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tadpolesonalgae · 4 months

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 17

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: does anyone mind the slightly longer chapters? I feel like I keep accidentally adding scenes in and I’m not sure if it’s too much? Anyway, regardless of length, I hope you enjoy! 🧡💛

word count: 8,024

-Part 16- -Part 18-

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“Was that necessary, Mor?”

Neatly groomed brows narrow over hard amber eyes, stood at the edge of the room, still cast in shadow before walking to be stood closer to the bed that’s been pushed so it’s beside the open window.

“Stay out of it, Az,” Mor murmurs, arms folded over her chest, eyes cast downwards. “You should be focusing on getting better.”

Azriel is quiet for a bit, his gaze weighing on her but she makes no move to look at him, a hint of anguish in her normally bright expression. He sighs, shifting against the pillows as he glances out the window, inclining his head a little as a light breeze washes over him, sending silky strands of hair fluttering up from his brow.

“You know she didn’t do it to hurt you,” he says, watching as the clouds shift in composition in the sky, small dots flying in the distance as they arc and dip with the winds. Hazel eyes flick back across the room, but Mor’s head is still lowered, her expression resentful. “You know you were being cruel.”

“And you’re in a position to criticise me?” Mor replies quietly, hard amber piercing into him. “You’re the reason this became such a mess. You should have said something. There’s no way you couldn’t have noticed.”

“I made a mistake,” he concedes reluctantly, holding her gaze.

“You made more than a mistake, Az. Now we’re all hurting because you—”

“Mor,” Azriel interrupts. She stiffens but doesn’t yield, that look of reproach returning to her expression. “You can’t lash out at us whenever you hurt,” he says thickly, still watching her. Silence stretches between them, centuries worth of history pulled taut in the quiet.

“What does Rhys think?” Mor diverts, successfully switching subjects. Azriel sighs, leaning back into the pillow, “about which part?” Mor’s brows narrow a little, “all of it, I suppose.” Azriel’s jaw works, glancing briefly out the window again to peer up into the sky, the winds calling to him and his wings move subtly at his back, repositioning themselves against the large stack of cushions placed to prop him up.

“He’s furious that it got this far,” he replies, features carefully neutral as he answers the question. Amber eyes observe, offered insight through those years of friendship that others might struggle to pick out—the guilt he feels for failing. Not just her, or Mor, but Rhys and Feyre. For inadvertently allowing a situation to unfold where his brother would be forced to remember those months…years of grief after his family was slaughtered. After his sister was murdered. The whole situation is dredging up unwelcome memories, for all of them. They can’t let another one be lost.

“He wants to know how Eris even got to her in the first place,” Azriel admits, glancing warily at Mor to gauge her reaction. “You don’t know?” She asks, pushing past the tightness in her throat at the mere mention. But the Shadowsinger shakes his head. “There wasn’t really time to ask,” he supplies quietly. She wasn’t really even in the right mindset to be asked.

“What about Cassian?” Mor queries, but Azriel shakes his head.

“You know I won’t tell you.” Because to know Cassian’s thoughts on the matter would likely be to know Nesta’s, and that isn’t the kind of emotional intimacy any of them would be comfortable with. It’s strange how emotions intermingle like that, how swiftly things can complicate themselves when new figures are added to the equation.

A beat passes, then Mor’s shifting on her feet. “You know, there was a time when we shared everything between us. Wasn’t that easier?” She asks neutrally.

“Mor,” Azriel warns lowly, causing Mor’s upper lit to curl slightly.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Az,” she mutters, resting her full attention on the injured male. “Don’t act like you’re completely blameless.”

“Assigning blame won’t fix anything,” he replies shortly, hazel eyes losing a little of their softness. “I’m sure that narrative suits you well,” Mor counters sharply. “I think you’re glad that I said those things to her so that you have a chance to redeem yourself by condemning me. You’re the one who started this whole mess, so—”

“Mor.”

“Shut up, Az,” Mor hisses, warmth vanishing from her face, eyes hardening as shields rise. “Don’t you dare try and twist what happened. You made mistake after mistake because you were too busy chasing Elain, and too busy ignoring what you didn’t want to acknowledge by hiding behind your work instead. At least I had a damn reason. What was yours?”

Azriel gives nothing away, his expression cold and blank.

“I tried to help her, I reached out my hand and offered her a chance. And she repaid that by going to Eris,” Mor hisses, unable to help the stark pain that bleeds into her fury. “She could have come to any of us. It’s more than we ever had, and yet she ignored it. Then tries to pretend it away? I’m not immune to that. If she can’t even be bothered to care about my pain why should I give a damn about hers?” Mor breathes, eyes feeling hot as the words gush out. “It is nothing compared to what we endured.”

————

You manage a small smile as Madja enters your room, Elain closing the door behind her as she takes a seat at your bedside.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Madja asks as she settles in the chair provided for these visits, a kind look on her face that you know you should be grateful for, but it’s difficult to summon anything when you know she can’t do anything. All this is, is documentation. An observation to see what happens to you. Because it’s undeniable something is happening.

You swallow thickly, but nod your head. “Good, for the most part,” you answer, truthfully. “I’m still feeling generally fatigued, but I wouldn’t say it’s particularly interfering with my day? I’ve had some pains in my stomach and back though, but I think they’re just…you know…” Madja raises her brows in question, silently asking you to continue. Heat rises beneath your skin and you avert your gaze, hands wringing together beneath the duvet.

“Would it be more helpful if it were just the two of you?” Elain suggests carefully, and teeth push into your lower lip. Then you give a small dip of your head, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. But she doesn’t seem to mind, telling you’ll she be a few rooms over, and will return once the examination is done. Madja looks patiently at you, a kind expression on her features that soothes you slightly. She’s a healer, surely she’ll have seen and heard worse…

You clear your throat, peering into your lap to avoid looking at her. “I think they might just be…” you trail off, glancing at her then gesturing vaguely to your stomach, hand hovering over your abdomen. There’s nothing impatient in her smile as she speaks, “your cycle?” You snap your eyes away, a flush of mortification rising to your skin, shoulders tightening as you stare into your lap but force yourself to nod.

“It’s perfectly fine to speak about that with me,” Madja says gently, “it’s a normal occurrence with females, there’s no need to be embarrassed about your own body. There’s nothing wrong with it.” You nod again, just to try and appease her, but in truth you’re desperate to escape the subject. “I’m sorry, I just— I find it hard to believe you aren’t…uncomfortable, discussing such topics.”

“Well, I’ve been a healer for most of my centuries in this realm,” she says calmly, and you can imagine that kind expression on her features, peaceful and infinitely patient. “I’ve worked during both wars, not to mention helping with your sister’s pregnancy. There’s very little that could ever cause me discomfort in regards to how the body works, so you don’t have to concern yourself.”

You shift again in the bed, but manage to nod your head. Madja seems to be satisfied with the response, smile broadening, and a slight bit of tension is relieved from your shoulders, breath easing into your lungs. “So you’ve been experiencing some abdominal and back pain?” She questions, and you nod again, feeling a little useless. “Can you describe it to me?” She asks, and you swallow thickly. “I…it’s like a dull ache in my back, near the base of my spine but a bit to the right. Then it’s quite sharp in my…abdomen. It doesn’t happen often, but I thought I should mention it…”

“I don’t think you should be experiencing any pain at all,” Madja replies. “And may I ask when you’re next due for your cycle?” You look away briefly before again meeting her gaze—nothing to be embarrassed about, she’d assured. “In about three months,” you answer quietly.

Madja nods in approval, and you begin to relax back into the pillows. “And have you noticed any bleeding at all?” She asks gently, and you freeze in the bed.

“No,” you answer hurriedly, without thinking, “no. Not from— No.”

“Alright,” she smiles calmingly, “anywhere else? You have some scabs on your hands, isn’t that right?” Your throat rolls but you nod, releasing your tight grip on your nightgown, bringing yourself to raise them from beneath the duvet so she can examine them. “And these bumps,” she inquires, “can you tell me how long those have been there for?” You blink, trying to remember—they’ve been there for months it feels like, but it can’t have been that long, can it? How long has it been since you first told Azriel?

“I think…” you hesitate, unsure of yourself, “maybe a month? Two? They don’t hurt, but they do sometimes…bleed.”

“Okay, would you mind if I had a look at them?” She requests, and you silently offer her your hands for her to take. That tingling warmth feathers beneath your skin, as if the flesh has fallen asleep, and you watch curiously as she probes along your knuckles, examining your palms, grazing your wrists. “And may I look at the area you experienced the pain in?” She asks, and you stiffen but nod. It’ll be the same thing as last time, you hope, and that wasn’t too bad since she had managed to work through the fabric of your night gown. The duvet is rolled back and you sit straighter in the cushions so she’ll have better access.

“Can you point out where exactly you were feeling the pain?” She requests, and you gesture to a horizontal strip of skin below your middle. “It was the sharpest here,” you answer, “but I sometimes get a small ache further to the left or right.” Madja doesn’t reply, her expression showing concentration as she moves her hands across your stomach, gently pushing at the parts you’d mentioned as that warmth settles pleasantly into you. You can’t help as your attention drifts to your own hands, how flaky and lumpy they are in comparison to her tender set. It’s so dry, small scabs where blood had leaked from…you wish at least the bleeding didn’t happen. So many pairs of gloves you have to wash repeatedly to make sure there aren’t any stains.

It’s become such a normal part of your life it had slipped your mind that pain shouldn’t be a normal part of it, nor the bleeding.

The bleeding…

A cold feeling washes over you, like you’ve had ice tipped down your spine as you remember the scare you’d experienced in the Autumn Court.

If Madja notices how you’ve frozen, she doesn’t mention it, but a slow feeling of slippery dread unspools in your stomach as you recall the blood you’d noticed when visiting the washroom one morning. You’d thought it was your cycle—the slight pains had added up and the night sweats had made sense—but then nothing had happened and you’d forgotten about that blood.

Nausea churns in your stomach, a district feeling over lightheadedness overcoming you and you force the calm breaths into your lungs…deep, and steady. You choke on saliva and your palm flies over your mouth as you twist your head to the side, coughing.

Madja glances up at you, brows slightly pulled together from concentration. “Have some water—are you remembering to keep yourself hydrated throughout the day?” She asks, handing you the glass that rests by your bedside table. “For the most part,” you answer after taking a few sips. Madja pauses briefly, a look of consideration passing behind her eyes before speaking, “would you mind if I checked your lungs? It’s likely nothing, but might as well be sure since I’m here, don’t you agree?”

You blink at her, looking slightly perplexed but you suppose there’s no harm in it, so you nod your confirmation, handing her back the glass before settling into the cushion. That familiar warmth tingles in your skin as she tentatively lays her fingers just below your collar bones before pressing down a little firmer and making her way from one side to the other. Her features remain set in an expression of concentration and she returns to the tops of your sternum before going a little lower. You tense, but understand she’s performing a medical examination.

“Can you sit upright a little more? I’d like to search a little lower, just by your ribs,” she adds, seeing your startled expression. You nod, understanding, sitting more upright independent of the cushions. “Now if you can raise your arm?” She requests gently and again you follow, raising your left arm so she has access to the side of your ribs. The tingling sensation returns and you think you can feel as it searches through your body, though it doesn’t feel invasive like you had expected.

Madja’s fingers pause, before she’s pressing noticeably firmer and you have to steady yourself so she does upset your balance. The sensation becomes more acute, able to feel as the tingling feeling concentrates near the middle left of your lower ribcage. When she retracts her hands she looks a little confused.

“Is everything okay?” You ask nervously, uneasy by her expression.

“There’s what feels like a small lump connected to the tissue of your left lung,” Madja explains calmly, and you nod your head. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to try and purge it. I haven’t seen it in any other patients, and there’s no reason for it to be there—it isn’t a natural part of your body. Would that be okay?”

You nod your head—if she’s found something wrong with you, that sounds promising…? And if she thinks she can…purge it, that seems even better.

“Alright, if you lean back into the bed to keep your upper body relaxed that would be perfect,” she guides and you settle down. “Okay, I’m going to apply my magic to the growth. You might feel a sudden heat or a ticklish sensation but if you can avoid coughing that would be helpful,” she explains, and tension rises in your chest as she again puts her hands against the side of your ribcage.

Sure enough, a sharp heat fills a spot on your lung, and you press your lips together to prevent from coughing or inhaling suddenly despite the abrupt tickle that’s manifested in your throat, an intense itchiness in your lungs…an itchiness growing in the tips of your fingers…growing hotter…and hotter…beginning to burn, and…

Madja pulls away, a gentle smile on her face, “all done. You did well not to start coughing in the middle there, it helped make the process much easier for me.”

“So, it’s gone?” You ask perplexedly, hand gingerly rising to press into your ribs, testing as you inhale. Sure enough, the tickling feeling has gone, and so has the tightness in your throat, suddenly feeling much clearer. Like when you’d had a cold as a human, feeling the distinct relief once you were able to breathe freely again, having to become reliant on inhaling via your mouth rather than nose. One never appreciates how seamlessly their body works until it’s compromised.

Madja smiles, “it’s gone.”

A hesitant smile makes its way across your mouth, peering down to where you hand is settled.

Maybe it isn’t as bad as you’d been telling yourself.

————

Golden eyes gleam from within the home, the scent of rosemary so familiar emotion swells in your chest.

“Hey, Bas.”

He pauses briefly, and you hesitate, waiting to see what he’ll do. Then he’s shifting in the doorway, opening it wider cautiously as he take you in, taking up most of the entryway. “You’re back…” he greets, but the note of caution in his voice has you hesitating again. But you push a small smile to your mouth, remembering yourself. “I’m back,” you agree, nodding your head slightly, “how… How have you been? Everything okay?”

Bas is silent, simply watching you with an indistinguishable look and you resist the urge to move beneath his attention, instead waiting it out, wondering what he’s thinking.

“Where were you?” He asks, catching you a little off-guard with the question. You hadn’t really considered he might question where you went. “I was… I visited another Court. Temporarily. Just to see more of the world, I guess…” You peer up at him—he isn’t moving from the doorway, remaining blocking it instead of inviting you in like you’d anticipated. Things feel strange, to how you remember them. “Is everything…okay?” You hedge.

“Is everything okay?” He repeats softly, as if to himself. His golden eyes regain awareness, pupils tightening as they look at you. “Why don’t you tell me?”

It’s enough to have you faltering, temporary confidence stumbling as you peer up at him questioningly. “I…what do you mean?” You ask, unsure what he’s asking after.

“I mean, why did you disappear like that, huh? You just— went. Without telling me where, without telling anyone where, apparently. Do you know how dangerous Prythian can be? Especially for someone like you, and you just decided to leave? What were you thinking?” Bas asks, his patience steadily slipping as he speaks, thoughts pouring from his lips. “Someone like me?” You repeat faintly, pinning him with a look, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re smart. Not strong,” he answers succinctly, but bluntly, “you should know what sort of creatures are out there.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you the night I left,” you counter, a note of disbelief in your voice.

“Because you’re smart,” he repeats as if it’s obvious. “You’re smart, so I assumed you’d make a smart choice. Not just go out into Prythian on a whim. You don’t even know how to fight. Do you understand what could have happened to you?”

“Bas, I’m fine,” you reassure, trying to understand his temper is coming from a place of concern. “I…I went to meet someone. I didn’t just go out into the wilderness, you don’t need to worry,” you explain, knowing it’s best to keep the details vague.

“You know your family came to visit, right?” He asks, again catching you off guard as you stare at him. “No,” you answer, quietly, “I didn’t. Who—… What happened…?” Bas shifts in the doorway, settling to lean against the threshold of the entrance, and a small grain of relief passes through you at the distinctly familiar gesture. “Azriel visited first, and I told him he wouldn’t get anything out of me because I had decided to trust that you knew what you were doing. And you know what he told me?” Bas asks harshly, shaking his head and not waiting for reply. “He told me I was interfering with Court affairs, that withholding information might result in the High Lord personally questioning me. And I still didn’t tell him anything.”

