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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months

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The Other Woman

Azriel x Necromancer!reader

Synopsis: Coming from a long line of necromancers, you’re bound by an oath of submission to the High Lord. Dark power that many fear concentrates in your veins, a rare and precious gift. A perfect match for the Shadowsinger whose darkness comes to rival your own. Until one day, he seems to have no need for you anymore. Perhaps he never did.

Warnings: adolescent turbulence, beauty, angst, self-hate, violence (self-inflicted and other), general depression all around.

a/n: I think I went a little insane, writing this

Word Count: 15,042

“Did you see her makeup?” You laugh tipsily over your drink, blessed warmth sweeping away the day’s troubles. In truth you’re far from drunk, but a little playfulness never hurt.

Azriel rolls his eyes, wings tucked in carefully to avoid bumping into things despite being in a large private booth, overlooking the restaurant. “Maybe you should ease up on the alcohol,” he suggests, taking a sip from his own drink. “And waste your coin?” You muse, tilting your head to the side. “Never.”

The edges of his mouth quirk, gaze casting out over the busy scene below, waiters weaving in and out of the packed tables with trays practically piled to the ceiling—how anyone can eat that much food and not be ashamed is something you’ll never understand.

“Besides,” you say idly, glancing at the male. “I thought it looked nice.” But Azriel shakes his head, smiling faintly, your own reflecting their movement. “I’m sure you did,” he replies, still watching the tables far below. Hazel eyes following the waitress that had brought your drinks with slight interest. You subtly cast your attention after her—hair tied back, long legs, slim build but sturdy. Your nose wrinkles, lip twitching in disgust. “She could learn to lose that muscle,” you muse lightly, leaning forward to splay your forearms on the cool wooden surface of the table.

“She’s working a manual job,” he replies, still watching her. “Of course she’s going to have a bit of muscle from carrying those drinks around.” You take a sip of your own, watching as the waitress disappears through a door. “She serves as the pretty face of the restaurant,” you comment, “leave the heavy lifting to the others.”

“What are you going to order?” He asks, switching subjects. “Probably a salad,” you sigh, “I doubt I could manage any more. What about you?”

Azriel hums, the deep vibration warming your skin, and you resist the urge to shift in your seat, cunt aching to have him between your thighs.

“Probably a portion of mind-your-business with a side of roast potatoes,” he drawls, peering at you from over his menu. “Hold the judgement.” Hazel eyes glimmer with amusement, locking with your own, a slight smile softening the edges of your mouth. You raise your hands innocently, back curving to subtly showcase the generous neckline—deep but tasteful. “Just my opinion,” you reply, conceding on this topic.

He hums again, and you both settle back into peering through the menu. Much of the contents you can guess will be cooked in oil, making it greasy and fatty, something that would have made your mother’s lip twitch in disgust.

“Salad it is,” you mutter, pushing the menu away and sighing. “I know you like this place, Az, but this really is the last time we’re coming here. The air is practically dripping with sweat.”

“You know you say that every time,” he muses, hazel eyes flicking leisurely over the various meals and side dishes. “I mean it,” you counter, turning your head to once again peer at the crowd below, nose wrinkling ever so slightly before you suppress the inclination.

“There’s nothing wrong with letting loose every once in a while,” he replies casually, seemingly taking him time with deciding. “That’s rich coming from you,” you drawl, pointedly glancing at him. “You’re practically married to your paperwork. We had to set up a schedule for these dinners,” you emphasise, rolling your eyes. “Mother forbid you don’t get what you want exactly when you want it,” he replies, still choosing.

“What can I say? I deserve to be spoiled.” His shoulders shift, a low laugh huffing quietly from his mouth, the sound dripping between your legs. “Isn’t that right,” he drawls, deep hazel eyes settling leisurely on yours, shadows swishing idly over the plush seating.

You arch a neatly groomed brow, lips curving in a feline lilt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something you wanted to say?” You angle your head, keeping his gaze. But he shakes his head, that faint smile still on his mouth.

The waitress decided to return at that moment, and you resist the urge to berate her for so clearly interrupting the conversation. Instead you offer a polite smile, requesting a salad, pointedly asking how big it would be. “How big?” She repeats, playing dumb. You nod, keeping the smile perched on your lips, refusing to let her win. “I’m really not that hungry tonight,” you explain sweetly, “I was wondering since I saw you carrying some pretty large trays earlier—how do you even manage to carry that weight?” You ask, laughing slightly as you eye the thickness of her arms.

Beneath the table, a shadow zips up your leg, and you flinch, before shooting him a glare across the table. Azriel watches neutrally, but his gaze seems amused. With curved lips you return your attention to the waitress—so much wasted potential there. “I’m afraid all the salads come in the same size, but if you find it to be too much, nothing will go to waste,” she says smugly, “scraps get sent off to the farms, either for food or compost, so you needn’t worry about not finishing anything.” You smile blandly, not appreciating her bringing up farms and animals in a dining space.

She sucks in a breath, smile tightening as she at last turns away from you. “And for you, sir?” She asks, and you could vomit from her tone. Sprinkled with extra sugar. “This, please,” he replies pointing to something on the menu—tilted away from you. Curiosity simmers in the back of your mind, but you refuse to ask in front of the waitress. He’s probably doing it just to get to you.

She smiles and nods, jotting it down on her notepad before finally leaving, trotting away down the stairs.

“You better not be thinking about taking her home, Az,” you muse, leaning back in the seat as you fold your arms, subtly plumping your breasts. Mischief gleams on his hazel eyes as he casually examines his hands, “I don’t see a ring.” Despite the irritation gnawing at the back of your brain, the edges of your mouth lift at the comment, sighing heavily. “I should be the only female on your mind right now,” you say slowly, pulling out your nails to examine them in the warm light. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore a dinner partner?”

“Forgive me,” he counters, lips quirked, “you’d seemed more interested in the waitress. Trying something different tonight?”

Your lip twitches in disgust. “Are you trying to put me off my meal entirely?”

“I don’t think I said anything particularly foul,” he replies, amusement fading. “Well we both know your mouth isn’t the cleanest,” you muse lightly, surveying the decorations upon the table: a small vase of flora that’s been pushed to the side, some candles, a half-empty bottle of wine and some playing cards. “I’ll use my mouth how I want to,” he drawls, watching you steadily. “As will you.”

Traitorous heat liquefies in the pit of your stomach, bubbling and simmering away at the low timbre of his voice. You hum noncommittally, returning to his gaze. “So long as you aren’t using it on another male,” you say, shrugging. “Then live and let live.”

Azriel’s brow narrows, the edges of his mouth lifting. “You know that’s a contradiction,” he deliberates, relaxing in his seat. “You aren’t supposed to pick and choose who you’ll let live.” Habitually your lip twitches in disgust, but you tamp it down. “So long as it’s not being shoved in my face, then they can go on with their lives and I’ll go on with mine.”

“And Mor?” He questions casually, and despite his gaze having drifted idly to the candles you can feel the weight of his attention. “What about her?” You reply, keeping your features neautral.

Hazel eyes flick over the table, locking with your own. “Where does she fall among your morals?”

“Mor is Mor,” you reply blandly, resting your cheek on your palm, nails prickling skin. “She can do as she likes.” Azriel’s features remain in an unreadable set, but tension lessens as he reaches once again for his glass, sipping lightly.

You watch silently, how the warmth of the candles smooth his naturally flawless skin, shadows flickering in the hollow beneath strong brows, darkness dancing down the column of his throat. His lips remain in a bland line, tongue flicking out to bring in the alcohol, before returning the glass to the tabletop.

Casually, you slide your attention to the three candles that have been pushed to the side. “Want to learn a new trick?” You ask, feigning boredom. “I didn’t think you were one for party tricks,” he muses, an edge of mirth underlying his tone.

Ultimately you ignore him, allowing no more than a roll of your eyes before a single candle is being dragged over. Eyes latched with his, you brush the pad of your thumb and middle finger over your tongue, before clamping them over the flame, putting in out in one swift movement. Digits pull away, revealing the extinguished candle, a glint of victory in your eyes.

“Very impressive,” Azriel replies dryly, just as you had anticipated.

Watching silently, you slide a candle across to him. “Want to give it a go?”

There’s nothing subtle about the way tension ripples across his features, muscle tightening from the talons of his wings to the tips of his fingers. Hazel eyes the candle warily, a faint grimace on his lips.

A laugh spills from your chest at the expression, edging the flame away and instead reaching for the deck of cards. “How lucky do you feel tonight?”

Some of the torsion within his muscles relaxes, but he remains stiff. “Under normal circumstances, very,” he replies, glancing down as you deftly flip the box open, cards dancing between your fingers. “How about a bet?” You muse, eyes locked, shadows flickering at his back, spilling onto the table. “But if I win, you give that trick a go.”

Silence stretches between you, charged and taut.

Hazel drops to the cards being shuffled effortlessly, how they blur beneath your ministrations.

“Okay,” he says after a long moment, “I accept.”

Darkness flares around the booth, your teeth gleaming in a flash of white as a brief grin splits your lips. “Spine?” You ask, to which he nods, accepting the game—not even a sly quip about a necromancer suggesting Spine as the amusement of choice.

The seven cards are dealt out, the top one flipped over. “Ace is the skull. Good luck,” you smile, picking up your hand. “I do remember how to play,” he counters, features shifting to neutral as the game commences.

The rounds tick by, with him winning time and time again, all the while you’re sat opposite, with that bland, lifeless smile on your lips not even getting a single set down on the table. Still, when you reach the final round, your total amounts to no more than thirteen, having been forced to go out on a two during the first round, since the ace was worth twenty five, being the skull.

For the last time, you deal the seven cards, darting like shadows across the table as fingers flick deftly, setting the deck down softly, and flipping over the top card. Putting it face up on the surface.

With vague interest you watch his expression as he takes in his hand. If you didn’t know it was doomed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, his mask set firmly in place, no hint of disappointment or frustration to be found. Not even a curve of his lips with the fulfilment of your mutual knowledge—you’ve never lost to him. To anyone.

(With one exception.)

As expected, all seven of your cards end neatly catalogued into flushes, discarding the skull on the pile—the king of spades.

Azriel sighs, knowing the victory was coming, revealing his score of seventeen. A small smile plays on your lips as you sweep the cards back into their pack, pushing the candle toward him. “Better luck next time,” you say, his turn to fulfil the bet.

He eyes the flame warily, hazel glowing softly as the light warms his usually neutral features. You drink the sight in quietly, memorising the lines of his silky hair, a single strand brushing just below his right brow. How nice it would feel to skate your fingertips across his skin, pushing the inky lock away.

“Is it too late to back out?” He asks grimly, and you prop your chin on your knuckles, peering at him with a faint smile. “You agreed to this the moment you accepted the bet,” you reply softly, attention on him not the flame. Even to a stranger, his hesitance would be blatant.

“I’ll do it with you,” you say dryly, pulling the third candle over. Lick your middle and forefinger, watching as he reluctantly copies. “And…out.”

The flame winks out, extinguished in a heartbeat, casting your table mostly in darkness.

Blown-out hazel locks with you, still smiling faintly.

The grin fades, fingers dropping to the base of the candle to push it away. “Impressive,” you murmur sincerely, “once you wouldn’t have even considered playing.”

“Maybe a few decades ago,” he mutters, quick to push the candle away, hands sliding beneath the table. You hum noncommittally, straightening in your seat, sensing his aversion to the topic.

Your brow furrows, nails drumming on the table. Lip twitching with annoyance. “How long does it take to prepare a damn salad,” you mutter, pretending not to notice the ripple of ease across his shoulders. “Really, we’re never eating here again. The wait time is obscene, not to mention that server had an attitude on her. Doesn’t she know she’s supposed to be doing her job? All I needed was a simple answer, not a deep dive into their personal ethics.”

“You’d complain to an orphan if you got the chance,” he says, a hint of mirth returning to his eyes. “And you’d sooner destroy your own mind than let someone else have a look at it,” you return idly, reaching once again for your steadily draining glass, spotting the waitress making the journey up the stairs.

“Took her long enough,” you mutter under your breath, before pasting on a bland smile to soothe the male before you, a look of wariness on his features. All irritation is assuaged however, when you spot a smudge of lipstick on her straight, white teeth. Your mouth settles into a deliberate, straight line, glancing at Azriel to see if he’s noticed.

The waitress flashes a pretty smile your way as she sets the plates down, and you bite down on the urge to laugh, keeping your features politely neutral. When she turns to Azriel however, you feel an icy bite at your ankle, startling as one of his shadows nips at the exposed skin and you watch as he makes eye contact with the waitress. He thanks her, subtly gesturing to his teeth to let her know about her little embarrassment. She flushes wildly, a twinge of humiliation in her eyes as she hastily covers her mouth, apologising.

You offer her a sweet smile as she swiftly leaves, making her exit as quickly as possible to the stairs.

As soon as she’s gone, you turn back to Azriel, laughing. “Why’d you tell her?” You ask, sighing with mirth, pulling your plate closer. “Why didn’t you?” He counters, amusement void from his expression. You roll your eyes at his comment. “I didn’t want to embarrass the poor girl,” you reply, picking up the cool cutlery, feeling its weight in your palms. “Did you see how humiliated she looked at the end there? That was awful of you.”

He hisses your name lowly, and you raise mirth-filled eyes to his, spearing a slice of tomato on your fork. “What?” You grin, twirling the small weapon in your fingers. But he pins you with a hard look, shaking his head. “You can be a real piece of work, you know?”

“I had no idea,” you drawl, biting down on the crisp, red skin, delighting in the slight saltiness. A selfish indulgence on your part.

“At least now she’ll switch to a different lip tint,” you muse, watching as his expression turns cold. “Learn through experience, right?”

————

The hall fills with the sound of rustling clothing, voices chatting with pitched cheerfulness, heat pleasantly flooding the great room.

Night settled hours ago, faelights glowing proudly as the scent of warmly spiced mulled wine weaves through the air, sprinkled with sugar. Wreaths hang from the walls, decorating the large glass chandeliers, dripping diamonds.

The dark red liquid swirls in your glass, caught in a group conversation consisting of Mor, Elain, and a quaint looking bunch the latter seems familiar with, along with a couple of other familiar faces from your own circles. Andriette, with the hat wreathed in sparky feathers, laced through with purple and gold thread, accents of silvery aqua running through the deep indigo coloured gown she’s selected for the night. Changria with the vibrant oranges, rubies adorning her fingertips, wrists and neckline, looking like bloody teardrops from her earlobes. Small sequins have been scattered through the deep black of her hair, silky and lustrous.

Then there’s Cordia, the newest addition to your preferred group, still in the initial phase of integrating herself into your world. With rich brown hair and eyes to match, she’s chosen muted colours for the evening, complimenting her skin tone that’s lacking in the ripeness of life. As one of the many Fae of the night Court who organise their lives around the sparkling starlight, you find her a little bland on the eye, lacking the visual charm to fully convince you she has enough to offer.

Elain seems to be content leading the flow of conversation, though you can sense your ladies are getting restless and bored from the discussion, uninterested in the best soil to sow orchids in. A few of Elain’s own friends nod enthusiastically, offering their own tidbits and unnecessary opinions, eyes hurriedly darting across the circle you make up in search of a flicker of approval. Occasionally Mor will nod or laugh, offering one of her own comments, but even she is flagging in the conversation topic.

Changria shifts on her feet, and you take a mild sip from your drink to hide the eager quirk of your lips.

“Speaking of flowers,” she muses lightly, rubies glittering as light refracts through their pure colour. “I haven’t seen you frequenting the Peacock Inn recently, Mor. Spending your free nights at Rita’s these days?”

The vivacious blonde doesn’t seem the least bit ruffled by the slight sneer in your friend’s voice, instead allowing her full lips to curve into a rosey smile. “I find the conversation to be much more stimulating that side of the city,” she replies silkily, swirling her glittering champagne between pearl-tipped fingers, forgoing her signature red for the night in favour of a glittering ball gown that sweeps across the floor like golden starlight. “I’m surprised your sister hasn’t yet managed to pull you over. With how much time she spends there I find it strange you haven’t latched onto the spot.”

Elain’s friends shift uncomfortably on their feet, anxious to return to familiar ground.

“I think you must be mistaken,” Changria replies with her viper’s smile, as clean cut as glass. “My sister has no interest in fraternising with…same-minded folk. We were raised to be aware what counts as polite company to surround oneself with.” She pauses, dark eyes flicking to Mor’s from beneath thick lashes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your group, of course,” she says with fake sincerity.

The edges of your mouth quirk, attention shifting to the bubbly blonde to see what she’ll do.

Irritation flares up when your fun is cut short, her pretty caramel eyes cutting to yours with enough ice that you have to step up. “And you?” She asks, “do you think this is polite company?”

You take a leisurely sip from your drink, having her wait just a few seconds before deigning her with a response. Both Andriette and Changria hide their mirth well, but you recognise that glimmer in their eyes. “I’m sure it’s all in good fun,” you smile, meeting her gaze, inclining your chin subtly. “Isn’t that right, Ri?” The black-haired female laughs, waving her bejewelled hand dismissively, “of course. My sincerest apologies if you felt otherwise, Mor.”

You smile at the superficial expression on her features, meeting each of Elain’s friends eyes, hurried and nervous smiles quickly pasted onto their lips before you turn to Mor. “It’s been a long night, after all,” you excuse smoothly, “she means nothing by it.”

The blonde hums, clearly choosing to ignore the snide remarks cleverly shot her way. Really though, what did she expect?

She can handle herself anyway—she didn’t need you to put a stop to Changria’s remarks, simply that it was the smartest thing to do.

In your peripherals, you watch as Cordia shifts, spurred on by the sly remarks, tempted to come out of her shell to find her own target.

“Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink,” Elain suggests easily, eyes weaving through the crowd effortlessly. “There’s a server coming by—maybe have a couple of the snacks to soak up a bit of that alcohol. They really are lovely, those ones.”

“Am I right in understanding you advised what foods should be served, Elain?” You ask, watching as her cheeks flush a little with colour, dipping her head in a nod. The gesture is so imbued with feminine dignity you can’t help but warm to her, as if able to see a fragment of your younger self contained within her frame.

“That’s right,” Elain responds, a small smile on her lips. “Nuala and Cerridwen kindly assisted in preparation, as well as a good handful of others.” She nods kindly toward the gaggle of females she’d brought to the circle, and her friends faces soften into smiles. “You all remembered to wash your hands between gardening and preparing our food, right?” Cordia chimes in, eyeing the tray as it’s brought in.

They’re all perfectly bite-sized, different toppings upon small crackers with an assortment of herbs and spices sprinkled in varying heaviness. You glance tersely at Cordia from the side of your vision, before selecting one of the small biscuits from the outskirts, raising it to your lips to taste. Andriette and Changria follow suit, Cordia following soon after, eager to learn and copy. Elain’s group takes a few of the finger-pieces, nodding and congratulating one another on the different flavours.

You hum, pleasantly greeted by the slight citrine flavour of your tiny mouthful, finishing it off in another bite, aware more than a few sets of ears will be interested in how you judge the food. Moments pass, and you take your time examining the flavours—surprisingly enjoyable considering their size.

“Very nice,” you hum mildly, feeling the piercing weight of Mor’s attention on your lips. “Who’s idea was that one?” You ask, and Elain practically beams. Ushering forward one of the females in a pale blue gown, chestnut hair rich beneath the warm faelight. “This is Idris,” she introduces, and you incline your chin to look down upon the tall female. “It came from a home recipe,” Idris blurts out, and Cordia grins into her glass—at least she knows to hide her mirth. “My father used to make it for me and my siblings when we were younger, and I thought it would be perfect to share.”

“Your father did the cooking?” Cordia remarks snidely, and you send her another sharp glance, growing impatient with how she’s speaking out of turn. “What sort of circumstances led to that situation?” Idris shifts uncomfortably on her feet—shoes worn without heels, likely in attempts to muffle her unusual height. With a nervous glance your way, she elaborates. “My mother passed away when we were young, so my father had to learn how to care for us. Those snacks were the first things he mastered, so I’m proud knowing they’ve been served to such a vast number of people tonight.”

“He couldn’t afford servants?” Cordia questions humorously.

“Cordia,” you call sharply, pleased when she stiffens, twisting to face you—head slightly lowered. “Remember our earlier conversation about polite company?” You ask mildly, sipping from your emptying drink. The female nods, and you don’t doubt she memorised every word. You swirl your glass idly, before glancing at her sidelong. “Make sure to keep to that category. There are very few exceptions I make when it comes to the people I associate with, and you will not be one of them.”

The female flushes deeply, nodding hastily before mumbling a half-hearted apology to the tall but meek Idris, who accepts, likely out of sheer awkwardness.

You turn your attention to the pale-robed baker, meeting her eyes that flit about the room anxiously. With dark, tea-coloured skin, the dusty shade of red looks almost soft on her round and full lips, and you wonder why she’s decided on a pale blue robe when one that was wine-coloured would be far more suitable. With a dusting of gold over her eyelids, she could sweep a fair portion of the night’s attendees off their feet—both metaphorically and practically.

“Idris, correct?” You muse, nails glittering beneath the light. The female nods, fingers stuttering over the stitches in the bodice of her dress.

The very edges of your mouth raise, elegantly shifting your weight to one hip, running an appraising glance over her figure.

“Would you be interested in catering for another event like this?”

————

Footsteps tap softly along the floor of the open balcony, heels clicking as she finds you beneath the moonlight.

The glass has been refilled, and you gaze down at the revelry below, coloured lights dripping like diamonds, bobbing like fireflies between the shadows as fae sing and dance.

She comes to a stop at your side, waiting for you to address her, and you take another sip, just to make her squirm.

“How kind of you to join me.”

