to sort of…not add up. Gwen looked really nervous when he mentioned her “super small elite team”, and though he didn’t want to believe it, he could tell she lied to him about the majority of the Spiders being part time; it was more obvious when she drew ahead to walk next to Hobie instead of him, head tilting slightly away from him to the right as they talked. Super-hearing happened to not be one of Miles’s specific powers, but he had the feeling that Hobie and Gwen’s conversation would likely have gone unheard regardless; in a building full of super-powered humans, there had to be some way of communicating without others overhearing.

And then he spasmed again, making him lose focus on that minuscule interaction. Jess handed (threw at) him his day pass so he wouldn’t glitch, and didn’t even take them all the way to see Miguel. She just gave Gwen the orders (and Miles noted that it was Gwen specifically she gave the orders to, not Hobie but Gwen; he wondered if it was becauseGwen was an alpha, or if there’s been another reason. He’d glanced at Hobie and had gotten a sharp smile in response, which had Miles flustered because he didn’t think Hobie would’ve noticed him watching an alpha delegate a task to another alpha) and then vanished to do whatever it was she needed to. Miles hoped she was going to help Pavitr.

Pavitr, unfortunately, happened to take a break from his mind because Hobie turned from Gwen after that to be all over Miles instead. The Spider didn’t try to make himself smaller (Miles had heard of some bigger omegas who did that, made themselves smaller or find some way to make the alphas around them feel bigger or better despite their much larger size in comparison; Miles had always found the practice annoying, even if it was rare in his universe, and he was relieved when Hobie didn’t even make an attempt to cater to him in some kind of way) for Miles; instead, he made himself bigger, made himself noticeable. Made himself an obstacle.

It was weird. It didn’t seem to be coming from a place of interest, at least as far as Miles could tell, but from a place of causing as much chaos as possible; he ripped something off the wall and waved it in Miles’s face enticingly (“Bet this don’t even do anythin’.” “It probably did before you ripped it off the wall!”) looking proud whenever Miles looked at or spoke to him. Miles forced himself to focus on meeting Miguel, which is why he wasn’t expecting it when Hobie suddenly appeared in front of him, chair rolling to a stop and legs stretched out in front of him to cross on the table. Miles paused for a moment, staring down at him with wide eyes; Hobie looked…enticing, somehow, leaned back in his seat and looking up at Miles from below. He grinned up at him again, something pleasing and aromatic wafting in the air around him making Miles’s heart race in his chest for an entirely different reason it had been before.

Miles pushed past him anyway, and the scent soured faintly. He hesitated, long enough to feel a warmth along his back. Then Hobie’s voice by his ear, low and sure and sending chills down his spine; the alpha part of Miles took interest in the fact that an omega was concerned, that an omega was concerned for him, and so when Miguel began lowering himself on the platform Miles found himself on guard. He hid it well, he thought, greeting him in Spanish and trying to offer food as a peace greeting, but Miguel didn’t take the bait. He threw the empanada, yelled at him and Gwen about the Spot, and threw something heavy at the both of them.

He was excited to see Peter B, though the baby was new (she was so freaking adorable, though, bright red hair and chubby cheeks and Miles was actually so excited she existed, so glad for the chance to get to know her now), but even as they were talking, things were sort of…adding up even less for Miles. Peter B was here, and Gwen, and even though he hadn’t seen anyone else, it didn’t mean they weren’t also there. There were tons of other Spiders here, after all, and Jess had given Gwen so much flack for even coming to see him when she was on her mission in his universe…

Miguel dropped the bomb that his dad had to die, and Miles’s stomach dropped with it.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Weak/Weary (m, cold)

Babe, wake up whiskey’s posting the first of her monthly barrage of fics. It’s a Greyson-centric drama fest, guys! I realized looking back at my earlier fics that I mentioned a character named Collin who Greyson lived with and I literally never mentioned him again, so it’s time to bring him up and write him out lol. This is sappy, it’s dramatic, it’s full of angst, and I hope you all like it! I used several prompts that an anon sent from the prompt list I reblogged last month, as well as a few that @onetrickponi sent me from their amazing prompt list. I’ll list the ones I used before the fic. 

If you’ve sent in a prompt, I will get to it eventually!! Obviously I’m terrible at promising when fics will get written, but they will at some point lmao. 

This is 3k words, CW: male, cold, coughing, some light mess, mentions of contagion but no explicit contagion moments, breathing issue mention due to a panic attack...this fic has *everything* lolll. 

Here are the prompts! Thank y’all for sending prompts in, they’re the only thing that keeps this writing train somewhat on track. Some prompts were used more loosely than others. 

“Having a cold does not make you weak.”,  “You’re sneezing everywhere. Clearly, something’s up.”,  Hiding sneezes,  “That deserved an Emmy.”,  “See, it’s when you smile like that I start to worry.” 

Onward!

Weak/Weary

There was a saying for the day Greyson was having, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of it.

It wasn’t ‘Occam’s Razor’, or at least he didn’t think it was—is that the one where the simplest answer is the correct one? - and it certainly wasn’t ‘Pavlov’s Dog’, though that was the one that kept sneaking into his foggy mind. Fuck, what the fuck was -

“HhNGSTHH-ue! HhTSHH-ue! HNGITSZHUE! Fuuuck mbe.” Well, there went that distraction.

Greyson swiped under his nose with the back of his hand, cringing when it came away wet with mucus. He wiped the evidence on his pants before pushing through the back doors to the restaurant and trudging towards the office. Surely his staff could hear him coming before they even saw him – fucking Collin and his fucking cough and his fucking cold and his fucking stupid fucking face that motherfuck-

“Morning, Chef,” Elijah called from the office, startling Greyson just enough to send him into another sneezing fit before he could curb it.

“NGSTH! HTSH! Huhhh...hnnNETSSHH-ue! ETSZHUE! NGTSHH-ue! Huhh…!” Greyson stood in pre-sneeze torture for a moment or two, then huffed out a shaky breath when it was clear he’d lost it. He turned towards the office, where Elijah had an eyebrow cocked in bemusement; his boss let out a low whistle and stood to greet the chef.

“Wow,” he said, placing a firm hand on Greyson’s shoulder. “That deserved an Emmy.”

Greyson shot him a watery glare, coughed lightly into the back of his hand, and turned towards his cooks, waving to get their attention.

“PSA, guys, Collin and I broke up so do mbe a favor and just erase him completely from your mbemories. Let’s all act like he ndever existed, alright?”

The cooks nodded, too confused to say anything in retaliation. Matt stepped out from behind the line where he was prepping to try and console his boss, but Greyson just turned and sneezed, hard, into his sleeve, bursting the dam of congestion that had built up in his head.

“Fugck,” Greyson swore, staying tucked into the arm of his sweatshirt. He waved Matt away, ignored Elijah’s concerned face, and hoofed it to the employee bathroom, where he cleaned himself up as well as he could without throwing the whole stupid jacket away. Greyson regarded himself in the mirror afterwards – eyes red-rimmed from either the sob-fest this morning with Collin or the bitch of a cold his now-ex had so lovingly passed on; nose twitching with the insatiable desire to sneeze; mouth open slightly to allow him to breathe – and suddenly remembered the phrase he’d been searching for this morning.

Murphy’s law, he thought, sniffling, whatever can go wrong – will.

“HRRSHHH-ue!”

***

“You’re… I mbean, you’re shitting mbe, right? Like, is this an April Fool’s joke or something?”

