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dontrllycaretbh · 22 hours ago

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Title: Dripping offense

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: explicit sapphic content (18+), spit kink, first-time touch, mutual masturbation, dom!Azzi / sub!Paige dynamics, fingering, soft praise, erotic vulnerability, flushed confessions, breathy tension, years of longing, slow unraveling of innocence, first orgasm, squirt mention, unspoken love, emotional safety in a physical moment

Word count: 4,111 words

Summary:

In a quiet hotel room after the game, Paige admits she’s never kissed anyone—never even touched herself. Azzi doesn’t laugh. She listens. She guides. And in the soft hush between them, curiosity turns into trust, and trust into something wetter, deeper, harder to name.

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The hotel room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The muffled sounds of teammates down the hall—laughing, arguing over snacks, bumping music—were just white noise now. Paige was sitting cross-legged on the bed, still in her Uconn warm-ups, her hair tied up in a messy bun. Azzi was lying on her side across the other bed, propped up on one elbow, scrolling half-heartedly through her phone.

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The game had ended hours ago, but their adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet.

“You ever think about… like, what your life would be like if you weren’t an athlete?” Paige asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Azzi looked up from her phone. “Yeah. All the time actually.”

Paige laughed. “You’d be like a really intense librarian or something.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You think I give off librarian vibes?”

“You give off…organized chaos. Like you’d run a super strict library but still sneak your friends in after hours.”

“That’s fair.”

The conversation drifted for a bit. They talked about music, what classes they hated the most, and how the hotel had the weirdest vending machine options. Then it got quiet again. A different kind of quiet.

Paige sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. She looked hesitant, like she was weighing something in her mind.

Azzi noticed. “What?”

Paige bit her lip. “…Can I tell you something? Kinda personal?”

Azzi rolled over to face her completely. “Of course.”

Paige looked visibly embarrassed, and was blushing a little bit. Her face turned red, and she looked like she really didn’t want to admit what was coming next. “…Um…n-neither…neither a girl nor a boy…I’ve never kissed anyone.”

Azzi blinked, then smiled gently. “Oh.”

“I mean—not like I didn’t want to. I just…never really found the right time. Or the right person,” Paige said quickly, her words rushing. “And I guess I’ve always been kinda awkward and shy. It’s not like I

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” Paige continued, her voice quiet, eyes darting down to her hands. “I’ve just… I don’t know. I’ve always felt like I had to focus on basketball, or school, or whatever else was right in front of me. And whenever it came to, like… relationships, or stuff like that—I just froze.”

Azzi nodded, sitting up slightly on her bed, giving Paige her full attention. There was no teasing in her expression, just quiet understanding.

Paige exhaled shakily, clearly relieved to have finally said it aloud. “And yeah, if I’ve never kissed anyone… I guess that means I haven’t… you know.”

Azzi tilted her head, just watching Paige softly.

“…Had sex,” Paige clarified, flustered. Her face turned even redder. “Not with a guy. Not with a girl. Not with anyone.”

There was a long pause before Azzi finally broke it with a warm, careful voice. “Paige, that’s not weird.”

“It feels weird,” Paige said quickly. “I mean, who goes to college, commits to Uconn, and still hasn’t even had their first kiss? Everyone always talks like they’ve done everything already and I’m just sitting here pretending to know what they’re talking about.”

“You’re not behind. You’re just… on your own timeline.” Azzi smiled softly, leaning forward. “There’s no checklist. No deadline.”

Paige looked at her, visibly trying not to tear up—not from sadness, but from the safety she felt in Azzi’s calm, grounding voice. “It’s just lately… I’ve been feeling kind of lonely. Like, not just physically—emotionally too. I’ve started noticing things. Thinking about things more. Like… wondering what it’d be like.”

Azzi stayed silent, letting her speak.

“I’ve seen stuff on TV or in movies—people kissing, being close, touching each other—and I never used to care. But now, I don’t know… I’ll see something and think, ‘That looks nice. I wonder what that feels like.’” She swallowed. “I’ve just never wanted to try it. Not with anyone. Until now.”

There was a beat.

Azzi’s eyes met hers. “Until now?”

Paige’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yeah…with you.”

The silence hung heavy now, not uncomfortable—but charged with something delicate. Paige looked like she wanted to crawl under a pillow and disappear, but also like she’d just jumped off a cliff and was waiting to land.

Azzi didn’t look away. Her voice was gentle, but direct. “You excite me in ways I didn’t expect, too,” she admitted. “And I don’t want you to feel ashamed about anything you haven’t done. You’re not missing anything. You’re just starting to explore what you want.”

Paige gave a nervous smile, eyes still a little glassy. “There’s…one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never even…” Paige trailed off, her face going scarlet now. “I’ve never touched myself.”

Azzi blinked, surprised—not in judgment, but in the raw honesty of the moment. “Like, ever?”

Paige shook her head, quickly. “Nope. I don’t know. It just never felt like something I needed to do. Or maybe I was scared I wouldn’t know how. Or feel weird afterward. I don’t know.”

Azzi hesitated, then sat up straighter, choosing her words carefully. “Can I…maybe guide you? Not touch you—just talk you through it. If you want. Only if you want.”

Paige looked stunned by the offer, but also like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She nodded shyly, holding her breath. “I think I do. I trust you.”

Azzi smiled softly, her voice steady but warm. “Okay. First thing… lie back. Just breathe for a second. This isn’t about performing. It’s just you getting to know your body. Don’t rush anything.”

Paige followed her voice, nervously lying back against the pillows. Her breathing was a little shaky, but she was listening.

“You don’t even have to go anywhere near…there, right now. Just start by touching your stomach. Let your hands explore. Think of it like learning how to be comfortable in your own skin.”

Azzi kept her voice low and soothing, making sure Paige was calm, checking in with her eyes, her body language. There was no pressure. Just guidance. Comfort. Trust.

“You move at your own pace. You stop whenever you want. There’s no right way to do this.”

Paige exhaled slowly, closing her eyes, one hand resting lightly on her own stomach now. Her face still burned red, but there was something new there too—peace. Curiosity. Safety.

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Just breathe, Paige," Azzi said, her voice a smooth melody in the quiet. "Let your hand wander a little further down."

Paige's hand shakily traced the path from her navel to the waistband of her shorts, her skin tingling with anticipation. Her eyes remained shut, her mind racing with thoughts of the unknown. This was the closest she'd ever come to this kind of intimacy, and it was with someone she never thought would be the one to guide her through it.

"Take your time," Azzi coaxed, her voice a warm embrace. "There's no rush."

Her hand slipped beneath the fabric, and Paige's breath hitched. The soft hairs of her core met her fingertips, and she paused for a moment, unsure. The sensation was weird but somehow familiar.

"It's okay," Azzi whispered. "You can go slower."

Encouraged, Paige's hand slid further down, her fingertips grazing the slick folds of her core. She gasped, the sensation electric. It was as if she'd just found the key to unlocking a secret garden.

"Now, I want you to be really honest with me," Azzi instructed. "Does it feel good?"

"yeah…fuck" Paige murmured, the word slipping out before she could think to hold it back. "It feels... really good."

"Good," Azzi said with a smile in her voice. "Now, I want you to get a little wetter."

"How?"

"Use your saliva," Azzi suggested. "Spit into your palm and rub it over your hand."

The idea of it was strange, but Paige was eager to please. She opened her eyes to see Azzi watching her with a gentle curiosity, and the sight of her friend's encouragement bolstered her courage. She did as she was told, the wet sound of her spit hitting her palm echoing in the stillness.

"Now," Azzi continued, "Spread it over your fingers. It'll make it easier."

With trembling hands, Paige did as she was instructed, her eyes never leaving Azzi's. The wetness was a new sensation, and she felt a thrill run through her as she touched herself more intimately.

"That's it," Azzi praised, her voice a purr of approval. "Now, let's see how it feels."

The tension grew with every second, every breath. Paige's body was a canvas of sensations, and she was painting a picture she'd never seen before. She was about to explore the deepest part of herself, and she had no idea wh

Her hand hovered over her core, the wetness of her saliva making her skin slick and slippery. With a deep breath, she touched herself for the first time.

"How does that feel?" Azzi asked, her voice low and soothing.

"Wet," Paige murmured, her eyes still closed. "Sensitive."

"Good," Azzi said, a smile in her voice. "Keep breathing. Keep going."

And so, Paige did, her fingertips exploring her folds, finding the spot that made her gasp and bite her lip. The room spun around her as she grew bolder, her movements becoming more deliberate, more sure.

"Your breathing is changing," Azzi noted. "That's good. It means you're getting closer."

The air grew thick with anticipation as Paige's breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Her hand grew more insistent, her thumb circling that magical spot that sent jolts of pleasure through her body.

"Do you want to go further?" Azzi asked, her voice a gentle whisper. "Or would you like me to show you?"

The question hung in the air, a silent invitation to see azzi in a way she’s never seen her before. But she knew she was ready. With a nod, she whispered, "I want you to show me."

Without breaking eye contact, Azzi stood up, the graceful movement of her body leaving Paige captivated. She reached down and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her own shorts, slowly sliding them down her toned legs. The fabric whispered against her skin as it fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing.

"Look at me," Azzi said, her voice a gentle command. "This is how it's done."

The sounds of wetness filled the room, a rhythmic symphony that grew more intense with every second. Azzi's legs were spread wide, giving Paige a clear view of the slickness that coated her folds, the way her fingers slid in and out with ease. It was mesmerizing, like watching a dance she'd never seen before.

"It's okay to be wet," Azzi said, her voice a little louder now, a little more urgent. "It's natural."

With that, Paige felt a strange thrill as she leaned over and spit into her palm again, the sound of it wetting her hand echoing in the quiet. She mirrored Azzi's actions, sliding her own hand into her shorts, feeling the heat and the wetness of her own desire.

They stayed like that, a silent tableau of exploration and curiosity, their eyes locked as they touched themselves in unison. The sound of their breathing grew louder, a symphony of want and need that filled the space between them.

"Look closer," Azzi whispered, her breathing ragged. "See how wet I am for you."

Paige leaned in, her heart racing. She could see the swollen flesh of Azzi's clit

"Does it feel good when I do this?" Azzi asked, her thumb brushing over her clit in a way that made her gasp.

"It does," Paige said, her voice a little shaky. "It feels... amazing."

"Then do it," Azzi told her. "Do it to yourself."

Their eyes never left each other's as Paige followed suit, her thumb finding that magical spot that seemed to hold all the answers she'd ever been looking for. The feeling was indescribable, and she couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

"Look how beautiful you are," Azzi said, her voice thick with arousal. "You're doing so well."

Encouraged by Azzi's words, Paige's eyes fluttered open, meeting her friend's gaze. The air was thick with a tension that was both uncomfortable and exhilarating. She could see the desire in Azzi's eyes, the way they searched hers for permission to take this further. And in that moment, she realized she didn't just want this to be about her anymore.

"Can I...can I do that for you?" she asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. She leaned in, and Paige felt the warmth of her breath on her cheek. But instead of closing the distance, Azzi held back. "You can spit in my mouth," she suggested. "It's something I like."

Surprise flickered in Paige's eyes, but she felt a strange excitement at the idea. It was so intimate, so raw, and yet it didn't feel wrong. She leaned in, her own breath shallow and rapid. The first spurt of saliva was awkward, the sensation of her spit landing in Azzi's open mouth foreign and thrilling.

Their eyes remained locked as they shared this silent, erotic moment. It was a dance of trust and desire, a bond forming between them that went beyond friendship. The saliva mingled between their lips, but they didn't kiss—not yet.

"Now, I want you to do it to yourself," Azzi said, her voice a low purr.

Paige nodded, the act of spitting in Azzi's mouth somehow empowering. She leaned back against the pillows, her hand still buried in her shorts. She watched as Azzi mirrored her actions, her thumb moving in slow circles around her own clit, the wet sounds of their shared pleasure filling the room.

With a deep breath, Paige spit into her own palm, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks at the sheer intimacy of it all. The saliva was a bridge between them, a shared experience that was both erotic and innocent. She brought her hand back to her core, the wetness making her movements smoother, more deliberate.

As they touched themselves in sync, the air grew thick with the scent of arousal. The sound of their breathing grew louder, their bodies moving in a silent rhythm.

The moment was a crescendo of sensation, each stroke of Paige's thumb against her clit a note in a symphony of pleasure. The wetness grew, their shared breaths turning ragged as they both approached the edge of something new.

"Keep going, Paige," Azzi urged, her voice tight with restraint. "You're almost there."

The encouragement spurred Paige on, her eyes still on Azzi's as she felt the tension coil within her. Her hand was a blur of motion now, her thumb pressing harder, faster. And then it hit—a wave so powerful, so unexpected, that she couldn't hold back a cry.

Her body convulsed, muscles tightening as she squirted, the wetness soaking her hand, the sheets beneath her. She'd heard about it, read about it, but to actually experience it was like nothing she could have ever imagined.

"Oh my God," she breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. "I just... I just did it fuck.”

The sight of Paige's pleasure was intoxicating, and Azzi could feel her own climax building. The sound of the wetness was like a siren's call, urging her own hand to move faster, more urgently.

"Keep watching me, Paige," she whispered, her voice strained with desire. "I want you to see how good it feels."

Her eyes remained locked on Paige's face as she leaned over, her fingers sliding out of her core. She reached for the wet spot on the bed where Paige's juices had soaked through, and without breaking eye contact, she brought the fabric to her lips.

The salty taste of the water mingled with the faint sweetness of the sheets, and she sucked the liquid into her mouth, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Paige's eyes widened, and Azzi knew she had her full attention.

"holy fuck azzi, that was the hottest thing ever” Paige murmured, her voice thick with awe.

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, the act of sharing their pleasure in such a raw, primal way bridging the gap between them. Azzi felt a sense of belonging she hadn't known was missing.

"Do you like that?" Azzi asked, her eyes dark with lust.

"I do," Paige said, her voice shaky. "It's... it's really hot."

with Paige's response, Azzi leaned in closer, her tongue snaking out to lick at the damp fabric. The taste was faint, but it was enough to send another jolt through her.

"Keep watching," she whispered, her hand moving back to her own core, the need to want to put her own fingers there. "Keep watching”

Their eyes remained locked as they pleasured themselves, the room filled with the sounds of their shared passion. Paige watched as Azzi's fingers moved in and out of her core , her own hand mimicking the motion.

As the tension grew, so did the wetness, and Azzi felt the need to be closer—to share in this moment fully. She slid onto the bed, her own legs spreading to give Paige a better view. “you ready?”

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#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #paige bueckers uconn #pazzi #uconn huskies #paige bueckers x reader #paige x azzi #azzi x reader #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #pazzi is real #pazzi fics

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writesvani · 2 days ago

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dear me | 11

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: emotional repression, jealousy, passive aggression, emotional conflict, secrecy, pregnancy mention, guilt, self-deprecation, avoidance, emotionally unavailable relationships

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,1k // date: 22nd of June 2025

CHAPTER ELEVEN — THE SECRET happy reading my gummies...

AN: hi there my babes. guess who's back. mhm that's me. here's dear me 11. are we excited or what (i know fully well i am). ugh guys, this chapter is actually one of the most important chapters in season one of dear me (even though it doesn't seem like it), because we're slowly going to be unlocking past and present character arcs and i’m so excited (and scared) about it. did you like it? what do you think? i can't wait to read your comments and theories ugh.

also let’s be honest, this chapter is unhinged in the most emotionally constipated way possible. people be fighting, lying, cracking under pressure, and someone is being the hot nuisance he always is. a full-course meal.

now for the note goal—note goal for this chapter is 500 notes. let’s see if we can still do it or if we’ve collectively died from the angst. love you always mwah.

“Jesus, come back to bed, why are you up so early?” Taehyung groans from the tangle of your sheets, voice still thick with sleep.

The morning sun breaks through the blinds and slides across his bare chest like it’s trying to seduce you too. His dark hair is a mess, sticking out in different directions, pillow-creased and annoyingly perfect. He throws one arm over his eyes, the other lazily patting the space beside him.

“Because some of us have actual lives,” you mutter, knotting your robe and trying not to look at how the sheet’s dangerously low on his hips. Taehyung in your bed is already dangerous enough. Taehyung all golden and sleepy? That’s a war crime.

“Boo,” he yawns. “So no morning sex?”

You grab your phone off the nightstand. “Wasn’t last night enough for you?”

“Enough?” He lifts his head, giving you a grin that is absolutely going to get him smacked one day. “I’m never full when it comes to you. You're like—dessert. Irresistible, kinda bad for me, but still... I keep going.”

You throw a sock at him. “Gross.”

“True.”

You laugh anyway, tossing your charger into your tote. “I have to go see my parents. And then clean, grocery shop, return that thing that’s been sitting in my bag for three weeks, try not to spiral into a panic attack—just Saturday things.”

“Wow,” he says, voice flat. “Sexy.”

“Don’t pretend like my crippling to-do list doesn’t turn you on.”

“Oh, it does,” he groans. “You scribbling little notes in that scary planner? That’s peak hot girl behavior.”

You roll your eyes, walking toward the kitchen for coffee. “You know this isn’t a sleepover, right? You don’t actually live here.”

“I’m aware,” he calls after you, voice sing-song. “But you let me stay the night, so by the rules of fuckbuddy law, I get coffee privileges.”

“Who made those rules?”

“Me. I’m the mayor of casual hookups. Respect my office.”

You return with your mug, taking a long sip. “You’re lucky I don’t charge you rent.”

“I’d pay in very creative ways,” he says, stretching his arms above his head in a way that absolutely should not be legal. “Very. Creative. Ways.”

You glance at the time on your phone. “Well, unfortunately for you and your creative payment plans, I’ve got to go.”

He pouts like a child being told recess is over. “So that’s it? I get kicked out into the cruel world with nothing but last night’s memories and a boner?”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

You head to the door with your bag, pausing before you open it. “Lock up behind you.”

Taehyung salutes you from the bed. “Yes, captain. Until next time, my cruel queen.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t eat all my cereal.”

“No promises!”

Taehyung keeps spamming you with messages until you pull into your parents’ driveway, phone lighting up like it’s possessed.

[11:36 AM] Tae: where’s the coffee. be honest.

[11:36 AM] Tae: also why do you have like… seven bags of quinoa??

[11:37 AM] Tae: are you okay

[11:38 AM] Tae: help me

[11:38 AM] Tae: if i die in your apartment, it’s your fault

[11:39 AM] Tae: okay nvm found the coffee i love you

[11:39 AM] Tae: wait no i don’t that was the caffeine talking

[11:40 AM] Tae: also the sugar was in the fridge?? are you a serial killer

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you as you scroll, thumb tapping a quick reply.

[11:40] You: stop touching my stuff or i will block you.

[11:40] Tae: kinky

You ignore that.

Kim Taehyung makes everything so damn complicated and yet so stupidly easy at the same time. Like, he’s the human equivalent of throwing glitter in the air—chaotic, unnecessary, but admittedly very pretty. He talks too much. Sends too many selfies. Wears your robe like he owns it. But he also listens when you rant, hugs you like you’re breakable, and makes your coffee just how you like it—when he actually finds the ingredients.

He’s also extremely good in bed. Like, top-tier, Olympic-gold-medal-in-thrusting good. You’d give him a solid 11/10 if it didn’t feel like stroking his already inflated ego.

You have thought about it before—what being with him would look like. But every time the fantasy starts to form, it fizzles out just as fast. Because Taehyung? He’s a walking red flag with mood swings and a god complex. He’s emotionally unavailable, possibly allergic to commitment, and once said “monogamy is a social construct” while eating cereal shirtless.

So yeah. He’s hot. He’s fun. He’s probably texting you right now asking if he can borrow a pair of your socks. But he’s not boyfriend material.

Clingy fuck buddy it is.

You put your phone on Do Not Disturb just as you climb out of your car. The second your foot hits the pavement, you hear your mom yelling from the front porch.

“There she is! Finally! You said eleven! It’s basically noon!”

You sigh, slipping into your practiced smile. “Traffic.”

“Sure. Come kiss your father.”

Your dad’s in his usual spot on the porch, coffee in hand, pretending he’s not amused by your mom’s dramatics.

You wave. “Hi, dad.”

“Morning,” he grunts. “You look tired.”

You want to say well I didn’t sleep much because I was too busy getting railed by a man who thinks air fryers are sentient, but instead you just smile and say, “Didn’t get much sleep.”

Your mom tuts and ushers you inside with a fuss. “You young people and your strange schedules.”

You shoot her a grin. “You’d be surprised.”

Vicky gently grabs you by the wrist, pulling you to the side as you enter the house.

“Heard Jungkook played a few days ago,” she says casually, as if even bringing up Jungkook’s name doesn’t flare her up with irritation.

You hum, noncommittal, mostly because you don’t feel like unpacking that whole situation with Vicky before you’ve had any sugar in your system. “Yeah. He did.”

“That’s all?” She raises a brow.

“That’s all,” you say, brushing past her.

You don’t have the energy to explain the layers of tension and warmth and unresolved mess between you and Jungkook—not to Vicky, who has her own (unsolicited) commentary on your friendship with him. Besides, you’re still piecing it together yourself.

You head into the kitchen where Leah is already sitting like a little gremlin, legs folded up on the stool, waiting for you.

“There she is,” she grins, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Girl, I made crème brulée. You gotta give me a taste test.”

“Bring it out,” you say, finally smiling as you drop your bag and lean your hip against the counter. “Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

Leah stands up dramatically, like she’s about to present a Michelin-starred dish on MasterChef. Vicky follows behind, arms still crossed like she’s itching to circle back to the Jungkook thing, but stays quiet—for now.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” Leah says sing-song as she grabs the ramekin from the fridge. “Which makes me think either you’ve been in a depressive spiral… or you’re hooking up with someone you’re not telling us about.”

Vicky snorts. “Honestly, could be both.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ve just been busy. I have a life, you know.”

“Suuure,” Leah says, placing the ramekin in front of you. “But your life doesn’t make crème brulée and ignore group texts for 48 hours straight.”