Cordia keeps still, attention keyed to your movements—smart thing. “You wanted to speak with me?” She asks, tone carefully neutral, but unable to mask the twinge of hope in her rich brown eyes. Her skin that must have once been livened from the sun in the Dawn court now lacks its vivaciousness, the colour of dried autumn leaves that crinkle and crunch daintily beneath booted feet.

“Allow me to be blunt as you are not someone I’m willing to soften my words for,” you say lightly, swirling your glass, glancing at her sidelong—watching as she stiffens further, and a twinge of fear creeps into her spiced scent. “You have not done yourself many favours tonight,” you muse, returning your attention to the sky, the clouds that have shadowed the moon. “It would serve you well to understand how things work for someone in your position.”

Her round figure is already fully facing you when you turn to her, fingers gripping her drink too casually.

“First of all, if you are going to target someone, do it with grace. Kicking a child does not prove strength, but weakness.” Cordia nods hurriedly, a sharp dip of her chin, eager to learn. “Secondly, do not go for someone contained within a group who will obviously side with them. Targeting that female when she was surrounded by others she was close with was foolish, and brash. A stupid error on your part, and embarrassing on mine.” She flushes wildly, lips parted, but nods again, mumbling out an apology. “And third,” you say voice icing over, “do not lash out with half-developed quips.” Deathly power condenses at your fingertips, like dew sliding along the taut string of a spider web. “There is a time and a place for mild jabs, but if you are unable to go for the throat, then you have no place in my circle.”

The sour tinge deepens, and your magic stirs in response, like a cat stretching out its spine, claws glittering.

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” she responds, a little hoarse.

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?” She echoes, and a small smile sharpens the cut of your lips, death haloing your figure as you stare her down. “Prove you can strike where it hurts.”

A blink reveals her hesitance, and you turn back to survey the city, sipping idly at your drink, as if you aren’t about to make or break the female at your side. The seconds tick by and you can hear how her lips fumble, silently scrambling for something sharp and bladed to gift.

Your eyes slide shut momentarily, mouth set in a sour line. “You can see yourself from the party.”

Cordia practically stumbles, but you don’t deign her with attention. “Reconsider,” she requests, gathering her pieces together, holding firm. “My answer is final,” you repeat idly, watching as a small circle appears below, people leaping and dancing as the round the small fire.

“Please,” she repeats, and through your peripherals you can make out as she discards her drink on the balcony, hands clutching the muted tones of her dress as she dips into a deep curtsey, holding the position flawlessly. The edges of your lips raise, before finally giving her your attention.

“I suppose it would be a shame to waste your dancing abilities,” you muse lightly, glittering black earrings tinkling as an icy breeze washes in. Cordia doesn’t dare look up, keeping her gaze trained on the round velvet of pitch dark heels. “Put on a show that will impress me,” you say at last, “and I will reconsider.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she breathes, relief soothing her muscles as she raises to a stand. “It will be the finest—”

“Down there,” you smile, gesturing with your chin to the bonfire far below, where the lower classes thrive and mingle, robes lacking the lustre and vibrancy of rich saturation, a sharp divide between the two spaces.

Cordia’s smile drops faster than a millstone through water, skin leeching further of colour, turning ashen. But she dips her head, understanding the ultimatum.

And so she leaves to dance, even if it will mean setting herself ablaze in the process.

No sooner than she’s out of sight, a familiar figure prowls silently out onto the balcony, stepping out of shadow and into the moonlight, bathed in silver.

“Azriel,” you greet, smiling faintly as he glides from the darkness, all calm quiet and reassuring grace. In a world that’s ever-shifting, he’s a constant, keeping the same cold attitude and unreadable mask wherever he goes. But then there are those moments where something warmer glimmers in his eyes, and your axis shifts a little, centre of gravity swaying as you enter his orbit. Rare moments where flame licks between paragraphs of conversation, small embers being allowed to warm before they’re once again fearfully stomped out.

“You could have chimed in when your friend was practically spitting in Mor’s face,” he says lowly, bypassing you entirely to lean calmly against the balcony railing and you blink, pulled back into your own realm. Features shift into a mask of soothing ease, moving silently to stand at his side. “She can handle herself,” you reply. “Besides, I won’t tell them what to think.” Through your peripherals you mark the slight frown between his brows, the displeasure in his mouth as he looks out across the midnight city, rendered in dark, inky blues and sparking pale starlight. You keep your back to the view, attention keyed to the male at your side, all thoughts of Cordia vanishing along with the task you gave her to complete.

“But you stepped in when it was Elain?” He asks, still not looking at you.

“Would you have preferred I said nothing?” You return dryly, sipping on your drink, casting your gaze back to the ballroom.

Azriel shifts, pushing up from his rest on the balcony, turning to look at you. “What would Rhys think?” He asks, and there’s something in his tone that has your full attention openly moving to him. “He’s like a brother, why would it matter what he thinks? We’ve all done bad things,” you reply grimly, memories pulling across your skin. “He’s your High Lord,” Azriel reminds quietly. “Your master, too.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “that bond hasn’t been called upon in generations. And besides, he’s too soft-hearted to ever use something as outdated as that.” A note of affection has entered you voice, despite the slander you’re spewing. You peer up at Azriel, smiling faintly, “he refuses to so much as peek into someone’s mind without them knowing, he could never manage the bond. Much less given our relationship.”

Likely dozens of centuries ago, the both of your families had been powerful. Yours powerful enough that the dominant lineage grew wary of the necromancy that passed from blood to blood, never losing its potency no matter who it was bred with. Eventually a bond of submission was forged, rumoured that a hand had been forced, and ever since then, your blood has been bound to the ruling one’s. An oath of obedience sworn with each new ascension.

Admittedly, when Rhys’ father had been killed, and your own mother passing as collateral, you had hoped to escape it. Having grown up together, arranged to be married, lived in the same city for centuries, you’d thought perhaps something would change with you. Instead something had changed in him, after the loss of his family. A proposal had never been offered, and hopes of absolute freedom had been abandoned. You’d taken the oath the day he returned from Spring, blood still dripping fresh from his leathers, violet eyes so abnormally cold and cruel you’d done what you could to return their warmth. Shown you’d chosen to stay by his side, needless of a prompt.

“Still,” Azriel says, pulling you from recollection. “The fact remains. Stepping too far out of line will only force an unpleasant decision upon him. One that will likely be unpleasant to receive, too.”

“You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” you say softly, darkness gathering down your spine, festering and writhing. Fifty years worth of memories he has yet to understand. He watches you quietly for a moment more than usual, before his attention is stolen by a figure entering your shared privacy of the balcony.

Azriel visibly relaxes, standing straighter as Elain walks up to him, greeting the both of you with a warm smile that noticeably reduces the strain in the air. She comes to a stop at his side, and you frown as they exchange a quiet look, feeling too close to the outside of his neat circle for once, having been unaware of the constraints tightening. She leans into him, and you feel a frown emerging on your brow at her forwardness. Maybe she should take her own advice and find something to soak up the alcohol.

“Elain,” you greet, inclining your chin slightly, plastering on a pleasant expression as she turns to you. “Thank you for offering Idris another opportunity,” she says sincerely, voice soft as cotton. Azriel stiffens at the small revelation—nothing Elain would notice, but something you have no trouble spotting, almost perfectly attuned to him. “She loves cooking, though she doesn’t let it show that often,” she continues, oblivious to the Shadowsinger’s tension. “So even if she’s already said it, I wanted to thank you, too. I think it’ll help her in ways none of us can—getting to finally do something she loves, and getting to do it well.” Deep, swirling cocoa rises to meet you, tender and soft with emotion, so easy to target should someone want.

“It’s no concern at all,” you smile pleasantly, the corners a little too sharp to be entirely sincere, an edge in your stomach at her proximity to Azriel. “Though I appreciate you upholding the pretence that it’s anything but a self-serving action—very gracious of you, I must admit.” Her brows furrow a little, tilting her head, but then she shakes it, smiling faintly, “you like your mask, don’t you?”

Before you can ask—or even react to—what she means, she’s turning to Azriel, pushing up onto her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, before smiling again kindly, and taking her leave. You watch her go, silently, until she’s disappeared between sweeping bodies, turning to Azriel. Raise your glass to your mouth, “well that was interesting.”

The rigidity is beginning to make sense now.

“How long are you going to let it drag on?” You ask, averting your attention to the fire below, fuelled by twigs as fae and faeries dance about. He’s quiet, and you fight against the muscle in your jaw, the urge to grind your teeth at his silence. Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour.

“We’re together,” he says at last, and you scoff.

“And I asked for how long,” you reply, not looking at him.

He’s silent again, and your lip twitches in disgust, pushing up from the balcony, turning to face him. “And when were you going to tell me you were fucking Elain?” You ask bemusedly. “I can understand keeping your other lovers private, but Elain Archeron?” You marvel, voice dripping with fake incredulity. “What does Rhys think?”

“It’s serious,” he replies quietly, and you scoff again.

“Uh-huh. And the Mother’s going to kiss my hands when I go to heaven,” you reply sardonically. “Seriously Azriel, what the hell are you thinking?”

“I’ve already heard this talk from Rhys and Feyre. I don’t need it from you,” he says coldly, and you pin him with a hard look.

A heavy breath blows from your chest, and you return to the balcony, surveying starlit Velaris. “Whatever. Even I can’t stop you from making this mistake.” Your name hisses lowly from his mouth, but you ignore him. Instead you focus on a small, female figure appearing below, emerging from the shadows as she meekly approaches the bonfire. A smile sharpens your mouth, and you lean forward. “Evening entertainment is starting,” you hum to him, shifting the subject.

There’s a pause on his end, and you know he’s considering dropping it, picking up on your cue to change the topic. Move away from the unpleasant conversations in favour of lighter topics. The air shifts, but he glances over the railing to where you’re looking. “Let’s see what the little chestnut has, shall we?”

“What did you do this time?” He sighs, a note of familiar exasperation in his tone, a faint smile softening your mouth. “Why do you always think I’m behind it? Can’t she enjoy a night on her own?” You ask, shifting to face him, jaw resting on your palm.

A muscle flickers grimly in his jaw, darkness simmering in his gaze. “She’s taking her top off.” You blink, turning to peer over the balcony. A sharp, surprised laugh cuts from your throat, more a harsh bark than mirth, because there she is, undoing the corset portion of her bodice, revealing the translucent white fabric beneath, swaying as she joins the revellers. “She’s certainly putting on a show,” you muse, pleasure shimmering across your skin as you wonder at the humiliation she might feel. What you hope she does feel, and what will go unrewarded. You would never have allowed someone like her to join your circles to begin with.

Beside you, Azriel shakes his head. “You’re going too far,” he mutters, “stop it.”

“Stop it?” You echo, “but she’s just beginning to enjoy herself,” you croon softly, watching as a male figure joins her on the ground below, hands greedily skating up her waist. Your name is again pulled from his chest in a warning, dragged out deep and gravelly. “What am I to do?” You muse, returning your gaze to his, now cold and hard, lethal beauty painted in pale moonlight. “I can hardly order her about from up here. Besides, I know what I’m doing, and this is a small price to pay for what she tried to bring my way.”

His lip twitches in disgust, and your heart skips a sudden beat, heat swarming your chest. The familiarity of that gesture—it’s one he’s learned from you. Like how behaviours can rub off on other people, you’ve left your own mark on him, and here it is, presenting itself to you. Nerves squirm around your throat, warmth fluttering through your lower stomach at the thought. Biting back a small, helpless smile, averting your gaze.

“You’re a nasty piece of work sometimes,” he mutters lowly, and this time you allow a fraction of the genuine smile to show, warmth gathering beneath your skin as you accept his invitation, falling back into the cruel dance of life, sparring with sharpened blades. “And you just perfectly captured Elain’s future thoughts when she finds out the things you do, Spymaster,” you reply, amusement lining your features. “She might not see that blood, but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.”

His features harden to ice, hazel eyes glittering with frozen cold as your words crash against his scar-toughened skin.

Down below, more clothes are being stripped away, and you grin, wondering how far she’s prepared to take this dance. How far she’ll go to preserve her precious face.

“How do you feel about trying a new restaurant this weekend?” You ask, distracting from the show. “After the embarrassment of that last time, I think it’s fair we go to a place I like for once.” You turn to face him, smiling faintly, but you’re met with emptiness.

At some point within the last minute, it seems he’d simply walked away.

Leaving you quiet on the balcony.

————

The ball had quickly lost it’s appeal after the small shock—what on the Mother’s head is he thinking? Elain of all people.

Fingers rub across your chest, just below your collar bones, massaging the area to relieve pressure. Him and Elain. Why hadn’t he told you? From how casually she’d stepped into his side, it has to be something that’s been going on for a while. The others must have known about it…why were you left out? Brows twitch but you pull back on the frown, anxious to avoid any suggestion of lines.

The conversation reworks itself in your mind, repeating until you practically have it memorised.

She might not see the the blood…

With each replay you can see as he walls himself off. Can spot those self-defence mechanisms kicking in, as thoroughly ingrained in him as the scars on his hands. That’s not what’s supposed to happen when he’s with you. He’s supposed to open up, not close himself off. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say… You’d thought it clearly a game, but maybe he’d been taking you more seriously than you’d anticipated.

…but I do, and it’s not something you yet know how to fix.

And he’d left after that. You don’t even know if he’d heard your rather bold dinner invitation, or if he’d winnowed elsewhere. To be at Elain’s side. To enjoy her as he would a ripe fruit. Maybe she is something to be wary of… If their relationship is so out in the open… You can’t remember a time Azriel had ever been okay with any of you meeting a partner, preferring to keep them to himself, hidden away until he got bored or it fell apart. Whichever happened first. It’s unnerving to find your constant shifting, and not in a favourable direction.

The tightness builds in your throat.

While it wouldn’t be long, you’d rather not have to sit through their relationship for the few years or so, even if you know it’s bound to end in misery, just as it always seems to be when it comes to him. Like a little black raincloud.

Your heart stutters in your chest, pulse increasing and you have to even your breaths.

Yeah…you should say something to him. Even if he likely won’t accept your apology due to cripplingly low self-esteem and issues with vulnerability, you hope the effort will be worth it. You don’t want him to wall himself off around you. You want him to bleed and gush, guts spilling, allowing you to see the mess you know lurks beneath his skin. A mess you could easily find in yourself, too. If only you could open up enough to show him your similarities. The connection would be obvious, and maybe…maybe you’d get to have someone who understood you, too.

Maybe he wouldn’t hate his own darkness as much if he was able to see how deeply rooted it is in your own, soulless body.

————

The dinner happens as usual, and you try to resist sinking into the off feeling.

It’s nothing obvious, but it’s lacking the usual cohesiveness, the fluid conversation feels dwindling and forced, and you realise he isn’t pushing back as much as he normally does. The snide remarks you make are left untouched, no disciplinary glances or displeasured frowns when you pass a quick judgement. Even when the comments become unfair to your own ears, he ignores them, instead choosing to pay attention to the food.

Once again, despite all your protests, you’re here at the same place you always go. He claims it’s his favourite, but you can’t bring yourself to believe he could possibly enjoy a place where the air is so thick and heavy, to the point of being stifling. You can practically smell the sweat and grease with each breath, and your skin crawls with disgust at having to frequent the restaurant so often.

Eventually the meal reaches its end, and the two of you leave, Azriel having paid once again. You think it’s only fair, since it’s his spot. There’s no way you’re paying for such a mediocre meal and such poor service.

The skies are heavy and grey, verging on thunderous, the air dense even once you’ve breeched the wards that keep the restaurant alive with heat. Cobbles are slightly crooked in places, and you take care walking, wary of the thin pencil-wide stilts that serve for your heels. All around, folk are enjoying their suppers, sat beneath water-proof gazebos as day at last utterly yields to night, faelights warming the streets dimly through the bizarre heaviness of the darkness.

“Azriel,” you call from his side, voice coming out confident despite being so unsure how to go about touching on yesterday’s subject. He makes no sound to acknowledge he’s heard you, simply continuing on with the leisurely stroll, and yet you know he’s listening. Just as he always is. Ever attentive.

“Yesterday, when we spoke,” you begin slowly, intentionally shifting your gaze to brush disinterestedly over shop fronts and seating areas. Nerves crawl uncomfortably around your throat, tightening but you keep your spine straight, shoulders pulled back as had been drilled into you. “You seemed closed off,” you say, unable to look at him. Not with the stutter of your heart.

When he makes no effort to speak back or elaborate, you push forward, anxious to keep your feelings tightly concealed. “You understand I was joking with you, don’t you?” You ask, counting each step, marking the cracks between the grey cobbles. He hums, not really and answer. Your throat rolls, gaze sliding to eye him sidelong, the clean cut of his profile against the dark blues of the night, skin keeping its soft warmth despite the swiftly plummeting temperature.

“You took your time to tell me about Elain,” you remark, switching topics hastily. Quickly dancing away from the apology that was sat so readily on your tongue—just unsure how to come out. What words to join together to express your grief over his own reactions while not feeling an ounce of regret for what was said. You won’t take it back, but you wish he wasn’t…however he is, with you.

“About that,” he says, and your attention keys to him entirely, as it always does whenever he seems prone to revealing a little more of himself to you. “Things are going to change,” he elaborates, “Elain and I will be going out to dinners together, and because of our lives, this is going to have to find time somewhere else.”

You blink, steps faltering, heels stuttering over the cobbles as you stare at him but he keeps up the idle pace, forcing you to push your body into fluid movement, flowing after him. “What… Az, what are you talking about?” You ask, tone confused, lacking its usual sharp edge as apprehension tightens around your throat. “These suppers,” he repeats, attention remaining ahead, “they’re going to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because Elain and I are together, and we—”

“Shut up about Elain,” you say sharply, voice lowered, coming to a stop on the cobbles. Azriel pauses, features superficially neutral as he takes in your stance. Waiting patiently, as he’s always prepared to do.

“These are our dinners, Az,” you hiss, keeping your voice low, wary of eavesdroppers. “They’ve been our time for almost three centuries. And now you’re trying to replace them because you got laid?” Disbelief drips from your hushed voice, staring at him incredulously, shaking your head. “We’ll talk about this again when the blood’s returned to your head,” you hiss sharply, but his brow dips in displeasure, and you’re kept from walking away.

“Don’t talk like that. About me, or her,” he says bluntly, irritation itching across your skin. “Az, you’re thinking with your cock,” you hiss again, stepping closer to reduce the chances of being overheard. “These dinners are the only times we get to be together. You are not cancelling them just because you want to get between her legs, is that clear?”

Azriel makes a sound close to a sigh, and emotion—raw and unfiltered—sears across your chest, licking like flames as you stare at him. “Don’t bother getting frustrated. I’m not asking, I’m telling you what’s going to happen. Besides, the family dinners are still open.” Even if you haven’t attended one in almost two-hundred and fifty years.

Your heart pounds in your chest, long-suppressed rage rearing her head with such force there’s nothing you can do to muffle her. “Don’t pull that, Az,” you warn lowly. “You know that’s not a solution. You can find time elsewhere, these days are the only ones that work for us.”

“She’s my partner. She comes first.”

“And what about me?” You hiss. “You’ve known her for—what? Two years? Have been in a relationship for less than that, and I’m the replaceable one? Pull your shit together.”

His brows narrow, gaze hardening as he takes you in. Hazel eyes cool, freezing over as his patience is relieved of its duty. “I want to eat with her. I want to spend my time with her,” he says coldly, “you are tiring and draining to be around.”

“Tiring and— What has gotten into you?”

“This isn’t anything new,” he replies, “she and I have been together for a while now, and this is how things happen.”

“How long is a while?” You hiss, feeling as if the cobbles are falling away beneath your feet. “Long enough,” he replies monotonously.

“This is how you treat your century-old friends?” You ask, power writhing in your stomach. “Pushing them aside when something new and shiny comes along?” You hiss, emotion whipping at your heart until blood leaks out. “Fine. Fuck the tightness out of her for all I care. See if you’re still interested once you’ve gotten what you want.”

“Do not—”

“I have everything, Azriel. I’m the most sought-after female in this city,” you hiss, pressure building behind your eyes but you shove it away—you can’t have the kohl running. “Males have crawled on their knees to gain an ounce of attention. My life is perfect, I don’t need anybody but decided you might be worth my time.” Anger heats your skin, features twisted in an ugly carving of rage.

“If your life is so perfect, why do I pity you?” He replies harshly, rain beginning to drip from the heavy skies.

“Pity me?” You echo, faintly. “You pity me, shadowsinger?” You grit out, lip curling back with disgust. “I don’t want your pity. My life is perfect. People would die to be in my position. To be as coveted I am, and I gave you a chance at that.” You spit, seething, keeping an eye on the rain—looking like it’ll become heavier. It’ll ruin the curls you kept pressed in if you don’t get inside soon. “You can’t replace me,” you scoff, staring at him beneath lightly dipped brows—careful of wrinkles. “You’ll never find someone as good as me.”

A vindictive smile stretches across your dark-painted lips, triumph searing across your skin, heart pulsing in a way you’ve been craving for decades—centuries. “I’m everything you could ever want: beautiful, intelligent, rich. Not to mention excellent in bed, anyone would be blessed by the gods to call me their own,” you point out, baring your teeth with victorious rage. “You can’t deny we’re perfectly suited for one another. Everyone and their mother knows we’re a strong pair, practically untouchable. We spend all of our time together—there’d be no difference between how things are now and how they would be if you would just open your damn eyes and realise how much you need me.”

“I’m the one you confess your sins to, I’m the one who absolves you, I’m where you go to seek comfort,” you hiss, wary as a strand of neatly curled hair falls out of place. “And you think Elain is anything in the face of that?”

Breath puffs from your chest, air curling in thick tendrils as the crispness of the breeze deepens in its chill. Fingers tremble at your side, skin immune to the swiftly plummeting temperature, spurred on by self-righteous anger. The need to right a wrong becoming satiated now he understands what an awful choice he’s making.