“I…I’m sorry, Bas,” you manage, guilt at last beginning to rise in your chest, head lowering slightly. “I’m…thank you. For trusting me.”

“I’m not done,” Bas says quietly, but firmly, causing you to glance up at him questioningly. “He came back, that time with Mor.” There’s no way for you to conceal the pain and conflict that passes through your expression. Even if you could, even if you knew how to hide your emotions like that, you have the distinct impression he knows you well enough he’d be able to see through it, and the thought is surprisingly uncomfortable for you. Knowing someone so well they could see through your lies…that kind of vulnerability…

“She was the one who convinced me to admit I had no idea where you’d gone. She was clearly worried, and I had to look at her and tell her how you hadn’t trusted me enough to say where you’d be going, but that I had decided to trust you enough that I’d been fine not knowing.” His voice has lowered, becoming rougher, and your shoulder slope with shame. “Can you understand that? To realise you’ve been deceived by someone you cared for like that? To admit that to people who had been smart enough to know better?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, raising your eyes to meet his, gloved hands wringing together. “I didn’t mean for it to seem like I didn’t trust you. I do.”

“Then where were you?”

You raise your head to look at him, then. Heart sinking because—you can’t tell him. You’re in enough trouble as it is, with Rhys, with Mor, with Azriel. Probably with your sisters too, they just haven’t shown it yet. You can’t cause more problems. More problems for them is more consequences for you, and you have a long list of things to make up for. Dauntingly long. Almost unbearably… “Bas…I…”

“Can’t tell me?” He finishes, his tone telling you it’s exactly what he anticipated.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” you say softly, holding his gaze imploringly. “You know I trust you. That I’ve told you things I could never—… That I could never tell anyone else…”

“Then why can’t you tell me, huh?” He asks, a touch more gentle, sounding as helpless as you feel.

“Just…I need you to…”

“Trust you?” He scoffs, shoulders jerking in an unnaturally sharp movement.

“You’d made it sound like they didn’t care about you,” he says quietly, and you look at him wearily. “I thought you were on your own, you know.” Like me, is what he leaves out, but you can hear it clear enough. “I have my ma, and you have your sister, but beyond that I thought you had no one but me.” And I had no one but you—again, you can hear those words he’s not saying. “That we were going to be there for each other because we understood what it was like. But they care for you.” A strange sense of shame settles heavily on your shoulders, and your head lowers, but you don’t look away.

“It was obvious,” he murmurs, his brows curving almost imperceptibly, a kernel of pain passing behind sharp golden eyes. He sighs, shaking his head, pushing up from the doorframe and you watch silently as he begins to draw the conversation to a close. “I won’t begrudge you of that. I’m glad you have people. Family. But I…” You lied.

“I don’t—” You say abruptly, rushing into speech, hurting without thought, just needing to explain yourself, even if it opens up something you aren’t ready for. “They don’t,” you breathe. “I—… It might look like they do, you might know they do. Maybe they really, actually do.” You stare up at him, feeling that emptiness lethargically blink itself awake, mouth yawning open in preparation to begin swallowing you down again. Pulling you into that inescapable state of overwhelming darkness. “But I can’t believe it,” you whisper, feeling as your eyes fill with wetness, and something hot spills down your cheek, another following when you blink to clear it away. “I can’t…” you breathe, trailing off. “It doesn’t matter what happens, Bas. I just—…I can’t believe it.”

“And I should believe you?” He asks quietly.

You stare at him helplessly. There’s nothing else you can say. You’ve tried to convince him, you’ve been as honest as you can physically tolerate, and it…it just isn’t enough. You aren’t enough.

Your heart doesn’t plummet like you’ve learned to anticipate. Instead a vague feeling of disappointment calmly soothes your skin, glum pessimism setting in as the high emotions fade into watery greys. Desaturated, and bearable.

“I don’t know what else to say,” you tell him quietly.

“Just tell me the truth,” Bas asks, golden eyes showing his hurt. Another case of betrayal you’ve brought upon yourself.

Would it be unfair to ask his forgiveness?

“I’m sorry,” you give as your answer. There’s nothing else you can say.

Bas’ eyes dull slightly, and you understand how you’ve let him down.

His jaw works, looking away briefly before returning his attention to you. “I’ll see you later.”

————

The wind breezes through you as you walk along the cobbles, the sun long since dipped down beneath the horizon, leaving a chill in the air that manages to sink through the silky orange material of your scarf.

You can’t bring yourself to try and tackle the emotional conflict with Bas yet. You’re drained, and tired from the past months—maybe longer—and you don’t want to put yourself through more self-inflicted sadness. If you really need to release some bottled up emotion, you know you’ll have no choice in escaping it. If you have the option to keep yourself from hurt, you’ll take it. At least for the moment.

Bas had said he’d see you later—you have to trust him. As a friend, as someone who’s been there for you, and you for him—you have to believe you’ll be able to fix this. There’s good in the world, Feyre had told you, you just have to trust that you’ll find it. Even if it’s seemingly alluded you until now, in the moments you’ve needed it most.

A silhouette seems familiar in your peripherals, a distinctly fae sense recognising the shape, or…something, of the figure, and you glance over.

Cassian raises his hand in greeting, his expression clear and untroubled as he walks over to where you’ve paused, wings kept neatly tucked at his back to keep them from bumping into things. “You know, I’ve been told you’re supposed to be staying in bed,” he greets in his deep voice, tone similar to one someone would use when catching another doing something they aren’t supposed to, but considering joining in anyway. It’s very him, in a way.

“I…” you begin, about to mention Bas, but then decide otherwise. “I’m feeling okay today. I thought a walk might be nice. Fresh air’s supposed to be good for you, right?” You ask lightly, volume low. Cassian’s quiet for a beat, unnervingly sharp hazel eyes weighing into you calmly. Then he sighs, shrugging his shoulders a little before shifting on his feet, making to turn around, to lead you somewhere. “I suppose I can’t fault you for keeping things to yourself.”

You watch as he turns, obviously expecting you to go with him, but the moment caught you off guard. “…keeping things to myself…?” You hedge, managing to get your feet moving to walk a little behind him, not particularly wanting to go with him but knowing it would be unreasonable to turn away. Especially after all the trouble you’ve caused—like having such poor control of your—

You halt abruptly, staring up to the cliff-face that contains the House of Wind. Sure enough, even from so far below, you can spot the large break in the rock-face, able to pick out what had been your bedroom, and the sides of the rooms either side of it. You feel as the blood drains from your face, shock icing your body as you’re unable to look away—you caused that. “Something wrong?” Cassian asks, calling back to you a few steps away.

Words have left you, unable to figure out what to say, mind struggling to wrap around all of it. Another thing to make up for, and that one’s pretty big, too…your shoulders slope as you stare at the hole blown out of the rock. The damage you’ve probably caused the interior too… How much will it take to repair that? Isn’t the building itself old? Even to fae standards?

How can you ever make up for something like that?

Cassian walks back over to you when you don’t reply, pausing at your side, hands on his hips as he follows the direction of your gaze. “Pretty impressive,” he says conversationally, “you’ve got a way to go before you can manage an entire building, though.” Then he pats you lightly on the shoulder, wing curving round your body to get your legs moving as you’re pulled away, view with the House broken.

“I—…” you choke out, “did…did I do that?” You manage hoarsely, looking up at him as your feet start moving one in front of the other, subconsciously wary of bumping into his wing. “Sure did. Blew right through that noise cancelling ward Feyre put up,” Cassian answers, keeping his attention ahead as he leads you through the city streets, people automatically making way for the familiar face. “I told her she’d been slacking off in practising her magic,” he murmurs under his breath, but you aren’t paying much attention, too overwhelmed with debt to really engage.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, feet hesitating as they move over the cobbles before stopping firmly, shoulders bunched as you glance up at him. “I’m so— I didn’t mean to make such a mess— I just— I just didn’t— I didn’t know what to do. And I thought he was going to—”

“It’s okay,” Cassian says firmly, standing in front of you so there are less places to look away to. “It’s Rhys’ anyway. You don’t need to apologise to me.”

“But…it was given to you,” you hedge, staring up at him—and if it’s still Rhys’, that’s so much worse. So, so much damage.

“Would you feel better if someone was angry with you?” He asks seriously after a moment of pause. You freeze, startled by the question. “…what?”

“Would it make it easier?” He repeats, watching you solemnly, “if we acted how you’re waiting for us to?”

You stare at him, struggling to pull together a reply, startled from the strange clarity of his questions. Seconds pass and all you can do is look at him, too afraid to answer—not of him, but…something.

Cassian breaks the connection, glancing away, half turning his body to face the direction you’d been walking. “Maybe that question was too much,” he says, almost to himself. He sighs, eyes closing briefly, before he’s glancing at you, wing opening as if to guide you along again. “Come on,” he says, voice having lost that solemnity, back to the familiar timbre, “we’ll be late.”

“Late?” You manage as you somehow get your body to fall into step beside him. “What…where are we going?”

He looks at you strangely, as if the answer’s obvious. “Dinner, of course,” he replies, returning his attention to the streets ahead, sure enough taking the path that will lead directly back to the River House. “They’ll start without us if we aren’t there on time.”

“Dinner?” You ask, feeling lightheaded. Too many new components being dropped on you for you to entirely keep yourself together. You swallow thickly, fumbling for excuses because you can’t do a dinner as you are—not after yesterday. “I’m not feeling too great, actually,” you say hoarsely, “besides, if I eat this late I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it…” you trail off, realising he probably doesn’t want to hear about you throwing up meals every now and again.

“Madja’s told us you need to keep your strength up,” Cassian replies, and you’re unsure if he’s intentionally chosen a counter-argument you’d have trouble escaping or whether it was inadvertent. “Eat what you can—it’s important during recovery, even if it might feel insignificant, or pointless.” You glance at him again, that strange feeling creeping into your chest at his wording—is it some kind of intuition that’s leading him to say these things?

“…Will everyone be there?” You ask quietly, trying to calm yourself as the River House comes into view, not far away now. “Az will probably want to eat in his room,” Cassian answers neutrally after a temporary pause, “but everyone else will. You’ll be sitting besides Elain.” There was no reason to add that on.

You can’t manage it, but you can’t figure a way to escape. There’s no out you can find—saying you aren’t hungry, or you’re tired won’t get you out of it, he’s already said to just eat what you can meaning you have to have at least a bite or two. But the idea of sitting with all of them, when everything is still so unclear…You can’t.

The River House looms before you, and you can swear you feel a cold sweat appear on your back, hands turning unnaturally clammy, so accustomed to the skin being dry and flaky that to feel the dampness on your palms has slippery discomfort roiling in your stomach.

Cassian walks up the steps, hand settling on the door, and you watch in motion slower than usual as he begins to turn the handle.

A slight breeze blows, pulling strands of your hair forward, as if trying to push you into the House, and Cassian pauses, door opened only a few inches. Beats pass, but you keep utterly still, both wanting the moment to end but also desiring nothing more than to run from the oncoming meal.

Strangely observant hazel eyes flick over a broad shoulder, meeting your own set and you tense, hairs rising at the nape of your neck, getting that same feeling you’d had when speaking with Rhys, that he can somehow see through you too clearly, like you’re too easy to read. Fearing what he’ll be able to find before you’ve had the chance to discover it. Watching you fumble in the dark for something that was so easy to locate. Struggling with a problem embarrassingly simple to decipher.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he says, holding your gaze. Are you really that easy to see through? But then he continues, and the surrounding world warps a little.

“You have a right to be at that table as much as any of us,” he says, those keen hazel eyes remaining steady. “Keep that in mind, when you go in.”

Then the door’s opening wider, and the smell of a hot meal wafts out into the night. You trail behind him, latch clicking at your back, following as he makes his way to the dining room. He had believed the words he’d told you, that you were deserving of a seat at their table. You can’t really bring yourself to believe it, but his sincerity has shaken your ground a little.

His expression shifts when he rounds a corner, brows rising as his lips part in a broad smile, voices rising in greeting and you can see why Feyre treasures his company. He’s surprisingly gentle, oddly perceptive.

They probably all already knew that, though. It’s your fault for casting roles on them before really even getting to know them, assigning characters after only a handful of proper conversations. If only you’d made the effort to step out of your own little circle, maybe the circumference wouldn’t be as strangling as it’s become.

If you’d stepped out sooner, could you have been first choice?

But, glancing again at Cassian, his profile captured in a look between irritation and affection, turning the corner into the dining room and seeing the scrunch of Feyre’s brow as she replies to whatever he’d said…no. It wouldn’t have mattered.

But it’s not the end of the world that you weren’t made that way.

————

It’s good to see her smiling again, he thinks.

With the past months having been so draining, the symptoms of her restlessness only exacerbated in the last few days given the turmoil they’ve all been thrown into, it’s good to see the light in her eyes gleaming again. More than just good, but there isn’t quite a word right enough to express the soul-deep relief he feels at seeing her smile. A strange conviction that everything will be okay now that she’s on the way better.

Her ears twitch once before she’s shooting him a half-glare, having felt his gaze roaming over her. “Family dinner, Rhys,” she snaps under her breath, but he can see the heat in her eyes, the silent agreement that’s exchanged in the brief moments their gaze locks, and Rhys’ mouth curves suggestively, his brows rising in feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs, looking down at his mate with an intensity he knows she adores. And yet she lightly smacks his thigh anyway.

“I’m serious,” Feyre warns, that heat dissipating as Cassian picks a seat at the table, dragging the feet across the floorboards with a grating noise that’s thankfully drowned out by chatter while a smaller figure quietly follows after him, taking one of the two remaining open seats. Unlike Cassian, she lifts her chosen seat from the floor, trying to keep as silent as possible and blend into the background as she sits beside Elain. “Don’t scare her off,” Feyre murmurs under her breath. Rhys hums compliantly, eyes twinkling as he spends a few extra moments looking at his mate. Moments he thinks he might at long last be beginning to lean into.

“Where’s Mor?” Cassian interrupts, and Rhys reluctantly shifts his attention to his brother, who has taken the seat opposite Feyre. He sometimes wonders if Cassian choses moves like this intentionally, whether they’re conscious decisions or whether these actions result from a wish to have his family united. Cassian isn’t like himself or Az, wasn’t taught to conceal his emotions as they were—well, in his own case it was taught. For Az it was a matter of survival.

“Taking supper up to Az,” Nesta’s voice cuts through the previously enjoyable atmosphere, the noise similar to recognising the hiss of steel being drawn within a temple. A few centuries ago, his ears might have twitched at the distinctly unpleasant intrusion, but Cassian’s eyes have already left his own to seek out the icy silver of his mate’s, softened at their edges.

“More than just supper,” Amren comments, one space over to Rhys’ right, sat at a corner seat. “She took an entire bottle of wine with her.” Laughter rises, and Rhys allows his attention to briefly sweep over across the table where the two sisters are involved in conversation, as if there’s no one else to speak with. He supposes one of them might very well believe that, and with a fraction of a thought swiftly removes the precautionary enchantment of the silverware so they won’t vanish if she reaches for them.

At least she’s there, though he’s fairly confident Cassian has something to do with it. Rhys can picture how the light in Feyre’s eyes might flicker learning she had found a way to shut herself away in a house where avoiding others was almost impossible without intent. No amount of luck or coincidence would keep her entirely hidden. Especially over meals.

Violet eyes return to his left, feeling the familiar ease that settles through him at the reminder of Feyre’s presence. A deeply-treasured reprieve from the strain and stress that’s been thriving amongst them as of late.

————

“How was the check-up with Madja, by the way?” Elain asks, using one of the large wooden spoons to shift a few roast potatoes onto her plate.