You grin despite yourself. “Okay, this looks kinda insane, not gonna lie.”

“Tap it,” she says, holding her breath.

You grab a spoon and give it a gentle smack—the sugar top cracks perfectly.

Leah gasps like she just won a medal. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?! I told you I got it right.”

You take a bite. “Leah… this is stupid good.”

“She’s been unbearable all morning,” Vicky mutters, sipping her lukewarm coffee. “She forced me to do a blind taste test at eight a.m.”

“Because I’m a culinary icon,” Leah says, beaming.

“You’re a menace,” Vicky deadpans.

“Soooo,” Leah says, dragging the word until it becomes a warning, “are you hooking up with someone?”

You lean back in your seat, one hand ruffling your hair. “Maybe I am.”

“Knew it,” Vicky mutters, smug like she just cracked a case. “You’ve had that freshly-fucked glow for weeks.”

Leah gasps. “I told you it wasn’t just new moisturizer!”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second, I’m literally just… chilling. No big deal.”

“Uh huh,” Vicky deadpans. “Just chilling. Meanwhile someone’s breaking your back on the regular.”

You grin. “Someone’s helping me with my stress management, let’s say that.”

Leah squints at you. “Do we know him?”

“No.”

“Do you like him?”

You pause, blink. “I like that he leaves when I tell him to... Sometimes... and brings snacks.”

Vicky claps. “That’s growth.”

“He talks too much after sex though,” you say, grabbing a cookie off the counter. “Thinks I wanna discuss jazz theory while I’m still catching my breath.”

Leah laughs. “Wait. Is this the guy who got lost in your kitchen trying to find coffee the other day?”

You smirk. “The very same.”

“Oh my God,” Vicky says. “He texted you, didn’t he?”

You wordlessly flash your phone screen with six unread texts from Taehyung. One of them just says:

“where’s the fucking sugar i’m begging u i’m eating cereal like a prisoner”

They both burst out laughing.

“This man,” Leah says between wheezes, “is your reward for getting your life together?”

“I never said I was doing great. I said I was managing.”

“Are you gonna keep seeing him?” Vicky asks, still giggling.

You shrug. “Probably. He’s fun. Keeps things light. Doesn’t ask dumb questions like ‘what are we?’ or ‘have you eaten today?’”

Leah grins. “So you’re thriving.”

“Obviously.”

Leah moves around the kitchen with the kind of grace that only comes from familiarity, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs she’s had since high school. The smell is rich, warm — a little stronger than you’d make it yourself, but comforting all the same. The three of you shuffle into the living room like it’s muscle memory, each one naturally taking the spot you’ve claimed a hundred times before. It’s easy, effortless. The kind of comfort only years can bring.

You curl up on the couch, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of your cup. The cushions dip just the way you remember them — this couch has survived a lot of heartbreaks and way too many spilled drinks.

“Where’s Nick?” you ask, not really thinking much of it. It’s just something you say when someone’s missing.

Leah leans back into the loveseat, tucking a blanket around her legs. “He’s at the Jeons’,” she says, completely unbothered.

You nod, already knowing she means Jungwoo’s place. Nick’s been best friends with Jungkook’s younger brother since forever — they’ve been inseparable since middle school, and by now he basically lives over there. The Jeon house is his second home, just like it used to be yours.

“I’ll give him a call,” Vicky says, already unlocking her phone with a dramatic sigh. “We barely get time like this anymore. He should come hang out with us.”

You hum in agreement, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “He probably thinks we’re gonna start trauma-dumping the second he walks in,” you joke.

“Honestly, he’s not wrong,” Leah adds, grinning as she pulls her hair up into a messy bun. “But he can survive a little emotional depth.”

Vicky rolls her eyes as she puts the phone to her ear. “If he picks up on the first try, I’m buying a lottery ticket.”

You glance around the room while she waits — the soft ticking of the wall clock, the slight creak of the ceiling fan above, a framed photo of the four of you at Leah’s high school graduation still hanging a little crooked on the wall. You didn’t realize how much you missed this — not the house, not even the coffee, but the quiet sense of belonging that comes with being around people who get you.

“It’s so weird that this used to be, like, every day,” Leah says, eyes scanning the ceiling like she’s watching a memory float by. “Now we need to schedule hangouts like we’re CEOs or something.”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice quieter than you expect. “I miss this.”

Vicky groans, “Ugh, he sent me to voicemail. Whatever, he’ll show up. Eventually.”

You all laugh, because that’s just so Nick. Always the last to arrive, always the one who makes an entrance.

The moment isn’t flashy, or even all that eventful. But it feels like something you’ll remember. A lazy Sunday afternoon and some coffee that’s too strong but made with love. No pressure to talk about anything heavy, no expectations — just a soft space to exist in for a while.

And honestly, that’s enough.

Just as Vicky pulls the phone away from her ear with an annoyed sigh, it starts ringing — his name lighting up the screen like a miracle.

She stares at it, stunned. “Okay, what the hell?”

You and Leah both lean in to look at the screen like it’s a rare artifact.

“No way,” you say, laughing. “Nick’s actually calling you back? Right now?”

Vicky answers dramatically, “This must be a sign of the end times.”

“Hello?” she says into the phone, already sounding skeptical. “Oh now you wanna pick up?”

You can only hear her half of the conversation, but you can imagine Nick on the other end — probably sprawled out on the Jeons’ beanbag, gaming controller in one hand, phone pressed to his cheek.

“No, we’re not dying, idiot,” she continues, exasperated but fond. “But we’re all here — me, Leah, and our lazy-ass sister — and you should be too.”

You sip your coffee as Vicky rolls her eyes dramatically again, clearly being fed some kind of excuse.

“Well put down the controller or say goodbye to your dignity, because I’m putting you on speaker.”

She taps her screen and tosses the phone onto the couch between all of you. “Say hi, loser.”

Nick’s voice comes through, slightly crackly but clear. “Yo! Okay, okay, chill. I’m coming, alright? I just gotta finish this round.”

“Told you,” Leah smirks.

“Finish it fast or I’m eating everything without you,” you snark.

There’s a pause. Then Nick goes, “You guys suck,” before hanging up.

The three of you burst out laughing.

“God, I missed this,” Vicky says, letting her head fall back against the cushions.

You don’t say it out loud, but you did too. It’s rare now — the ease, the messiness, the way you all still slip back into each other like puzzle pieces that still fit, even after years of growing up.

You glance toward the door like you can already hear his footsteps on the porch.

“He’ll probably show up in, what, an hour?” Leah teases.

“Or fifteen minutes,” you say, smiling. “If he thinks I really am eating his food.”

“Yoooo,” Nick yells as he bursts into the house exactly twenty minutes later, arms open like he’s walking into a sitcom set. He immediately goes for everyone’s cheeks, pinching each of you with dramatic enthusiasm like he’s not the literal youngest here. “Missed me?”

“Unfortunately,” Vicky says dryly, slapping his hand away.

“Your energy is so loud,” Leah mutters, even as she’s smiling, trying to avoid his fingers. He gets to you last, practically squishing your face in his palms. “Ugh, you’re all so weird,” he teases before dropping into the armchair like a king returning from war.

Right behind him, like an awkward little shadow, comes Jungwoo. He looks up with a shy smile, offering a timid “Hey,” and you instantly brighten.

“Jungwoo!” you say, pulling him into a warm, quick hug. He lets out a quiet laugh, and you pat the seat next to you, already scooting over to make room.

“Thanks,” he says, settling down carefully, like he doesn’t want to take up too much space. His presence is comforting though — calm and familiar in a way that never demands anything.

But then—

You hear the casual thump of sneakers on the hallway tiles and, a beat later, him.

Jungkook walks into the room like he owns the lease, all lazy posture and understated confidence. His hair’s a little messy, like he didn’t bother checking it before leaving the house — or maybe because he doesn’t have to. His hands are in his pockets, and his eyes scan the room like he’s just checking in on what’s his.

You don’t notice him right away, not until his presence actually reaches you — like the heat of a flame you didn’t realize was too close.

Your eyes flick toward Vicky before anything else, and sure enough, she’s already rolling hers, the irritation practically humming off her. Classic.

Jungkook doesn’t seem fazed. He leans down and presses a casual kiss to your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world — and maybe it is, maybe it’s just who he is, but the air still shifts slightly around the room, and you’re hyper-aware of it.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and it’s so brief, so soft, it’s almost a whisper.

You hum back already feeling the subtle undercurrent vibrating beneath what was just a chill hangout moment ago.

Nick, of course, is oblivious, already asking if there’s food in the kitchen. Leah’s staring between you and Jungkook like she’s trying to connect invisible strings. Jungwoo politely sips on some soda, and Vicky... Vicky looks like she’s trying not to throw something.

“Jungkook,” Vicky says with a dry cough, her voice laced in sugar-coated sarcasm as she shoots him a smile that feels more like a threat than a greeting.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. He plasters on a polite grin, the kind that says I see you, but I’m not giving you the satisfaction, and replies, “Hey, Vicky.” His voice is casual, as he lowers himself into the open seat beside you. His knees knock yours lightly as he settles in, spreading his legs like he owns the damn couch.

You can practically hear the smugness in the shift of his body.

He leans back into the cushions like he’s been part of this family hangout every Sunday for the past ten years.

“So glad you two made it,” Leah says, eyes warm as they flick between Jungkook and Jungwoo. She’s the only one in the room who actually seems excited, cradling her mug like it’s a shield against the inevitable chaos.

“What, no love for me?” Nick gasps, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “I walk in here after being ignored in the chat all week and you’re acting like I’m invisible?”

Leah rolls her eyes without looking at him. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, little bro.”

“You wound me,” Nick mutters, falling into the armchair like he’s been personally attacked.

You snort into your coffee. “What were you guys even doing before you came here?” you ask, turning your head just slightly toward Jungkook. He’s too close. His cologne smells like cedar and leather and something vaguely sweet, and it’s driving you crazy.

Jungkook stretches his arms over the back of the couch and shrugs. “Just gaming. Got sucked into a ten-round match. Jungwoo was rage quitting every five minutes.”

Jungwoo, still looking slightly nervous to be around this much estrogen, huffs from the corner. “Only because you kept stealing my kills.”

“I call that teamwork,” Jungkook says smugly.

“Amazing,” Vicky cuts in, her voice a touch too bright. She leans forward like she’s part of the conversation, even though she clearly wants to be anywhere else. “A group of full-grown men, spending their precious free time playing make-believe war on a flat screen. So inspiring. Truly peak masculinity.”

There’s a second of silence.

Jungkook just raises a brow. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried the high of landing a perfect sniper shot.”

“Right,” Vicky deadpans. “Because that’s what’s missing from my life. Digital murder.”

You hide your smirk behind your mug. Nick snorts out loud.

“Don’t take it personally, Kook,” you whisper under your breath, your lips brushing the rim of your cup. “She’s just mad because no one ever carried her to victory in Mario Kart.”

Jungkook chuckles low under his breath, and that stupid little sound warms the side of your neck.

“Please,” Vicky says, crossing her arms. “If I wanted to waste hours of my life, I’d re-download Tinder. At least that has real people.”

“Debatable,” Jungkook mutters, and even Leah lets out a laugh at that.

“Besides,” Vicky sing-songs, stretching her arms over the back of the chair like she owns the entire damn living room, “if I wanted to, just hypothetically speaking, spend my time engaging in murder…” —her gaze drifts pointedly toward Jungkook, slow and deliberate— “it sure as hell wouldn’t be the digital kind.”

A beat.

Jungkook blinks once, then exhales like she’s personally exhausted him. “Damn, Vick. I barely stepped into the house and you’re already out here threatening my life?”

“Who says I’m talking about you?” she snaps, lips curling into a sweet, venom-laced smile. “But I mean… if the shoe fits.”

Leah snorts from the couch, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Size ten in petty.”

Nick, spoon halfway to his mouth, glances between the two of them like he’s watching a tennis match. “You realize he’s a lawyer, right?” he says, around a mouthful of Leah’s crème brûlée. “He could probably put you in jail for, like, intent to commit murder. Or… psychological intimidation. That’s a thing, right?”

“Wow. Thank you, Nicholas,” Jungkook says, lifting his hand to his chest in mock appreciation. “Glad someone here respects the law.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Vicky sighs, tossing her hand dramatically. “I’m so scared. What are you gonna do? Sue me for having bad vibes?”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “Don’t tempt me. I bill by the hour.”

Leah nearly chokes on her tea, covering her mouth to keep from laughing. “God, this feels like a deleted scene from Legally Blonde."

Vicky eyes Jungkook one last time before shifting her focus to her nails like he’s not even worth the continued energy. “Whatever. I’d win in court anyway.”

“You’d win by sheer volume of attitude,” Jungkook mutters.

“You’re damn right.”

“Anyways,” you say, drawing out the word like a life raft tossed into rising tension, “Where’s Nina? How is she?”

“Uhh…” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, a little too slowly. “She’s sick, so she’s resting a bit.”

“Again?” you ask, brows knitting, concern slipping into your voice before you can curb it. “She was feeling off the night you played too. Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook shifts in his seat, a bit too quickly. “It’s probably just the weather changing, I'm not sure. But it's nothing serious.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me,” Vicky mutters under her breath, swirling her tea like it wronged her. “What is she, pregnant or something?” She lets out a short laugh, but no one joins in.

In fact, the air shifts—just slightly, but unmistakably.

You feel it first. Jungwoo straightens his shoulders like someone pressed a nerve in his spine. Nick stops mid-bite, his spoon hovering somewhere between the table and his mouth before he quickly lowers it like the dessert is suddenly too rich to swallow. He stares at his plate like it might hold the answer to why this room just dropped ten degrees.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook doesn’t laugh. Not really. He lets out a single, clipped chuckle that dies as quickly as it’s born. His jaw tightens—once, twice—his fingers twitch subtly at his knee. His breath comes shallow. Controlled.

“Of course not,” he says, voice just a tad too light, too quick. “Just a little cold. Happens.”

But his eyes don’t meet yours.

Vicky blinks, her expression faltering as she scans the room, the energy clearly not matching her intent. “I was just joking, guys,” she says slowly, like she’s unsure whether she should be apologizing or doubling down.

You offer her a small, almost sympathetic smile—because truly, you don’t think she meant it. But your stomach twists all the same. Because whatever she said hit something. Something tender. Something no one’s talking about.

And most of all, because Jungkook’s not looking at anyone anymore. Just at the edge of the coffee table. Like he’s suddenly a million miles away.

And for the life of you, you don’t know why.

The conversation trickles back after a few awkward gulps of coffee and half-hearted jokes. Leah tries her best, bless her, chattering about some new café that opened up in town. Nick throws in the occasional sarcastic comment to keep the rhythm from collapsing entirely. Jungwoo nods along like a man on autopilot.

But you can still feel the heaviness clinging to the room like smoke.

Jungkook’s unusually quiet now. He's answering questions when prompted, but his usual warmth is gone—like he packed it away with Nina’s name.

You’re not the only one who notices. Vicky’s arms are crossed tight, and her jaw ticks like she wants to say something but bites it back. Leah’s glance darts between the two of them, the peacemaker instincts activated but unsure where to step in.

Eventually, the opportunity comes when Leah gets up to take more dessert orders and Vicky follows her into the kitchen with a pointed, “We need more whipped cream,” which is clearly just code for let me vent for five minutes before I explode.

Nick and Jungwoo fall into their own small conversation—basketball, you think—something safe.

That’s when you nudge Jungkook’s leg.

He looks at you, slow. You nod toward the hallway.

“Come with me for a second?” you ask quietly.

He follows you without a word.

You stop near the coat rack in the hallway, just out of earshot. It’s dimmer here. Quieter. The hum of a refrigerator from the kitchen and soft chatter from the living room feel miles away.

“You okay?” you ask, voice gentle.

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. I told you—she’s just sick.”

You tilt your head, squinting at him. “I didn’t ask about Nina.”

That catches him off guard. His shoulders drop slightly, like you just called him out on holding his breath.

“I’m fine,” he says, this time without the fake lightness. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

You nod, arms crossing, not in defense, but in comfort. “Is there something going on you’re not telling me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His tongue rolls over the inside of his cheek like he’s chewing on whether or not to speak. And then he exhales through his nose, sharp and quiet.

“There’s just stuff I’m… still figuring out.”

“Okay,” you say simply, not pushing.

His eyes meet yours for a second longer than necessary. There’s so much in them. Fatigue. Frustration. And something else—something you can’t name, but it makes your heart sting a little.

And then, as quickly as it cracked, the mask slides back on.

“We should go back,” he says, already stepping toward the living room.

You watch him walk off. You don’t follow right away.

There’s a weird heaviness in your chest. Not worry. Not sadness. Just this strange, frustrating itch of not knowing.

You don’t know what’s going on with him.

You don’t know what Vicky’s comment touched.

And you really don’t know why all of it is starting to matter more than you want it to.

It's past midnight when you finally get home.

The apartment is dark, your skin smells faintly of creme brulée and laundry detergent, and your phone’s been silent for the past hour.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. And you think about it.

About Vicky’s joke.

About the shift in Jungkook’s posture.

About how he didn’t touch his coffee after that.

About the hallway, and the way he didn’t answer your question, but his eyes did.

So, you do what you shouldn’t do.

You open your texts.

[12:27 AM] You: hey

You stare at it. Delete. Re-type.

[12:28 AM] You: i hope you're okay. you don’t have to explain anything if you’re not ready. i just wanted you to know i’m here. always.

You press send.

And then — because you can’t help yourself — you add one more.

[12:29 AM] You: also. if you ever need someone to fake a kidnapping so you can vanish for a weekend, i have a shovel and a good alibi.

You hit send.

Immediately regret it.

Immediately laugh.

Immediately wonder if he’ll reply.

You put your phone face down on your chest and close your eyes.

The kind of tired you feel isn’t physical.

It’s the kind that settles behind your ribs and waits.

You’re not expecting a reply.

Not tonight, maybe not at all. You know Jungkook — he shuts down when things get too heavy.

But your phone buzzes. Once.

[12:41 AM Kook]: you always know when to text me. it’s scary sometimes.

Then, after a beat, another one.

[12:42 AM] Kook: i’m okay. or trying to be. it doesn't matter. but thank you

Your heart tugs in a way you don’t like. A way that feels too much, too soon, too everything.

He sends one more.

[12:44 AM] Kook: also, pretty sure the shovel thing is illegal. but i’m keeping you in mind. just in case.

You laugh. You smile. You almost cry. All at once.

You set your phone down gently, like it’s carrying something fragile. Because maybe it is. Maybe it always has when it comes to Jungkook.

The room is dark except for the soft glow of the city bleeding in through your curtains, dancing shadows on your wall. You exhale, long and quiet, and sink deeper into your mattress, the weight of the day pressing against your chest.

You don’t reply to him. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t trust yourself not to say too much. Because your fingers are twitching to type "I miss you,” and your chest aches with the need to ask "What are you not telling me?” But instead, you let the silence answer for you.

You turn over, blanket pulled up to your chin, eyes open to the ceiling, and you realize something:

This is no longer simple.

It hasn’t been for a while now.

Jungkook's words echo in your head as you finally close your eyes.

“You always know when to text me.”

And yeah—

That’s exactly the problem.

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verdancy-hime · 23 hours ago

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I don't agree about fast fashion or fast food. I mean, we can make those industries better and cheaper and greener but there will always be a need for people living alone or traveling or disabled or working late or something to get inexpensive food that's cheap, filling and tasty and we have always had fast food since the beginning of human history and we just moralize food choices now because we want a proxy for class and it's lame and dumb and I expect better from tumblr users than having to explain to them why 45 people who live alone because they choose to in small apartments in a city going to a local place and getting a sandwich and a pickle and a milkshake on their way home from work and then going home and taking a shower and not cooking at home is actually better for the environment that's all been established by actually smart people. Less hot water less waste less heat is needed to heat one commercial kitchen selling soup or burritos or whatever than is needed for every single apartment dweller to have a full size kitchen that's good for really cooking in and the average person before like 1980 or 1990 in big cities proved it. It was standard to just like cook small things like eggs or fried sandwiches or something if you lived alone or eat stuff like bread and fruit and milk and eat out for a lot of city dwellers in the old days and a lot of those old apartments have tiny kitchens for a reason- people would grab something on the way home from work at a small business where they can make like... 1 pot of soup of the day and serve it with biscuits from the biscuits and gravy morning special and save money, time, and resources.

Fast fashion also has it's uses. We don't need everything to last forever for it to be an important part of how we signal and speak to one another and decorate time, space, bodies and communities. And people always used to have ways to do that even when clothes were expensive to make like designing convertible clothing or pieces that could be worn over an existing expensive long lasting piece that were cheap, easy to change out and meant to be a way to participate in something brief- scarves, hair ribbons, lipsticks, handkerchiefs, belts, big ornate pins, etc. Used to be popular. We don't need to get rid of fast fashion we need to make what we have easier to modify into something new when the original buyer is tired of it by having people who have the job of modifying and upcycling or turning clothes into stuff like braided rugs, housing insulation, hammocks, liners for planters, etc. We need clothing that is being manufactured today to have stricter regulations that prevent harmful waste from being released into the water table. We need safer textile dyes and safer factories and ways to green the waste and materials that biodegrade. All that crap.

But yes people could work a lot less than they do. We could decide everyone just gets food and shelter and stuff for free. No matter what. Then if people want to collect old crappy poly cotton blend clothes and make rugs and potholders and house slippers for all their friends or little houses for mama cats to give birth to kittens in or something in they can do that in their spare time between doing dishes 3 times a week at the local publicly owned place that has basically food that was on the dollar menu at a restaurant like 5 years ago but it's owned by the government and everyone gets a punch card that says they can get 1 free meal per day there every day that is mailed to them each month.

We actually can afford to have all that stuff. The government has huge caves of cheese and they could ship the cheese to your town and make you a grilled cheese and someone's job could be like to bake bread there three days a week and then the rest of the week they could spend their time making like, a free computer game that releases a new chapter each month where you play as a little guy who is trapped in a confusing set of rooms or something.