Azriel’s expression doesn’t shift, hardly shows a grain of emotion, the rain beginning to drip into the soft, inky locks of his hair, weighing the strands down to curl over his brow.

“I spent my time with you because I thought I could fix you,” he says blandly, making you falter. “You’re so self-obsessed, convinced the whole world would pause everything for you—I can’t even begin to understand how insecure you must be to have reached such a severe state of delusion.”

“Delusion?” You snarl, freshly manicured nails piercing the soft flesh of your palms, hours of pampering ruined by a single outburst. “The only one who’s deluded is you, for even considering picking the flower-baring whore over me.” Hazel eyes gutter, taking on a glittering icy hue as his jaw tenses.

“You’re the court torturer, and I’m the necromancer—there’s never been a better pairing cast together, and there never will,” you seethe, death and rot simmering at your fingertips that his eyes trace warily. “You’re really so selfish you’d latch onto Elain and bring her down with you?” You ask, watching as the blade finds its mark, hazel flinching. “I’ve seen your darkness, and you’ve seen mine. The mother couldn’t have made our match more obvious.”

“You know I’m right, Azriel,” you crow, taking a step forward, needing to wrap this up quickly—people are murmuring, rain growing heavier. You can already feel it beginning to take the silky sheen from your hair. “I’m the better choice. Now and forever. I will always be the better choice.”

His expression shifts to something you can’t place—almost like sorrow—thick brows narrowing over dark hazel eyes. He takes a silent step forward, the edges of your mouth kicking up with a spark of success. Vicious pride blazing in your gaze—warping into tunnel vision.

“I will tell you only once,” he bites out, glittering fury lighting the deep hazel of his gaze. “Never speak of Elain that way.”

“Or what?” You bark, staring up at him, arms folding indignantly to plump up your chest. “You choose that bitch over me, and it’s over between us,” you declare, victory within your grasp. “You forget I know where her father’s buried,” you hiss viciously, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear.

A blind person could spot his kindness from a mile away, as useless as it is. He would never put himself first, especially not before you. You’ve had centuries to observe his behaviour, you know this is his weakness, the cripplingly low thought of himself, somehow unable to appreciate the divine beauty of his own features, looking as if he’d been hewn from the heavens themselves then unleashed upon earth to wreak destruction.

He’s equipped with the weapons to be a heart-breaker, to have whoever he wants, yet has somehow managed to overlook his own beauty. A rare gem for you to take for yourself, to treasure and polish to perfection, to stare at and admire in the guarded privacy of your own heart. He’s the first, and only one who’s ever managed to get past those impenetrable walls of ice, having thawed you out over likely thousands of dinners, and nights out, and not-so-casual brunches.

But Azriel shakes his head slightly, sighing in the freezing air, breath curling in a smooth twirl, whisked away by the chill breeze. “You’re doing this to yourself,” he says quietly, hazel piercing into you beneath a narrowed brow, gaze filled with ice. “I’m not going to choose you.”

“So you’d throw away three centuries of simmering pleasantries?” You spit out, an icy drop of rain slipping down your generous cleavage, goosebumps raising. “Don’t be so arrogant; it’s unbecoming.”

He takes a step forward, casting you in his darkness, his warmth remaining just out of reach, pulling you into his orbit. “You think anyone will love you like I will?” You ask, but your voice shakes as the words slip out. Throat rolls, nails slicing into already ruined palms. “I know you, Azriel,” you grit out, “what you are. What you do.” You shift on your feet, spine straightening, shoulders flattening. “Do you really think anyone else will stick around for that?”

Shadows flick over the peaks of those great wings, wreathing them like dark halos as hazel shutters. “Walk away,” he murmurs, darkness swirling idly about, like early morning mist. “Walk away, and you can keep your fragile sense of self intact.”

“Is it the number of people I’ve slept with?” You grit out, glaring up at him. “We can pretend that never happened, if you want me to be more like her. I can learn botany—it wouldn’t be an effort. I have gardeners that could arrange bouquets, and lace my hair with wild flowers. I’m sure someone’s found a spray to keep bugs away, so—”

“I’m not picking you,” he says harshly, eyes pinning you to the cold, icy cobbles.

“Why not?” You hiss, but he shakes his head, exhaling a short sigh.

“Just go back home,” he replies, a little softer. “Save yourself the embarrassment. I’d hate to be the one to shatter your carefully cultivated image,” he mutters, turning on his heel.

Panic surges, blindly reaching out, heart clenching in your chest as both of you stare at your hand gripping his wrist. The murmurs hurry in intensity, but fall away as hazel meets your gaze, narrowed and wary. You know he must be able to feel the tremble of your fingers, but you can’t let go now, that would be admitting defeat. So you step closer, his warmth washing over you, night-kissed scent wrapping with your own.

“I can change,” you manage, voice hoarse in the freezing rain, weighing and ruining your curls. Tiring and draining, he’d said. “Tell me what to do, and it’ll be done. I can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” he replies shortly, “I spent a long time thinking I saw glimpses of myself in you—when you used to quieten in the evenings instead of plastering on one of your catty smiles. When you used to enjoy the silence instead of trying to fill it with numbing activities.”

You stiffen in the cold, grip tightening on his wrist, gaze locked with hazel.

“At some point you might have been salvageable, but not anymore,” he continues, small pieces of yourself trembling with each word, raw and tender. “And what about yourself?” You reply, heart tight in your chest. “You think that you have the right to pass judgement on me? With the things you’ve done?” You stare up at him, pulse beating to a nauseous rhythm. “You’ve lied, murdered, and tortured your way to where you are. I’m an angel compared to you.”

“You’re rotten to your core,” he hisses, wings flaring wider, towering over you. “Rotten, spoiled, and utterly unloveable.”

Something faintly familiar stings through your stomach, wrapping in knots and dragging outward, twisting.

“No one would pick you—has anyone even thought of doing so?” He asks, sharp hazel eyes piercing like blades through the thawed out ice of your heart.

“You did,” you whisper, lungs filling with choked-down aches. “You chose me, Azriel. So I’m choosing you back.”

“That’s not how it works,” he hisses, pulling his arm from your grip like your muscles are made from rain-soaked paper. “I gave you a chance to change. You could have been better if you’d tried.”

You shake your head, staring at him, fingers cold as icy water drips over their outstretched tips. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, “I didn’t know I was being tested.” But he pays you no mind, turning on his heel, making to leave you out in the rain.

You’re moving without thinking, darting into his path, blocking his way.

“Fine,” you breathe harshly, fingers trembling as they clench at your sides. “I’ll say it.” Alarm flares in those beautiful swirls of colour, his lip twitching but you ignore the familiar expression, gone with a flash of pain.

Your throat rolls thickly, staring up at him, aware of the whispers from beneath cafe shelters, hardly bothering to keep their volume low. “I don’t—…” you fumble, shocking humiliation twisting across your stomach. Are you really doing this? Is he worth your pride? Worth losing those cultivated defences? They’ve been up for so long, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to swallow the emotion that’ll inevitably swamp you.

Hazel waits silently, all quiet grace and reassuring shadow.

“I don’t have anyone else.”

The words burn across your skin, the admission having nausea roiling in your stomach, pulse pounding wildly. Stripped bare, emotion flayed to a raw, bloody pink.

“She has other people,” you whisper painfully, lip curling in disgust. “She doesn’t want you like— She doesn’t need you like…like I do.” Despite the way your confession sears through your blood, hurting like a scar picked open, he already seems to be done with the conversation. Ready to move on and leave you behind.

“You don’t need me, or want me,” he replies blandly. “You’ve been so emotionally numb for the past dozen decades you’re addicted to the first drop of feeling you’ve gotten. You like the idea of being with someone after such a long period of loneliness, and you’ve misunderstood whatever you’re experiencing as love when it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” you whisper, heart fluttering in your throat so high you think you might be about to regurgitate it at his feet. “I’ve kept to myself because no one else has been worth it. No one else has made me even consider talking with you like I sometimes do.” A cold wind blows through your skeleton, a shiver shuddering in your stomach, hands clutching your exposed arms.

“I’m far more beautiful than she is anyway—”

“No,” he cuts in, “you aren’t.”

And suddenly you’re reduced to your adolescent self, secretly sneaking into her mother’s purse, snatching at all the makeup you can find and scurrying away to the bathroom to paint yourself beautiful. How heavily the bright lipstick had weighed on your lips, slippery and over-lined. How your eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot once you’d finished with the thick stick of kohl. The pins that had curled your hair into a matted mess, tangled into a unsolvable nest.

How proud you’d been of your work, parading out into your mother’s chambers, eager to show off your likeness.

She’d taken one look, and screamed, landing a hard smack across your cheek. Staining the carefully applied lip tint, pushing it onto gleaming white teeth that bit into your tongue with the force of the impact. She’d dragged you by the hair back into the bathroom, tub filling to the brim with freezing water where she’d shoved you in, clothes and all. Grabbed a towel and started scrubbing at your face, the water clogging your airways as her nails scraped and poked until your skin was raw. She’d wasted no time unpicking the curls from your hair, simply ripping them out, or in some cases, sheering the locks jaggedly from your scalp.

The following weeks had been the worst of your life, keeping your head hugged in a kitchen cloth, not having any of your mother’s precious silk caps to prevent friction and fraying. You’d hardly taken your eyes off the ground, keeping your gaze trained to the pretty bows on your shoes, clutching the straps of your bag tightly.

There had been other instances like that, but none quite as debilitating—the time a month later your’d put together a small breakfast, teetering up the stairs one at a time in your freshly pressed dress, starched and aired, before pushing her door open. She’d screamed worse than last time, and your feet had frozen to the floor. It was only when the glass vase had smashed against your temple that they’d unstuck, hands shuddering as you tottered backward, stumbling until the door had slammed in you face.

Whether it was that specific instance, or the litany of other formative moments of your childhood that had be warped and distorted into something cold and cruel that had led you to this moment, stood opposite him in a freezing cold street, gossiping whispers passing like a sickness between onlookers as the rain drips down cream-smooth skin, you’ll never know. Too many actions uncorrected for too long for you to ever understand when you truly became her spitting image. At what point you went from a young girl trying to fit into her mother’s skin, to fully embodying her rotten perfection.

Plump, rosey lips hiding a mouthful of foul, fetid teeth.

“So you’re—… You’re really…” something warm and wet drips down your cheeks, and you realise with mortifying humiliation you’re crying.

Azriel sighs harshly, the impatient sound slicing across your breast bone. “That’s not going to work,” he says coldly. “Cry all you want, it’s not going to change anything.”

Your heart flutters wildly in your throat, as if trying to break free, stomach twisting and turning in vicious knots. You don’t understand why he’s walking away. “She won’t… She’s not going to treat you better,” you manage, voice cracking along with your heart, shattering with such painful slowness you can practically feel it fracturing. Ice splintering off into shards.

His jaw works, and you resist the urge to turn and run beneath his gaze. He shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It’s gutting your chances.

“I trust her,” he mutters lowly, rain hissing on the cobbles. “I trust her not to take advantage of my weaknesses. To see them and accept them.” He steps closer, and your legs tremble. “Not to turn them into ridiculous little games designed to make herself look better.”

“That wasn’t—… I was helping you.”

“You enjoy succeeding where others fail,” he hisses, his warmth at last brushing over your skin, close enough for his scent to wrap around you fully. “You get a kick out of proving you’re better, no matter how good your life is.”

Your jaw trembles, nails biting into the soft flesh of your palms. “I have worked for my supposedly good life,” you say sharply, tone wobbling.

“Your predecessors worked,” he hisses, “you were born with a power that made you precious. Without it, you’re nothing.”

“Power is everything.”

“And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.”

You flinch.

Stumble a step back.

“That’s not true,” you whisper. “Rhys loves me. So does Cassian, and Mor. You do, too.”

“You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor,” he snaps, and a long-forgotten memory flashes across your skin.

“I love…I like myself.”

He rolls his eyes, brows narrowing in disbelief. “You hate yourself more than I do.”

Shoulders bunch together, curving inward. “Doesn’t that make us perfect?”

He blinks, caught off guard by the tone, bathed in broken curiosity. He’s known for a while there’d been something wrong taught to you, but you’ve never really allowed him close enough to find out what.

Then he shakes his head, turning away. “Mutual hatred doesn’t equate to love,” he mutters, pausing. Looks at you from over his shoulder. “We spent three centuries together, and you couldn’t even figure that out?”

You remain silent, lips parted as you search for an answer.

He huffs in disbelief. “No wonder you’re always on your own.”

————

You’re hardly able to stumble your way back home, looming before you in a great mass of shadow.

You’re at the threshold of the tall gates, when a voice calls your name, and you turn to find a female with rich brown hair with deep eyes to match, skin just a little to wan for your tastes. Cordia.

“Leave,” you order coldly, the tall iron gates swinging open upon your command, power thrumming beneath your veins as you make your way up the road, thick forestry lining the edges. Breath drags raggedly from your lips, lungs spasming as emotion rages in your chest, ripping itself open upon the now jagged shards of ice that he’s splintered, damaged and bruised.

“You’re in a sorry state,” she calls mildly, following behind you as you march up the steep road with little difficulty, body shaking and trembling as raw feeling strikes at your core repeatedly. Teeth grit together, nails digging into your upper arms as you huddle against the cold, choosing to continue along the rain-soaked path in favour of winnowing.

“That was quite the performance you put on there,” she hums, and you freeze in your steps. “Oh? That got your attention,” she smiles, stepping into your path. “Yes, I saw your breakdown. So did Andriette, so did Sangria. Anybody who is anyone will have heard about your little-girl tantrum within the hour.” Terror thuds in your throat, stomach lurching as your meal is upended into the shrubbery nearby. You hear Cordia make a sound of disgust while tears prickle at your eyes, nostrils burning as your stomach spasms, retching over and over until you’re struggling for breath.

“And to think after all that effort too,” she gloats. “All that beauty and power, and you still couldn’t have the male you wanted. Serves you right for being so picky,” she hisses gleefully, watching as you remain hunched over, knees sunken into the dirt after your legs gave out. “I guess you’d call that karma. You destroyed me, now you’ll hit the bottom of the barrel too. How’s it feel to be in the shit-gutter with me, huh?”

The tremors become violent, and she laughs, stepping away. Breath shudders in and out, hyperventilating as you spiral away, discipline and control turned weak and mushy from flayed emotion, humiliation and terror mixing in a deadly combination. “Does rejection feel good to you?” She asks, arms folded across her chest, and you barely gather the strength to stand.

And that’s exactly why no one’s ever loved you.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor.

No wonder you’re always on your own.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, stomach lurching again, retching and a palm presses to vomit coated lips, the taste bad enough to make you try to throw up all over again. Cordia makes a sound between disgust and pleasure, relishing the moments she’s being gifted. “Everything you have,” she marvels, “land, money, beauty, power. At least you’re an ugly crier. Who’d ever want to kiss piggy lips like yours.”

Rage burns you alive, hands wrapping around her throat, ripping her life away in seconds, reduced to dust, mixing with mud that you take minutes trampling deeper into the wet road. You wipe your mouth, staring grimly at the mess on your shoes, stomach turning but you feel a little better now that things are fairer.

When you reach your home, you make no effort to dampen your power, allowing it to roll in thick waves from your soaked body, rat-tailed hair slicked away from your features. Let the message convey itself, for every maid and servant to leave immediately, or face the consequences. Livid emotion rocks and shatters across your chest, swirling with unstoppable intensity and you kick off your shoes, heading up the stairs, treading rain into the clean white rugs.

A maid rounds the corner too quickly, slamming into you, and your urge to kill finds its target, power piercing into the quaking female. You grit your teeth, yanking at its leash, guiding it elsewhere to keep from murdering an innocent. Instead your hand pulls back, taut like a bow string before lashing across her cheek, the sharp jewels on your fingers biting and tearing at her skin as she’s shoved backward. “Get out,” you hiss, voice distorted and raw, power recoiling and refocusing, licking its lips as it finds the maid again, but she’s already scrambling away.

Breaths rage in your lungs, and you manage to make it to your bedroom, eyes skittishly darting to and fro in search of something, something you need—

Tears spill heavily, a sigh of relief and wonder releasing from your body as the razor drags across your forearm, short and sharp breath stuttering as that pressure builds and builds, the steel flying across your skin until you could peel the flesh apart like the crusty pages of an old book.

You pant heavily, arms trembling unsteadily with adrenaline you haven’t felt in years, suddenly crushed by the weight. Groans drag from your chest, sobbing wretchedly as you settle on the floor, ripping the clothes from your legs, slicing and slicing and slicing as you cry and smile and scream and die— Like it’s all condensed into fluttering feelings, passing through, forcing their way so intrusively through your mind it’s shards of glass nicking at your head, wrapping your brain in a bag of needles then tossing it down a flight of stairs.

Blood paints your floor, dripping heavily and exhaustion sticks to your skin like sweat, the compulsion to purge the poison dulling with your heartbeat, thudding weakly in your chest and life bleeds thickly and fluidly from your body, gashes torn through your skin already beginning to stitch themselves back together. Exhaustion fills you, taking adrenaline’s place, and the last thing you can manage it a flick of your wrist, transporting the blood-stained rugs to the large kitchen sink a few floors below, filled with water to keep it from setting.

You’re slumping to the floor, bones digging jaggedly into flesh as it’s ground into the hardwood floor, body relieved of consciousness, shuddering strain seeping away, washing like a cool breeze in the peak of summer up your spine. The world fades away, taking with it the heaviness of emotion, the searing ache across your breast bone, lungs stuttering with deep-seated pain.

At last escaping it.

————

Heavy thuds pull you ungraciously from sleep, coming from your front door.

The first thing you feel is a deep ache across your body—back and shoulders stiff from lying on the floor. Your lids feel thicker…heavier than usual, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you peel it away.

Memories hit you like a sack of bricks, passing in a flash before delightful numbness banishes it to some dark and lonely corner of your body. To sit until you’re ready to face it, or until it rots away to something harmless and unbothered. Whichever comes first.

The thuds repeat, and you close your eyes, sinking into your floor, skin thick with imagined grease, hair tangled at the base of your neck, skin hurting with stinging pain when you attempt movement. While the cuts have faded, the echoes burn beneath your flesh, small needles embedded beside bone, prickling and spiking with every motion. Whoever’s at the door can dissolve into the wind for all you care, you’re in no state to deal with anyone.

Magic clicks through the house, and you startle, as if zapped by a whip of static. Your heart pounds as the door unlocks, disobeying its enchantments and allowing entrance to the stranger. Except it’s no stranger, the only soul who has access to your house is the High Lord himself, a condition of the bond that stretches between you, malnourished and untouched.

Quiet steps to the staircase reveal him stood in the hallway, hands placed with deceptive disinterest in his pockets, clothing fine and tailored perfectly. Just as it always is.

Cold, violet eyes flick to you, stood atop the case, but even he’s unable to entirely conceal that razor’s edge in his gaze, glint cutting through purple-blue. Sharper than steel, colder than ice.

“What do you want?” You ask, not bothering with pleasantries. He clearly isn’t here for tea and biscuits.

He’s silent for a pause, gathering his patience, or…you don’t know what. But he takes his time, as if to set you on edge. “Come down here,” he says at last. There’s not a single note of inflection in his voice, lethally soft, whispering effortlessly across the marble of the front entrance.

Your features remain set in their hard, bland line, gazing down at him with mild hatred. Whether it’s a side effect of the bond, or his natural terror as High Lord, something inherent warns you not to disobey, reluctantly descending the stairs, glittering black dress still clinging to your body, hair a ragged mess at your shoulders, lips likely stained and eyes smudged from the kohl.

“What do you want?” You repeat lowly, bare feet settling on the floor, level with him. Darkness seems to whisper at his back, thrumming throughout the halls, muffling all those usual noises, becoming abruptly silent. Vibrations dying in his wake.

Cold, violet eyes run over you appraisingly, though he makes no comment over your dishevelment, and it’s somehow worse than if he had struck the mark. As if he knows he doesn’t need to sink that low to hit where it hurts, biding his time to deliver the fatal wound.

“Can you guess why I’m here?” He asks softly, wrath underlying his poisoned tone, hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Your pulse spikes as his attention skims the lavish halls, entirely empty, before turning for the door that will lead him to the sitting room. “I’m too tired for your games, Rhys,” you mutter bitterly, following after him warily. “There’s nothing playful about the decision that’s about to be made,” he replies icily, nodding to one of the sofas as you pass by. “Sit down.”

“I think I’ll remain on my feet,” you say with forced calm.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, features remaining cold and disinterested. Warning chimes drill up your spine, alarming you to the off-ness about him. The tautness to his usually elegant movements, fluid and lethal. Now cut to something harsher, hewn to something more brutal.

“Tell me,” he orders quietly, “why you think I’m here.”

You stare at him silently. Sullenly. Stinging all over your body.

“You wanted to say hello?” You say at last, lacking any humour to the response, too drained to muster up even a spark of emotion.

The edges of his mouth quirk, no mirth to be found in his face. A grin a he would have given Under the Mountain. A grin you’ve come to despise, and one you thought would never be shown again. Sharp, glittering talons prickle at your mental shields, hardened to steel on their outer walls, utterly impenetrable without permission.

Or so you had thought.

In one clean slice, the razors have cut through your adamant as if it were fatty flesh. Not a single brittle bone impeding the clean incision. Shock paralyses you, breath stolen as that faint grin ices over, threat now rolling visibly from his shoulders, darkness condensing into something almost solid, gaining density as it slinks closer to the ground.

The sound of skin smacking against skin cuts through your mind, a sharp inhale stolen after, shuddering gasps rasping through the silence, followed by panicked footsteps as she flees. Your cheek burns, feeling the metal bite of jewelled knuckles upon rubbed-raw skin.

Fingers rise, trembling as you check absently for a mark, brushing lightly across the afflicted area self-consciously.