Greyson hadn’t realized he was wringing his hands until Collin had grabbed and held them gently in his own. Suddenly recognizing it was going to be their last hand-hold, Greyson snatched his back and checked his watch; it was 8:53AM. He had to be on the train in ten minutes. No way in hell was Collin doing this now.

“Baby,” Collin said, his voice oozing a false-sympathy that Greyson had seen him give clients and stray dogs but never assumed he would be in the path of, “I’m so sorry. I just… I couldn’t wait until tonight to do this. It would be worse for both of us.”

Greyson gave his soon-to-be-ex a crazed look; it most certainly would not have been worse for him. It was a Saturday in late-March, their busiest season at the restaurant. Greyson had woken up with the monster of a cold that Collin had been sporting the week before, and he had barely hyped himself up for service, let alone getting broken up with before he’d even had his coffee.

“Beg to differ,” Greyson muttered, pulling a hand down his face. “Collin, I mbean… I just don’t understand. I felt like things were good, we’re combing up ond a year, I mbean I just moved in last mbonth, I really… realll – HNGSTHH-ue!” Greyson wrenched to the side to tuck himself into his elbow and sniffled pathetically. The timing of this whole thing was cinematic in its absurdity.

Collin tsk’d pityingly and handed Greyson a tissue that he had no choice but to accept. While he was blowing his nose, Collin hopped onto the counter with ease and crossed his legs.

“Baby,” he said again, prompting a cringe from Greyson, “I never wanted to hurt you. Truly. This is something I’ve been thinking about for awhile… I just didn’t know how to say it. I just don’t think we’re compatible, Greyson; I just… I don’t want to sound rude, honey, but I usually go for… I don’t know, a stronger man.” Collin fiddled with a string on his sweater as he spoke, yanking it ferociously on hitting the word ‘stronger’. Greyson felt like he’d ripped out his throat along with it.

“What… what do you mbean, stronger?” Greyson asked, crumbling the tissue into his fist and setting his jaw so as not to cry. “Collin, I run five mbiles a day. I operate a million-dollar-a-year kitchend in Ndew York City, and I work eighty hours a week. How mbuch stronger do you ndeed someone to be?” Greyson sniffled as he finished his thought, and swallowed painfully while Collin sighed.

“Greyson, you know what I mean,” Collin said, exasperated. “I need someone big, someone who I know can take a punch. You have stamina, but you’re not my usual type and I don’t think you ever will be. I’ve been waiting to see if you became that person, but I mean… look at you.” Collin gestured to Greyson’s entire being, as though his mere presence had suddenly become a disappointment. “You have a stuffy nose, Greyson, like a little kid. I find it difficult to see a big, tough man behind that exterior.”

Greyson blanched at this. “I have a cold, Collind, a cold that you gave mbe no less. You’re telling mbe you’re breaking up with me because you gave mbe a cold?”

Collin just shrugged, nonplussed. “It isn’t the cold,” he said, pushing himself back off the counter. “It’s the fact that everything about you is dramatic. You just aren’t my kind of guy, Greyson; I thought you were, but I was wrong. I need a man.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly and gave Greyson another once over before punctuating his thought. “A real man.”

A long silence settled over the two of them, only broken by Greyson’s phone beeping with a text from Elijah. So this is it, he thought, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll get mby things after work,” he mumbled, casting his gaze downward.

Collin nodded. “I’ll pack them up and leave a box at the door,” he said. The two of them made eye contact for what Greyson assumed would be the last time. He nodded, slung his backpack over a shoulder, and headed for the door. He opened it, looked back into the apartment, and regarded Collin one last time.

“Good luck finding your man,” Greyson said, and slammed the door behind him without awaiting a response.

***

Elijah had given up on trying to get Greyson to talk about his feelings; he’d given up on asking what had happened, or if he was okay, or if he needed somewhere to stay that night. But there was one thing he was refusing to give up on.

“You need to take something, Grey. Seriously, you’re going to infect the entire staff if you don’t.”

Greyson looked up from his prep station at his boss blearily and shook his head. “I’mb ndot sigck,” he said, voice straining over the words and dissolving into a coughing fit immediately after. Elijah turned his head to look into a pretend camera, The Office-style, while Greyson finished his coughing fit.

“Am I on Punk’d right now?” Elijah asked, pushing the full paper cup of tea he’d brought the chef hours ago towards him. “You realize you sound like you just stepped out of a Mucinex commercial, right? And I mean the ‘before’ part when the mucus monster is partying in some poor bastard’s lungs.”

The chef huffed out a little laugh before sucking in through his nose and collapsing once again into a painful-sounding coughing fit. He grabbed the cup – finally – and took a sip, regarding Elijah with red-rimmed eyes. “Allergies. Or sombething. I’mb okay.”

Elijah groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. “Look, Grey, I’m really sorry about you and Collin, and I’m sure you’re going through it hard, but this deny-til-you-die thing doesn’t really work when you can barely speak for being so sick,” he said, attempting to make eye contact with the chef who was actively avoiding his gaze. “Will you please just take some dayquil? For me?”

Greyson sighed and pressed a palm into one of his eyes. He coughed again, a miserable and drawn-out fit that made Elijah touch his own throat in sympathy, and finally nodded. “Finde,” he muttered. “Whatever. Yes, just… just leave mbe alone, okay?”

Elijah drew back, but nodded all the same. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go get it and, uh… leave you be.”

They both kept good on their promises; Greyson ruefully tossed back the medicine, and Elijah slunk off to the dining room to help the servers set up for service. They avoided each other through the morning and most of the afternoon; Greyson prepping harder than any of his cooks had ever been able to, sneezing and coughing away from the food every few minutes, and Elijah grimacing at every sound that echoed off the kitchen walls and into the office. The GM didn’t dare head back to the prep kitchen until four-thirty, moments before pre-shift was about to begin.

“Chef,” he said, knocking on the wall as though it were an open door, “you ready for pre- ?”

Greyson, clearly unaware that his boss had entered the back kitchen, doubled over to sneeze the moment Elijah began speaking. “HRRSHHH-ue! Fuck – hhhNGSTHHZUE! Huhh…! Hhh… fuckin - ”

“Bless y-”

“HUHHESTSZHH-ooo!”

Greyson managed a glazed-over glance at his boss from the pit of his elbow, and nodded a thanks as Elijah handed him a box of tissues. “Bless you,” Elijah said again, and Greyson rolled his eyes from behind the tissue.

“Thangks,” he said, wiping his nose.

“You ready for pre-shift?” Elijah asked, crossing his arms and giving Greyson a once-over. “Because you look more like you’re ready for a nap.”

“Dond’t kndow what you mbean,” Greyson croaked, coughing into his fist. “I feel ambazing. Like I could run a mbarathon. HTSHHH-uhh!” He wrenched to the side again to sneeze, then righted himself and gave his boss a smile.

“Dude, please don’t smile like that. It’s… off-putting. Worrying, even,” Elijah said, grimacing. “C’mon. Let’s go get this shift over with.”

***

The shift was shit.

The cold was one thing; Greyson had worked sick before, much sicker than he was now, and he always knew he could make it through. In fact, the hustle and bustle of a busy shift generally made him temporarily forget whatever illness he was combating in order to focus on getting everything out on time and looking perfect. Working with a cold was something Greyson was used to after all his years in kitchens. Working while heartbroken was something completely new to him.

For some reason – he assumed it was because he was god’s least favorite – the gravity of the breakup hit Greyson like a ton of bricks the moment the first ticket printed. He was fine one moment, with the exception of the near-constant volley of coughs and sneezes, and the next he was on the verge of a sob, nearly unable to speak for the lump in his throat.