People wouldn't have to give all of that stuff up because they would have more time to do it the right way.

So, like, universal basic income.

One of the things I’ve heard people say is how, you know, you need income as a motivation to make people work. And I’ve heard some great arguments against that.

But also.

There are a lot of low-paid jobs that actually make the world a crappier place. Like, if we could just pay everyone in the fast fashion industry to stay home and not go to work, the world would be a much better place. If we paid people enough that they didn’t need to work in factories, then large-scale manufacture of crappy stuff wouldn’t be feasible anymore.

Like, we’re basically in a post-scarcity society. We have more than enough food and clothing for everyone. This manic capitalist mindset where we force people to go to jobs they hate to remove value from the world is insane, right?

And maybe if we instituted this we’d lose fast food corporations and stuff. But I bet they’d be replaced by small restaurants run by people who are passionate about what they do.

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kentoruuu · 1 day ago

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RICHBOY!GOJO X GAMERGIRL!READER AU

CONTENT WARNING! non-curse au but gojo does adopt yuuji,megumi, and nobara, fluff, smut, dumbification, breeding kink, oral sex (f receiving), slight overstimulation, fingering, pussy play, size kink, biting, mating press, crying, sloppysex, raw sex, pussydrunk!gojo & cockdrunk!reader, age gap implied, afab!reader, made with chubbyblack!reader in mind

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who had.. well no has everything as of right now but five months ago before he met you felt dull and empty inside which was odd because he had everything a man could ever dream of

cars, a massive penthouse, women flocking to the streets to even get a glimpse of him, hell he even adopted two extra teenagers on top of the one he already just to fill the void in his life but it was all temporary

soon the cars became boring, the penthouse became empty as the kids found no interest in hanging out with him anymore and soon the act of entertaining several women became draining he didn’t know what to do until he met you

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who met you after a long night in which he tiredly asked you “can i crash at your place tonight” into which you reluctantly agreed to the stranger after he offered to pay for your groceries

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who immediately fell in love with your apartment as soon as he stepped foot inside no matter the space it felt like… home something he never felt before

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who ended up staying a WEEK at your house paying for groceries and snacks and whenever the two of you went out he paid it was like you finally found your own prince charming and by day two you guys ended up fucking like rabbits never taking your hands off of each other

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who now can’t get enough of you he even learned all your favorite comfort games and comfort genres so that he knows which games to buy. he absolutely spoils you rotten when it comes to new exclusive releases that barely anyone can get there hands on

he buys you all the figurines you want in order to fill in your displays all the keyboard parts you could ever ask for and all gadgets your could ever need

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who enjoys you sitting on his laps teaching him the difference between MOA and cherry key caps and why it’s important he never ever gets cherries “uh huh keep going baby” he whispers long thick fingers inching up your skirt to tease you and you swear your body turned into jelly right then and there

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who rewards you with a leg shaking, brain altering orgasm every-time you reach a new milestone in a game immediately latching his skilled tongue on that pretty pussy between your legs

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who was ESTATIC when he found out you were interested in buying a VR headset thinking about all the devious things the two of you could engage in together… just imagine the two of you fucking like rabbits each with their own headset in your shared alternate reality

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who falls asleep in your gaming chair with you in his lap after a long day of doordash and watching you play, ever since the two of you met you became the ultimate bed rotters it was a routine at this point

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who wakes you up every morning with him between your legs, rubbing delicate circles over your clit “fuuuck baby” he murmurs between your thighs “she’s so responsive even after last night” earning a long whine from your lips as he sped up the assault on your poor sensitive pussy but you knew there was no way in hell you’d tell him to stop

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who has a massive size kink and gets off on being to big to fit in your twin sized bed and the sheer size difference between you and him absolute towering over you no matter what position the two of you try

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who ruts into you so hard during missionary that eventually turns into a brutal mating press earning a large breathless gasp from your pretty lips “don’t *slap* you *slap* dare *slap* hold back on me sweetheart” pulling outrageously loud moan from you “ yes toru fuck fuck yes please don’t stop” you scream fills the apartment building as do the loud wet slaps of you body’s coming together

“trust i don’t plan on it sweetheart this pussy is all mine to ruin” he coos, rubbing harsh circles on your poor sensitive cunt with no regard for the tears coming down your face

“your all fucked out just for me baby, just for toru right” he mocks gripping your thighs tighter “ugh toru only you only you baby i p-promise”

“fuuuck baby” he groaned speeding up his thumb on you clit and the pace of his hips, pushing you into an even deeper mating pressing “your sucking me in so g-good i don’t fuck think i can pull out”

“its like your begging me to get this slutty pussy pregnant sweetheart” he ask teasingly making your pussy clench at his words “oh you like that don’t you” pushing your legs open more slamming his hips down completely drilling your pussy literally your neck with giant wet kisses

“is that what you want baby for me to give you my cum to make us a family” he says totally pussy drunk “yes yes yes!” you scream body trembling in satisfaction underneath as you cum all over his thick cock “fuck baby look at t-this mess” he groans throwing his head back “i’m gonna fucking explode”

*crack* your bed had broke but neither your or satoru seemed to show any interest in fact it seemed to add fuel to the fire boosting gojos already inflated ego making him rut into you harder and fast

“please toru please give me all your cum, make me a mom please” you moan burying your face in his shoulder “oh fuck fuck fuck” biting down hard on your lip completely bottoming out with one last hard thrust painting the inside of you gushy walls white “fuck take it, take it all like the good fucking girl you are”

completely filling you up head empty and dropping between your breast still plugging you up in order to make sure it takes

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who tells you to focus back on your game after he notices the whimper leave your mouth when you feel his dick twitch inside of you and rubs circles on your clit to get you all flustered and hot even after completely annihilating your cunt

“s’toru t-too sensitive” you moan completely losing track of your game to rest your head on his shoulder “pay attention sweetheart before i show you just how sensitive this pretty pussy can get”

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who is a sucker for cuddles and loves playing with you stomach squeezing it and kissing your stretch marks he’s even learned that with cuddling you means also getting used to the lack of space due to your plushies

“my love don’t you think some of these can go” he groans pulling one out of his back and on top of the 30 others residing on the bed

“but babeeeuhh you know how much i love them” you whined to which he reluctantly agreed to let them stay like he even had a choice

★RICHBOY!GOJO★ who loves shy gamer girl and how vulnerable and comfortable you make him and no matter what he will always choose you over the cars, the money, the houses cause none of hold any value like you do which is why he just had to put a ring on that finger

A/N: hello everyone i really want some advice i really need some critique on my writings i feel mediocre or subpar it makes me happy but i just wanna get better so if you have suggestions or requests or recommendations pls let me know i would like to fix my smut writing cause i feel like that’s so hard to write so pls comment or feel free to use my suggestion box im always open to constructive feedback

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cerisereids · 2 days ago

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𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻, 𝗘𝗴𝗴 𝗬𝗼𝗹𝗸, 𝗜 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗔𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- mom!reader x s18!Spencer Reid

WC- just under 1k

Summary- Spencer enjoys a quiet moment with his wife and child. If would have known 20 years ago he’d ever be so happy, he would’ve laughed hysterically.

Contains- just a bunch of dad!Spencer fluff, one super quick Maeve mention, Spencer being the best dad ever, not proofread we die like men

A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto!

Spencer Reid, an accomplished man of three PHDs, is on cleanup duty. The sleeves of his linen pajamas are rolled up to the elbow, his hand gripping a wet dish cloth. It's just as well, really. Cooking with a three year old activates his need to clean immensely.

"Do you want to crack the eggs?" his wife asked, gripping two white ovals in her dexterous fingers. The sight alone is enough to make his stomach turn, let alone the idea of his baby girl trying to not get shells in the egg mixture. He loves them both with everything in him. That doesn't mean he's confident in their coordination.

"Yeah!" She yells in excitement. He can't help but smile, despite his anxiety.

"Alright, you have to be really careful. No shells in the bowl now, got it?" She holds up a finger to baby Diana's chubby face, slowly handing off an egg.

Diana is oh so careful. Her two chubby hands cradle the egg, balancing it in her right hand. She hits it once, twice against the counter, a bubbly shriek spilling from her lips when it cracks.

Spencer's heart swells at the two loves of his life, working so hard on making the perfect Sunday breakfast. They have the same crease of concentration between their eyebrows. The sight feels like the sun has taken home in his chest, warming him from the inside out.

"Good job! Now crack it over the bowl!" His wife instructs, and she pulls apart the shell, the gooey liquid sloshing in the bowl.

"No shells!" She squeaks, a fierce look of pride on her face.

"Atta girl!" Spencer holds his hand up for a high five, his wife's hand running up and down her back. She kisses Diana's head before cracking another one, giving Diana the last one.

He grabs a fork, whisking the eggs together as his two girls move on to the pancake batter. His wife pours powdered Bisquick in the bowl, giving Diana measuring cups full of milk to pour in.

She approaches Spencer, sleep still lingering in her eye. Her hands graze his waist as she passes, whispering a soft, "Do you want some coffee?" in his ear.

"Please," he nods, placing a chaste kiss on her lips before she goes.

He moves to his baby girl next, his hands wrapping around her soft tummy. She's still little enough for both his hands to fit all the way around her. That won't be for long, though he tries not to think about it. The way she sprouts up gives him at least ten gray hairs a day.

"Daddy look!" She squeals, ever so proud of her work. "Pancakes!" She claps her hands in excitement, splaying powder as she did.

Spencer sneezes at the contact, and a peel of giggles spill from her lips.

"Dada!" She gasps between laughs. Spencer can't help it, he laughs too.

"Diana, was that silly?" He asks, pressing his lips to her head.

"Yes! So silly Dad!" she throws a hand up to her face, like she can't even help herself.

She's too much, so much that he scoops her up, long fingers digging into her tummy in a vicious tickle. She screams even louder, her giggles multiplying in speed and pitch.

"What is going on over there?!" His wife asks as the coffee begins percolating. The strong earthy scent fills the kitchen, easing his uncaffeinated system.

"Daddy is being too silly!" Diana breathes as Spencer slows his attack.

"He loves to be silly, he's good at that. Don't fall for it, he'll still get you!" She waves a spatula at Diana, who just snuggles into him.

He watches his wife, the early morning light filtering through the kitchen window. It cloaks her in a golden haze, like their own personal angel.

Spencer gets a quick flash of the past 20 years, of everything that's led to this moment. Joining the bureau, his eventual decision to leave, accepting a linguistics position at Georgetown, meeting the prettiest European literature professor, his wedding and the birth of Diana...he's baffled.

He thought love like this only existed for other people. He'd seen his colleagues earn it and lose it, seen them grieve and celebrate. He'd learned to be fine without it, especially after Maeve. He just accepted he was one of those people it didn't happen to, that he was always meant to be alone. He'd seen the beauty in it, the freedom in doing whatever he pleased.

It was all well and good, but the love that fills his kitchen now is thick, sticky and sweet. It fills him up like warm cocoa. His wife reaches out for the two of them, wrapping them both in her arms as far as they'll let her. For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid is truly content.

#criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #dad!spencer reid

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freakmcnastyy · 3 days ago

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Twisted

Geum Seongjae x f!reader (one-shot)

Warnings: cheating, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, mentions of sex.

Summary: After a reckless mistake, you call Seongjae!

Note: Anon request! I’m honestly not completely satisfied with it, but I hope you’ll still like it <3

Inspired bt the song “Love You Like Me”

⸻

When the phone rang, the only sound in the room was the dull hum of the fan. It was one of those suffocating summer nights. Seongjae was sweating. He wore nothing but a black pair of boxers and a thin white t-shirt that clung to his back. He was lying diagonally on the bed. His left hand was under his head, the other had fallen into the empty space beside him. His eyelids were heavy, teetering between sleep and consciousness. But the second he heard that ringtone… sleep disappeared in an instant.

It was you.

Seongjae squinted at the screen. For a moment, it felt like his heart stopped.

Because you… you never called at this hour.

In fact, you hadn’t called in a long time.

You’d been cold in your replies. Kept your conversations short.

And now, in the dead of night, you were reaching out to him.

His hand trembled slightly as he answered the call.

“Hello?” His voice was still hoarse, but panic had already crept into it.

There was silence on the other end at first.

Then that broken voice…

Like a hiccup wedged between alcohol and regret…

“Seongjae…” you said.

“I did something really bad… I’m sorry.”

It was like a knife to Seongjae’s heart.

He sat up instantly, bolting out of bed. The mattress groaned under the sudden movement.

His t-shirt was soaked through, sweat pooled along his hairline, but he didn’t feel any of it.

The blood in his veins began to boil.

His eyes widened, breath picked up speed.

“What are you talking about? Where are you?”

His voice carried panic, fear, and anger.

But more than anything else—confusion.

Because he didn’t want to believe it.

He didn’t want to believe you—that you would ever say something like that.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer…” you said. Your voice cracked—clearly you’d been drinking a few hours ago. Maybe you were still under the influence, but the fog was lifting. And the clearer your mind became, the worse you felt—and Seongjae noticed that. He heard the pain in your voice. The regret.

But all he could hear echoing in his mind was:

“I did something really bad.”

He swallowed hard. Ran a hand through his hair. His nose twitched, his jaw trembled.

Then he stomped down, steps heavy enough to rattle the bed and echo through the room.

“Who were you with?”

He yelled. His voice was deep and brutal—but you didn’t answer.

This time, his pitch sharpened. Like he was seconds from punching through a wall:

“ANSWER ME! WHO WAS IT?! TELL ME!!”

But still—silence.

The more you stayed quiet, the more paranoid he became.

His mind flashed images of another man touching you. Kissing your skin.

Maybe that man had held you. Maybe he even knew Seongjae’s name.

And you… you hadn’t said a word about it.

Seongjae began to unravel.

“Where are you?” he asked, his tone now dangerously threatening.

But beneath it—panic.

His mouth was dry. His fists clenched. His knuckles went bone-white.

“Where are you right now, Y/N?”

This time, he said your name clearly. Fully.

There was a flicker of softness in his voice.

The last trace of a broken man still trying to protect you.

“At the usual club.”

Everything went quiet.

Inside his mind, everything turned to static. He heard nothing.

Just stared at the screen, throat swelling with rage.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Then he exhaled hard.

He hung up the phone. Threw on some pants. Grabbed his keys. Slipped into the first pair of sneakers he saw.

His shirt was still soaked in sweat—but he didn’t care.

His shoulders trembled as he breathed through his nose.

He hit the road.

Because he needed to confront you.

Because he still loved you.

And that—that was what was tearing him apart.

When he arrived outside the club, the neon lights flickered against his sweat-slicked skin.

The bass thudded from inside like it was racing his heartbeat.

He paused for just a second. Squinted.

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you.

The tips of his hair curled with sweat. His breathing uneven.

And then—he saw you.

You stumbled slightly. Your makeup was smudged.

Your lips trembled. Your eyes were glassy.

But the worst part…

You wore the fingerprints of someone else’s touch.

Seongjae’s eyes widened.

He bit his lip. Then—he laughed.

But that laugh…

wasn’t joy.

It was rage.

It was betrayal.

It was the dying breath of a love already cracked in half.

He walked straight to you.

Didn’t say a word. Just grabbed your wrist.

Not violently—but with conviction.

You tried to speak.

“Seongjae, I—”

“Don’t talk.”

His voice was ice.

He pulled you from the club without looking back.

He didn’t call a cab. Didn’t speak.

He had no car that night. He walked.

With you.

You could barely stay upright, but he didn’t slow down.

Even when you stumbled—he didn’t care.

When he reached his place…

He opened the door.

Then shoved you inside.

It wasn’t gentle.

But he tried not to hurt you.

His rage was so tightly clenched that his hands trembled.

He closed the door.

Leaning against the wall, he didn’t turn around at first.

He shut his eyes. Inhaled deeply.

Then turned his head.

And exploded.

“I gave everythingto you.”

His voice was hoarse.

It came from his chest, deep and broken.

“Everything.”

He started walking toward you.

You backed away. You were already crying.

“And this is what you turn around and do?”

He didn’t shout.

But his words were knives.

He took another step.

“Did he have all that you wanted?”

He was close now.

His eyes were wet—but he wasn’t crying.

They just shone.

“For you to go and break your promise?”

Your knees buckled, and you dropped to the floor.

You covered your face with your hands, sobbing.

“I… I didn’t mean to. I swear, I… I tried to call you… I got confused, I— I…”

But your sentences fell apart.

The words tangled in your throat.

Tears spilled into your palms.

He brought his hands behind his head.

Stepped back.

Leaning against the wall, he stared at you.

You whispered again, “Please… forgive me…”

But his voice cut through yours:

“Did he fuck you better than I did?”

You shook your head.

“No… no… I didn’t know what I was doing, I just…”

But you couldn’t breathe.

Collapsed onto your knees, crying harder with every word.

And he just kept going.

Like a man striking you with every sentence.

“Of course he didn’t.”

He locked eyes with you. Slowly crouched to your level.

“He can’t touch you like I do.”

“He can’t break you like I do.”

You shut your eyes.

Tears pouring.

You covered your head with both hands, shaking now.

“Seongjae, please… I’m sorry… I swear it’ll never happen again,” you sobbed.

“If I did the same thing to you, would you forgive me?” he asked.

“N-No… but… you wouldn’t do that…” No, he wouldn't cheat on you, right? He loves you too much for that.

“I thought the same about you. But you…”

You threw your arms around him.

Like he might disappear.

You apologized over and over, soaking his shirt in your tears.

“Please… I swear I’ll make it right… just don’t leave me. I can’t live without you,” you begged, sobbing.

“A few hours ago you seemed fine without me—”

You cut him off.

Because it wasn’t true.

You’d never forgotten him.

“NO! Fucking no. I only love you. Please… don’t let me go…”

Stupid girl, he thought.

He was furious.

But you looked so vulnerable, so wrecked, it infuriated him even more.

He cursed under his breath.

And pulled you back into his arms.

“Good,” he muttered.

“At least you still remember who you belong to.”

#weak hero kdrama #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class 2 x reader #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #lee jun young #geum seongje scenario #wolf keum #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero class #weak hero #weak hero class two #geum seongjae scenarios #geum seongjae #geum seongje x reader #geum seongje

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the-librarby · 1 day ago

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YOU WEAR ATTENTION LIKE IT’S PERFUME

- JOHN MACTAVISH (COD)

Johnny can keep his thoughts to himself on a good day. But this dinner with your friends is testing his patience, it’s either he knocks this guy’s teeth in or you let him have his under-the-table fun with you.

Take one for the team, will you?

Title taken from A.M.P by Movements.

Credit to @/dollywons for the banner.

Johnny knew he hit the jackpot with you. Not many would put up with his somewhat rowdy behaviour, let alone his line of work for long, but somehow you still stuck around despite the long periods of time work took him away for.

So yes, he had sunk his hooks in you long ago and he wasn’t letting go, not until you snapped each finger back and finally told him to fuck off. You were counting on it though, what he failed to see was how much of an affect his unwavering loyalty had on you.

Ever since he told a guy who was persistently asking for your phone number when you were just trying to pick up your coffee, to pack it up and leave, you just knew. He tried to deter you, honestly, no matter how weak willed his defence was—you can’t say he didn’t warn you about what it would be like when he had to pack up and leave for the next place he was needed.

And it was tough, especially in the beginning, having to build so much trust over a long distance but you made it work. Your friends had thought you were lying about this military boyfriend for a while—because seriously where the fuck did you manage to meet him?—and were concerned about your mental wellbeing, until John had promised to put what limited time he had aside to call you and answer all your friends questions. It has been a very awkward first introduction, but it was endearing to hear him sweating over the prying questions your friends had prepared.

And that’s just the type of man he was. He was passionate,— loud, rowdy, whatever you want to call it—considerate, and most of all attentive.

“What time are we leavin’?”

His eyes meet yours through the mirror, he’s standing there ready to go but knows you’re nowhere near ready, evident by the fact that you’re not even dressed yet, “Um,” you pause mid-brush to look down at your phone, “Half an hour?”

He walks over to your makeup vanity to observe all the various products you have spread out over the desk, “Can I help?”

John makes himself comfortable by straddling the bench you’re currently sitting on, his bulky frame knocks into the table causing it to rattle everything. You gaze over at him questioningly with an eyebrow quirked, but he looks curious as he inspects everything a laugh can’t help but escape your lips.

“Help with what? My makeup?” You clarify, putting the hairbrush down.

John picks up one of your eyeliner pens and uncaps the lid, tilting it between his fingers, “Yeah,”

You point at the eyeliner in his hands, “Do you even know what that’s for?”

He squints for a moment and runs the tip of the brush against the back of his hand until it leaves a black smudge, “It’s a tool… for somethin’,” you hum in encouragement, “Eye related?”

At your brightened gaze he smiles triumphantly, “Lucky guess,” you roll your eyes, “Not sure if I trust you enough to put eyeliner on me though,”

His expression turns aghast as he holds the pen more firmly now, “I’ve got a steady hand!” He declares, inching closer to your face, “I can do a better job than you,”

You laugh and lean back out of his grabbing range, put space between the two of you by shoving against his chest, “You don’t even know what to do!”

He leans back and throws his hands up with an exasperated huff, “Show me a photo of you in it then, I can copy,”

“I wasn’t even going to put any on tonight,” you mutter, pulling up an old photo of you wearing it so he could see.

John whistles lowly, “Well you’ve got to now doll, look at that,” he hunches over you phone and uses his free hand to zoom in on your face, “Beautiful,”

“Alright,” you give in, propping up your phone against the mirror with the photo displayed as a reference. You copy John’s posture and swing one leg over the bench so you’re straddling it as well, “You get one chance, I don’t want us to be late.”

John looks at the photo one last time in upmost concentration before turning to you, eyeliner pen ready in his hand. Gently he grips your chin and tilts your head, eyes fluttering closed when you feel the closed palm of his other hand resting against your temple. Before he can begin, you rest your hands on the bench between your legs for balance and wait patiently for John to finish it off. You’re half convinced you’ll have to wipe it off, as much as you love him, you are not going out with subpar eyeliner on just to appease him.