“Why do you think I’m here?” He repeats, the whisper as quiet as a last breath on dying lips, cold and utterly lifeless.

For the first time in three hundred years, terror filters through your veins. Cloying, and dominating, pinning down and twisting your senses. “It was for good reason,” you breathe, becoming acutely aware of the lethal brush of darkness. A single touch that could reduce you to a red mist.

“Stop,” he says, quiet and sharp, like scissors snicking through hair. “You’ve been toeing the line for a while now, and that was the last step you’ll take in my city.”

My city. Velaris.

Your mouth opens to speak, nausea rising, stomach twisting as emotions begin to seep back into your body, satiating your mind with painful vibrancy. But the words are stuck in your throat. You stare at him, eyes round and wide, at once blank and contorted with raw feeling. Rushing and spilling as guts twine together, restitching themselves after being sliced across the floor.

“You’re an infection,” he hisses lowly, talons tightening at your neck, and you remain helpless. Powerless. “I don’t care for whatever excuse you’ll try to spin. I’m done with you. We all are.”

The talons retract, and air burns at your lungs, nostrils and eyes prickling as you gasp, hunched over, stomach spasming enough you think you might vomit again, and you’re thankful you didn’t put anything in it. The thought of reaching for your own magic hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Whatever remarks you want to make, I will tolerate. You are, and have always been your own person,” he says lowly, prowling forward on predator’s feet. “But the second you lay a hand on one of my people, it’s over. You will not return from it.”

“I hardly even touched her,” you choke out, lip curled back from your teeth, emotion thrashing and raging against your ribs, volatile in your blood as you stare up at him. At once having given you everything, and left you with nothing.

“I saw the memory,” he hisses, “she told me what happened. How you treat—” His nostrils flare, freezing in his tracks. Pupils dilate then contract to slits, and you stare as he turns on his feet, making for the closed kitchen door. Where the blood soaked rugs and sheets remain.

“Rhys…” you rasp, stumbling forward. “Rhysand.”

The smell of iron is sharp, bursting throughout the room with a potent tang, saturating the air with its distinctive metallic scent. The water is a deep red, concentrated with cold blood, almost opaque with its thickness.

The High Lord is utterly still in the doorway, taking in the devastation of the kitchen, some of the sheets laying strewn wetly across the floor, and it occurs to you he will not know that it is your blood dripping across the white tiled floors. That’s it’s your blood staining the pristine surfaces.

Undiluted terror crushes into you a second before his own darkness does, breaking across your skin as you’re flung across the room, smacking against the ground as the air is knocked from your chest. Your ears ring with the impact, lips parted, back arched in pain, hands trembling as memories flash across your skin.

You wouldn’t know love if it knocked you to the floor, he had said.

You stare up at cold, merciless violet.

Both of you know what he’s just done, but only one of you cares.

Words fail you, unable to admit to your own stupidly self-inflicted disciplines. Shame ruptures across your skin, unable to move from the shock of being floored in a heartbeat, after having had centuries to put between the last memory of pain this deep. It always scars more when it’s from someone close by.

“I don’t know when you lost yourself,” he breathes heavily, staring down at you, twisted and warped from the force of his magic. “I don’t know when, or how, or why. And I don’t care.” The words break on your skin like whips, cracking and splitting still-healing flesh to put the pain deeper. “You hurt one of my people,” he hisses lowly, watching as you struggle to your feet, limbs moving disjointedly from pain he’s unable to see.

He takes a step forward, and you have to force your legs not to stumble back, to hold strong as he prowls closer, night rippling through the room. “Many people are hurt in your city,” you grit out, “many people are hurt in your court. And yet you’re finding fault with me?” You shake your head sharply, glaring at him from beneath your brow. “You went too far,” he hisses, the sound like hail and ice slicing skin. “Every day you pushed a little harder, and I let it slide because I thought you needed the freedom, that you needed to at last understand you were free of her.”

“Fucking shut your mouth,” you spit, death leaking across the floor, rising to meet his own.

Both of you know who would win this battle, but you don’t seem to care any more.

“I kept my mouth shut for too long,” he counters, striding closer and magic sparks and crackles, tendrils colliding then recoiling as it’s mixed in the confined space, pressure building in your fingertips. “I let you get away with too much. Leeching off Az until even his patience ran out. Putting Mor down because you couldn’t stand to see someone from your own position escape, and live. We offered you help and you chose to walk away.”

Fury lacerates through your heart, burning at your mind as you meet his step, moving forward as you bare your teeth, the house quaking as more power is funnelled into it’s contained space. “You dragged me beneath that godsforsaken mountain, Rhysand,” you hiss lowly, “I stayed with you for fifty godsdamn years, while they got to stay here, because I was the one who was common knowledge.” You shove at his chest, but he hardly budges. “I was there for you, whenever you fucking needed me. So don’t you dare try and spin betrayal on me.”

“It is your duty to stay by my side,” he snarls, hand gripping your jaw in a vice-like hold, muscle spasming beneath his touch. “Everyone suffered in those years. Everyone sacrificed something. Everyone had something taken from them.”

“You chose them over me!” You spit, nails tearing at the rough skin of his knuckles as heat burns at your eyes. “You protected them. You suffered, and gave up pieces of yourself for them. None of it was for me.”

He stares at you, unreadable emotion raging behind writhing violet, lips parted as darkness rumbles through the house. “Why would it be for you?” He whispers, still staring at you. “You’re so wrapped up in your own life you forget anyone else exists.”

“You’re lying,” you mutter, “that’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”

“You threatened to bring their father back from the dead,” Rhys snarls, the damper on his power coming clean off, air growing thin as pressure crushes down on your bones, too much to possibly be contained.

“I don’t care if you’re bound to me until the day that I die,” he hisses, and you can feel that fatal strike being prepared to wound. “I don’t care if you have no way to disobey me should I give you an order. I don’t care if I could command you to never abuse your magic like that again.”

“Rhys…” you breathe, staring at him, fear bubbling away. You’d told Azriel he would never touch the bond, that he would never do that to you, and yet… “Rhys, don’t…”

“I can’t,” he hisses, defeat lining his features.

Relief washes over you like a wave of cool water, shoulders slumping from their tension, magic beginning to dissipate.

He shakes his head, a lock of neat, blue-black hair falling out of place. “But if you aren’t out of Velaris by the time the sun rises tomorrow…”

He’s in front of you in a flash, but your power doesn’t respond. Not as he appears before you, or as his hand slides around your throat. Not even as he forces a bargain upon your flesh, ink burning as it’s stamped in plain sight.

“You will not only lose your powers over death, but your life, too.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

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

#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #heart dividers by cafekitsune

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promptfairy · 6 months

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❥ 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 [ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ] .

change gendered language & add context to your needs . happy roleplaying !! ♡

“ the best way to make beautiful art is to constantly expose yourself to new & exciting places . ” “ nothing makes me happier than seeing a plant i’ve grown from a seed produce a gorgeous bloom !! ” “ you have this magic ability to make people happy . i hope you’ll show me how you do it someday . ” “ it’s good to live in the moment & not worry too much about the past . ” “ isn’t that nice ?? we’re all just little clumps of stardust , walking around . ” “ i was so innocent back then , before i learned the cruel ways of the world . ” “ all i want to do right now is hop into a warm bed & not get out until the end of winter . ” “ come on , treat me like a pretty princess !! ” “ i’ll love myself by eating my favorite ice cream & wearing baggy clothes . ” “ lots of folks try to take the easy road , but that just means you’ve gotta deal with a lot of traffic . ” “ thanks for being my friend . you’re always there for me , & i think that’s great . ” “ there are some things you just don’t realize about places until you leave them . ” “ it’s like i gave you a little piece of my heart , & you kept it safe & warm . ” “ i don’t feel like i can trust anyone right now , so i need to be alone . ” “ were you being nice or sarcastic ?? ” “ no matter how much time passes , i can’t forget him . ” “ why think about boys when you could be thinking about really important issues ?? ” “ my dream is for everyone to find something they can be passionate about & to fully enjoy each day . ” “ i’m okay with anything , as long as there’s some romance in the story . . . ” “ you’re looking awful as ever . who dresses you ?? ” “ are you some kind of antisocial freak , or something ?? ” “ whenever we talk , i feel like there’s a lot more going on inside you than you ever let anyone see . ” “ you’re so passive - aggressive . get some therapy . ” “ sometimes , all it takes is a good friend to remind you of all the things you like about your life . ” “ if you waste your time doing something you enjoy , then you’re not wasting your time . ” “ i hope you get stung by a thousand bees . ” “ who decided oranges have to be named after their color , but bananas aren’t just called ‘ yellows ’ . . . ?? ” “ doesn’t the sight of petals falling make you feel sad ?? . . . makes me feel kind of sad . life is so fragile . . . ” “ if i pass out here , please make sure i have some lipstick on . ” “ you could give me bellybutton lint & i would still treasure it . ” “ when you laugh , you look dreamy . ” “ i hope you go to jail & that your stupid house is torn down . ” “ you are in need of some serious fashion first - aid . ” “ what sort of sadist would drag me out of bed this early in the morning ?? ” “ i have to drink ten gallons of mint tea every single day . ” “ well , you’re so pretty , it doesn’t matter what atrocious thing you wear . ” “ there are things you want to do & things you have to do . . . but don’t forget to do nothing now & then . ” “ please don’t question my driving or parking skills . you couldn’t even begin to understand the level i’m on . ”

#sentence starters #rp meme #rp prompts #rp starters #sentence meme #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #roleplay starters

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greynatomy · 9 months

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the one that got away

alessia russo x reader

second part to regret. had a lot of fun writing this and might do more polls if i can’t choose for myself again. also, ignore how many times rory’s age is asked. didn’t realize how many times i wrote it in.

part 1

———

“Gather ‘round girls!” Jonas’ voice brings Leah back to the present.

Everyone comes together at the middle of the gym, waiting for what Jonas is gonna say.

“Just wanna welcome everyone who was in Australia back and also our ACL squad. We’re all glad to see you all up and running.” Everyone cheers and claps. “Now, I wanna welcome our new signing, Alessia Russo.” Alessia walks towards the group awkwardly, not wanting to trip.

“Hi.” She gives a small wave.

“Don’t be shy Lessi. We’re all friendly.”

“Yeah! We don’t bite!”

Over the course of the week, Alessia gets situated with the team and the dynamics, learning how to play with her new team.

“Mrs. Russo, someone’s been calling your phone. It’s says there’s ten missed calls.”

“From who?”

“Amore Mio.”

Everyone’s attention is now on Alessia, all curios about the girl’s significant other, judging from the name that the trainer said that was shown on her phone.

“Hi, love. What happened? So, she’s fine. Yeah. Okay. Thanks for letting me know. I love you. See you later.”

She gives her phone back to one of the trainers, telling them to inform her if you were to call again.

“What was that all about?” Katie asks in her usual loud voice.

“Oh, sorry. My daughter got hurt at preschool.”

“Wait. Hold up! Daughter? You have a daughter?” She didn’t know who asked, but saw the rest of the team walking closer to her.

“Uh, yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s three now.”

“And I’m guessing you didn’t carry cause you’ve not really took a break from football.”

“Nope. Won’t be carrying any babies in me. Freaks me out a bit, but my wife happily did it.”

“So you have a kid and a wife and none of us knew about it?”

“No one really knows. We wanted to keep it to ourselves. I didn’t want the public knowing and plastering their face in the media yet, and we like our little bubble.”

“Not even Tooney knew?”

“Oh, Tooney knew. She had to give the best friend talk and all that. Wanted to know her opinion before anything turned serious and now we’re four years strong, three of them married.”

“So, when do you think we’ll meet ‘em?”

———

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Not really, but have to be. I’ll be seeing a lot of her more since you’ve transferred.”

“It’s been five years too, she’d probably moved on, yeah?”

“Don’t know Lessi. I hope so. Now let’s get little princess dressed.”

“I’ve already dressed her, babe. Just waiting on you.”

You looked at her skeptically.

“You? Dressed Rory?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alessia asked, offense written on her face.

“Nothing bad, Less. Just, you turn her into a mini me every time.”

“And she loves it every time. I love when the two of you match. My favorite girls.

“And when this baby pops out of me, no doubt he’ll be a mini you.”

“I won’t be outnumbered this time.”

———

“Sorry, I’m late. Kid ran away while I tried getting her in the car.” Alessia explained, walking to where everyone was gathered in the backyard.

“You’re fine. Now, who is this little one?”

“Wanna say your name bubs?”

“I Rory. I dis many.” She says holding up three fingers.

“Woah. That’s a lot of fingers.” Your daughter giggles.

“Did that wife of yours come?”

“Yeah, she probably went to the—”

“—Sorry. I had to go to the washroom. It’s nice to meet you all. Name’s—”

“—Y/n.” Leah finishes, shocked, voice shaking.

“…Hi, Leah.”

“You two know each other.” Katie asks, intrigued how the skipper knew you.

“Uh, yeah. We used to be close friends.”

“No. She was my wife.” You could’ve heard a pin drop from how silent everyone was.

“Okay. Woah. There is a lot to unpack here.”

“And they can do it privately.” Alessia intervened.

“You know about our history.” Leah turns to Alessia, hurt all over her face. She was close to the girl, being on the national team together and the whole time she was in a relationship with her ex-wife.

“Of course I do. She’s my wife.”

The dinner was pretty awkward for a bit after the interaction. Rory have been playing with some of the other girls, you staying by your wife’s side getting to know her teammates.

Eventually, Leah got the courage to go up to you.

“Hey, uh, do you think we could talk?”

You look up at her, seeing the nervous look on her face.

“Sure. Honey, help me up.” Alessia grabs ahold of your hand and the other on your arm to stabilize you. “Let’s go inside.”

You go to little sitting area in the corner of the living room, away from everyone, but not out of sight. There was a couple seconds of silence, very awkward silence.

“Are you just not gonna say anything?”

Leah apologizes. “Uh, how’ve you been?”

“Doing pretty good.”

Another awkward silence.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say. I’ve had five years to practice what I was gonna say to you if I ever would run into you, but it just slipped my mind. But I guess I wanted to apologize and say that I took you for granted. I don’t deserve your forgiveness at all for being distant, lying to you about where I’ve been doing or going… for, uh, cheating on you. I’ve hated myself the second it happened.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“What?”

“Why’d you do it? Was it something I did that made you go to another that you should’ve gone to me for or—”

“—No! God, no! You did nothing wrong, it was all on me. I don’t really have an explanation as shitty as it sounds.”

“It’s been five years and I do forgive you. I think I forgave you the moment I met my wife. I needed to close the door on our relationship to be able to truly love her how she should be loved, so I forgive you. Doesn’t mean that I’ll ever forget. But you are forgiven.”

“Thank you.”

Before anyone can say anything else, your daughter runs to you, climbing into your lap.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Hi, baby. You having fun?”

“Yeah! Stephy and Kya (Kyra) pway with me.”

“That’s so sweet of them.”

Leah watches your interaction with your daughter, a sad smile on her face.

“How old is she?”

“Hey, Rory. This is Mama’s teammate Leah. Can you tell her how old you are?”

“I free!” She holds up three fingers towards Leah.

“Woah! You’re so big! And you have a little sibling on the way. Can I ask how far along you are?” The question directed towards you.

“I’m five months along. It’s a boy.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you! Well, it’s been great catching up with you Leah. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

Leah watches you walk away, your daughter on your hip, towards your wife who was chatting up with a few teammates. She watches Alessia grab Aurora from you, giving you a smile and a kiss, seeing the love you two have.

Maybe in another life, one she hadn’t screwed up on , that could’ve been you and her, but she was just glad that you have someone who lived you the way you deserve to be loved.

Now, that she got everything out of her chest, she would be able to move on, but you’ll always be the one that got away.

#woso x reader #greynatomy #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader

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yongbokology · 8 months

Text

baby daddy! satoru x baby mama! reader

black coded reader <3

warnings; none really, just fluff tbh

wc; 1.1k

an: maybe i’ll write a part where the actual baby making takes place if this doesn’t flop 🤷🏾‍♀️

* baby daddy! satoru who looks at you with wide eyes as you show up to his apartment with a positive pregnancy test. before this situation you both were friends with benefits for a year and some change; having met him during your shift at the bar you currently work at.

* baby daddy! satoru who nearly falls over once you decide that you want to keep it (after all, it’s him we’re talking about)

* baby daddy! satoru who respects your decision after the initial shock and let’s it be known that’s he not going to be a deadbeat… (unlike someone)

“please don’t tell me we have to get married.”

you roll your eyes as you continue to clean the used shot glasses left behind by patrons.

“i’d rather self amputate my arms and legs, satoru.”

* baby daddy! satoru who tries to make it to as much doctors appointments as he can— sometimes even taking off of work for them.

“so, you’re currently at the end of your first trimester. everything is looking good, baby is looking healthy. any questions?” the doctor smiles sweetly at the both of you as she looks through yours and the baby’s charts.

satoru sits up from his chair, eyes perking up in the process “how long until you can tell if it’s going to be the most powerful being in the world?”

“satoru!”

“what… just curious..”

* baby daddy! satoru who secretly buys everything on your registry.

* baby daddy! satoru who watches you marvel at everything he bought, acting surprised with you.

* baby daddy! satoru who poses the idea of the both of you having a place together after a serious talk with shoko.

“don’t you think it would be safer for both her and the baby? y’know cuz you’re practically cursed.” a freshly lit newport hangs off her lips as she eyes her old friend.

“what?! i’m not cursed..”

“think about it— the world shifted off kilter when you were born. people were quite literally planning your murder before you could walk. you don’t think they’ll be rubbing their hands at the chance to get at your offspring?”

satoru breaks his friend’s stare and chooses silence, opting to take another bite out of his onigiri.

* baby mama! reader who accepts the offer because you’re literally just a twenty-something girl trying to navigate this unfair world, living paycheck to paycheck (😪)

— fear not tho because baby daddy! satoru got his baby mama covered!

* baby mama! reader who gets to know satoru more since moving in and he’s honestly such an interesting character.

* baby mama! reader who thinks it’s truly nice seeing him for who he was rather than him being a complete whiny mess after an orgasm for a change.

“do you just starve yourself all day? there’s literally nothing here to eat, toru!” you have your hand placed on six month old pregnant stomach and the other is holding open his stupidly expensive smart fridge that currently has one singular bento box that is half eaten.

“i don’t know how to cook!”

“good lord, what am i going to do with you?”

* baby mama! reader who takes off from the bar after satoru essentially pleads on his knees for you to stay home.

- he eventually convinces you to quit altogether.

* baby mama! reader who learns the truth about satoru’s job after waiting for him at the and seeing a fucking panda just holding a conversation with some weird kid with markings around his mouth, simply replying with “salmon.”

* baby daddy! satoru who thought it would be fine to just have you sit tight for a couple of minutes while he checks up on his students since he’s been off from work but clearly he was wrong when he comes back to see you bug-eyed and pacing back and forth.

you’re already trampling over your own words when satoru walks over to you with a concerned look on his face. “w-why did i just see a fucking talking panda satoru!”

he’s sliding a hand over his face and is pulling you into the nearest room and sliding the door shut behind him. it’s there that he explains the world of jujutsu sorcery and what he does and why you saw a talking panda roaming about.

he decides to kill two birds with one stone that day and introduces you to his students and the both of you are bombarded with a magnitude of questions.

there’s a brunette who hasn’t taken her hands off your stomach since introduction and there’s a pink haired young man who’s enamored with you overall.

“kinda surprising someone would willingly have a child with you.”

the brunette takes her hands off your stomach to pound her fist into the dark-haired kid whose names you learned was megumi.

(you caught a glimpse of a younger version of him tucked into satoru’s wallet after spending the whole day in the grocery store)

“just because we’re all thinking it doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud, fushiguro.”

* baby mama! reader who grows fond of the trio after initial introduction and ends up seeing them more often after that.

* baby daddy! satoru who doesn’t mind one bit and opens up his house so you could spend more time with them.

* baby daddy! satoru who’s in the middle of an intense fight but stops once he hears the specific ringtone he picked out for you.

“give me a minute would you? someone rather important is calling.”

his opponent is stunned and confused at the sheer audacity yet they don’t dare move an inch.

satoru presses his phone to his ear, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he answers you. “what’s going on, pretty girl?”

“baby. coming. now.”

“be right there.”

satoru’s smile drops as he reverts his attention back to his opponent, his arms preparing to conjure a finishing blow.

“sorry to cut our playtime short but someone truly worthy of my time just called.”

* baby daddy! satoru who makes it just in time to see his beautiful son being born.

* baby mama! reader who’s exhausted from giving life to a literal being. you’ve got your arms wrapped around the newborn that finally stopped crying all while sharing glances between you and satoru.

* baby daddy! satoru who has this weird feeling in his stomach after receiving his son in his arms. the expression on his face resembles one of pure bliss as he takes a seat in the chair not too far from your hospital bed.

after much-needed reassurance and satoru helping you to sleep, he’s slowly pacing around the room with your son, whispering sweet nothings and quiet promises.

“not that i doubted it for a second but you’re certainly mine alright.”

he smiles at the piercing blue eyes staring right back at his own.

* baby mama! reader who isn’t actually sleeping and watches the both of them with tired eyes and in that moment knows she made the right decision and is content with the possibility of a domestic life with the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

feedback is encouraged.

boarder credz @leopardprnt

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x black reader #jjk gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu satoru #satoru smut #jjk satoru #jjk drabbles #jjk fic #gojo smut #yongbokology

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elseishollow · 2 months

Note

you’ve awakened my love for nate archibald i swear 🥹

i was wondering if you could write something for him with love languages? like what you think his would be, when showing love or receiving it, or just whatever comes to mind if you’d like to write something like that! <3

hi, thank you so much! nice to know the nate archibald propaganda is working.