He was able to play it off as the cold worsening, and Matt ended up switching him spots and expoing while Greyson ran the inside line, but Greyson genuinely had never wanted to run off the line as badly as he did that evening. The weight of this breakup – a breakup from what was by far his longest relationship – nearly suffocated him, and the heat of the line and congestion were doing nothing to help. By the time ten pm rolled around, Greyson thought he may be legitimately dying.

Once the tickets slowed to one every twenty minutes or so, Greyson gave Matt a look that said I have to get off this line, to which his sous chef nodded and didn’t ask questions. The chef ducked away from his spot on the line, yanked off his apron, and near-ran to the back alley, gasping for breath the entire way.

The theatrics of his escape clearly alerted his boss, though, and while Greyson was trying to catch his breath between sobs and coughs, Elijah opened the back doors. “Oh, shit. Oh, Greyson.”

“Can’t… breathe…” Greyson managed, a hand held firmly on his retracting chest and a look of panic obvious on his face. Elijah sprang into action; he found a paper bag for Greyson to breathe into, instructed him to breathe deeply, pushed sweat-soaked hair off his fever-warm face and spoke in a low, calming voice until the chef had finally gotten his breathing back to semi-normal.

“You good?” Elijah asked after a few minutes of post-panic-attack silence. Greyson nodded and coughed into his sleeve.

“Thangk you,” he said, his voice crackling. Elijah nodded.

“Wanna go get hammered?” Elijah asked after another pause. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, “that sounds ambazing.”

***

“Two Basil Hayden’s, please. Doubles. Neat.”

The dive down the road from the restaurant was bustling, but Greyson and Elijah were regulars and received their generous pours in their usual seats before the couple next to them even had a chance to flag the bartender down. Elijah raised his glass in a mock-cheers and Greyson rolled his eyes before swallowing half the drink in one gulp.

“Easy there, kid. Something tells me cough syrup and alcohol aren’t the best combination of drugs on an empty stomach,” Elijah said, signaling the bartender that they needed some menus.

Greyson shrugged and downed the rest of the glass. “If it kills mbe, it kills mbe,” he said, pushing the glass away from him and raising an arm in anticipation. “HhhNGTSHH-ue!”

“Bless,” Elijah said, nodding at the bartender who placed two menus in front of them. “Pick something to eat,” he motioned towards the menu, then lifted his gaze to make eye contact with his friend, “and tell me exactly what the fuck happened with Collin.”

Greyson bit the inside of his cheek to keep the waterworks from starting up again. “It’s a long story, Lij,” he said, his voice low and eyes downcast. Elijah stayed silent, as if to say I have time. Greyson sighed. “The long and short of it is, I don’t lift weights, I cand’t take a punch, and he gave mbe a cold.”

Elijah sat silent a moment longer, clearly waiting for some sort of punchline. “He gave you a cold… so he had to break up with you?” he asked, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I’m not following.”

Greyson rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, desperately wishing he hadn’t already finished his drink. “He said I’mb too weak,” Greyson muttered, outlining the coaster with his finger. “He wants to date a real mban. Someone strong.” The tears began to well in the chef’s eyes once again, so he shrugged and covered up the lump in his throat with a cough. This is so fucking stupid, he thought to himself, but instead of echoing the sentiment, Elijah pulled him in for a sudden hug.

“Not lifting weights doesn’t make you weak. Not wanting to punch someone doesn’t make you weak,” Elijah said, pulling back and looking his friend in the eye. “Having a cold, Grey, doesn’t make you weak. You’re human. You’re a good person. Collin is a dick; he doesn’t even know what he’s losing.” Elijah squeezed his shoulder, maintaining an eye contact that would’ve been terrifying from anyone who wasn’t him.

Greyson bit his cheek, pushed the fallen tears off his face, and attempted a smile. “Thank you, Lij,” he said, his voice cracking. Elijah chuckled.

“Anytime,” he said, flagging down the bartender again and motioning to Greyson’s empty glass. “Another?”

Greyson nodded. “Gonna ndeed at least a dozen to get this fuckigg day out of mby head,” he said. Elijah laughed in earnest this time, and ordered their drinks and some food.

“So,” Elijah said, “where are you staying til you find an apartment?”

“Is that a real questiond?” Greyson asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “I figured mby spot on your couch was as good as secure – HNGTSHHH-ue!” Greyson winced and grabbed for a cocktail napkin, cleaning himself up while Elijah cringed.

“Buddy,” Elijah said as their second round was placed in front of them, “with that monster of a cold, I’ll let you take the fuckin’ bed.”

Greyson coughed out a laugh, flipped his boss the bird, and knocked back his drink once again. Elijah followed his lead and signaled the bartender once again while Greyson bullied a coughing fit into submission.

“Keep ’em coming,” Elijah called to the bartender. “It’s gonna be a long fuckin’ night.”

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 5)

NESTA ARCHERON X FEMALE!READER (future Neris x reader)

summary: You arrive in the Spring Court, and things take a drastic turn

warnings: inner circle slander, sorta pro-Tamlin pls don’t kill me

word count: 8.5k (y’all said you liked long chapters)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: please do not come at me for defending Tamlin. He is not one of my favourite characters or anything BUT I do think that he gets treated unfairly so this fic is meant to address that and see things from his perspective. i hope you enjoy this chapter regardless, it took me forever haha

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

read on ao3

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“I expect a regular report once a week, and any important updates as soon as they come up.” The High Lord’s voice droned on and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. The meeting had been going on for half an hour, which was half an hour too long in your opinion. The Inner Circle had gathered to discuss your working in the Spring Court. A few months ago, you’d have squirmed under their gaze, like a lamb surrounded by lions. Little did they know that this time you were the lion, and they were the lambs.

You hoped they all suffered at the end of it in some way.

“And you remember how to reach us?” Feyre said, snapping you out of your trance.

“I do,” You said through gritted teeth. “Because Azriel and I have gone over it a million times, as well as what to do if it doesn’t work. Can we move on?”

“I hope you’re taking this seriously, girl.” Amren spoke up from her chair in the corner. Her silver eyes glared at you with distaste, so you glared back.

“Why are you even here?” You challenged the tiny female. “You apparently don’t have any powers anymore so what do you contribute other than just being a cunt?”

“Enough, (Y/N).” Rhysand spoke up before Amren could fire back. “Amren has earned her seat at this court and you will show her respect.”

“I’m the one risking my ass for you guys,” You snapped. “I’ll respect her when she stops glaring at me from the corner and making snide remarks.”

“I thought you trained her properly, Azriel.” Amren quipped, ignoring you. “She should know when to hold her tongue.”

Azriel audibly sighed, “We covered just about everything except that.” He mumbled.

“But she is ready for this, is she not?” Feyre asked the Spymaster.

“As she’ll ever be.” He grumbled in response.

“Then it’s settled.” Rhysand said, clasping his hands together. “Azriel will winnow (Y/N) to the border of the Spring Court. From there, she will make her journey to the manor. Our reports say Tamlin hasn’t even bothered to check on her village since it was attacked, so it will be easy for him to believe that she survived and has been laying low the past while. She will offer him her services, and keep us updated on the High Lord. His movements, any mention of working with anyone outside his own court, the likes. Any questions?”

“I have one.” You piped up. The inner circle turned to look at you – Mor’s eyebrows were raised, and Azriel’s were pleading as if begging you to not start anything else.

“Go ahead.” Feyre said hesitantly.