You nod slightly, lips pressing together in a small smile that you hope is reassuring. “Good, for the most part,” you reply. “I think she still wants to observe what happens for now, but she did…do something, which might have helped?” It reminds you of the lightness in your lungs, the strange openness of your throat and you instinctively take in a deeper breath, basking in that odd clearness. Elain hums in question, silently offering you the spoon for potatoes, but you shake your head politely. “I’m not sure…I don’t think dinner is the best place to discuss those check-ups,” you say quietly, a half-smile on your mouth. Elain’s lips curve, eyes gleaming as she nods in agreement, “you’re probably right.” Then she glances across the table before returning her gaze to yours, a new, preempted question already rising to her mouth. “What are you going to eat?”

The smile on your lips becomes strained, gloved hands shifting in your lap as you keep the orange, silk scarf pulled over your arms to conceal the wretched skin. You wish you’d at least had the chance to change before coming here—your mind will mostly be preoccupied with making sure none of them are forced to see the state beneath the silk. “If I’m honest, I’m not really that hungry…” you hedge, but Elain gives you a look that tells you she won’t stand for it. Although it comes from a place of care and love, you can’t help feeling a little suffocated.

“Just have a couple of bites, okay?” Elain reasons gently, “Madja’s told us it’s good for you to eat, it’ll help you recover.”

“Apparently Madja’s been saying that a lot,” you mutter under your breath.

“Madja’s a highly respected healer,” Amren cuts in from across the table, her eyes sharp as they pierce into you. “If she’s said you should eat, you should eat.”

You aren’t sure if you imagine the way the noise level seems to drop at that, but the familiarly dull pain of humiliation flickers across your chest, ashamed to have sounded so ungrateful. Your head lowers a little, unable to think of a reply as your hands wring together beneath the table, tucked away in your lap.

“Unless you really feel sick,” Elain interjects a little defensively, her hand subconsciously placing itself on your upper arm in what you’re certain she intends to be a comforting gesture—in truth it causes your flesh to ache, but you keep your mouth shut. “I’m sure I can manage a bite or two,” you get out with a small smile and you hate that you know it won’t reach your eyes, so keep your head slightly ducked as you put a few potatoes on your plate. You can come down later, once everyone’s gone to bed if you’re still hungry.

A beat passes, and Elain shifts at your side, a fresh smile on her face, trying to brighten your mood—you dip a little lower at that, that she feels responsible, but if you don’t pull yourself together she’ll keep doing it. “How did you and Cassian bump into one another?” She asks, reaching for something else on the table that you don’t look at. Cassian doesn’t make to answer, so you have to, feeling the distinct weight of the table’s attention. “Just coincidence, I suppose,” you reply, managing a faint smile, keeping your eyes on your plate as you slice one of the roast potatoes in two, steam wafting up from the hot centre.

“Went out for a walk?” Elain asks. There’s an almost unnoticeable tone of relief in the question—you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t as close to her as you are. Is that how easily she can pick out your own thoughts? “Fresh air’s probably good for you, right?” She says smiling, causing your own lips to curve at their edges fondly. “I think so,” you murmur in reply.

“Have you had a chance to read any more books recently? I haven’t seen any in your room…I could get some if you want?” Feyre speaks from across the table, and you bite down on the way you want to shrink into yourself as the conversation is drawn over to you. “I haven’t, and it’s fine, thank you. Have you been painting recently?” You ask, swiftly shutting it down and shifting the conversation back to her, hoping you’ll be left out of it now.

Rhys’s attention flits over her a split second before something passes behind Feyre’s eyes, but she swallows and nods. “There hasn’t been as much time as I’d like, but I’m finding moments,” she answers, but goes no further. You’re glad she’s still getting time to herself in spite of being High Lady and more importantly, a mother. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be if it’s taking up that much of her time…and you probably hadn’t helped…she’s been visiting each day… You should have succeeded.

The passiveness of the thought catches you a little off guard. Since when had thoughts like that become so habitual? So flippant? You spear a piece of potato with your fork, bringing it to your mouth. It was just a fleeting thought, it’s fine. Weird things happen in the mind anyway, as long as you don’t mean it, you’re okay.

“Would you…” Feyre’s asking, “be interested in joining me? We could have an easel set up in your room?”

A part of the potato goes down the wrong way as you hear the question, hand grabbing the napkin as you cover your mouth, coughing. You clear your throat when you’re done, making sure to wipe your lips subtly as you pull the napkin away, sipping on the glass of water to help clear your throat. Once you’ve recovered, you remember her question.

It would be nice. Really nice, actually, but… “it’s fine, please don’t worry. Painting’s your thing, and I think…personal, to you. Besides, I have my books,” you excuse, heart sinking a little, but it’s for the better. She’s already short on time anyway, she needs to keep that for herself, even if you can’t help but want it.

The same look passes behind her eyes, and you now wonder if you can’t figure it out because…because you might no longer know her well enough.

“It’s probably for the better,” Rhys announces, bringing the moment to a swift end, “Feyre’s nude models would probably upset your delicate sensibilities, anyway.”

Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on air as wild, ferocious heat swarms your features, staring ahead, bewildered.

Rhys grins as a fuming Feyre smacks him on the shoulder, indignant rage lighting her eyes. “Lies! All lies,” she snaps, before sparing you a somewhat apologetic glance. “He’s joking, obviously,” she reassures, shooting a glare Rhys’ way at that last part. “His humour’s apparently a few centuries out of date.”

“Speaking of things on the old side,” a golden voice calls from the hallway, parading into the dining room in heels tall and thin enough to potentially run someone through. “Rhys, is there another case of this stuff? Az wants some more.”

The High Lord rolls his eyes, amusement clear, Feyre settling at his side, feigned anger dissipating as if it were never there, her eyes twinkling again.

“We all know you finished off the bottle before you even reached Az’s room,” Amren snipes, thickly-jewelled fingers sparkling as she nurses her own glass, laughter rising from the table.

“Oh, like you’re any better Amren. You could polish off bottles of blood in the time it took me to eat an appetiser,” Mor replies, heels clicking across the floor as she sweeps through the room in a flurry of vibrant red and stunning gold, taking her seat opposite Elain—between Amren and Rhys.

One seat and across from your own position.

The meal fully commencing now all able players are assembled at the table.

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

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

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

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

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #multi part fic #cbmthy #cbmthy chapter 17 #azriel acotar

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no1deepspacehater · 7 months

Text

Private Collection - Rafayel x Reader

Tags: Just a littleee NSFW (so no minors), a naked body is involved, reader has breasts, unresolved tension, sexual tension.

AN: Cross posted on my AO3

You breathed a silent, agitated huff out as you stared at yourself in the mirror. When you made a deal with him to be his ‘bodyguard’, you never expected to be roped into an activity like this.

A knock on the bathroom door brought you out of your thoughts. You tied the slings of the robe tight around you, though it was a pointless act since the apparel would be coming off soon enough.

“Would you hurry up in there? God, you’re as slow as a sea slug.” Rafayel’s disgruntled voice muffled behind the door.

“I’m coming!” Annoyed, you opened the door to meet Rafayel right behind it. His arms were crossed, and he had an ever-present look of snob on his face that you can only get from someone with high celebrity status like him.

He immediately turned around, going to one of the two chairs in the middle of his studio. “Finally, let’s get started.”

You tried to make a normal stride to the chair across from him, but it came out more like a nervous shuffle. You stopped in front of him, a second of hesitation.

Rafayel looked up from mixing his paints, catching your eye. “C’mon, don’t get cold feet now. If you’re worried about me, I had to study tons of nude references, now hurry up.”

Yeah, but being naked and put on display was foreign to you, and being naked in front of him is what was putting you on edge. You grumbled a lame comeback, whispered it basically, and untied your robe.

Like ripping off a band-aid, you threw the cloth over your shoulder and let it drop to the floor. Goosebumps immediately formed on your skin from the cold air, and part embarrassment. You sat on the stool softly, brows furrowed as you focused on him mixing paint instead of your face. He was mixing a dark hue of his favourite blue.

Rafayel finally raised his head to you, and for a quick moment, you locked eyes with him, catching the bright red blush that roared across his face.

He cleared his throat momentarily, looking back to his paint to coat his brush with paint. When he looked at you again, the blush was already starting to fade, and you had already averted your gaze, your own face heating up, too.

What happened to him being used to this!? What was that? He’s such a liar.

“It’s cold, don’t move.” Was his only warning as he started to paint around the base of your neck. It was cold, but you did your best not to squirm as he spread the paint downwards. Your body quickly adapted to the chilled stripe of paint until he dipped his brush again and applied it to the other side of your neck, sending another cold jolt.

“This paint is skin safe, right?” You spoke a sudden thought, attempting to make the whole situation a bit less awkward.

Rafayel hummed “Maybe, I did mix a few special ingredients in there to get the hues just right.”

Your head jerked towards him, “What?!”. Rafayel tsked at the sudden movement.

“Don’t move so suddenly! It’ll mess up the stroke.”

You grumbled again and hoped you wouldn’t break into hives after this.

Rafayel continued to apply around your neck, standing up and working around your body. He took a moment to coat your whole back in an array of colours you couldn’t see. For a moment he stood back, brush to the side as he put a hand on his mouth in thought.

“Angle yourself a little bit forward.” He instructed.

You slipped a little bit off of the stool, hands to your side gripping the stool. “Like this?” You asked.

Rafayel hummed, examining you hard. You could tell his gaze was one of artistic scrutiny, looking for the best angle of his subject, the right ‘composition’ as he liked to say.

He moved in front of you, grabbing your forearms, shoulders, and back and adjusting them to his liking. His next aim was your hips, pulling them forward just a bit. The action set you back to a flustered mess all over again, and if it bothered Rafayel, he didn’t show it one bit.

Sitting back down, he continued his work on the front of your body. As his stroke neared the curve of your breast and over your unfortunately hard nipples, you held back a shudder.

“Will you relax…” Rafayel breathed out a laugh. The redness on his own face was starting to come back, unbeknownst to him.

“It’s… cold!” You mumbled out. A solid excuse.

As he moved towards the other breast, you swore he was doing it on purpose. Purposely applying new, cold, paint and dragging the paintbrush ever so slowly over the nipple.

You couldn’t fight back the shudder, and Rafayel pulled the paintbrush back fast enough as you arched up suddenly.

His hands immediately moved to your hips again to put you back in spot; his sly smirk was not missed as you nervously looked down at him with a scowl. “D-did you do that on purpose?”

“Do what on purpose?” He dismissed you just as quick, moving to apply the finishing stroke to your chest area and moving down. “I’m simply painting, now would you seriously stop moving, before I have to start all over again.”

Knowing not to take Rafayel up on his warning because you know he would seriously make you wash everything off and start over, you gritted your teeth and stayed still. You’ll get him back, somehow, and decided to force your other racing thoughts on some type of revenge.

Rafayel made quick work of your midsection, and surprisingly, with no teasing, finished painting your more lower region as well. His pace slowed at your thighs, painting them with intricate details you couldn’t see the lower he went, since he’d instructed you to keep your head up to not disturb the paint on your neck.

Then it was your calves, at which you complained to hurry up since your muscles hurt from not moving for so long. He told you to shut up and let him paint. You’re feet finally, which, of course, tickled, and Rafayel threatened to turn you into fish balls if you dared squirm again.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Rafayel stood up and put up his paintbrush. He stalked around you, eyeing every angle to make sure it was to his liking.

“There, another masterpiece. Stay right, and I mean exactly, there.” He commanded as he went to the corner of the room. You didn’t dare turn your head to look where he went, but you could hear him digging through one of his drawers.

He came back into your view with a professional camera.

“I didn’t know you were also into photography.” You commented in between flashes.

Rafayel walked closer, ghosting two fingers under your chin, lifting your head up. You both locked eyes again, his face unusually close, before he backed away to take another pick. He was making sure your face wasn’t in any of the pictures, a promise he made when you agreed to be a part of his ‘artwork’.

“It’s not my chosen medium.” He murmured, focusing on the angle of the camera. “But it proves useful for pieces like this.”

You had another thought. “Do your photographs sell as much as your paintings?” You knew what you were getting into, but the idea of some creepy rich guy hanging a large photograph of your body in his bedroom made you feel a little icky. Oh well, it’s too late now.

“Depends on what I take a picture of. Though my imagination is priceless when I paint, a picture is worth a thousand words.” He took his last picture before straightening up. His smile was one of satisfaction. “Or I might use these pictures of a reference for my next painting.” He put his hands on his chin in thought.

“I hope whoever buys it is very happy with their purchase… well maybe not too happy…” You laughed a bit at your joke, but Rafayel suddenly got serious.

His eyes sized you up from up and down, and then when he realized you were looking at him, perplexed. He walked close to you, motioning for you to stand up. He picked up the robe from the ground and gently began helping you put it back on. Locking eyes for the third time, there was a gaze in his eyes you couldn’t quite decipher. He held eye contact as he tied the robe tightly back around you.

“You can go wash off now.” Is all he said as he backed away, going back to his camera. “Do call if you need help~” His tone went back to teasing, and you snapped out of your daze and rolled your eyes.

“Yeah right, maybe in your next ‘artwork’.” You snarked as you walked back to the bathroom, in need of a really hot and long shower after whatever that was just now.

It turns out Rafayel suddenly changed the theme of his next art gallery, to the dismay of his poor assistant, with little to no explanation. He’d decided to keep the pieces he had planned to display to himself for his own private collection.

#rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #lads x reader #l&ds rafayel #l&ds #rafayel x reader #rafayel x mc #love and deepspace mc #love and deep space #Lauve and Deepspace

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fairyofshampgyu · 2 years

Text

Now Live ! Stream: 3

Genre: smut, camboy au, college au, crack

Pairing: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: camboy, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, solo beomgyu, jerking off, humping

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he even goes to the same uni as you, is in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 2.2k

You’d been meeting up with beomgyu a fair amount now, going to each other’s dorms or library to sort out the christmas performance. You’d finally chosen 5 songs to arrange and had already finished arranging 3 of them. You both would arrange a song each and then show it to the other for feedback and then work on it together.

It’s not that horrendous working with him surprisingly. And you’d thought he’d be an actual ass but he hasn’t. He was actually pretty quiet and not that talkative most of the time. It seems that even Beomgyu realises the opportunity to be the only two picked in the music department isn’t something to be taken lightly and you guys really had to live to expectations or raise the bar higher this christmas concert because you remember all the previous years before and they were always so amazing.

Beomgyu’s not bad at all at music like how you thought he was. You’re beginning to understand why your professor chose him as well. Honestly, you’re impressed. You almost feel bad for making assumptions about him. He still is definitely the campus playboy though, flirting incessantly with people and even jokingly to you at times to which you completely dismiss, having people gushing and whispering and giggling about him whenever you guys are at the library and sometimes he can’t meet up with you because he has numerous parties to attend and get drunk and fuck people at.

He can be a bit dense at times but he isn’t all that bad. He’s tolerable. It’s clear one thing he’s good at and passionate about is music. And so are you. And so with that, you can get along with him on a surface level in the small time you’ll be working together. After that, you won’t need to talk to him again.

You’re currently on the way to beomgyu’s dorm, needing to know his opinion on the brass section of a part of one of the Christmas songs you’ve arranged. Arranging isn’t too hard and doesn’t take that long since you’re not necessarily composing a whole new song but you want even the most famous and basic Christmas songs to have a really unique style and so you’ve been changing up lots of parts and adding more instruments, changing chords and keys, reharmonising and adding virtuosic solos that didn’t already exist or extending and cutting short on them.

And right now, you weren’t quite sure if the brass section worked, needing the critique of your partner. Laptop in hand with your music software that’s saved your life countless of times since first year for your compositions and made you want to smash your whole laptop and rip out your hair, ready and open.

Just at that moment, you get a notification that Angel313 was going live. It wasn’t his usual time but you’re guessing he decided to do a surprise/bonus one this week. No one was around whilst you walked and if you put your headphones in? You’ll just watch the very first few minutes whilst you make your way to Beomgyu’s dorm. No harm. Then you’ll stop.