✶┈ HCS | LOVE LANGUAGES — NATE ARCHIBALD

• nate. he’s quite easy on the eyes but there isn’t a whole lot going on upstairs. however, if it’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s the language of touch

• it’s an instinct for him and frankly, if we’re being honest here, he communicates love through touch like it's his native tongue

• he will seek any and every excuse under the sun just to feel the warmth of your skin against his

• "here, hold my hand. It's cold.”

• “nate, it’s literally 90 degrees out.”

• “oh sure, blame it on the weather.”

• trust he WILL use any pretext to bridge the physical distance between you

• growing up in a repressive environment, nate learned to express his love through physical gestures rather than words. It's in the way he pulls you into a hug after a long day or rests his hand on your knee under the table

• there’s times where he’ll notice how down you’re feeling with literally one singular glance and he’ll just embrace you while he’s reassuring you with sweet nothings, consecutively telling you, “it’s okay”

• for quite some time. more than he’d like to admit

• he just wants you to be okay! he’s doesn’t like to see you sad, at all. he acts as if he’s just been wounded if you happen to be.

• quality. time. he’s more keen on quality more than quantity.

• cooking together, walking in central park together, reading together, studying together (which is more yapping than studying tbh) and so on

• as for receiving love, it isn’t exactly nate's forte, but when it comes to you, he's like a lovesick puppy in need of affection

• he craves your affection just as much as he gives it

• and when you look into his eyes, you see nothing but pure adoration staring back at you

• granted he’s had his heart broken before, nate tends to build walls around himself to guard himself from the pain of rejection and disappointment

• he can be hesitant.. and second guess everything.. and doubt himself.. and also overthink everything..

• BUT!

• with you, it's different. your love has a way of breaking down those walls, brick by brick, until there's nothing left but the raw, truth of his heart

• there are moments when his longing is so palpable, you can practically feel it in the air

• “if you don’t kiss me right now, I might actually die”

• but his other love language definitely lies in words of affirmation

• oh, brother

• "i’m not staring, i’m admiring”

• his heart spills over with praise and admiration for you, often beyond measure. he has this habit of gushing uncontrollably about you to anyone who will listen—be it his family, friends, or even strangers. they have all fall victim to some extent

• there was one time where he considered buying you flowers and ended up going on a tangent about every aspect he finds fit about you

• the poor florist could barely get a word in edgewise, they were undoubtedly relieved to see him finally leave their shop

• but who could blame him?? he adores you! loves you, even! it’s in his nature

• in short, he loves you, dearly. and he’ll makes sure you know it.

notes; I wrote this in a hurry, i’m sorry. I hope you like it!

#nate archibald x reader #gossip girl x reader #nate archibald imagine #nate archibald headcanons #gossip girl imagine

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fan-fantasies · 11 months

Text

Jealousy and Dreams

A/N: this is definitely a bit out of my comfort zone and not what I usually write, but I’m in love with this woman! This will be the first part in probably a two part mini-series. Also on a side note, tomorrow is the last day at my job before I start a new one next week! Breezy and I both are starting new adventures and I couldn’t be more excited for us.

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader

Warnings: we’re gonna pretend Buddy doesn’t exist, swearing, mentions of a wet dream

Rhea tossed and turned in the uncomfortable hotel bed. No matter how hard she tried, sleep couldn’t find her. You were lucky, however, passing out as soon as your head hit the pillow in the bed next to hers. She sighed, staring at your sleeping form.

This wasn’t the first time you had shared a room, far from it. You had grown close with Rhea and the rest of judgement day over the last couple months. You were a new ring announcer and backstage interviewer, and while you were intimidated by them at first, you came to learn just how kind they all were.

Rhea always offered to room with you and you thought it was sweet; and Rhea thought you were sweet- and funny and smart and probably the most gorgeous girl she’s ever seen. But she’d never tell you that- you saw her as a friend and nothing more.

So with that, Rhea began to drift off to sleep with thoughts of you filling her head- until she heard what sounded like a moan falling from your lips. At first, she thought you were hurt, but with each passing moment it sounded more like pleasure than pain.

Her body went rigid, fighting the urge to climb into your bed and calm you. She didn’t want to wake you and risk the embarrassment you might feel so she laid there and listened to the sweet sounds fill the air. You began to rustle around slightly, your whimpers increasing. Rhea was in near physical pain; on one side she had been dreaming of hearing those noises, just in a very different context, and on the other side she felt like a perv for listening. How hadn’t you woken yourself up?!

A few more moments of torture passed before she heard you let out a huff before stilling. She figured your dream hadn’t been enough for you so maybe your brain went in a different direction.

Rhea laid there and stared at the ceiling, now feeling frustrated herself. Sleep would now be impossible.

Morning rolled around and Rhea slept horribly. You seemed to wake up rather cranky but Rhea didn’t mention it.

The guys from JD came by soon after you had woken up with coffee and breakfast.

“You guys are lookin rough,” Finn commented.

“Gee thanks,” you chuckled dryly.

“Slept like shit,” Rhea added.

“Well drink some coffee and perk up, we gotta talk strategy,” Dom said.

You listened to them as they discussed tonight’s show, glancing at Rhea every so often only to find her already looking at you. You could feel the heat rush to your face, and core, every time you made eye contact. You’d never tell her, but your wet dream was about her. You were well aware she only thought of you as a friend so why open that can of worms.

Dom’s phone ringing broke your train of thought.

“It’s my girl, I’ll be right back,” he said with a boyish smile on his face.

“Aww how cute,” Finn teased him. You let out a sigh subconsciously making everyone turn to look at you. Your eyes widened.

“Jealous?” Rhea asked sarcastically.

“It would just be nice to have something like that,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I mean…you could. How bout you come back to my room after the show later and we can talk about it,” Damian smirked. Rhea shot daggers at him but he just shrugged at her. She knew he had a little crush on you, she just never expected he’d act on it. Selfishly, she hoped you didn’t return his feelings.

“Or! She could come back here with me; we could cuddle and watch a movie,” Rhea offered.

“That does sound nice,” you agreed. Damian scoffed and shot Rhea a disapproving glare.

“It’s a plan then, babe,” Rhea winked. The two of you were no stranger to flirting, but after your dream, her words held more weight.

Dom came back in and they finished discussing the upcoming show. Hair and makeup was shortly after the meeting so you departed with your friends and tried to focus on work.

You loved your job, and you were good at it. You enjoyed everyone in the company and they made it feel like home for you. Being on camera took some getting used to but the WWE universe quickly warmed up to you.

Judgement Day was out first, Finn and Dom having a tag match against Sami and Kevin. Rhea and Damian stayed ringside, heckling the champions and cheering on their boys. Damian ended up on your side of the ring and blew you a kiss. You put on an animated surprised act, deep down knowing he was just joking around. He shot you a wink and Rhea noticed.

She sauntered over to you with her cocky ringside persona and kneeled down next to you. The cameras were on you instead of the guys.

“Enjoying the match, gorgeous?” She asked. You simply nodded, your nerves eating away at you from the attention of the gorgeous woman.

“Good,” she said before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. Your stunned look wasn’t for show, you truly were surprised she did that. Your mind was too busy reeling to notice Rhea smirk at Damian.

Sami was eventually thrown from the ring, landing near your feet. Rhea ran over and picked him up, tossing him back toward the ring.

“Get away from her!” She yelled. “I’ve got you, babe.”

“My savior,” you chuckled.

The match eventually ended with some others coming out to help keep Judgement Day at bay while Sami and Kevin secured the win. JD hobbled back up the ramp, looking as angry as ever, but you couldn’t help the smile on your face that was there ever since Rhea had kissed you.

The show continued as normal and you ended up backstage to do an interview. It was with Sonya Deville, who you were friendly with. Rhea was actually supposed to interrupt and challenge Sonya to a match.

Before the cameras came on, you were chatting and laughing with Sonya- not about anything in particular but it caught Rhea’s attention.

The camera’s start rolling as you put on your professional persona but still kept it friendly.

“Sonya, how are you feeling tonight?” You asked.

“Better now that you’re here,” she joked. “I’m feeling good, I feel ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready for me? I don’t think so,” Rhea said, coming into frame. “I don’t think you could handle me.”

“Handle you? I could destroy you. Isn’t that right?” She said, looking to you. You did your best “deer caught in headlights” look as you stood between them.

“Yeah, okay. Prove it- you and me- match, tonight.” Rhea snapped.

“You’re on! Just make sure you’re ringside,” Sonya said, playing with a piece of your hair.

“Hands off!” Rhea said, off-script. She threw her arm around your shoulder and pulled you off camera, leaving Sonya looking frustrated.

The camera’s cut and you let out a deep breath.

“Nice improv,” you complimented.

“Thanks,” she said, flashing you an award winning smile that made your heart stop.

“So I guess I’ll see you out there?”

“Sure will, gorgeous. Don’t forget our movie night later.”

“We room together; I don’t think I could forget if I tried,” you laughed.

You went back to the ring so you could announce the women’s match. It wasn’t a title match, but a contender’s one. Sonya was a great wrestler, but she was chopped liver compared to Rhea.

Rhea saw her take one look in your direction and promptly kicked her ass. One riptide later and any hope Sonya had of a title match was squashed.

You went into the ring and grabbed Rhea’s hand, throwing it in the air as you declared her winner.

“See ya later, sweetheart,” she said as she exited the ring.

The show finished and you made your way to the locker rooms so you could change and take off your makeup. You worked quickly, hoping to get back to the hotel as quick as possible.

“I’m sorry if I fall asleep during the movie, I’m beat,” you said as you and Rhea went back to your room.

“No worries, maybe cuddling will help me sleep better tonight,” she chuckled. You hid your face, knowing you’d give away your nervousness at the thought of being pressed against her.

“I’m gonna change into my pjs and brush my teeth,” you said, heading into the bathroom. You changed and before you could get your toothbrush ready, you heard a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” Rhea opened it and came in.

“I have an idea,” she said, holding up her phone. “Just go about your business.”

“Okay?”

You started to brush your teeth, watching her curiously in the mirror. She placed her hand on your hip and took a picture, quickly posting it to her Instagram story captioned “the match isn’t the only thing I won tonight.” tagging both you and Sonya. You couldn’t help but feel electricity where her hand was sitting on your side.

“You couldn’t even have taken one where I look cute?” You said, wiping your mouth.

Rhea looked down at you with an amused look as you pouted.

“Fine, stay like that, it’s cute.”

She stuck her tongue out at you and quickly snapped another one, posting it with “she insisted on a ‘cute’ one 🙄”

“Happy?” She asked.

“Thrilled,” you chuckled. You went to sit in bed while she got changed and did her nightly routine. You scrolled through the movies for a few minutes before laying back and closing your eyes.

“You really aren’t gonna make it through a movie,” she laughed, emerging from the bathroom. She joined you in bed and cuddled close to you.

“I’m just so tired. It feels like I barely slept last night- like I was restless or something,” you sighed. You felt her body stiffen a bit at your words.

“Yeah, I, uh, didn’t sleep well either,” she mumbled. “Better luck tonight then.”

“Hm I hope so.”

Rhea’s mind began to wander. What if you had another dream like you did last night while she was next to you? She felt wrong for even thinking about it but she couldn’t help it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, turning to look at her. She looked down at you and her breath caught in her throat.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about sleep?”

“We can just go to sleep if you want, we don’t have to watch a movie,” you said, turning to grab the remote. She quickly stopped you, tugging you back toward her.

“No! A movie still sounds great,” she rushed out. The two of your stared at each other for a moment and just when you thought she was going to lean in, a knock came from the door.

“Expecting someone?” You asked, getting up to answer it. She just shrugged before you looked through the peephole.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, opening the door.

“I thought it was movie night?” Damian asked, feigning innocence.

“I don’t think you were invited,” Rhea told him sternly.

“Rude. I’m totally down for a movie and cuddles,” he said. He plopped onto the bed next to Rhea and she shoved him aside.

“That’s her spot.”

“Well now it’s mine.”

“It’s literally her bed!”

“So why don’t you go get in your own?”

“I was here first.”

“Guys! I’ll just sit over here, it’s fine,” you said, plopping down onto Rhea’s bed.

“Say cheese!” Damian said, holding up his phone so he could get all three of you. You covered your face and Rhea looked pissed.

“Three’s company!” -he posted on his story. Rhea reposted it with “more like three’s a crowd 😒”

While scrolling on her phone real quick she saw the picture of the two of you in the bathroom had been reposted by a fan page. The caption read “I ship it” but that’s not what caught her attention; in the comments you wrote, “so do I!” in reply.

Rhea looked over at you and smiled, which you easily returned. Damian chose a movie to put on and Rhea got up and joined you in her bed.

He shot her a look that said “really?” to which she just shrugged. Surprisingly, Damian was the first to fall asleep, but you were quick to follow. Rhea pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before dozing off to sleep herself, hoping dreams of you would soon find her.

—————

Part two out now 🖤

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley fanfiction #wwe #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley fluff

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darkwolf989 · 12 days

Note

hallo!!!

i was wondering if you could do a Val x daughter reader

reader is neurodivergent and has a stutter :,> basically reader goes to auntie Vel first about how they’re being bullied at school and then Vel brings it up to Uncle Vox and Val.

i hope your having a nice day!

The editing continues! Enjoy <3 I apologize for the wait and appreciate your patience!

“What the fuck do you mean, being bullied?” Valentino demanded as he took a drag from his cigarette. Confusion and disgust flooded his features. “She’s in first grade, how do they even know how to be mean at that age?”

Velvette shrugged and took a sip of her wine as they sat around the restaurant table.

Another Tuesday night, another meeting of the minds. This was the one night a week Valentino’s daughter, reader, stayed late for both art and speech therapy. Usually it involved logistics planning- who would pick her up, help her with homework, where she was supposed to be each day after school. They had learned early on that early planning and visual schedules helped her manage and practice her day to day routines and activities. This time each week was critical not only for themselves, but to help reader manage her anxieties.

Tonight though, their meeting meant something far more sinister.

“She came to me in tears the other day. Sobbing about how kids are being mean to her because she ‘talked funny’. I told her to ignore them and tell the teacher, but she told me one of them hit her. And that the teacher did nothing. That alone is worth the school.”

“The school is fucking useless. What do we do about it?” Valentino demanded asked as he bit back the anger in his voice. “Surely there must be something we can do.”

“Like what? Walk up to first graders and bully them back?” Velvette asked with a snort.

“I mean, if they’re being cruel to my little girl then…” Valentino began.

“Cut the shit. We may not be able to do anything as adults but we can give our sweet reader the means to defense herself,” Velvette snapped.

Valentino tapped his cigarette ashed into the tray and gave her a disapproving look. “We’re not teaching my daughter to throw a punch. Not that she would anyway But we can go to school and talk to them. Give us a good feel for the policies they have in place. It’s highly doubtful they’ll give us the names of the kids- but I’ll ask her. Maybe she’ll tell me.” Valentino asked.

“They’d give you the names if you filed the fucking paperwork like I told you,” Velvette muttered. She tuned out the rest of their chatter, her mind reeling. There was no sense in arguing with Valentino- he was reader’s dad after all. But she didn’t see the issue with at least teaching her the basics of self defense. And honestly, what Valentino didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

The sound of Vox’s voice pulled her back to attention.

“I’ll fit her with a small camera. Tomorrow.” Vox said definitively. “At least then we’ll have proof. And they can’t ignore proof- we have to sort of play by the rules here, Valentino. Until then, what do we do?”

“Love her, comfort her. Help her manage her anxiety and I think I have the perfect book about it for bedtime tonight.” Velvette suggested. “Sound like a plan?”

Both boys seemed to agree.

As soon as reader walked in the door that night, she dove into her afterschool routine. Homework with Vox, dinner at the dinner table with all three of them, bathtime with Valentino, teeth brushing, pjs and because it was Thursday- tucked into bed first by Aunt Velvette.

“Reader? Can we talk a little bit about school before your dad comes in?” Velvette asked as she pulled the bed covers back.

Reader nodded and climbed under the sheets. Velvette laid down next to her and she snuggled the tiny body against hers. There wasn’t much in this world that turned Velvette soft, but reader was one of them.

“I want to teach you what to do when someone is mean to you- your daddy is coming in in a few minutes to read a book about different ways to handle it. But I want to teach you another way- a secret way that has to stay between us girls, okay?”

To her surprise, reader sat up and looked eager.

“L-like what Auntie?”

And so Velvette showed her, in the quiet ten minutes she had, how to throw a punch. How to turn her wrist, aim for the nose and step into the force.

“Don’t ever start anything, but if they put a hand on you first, turn around and deck them. Hard. And they’ll never touch you again. But don’t tell your Dad I taught you, okay? Keep it between us girls.”

Reader nodded happily and tucked herself back against Velvette as Valentino walked in. He took his place on the other side of the bed and Reader leaned up and nuzzled Velvette’s cheek- butterfly kisses, as she called them, before snuggling back against Valentino.

“This book is called I said no,” Velvette heard Valentino say as she quietly closed the door and made her way to her own room. She hoped that her niece would never have to use the skills she taught her. But in her mind, it was better to have the skill and not need it, than to need it than not have it.

But she still wasn’t surprised when she got the call from Valentino the next day. She pushed a button and the fury that was Valentino flashed on her screen.

“Velvette! What did you do?” Valentino screamed. “I just got a fucking call from the school- Reader is in the principles office for punching someone! How the fuck does she know how to punch?”

Velvette snorted at the accusation as pride flooded through her heart. Atta girl. “Beats me, but Vox put a camera on her this morning right? So cool your jets. Is reader hurt?”

Velvette watched as he seemed to consider her point.

“Well, no. I don’t think so,” Valentino said after the momentary pause.

“And the other kid?”

“I…I don’t fucking know go with Vox to the school NOW. I’ll meet you there as soon as I finish the fucking paperwork.”

Velvette raised an eyebrow as Vox walked in the room. “Oh, you mean the paperwork you were supposed to finish last week?”

“Fuck you Velvette, go and get your niece, now!”

The screen went black and Velvette rolled her eyes. Reader wouldn’t have made the first move, she was certain of that.

One short limo ride later, she and Vox walked into the school. They were immediately escorted to the principal's office and Velvette gritted her teeth at the scene that greeted them. Reader sat, tears streaming down her face next to a boy with a bloody nose. A female demon- probably his mother, stood behind him, glaring at reader.

“You wanna fuck off?” Velvette snapped as she looked up. “And back the fuck off from my kid.” She reached over and lifted reader up into her arms as she continued to sob. “What happened, baby?”

“What happened is that reader punched this young man in the face, completely unprovoked,” the principal began.

“H-h-he…” Reader began to sob.

Velvette shushed her and gave Vox a look.

“That’s what you say, let’s watch the footage and see what actually happened,” Vox interjected.

The other two adults in the room seemed to freeze.

“Mr. Vox we don’t utilize cameras or any Voxtech…” the principal began.

“You don’t, but I do,” Vox replied smoothly.

Velvette watched both of their faces go white. Carefully, Vox reached over and unclipped the almost invisible camera from the collar of his niece's shirt. A video appeared on the wall behind them, showcasing the events of the day. Behind them, Valentino opened the door and closed it quietly. Two button presses and the truth came to light. The boy, pinching, teasing, name calling and laughing. Reader telling him to quietly leave her alone. A hit to the back and finally, reader turning around and nailing him in the face.

“Oh good job baby girl,” Velvette whispered in reader’s ear. She felt the twitch of a smile against her shoulder as she cradled her. Good, Velvette thought, she was starting to settle.

Vox shut the movie off and looked at the adults present. “I’m eager to see what type of punishment will come from this,” he said flatly.

“We hold a no tolerance policy, so both the boy and reader will be suspended…”

“I think the fuck not.” Valentino’s cold voice came from across the room.

The principal stood up, a miffed expression on his face. “Mr. Valentino. Ms. Velvette. Mr. Vox. With all due respect you don’t have a say over my school. Your jurisdiction ends at that door.”

Valentino smirked and looked at the other V’s. He walked over to Velvette and took his daughter into his arms. He whispered something quietly in reader’s ear and a smile spread across her tear stained face. He walked her over to the principal's desk and gently nudged her.

“Go ahead bebita.”

“D-daddy s-says you’re fired!” She announced loudly before burying her face back in his neck.

The principal's face turned deep red. “As I said you have no jurisdiction…the audacity…”

“Actually, I do,” Valentino replied as he held up a piece of paper. “As of today the V corporation owns this school, and every single one like it in the pride ring. You’re fired. And you..” he turned around to face both the mother and the child who sat frozen in horror. “Your brat of a child is expelled. Get off my property before I have you escorted out. All three of you. Now.”

Valentino turned and walked out, gently holding his daughter as Vox and Velvette followed.

“This would have been much less dramatic if you had filed the paperwork a week ago, like I told you to!” Velvette scolded.

“Yeah, but that was fun- was it not?” Valentino looked down at his daughter, “did you like firing the principle my sweet ninita?”

She nodded and he planted a kiss on her forehead as he carried her outside. “Let’s go out for lunch, my love. Calm down a little bit. And tomorrow when you go back to school, I promise no one will even think to lay a hand or speak unkindly to you. We’ll protect you. And we always will.”

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kel-lance · 2 months

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JJK Mafia Au (JJK x Reader) PART 2

Part 1

Warnings:- TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise: Reader lives in a city where the two biggest gangs keep things line until the third gang showed up. That had nothing to do with you though, until dumb luck just happened to favor you one day. Basically You’re picked up and used by every dangerous criminal within the clans due to some alliances they had to create due to some members messing up the previous alliances. ((Almost everyone’s gonna have a turn 🤗)) ( i have 11 more chapters planned out right now meaning after i write those ill still be writing more.)

“We’re done for today.” The large man reaches for his robes. You don’t bother to move. Just breathing hurt. It was his off day and he was deciding to break you in, deciding to keep you for however long you were durable. He was amused with your reactions. He liked it. He found it interesting how you were also trying to survive. He’d play along as your god now.