You resisted the urge to grin at how the rulers of the Night Court tensed in anticipation. “So my salary,” You continued. “How is that gonna work? Do you guys pay monthly or?”

Azriel rubbed his face with his hands, and Amren rolled her eyes. You found it funny how the richest fae you knew groaned at the idea of paying someone for their work – granted it was a more than fair wage, but given how much wealth they possessed, you knew their accounts wouldn’t feel its impact.

“You will be compensated upon your return to our Court.” Rhysand said, violet eyes glaring at you.

“Which will be?” You asked, meeting his stare.

“When we are satisfied that Tamlin is no longer an additional threat. Once we have taken care of other matters, you will be relieved of your duties and can return here so we can deal with him on our own.”

“Right. But that could be months, years even. I’m not waiting that long to get paid, especially since I have no money. I’ll need it anyway to get by in Spring Court since Tamlin probably won’t have much to pay me.”

You could feel the annoyance simmering off the High Lord as he spoke. “Fine, we’ll get it sorted out. Just do what you have to do and we’ll take care of the rest, ok?”

You nod, shuffling on your feet. To them, the action may have appeared nervous, but you were excited. You finally got to go home, but it was more than that, you finally got to give the Inner Circle a taste of their own medicine. Granted, you felt a bit guilty – Cassian was kind enough, and Nesta did care for him in some way. And as annoying as Azriel was during training, he hadn’t really done anything wrong either.

But you remembered what Mor had said to Nesta, that she’d fit right in with the Court of Nightmares. Nesta had filled you in on the Morrigan’s past, how her family sold her into marriage with Eris, only to dump her at the Autumn Court border with a note nailed into her womb saying she was Eris’ problem. Apparently it was Azriel who found her after Eris supposedly left her there, and thus her rise to power under Rhysand’s protection.

Mor, who had endured the cruelest of horrors in the Court of Nightmares that you would not wish upon anyone, had told Nesta that she belonged there. In a place that sold women like cattle and tortured them if they did not obey their fathers or husbands. It disgusted you how Mor could survive that only to tell a suffering female that she would deserve such a fate, not counting the fact that she herself had done nothing you know of to help other females like her who didn’t have a High Lord as a best friend.

Then there was Amren. You were underwhelmed upon meeting her – since losing her powers in the war, the mighty creature was just a bad-tempered High Fae female who did nothing but make rude comments to people. You honestly couldn’t figure out why she was even feared anymore.

You didn’t like Mor and Amren, but they were not the true targets of your revenge. Feyre had destroyed your court and was never held accountable for it. While Rhysand didn’t have any part of it, you still saw him as a controlling dick – he made no effort to help those in his court who weren’t part of his precious circle, and clearly did not care about the fates of innocents if he praised his mate for ruining their lives. Yes, Feyre and Rhysand would be hit hardest by your plan, and you were glad for it.

“Good luck,” Feyre said, nodding at you. “And thank you for doing this.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” Was all you replied with before following Azriel out of the room.

I’m doing this for me and Nesta. You added in your head.

*********************

Azriel winnowed you to the edge of the Spring Court border, as promised. You were clad in a Spring Court attire designed to look like one of your old dresses, since you obviously couldn’t appear in any clothes from the Night Court. You had been given a small sack with a few coins, stale bread, and a canteen of water – again, designed specifically to look like you had salvaged it from your village’s wreckage.

As the sweet air of the Spring Court filled your senses, you swallowed nervously. For the first time in a while it hit you what you were actually doing. You pushed aside your doubts before they could form, reminding yourself of why you were doing this.

Nesta and I need to get away from the Night Court. It’s suffocating us both and we need a way out, which may be through Eris. I just have to get to Eris and convince him to help us, then we’ll be free.

You thought of Nesta again and your last interaction with her. You had to consciously make an effort not to touch the star that was magically inked onto your sternum, remembering the kiss you shared with her after the spell. Your lips still tingled with the taste of her mouth, how soft yet passionate it was–

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” Azriel’s deep voice snapped you out of your trance.

“No, sorry.” You mumbled, earning a huff.

“As I was saying,” He continued irritably. “You should reach the manor in less than a day from here. Take that path–”

“I know my way around my own court.”

“Yet you have spent several months in Night so I am simply reminding you.”

“Reminder taken.”

You felt a hand grip your shoulder, turning you around and forcing you to look at him. Azriel’s hazel eyes bore into yours. “Are you sure about this?” He said, eyes scanning your face as if he was searching for something. “If not, that’s ok. We can take you back and figure something else out–”

“No.” You cut him off, almost too quickly. The spymaster did not show any reaction to your interjection, but you’d be stupid to think that he wasn’t analyzing and calculating your every move. “I can do this. I just don’t like lying to Tamlin.”

Azriel blinked, and you weren’t sure if he believed you or not so you continued. “I’ve known him since I was a child. I worry he’ll see right through me.”

The spymaster nodded slowly before answering. “Remember what I taught you. And just do your best – Tamlin knows you, use that to your advantage. He’s not himself, and he won’t be doing what’s in the best interest for his court. Perhaps you can nudge him in the right direction, but if he’s doing anything that threatens the Night Court of Prythian we need to know. I hope you understand that.”

You froze at his last words. I hope you understand that. A pit of dread formed in your stomach as one of your worst fears began to crawl into your mind. Azriel was not entirely fooled by you, and you knew it. Your mouth went dry as you met his gaze. He stared at you no differently than he had before, but you knew that as a spy those shadows were always whispering to him, always picking up on details that you may have missed….

No, You assured yourself. If he knew about my plan with Nesta I wouldn’t be here. No way. He may suspect something, but he can’t have any evidence to act on yet. I have more time.

“I do understand.” You said as calmly as you could. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Ever so slightly, Azriel’s gaze softened. “Those of us in this line of work rarely do.” He said.

“Then let’s hope I don’t have to be in it for long.” You said, silently adding, for many reasons.

“We shall.” Azriel said, before straightening up and stretching his wings slightly. “Well in that case, good luck (Y/N).”

You gave him a small smile before turning away from the shadowsinger, heading down the path through the forest. You knew Azriel was gone by now, but felt his shadows linger as if they were watching you.

*********************

After a day, you reached Tamlin’s manor. It was an unnerving journey to say the least – the normally buzzing forest was quiet, as if all happiness had been drained from it. The birds rarely sang, the flowers looked sad and withered. There were no happy cries of children playing in the streams – the whole Spring Court had gone quiet. The manor was overgrown with vines, stretching across cracks in the once pristine walls. There were few guards, most hardly noticed you as you walked through the gate. Daeron, a sentry friend of your father’s, only glanced up at you as you walked by, a hollow look in his eyes. He said nothing, just looked at you like you were a ghost.

The fact you were able to get to and enter the manor with no resistance was worrying. Tamlin must be in even worse shape than you thought to let it get like this. Even the inside of the manor was overgrown in many places, thorns and vines creeping into the spaces.

“My Lord?” You called out, not wanting to startle Tamlin if he even was home. Carefully, you set your bag on the table, noting how tendrils of dust skimmed the air as you did so.

The manor was a ghost of its former glory. Paintings on the wall were broken, some gone entirely. The shiny floors were dull, pieces of splintered wood littering across it threatening to pierce the bare feet or anyone who dares tread here. The windows were dusty, the room devoid of any life. If Tamlin was living here, it was hard to tell.

You wandered over to the end of the table that didn’t have dust on it. A kettle sat there, along with a singular cup that hadn’t been washed yet. Gingerly, you reached out your hand to touch it, and the metal was still slightly warm against your skin.