“Done,” he mumbles, capping the lid back on the eyeliner.

When you open your eyes to check the damage, John is already looking at you through the mirror with a smug smile on his face. Fuck, it’s actually perfect.

“How the fuck did you manage that?” You gasp, tilting your head from side to side to check the evenness.

He puffs his chest out with pride, “Steady hands my love, what can I say? I’m a man of many talents,”

“Whatever, don’t get a big head about it,” you tease.

“Too late, my head is touching the ceiling as we speak.”

You laugh and stand up, hopping over the vanity bench to reach for tonight’s outfit which is hanging on your wardrobe door. It’s just a little black dress, a go to that you gravitate to once the weather starts to get warmer.

John stays seated when you disappear into the connecting ensuite to put it on. He’s just about organised all your discarded makeup when you walk back in, hands awkwardly twisted behind your back as you try to get the zipper to close.

“Help?” You ask.

You turn your back as John stands up to assist you, with careful hands he pinches the zipper and tugs it up in one smooth motion until it’s secure. In the full length mirror he can see you adjusting the hem of it until it’s shifted down just a bit lower. His hands rest on your waist as he ducks down to press a chaste kiss against your cheek.

“Look stunning, love,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head, “It’s not too short right?”

He hooks his chin over your shoulder to give you a proper once over. The dress is short, indecent thoughts of bending you over there and then are already running through his mind on a loop.

“If someone so much as looks at you wrong, you let me know. I’ll take care of it.” he promises.

Before you can come up with some kind of retort, your phone on the vanity starts to buzz with incoming text messages. Other friends have started to leave their places, meaning you’re now in a mad dash to collect the rest of your things and slip on a pair of heels.

John is already standing at the door with your bag over his shoulder waiting for you to catch up, car keys are dangling in his other hand.

“Are you sure you want to drive?”

“Aye, I’m being a good boy tonight, no rowdy bar fights for me when I’m making a good impression on your friends,”

You smile mischievously and run your hand down his chest as you go to step out the front door, “But I love when you start fights,”

John smirks and smacks your ass as you turn around, “Save your flirtin’ for later, we have places to be.”

Dinner was a casual affair between you, your closest friends, and their partners (a triple date as one of your friends referred to it as), at some inner city restaurant. The restaurant was known for its dim, almost candlelit lighting and limited seating—it was a miracle you’d actually had a chance to book a reservation.

Everyone was already seated at the circular table by the time you’d made it, it had taken a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, but the deep wooden interior and low hanging pendent lights accompanied by the candles littering each table really made up for the intimate atmosphere.

You went around the table to say hello to each person while John introduced himself to your friend’s partners, by now they were semi-introduced having only met him twice in between deployments. But it didn’t take long for John to get on someone’s good side if he behaved—as his mother would say.

“So glad you organised this!” One of the girls said, “This place is so nice, I didn’t even know there was a bar outside the back.”

John rested his hand over your thigh as he made polite small talk with the guys. They were a far stretch from his friends at work, business men—clearly knew each other by the way they talked about mutual coworkers, but John was nothing but flexible when it came to conversation. So he listened, added insightful detail, and asked questions when the girls were retelling a story he wasn’t there for.

They were great for pushing embarrassing details about you, “Remember when you got so drunk on the way to that pool hall, that you almost fell over into a ditch of water?”

John grins and leans over you to hear your friend’s details, “Sorry, she what? When?”

You shove him away, “God, shut up, that’s not even funny, I’ll never drink that much again in my life,”

Your friend laughed, patting your shoulder sympathetically, “It was so long ago, she literally couldn’t walk straight without holding onto someone,”

John laughs and squeezes your thigh, “When are you gonna let that loose around me?”

You roll your eyes, “Trust me,” you pat his hand, “It’s not cute, and definitely not something you want to see,”

“I agree, it’s not fun looking after a drunk girlfriend. So messy,” one of the guys cuts in judgementally, taking a sip of his scotch.

The table gets a bit quiet after that, unsure how to respond but John just laughs, “Nah mate, I’d love to see it, drunk babbling and all,” he says, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it.

A shy smile graces your face as he squeezes your hand in reassurance. I got you. Soon after, a new conversation starts up as the food arrives. There are drinks flowing—a decent amount until everyone lets their guard down and laughter comes more easier from around the table. The white tablecloth is starting to frustrate you with how long it is draping over your legs because you keep kicking it, but you try to not let it bother you.

“Bathroom?” One of the girls whispers. You nod eagerly and stand, adjusting your dress as you do, a mild dizzy spell hits you when you stand to your full height. Time to back off the drinks, you think.

You’re all giggling by the time you make it into the bathroom, taking turns in using the stall and touching up your makeup.

“Your make up is banging tonight,”

You laugh loudly, it’s an unexpected response that makes your friend look at you questioningly, “Would you believe me if I told you Johnny did my eyeliner?”

“What?” Your friend gasp, “No fucking way, let me see,”

“What! What!” The other girl calls from the stall, “What am I missing?”

You let your face be tilted side to side, “Damn he did good, what is this just a bizarre trick he knows?”

The sound of the toilet flushing and door slamming open breaks you both apart. You shrug, “I don’t know, he’s just a bag of tricks I guess,”

“What did I miss?” She asks, looking at the both of you.

“John did her eyeliner, and I’m fucking jealous in all honesty,” your friend said earnestly.

“What? Aw,” She coos, quickly washing her hands before looking at you, “That’s so cute! Goals, wish that were me,”

You smile bashfully but feel pride well in your chest, “Think I just lucked out.”

The girls smile at you knowingly and turn to each other to whisper conspiratorially right in front of you, making sure you can see every dramatic nod and glance your way.

“I know,” one of the girls points a finger in her mouth in a gagging act, “Disgustingly in love,”

“Right? I feel like I’m intruding on them,” the other agrees.

You roll your eyes, “Oh whatever, you’re both so dramatic,”

The girls laugh but follow your motion to walk out into the restaurant. You’re about to walk back to the table when the entrance to the bar comes into view. It’s much brighter out there with the warm lighting, in the outdoor patio space. The girls are immediately intrigued and want to have a look at the drinks menu, which you agree to and offer to meet them there once you tell the boys. You watch them disappear through the door before finding your way back to the table, which is incredibly hard in the dim lighting.

When John comes back into view he’s already looking at you curiously, “Fell down the rabbit hole on your way back or somethin’ lass?” He asks once you’re in earshot.

You grin and pat shoulder before letting it migrate to the back of his neck, he leans into your touch as you rest your elbows on the back of his chair, “No, just girl talk in the bathroom,” you crouch down to whisper in his ear, “They’re very envious of your makeup skills, had to practically claw them off you,”

He tilts his head until his lips are just shy of touching your cheek, “Oh yeah? Stake your claim did you?”

You hum, letting your fingers curl and pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, “You bet your ass I did baby.”

The clearing of someone’s throat popped the bubble that surrounded you both, when you glanced over at the other two guys you smiled politely, “The girls have gone to give the bar outside a try, did you guys want something? I’m about to go find them,”

“I’ll try whatever you’re gettin’.” John mumbles into your ear, giving your arm a pat.

The other two politely decline, so you nod and stand up before turning on your heel to find your way back to the girls. John watches you longingly as you leave, god your ass looks great in that dress.

“I don’t know how you do it John,” dickhead cuts in. He’d aptly named him that due to forgetting his name, and honestly not caring for ask for a reminder after his little comment about drunk women being messy.

“Do what?” He mutters, half disinterested.

“I could never let my girl go out in a dress like that,” he clarifies.

Oh how John feels his blood start to boil, “I fail to see how that’s any of your business,” he states bluntly, trying to keep his tone even.

Dickhead shrugs nonchalantly, raising his tumbler of watered down whiskey, “My girl knows she has to dress modestly,”

John crosses his ankle over his knee, leaning back in his chair, “And how’s that working out for you, mate?”

The other guy—idiot, as named in John’s mind for the way he spinelessly follows this dickhead’s words—shifts uncomfortably at the confrontational tone.

“Excuse me?” He inquires.

John clasps his hands together as his elbows rest against either arm rest, “I asked, how’s that going for you? Is the missus satisfied with your subpar performance?”

“Woah,” idiot chimes in awkwardly, “Let’s settle down,”

“My partner is more than happy thank you,” dickhead snips, knocking his tumbler against the table, “Calm down, I didn’t mean anything bad by my comment,”

John raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t mean anything bad when you commented on the way my partner dresses? You’ve overstepped your boundary, mate,”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing to his friend beside him, “This guy can’t take a joke, should’ve known better with a military man. So disconnected from our world,”

Idiot nods timidly and takes a sip of his water, but John is like a dog with a bone, “How about you stop hiding behind your pathetic superiority complex and say it like it is, since I’m so disconnected,”

Dickhead eyes him out of the corner of his eye, “Listen, clearly we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” he leans back in his seat, “You can’t take a joke, I see that now, let’s just drop it,”

John makes a grab for his drink, making the guy flinch in his seat, he can’t help but smirk, “Of course, I’m just a military man,” he sips his water, “I’d understand you’d want to backtrack since I could easily knock your teeth in,”

“Are you threatening me?”

He shrugs, “Depends, you gonna keep running your mouth?”

The man scoffs and shakes his head, “God, you’re suited for each other. Always knew she’d end up with a degenerate,”

“Fucks sake, degenerate? What are you, my mother?” He laughs, “Are ye jealous, cunt? Sounds like you’re pent up,” he leans closer to privately whisper, “I was joking about your subpar performance, are you actually having trouble? There’s things you can get for that now y’know?”

Dickhead looks aghast at his choice of words, his top lip curling up in distaste like John is the scum beneath his shoe, “Have a bit of tact, seriously, you’re embarrassing yourself,”

John snuffs out a laugh, relaxing back into his chair, “Yeah because tact has worked so well for you. Your girl is a saint for puttin’ up with ye,”

“Well I doubt you had to work very hard to get where you are, did you?” he spat.

“You implyin’ she’s a whore now?” He asks bluntly, he scoffs and shakes his head, “Mate, you’re askin’ the wrong questions, what you should be asking for is tips on how to eat out a cunt because I doubt you’ve ever been in any other position than missionary.”

The server that walks past side eyes their table as they walk past with their tray of drinks. You could hear a pin drop at the table now, dickhead is seething, if it were brighter in here John is sure he could watch the way his face turns red.

“That is not true,” he defends, “And it’s not your place to comment on such things—”

“Oh, now he gets it!” John cuts in, “Found out what decency is did you?”

“Yeah, does your girl know the meaning?” He jabs.

John nods with an amused smile, “Good one,” he comments, “My girl,” he emphasises pointing to his chest, “Knows she can wear whatever the fuck she wants because she’s got me looking after her. What are you doin’ when a guy makes a pass at your missus? Calling security? Fuckin’ wanker.”

The guy seethes silently for a moment, jaw set in anger until he’s finally had enough. He drags his chair out and stands up, muttering about not needing to take this, before storming off. His friend glances between the two of them before following suit, making an excuse to check on his partner.

“Tell his missus that he stormed off too while you’re at it,” he comments nodding in the direction of the door he stormed out of.

The guy just nods before walking towards the back door entrance to the bar. John sighs and sinks into his seat, fuck he hoped this didn’t blow it for you and your friends. He avoided drinking to keep himself from running his mouth, but it turns out he does a fantastic job at it while sober too.

It’s not long before he sees you making a beeline between the tables to get to him, a worried expression creasing your face, “What happened?” You ask, dropping down in the seat next to him.

John sighs roughly, “Fucking dickhead called you a tart,”

“What? Why?” You press on.

He looks at you for a moment before trailing his eyes down to your dress, “I don’t want this to ruin your night,” he huffs, “Guy is as stuck up as the nuns in church,”

You look down self consciously, “My dress isn’t it?”

John hooks his finger under your chin and knocks his forehead gently against yours, “Hey,” he murmurs, “Don’t let that guy get into your head,” he chuckles, eyes not straying away from yours, “If it makes you feel better he tried to call me dumb because I’m in the military,”

You laugh softly and sigh, “Must not know what he’s talking about then,”

“Exactly.” he agrees, dropping his hand down to your thigh.

You’re not entirely convinced of the whole situation, it does make you a bit self conscious that one of your friend’s partners commented on how you look. Like it has to be noticeable, if another guy is commenting right? The thought sticks like glue and plasters itself at the forefront of your mind, an unmovable stain on your mood.

The only thing that momentarily crashes your pity party is the intruding fingers trying to get underneath your dress, “What are you doing?” You ask, squirming away and trying to shove your dress back down.

“Sick of seeing you in this dress and not doing anything about it,” John says in a gruff tone, not even looking your way.

You squeak when he roughly pulls your leg to the side to get better access to your inner thigh, “John, where the fuck are you going—” you gasp as his finger trails down the crease of your panties.

Still unfazed, John’s hand remains where it is gently petting the outline of your slit. You’ve never been so thankful for the dim lighting and long tablecloth that’s covering your legs. You grab his wrist and squeeze your legs tightly around his hand in effort to limit his mobility.

“Are you insane?” You hiss, looking directly at him.

John tilts his head lazily in your direction, a matching at ease smirk on his face, “I’ve sat though some fucking painful conversations tonight, sweetheart,” he sighs, “If I don’t get to blow off some steam I’m going to beat the shit out of that guy when he comes back in to get his missus,”

You bite your lip looking around self consciously, suddenly all the eyes in the room feel like they’re on you. John leans over into your chair, “I don’t think you get it,” he murmurs, “This is not a choice, open your fucking legs or I’ll make sure everyone sees. I’m not above getting kicked out of here.”

He doesn’t even need to convince you any further, you believe it. He’s been kicked out of bars over smaller things, he’s told you so on dates when he traded stories over his embarrassing past behaviour.

Doesn’t seem like much has changed now. Reluctantly you sink further down into your seat, just to make sure the tablecloth is fully covering your lap before you let your legs fall open.

“Good girl.” he murmurs in your ear, resuming his soft movements.

Up and down, and up and down, and down and up again. John is completely relaxed and satisfied with feeling the outline of your lips, occasionally pressing through the thin fabric of your panties to circle your clit.

“Oh my god,” a voice cuts through. You freeze and snap your head in the direction it came from, fully convinced you’ve been caught, “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

It’s your friends. They’ve come back in from the bar and look concerned, one of the girls partners is standing behind them looking sheepish, he must have filled them in.

You smile gracefully, “Yeah, I’m fine,” you drag out when John places a ill-timed press against your clit, “Not exactly what I like to hear, but it’s whatever,”

Your friends sit on the opposite side of you and John—thankfully leaving the seat next to you unoccupied—they look more angry on your behalf, “No, that’s completely unacceptable. He will apologise, and then he’ll fuck off.”

It makes you smile to know that even though it was your friend’s partner who made the comments, she’s still on your side, “I don’t want it to make issues in your relationshi—”

She raises her hand to silence you, “Not at all, I refuse to let that slide.”

You nod, trying to keep your face neutral as John decides to take it up a gear and apply more deliberate pressure over your panties. The small circles he rubs are enough to make you twitch and throb. John passes off getting more comfortable in his chair as he leans his arm closer to you so he has a better range of movement.

“You look fucking stunning in that dress, I hope you know that,” your other friend comments, pointing accusingly at you.

John nods, “That’s what I’ve been saying all night, thank you,”

“Ugh! I can’t believe he tried to call you indecent! I’m going to lose it at him,”

John looks over at you and smiles, “I like your friends,”

You can only hum and let out a small laugh through pressed lips, “Yeah, chose well didn’t I?”

His smile turns into a sharp grin, “Feeling good?” He whispers.

You glance over at your friends that are stuck in heated conversation before slumping into him and letting out a small moan into his shoulder, “Faster, please,”

John tilts his head to hear you better, “What was that?”

You frown, “S’not enough, Johnny, c’mon,” you whisper, bucking your hips into his hand.

He takes mercy and presses harder, it takes all willpower in you not to let your head loll back against the chair. Instead, you try to focus on the conversation on the other side of the table, bits and pieces filter through but most of it falls on deaf ears.

It’s lucky that you spot the emerging figure making its way back to the table. You grasp John’s wrist in a hard grip, “Stop, stop, stop,” you plead.

John follows your line of sight and lets out a low laugh, “This will be good.”

He stands awkwardly at the edge of the table, watching as everyone goes silent and looks at him. Instead of addressing the whole table, he turns to his girlfriend and mumbles something about a car being here.

Your friend’s expression turns furious almost instantly, “I’m not going fucking anywhere with you. How dare you call one of my friends indecent,”

He sighs roughly and shoots John a seething look before turning back, “Babe, it was taken out of context—”

“Well?” She questions, gesturing to the table with her hand, “Tell us what the context was then.”

John is doing a piss poor job of covering up his snickering behind his hand, that even you have to elbow him to get him to be quiet. He repays the favour by inching his fingers underneath your panties.

You inhale sharply but try not to tense up when his fingers dip between your wet folds.

“Can we just talk about this at home? This isn’t something I’d like to bring up in front of the table,” he hisses.

“You involved the table when you spoke about someone who wasn’t you,” your other friend cuts in.

Trapped in a corner the guy gets visibly more pissed off. John chooses that exact time to speak up, “You know what might be great?” He announces, circling your clit like it’s a second nature to him, “An apology,”

The girls clap in unison, “God, what a great idea John,” his girlfriend props her elbow up on the table and rests her chin on her hand in anticipation, “An apology would be amazing to hear.”

Your thighs are starting to tremble, you can’t help but wiggle your toes anxiously as you try to keep focus throughout the onslaught of pleasure building. John lets his middle finger slip down to coat his finger in your juices, he seems to think better of it—a small mercy—when his finger doesn’t sink in but resumes petting your clit.

“Sorry.”

You’re so preoccupied that you barely hear it, the conversation only floods back in when the girls start raising their voices.

“That’s it? Are you fucking dumb?”

Your eyes widen, raising your hands in a placating manner, “It’s okay, girls don’t need—” you gasp—fuck he’s found your sweet spot— but quickly cough in your hand to try and cover it up, “to yell,”

Your friend raises her hand to silence you, “No, shut up, he’s going to apologise and he’s gonna make it good.”

Even in the low light you can see how he’s starting to flush in embarrassment—you find it funny how you share that in common—under everyone’s scrutiny.

“I’m sorry for calling you indecent,” he grits.

“And a tart,” John cuts in.

“I didn’t say that!”

“Just fucking apologise!” The girls exasperate.

“I did apologise! Not my fucking fault, that asshole can’t take a joke.” he borderline shouts, pointing all his fingers in Johnny’s direction.

At this point the waitstaff are starting to get concern and send someone to approach. It’s fucking embarrassing, you bite down on the tip of your nail and observe it all, unwilling to even try and speak up again out of fear some other noise will slip out. By now you’re soaked, purposely being strung out either out of your own anxiety of being caught of John’s relaxed pace.

The guy throws his hands up in defeat, muttering that he was just on his way out to the staff before turning to his girlfriend.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she cringes.

“Where are you going to go?”

John raises his free hand, “You can crash at ours sweetheart.”

Just like the nail in the coffin, if looks could kill he would have been incinerated on the spot. Instead he doesn’t even fight it, he just turns to you one last time—looking more sincere than before.

“I hope this doesn’t destroy our friendship,” he pauses, a last ditch effort of getting in the good books, “I know what I said was wrong—”

“Just get the fuck out,” you hiss, borderline hysterical and about to come.

Everyone is looking at you now and you can’t handle it, not when Johnny is touching you so good, and is giving you no fucking mercy in the eyes of your own reputation. In a last attempt to save your dignity, you dig your head into his shoulder, and sink your nails hard into his forearm as your legs begin to tremble.

White noise floods your ears blocking out any and all words of concern coming from your friends. Lucky John is there as you cover as he strokes you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“She’s just a bit upset girls, can you give us a minute?” He asks, like a concerned boyfriend.

A moment later he whispers in your ear, “Coast is clear,”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you gasp, letting go of a breath you were holding.

“After all I’ve done?” He teases, “God, tell him to fuck off again, I’m rock hard sweetheart, think you can give me a hand?”

You shove his hand away until it’s out of your panties and shift them back in place, “You’re sick.” You criticise, slowly raising your head to see the table is empty.

John is right there already greeting you with a knowing smirk, “You knew that though, didn’t you? One of my selling points I think,”

You raise an eyebrow, “That is a selling point? Publicly humiliating me is a good thing?”

John rolls his eyes, “Was barely public,” he dismisses, “Keep talkin’ and I’ll throw you over the table next time.”

Your teeth click shut before you can think better of a snarky reply—lest he decides to cash in his promise on next time.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

#johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #john mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #cod x you #cod x reader #john mactavish smut

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caffine-exe · 15 hours ago

Text

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 - i: high tide

Salt on your skin. Blood in the water. A song you can’t unhear. You were sent barefoot into the tide, and two beautiful creatures were lured out. Now one of them was captured behind glass. You can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop hearing that other voice, still wailing from the sea.

pairing: mermen!satosugu/f!reader

i: high tide | ii: undertow | iii: deep water | iv: below the surface The sea rises. Something stirs. And you step into the water.

w/c: 2.2k | posted on ao3 | masterlist

The circus always arrived with the tide.

This much you knew, having lived through countless nights folded inside the dark embrace of traveling wagons and velvet tents. The scent of salt followed everywhere, stubbornly clinging to your skin, lacing your hair, collecting between the leafy pages of your books.

The small, coastal towns all blurred together after a while, names forgotten and faces smudged together by moonlight and mist. The only constancy in your life was the ocean, endlessly murmuring just beyond the glow of lantern lights and tent poles shoved deep into the dirt.

You had been told long ago by the weary-eyed woman who raised you, that the ocean was alive in ways you would never fully comprehend.

“We don’t belong to the sea.” She whispered, running a warm hand through your hair as you nestled in the safety of her lap. “And the sea does not belong to us.”