You lay in the bed and his finger prints stained your skin, each strike created blots of purple and blue and green. You liked bruises before, it showed how you fought for it.

You apparently woke up two days later, and he lets you rest. Your body finally turns off survival mode for a second, just a second to adjust to the warm room. Four walls, the nice smell, it was just another thing you weren’t used to. Stillness. It was boring. But under these circumstances you were glad to have your own padded room to deal with this.

The time you were left alone, you didn’t know how long that would be. Another hour or so you’d think he’d come back in, hearing as you’re up. Time for more torture, though do torture victims get a bed and tended to? It felt more like you were a sacrifice, meant to appease him, though no one handed you over.

You were brushed, scrubbed raw, and even felt a bit of shame for the way you were living compared to the two ladies who were taking care of you. But you didn’t know how long they’ve been in this line of work. Hell they honestly looked like they were born into it with the cold looks in their eyes. They could care less about your well-being, though they found and scrubbed every inch of you. Of course you didn’t want strangers to look at you, especially after such a moment that brought you here. To be real, these twins are probably the only people who knew you more than anyone you currently knew.

Friends? You had a few, some to help you out sometimes, some to let you crash at their place. It was all fair game to the people you knew. Life was never easy for them and they knew of you being a free spirit. You didn’t leech off of them for you’d always show up with something in exchange, usually something you stole but it would never get traced back, it was either too common (but useful) or just something that would never be brought out of shown off.

You weren’t a bad friend for it, if anything you were the perfect guest, though this time you didn’t mean to give yourself away for a few nights stay.

“I gotta get out of here, but where would I go? These people have already seen my face and I can’t tell how many more there would be. I can’t request anything to learn the layout of this place and no one will talk to me. If I leave I’ll have to run further and faster than I already have been…” You ponder more, sitting at the table placed in front of the window.

They’re smart enough to know what I’d do if I wanted to pick a fight with their lord, of course there are guards at more doors, even under the window out your room, and it’s safe to say that there’s even a guard at each vent that’s connected to your room.

“Why does it seem like I’m so special?” You sit and open the window, the guard below moves from his post to observe you on the same side has the other posted to view you. You look down at then and offer a wave, saying you’re not doing anything stupid, but you just wanted some air. One of them leaves, probably to get Sukuna.

“I bet he’s just a lonely loser and I just happen to fall into his lap, or maybe I was one of many and was the newest. The girls here looked like they could be in the same position as you, though why weren’t they? They didn’t look like they were his blood, and there was no way that he could be their dad. That would make things even worse since you’re close in age as the twins.

You see the guard go back to his post, nonchalantly. “Weirdo.” You thought. Not even a second later your room door whips open. Jumping from your place at the table, you turn and see who other than the man with the unpredictable entrances. “Finally up?” He leans on the door frame. “Honestly, you’re so dramatic for that.” He teased, being strangely familiar to you.

“Dude…” You caught yourself about to tell off this stranger. All you’ve known from him is that he’s having fun taking you and making you a toy, that his name was Sukuna and how everyone seemed under his control. Not that they enjoy it, but it didn’t look like anyone, even in their numbers, would stand up to someone like him.

It still wasn’t apparent for you. He only told you his first name, his last could tell you that you were in even more danger than any “normal” man doing this to you. It could be such a metaphor but you’re literally trapped in the best place you’ve ever been. Was that just life? all the bad comes up when you’re supposed to be happy, and realizing how good you’ve had it as it gets ripped apart in front of you? The balance of it all only comes with ignorance, which was also why you wouldn’t get attached. You didn’t run to one person for everything you didn’t need more than what you’d ask for and that wasn’t much. If they were lucky you’d be there for 3 days at most.

You lost your voice, his presence set in, bringing you out of your (if you can all it that) relaxed state. He notices you tense up, the look in your eyes begging him to give your body a break. He huffs and saunters into the room, taking a seat at the end of the bed, the side that’s facing you. “You had some time to clear your head, now tell me what was your intention. Playing dumb suits that pretty face of yours… But that’s not why I’m here.”

You sure knew nothing about this guy. Other than his name and how his body looked. How he felt was different, it just happened so fast that you could only remember how it lingered in your belly after he left you the second time. It wasn’t something you can forget, those were the best orgasms of your life. “Sukuna… I’m serious.”

“You expect me to believe that? Did I hit you too hard?” You almost wanted to laugh, you saw stars and colors you couldn’t before his knuckles contacted your skull. Lifting his hand from his side to place under his chin made you flinch, a bit too hard for his liking apparently. It took a lot for you to muster standing up on your own, much less realize you had to get to the table by needing support from the wall. It was like you were in an ice skating rink and had to hold onto the walls for dear life, except there was no ice, it was just pain in your body not letting you level yourself out.

“When you’re ready to talk, I might hear you out. My patience is thin you already know.” He stands and closes your door, sent a shiver down your spine. Him not being close to you, or hurting you, having this quick visit was so unsettling.

It haunted you for hours. He didn’t touch you. The edge of the bed where he sat still held an energy, like he left a part of him right there to keep watch over you.

He definitely hit you too hard, you were thinking more outlandish things to go with this scenario. Like why didn’t the touch you? You thought he was going to keep a pattern, that maybe after this he would come in periodically to taunt you. That maybe his patience has worn out and he was going to get rid of you any minute now, or to use you again.

The trauma you got from this certainly messed with your self soothing methods. Every time you catch yourself hitting your peak of your self imposed orgasms, you were almost wishing you had more than just your fingers. You didn’t want him, but seriously its already been 2 weeks. You were gonna go crazy in here. The girls kept bringing you your meals, and a bathroom is attached, though you couldn’t do much by yourself.

You were to let the others feed and bathe you, and you honestly hated it. It was way too weird, you never talked to them, and they never tried with you so it felt like there was an agreement to just not speak about it. That none of you were here willingly. That gave you some insight. Your body healed itself enough that you didn’t need the wall to walk anymore, making your trips to the table in front of the window more frequent.

You notice some sort of schedule Sukuna follows, as well as a few other noticeable men in this kind of gated community. Whatever he has gong on here, it felt like you were almost a stolen princess locked away in a tower or something. “You have GOT TO get a hold of yourself.” You didn’t need to see a doctor or someone, you were fully aware that these thoughts were just you daydreaming to escape reality, yet again. Though this time it was getting boring, you couldn’t help yourself, literally.

At this point you wanted to even ask one of the guards if they wanted to come in and help you out, but you didn’t have to do that, because a day later you decided to act. Rolling around night time, you decided to open your window a noticeable amount. By then the guards usually leave one guard to patrol the grounds in each quarter.

The ones outside your door either end up sleeping or one leaves the other for a bathroom break, some nights they both go, probably to blow each other you thought. It wasn’t any of your concern, they did it before when you could barely move, but now you were agile again, enough to move around without hissing at each moment.

Placing your ear to the door, you heard light snoring through it. “Okay, just find his room you thought. You knew that it took about 60 steps to reach a stair case, then that would be about 24 steps down. You could hear his footsteps through the pairs of others who followed him, as his echoed with pace, and the others almost scuttled behind them like bugs..

You find your way slipping past heavy wooden doors, making sure it wouldn’t creak, you saw the walkway in the garden. You looked up and saw your room, you knew it was yours as it was the only one with the window open. you knew that the guard just left this fourth of his grounds. You were searching the area for his room. Peering through the windows, it would have been hard to tell if it was him, but his tattoos were honestly unique.

None of them were him, you go back to the walkway, going down the opposite end, just blindly working your way through. You couldn’t just walk through any door, it could be your last mistake, it being Sukuna or not. But it just had to be him, you wanted so badly to find his familiar face and just, you don’t know.

You decide to be more ballsy, there’s surely no way he’s be in the same quarters that has this many people,” you decide to take your chance with the left corridor. “I wouldn’t take him for a cuddly guy anyway.”

Listen, you know it sounds crazy, but if you even got to escape, you’d be hunted like a fox, unnecessarily, and as a spectacle for others to watch. But if you could find him, and do it yourself, “I mean, at least I’d die with something, and what a funny way to go.” You loved to joke about these kinds of things. Anytime it seemed dark, you’d find yourself cracking a joke or going off an other tangents from the barrage of thoughts coming your way.

You hold your breath as you set your fingers around the doorknob, you pull it back slowly, and turn it, to silence any squeaks it may have. After turning it fully, you let it go back and unclenched your fingers to let it go a second time, making sure there was no noise from the metal trap, and decided to go in.

What fucking luck you had as if you broke into another room you’d think your breathing would start to give you away. As you head towards the bed, the raising figure laying there was him. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark, so much so that you could just stand in front of him.

Looking down at him you wondered what you should do. You’re not going to kill him, that’s one thing, though you had nothing to lose, you still liked your life and you enjoyed whatever adventurous you got yourself into. It was always just one thing after the next and you’d rest when needed, but you loved it.

This was totally different though. Before it was like you were born into this work and have to abide by its rules. As of right now you could do /anything/. What else would you do?

You look down at him, kneeling at the edge of the bed to face him. Looking at his face like this, completely defenseless, his harsh eyes weren’t poking at you or telling you exactly what he was thinking. No he was just, he looked human. Like if you were to have met him at any other place it would possibly be on a magazine cover or an army recruitment booth posted wherever.

“Damn bastard is beautiful.” You thought. “I didn’t get this far to stop now. Fucking 2 weeks you keep me here and don’t do anything? Do you know how boring that is? You can’t just keep me here and forget.” All that time alone had gone to your head, did you forget how he treated you the time you met?

Tbh it fades in and out, your memory’s cut up pieces of film that randomly plays an old memory, and since you can’t recognize it, you call it a dream.

Nothing could take you away from where you were now. Looking over him, still not a care in the world. Nothing could wake him if he’d allow it. You cocked your head to align your eyes with his, and reach out and brush your fingertips across his jawline.

How much of this could you enjoy before he kills you for breaking out? Just that thought had you slowly leaning in, your hand before tracing his face was leaning onto the bed to support your intrusion.

First, you kissed his forehead. The poor fuck probably hadn’t felt the touch of a real lover in ages, he just finds and uses whatever and whoever he wants, whenever. Of course you didn’t pity him, but does he even know what being loved properly was like? You’re really one to be asking.

You peck the smooth, hot skin, and kissed a line across his cheek, getting more sensual with the next. His touch, even sleeping was still so manly. His body was so, honestly the words seem odd, but he looked so edible. Like you almost couldn’t keep your lips off of him. He was so yummy when you get a good look at him.

Cupping his face, your lips reach his, beginning to lightly stimulate the connection. You lean in further, applying yourself onto him, guiding open his mouth with yours as you lick his lips. This shit was getting you so excited, considering all that he’s done to you, having this moment, where you’re in control and he was at your mercy, and only you know this.

Continuing to make out with your kidnapper, you moved yourself to get on top of him. His lazy reaction of kissing back had you think he was a deep sleeper, god you really wished.

You opened your eyes just to make sure he was still asleep, but his eyes were staring back at you, with the same look he always has. You didn’t have time to even make a sound before he had you under him. His hand grabbed your waist and turned kept you parallel to him as his leg pushed his body to get on top.

You could feel his erection, he was basically stabbing your thighs with his head. His hands pushed your wrists into opposite sides of your head, and he has you immobilized as he sat on your legs. Most you could move was your toes and neck, but he had pressed his face up against yours.

“I don’t even know where to start with you. If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve already. Maybe I can believe you’re just some random, …but you wouldn’t have come to my room.” He lets a wrist go to reel back and strikes your face as a warning. Seriously, no sane person would just come straight back to him in your situation.

“The guard fell asleep?” Nothing gets by him. You can’t tell if he was just prepared for everything or if he planned this out. The excitement you were feeling before was being clashed with the sudden shock to your face. “Depending how the rest of the night will go will determine his punishment.”

Keeping everything in place, he moves your chin up by his nose, giving him space to start attacking your neck. “We’ll just start with yours.” His grasp tightened around each wrist, so much so that he was pulling on the tendons in your forearms, making your fingers involuntary curl.

Your luck may have run out, but you weren’t as scared. Trying to enjoy the moment as much as possible, knowing fully well that you’re about to be eaten alive, and god, youve been waiting. His teeth grazed your collar bone, making their way back up, making themselves a known threat to your neck.

“Speak.” He orders. “Who sent you?”

“You still think I’m a spy?” The spot where he hit you was pounding, but it didn’t hurt. Other parts of your body were just pulsating along with your heartbeat, you knew he was going to take that as a sign of fear.

“Hurry up, we have a meeting tomorrow so I’m trying to be considerate for everyone else.”

He’s still not listening. You weren’t either at this point, finding his roughing up sort of endearing. Maybe he didn’t want to get blood on his bed, or maybe he did care about that stupid meeting. All you could feel was vigorous pulsating from your wrists, your face, your heart, and more than anything else, your pussy.

This was literally what you came here to do, this was why he even took you with him wasn’t it? Seriously whatever big shot he thinks he is… this shit wasn’t legal; You were serious on going out with a bang, raising your hips to create some friction on his hard on.

Sukuna seemed to notice the look in your eyes and gave you another firm slap. “Focus, doll.” He adjusts his hips a few inches too far down your liking, his hands being the only thing touching you.

“Put it back.” You got this far, now he wants to start questioning you immediately after waking up? He picked you up after meeting and ignored you for two weeks, you’re about to do what most others would. Especially if they’re in the same situation with the same circumstances.

“You’re not the one to be giving orders, much less to me.”

You raise your hips back up to his head, having it dip into you, crossing your clit but unable to enter fully. His tip could find its way in no problem, it was just his call, and that almost drove him over the edge. You’ve stopped fighting back, for something like your freedom and what’s better for you.

What you were after now was just one more orgasm brought by that monstrous mf. He doesn’t drop his guard, or change his face at all as he accepted “your bait/distraction”. In this position, you’re still straight legged, laying in his bed as he has you held down, arms pinned, palms up, and legs trapped as he sat on your thighs.

He could easily kill you now, but it would honestly leave a bad taste as no one’s been killed in his room before, much less even entered without permission. You both didn’t know what to think really.

To you he’s some strange and strong asshole who’s been unclear if you were his sex toy or if you were “invited” and he was just being a terrible host. Honestly, it felt worse to you to have everything you needed; Without your freedom, you were honestly thinking it’d be better to be dead.

To him, you were dangerous. You got it all right. From the room, to the person to bump into, to the alley. You could have been a spy laying low, from whichever gang he thought you were from, he thought it would be good to hold you off to send a message to see who would come collect you first. They wouldn’t send someone if they didn’t have something to say.

At first he did just want to keep you until one of them sent them back another message. It didn’t matter what happened to you, honestly he got bored. He’s a busy man, there was really nothing else to say.

So imagine his surprise how you came crawling all over him tonight. He knew an assassin would’ve done it before he even knew the door opened, they were to make sure it was quick. The attack would have had to been fatal, whether they succeed in one shot or have them die as they’re leaving. And how quick they leave is how desperately they want to live.

You, just came in to stare at him and decided you wanted something else. And it didn’t seem like revenge. That was a first, especially for him. Right now he was allowing it, letting you go. There was no way you could harm him, he concluded.

Looking down at you squirm and pout, upset on how close you were to getting what you’ve been aching from and for. He won’t drop his guard, but he sure as hell was silver platter served. Really how badly did you want it?

He connects your wrists at the top of your head with one hand, the other has its index finger and thumb at the base, controlling himself with those two fingers. He raises his erection and knocked it against your clit, the strikes sent waves of pleasure from your core to the top of your head and palm of your feet, having you whimper out.

Your aching hole needed him, it was taking him so long. Seriously you wish he’d kill you now because this so actually torture. The only thing you could do was start to cry, tears leaving their corners and running into your hair. You were more than frustrated. Angry, horny, needy, powerless, you wanted it so bad you were losing control, it didn’t matter, no one else could judge you, and who would be worse than Sukuna?

“You came in here, climb all over me, just to cry now? You’re so pathetic.”

“Please,” You whine. “I want you to put it in.”

His face changed, from laughing at you beg, to sharpening his focus. Even after all this, getting caught, threatened, insulted, you’ve started to beg for it. He takes his legs up from pinning yours, putting them to your sides as he aligns himself to your front hole. “Say it again.”

“Please Sukuna, put it in-“ He lowers his hips and dives deep into you. He watches as your head writhes. Instantly youre spread apart, the sudden plunge casted a warm blush across your face and electricity towards the tips of your fingers. “Oooh,”

“Fuuuuuck.” He finished for you. He continues to grind deeply into you, quickly using his now free hand to gag you from waking everyone up. Good thing too as you were messy, fucked silly couldn’t cover it. You gave up control a long time ago. He wouldn’t kill you, not right now anyway, you especially wouldn’t let him without trying to get one last nut. It was diabolical how down bad he had you. It was more of your unhealed trauma and he just happened to be the best person to help you out, willing or not.

——————————————————————————

You lay there as the base of your back ached. Every part of your body was bruised again, you could only imagine to move again as you tried catching your breath. You had lost count on just how many times he’s forced an orgasm out of you, mind numbingly rich euphoria every time. Nothing else mattered, you were more than thrilled the first 2 times but started to wonder if he ever got tired.

It wasn’t until after your fifth orgasm that he managed to get his first one in. You were honestly almost regretting climbing into his room but his second had him pinning you on your back as he lay on your lower torso and legs. You couldn’t feel anything but your pulsating cervix, half feeling good from the pain and lingering pleasure, the other half making you know that this was a mistake and the nausea was on you.

Raising your free arm, you weakly start to pat his head. It was over, you insatiable perverted needs were fulfilled, so what were you going to do now? It’s not like you’re in love with the guy, you don’t even know if you’ll get to wake up tomorrow with this stunt. “It was worth it.” You thought. Running your fingers thorough his hair, and tracing his back, you fall asleep holding him, accepting that this is it.

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judasofsuburbia · 7 months

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could be something as simple as this || argyle week day two: favorite tropes

rating: teen and up || pairing: argyle/jonathan || word count: 1951 || read on ao3 here

day two of @argyledaily 's argyle week: favorite tropes (friends to lovers)

“That’s gonna be us one day,” Argyle whispers in Jonathan’s ear.

Jonathan chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“That,” Argyle gestures to Hopper and Joyce holding hands as they read their vows.

Jonathan stares at him with a look so incredulous while a smile tugs at the edge of his lips.

“It’s not legal,” Jonathan points out, still keeping his voice down enough to not disturb the ceremony.

Argyle glances his way and smirks, “Sorry, are we law-abiding citizens now?”

“We’re not dating,” Jonathan counters with a whisper.

“I like how that was your second thought,” Argyle responds, his smirk growing wider.

“I‒” Jonathan stutters and shakes his head. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not,” Argyle says simply.

“What makes you think we’re getting married?” Jonathan asks. Not in a cruel or mean way, based on the blush lighting up his whole face.

Argyle shrugs, “I just know.”

Jonathan watches him with that same questioning look for the rest of the ceremony and into the reception but doesn’t refuse when Argyle offers his hand for a dance. Jonathan thinks for a moment that they’ll do some kind of exaggerated, stupid dance to offset all the couples on the floor but instead, Argyle pulls him in close, clasps their hands together, and holds his lower back firm and steady. Slowly twirls him around the floor in smooth movements. Jonathan laughs for a little while but soon, he’s in deep. Allowing himself to be held and maybe romanced for the first time in a long time.

It’s not like anyone’s staring at them, they’re around all their closest friends and family.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” Jonathan asks, a little breathless.

“My parents,” Argyle says. “They loved dancing around the living room when they would come home from date nights. My sister and I would watch from the banister when we were supposed to be in bed.”

“Did you ever get caught?”

Argyle smiles fondly, “Almost every time but it was worth it.”

The song cascades into another slow song and Argyle hasn’t let go so Jonathan won’t either. It’s really nice if he’s being honest.

“You’re good on your feet.”

“I know, dude,” Argyle says with a righteous huff. “It’s what will make me a good husband… amongst other things.”

Jonathan ducks his head and laughs but doesn’t quip back. He knows he hasn’t had enough champagne to make everything feel so floaty around him. He chalks it up to it being a long day of celebrating but the fluttering of his stomach when Argyle tightens his hold on his back would beg to differ.

The next wedding they attend is for one of Argyle’s uncles. Jonathan is a little surprised to be asked to tag along as his plus one but he doesn’t protest. He loves Argyle’s family and they love him.

Again during the ceremony, Argyle whispers, “That’s going to be us one day.”

They hadn’t brought up Joyce and Hopper’s wedding since it happened: The way they danced that entire reception, Argyle's simple declaration, nothing. Everything felt as it had been.

Although, they had become roommates in the interim. They shared meals. They shared a bathroom. They shared laughter and heartache. They shared blunts on a couch that was picked up from the side of the road. They shared their independence from adolescence.

But they were still just best friends.

Jonathan peeks around to make sure no one’s paying attention to them.

“You don’t think we’ll find anyone else?” Jonathan whispers.

Argyle tilts his head from side to side. “I don’t really want to. Do you?”

Jonathan blinks at him, opens his mouth a few times to say something, but ultimately doesn’t. They return their attention to the ceremony.

They don’t slow dance together at this reception and Jonathan tries to swallow his disappointment with a few fingers of bourbon. Not that he doesn’t have a good time letting loose with Argyle’s family and celebrating but there’s this tug in his chest the entire night. He's not sure where it came from.

He wonders if Argyle feels it too.

They’re in the elevator on the way back to their shared hotel room when Jonathan blurts out, “You think we’re getting married?”

Argyle gives him a lazy grin. “ I do , man.”

They both start giggling at the double entendre and the elevator door opens to their floor. They stumble sleepily to the door and get inside. Argyle starts to get ready for bed until Jonathan tugs on his arm.