Well, at least you knew somebody was home.

“Tamlin?” You called out once again.

A heavy set of footsteps sounded from the stairwell in response. You turned to face them, and watched as the High Lord of the Spring Court descended.

His blonde hair was shaggy and as lifeless as the room around him, and a layer of scruff had grown around his face. The green eyes that had shone with kindness when you last saw them were haunted, looking at you like Daeron had – as if you were a ghost. Not that he looked much better than one himself.

“High Lord.” You greeted him, bowing your head. No matter what state his manor was in, he still remained the leader of your court, and you would at least try and show him respect.

“(Y/N)?” Tamlin rasped as if he hadn’t used his voice in weeks. The bags under his eyes were accentuated in the dusty light of the room.

“It’s me.” You said quietly. Tamlin only blinked.

“I thought you were dead.” He said in a monotone voice. “Your village burned.”

You sucked in a breath. “Did you come looking for me?” Maybe the Night Court’s reports were wrong, and he did come looking. Part of you hoped he had, that the strong High Lord you had known was still in there. But your plan rested upon Tamlin not caring enough to go to the massacred villages.

Tamlin laughed heartlessly in response. “No, I didn’t.” He said. “Everyone’s dead. Or gone. Too hard to keep track, there’s no point.”

Part of you was angry at him for not caring, but the other part was sad. The male you admired growing up, had always thought would protect you, didn’t care enough to see if you were dead or alive. Feyre’s damage to the Spring Court was more extensive than you realized, and it filled you with rage.

“So you’ve just given up then, is that it?” You questioned. Rhysand had warned you that Tamlin was unstable and violent, but all you saw now was a broken male who had lost his desire to fight. “You knew me well, and when you heard my village was slaughtered you didn’t even come to see for yourself?”

“My reports said there were no survivors, what else would I have done?” Tamlin snapped, gazing at something in the distance that wasn’t there. “Clearly they were wrong. How did you get out, (Y/N)? And why are you here after all this time?”

“My family is gone.” You said quietly, causing Tamlin’s gaze to return to you. “Everyone is gone. I barely got out, and it took me a while to heal on my own. I could have healed faster if you had come, but I laid low for a while. I wasn’t sure if Hybern was gone, but yesterday I gathered what I could and came here.”

There were a few minutes of silence, both of you staring at each other. Whether or not he knew you were lying, you couldn’t tell – or even if he cared. Tamlin simply looked empty, a husk of his former self.

“I am sorry.” He muttered before turning to go.

“I have nowhere else to go.” You pleaded, hoping he’d let you stay. The High Lord didn’t even spare you a glance.

“Make yourself at home, there’s plenty of space.” Was all he said before retreating back up the staircase.

If Rhysand really thinks he’s a threat, he’s insecure or just plain stupid. You thought bitterly. Yes, Tamlin had made major mistakes that made you lose respect for him – locking up Feyre was beyond wrong, and you knew it. Letting Hybern in was wrong, although Nesta told you that Feyre had sent Tamlin a letter saying to stop trying to get her back, yet as far as Tamlin knew, Feyre was still illiterate. Therefore, it wouldn’t be hard for him to assume that Rhysand was behind the letter.

The High Lord of Spring wasn’t perfect, he had let his trauma from Under the Mountain cloud his judgment and Feyre paid the price for it. But he did not deserve this, he did not need to have his court wiped out from under him to learn his lesson.

You would make Feyre pay, if only to see the look on the Inner Circle’s faces when they realized what you had done.

*********************

You had chosen a room a few doors down from Tamlin’s, right next to Lucien’s chambers. With the help of a few remaining servants, you had dusted and cleaned the room, changing the old sheets to fresh ones. It would be your first night back in the Spring Court in almost six months, you realized. It made your chest ache as you thought of your friends and family. There would be no more river picnics with them or afternoon teas, no more lounging in the fields with your mother…

A tear found its way down your cheek, but you quickly swept it away and opted to get ready for bed. After changing into a nightgown, you laid on the soft mattress, gently resting your fingers on the tattoo on your chest. It was warm to the touch, as if begging to have its magic used.

Nesta? You thought, not quite sure of how to reach her.

(Y/N?) Her reply came into your head after a few seconds. Can you hear me?

I can hear you. The spell worked.

Clearly. Are you okay? Did you make it to Spring?

Yes. It’s a mess here. Tamlin isn’t even trying to keep it together. I don’t think he’ll be a problem. The hardest part will be getting Eris on our side.

No, the hardest part was getting you out of Night. And you did it.

I wish I could have taken you with me.

I do too. But it’s not so bad here with just Cassian and the priestesses in the library. I made a friend, Emerie. She’s Illyrian, you’d love her. We’re all training together.

As happy as you were Nesta was getting along well in Night and was having extra support, you couldn’t help the twinge in your chest.

Hey, none of that. Came Nesta’s voice. I still miss you, and I still want to get the hell out of here.

It’s not that, You assured her. I want you to be getting along as best you can be. I’m happy for you, I just wish I was there joining the fun. Wait, you could feel what I felt?

Oh it’s not all fun, trust me. And yes, I could. Apparently the spell does that too. Also Cassian was talking today about how good it was you agreed to do this for them. He was completely clueless.

I don’t think Azriel is clueless, You admitted, tracing the lines of the star. I think he’s onto us in some way. Has he said anything that you know of?

No, not to Cassian at least. But he’s Azriel, it’s his job to be suspicious. If he knew what your intentions were, you wouldn’t be in Spring right now.

True. I feel bad, he hasn’t done anything wrong really. His constant brooding is insufferable, but I got used to him. But I know he’ll probably go running to Rhys the second he gets a crumb of evidence against me.

Probably. Cassian’s genuinely trying to help, he thinks it’s for the best. I wish he would understand and take off the Rhysand blindfold, but unlikely.

I get what you mean. They’ve been friends for centuries, Nesta. I don’t think we’ll be the ones to change that. It’s been a really long day and I have lots of work to do tomorrow so I should probably sleep.

Okay. Goodnight. We’ll talk soon.

The warm light that caressed your chest as you communicated with Nesta faded as the line of communication was cut, and you were left with what felt like a hole in your chest. You missed her more than you wanted to admit, but it gave you all the more reason to get your shit together and start your plan.

*********************

The next few days were spent cleaning up the manor with the servants. You assured them that you didn’t need their help, but they did anyway – clearly wanting something to do other than making tea. Slowly, the manor living room began to come back to life. The broken paintings were taken down, and replaced with hanging flower pots. The dust was mostly gone, a process which left you all sneezing for hours. You didn’t see Tamlin once in the three days you worked on the living room.

“He spends all his time upstairs,” One of the servants told you when you asked about him. “We bring him food, and he’ll eat it sometimes in his room then leave the tray outside. But that’s it.”

After trimming the thorns away and preparing a hot meal with the chef, one of the servants came with a tray.

“It’s ok,” You assured him. “We’ll put it on the table.”

“But, miss,” The servant boy stammered. “The High Lord eats in his room every day.”

You snorted. “He’s the High Lord of the Spring Court and he has work to do, he’s going to dine at the table like a normal lord.” The boy looked pale, frightened at the idea of disrupting his Lord’s routine so you bent down and grabbed the tray from him. “It’s okay, you can go home. I will deal with Tamlin and be fully responsible for dinner, ok?”