Today, he’s humping his bed, brutally and un-rhythmically. Rutting against the sheets like a desperate puppy in heat, one hand tightly gripping and fisting at his sheets, and the other on his mouth, trying to conceal the noises he’s making, whimpering adorably, prettiest moans coming out of him. The sight making you want to run back home so you could enjoy it properly. You loved the sounds he makes. You could probably get off to just that. His bed seems a little familiar though but you can’t put your finger on it. It looks like just another university dorm or something to be honest.

You’ve made your way to Beomgyu’s dorm, knocking on his door, still watching the live from your phone. You hear a knock on the live too. That’s funny. You knock again since you don’t think he heard you the first time and you hear the exact same sound of a knock from the live again. That’s quite strange. You press your ears to the door trying to make out any sound and that’s when you hear it, moaning. The same ones coming from your headphones from Angel’s live. Your eyes go wide in shock. From the second knock on Angel’s live, their own eyes widen and they hurriedly switch the live off. You can hear beomgyu shout from the door “in a minute!” immediately after Angel stopped. He sounds distressed. He also sounds exactly like Angel’s voice.

But this is all just a really funny coincidence right now. You’re not even sure what Beomgyu’s actually doing behind the door. He could be doing anything. It’s just a weird coincidence. How could Beomgyu and Angel be the same? That’s not possible at all and makes absolutely no sense. They’re both completely opposite people. Out of everyone in the whole world, both of them would be the least you’d expect. It makes you laugh because of how outrageous it is. Why would you ever think that? It’s a coincidence. Yeah, yeah.

Beomgyu finally opens his door for you, looking like he ran a marathon.

“Y/n?”

“Hey-” That’s when you see it at the back in a corner stuffed with other piles of clothes, pink and white thigh highs. Identical to the ones Angel wears. But maybe that’s just someone’s he’d fucked recently and they accidentally left it there. Then beomgyu reaches his hand up to lean higher on his door frame, attempting to be nonchalant but in doing so, and from the already quite short shirt he was wearing, you have a clear view of beomgyu’s stomach. It had a pink piercing. Identical to the one Angel has.

You don’t have anymore excuses. It’s beginning to make sense yet absolutely no sense in your brain, gears turning in your head, about to drop your laptop in shock on the floor but you regain some sort of conscience. The hair, saying he’s not free Thursday nights, the piercing, the thigh highs, his voice, even his physique you realised, were the same.

“Y-you’re-you’re…Angel???!!!”

And then you zoom out and make a quick exit with a horrified expression. Beomgyu equally as horrified.

Fuck.

Beomgyu is absolutely fucked. He’s done for. You saw. You fucking saw. You know. You know he’s a camboy now. And you’ll tell everyone and everyone in the whole universe will know about it. What will happen to him?! Everyone on campus will ridicule him, especially with his ‘reputation’ to ‘uphold.’ He may as well start digging his grave now whilst he still has the chance.

But how did you even know? Sure, he didn’t hide his thigh highs that well he figures, just trying to stuff them anywhere and also the nearest shirt to put fast just so happened to be quite cropped so you could see his piercing. He curses that shirt. He doesn’t even know why he still has it. It’s ugly. But even then, that didn’t give away he was a camboy! The only way you could figure it out is if you watched him and he highly doubted that. So how did you figure it out? He’s been constantly freaking out about it, the essay he hasn’t done due in a few hours not even crossing his mind once.

He’d tried looking all over the place for you but you’ve been avoiding him like the plague, only increasing and adding on to his fear day by day. Did you think he was a freak now? It kind of hurt. How many people had you already told? You’d think it’d be easy to get to you if you’re both in the same class but apparently not. Beomgyu is so stressed. By now you could have told your whole music class.

You sigh as you applied to yet another job this week. Why was finding a job so hard? You didn’t even care at all what it’d be, you just need some money. You are broke. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent most of your student loan on eating out pretty much every day at overly priced restaurants with your friends. But you’re a foodie.

You think back on a few days ago when you found out Beomgyu was actually Angel313, you can’t get it out of your mind. It just feels so wrong. For the longest time, you watched every one of his streams, completely infatuated. You always wondered who he actually was and what he looked like. Now that you know, you wish you didn’t. To think that he actually was in the same city, in the same university as you, taking the same major and someone you talked to just seems so impossible. Really, what a small world. And for them to be the choi beomgyu?! Goes to show really just how little you know of people on screens.

You still get notifications of whenever he’s live but it feels so incredibly wrong to watch them. You could never watch them again. You feel kinda disgusting, knowing you’ve watched beomgyu jerk off and jerked off to it as well multiple times. You can’t look him in the eyes knowing you did that. You haven’t talked to him since, avoiding him at all costs, sitting far, far away in the lecture room and then making a speedy beeline to the exit before he even has the chance, avoiding him around campus as well and ignoring the texts he sent you. He must think you’re an actual pervert or something. You don’t know how on earth you’re supposed to arrange and direct this whole Christmas performance yourself but you’ll try.

It seems the universe is not in your favour however because whilst you were in the library, searching for a book your professor recommended, the place where you least expected beomgyu to step foot in and so felt less of the need to be wary, he happened to be there. You were just about to pick up the book off the shelf since you finally found it, but someone else swipes the book off you before you can. Beomgyu. And then he’s blocking your way of escaping, forcing you into a corner.

“Y/n! Please! Just listen to me! We need to talk!” He pleads.

It’s not like you can really run away now, pent up thoughts bursting out. “I just-HOW are you Angel313?! I don’t get it at all! You’re completely different. You once knocked someone up and forced them to get an abortion! You’re literally a-a….manwhore!”

“Excuse me…?”

“Yeah! You’re literally just another dumb fuckboy who drops people as soon as you’re done with them! You’ve probably knocked so many people up! You probably have so many like….like STDs!”

“That’s not even possible!”

“Yeah? Why isn’t it?!” You cross your arms.

“Because! B-because…-I AM A VIRGIN!!” Beomgyu’s eyes go wide and his hands smack his mouth. He cannot believe he actually just admitted that.

“WHAT?”

The librarian restocking books gives you both an appalled and scarred look, not even bothering to tell you to be quiet, scurrying away. Beomgyu puts his head in his hands in humiliation, ears turning red at that.

“What?!” You whisper shout. “That’s probably the biggest lie of the century.”

“I’m being serious…I’ve never had sex…” He winces, embarrassed at his own words.

“But—but you’re literally known just for that. Even I have seen you with multiple people at parties!”

“Making out and flirting with people are different things! I’ve done some stuff! But I’ve never…fucked anyone…”

He’s supposed to be the notorious player on your campus and an absolute douchebag to everyone he came in contact with, hated by many but also wanted and wanted to be fucked by many. But the boy who was shying under your gaze right now did not fit that description at all.

“I genuinely cannot believe this…”

“Look, you can’t-you really, really can’t tell anyone that I’m,” His voice lowers, “a camboy! No one else can know. I’ll do anything, anything you ask just please don’t tell anyone! My life would be ruined!”

Now, you’re not an asshole. You weren’t planning on telling anyone he was a camboy at all. You know people aren’t that accepting of anything to do with sex work. He’d most likely get humiliated. He might not even be able to get a job since people care so much for stuff like that for some reason. You’re sure everyone would go mad especially if they found out Choi Beomgyu was a camboy. But him saying he’d do anything if you didn’t reveal his little secret intrigued you so much so, that he didn’t need to know you were never going to tell anyone in the first place.

“I want in.”

“Huh?”

“Your camboy business. I want to be a partner. I’ll be your manager, I’ll help you film stuff and get more money. As long as I’m getting some too.”

Please actually reblog and comment if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated tysm !<3🙏💕😊 It’s discouraging when fics have such little reblogs 🤨👎Feedback is always appreciated it makes me happy :)

Taglist: @pogigyu @denleave1088 @mashimarshmello @stellz581 @cha0thicpisces @soobsfairy444 @lcvetyvn @1ummcalhoody6 @imrllytootiredforthis @bjttersweets @aliceoracleollormusic @yongboksgf @daniarafid @nyanggk @aggiebackstage @openingssequence @qluvrv @be0mflwr @shoooobin @beomgewwwwww @dickdeprived @lilactangerine @kissmeow @katsukeis @shutupheathersorryheatherr @lcvesickgyuzz @mastergibbs93 @tae-ology @popimagines @lynanist @guavagyu @soobhns @mikeeel @multistansimp4life @goquokka @scarfac3 @disneygirl712

Comment to be added to the taglist !!

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #beomgyu x reader #sub!idol #sub!beomgyu #dom!reader #txt scenarios #txt headcanons #txt x reader #txt imagines #sub txt #kpop smut #choi beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu scenarios #txt reactions #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu fic

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astroa3h · 1 month

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Composite Mars in Libra

Blake and Ryan are the epitome of what we imagine as the “ideal” couple—good looks, great banter, and a picture-perfect family. But with their Composite Mars sitting in Libra, you better believe that all those smooth, Instagram-worthy moments might be covering up a whole lot of tension bubbling beneath the surface. Composite Mars in Libra is frustrating because it’s like trying to drive a car with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake. You both have desires, needs, and ambitions, but instead of going after them directly, you’re caught up in this endless loop of overthinking and second-guessing. It’s like, “Should I say something? Should I not? What if they get upset? What if it’s not the right time?” Honey, by the time you’ve decided whether or not to make a move, the moment has passed, and you’re both left feeling like, “Why didn’t we just do something?”

Now, let’s talk about conflict—or rather, the lack thereof. Mars is all about action, right? It’s the planet that drives you to fight for what you want, to assert yourself, to claim territory. But in Libra, Mars is like, “Ugh, do we have to fight? Can’t we just talk it out?” And while talking is great, sometimes it just turns into endless debates where nothing actually gets resolved. You both might end up tiptoeing around real issues because neither of you wants to rock the boat. The result? Resentment. Deep, simmering, passive-aggressive resentment.

You might find yourselves in situations where instead of confronting issues head-on, you both play this subtle game of one-upmanship. It’s all about who can stay the most composed while silently stewing inside. The problem is, this doesn’t just create tension; it creates distance. You might start to feel like you’re walking on eggshells around each other, never quite sure when something small will blow up because it’s been left to fester for too long.

In relationships, this can be downright toxic. You’re supposed to be a team, but with Mars in Libra, you might feel like you’re constantly in this unspoken competition—who’s more agreeable? Who’s more accommodating? It’s exhausting! And when it comes to decision-making, don’t even get me started. You could spend forever weighing pros and cons, trying to find a solution that makes both of you happy, but end up doing nothing at all because you’re too afraid to make the wrong choice. It’s paralyzing.

And then there’s the bedroom. Mars in Libra wants everything to be balanced and beautiful, which sounds nice, right? But sometimes it feels more like performance art than passion. You’re both so concerned with making sure the other person is comfortable and satisfied that you forget to actually let loose and enjoy the moment. The result? A love life that can feel a bit…meh. All the ingredients are there, but the heat is turned way down because you’re both too polite to really go for what you want. Composite Mars in Libra can make it hard to trust each other. Not because you’re dishonest, but because there’s always this underlying question of, “Are they just saying that to keep the peace? Do they really mean it, or are they just trying to be nice?” That doubt can erode the foundation of your relationship over time, making it hard to feel truly secure with each other.

So, what’s the bottom line? Composite Mars in Libra will create a relationship that looks perfect on the surface—like one of those glossy Instagram couples—but underneath, it’s all about unspoken frustrations, missed opportunities, and a lot of unfulfilled potential. If you don’t address it head-on, this placement can slowly drain the passion and vitality out of your relationship, leaving you both feeling like you’re stuck in a beautiful but lifeless partnership. My advice? Don’t be afraid to get messy. Stop worrying so much about keeping the peace and start focusing on keeping it real. Otherwise, you risk ending up in a relationship that’s more about appearances than true connection, and darling, that’s no way to live.

Blessings,

Ash ✨

Get your own reading at astroash.net

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luvismenu · 1 month

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Promise You - JJK ,,

✎ 12 promise — series index 〃

add yourself to the taglist !

permanent taglist: @wnteraezz @letmekookk @whoa-jo @blluee28 @wobblewobble822 @blaricee @jkslvsnella @clxssy1997 @naurnonope @nikkinikj @kayleesaltzmann @rrosiitas @lola75111

series taglist: @jmscaffeine @army061313 @jnkslover

wc: 1.3k+

As Jungkook adjusts the lighting, ensuring every detail is just right for the perfect shot. The camera clicks, capturing the model in front of him, her pose and expression flawless. But his mind isn’t fully present. Instead of focusing on the scene before him, his thoughts begin to drift to you.

He tries to shake it off, focusing on the angles, the composition, the subtle play of light and shadow—but you’re still there, in the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored.

Questions begin to swirl. Why do you always come to mind at the most random times? Is this normal? Is this what friendship is supposed to feel like, or is there something more?

Jungkook frowns slightly, adjusting the camera lens, trying to push the thoughts away. But it’s no use. He thinks about how much you mean to him—how he would do anything for you, give you everything. That’s what friends do, right?

But then why does it feel different with you? What is it that his friends see that he doesn’t? How come they seem so sure?

As he captures another shot of the model, the questions only grow louder, echoing in his mind. What if this friendship means something more? And why is he so afraid to admit it, even to himself?

It’s confusing, and the more he thinks about it, the less certain he feels.

Jungkook sighs, feeling the weight of his wandering thoughts pulling him away from the task at hand. The model poses gracefully, but he knows he isn’t capturing her the way he should be. With a slight frown, he lowers his camera and says, “Let’s take a break.”

The model nods with a polite smile. She gathers her things and exits the studio, leaving Jungkook alone with his thoughts. He leans against the nearest wall, rubbing his temple in frustration.

Despite the quiet of the now-empty studio, his mind is anything but peaceful. He tries to focus on the work ahead, on the edits he needs to make and the shots he still needs to capture, but you keep intruding, pushing everything else to the background. It’s like you’re always there, in the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tries to concentrate on something else.

He sighs again, deeper this time, realizing he won’t get anything done with his head in this state. You’ve become a distraction he can’t quite shake off.

“Jungkook?” A soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks to the side to see Sora, smiling at him, holding a file—probably the photos he had requested earlier this morning.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Sora,” he says, reaching out to take the file, his eyes quickly scanning its contents. But Sora doesn’t walk away; she stands there, and he notices.

His mind flashes back to the night before, their second date.

It wasn’t bad—Sora is a nice woman. She’s pretty, honest, and hardworking. Despite being new, she learned quickly, and he admires that.

“About our date—” Jungkook begins, but Sora gently cuts him off.

“I liked our date, Jungkook. Both dates. It was fun, but...” she pauses, sighs softly, and then continues with a small smile, “You like someone else, don’t you?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, a wave of uncertainty washing over him. “Y-you can tell?” he stammers, caught off guard by Sora’s perceptiveness.

Sora smiles softly, her gaze understanding. “You've been kind and respectful towards me, Jungkook. But I’ve noticed that you’re not entirely comfortable. The only time I’ve seen you truly relaxed is when you’re on the phone with someone—probably them—or when you rush out with that excited look on your face, like you can't wait to meet someone. I just put two and two together.”

Jungkook feels a lump forming in his throat. He tries to process what Sora’s saying, but it only adds to the confusion swirling in his mind. The truth she’s uncovered is something even he hasn’t fully admitted to himself.

“I…” Jungkook begins, but the words falter on his tongue. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain the mess of emotions inside him. Sora lets out a small chuckle, breaking the silence.

“It’s okay, Jungkook,” she reassures him, her voice gentle. “I should’ve waited. Things moved too fast, and that’s on me. I just didn’t want to wait, you know? When I realized I liked you, I didn’t see the point in holding back.” Her voice drops slightly, tinged with a hint of regret, before she quickly tries to lighten the mood. “But hey, we learn from our mistakes, right?” She attempts a joke, her smile warm but tinged with sadness.

