#this is just lemon and river

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Wesley-Lynn™ playing the part of hyper jealous girlfriend who caught you staring at her man Sam Rivers as she then proceeds to step in front of her man and give you full on “fuck-around-and-find-out” face. 

[astralnymphh]

fuck and pretend ౨ৎ

𖤐 .ellie williams with a breeding kink⊱.

౨ৎ "gon' make you a baby mama, hm?" 🌸

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

⋆' summary; bright blessings, aphrodite. hazy harbor of your lust, loose ribbons, and smooth touch. a strawberry sun kisses the earth with its sunset, a gradient so divinely captured above your picket fence visible from the kitchen window. a front row seat to dusk settling as you get fucked, the soppy wet clashing of your loins erupts. ellie, with her goddess given right, will knock you the hell up.

⋆' cw; dom!ellie, horndog!ellie, farm!ellie, breeding kink obv, depictions of cum + spit + nipple play + slight food play + spanking + fondiling + very slight lactation kink + rough mannerisms + dirty talk + rough talk + cum kink-ish + gentle dominance + cocktip teasing + strap sex + fingering (r, barely) + finger sucking + multiple positions (bent over, on the counter) , 'her cock' used more than 'strap', some plot + backstory, very detailed descriptions of fucking, smut heavy, reader has fem style/wears skirt, petnames; babe, baby, mama(kinda), slut, whore(not in dialogue), bitch(not in dialogue)

⋆' pairing; farm!ellie x housewife!reader

⋆' a/n; i'm horny. ⋆' wc: 6.7k ellie's masterlist 𖤐

a brilliant orb in the sky permeates a hot singe to your skin, making a day meant for mundane mutilation of vegetable roots drinking up the rich soil, dreadful. oh how you longed to be inside with your girlfriend, ellie, the rufescent headed mutt that pawed you to take a break, on the bed, in her lap. 'later, baby.', you just had to say that. but no, you just had to work, huh? the autumn sun bearing tidings of a good harvest just had to sing an enchanting tune, lulling you to the outdoors.

a heap of green already lines your wheelbarrow, a yelling chance to dip and jump into ellie's arms, who ensconces her bottom to the pleasures of a springy sofa in the family room, scribbling away matters that clot her noggin. oh, it would be so divine to just die of exhaustion in her grasp, straddling that tepid lap beckoning a cozy seat, melding your fingertips with the tense ache that mantles her neck, while she lewdly palpates the chub fat of your ass she deems 'a cute tush' with those strapping hands of hers.

"fuck it." the barrows handles drop to the grassy ground, giving the produce in the basin a bit of a bumpy ride.

the most salivating notion wins, food, fucking food. you burst into that kitchen with a sugar craving, a hellacious craving that puppeteers your fingers to fondle the beige flour into a meshy dough, powdering up your fingertips til it caked under your nail. eugh. 

 a strawberry and cream pastry of crispy golden beige delight is your end goal, pictured to be a celestial five star treat in your rather delusive fantasies. the butts of ruby strawberries stabbed through as you pull the stems out, gleaming juices of a translucent pink coating up your fingers so sweetly, you just had to pop them in your mouth. sucking all that flavor off, like a fuckin' lollipop.

you drift your finger out clean, a long smack squeaking from your lips, and then hum in rumination, "hmm, lemons– or no lemons? lemons.. or no lemons?" quietly spoken, tossing your eyes between a ripe lemon and the pulped strawberry.

"no lemons," ellie, bearing the element of surprise, intrudes on your introspection. speaking with a low, coarse timbre, pitch breathy, "hi babe." her body is then suddenly pressed into your backside, hand slithering down your hip and caressing your pantyhose– clad thigh gently. 

"oh shit– ellie!" you yelp, instinctively pushing your rump back on her groin devoid of purpose, "ya' spooked me.." a throaty whine thrums from you.

"nah– u're just easily spooked." her brows pinch opposingly, slowly creeping her jaw in the cornered nook of your neck, parched lips nipping the flesh with summery hot licks.

"hehe– that tickles.." you jerk away slightly from her scruffy tuft of coppery hair like a plume stroking your skin.

a smile grows pliable against your skin, "good.." muffled ellie, wet smacks eliciting from her hungry latch.

"bored of ur' journal?"

"uh–huh.."

"or just happy that I'm here?"

"mhm.." she dozily agrees, slinking her head off your scruff, "missed you' out there."

"oh, i bet." you frolick kittenly, snatching up the same strawberry you pulped through earlier to cut it, "got fucking tired of hauling that barrow 'round anyway." you complain, speaking with discernable strain in your tune.

"hmm." she hums in consideration, worried about the amount of work you lug on your shoulder from a day–to–day basis, "l'mme help." 

her fingers cottonly twine through yours, biceps hugging yours, chin perched softly upon your neck, taking both the strawberry and knife from you and cutting it deftly, chhp, chhhp, chop!– goes the sound of buttery slices.

you slump your head aside, just relishing the warmth for a moment, at genuine peace that your girlfriend was there. she was so soft with you, softer than petals, gently domineering at any split mention of fatigue. laying the midday away on the couch? joins you instantly, pressing and kneading the tender skin of your swollen feet while discussing more than humdrum topics. stomach rumbling loud enough to raise the dead? she immediately rounded the kitchen's trim to cook you a plethora of meals, taking every picky craving into heavy consideration. indecisive about your outfit? she would glide an oaken chair up to the dresser, plant you on her lap– in your undergarments, and choose what she personally fancies, sneaky hand groping your thigh.

"there you go." she mutters ardent to your shoulder with throaty rasp, knife clanking as she sets it aside.

"thanks baby.."

"n'problem.." her lips fumble the words, settling on bespattering the biome of your stretched neck with wet kisses– subtly hungry ones, and reposes her arms to slink over your hips, enticing them closer into her groin.

you scoop one pile of diced strawberries into the gullies of both palms, letting them plummet into a plastic green mixing bowl, plop.. plop, humming a tune, "hmmmm…hhmhmmm…" 

you hear her chuckle, a small vibration amassing the length of your skin with an accompanied smile growing.

"you laughin' at my song?"

"mhh, that's not a song." she criticizes, lips pursing into a bud.

"hmph, rude." you circle your eyes in offense, faintly swaying your hips while you pestle the fruit into a sweet puree.

her hips react and ungulate a sluggish grind into your rump, acting impassive to it, "s'bored.." she croaks, clammy forehead sticking to your jaw.

"hmm?"

she doesn't clarify, instead, begins to nick your neck with pinched lips, letting the skin gingerly spring out each time. her hips, however, grow rough– wanton. little bounces of her humps smush your thighs into the counter, mind clearly anchored in her imagination.