The boy nodded with relief, scampering off into the kitchens. Sighing, you grabbed the dishes from the counter and lugged them to the table. You and the chef, Mairon, had prepared a harvest salad for dinner with a side of roasted potatoes, chicken, and freshly baked bread. Your mouth watered as you resisted the urge to bite into it, using great self control to place it on the dining room table and leave it there.

You trudged up the stairs to Tamlin’s room, knocking once on the heavy door. No sound came from inside, so you knocked again. “Tamlin!” You yelled, pounding your first on the wood.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing the still haggard-looking High Lord. “You can leave the tray outside the door.”

“No.” You said stubbornly, sticking your foot in the doorway as he attempted to close it. “You’re High Lord of the Spring Court and you’re going to act like it and come eat dinner with me. Now get a move on, I’ll see you down there.”

You did not wait to see his stunned face as you turned on your heel to head back downstairs. If younger you knew you’d spoken to your High Lord that way, she’d probably faint on the spot. You knew that no amount of gentle coaxing would pull Tamlin out of this place he was in, you just prayed he wouldn’t take your head for your approach.

Entering the dining room once again, you took a seat a few feet down from the head of the table. Worry began to eat away at you – what if Tamlin just stayed in his room and completely ignored you? He can’t protect his court in this state, and he clearly won’t even try. You needed to get him back on track, so he could go back to doing his job. As you began piling food onto your plate, you contemplated how your report to Rhysand and Feyre would go. You decided not to tell them that you were actively trying to help Tamlin regain his strength – they’d see it as a threat. Therefore, you concluded that you would have to make things up in your reports. If all the Night Court received was claims of nothing happening, they’d get suspicious and perhaps investigate themselves and that could not happen. If they figured out you were not only helping Tamlin, but actively trying to find a way out of the Night Court’s grasp, you were dead.

Heavy footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts a few minutes later. To your surprise, the High Lord wordlessly took a seat at the head of the table. He still looked a mess and did not glance at you once, but nonetheless reached forth and began to add food onto his plate.

“You could have at least combed your hair.” You remarked after he took a few bites of salad.

“I came down,” Tamlin mumbled between bites. “Is that not enough for you?”

“No.” You said firmly.

The High Lord paused, turning his emerald gaze towards you in a glare. “Excuse me?”

“Your court fell apart,” Your breath tried not to shake at the boldness with which you spoke to the powerful male. “So what? Move on. Not everyone is gone or dead, some of us are still here. And we are not safe, not without your protection.”

“Thanks to Feyre.” Tamlin hissed, bitterness laced in his voice.

“Yes, and I hate her for it. Whatever happened between you two doesn’t matter, she took her revenge out on the rest of us. I don’t care that you’re upset right now, we are the ones who suffered more. The innocent people of YOUR court who never asked to be dragged into any of this.”

Instead of lashing out at you, either with his words or with those talons that hid beneath his skin, Tamlin simply stared at the table.

“Feyre leaving you does not relieve you of your responsibilities as High Lord,” You continued. “You have a duty to your people to protect them no matter what. There are others like me out there who have had their villages destroyed and everything lost. You need to help them and strengthen your court.”

“And this is the part where you tell me that you can help me with that, I assume?” His laugh was empty, as if he didn’t quite believe you.

“I can.” You promised.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I remember those three days when I was a young girl that you looked after me while my father was sick. And I’m hoping the compassionate High Lord I knew back then is still in there somewhere.”

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the candles at the table. After a few seconds, Tamlin simply turned back to his plate and shoved food in his mouth. Your heart sank a little at his lack of answer, but you cursed yourself for thinking he would even listen to you in the first place. Angrily, you stabbed a potato with your fork, wondering how the hell you were going to help get the Spring Court back on track before you attempted to leave with Eris.

When the High Lord finished his plate, he gulped down the glass of wine in front of him before standing up. He stood up, looking down at you. “Your help would be appreciated,” He said. “But I cannot promise it will do much good. You are, however, welcome to try as you see fit. We have nothing to lose anyways.”

Without waiting for a response, Tamlin left you in the dining room, mind whirling. He had not seemed as enthusiastic as you had hoped, but at least it was something. You were going to help the Spring Court as best you could, with or without Tamlin.

*********************

You ran yourself ragged the next few days, hiring more servants and sentries to help clean the place up. After almost an hour of pestering, you convinced Tamlin to go with some guards to nearby villages to check up on them, offering any aid. Your biggest accomplishment, however, was your idea to turn the manor into a sanctuary. It had dozens of empty rooms, and with many citizens displaced by the recent events, you convinced Tamlin to use this space as a shelter for them. Therefore, when he traveled to the villages again next week, he could offer those who were suffering a place to stay.

The manor’s preparation took a ton of work. Tamlin hardly helped, still preferring to just sulk in his room, but he had given you authority to run the minor things in the manor in his stead. The gardens were being replenished to provide more produce, the windows repaired and skylights fixed, and the floors were polished and finally cleaned. By the third day, it looked less like a haunted house and more like the beautiful manor you had known growing up.

It was on the evening of the third day when you composed your first report to the Night Court. Azriel had provided you with a special set of ink and parchment that you would write on, and the ink would disappear after 15 seconds and the message would be received by the Spymaster. You had spent all of dinner planning exactly what you wanted to say, and decided on a mix of truth and lies. The letter had read:

I arrived at the manor on Sunday – there were almost no guards, and the ones who were there did not care. Tamlin greeted me, he was a bit suspicious but didn’t seem to care much. I have not seen him leave the manor since. He has let me stay here. I surveyed the whole place like you taught me and aside from a few beds in the servants quarters, the manor shows no signs of anyone else being here. I will keep you updated if anything changes.

When the ink disappeared, you had let out a breath. You had left out everything about the manor turning into a sanctuary, an attempt at rebuilding the trust between the citizens and their High Lord. You had just prayed Azriel wasn’t also spying on the Spring Court and would see you were lying.

The next day, you decided to help wash all the sheets in the manor. Taking the basket of wet material from the servant, you lugged it outside where you had set up clotheslines. It was peaceful, with everyone else mostly at the other end of the manor organizing the dining hall, you were mostly alone in the gardens.

Sighing, you gently shook the soft sheets and placed them over the line to dry. It was methodical, a simple mundane task that brought you peace. At the House of Wind, servants had done everything for you, no doubt also acting as spies meant to keep an eye on you and Nesta. You missed the freedom, the autonomy of something as simple as doing your own laundry.

Halfway through the basket, a sudden wave of dread made your entire body go cold, despite the warm sunlight.

“What the…” You gasped, heart racing all of a sudden. Dropping the sheet in your hands, you stared down as a white glow began to peek through your lilac dress. “No, no no no!”

Frantically, you pressed your hands against it, whipping your head back and forth to see if anyone could see you. You cried out as your entire body went ice cold, as if submerged underwater. Your ankle burned like it was being grasped tightly, and whatever it was would not let go.

You remembered what Nesta said when you asked her if the tattoo from your bond would always glow: No. Only when the other is in danger.

Nesta was in danger, you realized. And you were feeling what she was feeling at that moment. Your lungs ached, and you realized the sensation you were experiencing was drowning.

Where is she that she’s drowning? You wracked your brain trying to think of bodies of water in the Night Court that she may be in. But nothing came up, you could only sit there hyperventilating, glowing from your sternum as the magic between you and the eldest Archeron sister consumed you.

“Nesta!” You cried out, gagging before throwing up thick, sludgy water. It splattered on the ground before you like black ink, unforgiving against the soft green grass.