Yet it called to you, every night, weaving songs of longing that seeped through the cracks of wooden wagon walls and curled intimately around your heart. Dreams of waves washing gently against your ankles.

You heard things too, among the murmurs of town folk as they wandered into the circus, giddy-eyed and hungry for marvels.

“Did you hear about the creatures spotted by fishermen?”

“Impossible, just a drunken sailor’s tale.”

“They sing, you know. Voices so lovely they’ll drown you in your sleep.”

They laughed of course, humour that rattled thin and brittle. But you’d notice their eyes glancing outwards to the shore, quick and wary, suspicion woven beneath every smile.

The ringmaster, Noritoshi Kamo, noticed it too, a cold glitter in his eyes sharpening into something cruel and keen. That very look made your spine prickle, set a cautious shiver beneath your ribs.

He called you to his tent one evening, a hollow den perfumed with incense and lined with silks that stirred softly in the breeze. A lantern swung gently, casting golden halos over maps and sketches pinned carefully onto walls.

He traced a long, rough finger across the yellowed paper, tapping lightly against the dark ink.

“They say,” he spoke, voice thick like tar and richly deceptive, “there are beasts in these waters. Beautiful, savage things.” His eyes slid to yours, glinting. “And how the locals are hungry for wonders.”

“They’re just stories.” You offered faintly, throat tight around a growing unease.

“Maybe.” He conceded, smiling thinly, teeth gleaming sharp as razors beneath the oil-lamp’s glow. “But wouldn’t it be something if we caught one, my dear?”

A pause as thick as midnight waters lingered. He watched you, slowly tipping his head, waiting for the ripple of dread that surely must have danced across your face.

“Caught one?” You finally echoed as your heartbeat quickened in confusion.

“Yes, but we’d need bait.” He continued softly, leaning forward with eyes narrowed. His gaze traced the delicate line of your throat, your collarbones exposed beneath your loose cotton blouse. “Something soft, and sweet, and irresistible.”

Your fingers curled instinctively at your side, breath quickening as if his voice alone pressed air from your lungs. You knew what he meant and what he wanted. You were young, pretty enough, and far too desperate for money to dare to refuse.

“You have always liked the ocean, haven’t you, my sweet thing?” He asked, and it took everything in your power not to gag.

“Yes.” You nodded once, voice trembling, as your eyes turned involuntarily towards the darkening shore beyond the tent flap. “I have.”

“Good.” The ringmaster purred, reaching to brush a thumb across your cheek, his touch cold despite the warmth of his skin. You stopped yourself from jerking away in disgust. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll see if the sea truly sings.”

The following night came too quickly after that.

Now, you stand barefoot at the shoreline, clutching nothing but the handle of a small lantern. The flickering flame casts halo of gold around you, just enough to illuminate your path into the gently lapping waves. Moonlight spills across the sand, catching in tiny crystals that glint softly like scattered diamonds.

To any onlooker, it would seem that you were alone. But behind you, hidden in darkness, are the inaudible breaths of men lying in wait like predators eager for their prey.

The ringmaster had only given you the vague instructions, as if the creatures he sought were nothing more than a fish to hook, a prize to claim. “Let it come to you, and we’ll do the rest.”

If there’s anything to come at all, you think bitterly, toes curling into the cold, damp sand. But your thoughts dissolve as the icy seawater kisses your ankles. A sudden chill races up your spine, seizing breath from your lungs in a sharp gasp.

You didn’t know how deep you were meant to go, but you push forward, the water climbs gracefully up your calves, then your knees as the wind pulled your thin nightgown tight against your frame. So you stand there, plunged at the edge of another world, and wait.

Nothing happens for a while. There’s only the creak of the lantern’s handle in your grip, the soft pull of the tide, and the weight of your own heartbeat drumming behind your ribs. A part of you wonders for a brief moment if it was all a ploy, if Noritoshi sent you out here to freeze as a way to punish you, setting an example for the rest of the crew because of some unnamed fault, or to remind you of your place.

But then the air shifts.

There’s a low hum, so soft it was almost indistinguishable from the sound of the waves. But then it builds, layered and strange, bleeding into a vibration more than a note. Your breath catches painfully in your throat, shoulders going taut.

The lantern handle squeaks quietly in your tightening grip, golden light quivering as you strain your eyes out toward the dark expanse of water. You’re afraid to blink, afraid to breathe.

Then, beneath the gentle play of moonlight on black water, there’s movement. You see them clearly, and your breath stalls completely. Two shadows pass just beneath the surface, slowly gliding below. The kind of graceful movement that didn’t belong to fish or dolphin or seal, barely disturbing the water. No splashing. No sound.

Goosebumps prickle at your arms instantly, the hairs on the back of your neck rising in a shiver. Every instinct in you bristles, urging you to flee. But your feet stay locked in place, half-sunk in wet sand, as if the earth itself means to keep you there.

And then–

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, eyes widening as two long, glittering tails breach the water, glistening magnificently under the bright glow of the moon.

One of them is as pale as opal, scales shimmering with glints of rose and ice blue as it curves and flicks beneath the water. The other is black as ink, trailing a little further behind, but you catch the hints of deep purple and obsidian shimmering on it like stars.

The lantern slips from your hand without your noticing, landing in the water with a soft hiss. The flame flickers once and dies.

Real.

Oh god, they’re real.

Before you can step back, the top of a face emerges slowly. His skin sparkles faintly, silver-white beneath moonlight, almost translucent yet impossibly vibrant. His hair, a halo of pale, clings damply to his forehead, framing features so painfully ethereal that your chest aches just looking at him.

Then his eyelids lift, lashes dripping with seawater as his eyes meet yours. And they lock you in place.

Blue.

Not like any human blue. These were glowing, glacial, the colour of brilliant ice and crystal water, fixed on you with an intensity that sears through your soul.

I should run, whispers a panicked voice within you, even as another louder, more reckless part murmurs, Closer. Come closer.

Movement behind him catches your gaze. Another face comes up more slowly, cautiously. His long, dark hair spills like ink over muscular shoulders. He lingers behind, violet eyes gleam watchful and mistrusting beneath sharp brows. His gaze pierces you sharply, suspicion evident, but he remains motionless.

You know you need to turn and leave, yet, your feet remain locked in place, half-sunk in the wet sand, heart hammering so hard you’re afraid they’ll hear it.

The pale-haired one inches closer, gaze softening as he cocks his head slightly in curiosity. His lips part slowly, throat flexing as a sound rises; a musical croon, a language you don’t understand. Yet his voice curls within you, both chilling and beautiful.

You almost forget to be afraid.

The darker one makes a sharp sound in reply, less melodic. A warning. You know it’s a warning even if you can’t understand. His purple eyes narrow, hands curls slightly, claws glinting beneath the surface.

But he’s ignored; the pale creature slowly edges nearer. Gills faintly flutter at his neck, pulsing with breath as his eyes flicker with some unreadable emotion. He opens his mouth again, this time the sound comes out softer, tilting his head, blinking slow. It’s almost like… he wants something. Or like he asked a question directed at you.

You shudder deeply, your heart aching with a terrible guilt. You remember your task, your part in this story. Lure him in, the ringmaster said. You raise one trembling hand in invitation, whispering softly, “Come.”

Please forgive me.

He hesitates, delicate brows drawing slightly together as he studies your outstretched fingers, sensing your sincerity. Your heart hammers in your ears as he leans closer, his bright gaze fixed utterly upon your trembling face.

Trust blossoms in the blue depths of his eyes. He reaches carefully toward you, pale fingers breaking the surface, tentative and graceful–

A thunderous shot splits the night and the ocean erupts in chaos.

You stagger backwards, crying out as a heavy net slices past you, capturing the blue-eyed being in thick tangles of rope. Everything happens too fast, too violently. The world narrows to a blur of sound, seafoam spraying upwards like scattered pearls.

He thrashes, screaming in a raw, inhuman sound so sharp it cuts into your bones.

Then, another shriek rises, harsher from further back. The dark-haired one lunges forward, violet eyes blazing with fury and terror as he breaches the surface, arms straining as if he would rip the net apart with bare hands alone.

They begin to wail together, their voices an eerie, haunting melody torn from their throats, sharp enough to rip through the night itself. The sound burrows into your skull, unbearably loud. You clamp your hands desperately over your ears, tears of horror springing to your eyes as the song transforms into pure agony.

“Get him!” Mahito’s harsh voice rings out from behind, cruel laughter breaking through the creatures’ tortured cries. Noritoshi and the rest of the crew flood from the shadows, boots crunching sand and guns smoking in cold hands. They’re cheering, applauding one another as though this was nothing more than a sport, a game won.

“Oh, she’s done beautifully!” Someone shouts gleefully, slapping a shoulder, their cruel voices rising above the cries of the captured creature. You flinch away from their smiles, their twisted delight ringing ugly and sharp inside your ears.

The pale creature writhes furiously in the net, tail thrashing as water froths and churns around him. His hands claw at the ropes, but they’re barbed, built to slice through flesh, and they dig into his shimmering skin without mercy. Blood blooms into the water, dark and delicate.

The darker-haired one surges forward, eyes blazing with rage, but the captured one screeches desperately, his gaze snapping sharply toward the other in clear warning, anguish brightening in his eyes.

Go. Save yourself.

But loyalty burns fiercely in violet eyes, and the dark-haired being hesitates, visibly trembling, fists clenched so tightly they shake.

Another gunshot cracks deafeningly close, and fear finally wins out over loyalty. With eyes wide with desperate grief, the dark-tailed one tears his gaze away and dives sharply beneath the waves, disappearing into the dark waters.

You feel sick, your knees nearly buckling beneath you as men crowd around, hoisting the thrashing creature up from the waves, their greedy laughter filling your ears.

“Look at him! What a catch!” Noritoshi shouts over the cheers.

He writhes wildly, teeth bared, scales glittering like sharp glass under the torch lights. They ignore his fury, jostling him roughly, prodding cruelly at the netted form as though he were nothing more than a prize to display.

The blue-eyed being finds you through gaps in the bodies surrounding him, filled with raw betrayal. Tears gleam in those bright eyes, trickling softly down his pale cheeks even as a guttural snarl twists his beautiful features into something terrifying.

They burn with unmistakable accusation.

You. It echoes silent and deafening, slicing deeper than the net or rope ever could. You did this.

Your heart splits open, shame and guilt bleeding raw as you realize what you’ve done.

I’m sorry. The words echo helplessly, silently, behind your eyes as you watch him thrash desperately in pain and fury. You want to scream them aloud, beg forgiveness you don’t deserve, but your voice was gone, stolen by the brutal reality before you.

And as he is dragged roughly across the sand, still thrashing and snarling, you know he’s right.

a/n: shiiii i really broke my own heart w/ this one

taglist (open. comment on masterlist to be added): @levifiance @serendididy @lynvriee @kneelarmhstrung @vxrycooldude @luv3nti @tenswife

divider: @the-voice-beckons-below

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moonlitstoriess · 2 days ago

Text

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (mini-series) part 10

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel's secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: some slight angst, fluff

"Because you're here"

The fire had long since died in the hearth, but the heat of last night's words still clung to the air. Y/N lay on her side, back to the room but her eyes were very much open.

She hadn't turned once throughout the night. Not because she'd fallen asleep peacefully--no. Her body had been tense beneath the covers, her mind playing and replaying the moment Eris entered the room with that infuriating blanket and pillow like he owned the place.

And now, as the sunlight tiptoed past the drapes and spilled across the floor, she heard the slow stretch of leather, a faint grunt, and the rustle of fabric. He was awake.

She didn't move.

Not until she heard him say, voice low and hoarse from sleep, "You always this still when you sleep?"

Y/N rolled onto her back, slowly. Her voice came out even colder than she intended. "Wouldn't know. Didn't get much of it."

Eris sat up on the couch, running a hand through his hair, his shirt wrinkled and clinging slightly to his chest. "Neither did I," he muttered. Then, more pointedly, "We'll talk. Later. Properly this time."

"Later," she repeated, voice laced with challenge.

There was a moment of silence. His eyes searched hers for something--she didn't know what--but when he rose to his feet, she forced herself to not watch the way he moved. He didn't speak again. Just left the room, closing the door behind him.

Y/N exhaled the breath she'd been holding, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly. Whatever had happened last night, whatever this stranger emotional ceasefire was...it couldn't last.

Not with everything still hanging between them. Not with the card.

She sat up, her movements slow and calculated. Her ribs--miraculously--barely hurt at all anymore. As she dragged her fingers through her tangled hair and reached for the cup filled with water, her eyes flicked to the desk. Empty. The card was still gone. With Niera.

And soon, she'd need answers.

The scent of cedarwood clung into the air as Eris adjusted the cuffs of his tunic, standing in front of the gilded mirror within his and Y/N's shared bedchamber. Though the bed behind him remained untouched on one side. Her side. Right, she was in the other room.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his tousled auburn hair. His reflection stared back with a frown etched too deep for a morning this early.

Last night hadn't gone the way he'd expected. Not that he expected much anymore when it came to Y/N. She was unpredictable. Sharp-tongued. Daringly reckless. And now....someone who has healed faster than anyone he had ever seen before. Seriously, the Y/N from two days ago and the one he saw last night, in terms of injury, were completely different.

She was quite literally on the verge of death and now, in a matter of hours, she is already walking around just fine. Not that he wasn't relieved, it's just...since when did Autumn have such good healers?

His jaw tightened.

He scoffed under his breath. "Liar," he muttered, though he couldn't quite decide if he meant her deception...or himself. She was hiding something. Something she didn't want want anyone to know about. Not even him. Especially not him.

Eris reached for the rings laid out on the dresser, slipping them onto his fingers one by one. The way she'd refused to speak to him--ignored him completely as if he were a passing breeze--still gnawed at the edge of his patience.

And yet tonight, she'd return to this room. He'd make sure of it. She had to. She needed a proper rest.

A pause.

He looked toward the untouched side of the bed. No. Maybe it's better if she didn't, actually. Not with Calanmai so close and him feeling....all types of things.

Calanmai. A spring Court tradition, yes, but like everything else, its reach bled through the realms. The air was already shifting. The pull in his veins stronger than he cared to admit. Fire magic stirred easier. Hunger simmered beneath his skin.

And she...she didn't even know what Calanmai was. He couldn't scare her away like that. He wouldn't.

He clenched his fists. If she found out--if she saw--if she even felt an ounce of what was beginning to stir inside him, she'd run. Or worse...she wouldn't. And then he'd-

A sudden flicker of black light blinked in the air beside his shoulder, and a rolled parchment dropped gently onto the table, as if the wind had set it down.

Eris stared at it.

No seal. No signature. No emblem.

But he didn't need one.

He recognized the texture, the precise folds of the paper.

His spy. The one he'd sent out to search about Y/N.

He unrolled it with careful fingers, eyes scanning the simple, elegant script.

"My prince, we must meet. I have all the information."

Nothing more.

But it was enough to have Eris's heart thrum once. Hard. Loud.

He folded the parchment back and stared into the mirror again, this time not seeing himself, but instead a woman with sharp words. Y/N, What are you hiding?

And why does it feel like I already know the answer?

He stepped away from the mirror, fingers still tight around the message.

Guess he will have to skip breakfast.

"What?!" Samira practically shrieked, her voice ricocheting off the walls like an alarm bell. "And you decided to hide all of this from me?!"

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the bed, legs tucked beneath the sheets for show--an illusion of fragility she didn't bother upholding anymore now that Samira knew the truth. Her spoon hovered above the half-finished bowl of broth as she raised a brow, calm in the face of the storm.

Y/N gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, technically, I just told you, so that's not hiding."

Samira gaped. "You--You-- You mean to tell me you bribed a healer, snuck a forbidden card out of that cursed house, got yourself healed in record time, and left me in the dark through all of it? Me?! I thought we were in this mess together!"

Y/N sipped a lukeworm soup and hummed. "That's a very dramatic way of putting it. But yes."

Samira looked one breath away from combusting. She began pacing, her robes swishing wildly as she stormed back and forth like a general preparing for battle. "That healer? Gods, you don't even know her!"

"She's young. Careful. Quick with her hands. And scared enough not to cross me."

"That is not reassuring."

"I've thought it through," Y/N cut in before Samira could spiral further. "All night, in fact, while Eris was snoring his ass off on the couch. Said he didn't sleep a wink. Lied to my face. That idiot."

Samira threw her hands up. "You should've told me! Or--gods, Y/N, do you realize how dangerous this is? This card--this Unmaker or whatever--we have no idea what it's tied to."

"I know." Y/N's voice lowered, eyes sharp. "That's exactly why I had to do something. I'm not stupid, Samira. I know I can't leave the palace again, not without guards following my every step, not without permission. You'll be watching me like a hawk and so will half of this cursed court. So I need a middle hand. Someone I trust."

Samira halted mid-pace, spinning toward her.

"No."

Y/N smirked. "Yes."

"No."

"Yes," Y/N said again, firm. "I need you to be the in-between. I can't meet with Niera again so soon. But you can. Carefully. Quietly. Pass messages. Ask questions. Get updates, progresses."

"And then what?" Samira hissed. "Then we all burn?"

Y/N tilted her head, calm despite the roiling anxiety in her chest. "Then I finally know the truth and I stop wondering what it means to be The Unmaker. Or why that thing in the forest knew my name. Or why the flames didn't burn me when Eris carried me out."

Samira crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "You're going to get us both killed."

Y/N leaned back on her palms. "Maybe. But at least we'll die knowing things."

A long pause.

Then finally--grudgingly--Samira exhaled through her nose and dropped onto the bed beside her like a stone falling from a tower. "I hate how persuasive you are."

"I know."

"I hate that I'm going to do this."

"I'm grateful you are."

Another beat. "If anyone asks, I was seduced by your brilliance and corrupted by your charm."

Y/N snorted. "I'll put it on your grave."

Samira smacked her arm.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it all stretching between them. Y/N turned her gaze towards the window, where the morning sun filtered in just a bit too cheerily for the kind of mess they were both now in.

Her curiosity wasn't going to rest. And maybe--maybe--neither would the truth anymore.

The leaves of the Autumn Court whispered as they always did--sweeping in copper-red spirals over the moss-drenched ground, dancing like fire without flame. Eris leaned against the twisted trunk of an old, gnarled tree, its bark cool against his back as he stared out at the forested cliffs below.

Sunlight fractured through the canopy, slanting golden against the russet hues. A wind brushed past, carrying the scent of charred wood and falling apples. Normally, this was the kind of place he found peace in.

Today, it only worsened the tension coiled in his chest like a beast waiting to snap its jaws. He tapped his gloved fingers against his thigh, counting the seconds. Alaric was never late.

And yet Eris' nerves refused to calm. He was about to receive information...about her. Fully. Truly.

He heard the footfalls before he saw the man. Soft, calculated steps breaking through the rustle of leaves. Alaric emerged through the treeline like a wraith--his hood down, golden hair pulled back messily, a blade strapped to his thigh, a satchel slung across his back. His lean, sharp features were unreadable as always, eyes the dull gold of worn coin.

"Prince," Alaric greeted, bowing his head in respect.

"You're late," Eris said coldly, though it wasn't true.

Alaric didn't bother explaining. He unslung the satchel and crouched beside a flat-topped rock, pulling out a stack of files, scrolls, parchment--gathered and bound with exacting precision.

"This," he said quietly, "is everything. Every piece of her I could find. All the information ranging from her favourite colour to her entire ancestry tree. All the details are here but I will tell you the overall summary."

Eris stared at the stack. "Then start talking."

Alaric nodded once. "As she claims, she was raised in the coastal quarters of Montesere. Working class. Her mother, as you know, is alive but truly ill. From all accounts, Y/N has done everything for her--sacrificed schooling, work, even relationships to care for her. They moved around often in her childhood, never staying in one city more than a few seasons."

Eris's throat tightened despite himself. "And her father?"

"That's where things shift."

Alaric placed another thinner file to the side. "Her records show no father ever listed on paper. But there were whispers in Montesere. I followed them."

Eris crossed his arms, jaw clenched. "Get to the point."

"For the most part," Alaric said, eyes flicking up, "she is who she says she is. Her intentions, her background, her reasons for accepting your plan--all true. She's kept her head down, protected her mother, lived modestly. But- "

"But?" Eris's voice was a warning now.

Alaric touched the file. "That's just the surface. These files...they hold everything. Her family's history, bloodlines, even her favorite damn dessert. I wanted to prepare you before you looked at it yourself."

Eris pushed off the tree. "Prepare me for what?"

Alaric didn't answer.

"Alaric." Eris grabbed him by the shoulders roughly, eyes blazing. "Prepare me for what?! Spit it out or I'll- "

"Her father," Alaric said tightly, holding his gaze, "was not just some passing merchant or traveler. He wasn't even from Montesere."

Eris's grip tightened. "So?"

Alaric exhaled like the weight of it might crush him. "Her mother had a brief affair--fleeting, hidden. She never told anyone--well, except Y/N--the name or identity, scared of the shame it would bring. But I traced it. I followed the trail. And I'm sure."

A pause.

"Azriel," Alaric said, barely above a whisper, "the Shadowsinger of the Night Court...is Y/N's half-brother. They share the same father."

Silence. Then Eris's hands dropped slowly to his sides.

The leaves of the Autumn Court kept dancing.

The room smelled of crushed lavender and stale bandages.

Y/N sat propped against the pillows, her face carefully schooled into the expression of someone still weakened--though her body no longer throbbed with that sharp ache in her ribs. Not anymore. She’d made sure Niera healed her well, quickly, thoroughly. But the performance had to continue. The bruises were painted on with faint illusion, the stiff movements calculated.

Because even though Samira now knew the truth, the rest of the court didn't. And these types of injuries didn't heal in a day. Let them all believe she was still the broken, recovering wife of the Autumn Court heir.

The High Lady had come earlier, all clipped words and polite concern. Two different court healers had fluttered in after that, their hands cold and curious. She had played the part well--half-flinching, wincing just enough, offering vague words and weak smiles. They left satisfied. Fooled.