Jungkook looks at her, guilt gnawing at him. He knows she deserves better—someone who can give her their whole heart, not just a fraction of attention divided by uncertainty.

"It wasn’t your fault," Jungkook begins softly, his voice laced with sincerity. Sora’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as he continues, "Thank you for not holding back. I hold back a lot, and it never works out for me. I’m glad to know that you don’t."

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, his gaze steady as he meets hers. "I respect you, Sora. But that’s where it ends. I can’t see you as more than a.. friend. I am… sorry."

Sora nods slowly, her expression softening as she absorbs the truth. There’s a moment of silence, an unspoken understanding passing between them, as if they both recognize that this is the right decision.

Sora’s lips curve into a small, bittersweet smile. "I appreciate your honesty, Jungkook. It’s better to know now, rather than later," she says, her voice calm but tinged with a hint of sadness.

Jungkook nods, feeling a mixture of relief and regret. "I just… didn’t want to lead you on, or make you think there could be something more. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and I… I’m not that person."

Sora takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I understand,” she says quietly. “And you’re right, it’s better this way.”

“It is,” Jungkook agrees, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know you’ll find someone who’s just right for you. Someone who won’t hesitate. Someone who likes you back..”

Sora looks at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I hope you find that for yourself too, Jungkook,” she says, her voice gentle. “And when you do… don’t let it slip away.”

“I won’t,” he promises, though he’s not entirely sure if he’s convincing himself or her.

Sora gives him one last lingering look before she turns to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room. As the door closes behind her, Jungkook feels a strange mix of relief and sadness.

His phone dings, breaking the silence that settled in the room. Jungkook reaches for it, glancing at the screen. A small smile tugs at his lips as he reads your message.

Whatever he might feel about you, he'll figure it out. He has to. This time, he’s determined to sort through the confusion that’s been clouding his heart. It might take him days, weeks, or even months, but one thing is certain: he’ll tell you how he truly feels, no matter how difficult it might be to put into words.

Because the truth is, he loves you—whether as his best friend or something more, that love is undeniable. It’s woven into every memory you’ve shared, every laugh, every quiet moment when just being near you was enough. He realizes that this love, in whatever form it takes, is something he can’t afford to lose.

He promised you. He will keep his word, even if it means risking everything, because you mean that much to him. He’s not going to hold back this time. He’ll make sure you know how much you matter to him, that you’re not just someone in his life—you’re the person he wants to keep close, always.

You're his promise, the one he holds close to his heart.

#jeon jungkook #fanfic #text fic #bts fanfiction #bts smau #jungkook smau #bts #bts jungkook #fake texts #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk x reader #jjk fic

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spaceagebachelormann · 7 months

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Alright, I'm hooked. Jekyll and Hyde (and maybe Adam Frankenstein?) with a partner who likes to sing? Disney princess singing, or any kinda singing they'd like. She'd sing to them if they asked, and she often sings whenever she isn't doing anything else or when she's doing something that doesn't require her to be thinking about what she's doing. I think she'd offer to sing lullabies if they wanted.

✧.* 𝐉𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒/𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

╰┈➤ MASTERLIST. NAVIGATION.

╰┈➤ CARMILLAS NOTES: i’m so happy about this actually. frankenstein and jekyll and hyde are two of my biggest hyperfixations atm 🫶 also it was kinda hard to make this fem reader

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: none!

𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐋

he could listen to you sing forever

it’s actually his most favourite thing in the world

while hyde likes just normal music with no singing, like compositions and all that, jekyll actually prefers singing

helps him remember someone else, his favourite girl, is actually there <3

he’ll probably ask you sing at the most random parts of the day, he doesn’t really care what it is as long as you’re singing

i think he’d like to do his work and just let you do yours in the same room, but he will request you to sing, if not sing than atleast hum

at some point anybody singing in general just starts to remind him of you

i feel like for some reason he knows how to play piano so if you really wanted he’d play piano while you sang and it’s like a little duet

yes he’d ask you to sing him to sleep

either laying on the actual pillow or his head in your lap, he barely sleeps but your singing helps him so much

within ten minutes he’s knocked out

nobody loves girls who sing more than henry jekyll

𝐄𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐄

he does think you have a nice voice, but he doesn’t care for it as much as jekyll

he’ll let you sing to him, but he might not pay as much attention

but i do think there’s certain days where he’s just too tired to actually get up and wreak havoc so he just has you sit in front of him, and he just plays with your hair while you sing/hum

i feel like he might just subconsciously call you songbird every once in a while but idk (it’s 1am leave me alone my brain is cooked)

if you’re lucky he might let you show him different exercises for fun or see what the highest and lowest pitches you can go see but he’d probably have to be in a very good mood

although usually he won’t ask you to sing to him and kind of just gets used to you normally doing it, there have been days where he’s actually requested that you sing for him

at some point after months of this he just gives you a look that lets you know he wants you to sing

“sing for me?” to “sing?” to just a certain glance that you’d know a mile away

𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍

he adores you

i think he might’ve been a little shocked the first time you sing in front of him, since there’s a big chance he’d never heard it before

will stop you and just be like “what was that??” and let you explain it to him

from that day on he gets very interested in music and wants you to tell him everything you know about and will want you to sing to him quite a few times a day

he’s very interested in your vocal range (vocal range is fascinating istg)

would love lullabies to be song to him

sometimes, after you guys get a house or somewhere you can actually live in peace, he likes to just lay in bed with you and have you sing

he learns his favourite type of singing is like. kind of opera but also not quite (like christine in phantom of the opera kind of)

he’s so proud of your talent and tells you all the time you should get a job with your voice

he also says nobody in their right mind would refuse your voice

he gets interested in lots of singers after that, but you’re always his favourite

#mars writing 🧈#jekyll and hyde (marlees version 🧪)#frankenstein (marlees version 🫀)#the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde #henry jekyll #edward hyde #henry jekyll x reader #edward hyde x reader #jekyll and hyde x reader #frankenstein #adam frankenstein #adam frankenstein x reader

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astermath · 1 year

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my muse.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a short oneshot of steve's girlfriend painting him, and him being able to see his own beauty through your eyes.

word count: 1.1K

notes: got this cute idea out of nowhere, thought maybe steve would like to know how beautiful others think he is.

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

“Is it done yet?”

Steve sits on a stool in front of the window in your atelier. The slowly dimming light of the sun setting illuminates him from the back, the lamp you have set up besides you letting you see him from the front.

“Almost Stevie, be patient.”

He’s been sitting perfectly still for over an hour. An admirable feat, to be honest. He’s not usually one for sitting idly at all, always fidgeting one way or another or wanting to move about.

But he’s been doing quite well. He wants to do well. For you. So you can do your thing.

He’s been secretly wanting to do this ever since he’s seen your paintings. You’re incredibly talented, something between a Monet and a Renoir. An incredible eye for colour and composition, but most of all, you like to paint people.

You do a hell of a job at capturing someone’s likeness, even through the lens of an impressionistic art style. Steve is sure you’ll make it big with your art one day. You told him most painters only get famous after they die, and that didn’t exactly sit well with him. He'd rather have you alive and famous, but mostly the first part.

You’d been going through a bit of an art block, and so you’ve went through your old sketchbooks. You realised there is a surprising, almost embarrassing, amount of drawings of your boyfriend in there. Like… Pages, upon pages. You’ve always thought he has this effortless, beautiful air about him that just made every pose look like it should be captured onto paper forever.

When you asked him if he wanted to model for your next painting, Steve's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He's always adored your art, supporting you and your passion every step of the way, so to be immortalised on one of your canvases is a huge honour to him.

He was a bit nervous though. He knows you think he's the prettiest boy alive, and though he does think he's serviceable, he's not sure if he's painting worthy.

Still, who is he to deny his sweet girl of using him as a reference?

At first, it was hard. How in god's name do you capture someone as beautiful and complex as Steve Harrington onto something as simple as a blank canvas? You want it to be perfect. You want it to reflect the type of person he is. You want the adoring glint in those gorgeous brown eyes to come through, the dimple in his cheek when he smiles, the constellations of freckles and moles gracing his skin. In a sense, it has to be your best piece yet.

"Alright," you lean back for what feels like the hundredth time already, getting a good look at your work. You take a moment, deciding not to let your nerves get the best of you and not overthink it. The urge is there, but you'd feel awful about letting your boyfriend sit there for yet another hour.

"I think... I think I'm done." you put down your brush, clasping your paint clad hands together in your lap.

Steve perks up in that adorable way he tends to do when he's curious. "Really? Can I come see?"

You bite your lip, unsure once again if the painting truly reflects the beauty of its subject. You sigh, knowing nothing probably ever will. You nod, lifting your hand so you can beckon him over.

He can barely contain his excitement, breaking into a little jog as he makes his way over to you. His arm drapes over your shoulders as he positions himself besides you.

"Woah..." His eyes widen as he takes it all in. The entire artwork exudes warmth. A mix of yellows, oranges and pinks surround him in the way a beautiful sunset would, and his smile looks as if it could cure anything. The brush strokes are a bit experimental, but not messy. Nothing is accidental, every placement and detail has a reason. A purpose.

You nibble on the back of your finger, anxiously awaiting his approval. You find that the longer you look at your art, the more flaws you notice. Now you're conflicted. You just want to do Steve's pretty face justice.

"D'you like it?" You look at him, all nervous.

But Steve looks like he has stars in his eyes. And tears. Yeah, he's definitely about to cry.

"Stevie? You okay?"

He blinks a few times, a stray tear rolling over his cheek as he clears his throat. "Yeah, I, uhm-- wow, it's-- it's beautiful." He looks at you, those pretty eyes he loves, all confused at him.

"Are you sure?" you smile a little sheepishly.

"Peach..." He leans in and presses a kiss to your head. "I love it. It's beautiful. It's just, I... I'm amazed you think I'm so beautiful too."

"I just painted what I saw. 'N what you make me feel."

Steve feels like he's going to melt, your words fulfilling every bit of his loving fantasies. You don't even mean to, and yet you know exactly what to say to pull on his heartstrings.

"Makes me feel so appreciated. Thank you baby, I love it." He grins, all boyish excitement.

"Yeah, I love it too... I think this one's my favourite, actually." You look up and capture Steve's lips in yours in a chaste kiss. "Might have to frame it, hm?"

"I have a better idea."

"I'm listenin'."

"Could you paint the two of us? Like on that polaroid in my wallet?"

He's referring to the polaroid you took when you first met. It was a party, and you were both fairly inebriated. Somehow, you'd started talking, and you hadn't left each other's side all night, leaving the dancing to the others and instead opting to entertain each other. Robin captured the moment the two of you were stuck in a laughing fit together, and Steve has kept it in his wallet ever since. It warms your heart to know he's kept you with him even far before you two got together.

"Yeah, I can do that. What do I get in return?" You smile, faces so close your noses are still rubbing together.

"One million kisses."

"Hmm..."

"Two million kisses."

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington."

"Three?"

"Sold."

"Good." you peck his lips, "better start that down payment now."

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pattypanini · 5 months

Text

Lay All Your Love On Me

Chapter 11- Forever and Always

Josh Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

TAGLIST

AN: Hi everyone! Here is the eleventh chapter of Lay All Your Love On Me from me and @mar-rein12! We are veryyyyyy sorry with the late chapter. The first 8 chapters we had prepared for a while but the last 3 have been made throughout the week whenever we had free time which is like never when your college students. But we're excited for you guys to read this, its a crazy one but we have good stuff for the future! We tried to play around with time skips and stuff, so if its confusing let us know so we can fix it for the future. So enjoy the eleventh chapter, Forever and Always

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, penetrative sex, fingering, butt stuff..., cursing, angst, slut shaming, fighting, fluff (comment if I missed any!)

Josh’s POV

You are currently sitting in your musical theater composition seminar and couldn’t focus on anything. You were still thinking about your night with y/n a couple days ago. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. You needed her badly. You sit on your computer and attempt to take notes on the class but instead find your way onto a flower website.

Maybe, I should order a bouquet for her, to surprise her.

You scroll through the website completely disregarding your professor's lesson. You find a bouquet filled with pastel colored tulips. You remember her mentioning she had liked them before. As you look at the price, realizing it is only $70, you add it to your cart.

You pay $10 for express delivery, in order to get it to her by the end of the day. You love doing nice things for her and you know this will make her so happy. You attach a message to it, signing it off with Love, Josh.

You click the place order button and let out a deep breath. Love Josh. You were feeling pretty bold for that one. You do love her though, or at least you feel like you could love her. She is everything and more that you look for in a woman. She is confident, hard-working, funny, and so incredibly beautiful inside and out.

You continue daydreaming about her until your professor decides to end class a little early. As you walk to your next class you feel a buzz come from your pocket.

3:12pm y/n: I don’t know if you have class rn, but if you don’t you should come back over to the dorm. I have the place to myself and I miss you.

3:13pm Josh: No class at all, I’ll be over.

You would do anything to be able to see her, no matter what it takes. You quickly make your way over to her dorm, walking a little faster than you’d like to admit. But she just has that effect on you. Once you make your way up, you knock on the door. The door swings open, almost as if she was waiting for you.

‘Hi Joshy, I missed you.” She embraces you, wrapping her arms around your neck. You look down at her noticing she is dressed in only a thin, black satin robe.

“I missed you too. What are you up to?”

“I was actually about to hop in the shower!” She giggles, turning around to walk towards the bathroom. You just stand there not really knowing what to do with yourself. She halts her steps to whip around, facing you again. “You coming or not?”

You immediately walk over to her discarding your shoes and shirt along with your backpack at the front door. Once you make it to the bathroom you kick off your pants and under garments, being left completely exposed to y/n. The only sound that could be heard was the hot water hitting against the shower floor. She slowly unties her robe, letting it fall to the floor. It feels like something out of a movie.

Your eyes scan over every inch of her body. All the curves, dips, and perfections about her.

“You’re so fucking sexy y/n.” Your hands connect to her sides, pulling her closer. “I need you, and your body so bad. Can I make you feel good princess, please?” She looks up to you with her doe eyes.

She sultrily struts over to the glass door of the shower, placing her hand on the handle. “You want me so bad? Well, then, you gotta come get me.” She pulls the door open to step inside, you run over to quickly step in from behind her. She tilts her head back and lets the hot water saturate her hair, and smudge her makeup. The way her mascara melted under her eyes turned you on way too much. You wanted so badly to push her down to the ground and make her suck you off but you wanted to make this about her.

You immediately push her up against the wall. Your bare chest flush with hers, with your hands placed on either side of her head.“You just can’t control yourself can you?” She teases you, attempting to push her hips up into yours, under the stream of warm water.

“Honestly, It’s hard for me to control myself around you, you’re so fucking perfect. Always making me want to fuck the shit out of you, like the dirty little girl I know you are.” You take your knee and place it in between her thighs, giving her the most perfect amount of stimulation on her clit.

Her head flies back smacking against the shower wall with a sharp moan, far too turned on to feel the pain of it. Your lips connect with her in a passionate kiss. You gently slip your tongue past her lips, her gladly accepting it. You continue just like that for a few minutes until she pulls away. “Mmm… Josh…”

“What baby? Is something wrong?” You give her a concerned expression, eyes slightly widened.

“No, nothing is wrong. I just need you to fuck me, hard. Right here. I can’t wait any longer” She begs, connecting your lips again with a quick kiss.

You pull away this time, “Yeah? You want me to fuck you hard, right here?” You take your hand, lifting her chin up to look at you. She gives you a little nod, but that was not good enough for you. “Words, mama. Tell me exactly what it is that you want.”

“Holy shit, Josh. I’m so fucking wet for you. Feel it.” She takes your hand in hers, moving it to rest in between her legs. You drag your pointer and middle finger up her slit, collecting her slick on your fingers. You audibly moan at the sight before you, she looks too fucking good, its criminal.