"els?"

her relentless chafing continues, piling up the fabric of your skirt into a creased mess which only gets worse when her hand wedges between your bodies, palming her crotch with a few squeezes, "mhhn.." 

your fingers nearly slip off the pestle, the stimuli of her humps withering away that poise calmness, "baby.." you whine.

"so, so– bored, baby." her grubby mitts fall and knead the shallow flesh of your hip bones, applying detectable pressure in the crevice beneath your hip bone. smutty, balmy prints sunk into your skin.

this fucking horndog, this auburn maned lovergirl could never let you rest on a busy afternoon like today. all the time, she was just pleading for pussy– pussywhipped, grinding her pelvis on your thigh amidst cuddling, to nudging your butt against her groin with both hands, whenever you bend over. you can hear the indecencies boiling on her wicked tongue right about now, pleading for a tryst.

a long suspire whorls from your nostrils as you turn in her embrace, nudging her fervid laps off.

she pouts a petulance, wet lips sheer in the frosty panes light, "why'd you move?"

"talk t'me," wisped sweet like honey, "what's on your mind?" you lace your fingers with hers, swinging your linked hands side to side playfully.

she pours a groan out, screwing her lids tight and throwing her head back, "baaabbee.." ellie was plagued, at minimum. lewdly plagued. a notion that topped her mind and wouldn't let go.

you thought it was, temptingly cute. the way she reels her head back down, jarring her weary eyes open to beadily gaze upon you, lips parting moistly.

"i have this.." a sharp gust waves off her throat, humbled to even say this, "dirty fuckin' idea.."

"enlighten me."

"i just think.." her eyes deviate from yours, staring at the cupboard, "you'd be really hot as a mama." a hint of smokiness grits in her voice, gazing at you with the most haunting bedroom eyes known to womankind.

"oh really? that's illuminating." you knit your brows, feigning marvel.

"tcch–" her textured lips creak into a cresten grin, hissing shortly, "like.." her fingers flee yours, drifting two brawny grips on your waistline, inching closer with each idea she lists, "i could take care of you, start baths for you, cook you meals and carry you to–"

you intervene gently, "you say it like you can get me pregnant." and laxly cross your arms.

her forehead creases in offense, "uh, i mean," and eyes barrel roll to the ceiling, then on you, chiseling a smirk opulent with smutty intention, "don't need a baby t'do.. whatever."

"whatever?" your tune curls.

"could just.." she pulls your groin snug to hers, pelvis protruding farther than her torso, thighs melding together, "fuck, and pretend." 

you blush, mouth gaping in muted elation observing the way she pushes her crotch into you, "so foul.." you giggle.

"so?" a hand lifts from your hip, notching your chin firmly up to face her, "can i convince you?"

"how?"

an absolutely mischievous look casts over her features at that 'how?' , prominent dimples that plot her next words to flow out.

"here," she releases your chin and swipes a grip on your wrist, jerking you forward as she tugs that hand between her legs, "feel that, baby?" whispering a fingerbreadth away, toasty breath misting like perspiration on your earlobe.

you palpate the inseam, knobbing over a phallic bulge with her hand guiding you. oh my goddess, she's been wearing that shit all day.

"can i fuck y'with it, hmm?" she begs, voice drenched with silken clemency, and leathery callousness– control awaiting your word, lips of coquetry avid to your ear.

truth of the matter, at the back of her perv–diluted noggin, she knows she can't exactly get you pregnant. however, that's the hidden perk nobody talks about. play the part, make it feel real, and it still sticks the same. she can fuck you over, and over– and over again, sow her seed and never reap the physical consequences.

that girl can pretend well.

you feel the heat clump on your cheeks, turned on by her forthright request, "here?" you question foxily, feeling the excitement slowly trickle through your loins.

"yeah– right on this fuckin' counter." unfiltered and dirty, so suddenly, so tantalizing. her hands pitch up and draw upon your skin like a woven page, lurking the entire span of both arms around your hips.

"god, els.." you cling your arms around her nape, chest pressing firmly on hers, "i'd fucking love that." 

her face lit up brighter than all the stars combined. reclining brows, smug–smothered eyes, and the most uneven smirk to ever jerk her lips. a brightness– so carnal.

"yes.." sounded so relieved in her breathy mutter, wetting her chapped lips before she slinks onto yours, dragging hers over the plush of your buds with a passion.

"mhh..mh.." you moan onto her lips, pushing with tantamount force to her hungry kisses.

a wet smack snaps the huddled space as she parts, "can taste those strawberries, ooh~" she huskily frisks with arching brows, returning to your lips with a pucker and slobber.

all during your tepid makeout eggs you both on, pink muscles entwining, mouths nearly trying to swallow each other up, bodies rocking like a ship riding the tide– her willowy digits tuck under the fat of your asscheeks, groping and pulling the two globes apart in rounded circles tight enough to cleft the chub with creases, frilly fabric of your skirt snagging on the ridge of her bouncing palms.

"love' this cute tush." she states with a satisfied scratch in her voice, a deep laugh gusting onto your lips.

"a fuckin' slut for it huh?" 

"yeah baby!" she halfway hollers into your mouth, gripping your asscheeks like crab claws and giving a good shake– featherlike slap included.

you buck your ass out for her usage, urged to wave your hips in a figure eight motion, which she really likes, too much maybe. a booming smack! resounds the kitchen as her hand draws back to indulge a harsher slap, rubbing the red streak left in its path.

you yelp throatily, spitting from her avid lips, "fuck! ellie.."

"hey– c'm back here." her head follows your retreating one, plastering your mouth sealed and tongue–fucking you with that pushy muscle worming past your teeth.

her horny ass just kept spanking both cheeks, which triggered a proud "mmm.. mhm…" to intone on your lips as you jolt in reaction, caressing the flush heat gathered by each whack.

"more?"

"ghhnn– elli.."

"fuckin' take more." she veers that hand back and lands another blow, creeping over your shoulder to perv at the nylon–confined skin. right, your pantyhose.

you tuck and bat your lashes in the crook of her neck, whining right into the ears eager to hear you break.

but, she couldn't do that with all this fabric, could she now?

"nice.. but.." her grubby claws then prod the cloaked crack of your ass, a shrill ripping through the air as she tears a massive hole in your pantyhose– wholly for better access, now exposing your full behind.

you quench a lapse in your throat, "oh, my god." and peek over to eyeball the torn material, noticing how discolored your butt has become and poking your hip out.

"hurt too much?"