Y/N’s gaze drifted to the faintly open window. The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden lines over the floor. Her mind should have been on the plan--the card, Niera, the risks. Instead, it wandered.

Where was he?

It had been a few hours since she last saw him. No sightings. No messages. Not a whisper of Eris Vanserra in the halls.

Typical. She wasn’t even sure why she cared. Maybe because they had left so much unsaid. Or maybe because part of her hated how he could vanish like mist, how he could disappear without explanation and still take a piece of her peace with him.

They were supposed to talk. Weren’t they?

She shook her head, grounding herself. No. Focus.

Her eyes flicked to Samira, who was busy scribbling something behind a small privacy screen. Y/N had already instructed her, in hushed tones earlier that morning, to seek out Niera and deliver a message. To act as the middle, to be cautious but thorough.

“This is risky,” Samira had whispered. “You’re risking too much.”

“I know,” Y/N had said. “But curiosity will be the death of me if I don’t.”

Now, as the air in the room shifted slightly, a hush fell over her thoughts.

The door clicked.

Her eyes snapped up--and froze.

Eris entered.

Not a servant. Not another healer. Not a courier.

It was him.

Just him.

Her thoughts scattered as their eyes met across the room.

"Get out, Samira."

Y/N watched Samira freeze mid-scribble, her back tensing. "Are you serious right now?" she snapped turning around. "Why are you always kicking me out?"

Eris didn't even blink. "Don't test me."

Y/N didn't speak. She just watched him.

Samira pushed past him aggressively as she left, muttering curses loud enough for him to hear.

Eris remained near the door for a moment after she left, as if deciding whether he wanted to come closer. His eyes raked over her--not in that usual calculating way, but more...assessing. Careful. Almost like he didn't trust himself to move without unraveling.

But he did move eventually, slower than usual, and took the chair beside her bed. He didn't lean back like he normally would, didn't cross his legs or rest an arm over the side. He just...sat.

His silence wasn't hostile this time. It was almost contemplative.

"I didn't come here to fight," he said at last.

"Good," she murmured, gaze still locked on him. "Because I'm too tired for round two."

He gave a soft huff of breath--something between a sigh and a quiet laugh--and rubbed the back of his neck. "I...wanted to talk. Not argue."

Y/N didn't answer right away. Her fingers played with a loose thread on her blanket. "So talk."

He was quiet for another few seconds. "Last night got out of hand."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You think?"

That earned her a small smirk. "Okay it was a disaster."

"A disaster you started."

"You leaped out of bed and shouted at me."

"You disappeared for a day without a single word--again."

His smile faded, replaced with something tighter, wearier. "I know. I know that wasn't right."

Y/N studied him. He looked tired. But more than that, there was a tightness to him today. His posture. His eyes. Something just slightly off.

And yet...he was trying.

"I didn't leave because of the kiss," he said suddenly.

Her heart stumbled.

"I left because I have a whole plan to forge in order to take Beron down. And also because...I needed time to think."

Y/N looked away. "You could've said something. Anything."

"I didn't know how."

His voice was quieter now. Almost unsure. Eris Vanserra, unsure.

"You don't have to run away every time things get complicated," she murmured. "Not everything's a battlefield."

There was a pause.

"I'm learning that," he said. "Slowly."

The silence that folowed wasn't awkward this time. It was soft. Bare. A shared quiet. An in that quiet, he finally leaned forward.

"You're my wife," he said, more firmly now. "And whether you like it or not, it's my job to protect you. I can't do that if you keep sneaking off into unknown places the Mother knows when, making reckless deals with unknown people."

Her lips twitched. "You're one to talk about recklessness."

"I never claimed to be innocent," he said with a small grin. "But I need you to atleast meet me halfway."

Y/N tilted her head. "So you're saying you want...rules?"

"Not rules. Boundaries. A...truce, maybe."

A truce.

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, she nodded. "Okay. A truce."

His shoulders relaxed. Just a little. But she noticed it. The tension didn't disappear entirely--it lingered in the corners of his eyes, in the way his jaw stay clenched for too long after he smiled.

"Is everything alright?" she asked gently.

He looked at her then--really looked--and for a moment she thought he might actually tell her something important. Something he was holding back.

But then he blinked and looked away. "Yeah," he said too quickly. "Everything's fine."

Liar.

Still, she didn't press. Not now. But she will. Especially on the fact that he isn't including her or needing her help in his grand plan.

Instead, she let the quiet stretch again, this time a little more comfortable. He stood then--slowly--and walked to the window, pulling the curtains slightly wider so the light could reach her better.

She caught herself staring at the sunlight haloing his hair, at the faint line of tension in his shoulders that he tried to mask with ease.

"Thank you," she said, just a squietly.

He turned.

"For not yelling," she added, smirking slightly.

His smile returned--this time, softer. "Don't get used to it."

But then he took a step closer. Not too close. Just enough. His fingers brushed her hand--barely a touch. A whisper of skin against skin.

Her pulse quickened.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly. "No matter how mad you are. You're not alone in this."

She wanted to believe him. Gods, she really did. But something in his eyes said there were still things he wasn't teling her. Still, she didn't pull her hand away. Not this time.

And when he finally left the room--without slamming the door, for once--her fingers still tingled from that brief touch.

The moment Alaric had said the name, Eris hadn’t moved.

Azriel.

The Shadowsinger.

For a heartbeat, he felt as if the entire forest had fallen into silence. The wind had stilled. The rustle of leaves had ceased. Only his heart had thundered--loud, vicious, like it might break something on its way out.

He had stared at Alaric, not saying a word.

Not punching a tree.

Not cursing.

Not demanding confirmation again.

He just… stood.

Stood there while all the pieces began to click into place. Quietly. Cruelly.

The way she’d gone still whenever Azriel’s name was mentioned. The faint glimmer of recognition she never voiced. Her evasiveness. Her buried rage at being kept in the dark by everyone--him included. And that eerie feeling he’d had from the start: that her secrets weren’t born of ambition, but protection.

She wasn’t just anyone.

She was Azriel’s sister.

And she didn’t even know he knew.

He still hadn’t told her.

Not after their fight. Not after their calm conversation this morning. Not even when she’d looked at him with narrowed eyes and asked if everything was alright.

He hadn’t told her because he didn’t know what he’d do with the knowledge yet. Because he didn’t trust himself not to say something he couldn’t take back. Because--

Because, gods, what would she do if she knew he had her entire truth laid bare on a table?

So, he left.

He needed clarity.

He needed answers.

He needed Azriel.

Not because he gave a damn about courtesy, but because if the bastard already knew she was here--knew who she was married to--then this had never been a game of strategy.

It had been a trap. One he’d walked into.

And if he didn’t confront that now, before word slipped into the wrong court, then everything he’d built--his plan, his control, even her--would crumble faster than flame devoured paper.

So the second he’d returned from the forest, Eris had sent word. No names. No crests. Just one sealed message, worded in a way only someone like Azriel would understand: A private matter. Urgent. Meet me alone.

It hadn’t taken long to get a response.

Now, as he rode through the quieter, colder stretch of the forest beyond the palace borders, the golden-red leaves of Autumn blurred past him like dying embers. His horse’s hooves struck the dirt in sharp rhythm, and yet he heard none of it. He heard only his own mind repeating the same question again and again.

Does Azriel know?

He tightened the reins.

If he did…

Eris didn’t know what he’d do.

And if he didn’t…

Then he held all the cards.

He exhaled sharply as the narrow trail widened into a small clearing. Trees loomed tall around him, silent witnesses to what was coming. The wind was colder here. Harsher.

A perfect place for secrets to be exchanged.

For truths to crack everything open.

Eris swung off the saddle and took a few slow steps forward, hands behind his back, jaw clenched.

Now all that remained was to wait.

To face the male who may or may not know that the blood he shared with Y/N ran deeper than either of them had ever let on.

The wind shifted before the shadows did.

One moment the clearing was empty, the next--he was there. Silent as breath. Cloaked in black, leeching the sunlight from the trees around him, Azriel stepped forward like he'd always belonged in the darkness.

Eris didn't flinch. He merely arched a brow, keeping his stance as casual, leaning back against the tree as though he hadn't been waiting for answers that could change everything.

Azriel's eyes flicked once over him. Assessing. Calculating.

"You said it was urgent," the shadowsinger said, voice like gravel and steel.

Eris offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Did I?"

Azriel's stare sharpened.

"It's urgent enough," Eris drawled. "I wanted to speak about surveillance. Between Autumn and the Night Court."

Azriel didn't move. "You're the one who always insists no spies from your side ever slip across."

"And I still do," Eris said with a smirk. "But I think we both know that's not entirely true. Nor is it a one-sided offense."

Azriel folded his arms. "If you're trying to accuse- "

"I'm not," Eris cut in smoothly. "I'm proposing coordination. We've both had...incursions lately. Rogue operatives, strange reports, movements that don't make sense. I thought it might be wise if you and I kept a direct line. Less court politics. More results."

He watched Azriel's face carefully.

Nothing.

Not a flicker of recognition. Not a twitch of discomfort. Not a glance that said I know you have my sister.

Good.

Or bad.

He didn't know.

But it was something.

Azriel tilted his head. "You've never cared for results outside your own borders."

"Well, you're not the only one who changes, Shadowsinger." Eris pushed off the tree, dusting imaginary bark from his sleeve. "And besides, it's not as though your court has no secrets of his own."

Still nothing.

Not even when Eris added, with calculated care, "Or missing pieces."

Azriel's brows furrowed faintly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." Eris waved a hand lazily. "Strange things are happening. People are moving. The balance is shifting."

Azriel's jaw flexed, his expression unreadable. But no--there was no sign. No defence. No oh, you mean my sister?

Just...guarded confusion. Genuine.

So Eris knew.

Azriel didn't.

He had no idea.

And that--Gods, that changed everything.

It wasn't just a secret now. It was power. It was leverage.

It was a thread only he held in his hand.

"I'll think about your proposal," Azriel finally said, his voice curt.

"Do," Eris replied, stepping forward, tone as easy as a fox near a henhouse. "We'll coordinate monthly. Quietly. Just the two of us. As a gesture of mutual interest."

Azriel's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you trying to gain, Vanserra?"

Eris's smile was razor sharp. "Peace of mind."

That was all he said.

That was all he needed to say.

As Azriel gave him a final nod and vanished into mist and shadow, Eris exhaled slowly.

So, he didn't know. Not yet.

And until the moment came when he needed to--Eris would make sure it stayed that way.

Because now, he had a new game to play. A new piece on the board.

And the rules had just changed.

"Come with me," Eris said.

Y/N arched a brow, still nestled in the mound of pillows. "I'm supposed to be pretending to be wounded, remember?"

Eris leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "It's been three days. You can start walking again--slowly. I made sure of that."

A sigh slipped from her lips as she shifted her legs off the bed. "You really are relentless."

"I've been called worse," he murmured, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his amber eyes.

She scoffed. “You made that happen, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer, just gave her that look. The one that said you know I did.

“You’re lucky I’m a good actress.”

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” he shot back, stepping aside as she approached, brushing past him. “Don’t make me carry you again.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered.

Their footsteps echoed faintly through the quieter, older parts of the palace--deserted corridors few still used. The walls were darker here, heavy with old wood and worn tapestries, and the air cooler, like the stones themselves remembered secrets no one dared speak aloud. Eris didn’t speak, and for once, neither did she.

He led her through a side passage, then another hidden staircase, until they reached a set of tall, arched doors guarded by two sentinels. They bowed the moment they saw Eris and opened the doors without question.

The moment she stepped inside, Y/N halted in her tracks.

It was not a room--it was a cathedral of sunlight.

The chamber was round and enormous, its ceiling impossibly high and domed in red-gold glass. Sunlight spilled through the circular stained-glass window at the top, casting long, fractured rays across the marble floor like a divine spotlight. Ruby and amber hues danced across the walls, glinting off bronze candelabras and velvet banners stitched with fire.

But it was what stood in the center that made her breath catch.

A pedestal. No--an altar.

Upon it, beneath a delicate dome of glass, rested the crown.

Not just any crown--the Autumn Court’s royal crown. Wrought of deep gold, molten as the sun, adorned with sharp blood-red garnets and shadowy obsidian stones. It gleamed as if it breathed with its own heat, regal and violent and ancient all at once.

She blinked. “Is that the real one?”

Eris stepped beside her, his voice oddly distant. “The original. The one worn by the first High Lord of Autumn. It hasn’t been touched in decades.”

She swallowed. “It looks… heavy.”

“It is,” he murmured. “Not just in weight.”

Y/N took a step closer, the light catching the strands of her hair, painting fire across her skin. She couldn’t tear her eyes from it.

“It’s strange,” she said softly. “I thought it would feel more… sacred. But it’s just sitting there. Like something waiting.”

Eris chuckled darkly beside her. “That’s exactly what it’s doing.”

She turned her head. “Waiting for what?”

“For someone willing to wear it.”

Their eyes met. A beat passed.

“I’ve worn it once,” he admitted, gaze drifting back to the crown. “In secret. Just to see how it felt.”

She raised an eyebrow, teasing. “And?”

He hesitated. “It didn’t fit.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Didn’t fit your head, or didn’t fit… you?”

He didn’t answer.

They stood there, side by side, for a long moment. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy, threaded with the unspoken. Finally, Eris broke it.

“You know why my mother’s crown isn’t here?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Because the High Lady gets to choose her own crown,” he said. “She crafts it herself. Symbolically. It’s not passed down.”

Y/N scoffed. “Well, no need to worry about me. Once Beron is dead and my mother is well again, our little deal is done. You can go crown whatever simpering lady you want.”

Eris’s entire body seemed to tense at that. Not overtly--but enough that she noticed.

“I’m serious,” she said, eyeing him. “You get to be free. Finally. Of me. Of this arrangement. And I’ll go back to being a nobody in Montesere.”

Still, he said nothing. Just stared at the crown.

“What?” she pressed, voice quieter now.

He gave a faint shake of his head. “Nothing.”

“Eris,” she said, voice low, cautious. “Talk to me.”

He met her eyes. And this time, there was something in them she hadn’t seen before. Not fire. Not smugness. Not flirtation.

Uncertainty. Wariness. And something far more vulnerable.

“Do you think I’ll be a good High Lord?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to say that.

“I think…” She stepped closer, her voice gentler now. “You could be a great one. If you let yourself be.”

That made him look away.

“You’re more than your father,” she said. “More than your family name. I see it. You just refuse to.”

Another silence. But this time, it was warm.

Their eyes met again, and for the first time in a while, there was no edge between them. No bite. Just quiet understanding.

“Thank you,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

She gave a half-smile. “Don’t make it a habit.”

He smirked faintly. “Never.”

She laughed under her breath. He offered his arm, and this time--just this once--she didn’t hesitate.

And as they stepped out of the crown room, the sunlight trailing behind them like smoke, neither noticed how the guards subtly bowed their heads--not just to Eris Vanserra.

But to her.

The halls of the Autumn Court were quiet as they walked, the only sounds of their soft footsteps echoing against golden-red stone. Eris kept a hand slightly at the small of her back, guiding her through turns and staircases--his mind nowhere near the path. It was still in that room, with the crown glinting like fire under sunlight, and her voice echoing in his ears: "You can and will be a good High Lord."

She had no idea what those words did to him.

When they were nearing her chamber again, Eris slowed, then suddenly turned down another corridor.

Y/N halted. "Wait. This isn't the way."

He didn't glance back. "It's fine. Come along."

"Eris- "

"Shh." He cast her a sharp, amused glance over his shoulder. "Trust me for once."

Against her better judgment, she followed.

They wound through servants’ halls and long-forgotten stairwells, the deeper passageways of the palace that most had never seen. Finally, they emerged before a set of enormous double doors--aged mahogany carved with roaring flame, autumn leaves, and wolves of legend.

Without ceremony, he pushed the doors open.

Warm, golden light spilled across polished marble.

It was an empty ballroom.

But not just any ballroom.

One of the oldest wings in the Autumn Court--unused, untouched, undisturbed by the noise of court life. Dust hovered lazily in beams of sunlight that poured through high stained-glass windows, painting the room in molten reds and burnished golds. The silence was thick and reverent, broken only by the soft click of her boots as she stepped inside behind him.

Her breath caught audibly. “What is this?”

“A place to breathe,” he said quietly. “And a place to move.”

She turned to him. “Move?”

“You’ve been in bed for too long,” he said. “If you want the court to believe your healing is real, you have to start acting like it.”

She blinked. “So you brought me here for… what? Physical therapy?”

“Call it whatever you want.”

She gave him a flat look.

He smirked slightly. “You’ll like this part.”

With a subtle flick of his fingers, a shadow moved from one of the corners.

A man stepped forward--tall, silver-haired, holding a worn violin.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No.”

Eris’s smirk widened into something more dangerous. “Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

But the violinist raised his bow.

A single note rang out. Clear, slow, aching.

Eris turned to her, extended his hand, palm up. “Care for a dance?”

She stared at him like he’d grown antlers.

“Dancing? Now?”

“I could drag you into a sparring match if you prefer.”

She scoffed.

He took a step closer, voice lower. “Y/N.”

She stared at his hand for a moment longer, weighing something in her expression. Then, with visible reluctance and a muttered curse under her breath, she placed her hand in his.

Warmth shot up his arm like wildfire.

He almost flinched.

The violinist continued, spinning a slow melody that filled the room like smoke.

Eris placed his other hand gently at her waist and began to move.

She followed, stiff at first, clearly uncomfortable.

“Relax,” he said quietly.

“I haven’t danced in ages,” she muttered.

“Then you’re overdue.”

Their feet brushed against ancient marble in slow, even steps. The weight of their bodies matched and shifted with each motion, guided by instinct more than practice. Her hand rested lightly against his shoulder, but he could feel the tension--how close she really was. The way the sunlight caught the glint in her eyes. The slight stutter of her breath every time their bodies came just a little too close.

He was not immune.

His body was a battlefield, and Calanmai was creeping ever closer.

Every part of him that had been honed to resist--to deflect, to contain--was screaming to cave.

But he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Still, he allowed himself this. Just this.

A slow, quiet moment where their movements created something that resembled peace. Something that felt real.

“How long has it been since you danced?” she asked softly, surprising him.

His lips twitched. “Longer than I care to admit.”

Her eyes flicked up to his. “And yet you’re not half bad.”

He raised a brow. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He chuckled lowly, the sound more genuine than he’d intended.

The song shifted slightly, deepening, becoming something closer to a waltz. She moved more naturally now, no longer second-guessing her steps. He barely had to guide her. They spun beneath the chandeliers, their feet a whisper on the floor.

She was beautiful.

He knew it already. But here, in this soft light, with the faintest smile curling her lips, her eyes no longer filled with fire or cold indifference--he felt it in his bones.

The violin reached a crescendo.

Their hands tightened slightly.

He didn’t mean to lean in. Didn’t mean to breathe her in like that.

But--

Gods.

Their faces were close. Too close.

One more step and she’d be in his arms for real.

He almost--

No.

He stepped back. Abruptly. Too fast.

She blinked, startled by the break in motion.

Eris cleared his throat, retreating behind his usual mask. “That’s enough.”

“You sure?” she said, confused.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “You’ve moved. That’s what matters.”

The violin fell silent.

He turned, walking briskly toward the door. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

She didn’t move right away. He knew that without looking.

She was watching him, probably with narrowed eyes, probably wondering what the hell had just happened.

So was he.

But better this--better her confused and safe--than him risking whatever was clawing at the surface of his restraint.

Especially now.

Especially with Calanmai so close.

He would not lose control.

Not again.

The scent hit him first.

Smoke.

But not the kind from the hearth.

No, this was sharper--burned parchment, ink, wax seals, silk ribbons. The acrid tang of something sacred violated. Something lost. Eris's steps faltered as he approached his private study, a chill running down his spine despite the ever-burning Autumn warmth.

He reached for the doorknob.

It was warm.

Too warm.

He shoved the door open.

Silence.

Then chaos.

The room looked like it had been caught in a storm. Drawers pulled out and cast aside. Cabinets cracked open, their contents dumped across the floor. Shelves toppled, chairs overturned. And in the center of it all, a scorched desk still smolderin--ash and embers dancing in the air like snowfall in hell.

He stood there for a heartbeat, unmoving.

Then another.

Then--

“No,” he muttered, low and dangerous.

He strode forward, boots crunching over the remains of papers that had once been plans--his plans. Months--years--of strategies. Letters exchanged in coded ink. Parchments that tracked Beron’s network of spies. Hidden maps, military coordinates, bribes, sealed orders--gone.

Burned.

All of it.

But one horror surged above the rest, crashing like a tidal wave over everything else.

He turned sharply toward the locked drawer behind his desk--hidden behind an enchanted panel only he and Alaric knew how to open. His heart thudded wildly in his chest as he muttered the unlocking spell and forced the small compartment open.

Empty.

Gone.

The folder. The sealed leather scroll case. Every page Alaric had handed him about Y/N--her life, her past, her bloodline, her secrets,her consent to this entire plan, the truth--all of it…

Gone.

Ashes clung to the inside of the drawer like a final insult.

He stared into the blackened void.

No one should have known where he kept it.

No one should have been able to get past the wards.

Unless…

He straightened, his breath slow, measured, as fury boiled just beneath the surface. Not rage at the loss alone, but at what it meant. At who it meant.

Whoever had done this--this wasn’t just sabotage. This was a warning.

Or a threat.

Or both.

Eris didn’t move for a long moment.

Then, quietly, too quietly, he whispered to the empty room:

“Someone’s playing a dangerous game.”

And this time, the fire that flickered in his eyes wasn’t born from magic.

It was born from vengeance.