Argyle raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

“You’re gonna marry me someday but you’ve never kissed me.” Jonathan meant this more as a question than a statement but he does his best to stand tall and not back away from his feelings. Whatever his feelings might be right now, he's not entirely sure.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Argyle mumbles.

Jonathan hasn’t really thought this far but finds himself nodding before he can think otherwise.

Argyle takes a step closer, shaking Jonathan’s grip on his arm to hold his hand instead.

Jonathan intertwines their fingers, inhales and all he smells is Argyle, Argyle, Argyle .

“Are you going to remember me kissing you?” Argyle whispers, his breath hitting Jonathan’s face.

Jonathan checks in with himself. He’s not as crossfaded as he is just exhausted from the day. He can’t think of how he wouldn’t remember something like this.

Jonathan nods.

Argyle kisses him so tenderly and sweet that it makes his heart burst behind his ribs. Still, Jonathan kisses back and soon they’re up against the door. Jonathan’s free hand reaches up to hold the side of Argyle’s throat while Argyle’s free hand holds Jonathan’s waist.

Argyle finds he likes the way their slight stubbles rub against each other. He likes the way Jonathan smiles into kisses like he’s just happy to be included. He likes the way Jonathan presses up against him like he can’t wait to get closer.

They eventually stop kissing a little after subtle tongue and teeth have been involved. Argyle kisses either cheek and steps back. He observes the hazy look in Jonathan's eyes when they open, huffs an amused sound through his nose and walks off to the bathroom.

“Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?” Argyle calls out.

Jonathan is frozen against the door, holding a shaky hand to his lips. “Uh,” Jonathan calls out. “Good.”

“Glad to hear it,” Argyle says with his head popped out the door. He closes the door and Jonathan hears the shower running.

Jonathan slowly changes into his pajamas, still shaky and mushy from that damn good kiss. He eyes the bed he was supposed to sleep in with disdain and decides that he’s going to crawl under Argyle’s sheets instead.

Jonathan’s out like a light within minutes. Argyle exits the bathroom in just some boxers and crawls in beside him. He kisses the top of Jonathan’s head and wraps his arms around him. Jonathan snuggles into his warm, freshly cleaned body, tucking his head into his neck.

Jonathan does remember the kiss the next day and wants more. Argyle is happy to give them to him.

A few years later, Max and Lucas are getting married. Argyle and Jonathan have been dating since the last wedding so Jonathan’s not caught as off-guard when, like clockwork, Argyle leans in to whisper, “That’s gonna be us one day.”

Jonathan squeezes the hand that’s resting on his shoulder, tangling their fingers together.

“Do you want a big ceremony like this?” Jonathan asks.

“Hmm,” Argyle hums. “Maybe something more lowkey.”

“Courthouse?”

Argyle’s face scrunches up. “I don’t like government buildings.”

“Church?”

“Do you believe in God?” Argyle asks with a disbelieving look.

Jonathan chuckles under his breath. “Sure don’t.”

“We’ll find somewhere just for us,” Argyle promises.

Jonathan smiles and kisses the square of his jaw. “We will.”

At this wedding, Jonathan and Argyle can dance the entire time. They can dip and kiss and be wrapped up in each other’s arms. Argyle even lets Jonathan lead a few of their dances, though he’s garbage at it. They can allow themselves to feel the gushy romantic feelings when people give their speeches and when they see the way Lucas and Max look at each other.

Towards the end of the night while people are calling cabs and giving long, midwestern goodbyes, Argyle and Jonathan are seated at their table, messing with the ice in their empty drinks. Argyle holds out his hand and Jonathan places his hand in his.

“I don’t think I can do another dance,” Jonathan says with a yawn. “Plus I think the DJ is packing up for the night.”

Argyle quietly turns Jonathan’s hand so his ring finger is out. Argyle ties the paper from his straw around the finger in a little knot and kisses it gently. Jonathan’s breath is taken away.

“A placeholder,” Argyle explains with a soft smile.

“If you say so.”

“I’ve been saying so,” Argyle teases.

Jonathan picks up his straw wrapper and does the same to Argyle’s ring finger. Kisses it gently and everything. Whispers, “Then I’m saying so too.”

The promise is made at every wedding for the next few years. The whispered dialogue during the ceremony, the paper rings, the closeness during slow dances. Sealing it and sealing it over and over.

It’s not a Surfer Boy Pizza van anymore, but rather the lookalike van Argyle bought himself after he quit working there. The hunk of junk that holds his entire heart. Jonathan and him drive it all over the country, fluff it up with pillows and a camping mattress, and sleep under the stars. They’re currently in Mexico on a beach, watching the sun start to set behind the miles of the bluest ocean water you’ve ever seen. Jonathan is busy unwrapping their food from the restaurant down the street when Argyle clears his throat.

Jonathan looks up and sees Argyle holding a ring box. He lamely sets the cardboard tins of food behind him and gives Argyle his full attention.

“Jonathan Byers,” Argyle starts, “The most radical dude in the entire universe. Will you do me the honors of being my husband?”

Argyle opens the ring box and it’s stunning.

“When did you‒?” Jonathan asks.

“While you got dinner. Found this adorable little jewelry vendor when we were walking around yesterday and told her to hold onto this for me. I got myself one too but…” Argyle looks at him pointedly, his dark eyes vulnerable and pleading for an answer.

“Yes, dude, yes, of course,” Jonathan laughs, leaning in to kiss him sweetly.

Argyle slides the ring onto his finger and kisses the knuckle. Jonathan slides the other ring onto Argyle’s finger and another laugh bubbles out of him.

“All those years ago, at Joyce and Hopper’s wedding, how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That we were gonna get married.”

“I didn’t,” Argyle admits. “I just wanted it to happen.”

“But you were so confident,” Jonathan admires. “So sure I’d say yes.”

“I was never sure of that,” Argyle explains. “I just thought if I said it enough, maybe one day, you’d feel the same way. I never really expected you to. I was just a hopeful man.”

“I mean, you threw me for a loop but then, you did start to make some sense. I was starting to think maybe I didn’t want anyone else. Then you kissed me and it was all over,” Jonathan admits bashfully, leaning his head on Argyle’s shoulder.

“So my plan worked,” Argyle states with a confident smile.

“It did, you relentless bastard,” Jonathan sighs as Argyle hugs him close and peppers his face with wet, smacking, ridiculous kisses.

#emily writes #argyle #jargyle #jonathan byers #stranger things #jargyle ficlets #jargyle fics #stranger things fics #stranger things ficlets #argyledaily #argyle fics

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agustdakasuga · 10 months

Text

The Way Of A Criminal: Chapter 9

Genre: Mafia!AU, Criminal!AU, Angst, Romance

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Your father was a stranger, you never knew who he was and what he did. But one day, someone knocks on your door, informing you of his passing. Now, you learn more about him, his life and the legacy you are expected to continue with the help of his 7 executives.

Story warning(s): This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed/gore, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking and gambling. This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. Please read at your own discretion.

“I shouldn’t turn up early when you guys are not ready, right?” You asked with a giggle as you walked beside Wonwoo.

“Don’t worry, if we’re not ready at this point, I don’t think we’ll ever be ready. Besides, I want to introduce you to my team.” Wonwoo smiled. You nodded with a hum. As you stood outside the studio, you heard music and chatter coming from the inside.

“Hey guys. I’m here.” Wonwoo knocked before entering. He held the door open for you to go in. There were so many people in Wonwoo’s team, 13 of them in total.

“Everyone, this is my best friend, (y/n). (y/n), this is my team.” Wonwoo smiled brightly as he introduced you, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“Nice to meet you all.” You bowed shyly.

“Any friend of Wonwoo’s is a friend of ours. Please, make yourself comfortable.” The boys all introduced themselves to you. It was a lot of names to take in at once but they were patient and kind.

“Better start warming up, Wonwoo.” One of them reminded. You waved Wonwoo off and took a seat at the corner.

“Jihoon hyung, is this the new track?” Chan held up a CD.

“It should be.” The shorter male nodded his head. You tilted your head as you looked at him. His complexion and features reminded you of Yoongi, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were related in some way.

“Yes?” Jihoon turned to you, having noticed you staring at him. Your eyes widened before you shook your head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. You just look like someone I know.” You explained. He chuckled and nodded his head, turning back to talk to another team member. You watched as Wonwoo warmed up, completely focused on what Mingyu was saying to him. At least you weren’t distracting him with your presence there.

This wasn’t an ordinary evaluation. Wonwoo had described it has having to plan a concert on their own, which not only tested their talents but also their stage management skills and teamwork ability.

“Which ever team is ready can warm up first.” Seungcheol announced to the others.

“Is there something I can help with? I can like play the music or something.” You volunteered, seeing the boys run back and forth to the music system.

“No need. You’re our audience!” Joshua smiled.

“I know how busy you guys are warming up and rehearsing. I don’t mind helping, I can still be the audience from where I am seated anyway. This way, you guys don’t have to take turns.” You giggled.

“Okay then. Thank you!” He patted your shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.” You replied in English, guessing he could speak the language since he had an English name. Joshua’s eyes widened.

“You speak English?” He asked. You nodded your head, rubbing the back of your neck shyly.

“That’s cool. You speak well!” Joshua laughed. He explained that only him and Vernon could speak English in the team. And you told him how your mother wanted you to be a polyglot, thinking that it would help you in your future career.

Wonwoo watched you laugh and chat with Joshua in English. He hadn’t seen you open up so easily to a stranger you have just met before and it made him feel weird.

“(y/n).” Wonwoo called. His team was done warming up and were going to run their rehearsal first.

“I better get to my job.” You turned back to go to the music system.

“Of course. So this is play and pause, this is to go back to the start and this is to skip to the next song. Easy.” Joshua told you how to work the system and it was relatively simple. You nodded your head and sat down.

“Go.” Wonwoo gave you a thumbs up and you played the music. You watched Wonwoo and his team rap. They were all very charismatic and powerful with their raps.

“Pause. Sorry, I missed the beat. Can we start again?” Vernon said. You stopped the music and scrolled back to the start to play again.

“Thanks, (y/n).” Vernon said into the mic. You gave him two thumbs up and a smile. While they rehearsed diligently, the others made sure to keep their voices down to avoid distracting those that were practicing. You took your phone out to order some drinks from the school cafe to be delivered to the studio for Wonwoo and his friends.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Oh. Hang on.” You stood up and went to the door. Wonwoo momentarily looked away, eyes following your figure. Were you already leaving before the performance even started?

“Sorry about that.” You jogged back and stopped the music as the next song was going to play.

“I’m not sure what everyone likes so I bought iced americanos for everyone. Please help yourselves.” You told everyone with a bow as you carried in the coffee carriers. Wonwoo went over to help you take them.

“No worries!”

“You didn’t need to but thank you, (y/n)!” The boys all chorused as they handed out the coffees to one another.

“This is yours. Your regular order.” You took a specific cup out and handed it to Wonwoo. Of course you would know what his regular order was. He received the cup, taking a sip.

“Thank you, (y/n).” Wonwoo smiled softly, patting your head.

After that little coffee break, you helped the others run their unit routines. You made sure to clap for each of them. They were all so talented in their own way. Wonwoo sat beside you as he took his break, waiting for them to finish so they could all do the main performance together.

“Do you want to take a break?” Wonwoo asked, nudging your shoulder playfully. You shook your head.

“I’m good. It’s just pushing a button.” You laughed. Wonwoo was soon called and all 13 of them prepared to do their performance as a team. You were in awe, it was so mesmerising to see them all come together.

“Let’s do it sharper and cleaner.” Soonyoung said as they all panted at the end.

“Okay. Take a sip of water and we’ll run it one last time.” Seungcheol said to everyone. You scrolled the song back for them to rehearse again.

“Thank you for your help, (y/n). See you!” The boys all waved to you as you parted ways with them. They were going backstage while you were heading to where the audience sits.

“Good luck.” You wished them.

“You’ve been a great help. Thanks again.” Wonwoo smiled, placing a hand on your head as he looked at you.

“No need to thank, Wonwoo. Your friends are all really nice. All the best for your performances, I know you can do it. Don’t doubt yourself and your talent.” You encouraged him. Wonwoo laughed, nodding his head.

“I’ll see you in the audience?” He tilted his head. You gave him a thumbs up and walked away from him. Wonwoo had saved you a seat in the front row of the small auditorium. Down the row, you could see the professors and instructors there, ready to grade and evaluate all 13 boys. You hoped they could see how hard all of them worked on this.

“Alright, everyone. I’m sure you know that these performances will be evaluated so let’s not draw attention away from the performers.” One of the professors spoke to the audience.

“Begin!” One said into the mic and the lights dimmed.

“Go, Wonwoo!” You cheered along with the rest of the audience that was there, awaiting the boys to come out.

The performance began, it wasn’t a long show. There were two entire group performances, unit performances and some members played extra instruments. Like Wonwoo playing the guitar while Jihoon played the piano.

“Thank you all for making it tonight. We’re really grateful and hope you enjoyed the performance.” The 13 of them stood in a line and bowed.

“Thank you!” The boys all waved. Wonwoo looked down and saw your retreating back heading for the auditorium exit. He ran backstage to get his bag to try and catch you.

“(y/n)!” He was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner together to celebrate a successful performance. But you didn’t seem to hear him as you walked to the exit of the university. He jogged after you, smiling to those that congratulated him on a good show.

“Wow, look at him!”

“Who is he?”

Wonwoo saw you rush towards a buff guy, leaning against his Lamborghini. His sleeves were folded up, revealing the tattoo sleeve he had on one arm.

“Sorry for the wait.” You bowed your head as you approached. The guy shook his head, opening the door for you to enter the passenger seat. After that, he went to the driver’s seat and sped off, leaving the students to gossip.

“The show just ended. Did you wait long...? Uh...” You didn’t know his name.

“Jungkook. And no, I didn’t wait long. It’s alright, I was earlier than the time Taehyung hyung told me to come anyway.” He spoke without much emotion.

‘Sorry I had to rush off for a dinner appointment, Woo! But congratulations on having a great performance, you were amazing! Let’s have a meal soon to celebrate! On me. - (y/n)’

*read*

You assumed that Wonwoo was probably busy, which is why he didn’t reply despite having read your message. The show was good and you had no doubt that Wonwoo would receive a good grade. But at the same time, you could be biased. You tucked your phone away, looking out at the view as Jungkook sped through the streets and cars.

“We’re here.” Jungkook said as he parked the car in the basement. You came out, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Thanks for coming to get me.” You bowed your head. He hummed, walking in front of you. You followed him into the house, vaguely remembering the way to the guest bedroom you used.

“Agashi, the bathroom has been restocked for your use.” The butler informed.

“Thank you. I’m glad I still remember how to get there. This place is like a maze.” You chuckled. The butler nodded with a laugh.

“I’ll leave you to it then. If you need anything, just let us know.” He bowed deeply before exiting the room. You took out the outfit you planned and hung it up, not wanting it to crease any further.

“I’ve got an hour to get ready.” You checked your phone before hopping into the bathroom.

“Calm down.” You told yourself with your hand over your racing heart, knowing that your time was running out. After a nice shower, you played some music as you dried your hair, trying to style it with the hairdryer that was in the bathroom, and did some light makeup.

The outfit you chose was a black turtle neck with a plaid skirt and a dark brown blazer draped over your shoulders. For shoes, you went with black suede chelsea boots that had a small heel.

“You’re here.” As you were exiting the room, you bumped into Yoongi. He nodded, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“Yes.” You bowed your head.

“Come on. We can wait for the others in the living room.” He nodded his head over to the stairwell. You slung your bag over your shoulder and followed him down to the living room area.

“Want a drink?” Yoongi offered, going to the bar area as you settled on the couch. You watched him pour some whiskey into a crystal glass.

“No, thanks.” You declined. He sat in the arm chair, quietly sipping his drink. You couldn’t help but think back to Jihoon earlier and how he looked so much like Yoongi.

“Something on my face?” Yoongi teased.

“Do you ever think you have a long lost brother out there?” You blurted out. Yoongi blinked, taken aback by your sudden question.

“Well, I never thought about that considering I can barely remember what my parents look like. That is really a question to think about. Do you think you have any long lost siblings out there?” Yoongi asked back. He obviously thought your question was more rhetorical and reflective rather than a direct one that had ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to answer.

“Sorry. I just... I just met someone that looked like you, that’s all. So I just blurted it out.” You rubbed the back of your neck in embarrassment. Yoongi burst out laughing.

“You’re peculiar.” He snorted.

“I didn’t mean it as a joke.” You face palmed. One by one, the other 6 streamed into the living room. They were all very handsome and well dressed.

“You look great.” Taehyung smiled, as if he heard your internal worry of being underdressed compared to them.

“Thank you. All of you too.” You used your hand to gesture to all of them. Namjoon stood next to you, holding his arm out to you. You blinked for a few minutes before you registered what his intentions were.

“Thank you.” You said meekly with a bow of your head as he walked you to the front. There were 3 big vans waiting with drivers.

“Uh...” You weren’t sure which van to go in as the boys naturally split into their usual seating arrangement. Seeing that Jimin and Jungkook went into the last van, you decided to go to one of the ones in front. You had a feeling the two didn’t like you very much.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Yoongi tilted his head.

“Yah, Yoongi ah. Don’t speak like that. Come, (y/n), ride with us.” Jin smiled as he held his hand out to you.

“O-Okay.” You slipped your hand into his and stepped into the van. Yoongi wasn’t going to move to the back so you just squeezed between their two single seats to the third row.

“Are you nervous?” Jin suddenly turned around to face you.

“N-No?”

“Is that a question?” Yoongi voiced out, not looking up from his phone screen. At this point, you knew his was teasing and flattened.

“Stop being a bully. She’s already a wreck.” Jin slapped his arm. Being the oldest meant that Jin could do anything to Yoongi and Yoongi would think twice before retaliating.

“If you’re worried about Jimin, don’t worry about him. At most, you guys can just avoid one another for now and wait for another time to talk things out. Plus, the rest of us are there, he won’t do much.” Jin assured with a kind smile.

“But he’s right though. Everything he’s said, I agree with. It’s a hard pill to swallow but the truth, nonetheless.” You forced a smile.

“Doesn’t mean it’s the truth means he gets an excuse for acting the way he is now and the way he did before. A lot of people can tell the truth without the screaming, yelling and guilt tripping.” Yoongi spoke and Jin actually nodded his head in agreement. You chewed on your bottom lip as you fell back onto the seat to look out the window.

“Sir.” The van came to a stop and someone opened the van door. It was one of the doormen of the place you were going to for dinner. Jin and Yoongi came down. They held their hands out to you to help you down.

“My apologies for not noticing you, ma’am.” The doorman bowed deeply.

“It’s alright. Thank you.” You turned to Yoongi and Jin, pulling your hands away from theirs.

“I thought you said it wasn’t going to be a fancy place?” You asked Taehyung who came to walk beside you. The building sure looked fancy.

“It isn’t. Serious.” Taehyung held his hands up.

“It sure does look fancy...” You mumbled. You followed them in quietly, kind of walking between them so you wouldn’t feel like all the attention was on you. The 7 seemed used to it as people stared and whispered about them.

“Mr Kim. Right this way.” The hostess smiled and bowed to Namjoon. She was posh and pretty, even her posture as she walked was something admirable in those high heels.

“Please let us know if you need anything.” She said as she closed the doors to the private room, sealing you all in, away from the rest of the restaurant patrons. Hoseok handed you a menu and you flipped through it. Some of the items, you recognised because of the research you did prior.

“Are you alright, (y/n)?” Namjoon asked.

“Huh? Yes, I am.” You nodded. You were so focused on the menu that you hadn’t noticed the serious look on your face.

“We usually come for their dinner menu. The chef decides what to recommend, Dégustation in other words.” Jin helped you, flipping the menu to the back to show you.

“Okay. I’ll have that.” You decided. Most of the courses were fixed but for the appetiser, meat and the dessert, there were options to choose from.

“Do you have any food allergies?” Taehyung asked. You shook your head.

When the manager was called in, you listened and watched the 7 of them place their orders, all of them having their own combination of food based on their own preferences. Then it came to you.

“For the appetiser, I’ll have the dashi-poached crabmeat angel hair pasta. And for my meat, the 20-day dry aged hanwoo sirloin.” You ordered, learning from the boys’ order that dessert was ordered later after the rest of the meal.

“Of course, miss.” The manager bowed. Yoongi and Namjoon decided on a bottle of wine to order and share.

“You know your food.” Hoseok noted, impressed with you knowing what to order.

“No... I was really just guessing based on what sounded and looked good. I hope I ordered the right things” You lied, not wanting to reveal that you research common expensive foods prior to this.

“You chose good options.” Yoongi replied, assuring you. You let out a small sigh of relief. There wasn’t much conversation going on at the table as you waited for your food. They talked in smaller groups, like Jimin and Jungkook, who were seated opposite each other at the end of the table. You were at the other end, opposite Namjoon with Jin on your left.

“Did you pick a major yet?” Yoongi asked.

“No... I haven’t really thought about it actually. Every time I try to narrow down my options, it just ends up being more confusing for me.” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“Your father mentioned that you’re a polyglot. Why don’t you go into linguistics?” Namjoon pointed out.

“That is probably one of my top options. But I was wondering what I can do with a linguistics degree... Career wise.” You sighed.

“The demands of the industry is always changing. And in my opinion, a linguistics degree is less narrowed than a specific science degree, for example.” He shrugged. You nodded your head, he did make sense.

“And in our company, we do deal with foreign partners so having someone like you on hand would be useful.” Hoseok added on. Maybe now, there was a purpose for you to pick a major.

“But of course, that shouldn’t be your reason to pick the major.” Taehyung said, as if he knew what you were thinking.

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi

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mangoisms · 9 months

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter eleven: i am always running back to you | read chapter ten

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.7k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: SO SORRY.... it was the horrors (midterms). hope this chapter makes up for it because boy it is a lot of fun

The rest of the evening passes slowly.