“Goddamn, yeah…you’re fucking soaked. Turn the fuck around, now.” You command her. She obeys, turning her body around to face the wall. Your hand finds its way to her back, pressing her up against the wall fully. You lean down to whisper in her ear, “Now mama, tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You can feel her squirm under you, practically begging you to touch her. She turns her head to the side, “I want your fat cock inside of me Joshy. Fuck me so hard I can’t fucking walk. I wanna feel you fill me up.” She places her left leg up onto one of the low shelves, to steady herself and to make herself more accessible to you.

You stroke your cock a couple times before lining yourself up with her entrance. You take your time sliding in, to allow her to adjust to your length. She lets out a deep sigh once you’re fully seated inside of her. “You been thinking about this mama? Because I sure have. You’re a fucking angel, got me wrapped so fucking tight around your pretty little finger.” You don’t move your hips, just yet, your cock only resting inside her.

“I’ve been thinking about this, Josh. You have no idea. Give it to me, please. I can’t take it anymore.” There's no way you can give into her that easily. You gather her hair pulling it all over to one shoulder, giving her a sweet, little kiss on her back.

“And why should I give it to you sweetheart? You think you earned it?” You question her, biting down onto her tender skin, making her wince.

“I know I earned it Joshy, I’ve been such a good girl for you. You think I just invited you over here to be nice? I know what I want Josh, and I want you to fuck me. So give that to me or leave.” She says with a smirk, knowing how much she can control you.

You don’t mean that mama, you know you love me.” Oh shit.

“Do I now Joshy? I could say the same about you.” She smiles pulling you into a kiss. “Now, I said I need you to fuck me or leave, so which is it going to be?” You bring your cock to her entrance, teasing the outside while bringing it up and down her slit. After perfectly lining her up, you grab her hips and slam her back onto your cock.

She lets out a loud moan and clutches onto the wall in front of her. You know she can take it by now, so you don’t slow your pace. You continue pulling her back onto you but you feel her push back harder onto you, knowing she wants it deeper.

“Harder Josh please, it's not enough.” Not enough? You weren’t insecure about your size or anything but you wanted to give her more. You disregard the shower you were meant to be taking and turn off the water. Throwing the door open you pick her up and carry her to her bedroom, throwing her on the bed paying no mind to her wet body. Her soaked hair leaves a wet mark around her head, on the comforter.

You bring her legs up to your shoulders, letting them drape over like a backpack. You line yourself up and begin abusing her pussy. Your hands squeeze tightly around her ankles, guaranteeing marks the next day. You slam in and out of her without any thoughts in your mind other than the sounds of your skin slapping against hers.

“Is this enough for you now, slut? You’ve been such a spoiled little brat, a quick little fuck in the shower wouldn’t be enough for you huh? You need to be fucked hard like the whore you are.” You continue on with hard, deep strokes to her aching cunt. She was wrapping around you so perfectly and so wet, allowing you to easily slide in and out.

She was so relaxed that her body was just so free and loose. All her perfect little holes were opened up to you and you couldn’t help but wonder what other holes you could fill. You flip her onto all fours, pressing her face down into the mattress. You grab her hips, beginning your harsh pace again. Your hands make their way down her ass and one hand stops right at her asshole. You take your thumb and lightly press it on the outside, not allowing it to enter. You begin to hear quiet moans coming from her mouth that were different from the ones from before. These ones were softer and hungry for more, not the loud, pornographic ones you always hear.

“Do you like that y/n, does that feel so good?” Slowly making circles on the outside of it.

“It feels so good, please put it in Josh.” She begs.

“What a dirty girl, needing all your holes filled. Practically begging me to put a finger in her ass”

“I am begging, so do it before I do it myself.” Her hand begins to reach around and moves your hand. Before she can do it, you swat her hand away. You take your pointer finger and shove it in her mouth, wetting it for her. You slowly slide it in, not knowing if it was something she had done before.

“Please, tell me if it hurts or you want me to stop mama.�� You begin to gently pump your finger in and out, in time with your thrusts. She shoves her face deeper into the bed, muffling her moans.

“It doesn’t hurt, I need more Josh, add another.” What is this girl on?

You pull the finger out, not wanting to shove it in her mouth again you end up spitting directly on her asshole, and start massaging the two fingers into her. You make the final push, both fingers plunging inside of her. You slowly increase your speed back up to what it was before, slowing down your thrusts upon noticing her fullness.

“Fuck, Josh. Oh God.” Her body starts to squirm underneath you. You can tell she's getting close.

“Mama, you’re so goddamn dirty, holy shit. Wish you could see yourself right now, all fucked out and on display for me. I have you so filled right now. I wish I could fill you up in all your holes.”

She only responds with a sharp moan. That causes you to speed up your thrusts again, the hand that wasn’t in her ass grips tightly onto her hip. You rip your fingers out of her, giving her a harsh smack on the ass. She yelps, beginning to grip harder onto the comforter.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.” She whimpers on, her eyes half lidded. You continue on with your pace, doing all you could to push her over the edge.

“Do it. Wanna feel your pussy squeeze around my fat cock. I’m so fucking close too.” Her moans heighten, making you thrust harder and faster despite your movements getting sloppy.

Her body begins to shake, as curses and moans fly out of her mouth left and right. You feel a tight squeeze around your cock before you feel a new type of wetness splash onto your lower abs. A feeling you know all too well. The feeling of her squirt against your abs sends you over the edge, filling her up with your cum. You pant and slowly pull out of her, laying down in the bed next to her.

She looks over at you, eyes wide and out of breath,” ya know…I’ve never done that before.”

You turn your head over to look at her, “clearly you were enjoying it.” You smirk at her.

“Oh trust me I was. Makes me want to invest in some butt plugs or something.” She says as you begin rolling off the bed.

You stand in front of her with your arms stretched out, offering her your hand. She allows you to take her hand, pulling her up off the bed.

“How about we try again with a shower?” She giggles at your statement and nods her head.

You both begin walking over to the bathroom, to hop in the shower yet again.

—

Jakes POV

You sit on the couch waiting for Josh to get back from class. Usually you guys would go to the gym after your Wednesday classes, but he was late. You scroll on your phone trying to waste time until you come across a funny video of a cat barking.

You save the video to your favorites on Instagram to show Josh later. A few videos later the front door rattles and in comes Josh with wet hair and a huge grin on his face. What's his deal?

You give him a questioning look, “You look like you just got laid brother.” You joke with him.

Josh chuckles at you, “I was just in class.”

You could tell when your twin was lying, “Reallyyy… why’s your hair wet then?” You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge.

“I had to use the eye wash station in chemistry today.”

“You don’t take chemistry dumbass, if you're gonna lie come up with a better excuse.”

“Fuck… you caught me.” So, he finally decides to be honest with you.

“So where were you then?” You’re determined to get the answer out of him.

“I was over at y/n’s.” He says nonchalantly, dropping his bag on the floor and flopping down onto the couch. “Are we still going to the gym?”

“I mean I was planning on it, hence why I waited for you but you were late.” You look at your phone seeing that he's an hour late and now it would be cutting into band practice if you went now. “I can’t go anymore, I'm gonna be late for the band.”

Josh doesn’t even seem to care, he's just sitting there on his phone laughing at whatever video he’s watching. What a dick.

“Oh my god you gotta see this Jake.” He’s still chuckling as he turns his phone around to show you a video of the local bar and this crazy guy freaking out and jumping behind the bar.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the video despite being upset with Josh. “You're not gonna believe it. I literally saw him one time when I was there and he was being really weird and was doing the worm. I took a video I think let me see…”

You scroll through your camera roll, Josh expectantly looking over your shoulder. You scroll up to a few weeks ago in your camera roll. You scan your eyes around where you think it would be and click on it showing Josh. You begin laughing but don’t hear much coming from your twin. You look over to see a confused and disgusted look on his face.

“Jake…” you hear him say.

You turn to look at him, your smile fading and confusion written all over your face. “What?”

“What was that picture next to it?” he spat at you, anger filling his voice.

You swipe out of the video and look at what is next to it.

No. fucking. way.

Y/n’s nudes from weeks back were sitting in your camera roll. But there is no way he would know that they are hers. “I don’t really remember, it might be this girl from my class. We’re talking right now I guess.” Shitty lie.

“Girl from your class? Really, because that looks a lot like y/n.” He says pointing at your phone, eyebrows furrowing and free hand clenched into a fist.

“How can you be so sure, the girl's face isn’t even in the picture, bud.”

Josh stares into your soul, your eyes battling for dominance. You knew this wasn’t going to end well for anyone's case.

—

Y/n's POV

You're woken up from your pre-study nap to a loud knock on the door. You knew Char would be getting home late but normally when she forgets her keys she calls you. You quickly hop out of bed to answer the door. When you take a peek outside the door you see…Josh.

“Josh? What are you doing here, did you forget something?” Your eyes scan over the room to see if anything was left.

He darts in the door, without invitation, and makes his way to the couch and takes a seat. “Were you talking to anyone while we were?”

“Not romantically… I mean I was only talking to you. I pretty much cut off any prior things with everyone.”

“Did you start new ones?” He says clasping his hands together, squeezing them.

“No- Josh what is this about? If you're gonna say something just fucking say it.”

“Okay fine. How long have you been fucking my brother?” Your eyes widen, that’s the last thing you expected to come out of his mouth.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I’ve never even talked to him.” You try your best to defend yourself, but you don’t think it’s working too well.

“So you’ve texted him, is that what you're saying? I mean surely talking in person wasn’t enough so you also had to text when he wasn’t around. Squirt? Does that ring a bell y/n? Or the nudes you sent to his phone?”

“Josh, I don't send that kind of stuff anymore. Not to anyone. Plus I never sent them with my face ever!”

“Yeah true but it’s pretty fucking easy to notice you with that fucking initial necklace you always wear.” He says pointing at it.

“You can’t prove anything, you asshole.” You didn’t feel like dealing with this shit right now.

“Really, wanna hear everything that Jake just told me?” You give him a certain look to just shut his mouth.

—

2 hours before

Josh’s POV

“How can you be so sure, the girl's face isn’t even in the picture, bud.” Jake proclaims.

“That necklace that ‘girl’ is wearing is the same one y/n never takes off because her dad gave it to her. The little freckle on her neck, her hair draping over the shoulders, who is it then Jake? I know her and her body, that's y/n.” You snap back at him, seeing right through his little lie.

“Like I said, it might be a girl from my class. It might also be some random girl I don’t remember?”

“Then why would it be on your phone if you don’t remember? Open your messages now.” You’re seething. If you could see yourself right now, your face would most likely be bright red.

“I don’t have to do shit Josh. Damn. You’re fucking crazy.”

“No go ahead and just swipe through, if I don’t see her name then fine.”

Jake sighs, pulling open his messages and slowly goes through showing that he had nothing to hide while you quickly look at the previews of the messages. Nothing crazy until you see

2:14am Jake: I know he’s asleep. Come to the bathroom now.

With that you grab Jake’s phone and run to the nearest room. You slam the door shut, locking it quickly.

“JOSH STOP, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT DOING THAT!” Jake screams muffle from behind the door.

You take a deep sigh, knowing that you don’t want to see what's in those messages, but the pounding on the door tells you that your suspicions are correct.

After clicking on the messages, you’re met with weeks of conversations between Jake and y/n.

9:45pm y/n: What am I wearing tonight hottie?

9:46pm Jake: Didn’t expect to be hearing from you, I missed you.

9:56pm Jake: I told you I’ve had my eye on you for a while now.

11:16pm Jake: I miss you too sexy, and your body. I wish I could be with you, taking that slutty little outfit off. Who picked that out again?😏

11:17pm Jake: Of course, sexy girl. Show me what's mine.

11:18pm y/n: Who said I was yours?

11:18pm Jake: Is anyone else getting these pics?

11:18pm y/n: No

11:19pm Jake: Then they’re mine, along with your body, all mine.

Holy shit. This has been happening underneath your nose the entire time. You trusted y/n, and even worse, you trusted your brother. You took out your phone and took pictures of some of the messages. You knew you needed to confront y/n and you knew you weren’t going to give her any time to come up with a story. You take Jake’s phone and hide it deep in your closet knowing he’ll never find it. You didn’t want him to give y/n any warning about what was going to happen.

You yank open the door making your way to the door while Jake hollers his apologies behind you. You completely ignore him, slipping out the door.

—

Present Time

Y/n’s POV

You couldn’t deny the truth. He had evidence and there was no way of getting out of it.

“Josh, we weren't together. I- I can explain.” You grab onto his arm trying your very best to fool him. He forcefully rips his arm out of your grip.

“So what was that then, huh. You can’t expect to act that way with me and not make me think it's something more than friends, because it wasn’t no matter what you say, and you know that.” His finger digs deeply into your chest, discomfort rising within you from his jab. You back away from his harsh touch.

“It was more than friends, I thought it was friends with benefits.” You feel tears beginning to form in your eyes, your lips quivering as you attempt to speak.

“Holy fuck y/n. You’re so fucking stupid. We said that because we were horny for each other, but I thought after making the connection it was something more. I should have known it from the beginning.” You see tears start filling his eyes, a wash of anger flashes across his face. He lets completely loose on you.

“You’ve always been a slut and I should have recognized that you wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants for just one person, but hey go for my brother I guess. Was it convenient to just go to one bed and then hop into another only 5 feet apart? Probably the most efficient you’ve ever been, huh?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” The tears are flowing down your cheeks now, sob after sob racking through your body. The thing was… he was right. You are everything he says you are.

“I’m the asshole? Wow, y/n, real classy. Just admit it. Admit you fucked Jake. Then we can go back to the way things were before this goddamn musical.”

“I don’t want to go back to the way things were before the musical. I made some mistakes and I'm sorry. But I just want everything to be how it has been.”

“Oh yeah? When you were sleeping with both me and my brother? Fuck that. I don’t want anything to do with you, y/n.”

“Did you even think about why I was getting with him in the first place? You selfish piece of shit, and for me to think you changed your ways.” There is no way he’s placing all the blame on you.

“MY WAYS?! You're the one who hasn’t ‘changed their ways’ but please enlighten me as to why you would have to fuck me and my brother at the same time.” He says, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You have always been a fucking dick to me, and you know it. Jake treated me right from the beginning and made me feel wanted. I had to beg for your attention and for you to be kind to me. When you finally started to act the way a ‘boyfriend’ should act is when I cut it off with Jake.” You’re screaming in his face, begging him to hear you out, to understand. You stand there completely helpless in the middle of your living room, crying.

"Damn it y/n I love you. I always have, I wanted to treat you that way but I didn't want to scare you off." His hands rubbing his face.

"Well you didn't do a great job showing it." You say in a snarking tone.

Josh walks up to you, incredibly close, his face right in front of yours. “You are a bitch.” You’re done with his shit, you forcefully shove him backwards and off of you.

The room gets quiet, only being able to hear the heavy breathing of both of you bouncing off the walls.

“Josh… please. I don’t want this to end.” You can hardly make out his body now standing in the doorway, through your tears.

“I want that too… but I don’t know what else to do. This,” he motions between the two of you, ”is fucked.” You collapse on the floor, curling up into a ball, and just can’t stop your weeping. “I’ll text you tomorrow y/n, I need to clear my head after tonight.” The last thing you hear from him is the door slamming.

After what feels like hours of laying on the floor weeping, you hear knocking at the door.

Josh?

You pick yourself off the ground hurrying your way to the door. Maybe he wanted to talk it out more, figure something out.

When you get to the door you're met with no one. You look at your surroundings and notice a large bouquet of flowers sitting on the ground. You bring them in, hoping maybe they were from your dad who occasionally sends you flowers as a little gift.

You set them on the counter and open the card. Your eyes scan the words, causing you to fall to your knees. What have I done? This is your fault. You are a slut. You don’t deserve anyone.

Thankful for you, forever and always. Love Josh.