"n–no.." you swallow again, reverting your pupils to her, "hurts just right.."

she smirks merry to one cheek, hollowing an alto, "makes' you a dirty fucking slut, amiright?" spoken on a crescendo, second–guessing with her lips gravitating back to yours, but she pauses.

it dawned on her.

something even more impure tethers her attention, down– down, on that chest of yours.

the rustiling of fabric chafes as her hands slide from torturing that delicate rump further, then splutters, "take ur' fuckin' tits out, 'gunna suck on them." just straight up, stern edge like metal to her tone.

no hesitation hurdles your hands, straying from her neck you pleat your shirt over your head and stretch back to unclasp your bra with a pinch, letting it tumble off your chest and hit the ground with a padded thud. the gale of cold air hardens your nipples, perking up two nice targets for ellie to ogle– both in sight, and in taste.

a sweet– tart taste. 

"hmm," ellie's pupils wander off your drooped chest and fixate on the separate dish of intact strawberries, glowing pink in the dying suns' radiance. her elbows straighten and forearm extends towards these gems of interest, scooping one up with her thumb, index and middle combined.

"what are you doing with my–"

"shh, just watch." her prudent fingers then toughen and squash the berry above your clavicle, letting the barmy pink liquids squeeze through her knuckles and drip onto your chest.

a gasp dries your throat, "ellie!"

a few mashed bits plunk down amongst the heavy fall of berry juices, managing to drizzle down the rise of your breast and split over your nipple. mission success? though now the victim strawberry– squelched to a gross chunk, makes a home chucked into the handy trash bin.

ellie licks her lips and stares dead straight on your hardened nipples. itching for a taste of that strawberry deluge.

"fuck.." her throat quivers, taking no time in searing the distance between her tongue and your breast promptly with a hunched back, bringing her heart–shaped pucker to the strawberry–saturated nub and locking on, sucking hard, making you jerk. ellie definitely has a thing for this.

"was wasting that strawberry– mhhf'– worth it?" you sport a quip quickly, the small vacuum sensation on your nipples only just starting to nip that pleasure kernel in your brain.

it definitely was. cause ellie had already vampire–suckled all the flavor off your bud, now snaking her tongue up the excess stream of juices and retreating back. those juice–coated lips squelch open, muttering, "so' fucking worth it." 

so fucking worth the lady boner penned behind that zinc rivet.

her lips wrinkle around your other nipple, opening and closing her mouth around the bud with a slow nutate of her head. inside her mouth was so warm, so wet, and the fleshy texture of her lips felt fucking riveting. the stimulated twang of salacity brought in the form of sucks and licks has your pussy sappy and caked in precum, and ellie could tell how wet you've gotten by the yearning chafe of your thighs, so she forcefully wedges her knee there– making you grunt at the pressure, and her giggle at your response.

you card your fingers through her hairline, fondling her autumn tuft while she sucks that swelling nipple dry, causing an 'mmhhh.' to vibrate from the depths of her lungs, guttural on your boob. one of her hands rove up and cusps the same boob against the webbing of her thumb and pointer, squeezing the blubber of mass further into her wet rosy hole– like she's genuinely sucking something out of them– thirsty, her parched tongue laps a gloss of gleaming saliva over the bumpy node, determined to have you unravel.

"oh, els.. baby~" you tug on her hair, piqued by the blossoming ache in your clit raring for ellie to just get on with it.

"mhhpghmm.." her lips suction with a pop, roads of ruby red mottled on her cheeks from your angle. so eager to toy with that forming arousal, but with persuasive control.  "s'this convincing enough?"

you toss your head back, extending the curved surface of your neck, "i'm already convinced.." you gasp for air, surfing a breathless moan behind the carry of your voice.

another pop sound has her lips wandering up from that sensitive bump and craning to your lips, taking advantage of the situation. her fantasies overrun that dirty mind of hers, aching mentally– and physically, to have that pussy engulfing her thickset cock. to fuck you raw. fortunate for her, you were already won over by the rough terrain of her tongue setting you over the edge.

"m'kay baby.." her humid syllables shudder over the span of your midface, promptly, churning into a demanding growl. "turn around, n' bend over the counter. doin' it right here, c'mon." her words usher you and fingers force you, contorting your hips with her steely grip without even giving you the chance to move yourself, other hand reaching over to knock the bowl of strawberries– now scattered across the tiles like the starry sky.

you wobble around on your ankles as she bucks you into the counters' rounded steel rim, laying her palm plumb between your shoulder blades and pinning you down, pitching a yelp from you when the cold surface practically freezes your nipples.

that's when you realized, she wasn't playing around.

ellie's spindly fingers pleat your skirt up with a swat, then drift down to catch and tuck in the lacy band of your panties and tug hard, pulling the thread to the point of frayed snapping– without giving you a wedgie– until she could remove it from your hips through the hole in your pantyhose, chucking it somewhere east of you. now she could gape at everything. the bare truth of your engorged pussy rearing for her, splayed out like a whore. nuder than an amaretto.

and it made her giggle in gratification, lugging that adams apple around with her wheezy laugh.

"look at 'chu bent over like this," she gruffily awes at your ass jacked to her hips, golfing up a 'hawwkkk' and a 'puh!' as she aims a spit down the crack of your ass. 

it streamlines through the canyon of your backside 'til it mixes with the slick of your slit. can't let it go to waste, so– she jams the soapy spit into your hole, to which you clamp her in.

a jerky chuckle croaks from her chest, rustiling her mullet with each jounce, "sensitive now, are we?"

"ellie–" 

"okay, okay– i'll stop." she slides her fingers out, popping them in her mouth while she observes you from this lewd position.

in the sorbet light, you were gorgeous. cunt dripping nectar like a waterfall to your thighs, ass hiked up and sloping into the plateau of your back. you looked so perfect. perfect for her hands to melt into. perfect for her cock to sheathe into. just divine. positively divine.

"alright.." her voice rattles deep, slightly muted in a gulp after tasting your cunt on her tongue, swishing her spit around to pick up every note of flavor.

moments later, you hear the metal clank of a buckle jingle from behind, the prongs strike the floor as her jeans clump up at the base of her ankles, blanketing her feet. then, a silicone tip slots it's bulbous nature between the top of your thighs, smacking up onto your slickened labia playfully.

"god– it's like a fuckin' waterpark back here babe."

her feet scoot closer, poking the chub of your globes with her jutting hip crests, enraptured in the pure way your folds already look like they want to swallow her up. they faintly part as the silicone cockhead smears your arousal from clit to hole, hole to clit. a half–moon smile dilates into the apples of her cheeks, prideful. a smirk you can hear loud and clear in her dirty, outrageous comment. 