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

Taglist: @lamimamiii @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86 @annamariereads16 @circe143 @yukimaniac @babypeapoddd @darkbloodsly @hauntedstudentobservationus @i-know-i-can @12358 @holb32 @herondale-lightworm @byysandra @sourapplex @wiggly-yrath @pandawritesthings210 @teenagellamaangel @lindsayjoy444 @yourallaround-simp @adventure-awaits13

#acotar #fanfics #fantasy #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris fluff #eris vanserra #eris angst

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lightsoutmatthews · 3 days ago

Text

Saves – Joseph Woll

Part of the Game 7 Diaries collection (masterslist)

summary: you and Joseph deal with the fallout after Game 7 against the Panthers

pairing: Joseph Woll x female!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst

authors note

after a pause in favor of my 250 followers celebration, were back with a new installment of the game 7 diaries 🤭

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

You found him halfway down the hallway, somewhere between the locker room and the exit, stuck in limbo. His head hung low, shoulders locked in a tension that made it look like he still expected the puck to come flying at him any second. Like he couldn’t switch it off.

He didn’t speak. Just walked toward you in silence, looming with his 6´3 frame, until he finally caved. He collapsed into you, arms wrapping around your waist, forehead burying into your shoulder. He wasn’t holding you, wasn’t hugging, he was clinging to you like the world had gotten too much and you were the only place where he could hide.

Your hand slopped into his hair without a word. It was too long for your liking, shaggy and uneven, but now wasn’t the time to comment on it. His beard scratched against your shoulder, thicker than usual but you knew the playoff tradition. You didn’t care about that in the moment wither.

The two of you stood there for a while, you becoming his anchor because it was the only thing you could do right then and there. Almost like he needed someone to keep him upright. For the first time since you started dating almost a year ago, you needed to be the strong one. And you hated every second of it.

The Leafs were already out of the playoffs when you met him. You never had to see him like this before. Never had to see what this game could do to someone who gave it everything and got nothing in return.

People passed. Players, girlfriends, wives. Most offered quick nods or sympathetic looks. You barely acknowledged them. Anthony Stolarz paused longer than all of them. Softly patted you on the shoulder before giving his tendy partner a comforting squeeze on the shoulder on the way out with his wife. Joseph didn’t react. Not even a twitch.

Anthony caught your eyes. That silent “you, okay?” kind of look. You nodded softly, signaling that you were okay, and that Joseph would be too because what else were you supposed to do? Tell him the truth? Pretend like Joseph wasn’t falling apart piece by piece right next to you? The taller man nodded back but you knew they would check-in tomorrow anyways.

He and Joseph had grown close over the course of sharing the net this season. So had you and his wife. She was the only one who could understand what it meant to be the goaltenders partner.

After they were gone only a few players remained in the locker room, their partners waiting in the same hallway as you were still holding your boyfriend, shooting you worried glances.

You tried to tell them you would be okay, just like you did with Anthony but at this moment you weren’t sure you would be. Eventually they moved on, made their way home, leaving you and Joseph standing in that hallway.

Wetness soaked into your shirt where his face rested. A silent indication that he was far from okay. You had never seen him cry before. Never thought you would. He wasn’t just shaken by what occurred on the ice today, he was wrecked by it.

When Auston Matthews, the team captain, walked over, Joseph lifted his head from your shoulder for the first time. Eyes bloodshot and puffy, subtle to the untrained eye, but not to you.

They exchanged quiet words. You didn’t understand. You probably weren’t supposed to. Then they shared a hug that lasted longer than it should have before Auston was gone too.

“Are you ready to head home?” you asked, just loud enough for him to hear, carefully touching his arm as he starred down the tunnel. “Yeah.”

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

He stirred the car through the streets quietly. Hands loosely around the steering wheel, for a second you were scared he wasn’t paying enough attention to the road, but this was Joseph, he always paid attention, even if outsiders didn’t notice.

A careful stop at a red light forced him to glance at you. His lips twitched into something between a smile and a wince.

You wanted to ask if he was okay, but it felt like a stupid question. You knew the answer before the words had left your mouth. You didn’t even know if he wanted to talk about it, but you wouldn’t start the conversation. So, you stayed quiet, waiting for him to come to you.

“Do you want to grab a bite?” he nodded towards the McDonald´s drive through not far from where you stood at the traffic light.

Food was the last thing on your mind right now, but the way he asked wasn’t about being hungry. It was about pretending to be normal. Grabbing a snack on the way home a regular occurrence. And you weren’t about to say no to that.

“Sure.”

15 minutes later, you were holding two greasy bags filled with food neither of you really wanted. He went all out, ordering more than the two of you could probably eat together but you didn’t mind, today no diet or anything like that mattered.

He dug in immediately, tearing the wrapper off the first burger like it had personally offended him before taking a giant bite. Closing his eyes he let the taste consume him, not from joy, just as a distraction.

Swallowing he gave you another one of those sad smiles. You knew there was a lot of emotion bottled up in him, you didn’t know if he was ready to let them out just yet.

He handed you something from the bag in silence. Just an offering. A gesture to fill the silence that consumed the air in the car.

Neither of you mentioned the game. Not the score. Not the crowd turning from cheering to booing. Not the jerseys thrown on the ice. You didn’t have to, it was haunting you regardless.

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

The rest of the drive home seemed quieter than the drive until the fast-food chain. It felt heavier too. Like the car might fold under the weight of everything that was left unsaid.

You noticed subtle changes in his usual post-game behaviors. His shoes were dumped at the door, not lined up neatly next to the others. His suit was tossed on the floor, left in a ball of crumpled fabric, not hung up or put in the laundry bin. He moved around the apartment like a ghost. Like he couldn’t bear to be in his own skin at the moment.

He made no attempt to talk about the game. Didn’t rant about what had gone wrong. Didn’t explain. He had always done that before, not matter how bad the game was. Even when you were in the stands watching. But not tonight.

You wanted to ask but you didn’t. You gave him space, hoping he would come to you when he was ready. If he was every ready.

This being the first time you experienced this made you unsure as to how to react to all of it.

The breaking point came when he returned to the living room. Suit changed for a grey sweats combo, hod of his hoodie pulled over his head like it could be a shield from the outside world.

You had turned on the TV while you waited. Mindlessly scrolled through the channels, ending on the news because nothing else seemed appealing. As the reporters navigated through the happenings around the world he sat down. Not super closely, but close enough that you could feel his body heat on your thigh.

The sports segment came on. They showed the game, the headline screaming across the screen in bright colors.

“Turn it off,” his first full sentence in an hour, voice barely audible.

“Please, babe,” he added, equally as tired.

You didn’t hesitate, grabbed the remote and killed the screen.

Darkness overcast the living room, the only light coming from the window, Toronto keeping buzzing down there, moving on from their teams playoff loss.

Joseph let out a loud breath. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice breaking halfway through the word.

He buried his face in his arms, hunched forward like someone physically punched him. You could hear his thoughts. They were loud, relentless and tearing him apart from the inside.

A blowout loss in game 7 and he was the one in net.

You knew he took it extra hard because he was the goalie. It reminded you of Vegas a few months prior. That first time he got pulled. How he didn’t sleep right for a week. But this? This was worse. This was like his worst nightmare come to live.

He was thrown into the series when Anthony got concussed in Game 1 after not playing in Round 1. He did well for that. In Game 2 as well but then everything went to shit.

Giving up the lead in Game 3, getting shut out in Game 4, being pulled in Game 5. A glimmer of hope when he shut the Panthers out in Game 6 that was lost after the second period in Game 7.

The chaos of events he experienced through the past two weeks were catching up.

You heart shattered at the picture that unfolded in front of you. He had sat back. Leaning against the back of the couch, eyes pressed together as if he was trying to stop the tears from coming back. When you saw one escaping on the left side of his face you moved over. Wrapping your arms around his waist, trying to give him some sort of lifeline in it all.

He wrapped one arm around your back, not tightly, just enough for you to notice that he welcomed the comfort you were trying to give him. The first tear slipped down your cheek then. Sadness over seeing your partner this sad taking over.

For a while neither of you said anything. You were just holding each other silently, tears occasionally slipping down your face, Joseph having composed himself enough to not.

Everything about his posture and facial expression still told you that he should probably let the tears out and not bottle them up.

“I should’ve been better,” he said suddenly, like he couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Jo-,” you couldn’t even finish his name before tears were overtaking your face again.

“If I made two more stops in Game three, we would have gone up three nothing in the series and everything could have turned out differently. If I had performed better today, we could’ve won. Letting in six goals in a game seven is embarrassing.” He ran his hand over his face.

You knew he wasn’t to blame for the losses, at least not entirely. Game 3 was unfortunate, half the goals bounced off his own defensemen, nothing he could have done about that. Game 4 and 5 were less unfortunate but still it was not his fault the entire line up of forwards could not more than one singular game in almost two whole games.

“Baby…” you softly touched his cheek to make him look at you. His eyes were still glassy. “This isn’t your fault,” you insisted. He just shook his head dismissively.

“I´m the goaltender, I should make sure the opposing team doesn’t score, give the guys a chance to win, not make it harder for them.”

You hated that he spoke about himself like that.

“Joseph, look at me,” you made sure he looked directly into your eyes before you continued. “It is not your fault that none of your teammates scored goals or that half of the defense scored on your net instead of actually defending it.”

You weren’t sure if he was hearing you. Not that he didn’t understand what you were saying but you didn’t know if he actually processed and acknowledged it. Based on his face, he didn’t.

“But…,” you didn’t even let him speak again, shutting him up by placing a soft kiss to his lips. Something to get him to stop thinking for two seconds. “No buts,” you mumbled against them.

“I won´t let you blame yourself for something you didn’t have as much control over as you claim,” you leaned back on the couch to snuggle into his side again. “You did the best you could, you bailed them out more times than they deserved for playing like that in front of you.”

He shook his head and almost smiled. It was barely there but it was something.

“I hate seeing you like this,” you mumbled against his chest. He let out a heavy breath.

“I know, and I´m sorry I´m not great company right now. I can drive you home if you want.”

You looked at your boyfriend. Your beautiful, tall and humble boyfriend who wanted to be anything but an inconvenience.

“No, silly, that’s not what I meant,” you explain. “I just don’t like seeing you this worked up over that and not knowing how to help you other than being here and tell you it´s not your fault.”

He softly brushed a strand of your hair out of your face before resting his palm on your cheek.

“That’s more than enough for me, being alone right now would not be great.”

A soft chuckle left his mouth. You were glad that he could laugh again mere hours after what happened even though you also knew that this would nag on him during the off-season.

“That´s why you have me,” you laughed, before resting your head back on his chest.

You stayed like that for a while, folded into each other. The loss still hung in the air, heavy and bitter. But you weren’t alone and for now, that was enough.

#joseph woll #toronto maple leafs #joseph woll imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #joseph woll x reader #nhl imagine

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prettymfwrites · 3 days ago

Text

Room for one more?

g!pEllie x female reader

Summary: How will Ellie react to the news...

I hadn’t meant to avoid her. It just… sort of happened.

At first, it was small things...staying out late on patrol, keeping my answers short when she asked how I was feeling. I stopped sitting on the couch next to her at night, claiming I was tired and going to bed early. But even then, I’d just lie there staring at the ceiling, hands over my stomach like it was going to start talking.

I couldn’t even say the word.

Pregnant.

I was late. Really late. My body felt different—tired, nauseous, achy. And sure, Jackson didn’t have a fancy doctor to confirm it, but I knew. Deep down, I knew. And the terrifying part wasn’t the idea of being pregnant. It was telling Ellie.

This wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to get married first. Settle. Make sure we were safe. She talked about it sometimes, about a little house outside the gates, maybe even adopting someday. She never mentioned... this.

So, I avoided her.

And of course she noticed.

“Y/N, are you mad at me or something?” she asked one morning, cornering me in the kitchen. Her voice was soft but strained. Her hand reached out like she wanted to touch me, but I stepped back before she could.

“No,” I said quickly, avoiding her eyes. “Just tired. Long patrol yesterday.”

That was three days ago. Now I couldn’t even be in the same room as her without guilt clawing up my throat. Every time she looked at me, it felt like she could see straight through me—and the longer I kept it a secret, the more ashamed I felt.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

So I went to the one person in Jackson who might understand.

Joel.

He was out behind the stables when I found him, fixing up a broken saddle. His face lit up when he saw me—just like it always did—and then quickly turned serious when he noticed how pale I looked.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “What’s goin’ on?”

I swallowed hard. “Can we talk? Like… privately?”

Joel didn’t ask questions. He just nodded and led me to the quiet corner of the barn where the horses couldn’t hear us.

I looked at the floor, then at my hands. “I think I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, letting it settle, nodding slowly like he was putting the pieces together in his head.

“It’s Ellie’s,” I whispered, like saying it louder would make it more real. “I haven’t told her. I… I can’t. She wanted to wait. She always said we’d be ready later.”

Joel put a hand on my shoulder, his voice gentle. “You scared she’s gonna leave?”

I nodded. “Or be disappointed. Or think I messed everything up. She’s been through so much, Joel. I don’t want to be the reason she’s stressed out all over again.”

He gave a small sigh and looked out toward the sunset.

“I’ll get Dina to grab a test for ya, alright? Just to be sure. You just sit tight, kiddo. And don’t beat yourself up, y’hear me? Ellie loves you more than anything. No matter what.”

Before I could respond, the barn door creaked open.

Ellie and Dina stepped inside, laughing about something, until they both saw us.

Joel’s jaw clenched. His whole face changed—like guilt took over—and he backed away slightly.

Ellie’s eyes darted from me to Joel. “What’s going on?”

Joel didn’t answer.

“Joel,” she said again, more tense this time. “What is it?”

I stepped forward quickly. “Ellie, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, okay?”

Her brows furrowed. “Why won’t he tell me? Why are you—?” Her voice cracked. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

“No! Ellie, no, I’m not—”

She shook her head and stepped back. Her hands balled into fists. “It’s alright. I saw it coming anyway.”

And before I could stop her, she turned around and walked out.

Jaw clenched. Shoulders tight. I heard her sniff, just once.

Joel cursed under his breath.

Dina looked between all of us, stunned. “Wait—what the hell is going on?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her. “I need you to pick up a pregnancy test for lil’ bit here, okay?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

She smiled before grabbing my hand. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

We walked quietly to her and Jesse’s place. My heart still hurt from watching Ellie walk away like that, but Dina’s presence helped.

“I’m scared to tell her,” I admitted. “She’ll think I broke our plan. Like I didn’t listen.”

Dina shook her head. “Y/N, she’s obsessed with you. Yeah, she’s got a temper and yeah, she gets in her own head sometimes, but trust me—she’s gonna come around.”

Once we got inside, Dina made me sit down while she disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, she came back out and pressed a little pink box into my hands.

“I’ve had this stashed just in case,” she said with a grin. “You good to take it?”

I nodded, and she kissed my forehead. “I’ll be right outside, babe.”

The test was positive.

I stared at the tiny plus sign until my hands started shaking. And then I cried. Big, ugly sobs I couldn’t hold back.

Dina came in, knelt beside me, and wrapped me in her arms.

“You’re not alone, okay? You’ve got me. You’ve got Joel. And you’ve got her—even if she doesn’t know it yet.”

After a minute, she pulled back. “Alright, now that we know for sure, let’s make this cute. You know Ellie. She’s dramatic as hell. You’ve gotta do something creative.”

I smiled weakly. “She does love music.”

Dina grinned. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

That night, I walked back home with a record in my backpack and a plan.

Ellie was in the small room she used for writing and playing guitar. Her back was to me, head bowed, gently strumming a few chords.

“I thought I’d be gone by the time you got back,” she said softly, not turning around.

I set my bag down and slowly walked over. Without a word, I knelt, took her guitar gently out of her hands, and set it against the wall. Then I climbed into her lap and wrapped my arms around her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, nuzzling her cheek. “I love you. So much. And I know this isn’t how you wanted things to go. I know we talked about getting married first.”

Her brow creased as she looked at me. “I think you’re leaving me… and you give me… a record?”

I laughed through my nerves and kissed her lips once, soft and slow. “Open it.”

She hesitated, then opened the sleeve.

Inside was a test, taped beside a folded note that read: Room for one more?

The record? “I Love You” by Fontaines D.C.

Ellie stared at it for what felt like hours. Her jaw dropped slightly, then she blinked and let out a breathless laugh.

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re… you’re serious?”

I nodded, and she grabbed my face and kissed me once, twice, three times in a row. Then she held my head to her shoulder, breathing hard.

“I thought I was losing you,” she whispered. “And turns out… I’m gonna have a kid?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just… scared myself. I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Ellie pulled back to look me in the eyes. “You think I’d be mad? That I’d leave you?”

“I didn’t know.”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ve been such an asshole lately. I just—I didn’t know what was happening, and it scared the fuck out of me.”

“We’re both scared,” I said. “But we’re gonna be okay.”

She nodded. “Yeah. We are.”

We sat there in silence for a while, tangled up in each other. Then Ellie grinned through her tears.

“Okay… real talk. What are we naming this thing?”

I laughed. “What, like now?”

“Hell yeah. Might as well get ahead of it. I’m voting for something badass. Like… Blade.”

I snorted. “You’re not naming our kid Blade, Ellie.”

“What about Shimmer Jr.?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

We kept throwing names at each other until we were breathless from laughing. And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

_________________________________________

I'M BACK AHHHH

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #dina tlou #tlou2 #tlou fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic

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slightly-knot-insane · 21 hours ago

Text

Monk's Temptation (part 6)

🙘⠀✟⠀🙚

[ part 1 ] [ part 2 ] [ part 3-1 ] [ part 3-2 ] [ part 4 ] [ part 5 ]

a/n: God have mercy on Atanas' soul, he will do something utterly unholy. Also, we have some lore about his species! content: nsfw, fingering, spitting?

Did he scare you? Yes, of course he did. Your grandmother - just like any god-fearing woman - told you stories of Karakonjuls when you were little. How fearsome they were a millennium ago, a wild man-eating tribe that tortured medieval humans. And how slowly they calmed down, accepted Christianity, and changed their diet. But still there were… accidents. The transition wasn’t easy. Some horrible events and setbacks demanded new laws and obligations. In some countries, for example, every Karakonjul family, regardless of the number of children they had, was required to give at least one child to serve God, as a way of repaying for their savage past.

You wondered if one of those Karakonjul children sent as a repentance is standing right in front of you, barely breathing as if ready to pounce, emanating intensity and hunger.

So many questions linger on the tip of your tongue. You want to know everything about him. Inward and outward. But should you, is the real question.

“Atanas, do you…” You need to tread this path carefully. “Do you like being a monk?”

Atanas’ eyes turn back to a mellow blonde shade, but they lose their vibrancy and turn to a solemn white. “I…” He takes a long pause. “I like the gardens.”

“The gardens, huh?” You take a step forward, trying to peer into his hood. But aside from two glistening orbs, you can’t even make out the shape of his head. “Why did you want to become a monk?”

His head snaps up. “I didn’t. My parents sent me here.”

So you were right; this wasn’t his choice. He never wanted this life of spirituality and self-sacrifice. You assume nobody asked him what he wanted. Your heart starts racing, as it dawns on you that you are alone with a fearsome Karakonjul, hidden by the pouring rain, wind, and darkness, lulled by the smell of fresh and ripe apples.

“Ani…” You move to touch him, but change your mind. “Can I see your hand?”

His eyes turn to stormy blue as he curls his fingers into a fist and hides them behind his back. “Please don’t. I’m scary.”

You giggle. “I will be the judge of that,” you retort and present your palm.

Atanas is still reluctant, but there is no escaping your demanding eyes. As if he’s about to be punished, his head hanging low, he places his bony hand into yours. You look at his rough gray skin, speckled with onyx marks, and his long four fingers decorated with sharp black claws. Those hands hunted and killed humans a thousand years ago. And now, barely touching your skin, the hand of this terrifying predator is shaking.

“Ani…” You place your other hand over his. “You are fascinating.”

He gasps. There is some inarticulate sound coming from his hood, but nothing resembling a language comes out. Instead, he squeezes your hand. And the trembling stops. His eyes slowly turn pink, and he looks at you with the same intensity he chased you with.

Your heart is beating in your throat - you and Ani are holding hands. And you are excited about that. What are you, five?

Even though he doesn’t reject you nor accept your flirting, you place his hand on your face. This time, he doesn’t gasp. He just stares at you, like a hawk. He gently cups your cheek.

“Should I stop?” you ask.

He shakes his head slowly. You pull his palm across your lips, chin, down your throat, and stop it between your breasts. Are you insane? “Should I stop now?”

He is trembling again, and his claws scratch against your skin. As if he wants to dig them in.

“No…” he whispers. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I should say those words, Ani.” You smile, but the monk just blinks in confusion. It’s too soon, too soon, you reprimand yourself. But you can barely control your thoughts anymore. You are also shaking, your knees slightly buckling. “Ani, I… Do you want to touch me?”

With a sharp rustle of his habit, you are pressed against the rough fabric covering his chest. His other arm is placed against your back, his fingers digging into your soft folds. You are sure he can feel how hot you are, how fast your heart is beating. Does he even have a heart? Does he bleed? Does he have a skeleton? Does he reproduce like humans?

“Yes…” he whispers, but this time he sounds different. As if his voice belongs to another man, another… creature. Does he scare you? Yes, oh yes, so much. And you love it.

Your ache is unbearable. You lift your skirt up to your breasts and lead Atanas’ hand against your soft belly, pressing his palm against your navel. His eyes pulsate in that vibrant magenta colour, and, with a moist breath, heating the air between you, he starts purring. The vibrations spread throughout his body, right to the tips of his fingers brushing against your bush. You wonder does he know how much you desire him. Is he aware of the state your body is in, the edge you are standing on?

“Touch me, Ani…” you bite your lip, staring into the void.

Atanas growls, and his fingers slide into your panties. You moan, letting go of his wrist completely to grab his habit. He pulls you even closer, oh-so-closer, and the odor of cheap detergent and incense trapped in the fabric fill your nostrils. You don’t want that smell now. You want to smell him, only him, but you can’t. It’s not important. Not right now, in any case.

Atanas purrs above your head, as his fingers touch your cunt, your folds, your curls as delicately as petals.