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

Taglist:

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#greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #gvf #josh gvf #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiskza smut #josh kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut

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ladykailitha · 2 years

Text

Can Anybody See Me? Part 8

Now we’re getting to the reason behind the title.

On the tagging, I HAVE REACHED MY HARD AND FAST LIMIT OF 50. I love the response this story has gotten. I do. I love you all. I love every reply, like, and reblog. It brings me so much joy, you don’t even know. But tagging is hard for my ADHD brain. I have gone up from 20 to 30 and finally 50 as my system improved but I think if I do any more than that I’ll go insane. So any future tagging requests will be ignored. Sorry.

The best way to keep update on these stories is follow me and set me on notifications. I rarely do a lot of reblogging these days (too busy churning out stories like whoa), so more often then not a post will be a story. I try to post at least once a day (some times twice if I’m trying to rush through the posting a bit like I did to make sure the Valentine fic got out in time without making people wait on Vamp!Eddie), just never at set time.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

When Eddie heard how Gethin had done it, he was starting wonder who the smart twin was, because it was brilliant.

The chemicals for developing film were kept in Miss Chen’s room and he took some quick pictures of Steve’s piece before promptly spilling some of the chemicals that the teacher had in her class room all over it.

It ATE the paper. Gethin had tried to mop it up before it got too bad. But alas, it was too late.

“Mr Hughes!” Miss Chen protested. “Please be more careful next time!”

Gethin apologize profusely. He begged her to give the poor student whose piece he had just destroyed an extra week to finish the project, because he had been soooo careless.

She agreed.

He ran out of her class with the chemicals he needed to develop the film in his camera.

Pictures he slipped into Eddie’s locker during lunch.

After school Eddie waited until the halls were empty before he opened his locker. He knelt down to pick them up and blinked. Steve was really good. The composition was sound and colors were great.

The page wasn’t even that scary. It was just of this boy walking up to a house in the dead of night. In one of the panels you could almost make out something watching the boy, but it was the vague sense of unease made it so you could tell it was going be a horror comic. It was good. And suddenly Eddie was pissed at Miss Chen for calling Steve out for this.

Especially since Eddie’s own comic was about slaying a dragon.

He shoved the pictures back into his backpack and slammed the locker shut.

“Well what have we got here?” a voice said from behind him.

Shit.

Eddie turned around slowly. There was Tommy H, Billy, and Kyle, standing there with their arms crossed.

“Hey, boys,” he said with a grin. “You looking to buy? I’ve got about four kilos.”

Tommy and Kyle looked at each other, nervously. They didn’t want to antagonize their drug dealer.

Billy ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. “I just wanted to talk. I’ve been seeing Harrington hanging around you freaks lately and wanted to know why?”

Eddie folded his arms. “I get you’re new here, Hargrove, but your friends should have told you: I’m the king of picking up lost sheep. I like bringing people into my fold that the rest of this school has deemed outcasts. Steve Harrington has become one of those. And how could I resist such a tempting treat as the former king of Hawkins High?”

“You leave him the fuck alone, you hear me?” Billy growled.

“Or what?” Eddie asked. “You’ll do me like you did him? And then where will you get your weed? Because if you do I will make sure that I don’t sell to you or any of your little friends.” He wagged his finger as he indicated to Tommy and Kyle. “I’ll fucking cut off the entire basketball team. Don’t think I won’t. How long do you think you’ll be king then, Hargrove? When suddenly everyone’s supply dries up because you fucked with me?”

Kyle tugged on Billy’s arm. “Come on, man. Whatever your beef with Harrington is, it’s not worth this.”

Tommy just stood there looking Eddie in the eye.

“So what’s it going to be, Hagen?” Eddie asked. “You going to side with King Jackass here and alienate the whole fucking basketball team because you’ve got a hard on for Harrington? Or are you going to the smart thing and walk away?”

Tommy grabbed Billy’s other arm. “Let’s go.”

Billy wrenched his arms from both of them and stalked off.

“Run along, Tommy,” Eddie said making a shooing motion with his hands. “Go suck Hargrove’s dick.”

Tommy made to swing at Eddie, but Kyle stopped him. “Don’t do it, dude. He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

Eddie grinned. He blew a kiss at Tommy and then walked off, a nervous energy humming in his veins.

He walked out to his van and found Steve waiting for him. Eddie smirked.

“You waiting for me, big boy?” he asked walking up to the other boy.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did about my art project,” Steve explained. “And then I saw Billy and Tommy and I got worried.”

Eddie patted his cheek. “You’re sweet, but I told you, I’m immune.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Plus, pretty boy,” Eddie said. “You won’t have to worry about that lot anymore. They came after me and I set them straight. If they want to keep buying weed, either they’ve got find someone new or leave you the hell alone.”

Steve sighed in relief. “So everything’s cool?”

“Cool as can be,” Eddie agreed. He opened the door and hopped into the van. “And I didn’t do anything to your project, Stevie.”

He saluted Steve and drove off, leaving behind a very confused, but very happy Steve Harrington.

Steve kept his eye on Tommy and Billy but by the end of the week there was no doubt that whatever Eddie had said them, made them back off.

“Hey, Steve,” Gareth said, nonchalant. “Did you know that there chemicals used in the art department for all sorts art related shit that can dissolve paper?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him. “You don’t say.”

“Didn’t you now,” Brian said with a grin, “Gareth’s brother is a big photography nerd.”

“Oh, he must know Jonathan Byers, then,” Steve said, deliberately not taking their bait.

Gareth cocked his head to the side and hummed. “Maybe not. Different grades. But still could do, I suppose.”

Steve grinned. “Miss Chen did say it was a photography student that ruined my comic, maybe I should go thank Jonathan.” He winked at them and they burst out laughing.

Which was actually what Steve thought had happened when Eddie denied all knowledge of what happened. That Jonathan had recognized the scene of Steve on his way to Jonathan’s house and messed it up, worried Steve might get in trouble with the government.

But Gethin doing it made Steve sigh in relief. He already owe his life to Jonathan, owing him for the art project, too? That was too much for even Steve’s wounded pride.

Steve had already fobbed Nancy off earlier in the week because Jonathan had snitched.

She was practically screaming about being so careless. As if Steve would make the characters look like them. He had asked her if she had seen it herself and when she admitted she hadn’t, Steve told her to back off. Which lo and behold, she actually did.

“It’s bullshit Miss Chen even said anything,” Eddie growled. “It’s of this boy walking up to a house at night. It could’ve been of a boy going to pick up a girl on a date, but because Steve used muted tones and creepy vibes, she decided it was sad or some shit and threatened to call Steve’s parents.”

The other three boys looked at each other. “That is bullshit,” they all agreed.

Steve shrugged. “I changed to be about a lost little girl who connects with a social recluse and they become a family. If she gives me shit about that one, I’ll kindly let Chief Hopper know that Miss Chen thinks him and his adopted daughter’s story is toooo depressing for school.”

“I like the way you think,” Jeff said with a cackle.

Steve grinned. Silence descended as the boys ate their lunch. As they were packing up, he casually dropped a bomb on them.

“Miss Lucy wants me to try out for the school musical...”

“No way, dude!” Eddie said. Miss Lucy was the drama teacher. Her last name was one of those that looked easy on paper but really wasn’t. So she had all her students call her by her first name.

“I thought you were new to the whole drama thing,” Brian said.

“I am but she seems to think I’m good enough to tryout,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Are you going to do it?” Eddie asked in all seriousness.

Steve bit his lip. “I want to but I don’t want people to get mad at me if I do a get a part.”

Gareth’s brow furrowed. “Why would they be mad at you?”

Steve shrugged again. “That a newbie like me is taking away a roll from one of the more seasoned kids?”

“If that’s the case,” Jeff said, “then fuck them. You didn’t know you had a talent for it.”

Steve smiled warmly at them. “Thanks, guys.”

Eddie clapped him on the back. “You go get ‘em, tiger!”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

He felt the warmth from where Eddie touched his back all day long. And he carried that feeling all the way through his audition.

“You are such chicken shit,” Eddie told Steve. The results were back for call backs and he was too afraid to look.

“I know, I know,” Steve murmured. “But I would rather walk through an entire pack of demodogs then look at that stupid piece of paper.”

“What the fuck is a demodog?”

Steve blinked. “Something the kids made up for their D&D campaign.” Which was true. Mostly.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said, licking his lips. “You owe big time for this.”

“I’ll buy you dinner,” Steve promised.

“And it better be somewhere nice!” Eddie called back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled.

Within seconds Eddie came flouncing back. “Bad news, Stevie...”

“I didn’t get called back?” Steve asked.

Eddie cackled. “You got called back for Charles Thomson. You’re going up against Kyle Carver.”

“Fuck.”

“Language, Mr Harrington,” Mr Hall, one of the swim coaches murmured as he walked by.

“Sorry, coach,” Steve said automatically. He turned back to Eddie. “He’s going to get it, isn’t he?”

“Kyle?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded. “Probably. Though it would be a serious miscarriage of justice if he does.”

Steve grinned. “Good thing you’re a fan of those. Maybe you start a letter campaign against bias casting in school plays.”

Eddie looked around to make sure there weren’t any teachers. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Steve kissed his nose and ran off giggling. “See you later, Munson.”

Eddie stood in the hall being jostled by other students as he thoughtfully rubbed his nose.

Steve watched Kyle audition from the audience and was so sure Kyle had it in the bag. Until he opened his mouth to sing and what came out of his mouth was horribly off key.

“Mr Carver, are you all right?” Miss Lucy asked.

Kyle nodded and tried again. This time it was better, but no where near it was when he auditioned the first time.

“I must be coming down with a cold,” Kyle excused.

Miss Lucy frowned. “Your turn, Mr Harrington.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slow, like Eddie had taught him. He stepped up to the stage and turned around.

“You know, sometimes I think the general is speaking to me,” Steve recited his lines, his voice breaking on the last word. And then he used the scene to launch into the singing part of his audition.

Miss Lucy was humming and nodding as Steve finished up the song.

“Thank you, Mr Harrington,” Miss Lucy said. “Results will be posted on the drama room door tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Miss Lucy,” Steve said.

As he passed Kyle the boy hissed, “Suck up.”

Steve just shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just polite to thank someone for their time.”

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Tag list: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites @garden-of-gay @anaibis @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @jinxjinn @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @dangdirtydemons @lovelyscot @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #canon divergence #the boy with the bat #ladykailtiha writes

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mythicalviper-fr · 8 months

Note

hi! Thank you for making your guide, it’s been so helpful as a new skin artist. I’m still confused about how to make good festival submissions (?) I thought my submission for Rockbreaker’s Ceremony fit all the conditions you talked about but no one seemed interested in my skin. Do you have any advice on how newer artists can make a good entry?

I'm happy the guide's helped! It is less of a checklist and more on how I personally approach the contest. There are a lot of things I don’t think I described well technique-wise, so I’ve considered making step-by-step tutorials to approach each contest that would better encapsulate the win conditions I described. But for now, here’s one way you can approach a contest, particularly if you’re a new artist.

1. Pick Your Breed (and Battles)

Breed variety, as I stated in the guide, is the Number One reason I win any contest. This is where I think I should’ve gone more into why I favored the Ridgeback F base - it’s important to pick a canvas that will not impede your ability to create and more importantly, a canvas that makes you comfortable as an artist. Ridgeback F has a big wingspace that serves as a good canvas and the anatomy is easy (for me) to design on, which is why this is the canvas I default to.

Here are some of the best “starter” canvases for new artists, in my personal opinion:

Wildclaw M and F: these bases, particularly the F pose, don’t get many submissions (look at their submission rate in the Gala!) They have a standard dino anatomy that’s easy to understand and work around.

Fae M: Fae rarely get entries. The big wingspace is a great canvas, and more importantly, the M Fae canvas is pretty small compared to the others, so it’s less daunting. The shrimp posture can be a bit hard to grasp, but you can honestly just do a wingcent.

Coatl M and F: Coatl is a great base for new artists if shadows and lines are disrupting your creative process, because they don’t have as much of those. (You can also turn shadows/lines off while you’re drawing. I usually have shadows off and lineart at 30% opacity. Just remember to turn them back on when you submit!)

2. Theme Your Skin: Canonical Elements

August goes into this better in his guide, but you generally want to stick closer to canon. Think of skin contests like an art contest for a fandom. If you were submitting to, say, a Percy Jackson art contest, you’ll probably draw inspiration from Greek and Roman mythology, not Aztec or Chinese mythology. Flight Rising is the same. So, here are canonical places you can draw inspiration from:

Past festival familiars and apparel

Existing vistas, scenes, and World Map locations

Artistic interpretations of the canonical lore

If you do want to go outside of canon, my suggestion is to pick a neutral element. This means something that doesn’t have any religious/otherwise connotations, and is still related to the flight. I.e.: icy mountains for the ice flight, different types of minerals for the earth flight, different types of plants for nature. You are making an official item for the site, so work with that in mind.

3. Skin Composition: Balance

Composition is how the elements in an art piece work together. I struggle a lot with it, so I am not the best person to speak on this. What I’ve found that works for me is focusing the canvas on one big thing and putting small elements around it. That big item is usually wings, which is a great neutral component that can take on attributes of different elements. If you look at my skins, they usually follow the equation of skin = 1 big element (wings, bones, crystals) + 2 small elements (gradients, sparkles, butterflies, leaves, flowers).

[RBC 2023 = bones + crystals + rocks] [TC 2022 = wings + gradient + wispy shadow things]

4. Skin Execution: Actually Drawing the Thing

The best part of festival contests is the skill bar is quite low. I am going to contradict myself slightly by saying you do need a basic understanding of how to draw, but aside from that, contests are forgiving if you aren’t an experienced artist. I had six months of experience when I won my first contest and more recently, I was drawing with zero wrist mobility. These are some of my recent skins that were created when I could not render the way I usually do or use line weight.

[TCC 2023 & ROR 2023]

In comparison, here are skins when I could render and line weight.

[WS 2023 & GG 2023]

Importantly, all of these skins won. So that’s why, from my perspective, whether you’re an experienced artist or not, whether you know how to render or not, is not the point.

I don’t want to imply that you don’t need any skill to win a contest… it is a contest, after all. I think what I’m trying to say is: to make the best entry you can, you need to know the skills that complement YOUR art style. It isn’t necessarily the skill difference between artists that determines who wins, it’s how you use the skills you have to bring out the most in your piece.

There is no one way to making good art. And the hardest obstacle as a new artist is finding out what enhances your art style. You may not even have an art style yet, and that’s okay. That’s why it’s vital you continue exploring - which contests are great for.

Again, everything in this post is only what I have personally observed. This approach will not work for everyone, since everyone’s creative process is going to be different. But I hope this is a good bare-bones, structured, guide as to what I personally focus on – and I hope that it’s good for reference, even if the specific steps aren’t helpful for you ^^

#flightrising #flight rising #fr skins and accents #skins and accents #fr guides

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loaksky · 1 year

Note

hello! would you consider writing modern avatar stuff? if ur cool w that can i request modern human neteyam relationship headcanons?

wait hold the phone yes i would actually ! wanted to hold off on posting this to include headcanons about what modern!neteyam would be like in a relationship, but i’m so eager to come back ! instead here’s some background about him & reader leading up to the relationship (part 2 pending if you guys want it) ! headcanons under the cut & for all intents + purposes, i picture college-neteyam ! additionally, in my brain, it’s canon that teyam as a human would be poc, hence the reference pictures i included below ! <3

so i definitely see neteyam having a very soft aesthetic, he’s such a sweetheart tbh

fs think that the two of you would have a meetcute in university & then end up being college sweethearts

his major is something specific like environmental engineering or child psychology ? he’s definitely really smart and excels in all of his classes !

which brings me to how the two of you would meet ? perhaps he’s taking an elective course in pottery and your major is in art with a concentration in three dimensional composition

the class is considered a lab, so the professor emails out the syllabus and students come and go as they please during class hours to work on their compositions.

halfway thru the sem, you and teyam stumble upon each other in the storage room between two classrooms, fetching different pieces that need to be glazed + fired.