It does nothing for your nerves, truthfully, but you keep yourself preoccupied with Wade. He crawls now and that leaves him wanting to explore every space possible. So, while Wally runs out for dinner and Linda wraps up a meeting with her editor, you watch over him and make sure he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t.

Dinner is deep-dish pizza—directly from Chicago. It’s all very indulgent, the way Wally can do things like that; he spoils you in that regard and you tell him as much as you wash dishes and he puts them away.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” he says, shooting you a small smile. “Besides, it’s for me, too.”

And you can tell that’s true by the four empty boxes of pizza that he ate, with two for you and Linda.

But still. When he leaves…

It’s not just that that you’re going to miss. With or without the speed, you’re going to miss him. Him, Linda, and little Wade.

Despite not saying that—because you don’t want to be a downer, because their home is in Keystone City, not here, and you don’t want to be selfish like that—he senses the shift in your mood.

“You know,” he starts, “me and Lin were thinking…”

“That’s never good.”

He nudges you gently, grinning. You shake your head, smiling, too. You pass him a freshly-washed plate and he dries it.

“Well, wait until you hear what we were thinking about.”

“What?”

“We think you should visit us every now and then.”

The thought that they want you around is warming, as usual. But…

“I mean, I would love to, Wally, but I can’t really afford that… Maybe, after I see how everything adds up during the fall, I can come for the holidays or something. But…”

He shakes his head. “Come on, kiddo. You think we’d say that and leave it up to you?”

“I don’t expect—”

“I know. But you should. We want to do whatever we can to see you. You aren’t the only one that’s going to miss something when we leave, you know. That’s why we’re doing this. Besides,” he grins at you, lightening up. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I can get you to Keystone in under a minute right now.”

Considering that Linda has told you that his speed is efficient but leaves one with a horrible bout of nausea and vertigo—at least in the beginning; she’s barely affected these days—you feel some mild apprehension.

But those things are temporary. You can withstand that, if only to see them again.

“Or,” he goes on, “we can fly you out, but that would honestly be pretty cumbersome and would also take too long.”

“It’s a plane, Wally. That is the fastest form of transportation we have in this country.”

He sniffs. “I’m the fastest form of transportation we have in this country. In the world! One of them, anyway.”

“Well, that’s how we normal human beings function. Not everyone can run faster than the speed of light.”

“Not everyone should,” he agrees. “I’d lose my appeal. That would suck.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So, is that a yes or—?”

“Alright,” you relent, smiling. “How often are we talking?”

He smiles a tad bashfully. “Once or twice a month? You can come on the weekends… Just—you know. I know you’re gonna be busy with classes but…”

“It sounds like I should be getting a nice break every month if we do that. I mean, I can’t promise I won’t have work—”

“Just as long as you’re around, kid. That’s all we want.”

Your face warms at the earnestness in his words, embarrassed, though you know you really shouldn’t be. “Wally.”

“Hey, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been in this game too long to try and dance around feelings. Hopefully your boy will learn that, too.”

“You aren’t wrong,” you mutter, shutting off the water and drying your hands, making a mental reminder to put on some lotion before they get annoyingly dry from the hot water and dish soap. “I’m just not… used to that.”

He shrugs, tossing his dish towel over his shoulder. “Like I said. In a world like ours… it’s important.”

You don’t disagree. But you can’t rail too hard on Tim. Questionable decisions regarding his feelings aside, the both of you only came to your senses after he had a close-call today. What does that say about you, that he has to nearly die for you to realize you need to see him again? Need to clear the air?

It’s human, you think. So very terribly human of you.

It’s not like you’re unappreciative of him in your life but… you know this dance and song. You only realize what you have when you lose it. Look at your parents. You’ve slipped right now but you’ll fix it. You’ll make sure he knows how much he means to you.

But more importantly, right now…

“You guys… mean a lot to me, too.” You turn, seeing Linda pause near the island, and meet her brown eyes and even though it makes your face hot and the words get stuck in your throat, you force them out, underpinned with what you hope they can tell is sincerity. “You do. So much.”

Your throat tightens and you duck your head as your eyes burn.

Hard to quantify. Hard to put a label on what they mean to you.

But you know that much. That they mean the world to you.

Warm, strong arms come around you, squeezing you tight. You sniffle when you feel Linda come up behind you, squeezing you, too.

It’s an emotional day, you decide. For all of you.

So, you take a long shower to try and pull yourself together, then head to bed, bidding Wally and Linda goodnight.

You don’t intend to fall asleep when you crawl into your bed. It’s better to stay up, to wait for Tim to get here. But the day’s events start weighing down on you as you curl up beneath the blankets.

You try valiantly to stay awake by scrolling on your phone but it’s a Sisyphean task to do so. As your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, you know it will be a task that you fail as you stop fighting and give in to sleep.

It’s only the vibration of your phone that rouses you.

Groping for it, the display is obscenely bright in the darkness of your room. But the text waiting for you is unmistakable, impossible to miss.

i’m here

Suddenly recalling what you and Tim had agreed upon, you shoot up in bed, ignoring the head rush the action gives you.

The window that leads out to the fire escape is right next to your bed, covered by curtains. You toss your phone aside, rolling out of the warm cocoon of blankets; the AC in this place works well, a little too well, you think groggily as your bare feet connect with cold wood floors.

You shove aside the curtains and though you know who is waiting for you, that it is Tim, just Tim, your best friend, the still-not-fully-awake part of you clenches up in fear, thinking it might be Batman that is moving in the shadows, only barely illuminated by the full moon. But you know better than that.

It helps that your eyes are already adjusted to the darkness, recognizing the figure crouched in your fire escape. Dressed in… oddly enough, sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a light jacket. Completed with a plain black domino mask—not the usual one he wears, more akin to Robin, save for the color—that obscures the blue eyes you know and love.

You reach for the window. Well-oiled and taken care of by the owners, it is virtually silent as it slides open.

Muggy July heat rushes in, chasing away the cold.

Without the window and with your vision quickly clearing from bleariness, you can really take him in. The tension in his body, the way a breeze ruffles through dark hair, the twitch of his hands to you before they clench into fists. Waiting.

For you.

Your throat thickens painfully when your eyes snag on the white gauze taped to the left side of his neck.

Just a graze, Steph told you. But he lost a bit of blood anyway and his neck… if it had been the right side, would he not be here right now? Maybe it doesn’t matter. It’s his neck, there are so many important arteries running through there.

If anything else had happened, if he’d moved even a little bit, he wouldn’t be here.

That realization, coupled with the overwhelming emotions at seeing him again since everything, pushes you over the edge.

Your eyes burn with tears. You reach forward, ignoring the soreness in your belly, one hand grabbing his wrist and tugging him right into the circle of your arms.

That breaks the stalemate. He goes quickly, arms sliding around you as the first of your tears start sliding down your cheeks.

“Tim…”

He holds you tighter, impossibly warm, letting out a shuddery breath and whispering your name, too, everything inside you shivering at the sound, at the warmth that wraps up the syllables of your name.

“I’m okay,” he breathes. “I’m okay, I swear.”

“You were shot.”

An exhale of a laugh. It sounds shaky with emotion.

“Technically, I was grazed.”

“Tim.”

He presses his nose to your hair, hand stroking up your back.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, lips brushing your forehead. “I wasn’t going to die before I got to see you. No way.”

You sniffle. The two of you are quiet, speaking lowly, but you’re suddenly too aware of the other window on the fire escape, the one for Linda and Wally’s room. You don’t want to wake them—or god forbid, Wade—so you reluctantly extract yourself from his arms, tugging him again.

He follows easily, sliding through the window with a grace you aren’t used to. He shuts the window silently behind him, banishing the muggy air that had leaked inside. You wipe away your tears, attempting to piece yourself together.

As he turns back to you, hesitantly now, the air conditioner clicks on, and a second later, cold air starts blowing into your room. It should help cover your voices a little bit.

For a moment, it is silent.

Tim shifts on his feet across from you. The domino mask renders him impervious. Impossible to read without seeing his eyes.

But not totally impossible. The way he bites his lip doesn’t just draw your attention to his mouth, tempting, traitorous thoughts briefly crossing your mind, but it also clues you into his nervous state.

“I’m sorry.”

He speaks first, blurting the words out, seeming almost surprised at the way they escaped him before he decides to go with it, doubling down on it.

Taking a deep breath, he looks at you, whispering your name. “I’m sorry. For lying to you. For coming to you as Red Robin instead of myself. For everything. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know.”

You were in that position, too. You didn’t fuck it up this badly but… you each had your parts to play. No one is blameless here.

“I just,” he stops, looking away, hands clenching at his sides. “I want to be friends. If anything else. I want that.”

If anything else.

You understand what he is saying here.

He isn’t here under any pretenses. Isn’t expecting you to take him in with open arms. Would be fine as friends.

Well, you don’t want that.

“Tim.”

He looks at you. You extend a hand. Waiting. Not demanding.

Slowly, he comes to you. Palm sliding against yours. Warm and a little clammy, calloused but still soft.

A few inches of space separate you when he stops.

This close, you can feel the heat of him. Smell his shampoo, soft and fragrant. Eucalyptus.

You squeeze his hand once then let go.

He and Red Robin are two sides of the same coin. There is no Tim Drake without Red Robin, you think. Not right now.

Maybe it’ll change, down the line. One part of you selfishly hopes so.

You’ll always want him. But as Red Robin, the risk of losing him triples and you are greedy enough to want to mitigate it. The same with Steph. Even with Wally, who is considerably more durable. All of them, duty-bound, honor-bound. You cannot ask that of them.

Right now, though, you think you can make that demand. At least temporarily.

You reach for him. Pausing when your hands near his face. But he doesn’t move. Just looks down at you and you wonder if he can hear your heart, with how hard, how loudly, it pounds in your chest.

You have to be certain.

So, when your fingers finally touch the smooth material of the mask, before trying to lift it, you ask, in a whisper, “Can I?”

“Yes,” he breathes, some emotion you don’t know underlying his voice, one that makes your face warm and your heart skip a beat.

Your fingers find the edge, slowly, gently peeling it up. It peels and peels and peels until finally, it detaches into your hands. Almost flimsy now but with a certain weight.

That’s not what retains your attention, though.

It’s him. It’s always him.

Tim’s eyes are closed, the tiniest of wrinkles found between his brows.

You imagine what it must be like to him. Letting you do that. Peel back the final layer of him once and for all. Letting you see him. Tim. Your Tim.

Keeping the domino mask loosely grasped in one hand, your other reaches for him, your thumb finding the wrinkle between his brows. It smooths out instantly at your touch and his eyes flutter open.

There they are.

It’s a shade of blue that haunts your dreams most nights.

Usually a lighter, softer color in the light, something like cornflowers, but right now, they’re midnight sky blue, looking at you with a heavy kind of affection, warm and unbridled.

Your hand settles on his cheek. He leans into the touch. Your thumb strokes over the sensitive skin under his eye. Where dark circles mar the skin, exhaustion finally clear in his face.

You smile sadly. “You look tired, Timmy.”

“Last couple weeks,” he swallows, “have been… rough.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiles. It’s a small thing but no less beautiful to your eyes.

Then he sobers up, gazing at you, pained. “I am sorry.”

“I know.”

“I was an idiot.”

“I know.” You take a deep breath. “We both were.”

He opens his mouth to protest but you speak before he can.

“It’s true. You know that. We didn’t handle this like we should but it’s… it’s in the past. We can’t change it. We just have to move forward.”

A slow nod, then his eyes flicker to your hand, still between you two, still holding onto the domino mask. He takes it from you.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not for him to toss it away, landing somewhere in the darkness, a near silent sound.

“Tim—“

“It’ll never come between us again,” he whispers and your breath catches at his words; his hands find yours, pulling the one on his cheek into his own, squeezing. “I promise.”

You take a second to compose yourself, letting out a slow breath.

“I believe you,” you finally say. “And… no more lies. Please. Tell me the truth. The whole truth. I want to be there for you, for all of it.”

“It’s going to hurt.”

Not a protest. Just a statement. A warning.

“So, it’s even more important for me to be there.”

He swallows, eyes searching yours. “Are you… are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“So… we’re okay?”

“No.”

His face falls. “Whatever it is… I’ll make it up to you. I swear. Whatever you want.”

“I want you.”

“You have me,” he promises.

“Not like that.”

He stiffens up, breath catching as he understands what you mean. He looks down at you, shock clear. Understanding but not truly believing. That won’t do.

“I love you, Tim. Not just as a friend but…”

You’ve said it to them both. I love you. And this ‘I love you’ isn’t better than the one you tell Steph, than the one you told him for the first time, back when your feelings were still strictly platonic. It doesn’t mean something more, something deeper, something elevated just because it’s romantic. But it’s different. In what you want. In what you long for.

He whispers your name.

You let out a slow breath. “And if you want that, too, then…”

“Of course I do,” he breathes, letting go of your hands to cup your face, bringing you closer. “Of course I do. There’s nothing else, no one else, I want. I just… I never wanted to assume.”

“I know.”

“But if you’re on board then… then we can try it out.”

It feels more like ‘trying it out,’ though. Despite the uncertainty, the whirlwind of emotions, everything that has happened, finally talking it out, finally laying everything out on the table… you’ve found solid ground. A foundation you can build upon.

It is no mere crush. No simple infatuation.

You are in love with Tim Drake. Plain and simple.

And he is in love with you, too.

You close your eyes, fingers curling around his wrists. After a beat, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you, too, you know,” he whispers. “I have for a long time.”

Your face is hot, flushed with heat, your heart pounding. You feel so light, like you might fall up, untethered by gravity and floaty from the cotton candy-sweet warmth unspooling in your chest, clogging your veins and the arteries of your heart. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

But before you do…

“Tim.”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

He kisses you.

Gently at first, tenderly, lips warm, soft, tasting faintly of spearmint. You feel like you might melt into a puddle of goo at it, at knowing it’s Tim who is kissing you so sweetly, making your knees feel a little weak.

You shuffle closer. He inhales sharply at you pressing into his space, curling around you to close the final bits of distance. It turns the kiss a little fevered, a little hungry, a little desperate.

You’ve missed him so much. You can’t stop yourself from whispering that, pulling away to do so.

He shudders at your words, lips pressing to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, and you open yourself up to him, too willing, too happy to let him have you like this.

He keeps saying it. Whatever you want. But he can have whatever he wants from you, too. Anything. Everything.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck and your breath catches at the reverence in his voice. “Can you—can you say it again?”

“I love you, Tim,” you whisper and it pulls another shiver from him, lips pressing to your fluttering pulse and your knees really feel like they might give out.

Your fingers grasp the material of his jacket, tugging, and he brings his lips back to yours, giving you a mind-numbing, synapse-slowing kiss.

You separate eventually, foreheads pressed together, trying to catch your breath.

“Will you stay?” you ask softly.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, leaning back to press a heartachingly tender kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, holding onto him.

After a moment, he pulls away, shedding his jacket, draping it over the footboard. You close the curtains over your window, then crawl into bed. When Tim comes over, he tries to push you over. Not hard. A gentle—persistent—nudge to your shoulder, keeping in mind your injury, though you should tell him that it’s healing much better at nearly three weeks since it happened. Enough so that Steph said she could see about Crystal coming over to take the stitches out, just to avoid waiting at the hospital, and the bill, too.

“Oh, hey—”

“Let me sleep there,” he urges. “I feel better if you’re furthest from the window.”

“Hero types, I swear.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leans down and scoops you into his arms. You yelp and he shushes you. You can’t stop your giggles as he unceremoniously drops you on the other side of the bed, the one closest to the door. He crawls in after you.

“You’re going to wake them up,” he whispers but he’s grinning, too, as he slides under the covers, laying on his side.

“Who’s fault is that?” you shoot back. “Just ‘cause you and your savior complex need to be by the window—”

He muffles his snickers into the pillow, eyes closed, lips spread in a grin. Your chest warms and you wiggle closer to him.

Tim lifts an arm so you can settle against his side. Wary of the gauze on the hollow of his throat, you settle for tucking your head underneath his chin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

He strokes a hand down your back, a warm brand between your shoulder blades. Sleep isn’t far off your conscience, right at the edges of it, and with the warmth of his body and the reassurance of his embrace, you’re moving fast to it.

But before you do…

“Tim.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll… you’ll be here in the morning, right?”

His arm tightens around you. You feel him press a kiss to your hair.

“I’ll be here. I promise.”

And he is.

When you rouse an indeterminate amount of time later, awakened by the sounds of activity outside your door—Wade’s high-pitched giggles, Wally’s low murmurs to him as he feeds him breakfast, the water running in the pipes as Linda uses the bathroom—Tim is still there. With you.

Deep in sleep, still, even with the slivers of light that come in from your window and the noises coming in from outside. Probably the repercussions of his ‘rough couple weeks.’ It’s quite similar with you, if you’re being honest. Besides, you hardly mind, basking in the feel of your legs tangled together underneath the blankets, the heavy but reassuring weight of his arm around you.

You manage to pull away a little bit to look at him, blinking out the bleariness in your eyes as you rest your head on the pillow, his face a couple inches from yours. Eyes shut, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks, breathing soft and slow. His hair is a mess, some parts of it flat from the pillow and sticking up in other areas. You spy a few creases from the pillow on his cheek, too. But even with that, he is still so beautiful to you.

You sigh, snuggling closer to him, shifting so you can run your fingers through his hair, your eyes falling shut again. You can stand to sleep a little while longer.

He lets out a soft, contented sigh as your fingers glide through his hair, gently taking out tangles as you go.

You pull away after a moment, feeling sleep lapping at your senses again.

You doze for a little while, rousing again to more noise from outside. The sound of the TV. Wally and Linda murmuring to each other. Wade giggling.

Tim shifts, groaning quietly. The sound, rough with sleep, makes something inside you clench, sparks of heat waking you up more fully so you can watch him wake up, too.

He rolls onto his back, stretching, then sagging into the mattress. You stay curled up on your side, your calf thrown over his, watching him wake up with a small smile on your lips that you know must be horribly lovesick.

Finally, he turns to look at you, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hi.”

He gives you a sleepy smile. “Hi. Watching me sleep? Weirdo.”

He still has pillow creases on his face. You reach up to trace them.

“Well, you like this weirdo.”

“I love this weirdo,” he corrects. “Guess it’s fair, considering my night job.”

“Right. Watching you sleep—which I wasn’t, by the way, I was just waiting for you to wake up—”

“Sounds an awful lot like watching me sleep—”

You grin and pinch his cheek. He grunts, halfheartedly batting your hand away and taking it in his, lacing your fingers together.

“Anyway. That’s not that big of an offense compared to, oh, I don’t know, dressing up and fighting crime each night.”

“Think that’s part of the whole ‘we love each other thing,’” he teases.

You smile. “I guess so.”

“So, then…” His eyes stray from your face, to something else, nerves clear as day; too early in the morning for him to make a solid attempt at hiding them from you and well. You know him. For better and for worse.

“Mmhm?”

“I guess I should take you on a date.”

“You guess?”

He blushes, red settling high in his cheeks in a way that is… decidedly tempting. “I mean I should. If—if you want to, of course.”

“I didn’t kiss you just for kicks, you know.”

“I sure hope not,” he agrees, looking back at you, face softening. “Will you, then?”

“Of course, Timmy.”

“And maybe…” He turns, reaching for you. You go easily, your fingers still tracing the pillow creases on his cheek. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders as he turns onto his side. In the warm light of the morning, his eyes are a softer shade of blue, the one you know and love.

“Maybe…?”

“Maybe… you’ll give me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

Oh, geez.

Your face flares with heat, heart skipping a beat.

“You cornball.”

“You love it.”

Your palm finally settles on his cheek—hot to the touch, too, flush still lingering behind. You lean forward to press your lips to his forehead. He lets out a shuddery breath, arm tightening around you briefly.

“Yes, Tim,” you murmur against his skin. “I would be happy to.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, but it doesn’t like he’s thanking you for agreeing to it—at least, not just that.

Maybe for everything.

But— “You don’t have to thank me. It’s not… I love you. That’s all there is and that’s all there ever will be.”

You pull back, thumb stroking over his cheek. He leans forward, lips pressing gently to your cheek. Your fingers find their way into his hair, sighing contentedly as he kisses down to your jaw.

You get so caught up in that, the knock on your door scares the shit out of you both.

Wally calls out your name. “You up, kiddo? Lin’s makin’ eggs and rice.”

Tim pulls away quickly and you sit up, your face hot.

“I’ll, um, be out in a few.” Your voice is steady, thankfully, but you can’t say much about your pulse, your heart beating out of your chest. Tim is sitting up, too, looking around the room—presumably for the mask he discarded last night.

“Okay,” Wally says. “Will Tim be joining us?”

You both freeze.

You should’ve known better, really. Wally’s been doing this for a long time. Nothing much will slip by him. Not unless he lets it.

Tim turns an impressive shade of red. Tempting, like it always is, but mostly, you just feel like a teenager caught red-handed with her boyfriend.

…Which isn’t too incorrect of a description.

You look at him, lost.

He clears his throat, raising his voice to respond. “I—uh, yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine,” Wally responds cheerfully. “Hope you aren’t allergic to sesame because I don’t care and I’m not going out to get something different for you.”

“Wally!”

Tim smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not allergic.”

“Too bad,” he says. “It’ll be ready in a few.”

Footsteps leave. Wally hums to himself loudly, happily.

You and Tim look at each other for a second before a giggle escapes you. Then another. He joins you in the next second, until you two are laughing loudly, listing into each other and flopping onto the bed.

In the kitchen, even from here, you can hear Wally and Linda laughing, too.

You grin breathlessly, looking at Tim’s smiling face, and decide the embarrassment of getting caught out is worth it, if you get to have this. All of them.

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