"gonna knock that pussy up, hmm? gonna fuck a pair of twins in you so good baby~" she coos, delirious seeing the head of her cock slosh around the fat lips of your pussy, grooving two concentrated lines between her brows and wagging her peachy muscle wedged in her lips. she was like a devil in heaven, and you an angel in heat. two strapping grips slap and clutch onto your ass, the fat bulging through each finger gap, calloused fingertips blending with the texture. her knees bend to crouch her hips slightly, dragging the hem of her brown button–down up by the protrusion of your ass as she aligns her frame level to your cunt. one hand drops down to catch hold of the faux cock and toys the rim of your gummy hole, sinking the head in just barely.

your sensitive entrances' involuntary answer to this scant plugging of your hole clenches the tip up fast, sucking it further in. ellie loved that. loved how your pussy was taking her without a halt. a love so dazing, she begins slipping and inserting the head only, eyeing the contracting hole gorging over the rotund spade each and every small thrust.

a whiny complaint trebles off your gullet, "are y'putting it in? baby.. please." but the petulance in your plea just rouses ellie up– excessively.

ignoring you, her focus tunnels solely on the tight hole kissing her cock in intervals, pleating up her earth brown shirt to eye her constricting muscles speckled in freckles, the pale blue–glossy v–line cadreing her hunter green cock that only deepened the lines in her abdomen with each pump. with her gaze aimed downwards, she speaks directly downwards, "be a good pussy and take my cock, yeah?"

that was her game. her conflicting game. the only words you heard before she fastens the dick bulky in her wrapped grip and lugs her entire length inside, blowing your vulva thin with how straining her size was. wow. a sight she froths over.

"mhm–" she continues, tensing her chords up to flow out a breathy, gritty, whisper, "take my cock like a good pussy." 

you feel the force impact your cervix straightaway, globs of clear lubricant slip and pool through the slim opening her cock barely provides and drips onto your thigh, cold and sticky, marks like paint. "ellie– h'oh fuck!" you wail in the stinging sensation of sudden brimming, which only drives her to crack another slap blistering red on your ass, "eeah!" you squeak, tears scorching the shoreline of your blurred eyes.

she wanted a tear to slip out. she wanted a cohesive sign that her cock felt tight, warm, filling. a kind of filling that bumps your stomach, makes you feel pregnant. cause you would be, take my word for it.

ellie analyzes the new ring of creamy serum wrapping her base like a ribbon of white lace, milky delight. it fades as she drags her length out, and bubbles when she sheathes back in. nothing could stop her finger from sampling the slimy slick, but, no. not this time. 

in her mind, that's her precum. her sperm. not a drop should be dripping out of you.

"g'nna fuck my seed– so, so.. deep." 

and by her word, she knurls her torso into a convex bend as she swathes over you, cottony shirt to back, tickling your flesh. like a dog licking your ear, she mashes the lobe of your ear with her soaked lips. chanting a one–lined hymn in your ear as her cock skids along your ridged walls and returns with a pumping rhythm, keeping your pelvis steady in her slack grip.

"makin' you–" slap, slap, slap, "a mama'," plop, plop, plop, "with my c-cock.. no–one else's." her huffs fan the baby hairs near your ear, lips brushing so dearly on the conch. each sticky bop of your hips plays like a hand smacking water, bringing shame to the ears of every wall witnessing this dirtier–than–porn event. 

your features tog up into a woozy countenance. lips wedged open like an orange slice, pupils reading your upper lashes like a string of musical notes, head jiggling with each lavish pump into your pretty little pussy. it feels so fucking good. spurts of pleasure that make you wish on every damnable star for her to actually get you pregnant. the way she fucks you like this, all pathetically horny with her own ass clenching into each thrust. you'd take her babies in a yoctosecond.

her bushy brows curl and furrow in enthrallment, enthralled by every honeyed whimper she pulls out of you with her dick. it fed her ego, the greedy ego telling her she is impregnating you. each vein, bumpy on the creasing skirt of your blushing hole shaped to fit her cock, felt so real– it hurts. ellies' had enough. she skims her palms just a hairbreadth down the planet of your ass to sink her talons in the supple crevice of your hip and thigh, held hard enough to move you. this meant only one thing.

ellie was tired of playing it safe.

her torso pastily unsticks from your back, casting a gray shadow with her hover, grunting, "listen– t'me," her hips sway and punch with heftier, vehement– stickier thrusts, the fat plastic cockhead sending a flux of pressure with each smash into the tacky wall of your vagina, "answer– d'ya think, mhh– our kids will have auburn hair, like me? frhm– freckles, like me? my eyes?" 

the constant abuse to your cervix chokes up your throat, warbling and going "guh, guhp– unh! fhhummk.." with your flaccid lips damp in slob, like a filthy mess of a bitch.

wrong answer. 

you should have just offered up her name in an exaggerated moan instead.

the extent of her hand extracts from your hips– not without her gift of nail–birthed sickles indenting your skin like scales, and coils back to whack your vainly treated glute. it makes your vision go white, tenderizes your skin and makes you scream.

"n–nnono, els–"

"so– no they won't look like me?" she laughs to herself, and it almost sounds– amusingly disappointed.

"n– yes, yes! they w–"

your throat then nearly guzzles her fingers base knuckles deep, muffled and choking on their stacked width.

"just shut up." ellie warns in a gruff. thing is, she knows that as long as her thickset tip keeps slamming into that assaulted cunt– she'll never hear the end of it. and that's the best part. confliction.

the counter was virtually warming up on your compressed cheek from how long you were in that position. slippery sweat dampened a puddle under your face in a thin pellucid coat. from your current view, you could only see her wrist pushing on your chin– cranking your jaw ajar, and her humping motions bleary in your peripherals. not like seeing her was necessary, you already felt her through and through. 

ellie, with her hips strapping you down in prolonged rams that cause a sharp sear on the hind of your thighs, with the downright sedative pleasure brought by the bumping base to her neglected clit, finds herself earnestly thinking about how a family would look on this farm. her baby, growing in you. her kids, skipping through these rustic halls. her wife, devout enough to nurture them through childhood. but on the perverted hand, her cock fucking a future generation into you, 'her' pussy gluttonous enough to consume it up to the hilt, her whore, eager enough to be the cumbucket to breed as she pleases.

she's gonna breed you like the horndog she is.

but you want to be full of her offspring.

"baby–" a stiff moan pours from her lips, and she glides her cock and digits out. snow white cream follows in strings, strung to her shaft and springs out like paint splatter on the ground as her strap bounces down to a flaccid level. wow. she moans again, this time, breathlessly, "baabby.. get'on th' counter.." 

"hmmuh?" flubbed you, barely able to see the picket fence outside the kitchen window through your graying haze– shapes blurred and melted into each other.