“Ani…” You place your skirt higher and spread your legs more. “Harder. Please, harder… That little bud… higher…”

His fingers seem fascinated with how wet you are, constantly rubbing your entrance, gently probing. But you don’t have enough time for that. You need a release now. “Ani… there, right there… press it and… left and right…”

You are mumbling into his habit, hiding your face to silence your moans. Atanas is next to your ear, panting in an almost beastly way, and that drives you crazy. He is painfully inexperienced, but he understands your instructions. Barely. It is too much, not enough, too rough, too gentle, too slow, too fast, all at once; but it is Ani and those are his fingers getting you off.

“Yes… yes… yes…” He hears your whimpers and holds you tighter, grabbing you by the ass and lifting you. He does something between your legs, his fingers shift in a strange way, but whatever he does, it pushes you right over the edge. You scream against his chest, and Atanas duets with a snarl.

You are giggling and panting after the strong wave of your orgasm, but Ani lifts your head, forcing you to look up, into his face, into flaming red irises. He pushes his thumb into your mouth and opens it. You are panting, shaking from your climax, but a new sensation overpowers that delight - dismay.

For the first time, something else appears in the face void. A shape forms underneath his eyes. Something is glistening, moving, twisting. But you can’t quite make it. Hot air washes over your face, and a long, thick thread of spit drips right onto your tongue, sliding down your throat.

The orbs flicker, suddenly changing into pale blue ones. The purring and snarling stop in a heartbeat. You blink, and Ani releases you with a nervous gasp.

He looks at his hands as if he sees them for the first time, glances at you again, and runs outside.

“Ani!” you yell after him. What have you done? You fall to your knees. Fuck. What just happened? You swallow, feeling the strange liquid glide like a warm chocolate down your throat. And what has he done to you?

🙘⠀✟⠀🙚

Taglist: @blushycadaver @just-kattt @kittycatkandies @sunndust @guess--monster @rs-hawk @frosch-thefrog @frightfr @faithisthedoctor @sleeplessskeleton @misspendragonsworld @concubus-cuddles @lexariahane @cutiebimbo @aesthetic-dummy [ please let me know if you want on/off ]

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larluce · 22 hours ago

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Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

FIRST PART >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

(This part is dedicated to @theroundbartable , who some time ago made an interesting question: "How would familiar Merlin interact with Kilgharrah?" Here's the answer to that)

Before Merlin discovered he was a familiar and shortly after his wing healed. In Arthur's chambers.

Arthur: (enters, hiding Merlin in his bird form inside his jacket, then closes the door and takes him out, sighing in relief) That was close.

Merlin: (chirps) I could've just flown in through the window, you know? 😒

Arthur: (grabs the box and murmurs) Maybe not make it so obvious. (puts the box in a shelf, between a couple of books) Hmmm... (covers Merlin with the cloth) There!

Arthur: (glancing at the door) Shh! They can’t know you're still here.

Merlin: (nods and hops onto a makeshift nest his human made: a box lined with an old cloth)

Merlin: (thinks) Your camouflage skills leave much to be desired. 🙄

Arthur: (blinks) Did you just... roll your eyes at me? (shakes his head) Ugh, I must be imagining things.

Time skip. At night. Arthur sleeping on his bed and Merlin in his little box.

Mysterious voice: Merlin... Merlin!

(a pause, thoughtful) A predator that announces itself in human language? 🤨

Merlin: (waking up, thinking) Ugh, it's that voice again. (pauses, flexing his wing experimentally) Wait—my wing’s fine now. I could follow it (hesitates, eyes narrowing) Or it’s a predator. 😑

Mysterious voice: Merlin.

Merlin: Could be calling any merlin.

Mysterious voice: Merlin.

Merlin: Or maybe is a merlin calling for help?

Mysterious voice: MERLIN!

Merlin: FINE! But if it's a trap, I'm hunting you first! (flies through the window)

Time skip. In the cave underneath the castle.

Merlin: (enters flying and lands on the stone floor) Hello?

Kilgharrah: (appears before him) I'm here.

Merlin: (takes in the sheer size of the great dragon, his feathers puff out in instinctive terror)

Kilgharrah: (looks down the little bird, somehow amused) How small you are, for such a great-

Merlin: (screeches loudly in full-blown panic, wings flailing) PREDATOR! 😱 (flies away)

Kilgharrah: No! Wait! I'm not going to- (sighs as the distant terrified chirps fade) Aaand he's gone. 🤦‍♂️

In Arthur's chambers.

Merlin: (Bursts through the window and zooms in circles around the room, frantic) PREDATOR! THERE'S A PREDATOR UNDERNEATH THE CASTLE!

Arthur: (wakes up) Wha...? Bird? What is it?

Merlin: (flying around Arthur, in hyperventilating chirps) A predator, Arthur! A big predator! We have to flee!

Arthur: (hisses) Stop it! You're going to wake everybody!

Merlin: (latches onto Arthur's nightshirt with tiny talons, desperately tugging) Move, move, move!

Arthur: (finally registering Merlin's terror) Okay, clearly something is upsetting you.

Merlin: (keeps pulling Arthur's nightshirt) We are gonna die! 😭

Arthur: (manages to catch Merlin mid-air, cupping him firmly but gently)

Merlin: (struggles) No! let go! The big predator will kill us all!

Arthur: (rocks the little bird against his chest) Shhh, breathe. Calm down.

Merlin: (his frantic fluttering slows to shaky trembles, his tiny chest heaving) P-pre-predator… 🥺(whimpering chirp) B-bi-big predator… 😢

Since then the voice would keep calling him in his head. Sometimes saying nonsense about him not being a real bird. Merlin would turn it off.

Arthur: (softly, thumb stroking Merlin's feathers) Everything's fine. I've got you.

Then he found out he was a familiar, so he decided to pay the dragon a visit. He was still scared of the big predator, but if it hasn't left the cave in so long, maybe it was safe to speak to it. And he needed answers after all.

In the cave underneath the castle.

Merlin: (walks in in his human form, carrying a bundle of freshly hunted birds)

Kilgharrah: (eyes gleaming in the dark) At last, you deign to visit me. (sniffs the dead birds) What is this?

Merlin: Prey for you. (puts the birds on the ground) So you don't eat me.

Kilgharrah: (stares at the pitiful pile, then bursts into laughter) Trust me, little one, birds are not part of my diet.

Merlin: (crosses his arms) That’s exactly what a predator would say. 😑

Kilgharrah: (leans in, fanged grin) Even if they were… you are no true bird. Are you, Merlin?

Silence.

Merlin: (quietly) You knew. You knew I was a familiar.

Kilgharrah: (eyes glowing with ancient knowing) Indeed. Though I must say, I didn’t expect you in this form.

Merlin: My human form is bigger. I didn't want to feel so small beside you. (quieter) I'm still... getting used to this body.

Kilgharrah: (chuckles) I didn't mean that… but I also meant it.

Merlin: (frowns) You talk strange.

Kilgharrah: Some people say that.

Another silence.

Merlin: (gaze drifts to the cavern floor, his next question tentative) Do you know if there are… others like me? Familiars?

Kilgharrah: (turns serious) In this plane? I fear not. You are the last of your kin.

Merlin: (thinking, sad) So I don’t have a family, then.

Kilgharrah shifts, chains clanking against stone. The sound makes Merlin flinch.

Kilgharrah: (low, resonant) I understand that ache, little familiar. I, too, am the last of mine.

Merlin: (eyes snap to the dragon's shackles, in horrified realization) You're… trapped. (a pause, then softer, haunted) It’s like being in a cage.

Kilgharrah: (voice trembling with centuries of rage) This… and the extermination of my kin… was done by the monster who now sits upon the throne.

Merlin: (takes a step back) Arthur's… father?

Kilgharrah: The one who must be stopped. And that, young familiar, is your destiny.

Merlin: (baffled) Destiny?

Kilgharrah: Your magic was given to you for a reason. Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the lands of Albion.

Merlin: (confused) ... Right.

Kilgharrah: But he faces many threats from friend and foe alike.

Merlin: (shrugs) That part I know. But what's that got to do with me?

Kilgharrah: (intense) Everything. Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.

Merlin: Why would Arthur need more land? The castle's already bigger than any cave, nest, or den I've ever seen.

Kilgharrah: (frustrated growl) Because unless he succeeds, magic will never return to this land!

Merlin: (backing away) Wait, wait, wait. You want Arthur to bring back magic? Sorcerers?

Kilgharrah: (nods) And all magical creatures, yes.

Merlin: (scared) NO! He can't do that! Sorcerers are evil! They tried to hurt me. They put me in a cage!

Kilgharrah: ...

Kilgharrah: You cannot be serious. You are magic itself.

Merlin: (voice cracking) I didn't choose this! I was happy as just a bird! And now you're telling me my 'destiny' is to help bring back the monsters who wanted to enslave me?!

The dragon opens his mouth, but Merlin is already storming toward the exit.

Kilgharrah: (calling after him) Wait, there's clearly been a misunderstanding-

Merlin: (whirling around, eyes blazing) You're just like them! You're all evil! And I... I actually felt sorry for you!

With that, Merlin changes to his bird forms and flies away from the cave, leaving Kilgharrah alone in the dark.

Time skip. In Arthur's chambers.

Merlin: (flies inside through the window and changes to his human form)

Arthur: (leaping from his desk, nearly knocking over an inkpot) Merlin! (dashes to lock the door, hissing) Are you trying to get us executed?! Stay in your bird form!

Merlin: (ignoring him, gripping Arthur’s shoulders) WE HAVE TO KILL THE DRAGON!

Arthur: ...

Arthur: What? 😧

Merlin: (shaking him) The one under the castle! It's dangerous!

Arthur: (prying Merlin's hands off) Merlin-

Merlin: (frantic, pacing) I don’t know why your father kept it alive! It could escape! He killed the others. Why not this one?!

Arthur: He wanted to kept it as an example. A trophy.

Merlin: (whirling on him, incredulous) That’s stupid! Animals don't do that! If you can kill a threat, you kill it! That's basic survival!

Arthur: (patting the air like calming a spooked horse) Relax. That thing's been chained for twenty years. It’s not going anywhere.

Merlin: (crossess his arms, not convinced)

Arthur: (realises) Wait—how do you even know about the dragon?

Merlin: ...

Arthur: (yells) YOU WENT TO SEE THE DRAGON! 😡

Merlin's feathers puff up defensively before he remembers he's in human form. He settles for crossing his arms tighter.

Arthur: And here you're lecturing me about survival when you marched straight to the beast! What were you thinking?!

Merlin: (mutters) He wouldn't stop… talking in my head. And I needed answers.

Arthur: (grips Merlin's shoulders) The dragon can SPEAK?! And what answers could possibly be worth-

Merlin: (yells) I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF THERE WERE OTHERS LIKE ME!

Arthur: ...

Merlin: (voice cracking, looking away) I wanted to know if I had a family.

Arthur: (his grip softens but doesn't let go, his thumbs rubbing small circles on Merlin's shoulders unconsciously)

Merlin: (swallowing hard) Turns out I'm the last of my kin.

Arthur: (his expression crumbles, his heart breaking) Merlin...

Merlin: (a bitter laugh) And then he started babbling about destiny and Albion and-

Arthur: (suddenly pulls Merlin into a tight embrace)

Merlin: ...

Merlin: (blushing) What are you doing?

Arthur: It's called a hug. I did this when you were in your bird form too. When you were upset.

Merlin: I know. It just… feels different, somehow.

Arthur: (flustered, pulling away) Oh, I didn't mean to-

Merlin: (pulls him close again) No, it's nice. (buries his face in Arthur's neck, smiling)

Arthur: (blush deepens as he awkwardly pats Merlin's back) Better?

Merlin: (pulls away, giving Arthur a sincere smile) Yeah. Thank you.

The dragon tried to call him again a couple of times more, but soon gave up when Merlin kept ignoring him.

However, after finding out about Morgana's magic and then discovering other good sorcerers, Merlin decided to give the dragon another visit. His last visit.

Kilgharrah: (in dry amusement) The little bird returns. To what do I owe this honor?

Merlin: (stands straighter) I wanted to apologize. For calling you and all sorcerers evil.

Kilgharrah: (exhales a wisp of smoke that curls around Merlin like a ghostly embrace) So. You've learned.

Merlin: (nods, firm) Magic isn't evil or good. It's how you wield it.

Kilgharrah: (serious) And will you now embrace your destiny?

Merlin: (nods) Arthur and I talked. He plans to legalize magic when he's king.

Kilgharrah: For Arthur's dawn to rise… Uther's sun must set.

Merlin: (shifting uncomfortably) He'll die naturally someday. He's old-

Kilgharrah: How many more innocents will die by then?

Merlin: (sharp) Arthur protects who he can!

Kilgharrah: (leaning in) Not. Enough.

Merlin: (his jaw tightens, final) Well, it'll have to be.

Silence.

Merlin: (softer) Once Arthur's king… he'll consider freeing you.

Kilgharrah: (snorts, sending sparks flying) "Consider."

Merlin: He needs assurance you won't burn Camelot to ash.

Kilgharrah: (neutral) I see.

Merlin: (turns to leave, then pauses at the cave mouth) That's all I came to say. (leaves)

Super time skip. A VERY future event.

Kilgharrah: (smirks) Old friend… It's been a long time.

Balinor: (hollow) Hello, Kilgharrah.

Kilgharrah: (leans down) I hope you've come for the purpose I imagine.

Balinor's hand flies to his hip. With a metallic shing, he draws a sword. Its blade glows with eerie blue runes that pulse like a heartbeat.

Balinor: (voice breaking) Uther took everything from me. My kin hunted like animals. Years stolen from the woman I love. (clenches sword) My own son… I never even held him.

The runes flare as his tears hit the blade, sizzling like acid.

Balinor: (suddenly his face turning to stone) Now I'll take everything from him.

Kilgharrah: (vicious smile) How glad I am… that we understand each other.

That night a sword falls.... and a chain breaks.

FIRST PART >> PREVIOUS PART >> NEXT PART

...

BOOM! Sorry for leaving you with another cliffhanger. There are still events with the chicks and Hunith that will happen before we get back to Balinor's sudden act of revenge.

Credits to my best friend Rosangela, who help with ideas for Merlin and Kilgharrah's interactions.

Tagging @dsabian , @theplatanitosqueal , @stressed-but-chill , @gregre369 , @chaosofbelievers , @thelordofabsolutelynothing , @another-tblr-fangirl , @aceauthorcatqueen , @smileytrinity , @tiny-and-witchy , @wacko-weirdo , @cacklingharpy , @schiwalker , @natsu2501malo , @dearfuturelyn , @thedollopheadofcamelot , @yougottobekittenme , @your-local-asylum-escapee , @alo-ween , @orliththedragon , @dumbdemjin , @dangerhumming , @fandomabibliophobia , @beebsnas , @genyxie , @tyanatadraven , @andrealux21 , @justafangirlwithphases , @clairebonnefoy

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merthur fic #merlin and arthur #Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

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buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger · 14 hours ago

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“I don't want to see him”

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: After the events of Thunderbolts*, Bucky needs to stop seeing the Soldier in the mirror.

Warnings: Angst, Sad Bucky, vague mentions to Bucky's Shame Room, Thunderbolts spoilers

A/N: I wasn't entirely sure how to end this one, tbh I'm not sure how I feel about it overall, but I couldn't get the idea of Bucky shaving his head after the events of Thunderbolts* because his shame rooms dredged up WS memories out of my head, so I wrote about it. This is Buzzed's angsty brother, so if you need a pick me up after this pop over there!

((18+ only below the cut please and thank you!!))

“Bucky!” You called as you entered your shared suite in the (New) Avengers Tower.

Silence.

Worry started to settle in your gut as you padded through the space. Where was he? You calmed slightly when you entered your bedroom and saw light shimmering under the door to the bathroom.

“Bucky? Sweetheart?” You knocked gently on the door, not wanting to startle him, “can I come in?”

There was a long pause, followed by a soft “yeah”.

You found him in the bathroom, shirt off, face hidden by his dark hair, hands gripping the counter so tightly you thought he was going to Crack the marble. You sighed softly. In the two months following the fight with The Void Sentry Bob and the Team's moving into the Tower, Bucky had been…off. He tried to act like everything was fine. But you saw the smiles that didn’t reach his eyes, the constant glances over his shoulder that he thought no one noticed, the way his jaw clenched at any loud, sudden noises, the fact he almost always kept his hair tied up in a small ponytail, off his neck and away from his face. The others didn’t know him well enough or long enough to catch that something was wrong. Or if they did, they didn't bring it up, but you did. Even though he attempted to assure you that everything was fine and that ‘nothing’s wrong, Doll. I'm okay’, meanwhile he kept coming to bed later and later and flinching if you reached out too quickly when touching him. Now, finding him like this, he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. You smiled sadly and entered, keeping your movements slow and deliberate.

“Yelena wanted me to let you know dinner is in an hour,” you kissed his bare shoulder, trying to put him at ease, “she's cooking, so I'm willing to bet money it's mac and cheese again.”

Bucky let out a little exhale, not looking up. You gently slipped in between him and the counter, taking his face in both hands.

“Talk to me, Baby,” you whispered, “what's wrong? And don't say nothing.”

“I see it, all of it. Every time I close my eyes, I see it,” for a man so large his voice sounded uncharacteristically small. You wrapped your arms around Bucky, pulling him close. You knew that what both you and the rest of the Team had seen in the Void had taken a toll on him. All of his trauma, all of the things he had been working so hard to recover from, all of the memories he'd relived in his nightmares, laid bare for him, you, and this group of people you'd only met a few days ago to see. It was traumatizing, and had dredged up a million memories he'd spent so long and was working so hard to recover from.

You ran your hand over his hair, pressing kisses to his temple.

“And I keep seeing Him,” he whispered, “he's there every time I close my eyes. Every time I see my reflection.”

“That explains this,” you gently played with his ponytail, earning you a tiny chuckle.

“It kept brushing on my neck and getting in my eyes,” Bucky murmured, “I hate it.”

“Do you want me to cut it?” You tucked a loose strand behind his ear, “I’m not a professional, but I can at least make it shorter.”

He nodded, allowing you to slide out and grab a pair of scissors and a set of clippers while he sat down on the closed toilet lid. You draped a towel around his shoulders and undid his ponytail with a kiss to his temple.

“Alright, Sweet Boy,” you ran your fingers through his hair, “what do you want me to do? I can't do anything hyper-specific, but I could do a basic crew cut, or like you had it when you were campaigning–”

“I want it gone.”, The hand in his hair stopped short.

“Are you sure, Buck?”

He nodded, those steely blue eyes you'd fallen so deeply in love with looking up to meet yours.

“I'm sure,” he said, “I don't want to feel it on me anymore. I need a change.”

You nodded slowly.

“Alright, Honey. If that's what you want.”

“It is.”

You gave his shoulder a squeeze, turning to grab the scissors.

“I'm going to cut off some of the bulk first and then finish with the clippers, if that's okay?” he nodded, and you took your spot behind him, “alright, can I cut your ponytail?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, strained. You leaned forward and kissed his temple.

“You're doing great Buck, take a deep breath for me,” he did as instructed, and you carefully severed the small ponytail. Bucky looked up at you, his remaining hair falling in loose, uneven strands around his face, “good job, Honey. First one's done. Can I keep going?”

He nodded, bowing his head and steeling his nerves, “please. I need this.”

Slowly, carefully, you cut away his long hair. Bucky said nothing, but watched the brunette piles gather at his feet. Occasionally, you would stop cutting for a moment and run your fingers through the messy cut, earning a small sigh. When his hair was finally to a more manageable length you placed the scissors down and faced him. His hair was significantly shorter now, erupting out of his head in short, uneven chocolate strands that you couldn't help but run your fingers through one last time.

“I'm gonna plug in the clippers now, okay?” Bucky nodded, “and you're sure you want to do this? I could still just trim it up a bit.”

He nodded again, more sure of himself.

“This is something I need to do.” The man straightened. He flinched when you switched electric razor on, but straightened in his seat.

“I'm gonna get started now, okay? We'll take it nice and slow,” He swallowed thickly, but nodded, “hold still, Darling.”

Bucky felt the clippers start at the base of his neck, slowly working over his head. Occasionally, your free hand would gently run over what was left of his dark locks, brushing bits of severed hair away from his scalp. Bit by bit you carefully shaved away what was left of his hair, gently shielding his ear when you went to trim the hair around it, sometimes pausing for a moment to kiss his cheek. And Bucky, he was doing his best to stay in the present, to focus on the warm hand on his shoulder and the soft hair tickling his skin as it fell down his back. He stayed as still as possible for you, his head bowed, flesh and Vibranium hands resting in his lap. He hadn’t realized he'd closed his eyes until you switched off the clippers and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“You're all done, Baby. Take a look.”

Slowly, Bucky peeled his eyes open. You were smiling at him, hand on his cheek, those bright eyes he'd fallen hopelessly in love with staring down at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. He ran a tentative hand over his head, the bit of fuzz left on his scalp tickling the skin of his flesh palm.

“What do you think?” Bucky asked, meeting your eyes. You reached out and ran your fingers over his stubbled head, gently rubbing against his nape.

“It's going to take some getting used to, logistically speaking,” you kissed the tip of his nose, “but you look so good, Bucky. Long hair, short hair, no hair, it doesn't matter. You'll always be the most handsome man in the room to me.”

Bucky broke into a smile, a genuine smile. The first you'd seen in a long time. You hugged him tight, guiding his head to rest on your stomach and tenderly stroking your fingers along the brunette bristles.

“You ready to see yourself, Sweetheart?” you asked after a few long moments and he nodded, allowing you to help him stand and lead him to the bathroom mirror. Bucky stared at himself in wide-eyed silence for a while, running an exploratory hand over his buzz cut once again.

“What do you think, Buck?” your hand found his and you gently kissed the back of his palm.

“I…I see me.” his voice was soft, unsteady. Bucky shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts, and wrapped you in a hug as he pressed little kisses to your hair, “thank you, Doll.”

“Always, Baby.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #buckybarnes #bucky barnes fluff

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