And then it stopped, and the light faded. Everything was quiet, and you felt an eerie calmness washing over you. The air flooded back into your lungs, but your panic was gone – everything was. You stood up, but didn’t feel it – it was like you were not in control of your own body, like someone was pulling the strings for you. But still you felt no panic, no pain, simply nothing. You remained standing in the gardens of the Spring Court, staring into the nothingness. And then the emptiness subsided, and everything came rushing back. You cried out, collapsing into the grass as everything faded to black.

*********************

A soft light crept into your vision as you cracked open your eyelids. Everything was hazy, and your body ached. You looked around as your vision cleared up – you were no longer in the gardens, but in a bed in the healing ward of the manor. The room was empty, save for a table littered with ointments and medicines, and a chair across from you that currently sat a bulking, blonde male.

“Tamlin?” You croaked, voice raw as if you had been screaming.

“(Y/N),” The High Lord sat up, green eyes boring into you. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. What happened?”

Tamlin leaned forward, not blinking once as he stared down at you. “I heard you scream, so I came out just in time to see you collapse. I brought you in here, but not before I saw the black water on the ground in front of you. Water which definitely does not come from Spring Court.”

You froze, blood running cold as you tried to remember Azriel’s training about what to do if you got confronted. “I…” You stammered nervously before Tamlin interrupted.

“Spare me any lies, they will do you no good.” He growled. “I know where that water comes from, what dark magic and curses it holds. It magically appears right in front of where you collapsed, after you so miraculously waltzed back in here after months and generously offered to help me.”

“I know how this probably looks-”

“Then you have one chance to tell me what the hell is going on here, (Y/N), or I will get it out of you myself.”

You fiddled with your fingers, debating what to do. Either you could come up with the most miraculous lie of your life and somehow sell it to Tamlin, like Azriel taught you, or you could just say to hell with it and tell him the truth. If you told him the truth, he may not believe you and just lock you up – either way, that could end up with him confronting the Night Court about them sending in a spy. Whether or not you told him you had your own agenda it did not matter, either you betrayed the Inner Circle now to save your own skin, or still pretend to side with them and risk them feigning innocence and abandoning you to face Tamlin’s wrath.

So you decided with the truthful option. “Everything I am about to tell you is the whole truth,” You began slowly, sitting up stiffly. “I swear on my life. Please, hear me out fully.”

Tamlin said nothing, still glaring, but nodded. Taking a deep breath, you began your story. “When my village was destroyed, Lucien found me barely alive. He brought me to the Night Court, since that’s where he was staying. They healed me, but kept me locked up because I was from the Spring Court and they were worried I was sent as revenge for Feyre’s destruction. My first interaction with the High Lord and Lady was…unpleasant. I hated them both, especially Feyre, because they were the reason I lost everything. Feyre may not have killed my family, but she destroyed our court enough to let Hybern do the rest for her. I called them out on it, and they sent me to the House of Wind. I was not allowed to leave, I don’t think they knew what to do with me.

“I met Nesta Archeron there. They had locked her there too, Tamlin. They did the same thing to her that you did to Feyre. We were trapped with no way out unless we wanted to comply with the Night Court’s wishes. After a few weeks we started to speak to each other, and eventually we….. we became friends. She defended me when the Inner Circle arrived for dinner and tried to persuade me to spy on you in return for them saving me. I refused, and Nesta and I became closer after that. We agreed that we needed to get out of the Night Court, so we formed a plan. We staged a fight so that the Inner Circle would think we had grown distant, and I eventually agreed to train with Azriel, and she with Cassian. I agreed to come to Spring under the guise of spying on you, but I swear that is not what I intend. I’ve only sent them one report so far, and all I said was that nothing was happening.”

Tamlin narrowed his eyes. “So you’re admitting to spying on me, then.”

“No, you fool,” You snapped. “Were you not listening? I was lying to them. I would never betray Spring for Night, not after what they did to us. I’m feeding them misinformation to keep them off your back as best I can, at least until it’s time for the rest of the plan.”

“The plan which you better start explaining right now.” Tamlin growled. “Because I don’t see how any of this fits together.”

“Nesta had mentioned that Cassian met with Eris by the border just inside the Spring Court. Which you would know if you cared enough to actually monitor it. I’ve known Eris a long time, and have reason to believe that he could help Nesta and I be free from the Night Court. He hates the Inner Circle almost as much as we do, and would gladly take us in, even if only to rub it in their faces. The plan was that I would agree to pretend to be a spy in the Spring Court so I could get to Eris, since he seems to be here regularly without you knowing. Then I will convince him to help us out, and we can finally be free.”

“So let me get this straight,” Tamlin said, brows furrowed. “You’re double crossing the Night Court for revenge, and trusting you’ll be able to get Eris Vanserra of all people to help you out? What makes you think he won’t just sell you back to them? He’s a cruel, sadistic bastard who shouldn’t be trusted.”

“I know the risks, Tamlin.” You replied, taking another deep breath. “But I don’t care. I will do anything to be free from the Night Court.”

“But you are here. You’re home. You got out already, is that not good enough?”

“I am not leaving Nesta there alone. I have to go back for her.”

A few moments of silence encompassed the room. Your heart raced – you had no idea if Tamlin even believed you. Admittedly, your story was outrageous, even to you. So much had happened within the past few months, you didn’t even know if you would believe yourself if you heard this story. So you sat there, fiddling with the corner of the bedsheet as Tamlin’s immovable gaze stared you down.

“You care about Nesta.” He said quietly.

“I lo…” You stammered. “I care about her a lot. She helped me through literal hell and I cannot just leave her there to end up as another pawn in Rhysand’s games. Nesta deserves better than that, and so do I.”

“And how do I know that you are not making this up?” Tamlin asked. “Granted, it would be an impressive lie. But Rhysand is known to play cruel mind games and mess with one’s memory. And with Feyre apparently having that same ability, I want to believe you (Y/N) but I have to be sure.”

You took another shaky breath. “Nesta and I did a spell,” You began. “An old spell that she found in a book. It gave us a daemati-like line of communication to each other, and was binded by a tattoo on our chests. It glows when the other is in danger, and that’s what happened earlier. We think that in some ways, we can feel what the other is feeling through it. I felt Nesta drowning earlier, and I think I collapsed when she lost consciousness.”

Tamlin frowned. “So is she dead then?”

“No,” You almost shouted. “No, she’s not. I can’t explain it, but I can feel that she’s alive.”

“Interesting, it’s almost as if…” Tamlin muttered, shaking his head before trailing off. “Never mind that. This magic spell, this tattoo…. show me.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and searching for that string that bound you to Nesta. Within a void of darkness you felt it call out to you like the sweetest song, leading you towards its light. So you followed, reaching out your mind to that cord before grabbing onto it and letting its warmth consume you.

Opening your eyes, you were met with a glow peeking through your dress. Tamlin’s face went white as he stared at the mark, visible through the thin fabric of the gown. “Impossible…” He muttered.

“Do you believe me now?” You asked before whispering the disappearing phrase. “Evanescere.”

The glow faded, leaving Tamlin stunned. “I believe you,” He said softly. “I just don’t know what to do now, or what this means for my court. If Rhysand is spying on me, I have every right to confront him about it. But then that puts you at risk, and I am not willing to do that.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, relieved. “I know this is a tough spot for you. You have every right to be angry with them and confront them right now, but I promise it will be worth the wait. I fully intend on letting them know everything I’ve done when I am free, and I will leave you out of it. They do not know that I am helping you now, so when they realize that your court is strong again thanks to me, it will be the cherry on top of everything else we have planned.”