"said," the lone grip on your hip is replaced with the clammy bend of her elbow, tucking under your womb and flipping you around, "on' the counter." and lugs you hurriedly onto the sudor–coated surface with her grasp under your knees. her hands flatten on either side of your shaky thighs– vividly like jello– as her torso huddles close in your space. now that she could see your face, it was sexually comical. 

doe–eyed and glossed, lids puffy and red. patterns of your own saliva glissade down your chin and gleam in the soft light behind you. so hot.

her teeth bear in a parted smirk and she drunkenly stumbles her face down. then, she notices something. a pearly strand of sleek cum trickling over your perineum. like a melted popsicle, you drip everywhere, all over that counter space.

ellie's tongue ticks on the roof of her mouth, sighing, "mmh' fuck, pussy dripping everywhere– clean this counter afterwards, won't you?" spoken like a silken demand, index pointing at the mess.

you keenly nod, squinting with those weepy eyes as you try to discern the moving colors of your girlfriend right as she heaved her fat cock right back inside. stars. stars heat you skin and strike your vision. a night of black spots burn through your eyes and caper around– obscuring ellie's blissed out face. you were already fucked out from the last position, so fucked, you nearly came at the meaty expansion of your aching hole.

ellie could tell, and that was her cue. her goddess given cue to bottom out. the friction of her girth akin to a fist stuffing you up was pushing up on your g–spot, and that knocked a tear out. the ones lashing at your ducts to release, finally did. 

you couldn't feel anything else– anything, but her cock.

moist sloshes cram up the space between you too, smacking and dragging as before. faster, harder, her hips never lapse and pick up the speed. tapping you out like a nozzle draining syrup from a tree, gushing and coating her cock beautifully. smack– smack– smack– goes her groin deluged in your sweet sex juices connecting like webs with each bash of your hips.

on comes a dirty row of her impudent and vile comments– barely stable voice from how fast she pumped, all tepidly whispered on your neck.

"knockin' that fhckin' pussy up– huh?"

you can feel the warmth radiating off her face a breath away, a cheek–length strand of hair now sticks to the sweat veiling her hairline. pores beading with glassy perspiration. just as red as you. huff, huff, gasp.

"that pretty pussys' mine– mhh, all mine."

ellie's palms leave two clammy prints on the marble slab when her fingers pop off and clasp your pelvis. with this grip on you, she pushes your hips hard on her relentless pounds. no wall of your vagina lacks a thrashed kiss from her dick, your hole was just too tight for any air pockets. that tight. just pure ush–gush.

"god' m'sucha dirty slut for ur' pussy, such a fucking whor– ughhn!– wantin' to make you–a mama." grizzled her in a lower voice, but still so rough, sweating and huffing like a dog in heat.

the cupboards creak and squeak, scarcely bearing the racket she induced with her fucking into you.

the intensity marches on.

"els– els, I'm gonna cum.." 

it was nice to hear, but she was infinitely more focused on cumming herself. she was close. very close. eyes screwed tight in the straps kickback digging her clit with firm pressure,  knuckles flushed white as they bent and tried to carve into your hips. ellie couldn't get enough of you.

"yeah– me too, nghh~"

her own slick begins to lather up her crotch, sticking up that auburn bush, dripping off the strapbase and staining the crinkled jean pile directly underneath her.

the kitchen reeked of cunt– yours and hers. delicious sex miasma. the scent of raw arousal coats your nasal cavity, lulling you both to climax– two hearts on the same beat.

but there was one thing. one thing you could give her, that'd change your lives from there on out.

"baabe–" a shallow utter gusts from her lips, shuddering, "can' i fuck you– god, fuck you like this? mate you– make babies with you, more often?" her voice warbles, fighting back the breath that wanted to give away.

the plunging and swelling of her dick parting your walls made it potently harder to answer– but, you creak, taking all the breath she would give you, mouth to mouth.

"yes, ellie– i want to have them."

her eyes squinted ever so slightly, sharpening, pupils blown. a wicked, scantily–contained smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, a glint in her eye revealing the excitement she felt by your words. in a heartbeat, her lips met with yours– wisping and wetting each other up.

but it was no feat to the sudden acceleration of her pistoning hips.

ellie's lips withdraw, moaning rigidly with buffering pants, "gon' make you a baby m–mama' now– ooh fuck!" feeling the same rise to orgasm tighten her stomach. 

"yes– yes! unh‐ uh fuck, ughh!" 

the clanging cupboards bang and thud as they do, but your moans eventually clamor up over them. her cock, sought the last final blows to your gummy ring inside, gathering up all that viscous serum in strings stuck to her bulbous head. this was it. she was finally getting her reward– viscously.

"love you–"

it tightens.

"s'much–"

it pulls.

"thank y– unngghh!"

she snaps.

your thighs convulse and lock around her hips as she buries her dick deep inside, plugging that bruised–to–hell mucousy cervix up. a high so heavenly it curls your body up to hers, cumming all over that filthy fucking cock in clear spurts, plashing all over the veiny shaft that had you weeping moans.

ellie had came too, matter of fact, all over the floor.

a dense and husky moan grates from the lowest region of her diaphragm, "hhhggn– uhhugh– fuck, baby." 

her eyes grew taut and scrunched in ecstasy, jutting her hips and clenching her ass to ride out the orgasm. a spew of her release taints the straps footing and leaks down her thigh, saturating in her skin. veins popped in her gripe, incisors bit her lip nearly hard enough to break skin, and eyes twitched back tenfold, casted heavenward.

a sunset clasps the shingle roof from above, depicted so innocently behind the pane, unknowing to what has come of you two. 

the moment softens.

and you're left with two fatigued bodies.

her arms loosen and flop on your sprawled lap, and her head finds a collapsed purchase on your shoulder. ellie's chest rose, fell, and rose again, swallowing up all the air her lungs lost in the heat. 

"think I just died," she dramatically heaves from her chest, gulping up the pooled spit in the trenches of her gums. a giggle shakes her, "hehe~ did you die?" she jests, nudging her limp hand to your shank.

the words carrying to your ears mish–mashed into an agglomeration of sounds strewn from her actual sentence, "there's n'pie in the oven.." you slur breathlessly, tongue nearly lifeless in the pit of your mouth.

ellie tries her darndest to compress the laugh grizzling from her throat, still winded, "w-what babe?" her head tilts to gawk at you.