“sorry, you can—”

“nah, you first—”

you laugh and neteyam’s smiling because WOW you’re really cute + had he known that someone as lovely as you was in the same section as him, he’d probably hang around the classroom more.

from that moment on, neteyam’s always lingering during the class’ meeting time, even if he’s already finished with his projects for the week because he wants to get to know you SO bad, but he’s way too shy.

(probably still canon that he’s phenomenal at literally everything, but i think it’d be so cute if he had 0 legitimate rizz bc he’s so used to kinda just bein’ him and pulling bc he’s a jack of all trades type of guy)

“what are you making?” you ask him one day and he snatches his airpod out of his ear so quickly even though he’s not listening to anything.

“ashtray” he answers quietly, a lil self-conscious because he’s come to find out that you’re absolutely amazing at sculpting and while you do this for your future, he does it is as a pastime / elective to graduate. “but like i don’t smoke or anything yknow, i just thought that i’d be a good thing to–”

you’re staring at him with the corner of your mouth quirked and he shuts up quickly, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he slumps on his stool.

“you should score using a crosshatch,” you tell him simply. “makes the pieces stick together better.”

he looks down at where he’d been scratching the damp clay laterally and your hands hover over his, head tilting to the side.

“can i?”

oh yeah, yeah! sure,” he splutters, leaning back a little to watch you work your magic.

can’t help but watch the way your fingers work over the clay, knuckles smudged with glaze and dust coating the silver of your rings.

he watches your hands, but soon he’s watching your face because you’re concentrated so hard on making sure you’re using your best technique for the little ashtray.

lo and behold, the pieces stick together so perfectly and smoothly, ready to be fired in the kiln, and neteyam’s grateful.

“thanks,” he sighs almost dreamily.

“yeah, of course. glad to help,” you tell him.

when you return to your own project, you slam back the rest of your melting drink and neteyam’s eyes are squinting the get a read on what it is you order.

you’re pleasantly surprised when you turn up to pottery the next session to work on a new project, and neteyam’s there with two coffees, one next to his wheel, another near yours.

“what’s this?” you hum, tying your apron with a messy bow.

“a thank you,” he says shyly. “for helping me last time.”

your eyes widen when you see your favorite; a chai with almondmilk, vanilla, and a shot of espresso.

“how’d you…”

“it’s what you were drinking…” he responds. “last week. i think.

“oh…” you trail off, cheeks hot because he noticed ???

“you don’t have to—”

“NO!” you yelp, a tad loud. some of the other students working on a few last minute projects peer at the two of you and teyam’s grinning like an idiot when he sees the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and reach for the drink. “this is good! it’s great. thank you so much. i actually missed my run this morning.”

“yeah, of course,” he sighs, rolling his lips together as the two of you kinda get off to a clunky start.

the silence between the two of you is a lil awkward, but you decide to break the ice since teyam’s technically played his hand and the ball’s in your court.

“are you an art major ?” you ask.

“uh, nah,” he'd say, rubbing his sweaty palms on the thighs of his baggy jeans because HE SHOWED UP TO CLASS 15 MINUTES EARLY and the agony of not knowing if you’d show up made him so nervous. “environmental engineering.”

your eyebrows raise ever so slightly, lips forming an ‘o’ bc wow that must mean he’s super smart.

“wow, that’s insane,” you say quietly. “what made you take pottery ?”

“only elective that didn’t make me wanna claw my eyes out,” he laughs nervously. “what about you ? what’s your major ?”

you seem to mull over your thoughts for a moment, obviously a little hesitant to answer.

“3d art...nothing special...” you trail off.

neteyam begins working with the slab of clay waiting for him in the center of the wheel, cheeks going hot because the words leave him before he can stop them.

“no, no. i think that’s really cool. art is a really challenging passion to have & i admire people willing to dive in full stop.”

the comment makes you smile, fingers pliant over the wet clay.

neteyam wants to DIE because he can’t read whether or not your smile is genuine or if you’re grimacing because he’s the biggest idiot ever.

he supposes it’s the former when you two are parting ways, signing the attendance log and you decide to bite the bullet and write your instagram handle on the bottom corner of the page and tear it off to hand to him.

he’s barely able to get a ‘thank you’ out before you’re racing out the door with your gifted coffee in hand.

you’re so giddy when you run out of the building and your phone pings in the front pocket of your satchel and you see that teyam.sully has followed you.

after that day, you two become really friendly !

neteyam frequently dms you about class, but eventually, he starts sending you vids and memes, saying that they made him think of you.

it becomes so obvious to both of your friend groups that you’re crushing on each other, but both of you are too painfully shy to say anything despite every green flag.

soon, looking forward to seeing each other during class turns into neteyam subtly asking you to hang out.

you make a comment about one of his hoodies and he mentions that he thrifted it.

“wait really??” you’re pausing your work to look at him. “i love thrifting!”

he smiles wide, word vomiting before he can stop himself.

“yeah? i know a couple of good places if you’re down.”

you say yes, DUH !

looking back at it, maybe that’s your first date because he picks you up from your dorm & bc you guys live in a fairly walkable city, you commute to the thrift and you’re SO giddy because the backs of your hands keep brushing every time some impatient pedestrian pushes by you guys on the narrow sidewalks.

you guys end up spending HOURS and teyam’s internally screaming because you find a shirt that has a peeling heart with the phrase ‘if lost return to wife’ and he happens upon the match to it a couple aisles down that says ‘i'm the wife’.

when you’re not looking, teyam buys the shirts and stuffs them in his canvas bag.

DUDE IS WHIPPED.

he wants you SO bad.

after the thrift, you guys get pizza, and after that, ice cream, and JESUS he doesn’t want the day to end because being with you is so easy.

over the course of the rest of the semester, the two of you make it a routine to hang out at least once a week and you’re always looking forward to it.

dates excursions include; trips to the museum to see recent exhibits, weekly pizza parlor dinners, study sessions at the 24 hr cafe a block from the school (in which he always walks you home after), park days where he reads books on environmental sustainability and you secretly draw portraits of him.

in these times, he learns that you want to become an art teacher, your favorite cereal is froot loops with the marshmallows, your all time show is amazing world of gumball.

almost cries laughing when he finds out that you have a secret pet turtle you hide in your dorm named franklin.

acknowledges that he’s falling, but falls even harder when the florist who owns the flower shop you two always pass hands you the prettiest little bundle of flowers and you spend the entire trek to the park, handing out individual stems to couples, children, and the elderly, telling them to have a beautiful day.

it all comes to a head near the end of the semester when he realizes that he can’t keep dancing around his feelings for you and the feelings he’s almost certain you have for him.

tells you to clear your schedule for the upcoming friday night and dresses a little nicer than usual when he picks you up.

brings you two to the planetarium in the city and, instead of watching the exhibit, he spends the entire time watching how you light up.

he knows in his gut that you could be it for him.

he’s loved getting to know you and spending so much time with you.

he’s so immersed in this feeling throughout the entire night.

probably wipes his sweaty palms over the thighs of his pants before shakily taking your hand as the diagram of the constellations shift.

can’t help but smile when your fingers squeeze his and you seem to shift closer to him as the narrator starts the presentation.

and he’s especially quiet after the exhibit, fingers still twined with yours as the two of you walk down the bustling sidewalks of the city center.

two of you probably stop by a dessert cafe and sit outside on a bench in the spring air, enjoying the buskers as you share a little cake.

you’re talking about home and how you’re excited to see your family again and he can’t help but imagine bringing you home to meet all his siblings and his parents because he knows that they’d absolutely love you and—

you’ve paused your speaking, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth and he’s SHORT CIRCUITING.

“shit, that was weird i’m so—”

his palm cups your jaw, thumb on your cheek, pad of his pinky and ring finger soft against your neck.

“can i?” he whispers.

TRIANGLE METHOD !!

he glances at one eye, gaze dropping to your lips before glancing at the other.

you already know what he’s referring to, could feel the romantic tension between the two of you since the beginning, but only become sure of it in the recent weeks.

”can you what?” you swallow.

he breathes a short laugh because the knowing smile that quirks your lips is a dead give away.

“can i kiss you?” he asks softly, absently setting your abandoned dessert somewhere behind him on the bench.

“yeah,” you’d nod, leaning into him. “please.”

before the two of you go your separate ways for summer holiday, he shows you the shirts he bought at the thrift store the first time around, but insists on keeping the shirt that says ‘i'm the wife’.

#avatar nuggets ˘³˘#neteyam x reader #neteyam headcanons #neteyam fluff #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar the movie

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hairmetal666 · 2 years

Text

Steddie Notes BONUS PART

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He’s a little surprised, honestly, since he had his heart set on first anniversary morning sex. Though, based on the smells wafting through their apartment, Steve’s making breakfast, which is an acceptable alternative (plus, if he has it his way, they aren’t leaving the bed again today).

The digital alarm clock on his bedside table is obscured by a Composition Book he doesn’t remember bringing to bed. He reaches for it before his brain registers the red ink dragon sketched on the cover. His hands tremble as he flips it open, but the first few pages are written in his own scrawl. Steve’s handwriting doesn’t appear until 10 pages in and Eddie’s heart stutters at the sight.

March 28, 1986

God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I can’t— I’m sorry. I should have been there, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve kept you safe.

You wouldn’t be part of this if it weren’t for me. Robin and Dustin keep telling me that's not true, that Chrissy was already cursed but. Robin is here because of me. Erica-fucking Sinclair is here because of me. And now you. And you’re dying. And it’s my fault.

I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I can’t just sit and wait, I’d lose my mind. Anyway. You left this notebook in my trunk, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m using it.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life, Eds.

Please don’t die on me. I can’t live in this world without you.

March 29, 1986

Hey Eds

You made it through the night. I can’t fucking believe it. I ripped Robin’s shirt when the doctor came in to tell us that you were out of surgery and stable, and then he dropped the bomb that your chance of surviving the night was 40%. Forty-fucking-percent. I guess you beat the odds, babylove.

I’m with Uncle Wayne at your bedside. He threw a fit to make sure I could be here whenever I wanted, and that everyone could visit.

You’ve missed some wild shit, Munson, you’re going to be so mad when you wake up.

Come back to me, sweet boy. I can’t take this.

March 30, 1986

Made it through a second night, babe.

I hope you wake up soon.

Miss you like crazy.

I keep looking at you in this hospital bed, and you look so fucking small. I hate it. You’re the loudest voice in the room. You don’t just take up space, you demand it. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard your voice in days. And my brain, it keeps filling in things you would say, and I wait for you to speak up, but of course you don’t. It’s a kick to the balls every single time.

The thing is.

The thing is that I need you to wake up, Eddie. You can’t leave me. I made up my mind a long time ago, we’re spending our lives together. And it can’t fucking end now. It can’t end because of this.

And I need you to open your goddamn beautiful eyes so I can tell you how much I love you. You don’t get to go before you hear me say it, do you understand?

I love you. You’re it for me. I’ve never wanted a forever as much as I want one with you. So, you have to wake up, yeah? You have to wake up so we can grow up, have a family, have a life together.

Promise you won’t leave me, Eds.

March 31, 1986

You woke up, you motherfucker. The doctors kicked me out to look you over and I cried so hard in the bathroom that Robin made El break down the door with her powers.

Thank you for coming back. I won’t ever let you go again.

April 7, 1987

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m giving this to you, babylove. It’s been a year. Look how far we’ve come.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

September 18, 2015

It’s way too fucking early for Eddie to even be awake and he has the day off. Steve asked him to take vacation months ago, didn’t say why, and now that fucker has the audacity to not even be in the house. And like, sure, they’ve been together for close to thirty years, and Eddie knows that Steve goes for a run at the ass crack of dawn.

Still pisses him off, though.

Eddie huffs down to the kitchen to get coffee started, doing a double take when he sees a familiar black Composition Book with red dragon on the cover.

He walks towards it slowly because this has been framed on the wall since their first anniversary, way back in ’87, and Steve isn’t home.

Eddie opens it, re-reads the panicked, lovesick notes Steve wrote in the hospital, doesn't bother to fight back the tears. He gets to the last letter and the paper is stiff and wrinkled, like it took water damage. Eddie flips the page, grief already pumping through his veins.

What he sees instead is college-ruled notebook paper, glued in place. It reads:

“I fucking hate this class.”

“Tell me about it.”

“trig. You?”

“Algebra 2 :(”

A sound escapes his mouth, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me...”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of beautiful, Munson?”

“Watch. The. Movie. This is the last time we get high first if this is how you behave.”

“What are you gonna win me at the fair, Harrington?”

“If you’re nice to me, probably something cute.”

“Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No”

“What are you doing about Hellfire?”

“Huh?”

“If the game is Friday. Lucas can’t do both.”

“He made his choice.”

“You ever been in love?”

No, but I think I’m falling”

“I love you, Eddie”

All the sketches of the sailor boy and the rockstar are there, even the one Eddie stuck to the poster in his room, though how Steve managed to get that is anyone’s guess.

There are pictures too, Eddie and Max still recuperating in the hospital; Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout; them holding the keys to the bar, Steve shirtless and hammering something while Eddie looks on, with the increasingly popular bands Eddie booked to play their must-see Friday night slots; Steve on his first day of college and one of him jumping into Eddie’s arms in his graduation gown, mortar board slipping off his head; In the hospital cradling their twin girls with Max giving a weary thumbs-up between them. Shot after shot of their family, their life, their dreams coming true. A scrapbook of their lives together, big moments and small; good and bad.

Eddie’s crying freely as he flips through the rest of the book, still fucking astounded that Steve is the love of his life, that they’re making a forever together.

Eddie flips to the last page. Stops dead.

In Steve’s looped handwriting, unchanged since high school, it says:

“Eddie,

Will you marry me?”

“What the fuck?” He yelps, standing up fast enough that his chair crashes to the floor.

He turns and Steve— his reason for being, the man that brought him back from the dead—Steve Harrington, is down on one knee, something silver glinting in his outstretched hand.

“Eddie,” he says, his voice a wreck. “Marry me?”

Eddie crashes to his knees, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

Steve laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie laughs too, but it quickly morphs into a sob, “Of course it’s a yes, Steve. Of course.”

Hands trembling, Steve slips the ring onto Eddie’s hand. It’s a thin silver band with skeletal hands contorted into an infinity symbol.

They fall into a kiss that rips the breath from Eddie’s lungs, but then that’s nothing new. When they finally pull apart Eddie asks, “why today?”

Steve blushes and grabs at the back of his neck. “Thirty-one years ago, I walked into Mundy’s class and found a note on the window ledge.”

“What the fuck.” Eddie’s mouth drops, his heart stuttering. This man.

“Once I figured out you leaving that note was going to be one of the most important moments of my life? I made sure to never forget.”

“Baby.” Eddie pulls Steve in for another kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Steve tugs at Eddie’s hand. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“The girls will be here in a couple hours, and I have some things I want to do to you before they’re home.”

“The GIRLS?” Eddie shrieks. “How the hell long have you been planning this? Did they KNOW?”

“Since the end of June,” Steve answers without missing a beat. “And of course they know. Everyone knows. I asked Wayne for his blessing.”

Eddie can’t speak, his heart crashing in his chest as he, once again, thanks whatever entity made it possible for him to have this.

“I’ve been in love with you for over half my life, Eds. I wanted to do this right. You deserve it. We deserve it.”

He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clack, but neither of them care.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

When they come home from dinner, as Steve reaches in his pocket for his keys to let the entire family in the house to celebrate their engagement, he finds a gum wrapper tucked in with the metal. He unfolds it, the words within unfurling in his heart, his soul.

"Thank you for giving me forever, sweetheart."

Edited: check out the full version on ao3!

This is officially the end! I hope you enjoyed this little (long) bonus part. Thanks for reading! 💜💜💜

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