“There’s more to the plan?” Tamlin sighed, exasperated.

“Yes, but it is solely my and Nesta’s own vengeance we will carry out,” You assured him. “You need not know what it is, and I promise you it will not bring harm to the Spring Court. You have my word.”

“You hate them that much?”

“Yes, but not just because of what they did to us. I see the Inner Circle on a mountain of wealth while their people suffer and starve if they do not live in Rhysand’s favourite city, building castle after castle. I hear stories of women being sold and tortured by their families in the Court of Nightmares while their High Lord does nothing to help them, even though his Third in command is a survivor from that very court. I know that the High Lady flies around flaunting her Illyrian wings she shapeshifts into while hundreds and thousands of Illyrian females get their own wings clipped and are kept for breeding while the High Lord and Lady do nothing to stop it because they prefer keeping their pigheaded military leaders happy over the safety and lives of all the females in their court. I look at the Inner Circle and see a group who could do so much good for their Court, but refuse not to because they want to live in their own special bubble, rest of their court be damned. I see a High Lady who is not qualified for the job and only has it because she is mated to Rhysand. I see a High Lord who loves his found family so much he would let the rest of his court burn to keep them happy. Qualities which make for a romantic story, but a shitty leader. That, Tamlin, is why I hate them. And why I cannot wait to see their faces when they realize not everyone wants to bow to Rhysand.”

After your ramble, you took a shaky breath, sipping the cup of water from the nightstand beside you. Your anger you had suppressed for the past week was fired up, a rage that you had burned with for months now and thought you had pushed down enough in the peacefulness of home. But you knew that it would not go away, at least not until you had gotten your revenge.

“I understand your anger, and agree with you completely.” Tamlin said after a few moments before standing up. “The Night Court needs to be humbled. But I will take no part in your plan other than turning a blind eye to whatever you need to do. I have my own bone to pick with the High Lord and Lady, but I will not drag you into it. For now, rest. We will figure this shit out later.”

He left you in the room to sleep, but it would not come. Letting Tamlin in on everything was not part of the plan, but strangely enough it pulled a weight off your chest. You didn’t need to sneak around him anymore. Maybe he could even help you, if you needed it. At least he knew of your plans now and wouldn’t think you were betraying or abandoning him when the time came for you to leave.

Rearranging the pillow, you tossed and turned, desperately trying to reach Nesta.

Nesta? Are you okay?

Nothing. No response, no feeling from the other end of your connection. You knew she was still alive – something deep inside of you knew that you’d be able to tell if she was dead, but her presence lingered somehow. Perhaps she’s just busy. You tried to assure yourself. Eventually, exhaustion overcame you, and you fell into a haunted sleep, plagued by images of dark water and something golden glowing beneath it.

*********************

It had been two days since your conversation with Tamlin, and two days of not hearing from Nesta. You tried to push your worries aside, comforted by the fact that nothing in your chest had snapped indicating she was dead. Wherever she was, you would find her. Even if you had to go to the ends of the earth to do it.

To your delight, the manor’s progress had continued splendidly. More guards were in training, sentries roamed the grounds once again, and servants bustled about. Tamlin had even combed his hair and shaved, which you thanked the Mother for. A few lesser fae from the nearby towns wandered into the manor grounds escorted by sentries. You could tell they were nervous, eyes wide as they saw the High Lord waiting to greet them by the gates. But Tamlin simply smiled, welcoming them warmly and leading them into the manor. After settling in one of the guest rooms, which had been converted to accommodating four people, the first group of citizens joined you for lunch. They practically gasped when they saw that the High Lord would be dining with them, but Tamlin simply gestured for them to sit down and enjoy the vast array of food the cooks had prepared. You could tell his cheer was still more forced than natural, but you were happy that he was making the effort. It was a step in the right direction.

With Tamlin’s guidance, you wrote another report to Azriel a few days later. It said that nothing had changed, except that Tamlin had begun making more appearances to prepare for the Spring Equinox in a few weeks. You sent it off, smirking at yourself.

“I need a break,” You said after the ink disappeared on the parchment. “I’m going for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.” Tamlin offered as you grabbed your shawl.

“Absolutely not,” You argued. “You have guests to host. You just patrolled the forest so I know it’s safe. I’ll be fine.”

The High Lord opened his mouth to argue, but closed it and simply nodded. You organized your papers before closing the door to your room and heading out in the direction of the forest.

You wandered through the paths, lost in your own thoughts. No word from Nesta still, but you clung onto the fact you knew she was alive. It was all you had keeping you together, thankfully, and you would not fall apart. So you distracted yourself with mentally planning tomorrow’s schedule – what documents needed to be signed and sent out, inventory of supplies, and organizing a meeting to discuss using funds collected from that year’s Tithe to build secure shelters across the Court for those who had lost their homes to Hybern’s armies. It was a brilliant plan, you gave yourself credit. One of the best parts of your revenge was knowing that Feyre had not destroyed the Spring Court, and you longed to see the look on her face when she realized that not only was it coming back stronger than ever, but that it was the perfect example of how leaders should help their people.

Suddenly, a twig snapped a few feet ahead of you, pulling you from your thoughts. You blinked, taking in your surroundings – you were at the old oak tree several miles near the Autumn Court border, not realizing you wandered so far. Reaching under your dress, you slid out the dagger you kept strapped to your thigh as footsteps approached. Your heart raced, praying it wasn’t one of Amarantha’s lingering beasts – while Azriel taught you a lot, you were still no match for a monster.

Instead of a lurking monster, a slender and beautiful figure emerged from the shadows of the tree, red hair elegantly tied back and lips stretched into a smirk you’d recognize from anywhere.

“Why hello there, darling.” Came the velvety voice of Eris Vanserra. “This is quite a surprise, isn’t it?”

-------------------------------- 

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[shawnxstyles]

guys i think i went on my first date yesterday with one of my co-workers?? (if you remember from a really long time ago when i said i thought one of my co-workers was cute, it was NOT this guy)

anyway!! i had been telling him that i want to go to barnes and noble to help him find a book because he wanted some new recommendations. and we finally got a shift together on saturday (it was a great shift). i swear we’re always flirting but i can’t tell if we actually are or if i’m delusional. but i asked him when we were going to barnes and noble and we made plans for sunday after i got off work.

first of all, we texted all night. then after work, he picked me up (because i don’t have a car) and we went to barnes and noble and it was really nice. then we went to mod pizza but sat in the parking lot for a while just talking. he kept talking about things like relationships, dating, kissing, flirting, etc. (and he was giving me advice and stuff because i’m so inexperienced 😭😭) (LIKE WHAT DOES THIS MEAN??)

and then we shared a pizza and he paidddd and he opened doors for me the whole time. and then we went back to our work (we work at a smoothie place) TOGETHER. and our co-workers were like ?? but they played it chill. i went to the bathroom and then we left back to his car.

and then he told me that one of our co-workers asked him if we came together and he kept denying it, but not saying no if that makes sense?? like she asked him: “did you come together?” and he said “we came in the same car.” then she asked if we were on a date and he was like “we just went to barnes and noble” and she was like “on a date?” 😭 and then he just said i helped him pick out a book. i was kind of denying it too and i showed him my texts with my friends who also thought it was a date.

ANYWAY. the bad thing about this whole story is that he’s leaving in a MONTH to go to training for the marines. he’ll be gone for 3 months of something and then in the marines for 4 years.

MY QUESTION: did that hangout/date actually mean something or am i delusional? do i try to pursue it?? y’all PLEASE help me!!!!