"god i'm so dizzy.."

she blows a raspberry from her lips and knits her brows– amused. of course she's a tad worried your energy had been worn from the fucking, but, that's the funny part. she actually did that. her buzzy voice coaxes you back to animation, "want some'in to eat?" 

wait.

that's literally what you came in here for.

wait.

you peek at the green dome next to you, toppled over with dotted strawberry wedges scattered all over the stony tile– and your strawberry jam. really ellie? a pout cockles your lips into a plumper shape, notching your head on a slope, "did'ju knock over.. all of my strawberries?"

she swings her head 'round, feigning innocence, "umm– nope, wasn't me." puffing up her cheeks.

"ellie." 

she blows tersely, "i didn't!" and throws her hands up defensively– in playful spirit.

"and you ruined my panties!" you scold lightheartedly and jab your heel in the back of her thigh– a little bit of punishment. 

"ow!"

a reaction spurns from your lips, replaced by a jaded expression of hushed brows and trying lips that curl your face into one of, content. ellie forced a few puffs to spill from her open oval lips, hereafter curling into that same shit–eating grin that knows she's guilty– chuffed by herself.

then it wanes. wanes like the moon bearing its shrouded cycle. she softens up, softer than the bunny hopping across thick green grass in the season of beltane. this felt more fundamental to her than you might think, but, caring for you was her duty of worship. ever since that day she met you– the evening plait with a crimson ember engulfing air at the center of an autumntime bonfire in jackson. cold perspiration stuck to the glass held in your hands, talking the very ears off every owl present to listen. you had shared, sung, flirted, and saved the kiss for later. a later spent in her bed, all night– rising at dayspring, where she asked you to be her girlfriend at the foot of her door, just as you took your leave. 

every wound you tended to, she tended to yours, and led you here. on this farm. in your own realm of heaven.

"but seriously– do you want something to eat?"

"yeah, i'll um.." you shoo her away from her parked poise between your legs, sliding your weight off the counter with a heft of your forearms pushing you off, "clean the counter." your toes ease onto the floor with a shaky wobble, unable to even straighten your legs out at first. damn, ellie, what have you done.

"yeah, nuh–uh," she briskly bends at the torso and bars her robust arms underneath your mid–back and in the fold of your knee, sweeping you off your heels.

"els, what the f–"

she tousles her woody auburn mullet in a wag of her head, crunching you up closer with her biceps, "you, babe– are going to rest. i'll clean the counter." her brows raise at the end of her emphasized sentence, a silent 'capeesh?'.

her amenability never ceases to blossom those heartstrings of yours.

"yeah, yeah.." your eyes toss around the rim of your brow bone, and land back on her in time to spot a chuckle churn her watermelon pink lips.

those lips then settle and purse into a pucker, idly sidiling her face plumb to your forehead and peppering a moist kiss, pulling back slowly with unhindered affection tugging the corner of her lips into a satisfied smile.

"see? m'taking care of you. just as if–"

"if i was pregnant?"

"mhm.."

"you want it that badly?"

".."

"well– maybe.. jackson has some adoptable kids?"

now you're just feeding that fantasy of hers.

taglist; @whore4abby , @picklesarenice69 (im too dumb to know who wants 2 be on my permanent taglist so pls tell me directly if u ever wanna be tagged in all of my fic posts)

[reasonsforhope]

Legit though, we should start turning ecosystem restoration and work to make our world more tolerant to the effects of climate change into annual holidays and festivals

Like how just about every culture used to have festivals to celebrate the beginning of the harvest or its end, or the beginning of planting, or how whole communities used to host barn raisings and quilting bees - everyone coming together at once to turn the work of months or years into the work of a few days

Humble suggestions for festival types:

Goat festival

Besides controlled burns (which you can't do if there's too much dead brush), the fastest, most effective, and most cost-efficient way to clear brush before fire season - esp really heavy dead brush - is to just. Put a bunch of goats on your land for a few days!

Remember that Shark Tank competitor who wanted to start a goat rental company, and everyone was like wtf? There was even a whole John Oliver bit making fun of the idea? Well THAT JUST PROVES THEY'RE FROM NICE WET PLACES, because goat rental companies are totally a thing, and they're great.

So like. Why don't we have a weekend where everyone with goats just takes those goats to the nearest land that needs a ton of clearing? Public officials could put up maps of where on public lands grazing is needed, and where it definitely shouldn't happen. Farmers and people/groups with a lot of acres that need clearing can post Goat Requests.

Little kids can make goat-themed crafts and give the goats lots of pets or treats at the end of the day for doing such a good job. Volunteers can help wrangle things so goats don't get where they're not supposed to (and everyone fences off land nowadays anyway, mostly). And the goats, of course, would be in fucking banquet paradise.

Planting Festival and Harvest Festival

Why mess with success??? Bring these back where they've disappeared!!! Time to swarm the community gardens and help everyone near you with a farm make sure that all of their seeds are sown and none of the food goes to waste in the fields, decaying and unpicked.

And then set up distribution parts of the festival so all the extra food gets where it needs to be! Boxes of free lemons in front of your house because you have 80 goddamned lemons are great, but you know what else would be great? An organized effort to take that shit to food pantries (which SUPER rarely get fresh produce, because they can't hold anything perishable for long at all) and community/farmer's markets

Rain Capture Festival

The "water year" - how we track annual rainfall and precipitation - is offset from the regular calendar year because, like, that's just when water cycles through the ecosystems (e.g. meltwater). At least in the US, the water year is October 1st through September 30th of the next year, because October 1st is around when all the snowmelt from last year is gone, and a new cycle is starting as rain begins to fall again in earnest.

So why don't we all have a big barn raising equivalent every September to build rain capture infrastructure?

Team up with some neighbors to turn one of those little grass strips on the sidewalk into a rain-garden with fall-planting plants. Go down to your local church and help them install some gutters and rain barrels. Help deculvert rivers so they run through the dirt again, and make sure all the storm drains in your neighborhood are nice and clear.

Even better, all of this - ESPECIALLY the rain gardens - will also help a ton with flood control!

I'm so serious about how cool this could be, yall.

And people who can't or don't want to do physical stuff for any of these festivals could volunteer to watch children or cook food for the festival or whatever else might need to be done!

Parties afterward to celebrate all the good work done! Community building and direct local improvements to help protect ourselves from climate change!

The possibilities are literally endless, so not to sound like an influencer or some shit, but please DO comment or reply or put it in the notes if you have thoughts, esp on other things we could hold festivals like this for.

Canning festivals. "Dig your elderly neighbors out of the snow" festivals. Endangered species nesting count festival. Plant fruit trees on public land and parks festival. All of the things that I don't know anywhere near enough to think of. Especially in more niche or extreme ecosystems, there are so many possibilities that could do a lot of good

[agxxb]

Greaser .𖥔 ݁ ˖

dean winchester x f!reader

summary: your boyfriend is working on his car. if only he wasn’t so attractive.

warnings: soft smut. clit rubbing. pet names (sweetheart, baby). praise. dean is sweaty and has greasy hands. [1.5k]

The sunshine brought infinite hues of green, a palate of nature kissing creation alive. The light flowed, poppling like the water of a river, and the heat brought a day best for the dreaming of new poetry.

The world was quiet, the only noise being the sound of metal clanging as Dean Winchester worked on his car. Beads of sweat had formed on his hairline, dripping down his temples and catching on the short stubble of his beard. His biceps flexed as he gripped the wrench within his grease-covered hand, jaw clenching as he focused.

A quiet grunt left his mouth when he finally stood up straight, a slight ache in his back from how long he had been hunched over the car bonnet. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he glanced around the salvage yard belonging to Bobby, green eyes piercing through the waves of heat surrounding him.

You looked out at him, subtly biting your lip as you watched your boyfriend’s back muscles ripple beneath his grey shirt. You had spent the last fifteen or so minutes making fresh lemonade, pouring a glass for the younger Winchester before pouring another two.

Walking out the back door, the heat hit you like a truck. Condensation had already began forming on the outer side of the two glasses in your hands, dampening the pads of your fingertips. Your eyes squinted slightly, trying to see through the sun shining directly into them.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Dean greeted as you approached him, the man turning around and leaning against his car. He held a rag, wiping his hands free of the grease covering them.

You held out one of the glasses, smiling as he took it. “Made some lemonade, thought you could do with it.” He took a sip, closing his eyes as his mouth no longer felt dry. “You’ve been out here for hours.”

“This is good,” Dean complimented, taking another sip. You copied him, bringing your own glass up to your lips. “How’d you make this?”

However, his question fell upon deaf ears. Despite him being the one talking to you, you were too focus on Dean. His plump lips puckering slightly as he sipped his drink, tongue peaking out to lick them; His eyes, green enough to have an entire forest inside them; The freckles that danced across his cheeks and nose, almost as though they were lovers entwined in a waltz or leaves dancing in the wind; And his hands, veins visible as he clutched the glass between his calloused fingers.

Dean followed your eye-line, a smirk threatening to break out on his face when he realised what you were staring at.

“Sweetheart?” You hummed, reluctantly looking away from his fingers and back up to his face. “I asked you a question.”

“I, um…” You thought back to what he had asked, trying to remember what you’d last heard him say. “Just lemons and a bit of sugar.”

It was Dean’s turn to hum, though his was in amusement. He knew you had a thing for his hands, he just didn’t realise you’d like them even more with oil covering them. He placed his glass down on the side table holding his tools, and walked closer to you, gently taking your drink from your hand and placing it beside his.

You glanced up at him, your boyfriend towering over your frame. He saw the need hidden in your eyes, the want you had for him. Dean’s hand lifted, palm resting against your cheek before it moved down to your neck. He pulled you closer to him, watching your eyes widen in desire at his show of dominance.

“You think you’re so sly,” he teasingly said before leaning down and capturing your lips with his.

You moaned into the kiss, hands going to his torso. You gently squeezed, feeling the muscles you been appreciating not so long ago.All thoughts that weren’t Dean had left your mind, your only focus being your boyfriend.

The heat between you both had become more sultry than the blazing sun. The kiss quickly deepened, both as desperate for one another as the day you had first met.

You momentarily pulled back just to tell him that you needed him. In fact, you craved him. Your hands moved under his shirt, feeling his abs beneath your fingers and gently scratching with your nails.

“Yeah, Baby?”

Baby? In the years you and Dean had been together, he had never called you ‘baby’. Baby was his car, not anyone else — not even you. You blinked, the man seemingly realising the effect that word had on you.

You licked your bottom lip, gently pushing him back to sit in the driver’s seat of his car. You placed your hands on his knees, spreading his legs just enough for you to slot your body in between them.

His breath hitched when your hand brushed against his hardened bulge and you raised your eyes to his as you unzipped his jeans, pulling them down his thighs with some help. His cock bounced against his stomach, and he hissed in pleasure as you grasped him in your hand.

He squeezed his eyes shut when you spread the precum over his head, letting out a low grown. You licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as he looked down at you. You swirled your tongue around the head before taking more into your mouth.

"Fuck, Baby.”

You moaned around him, his hand coming to rest at back of your head. You breathed slowly out of your nose as you moved down, wrapping a hand around what you couldn't fit in your mouth. You started bobbing your head, hollowing out your cheeks as your lover trembled beneath you.

"Good girl.”

You fastened your movements, though Dean stopped you a few moments later. He grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up onto his lap, a leg either side of his waist. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel how wet you were, soaked through your underwear.

Dean didn’t even bother with pulling down, simply moving them to the side in his desperation. Quiet moans escaped you as the head of his cock met your slick entrance, always proving his preparation irrelevant.

"Christ, Sweetheart... This worked up over me?" His smug smile eventually turned into a bitten lip as he eased himself into you, his lack of self control overrunning any wit to him he had left. "That's it..."

With your hands on his shoulders and his on your waist, your movements had to be second nature by now. His stubble dragged across your neck, making you shudder with pleasure as he left kisses along your collarbone.

You moaned as you lifted up only to sit back down on him. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, your head thrown back in ecstasy, and your legs slightly shook as the pleasure rippled through your body, toes curling.

"Good girl," Dean praised, voice deep and raspy from his sybaritism. He let out a moan of his own as he felt you clench around him, clearly enjoying yourself. "You like that?"

"Mhm," you nodded, a whimper leaving you as you sped up. "Fuck."

He reciprocated the sound, biting his lip as he stared down at where you both were joined. He could see your slick coating him, a white ring around the base. Dean always loved to watch you take him, especially when he could sit back and watch you ride him.

"Gonna cum," you told him, nails digging into his shoulders. At this, Dean grabbed your hips tighter and began pounding up into you.

Your mouth was open as a constant stream of moans and whimpers left unashamedly. One of his hands moved down, the pad of his thumb rubbing against your bundle of nerves, and a sharp gasp left your lips.

Everything went quiet as white hot pleasure rolled through your body, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You clung onto him for dear life, legs shaking around his thick thighs.

"Where?" Dean asked through gritted teeth.

"Inside. Cum inside me. Please.”

You knew it wasn't exactly smart, seeing as he wasn't wearing any protection, but you needed to feel him. He kept the same pace, no longer caring about your pleasure and simply chasing his own high.

"God damn-!" Dean groaned, slamming into you one final time. His orgasm triggered another for you, squeezing around him tightly.

After a moment, you sighed, laying your head on his shoulder whilst still feeling him pulse inside of you. Your chest rose and fell against his own, heavy breaths being traded between the two of you.

You lifted slightly as Dean pulled out, though you stayed on his lap, in his arms. His hand moved to your waist, thumb gently rubbing it as he kissed your forehead.

"Ah, son of a bitch,” he suddenly said, gaining your attention. You lifted your head from his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing slightly in silent question. “I didn’t finish my lemonade.”

[whaqat]

ermm

Curtis brothers headcanons

and then I’ll do the rest of the gang

- Soda and Pony pretend to have inside jokes to piss Darry off. Darry does actually get annoyed since they keep saying it over and over so he starts interrogating them about it.

^^ ponyboy manages to create a fake ass scenario each time. It scares Sodapop sometimes.

- everyone likes to say soda would be a red flag magnet and I second that. “Pony, she’s literally the one she said we were like Harley Quinn and joker.” “… soda, I don’t think you get how bad that is.”

- pre-book they would all go to a random river to skip rocks. Darry would always “accidentally” throw it 300 feet across and pretend he was trying to skip it and it was like the coolest thing ever to pony and soda.

- soda loves sweet stuff, pony loves sour stuff, and Darry loves salty stuff.

^^ to the extreme though. You will absolutely find ponyboy at 2AM fucking up a lemon.

- Soda and Darry saved to buy ponyboy a camera and better art supplies for his birthday. he cried.

- having “the talk” with pony was very very awkward. he already knew most of the stuff because he hangs out with people like two-bit and dally, but he found it funny so he kept pretending to be confused.

- (modern) darry would love Life360

D:“pony, you said you were going to the movies, why are you across town.”

D:“Hello????”

P: “mb I saw a butterfly.”

D: “for three miles??”

- all a little pyromaniac-ish. Weekend bonfires go weeeeeee

- pony was a little snitch as a kid and he didn’t know it most of the time.

- soda and pony both wander off constantly. Darry has considered getting kid leashes multiple times. (A day)

-soda hated how much they argued so he kept trying to arrange stuff that they did in their childhood when Darry wasn’t working but it’d just end up a mess and soda would just feel worse.

- (modern) Darry understands slang, but he doesn’t like it being used in the house because “Ponyboy won’t get far with that talk” and he thinks it’ll make him seem illiterate like the rest of them. So when they’re fighting, it’ll go quiet and pony’ll say some stupid shit like “what the skibidi” and Darry would slam his hands onto the counter.

[fallenneziah]

Hello I saw your Alpha Ghost x Omega reader fics and I was wondering what if reader was an alpha and Ghost was the Omega

(If you can make reader a timber wolf and make it fluff no smut)

Aw, I love making these things. You'll get all the fluff.

Alpha!Reader x Omega!Ghost

Omega!Ghost who actually was very sheltered about telling people he was an Omega. He didn't tell anyone for a long time and went through years just to try and hide it.

Omega!Ghost who after being captured and held by Roba couldn't help seeing his body as nothing but an object, wanting to hide it more.

The generational shame that came with being an Omega and wanting to hide himself continued for many years that he was like this.

Alpha!Reader whose distinct senses and abilities made them a prime recruit for the military. Joining without incident and pushing through rank.

Omega!Ghost whose been used to hiding so long the feelings he's attempted to keep dormant deep down bubble back up slowly when he sees you.

Your capable, your strong, your scent hits his nose and it's like his knees are weak and he can't get enough.

Alpha!Reader who sees the big lieutenant and it's honestly scary to see him looming and watching you. He's an alpha probably, making sure you don't cause shit for the others.

Alpha!Reader and omega!Ghost don't get too close yet, Ghosts intense heat blockers keep most of his identity a mystery. If anyone got so close as to figure it out that was an accomplishment.

Alpha!reader who starts trying to prove themselves for the alpha watching every day.

Price can only laugh, looking over at Ghost whose watching behind the mask with the lovesick eyes of a puppy finding a new owner. "Do they know?"

"No."

Price looks back at you, flexing your hardest and trying your best to impress. "Didn't think so."

Omega!Ghost who is relishing the attention. He knows you're showing off for him, and whether he will admit it or not, he likes it. He enjoys watching you flex your muscles and show off the wolfish side of yourself.

This gander goes on for a while between the two. Ghost watches as he feels that Omega inside him purrs and leaps. Like a cat awake from a nap ready to stretch its back legs and take off.

Alpha!reader who's tired, a day of showing off to the man who won't even speak to you. They head back to their common area and whose there?

Omega!Ghost whose finding that his omega is much more prone to cuddling than he remembered. Snuggled up in a blanket watching whatever was on tv.

"Sir, lieutenant." You attempted to greet casually as you sat down. The taste of peppermint and lemon citrus. The scent makes your stomach twist and your head whip around.

Omega!Ghost who could care less hunkered in his blanket like a turtle poking his head from his shell while your instincts stir and confusion sets in.

Ghost is very used to your scent because he smelled it first. But as you smell this new smell you realize it's coming from him.

Alpha!reader who realizes the man you've wanted to impress all this time has been an omega. Which, honestly? Not a bad thing. Not at all.

Omega!Ghost smells your growing scent, looking over at you. Your scent swarms the room like a thick cloud. And you look over at him. His pupils expand and close, as if trying to resist relaxing into the presence.

Alpha!Reader who lets the scent fill the air and swarm his nose. You smell of woods, fresh dirt and the familiar smell of a mutt wet from the river.

"You think this is that easy?" He asks curiously as he flips through his book.

You watch his fluid motions, seeing the way his fingers grasp so gently at the pages. You look at his face, seeing his beautiful lashes casting over his brown eyes.

"I didn't realize I'd have to be chasing you.."

"Does that turn you off??" He asks, and looks to you briefly.

Your canines show behind a smile. You reach your hand over and rub his thigh, feeling the muscle tense under the subtle touch. "No, no it doesn't at all." You reply, moving boldly closer to him.

Omega!Ghost usually didn't let people into his space, but hell, you'd worked your ass off for it. "Mm." He replied and you snuggled up to him, your hand drifting around his lap to capture his waist. When that didn't make him move, you nuzzled his scent glands, shifting his mask and giving them an experimental lick.

Ghost jumped, his cheeks going bright red. "That's enough you- mutt."

"Ouch, Ghost... You like it."

Alpha!Reader who proceeds to gently groom Ghost. Ghost hadn't ever been groomed before. Maybe the occasions head scratches from Price but this was... So much different.

Omega!Ghost who can't help whining for your attention and affections. His resolve is slowly crumbling beneath him as your smell is the tip of the treat. He's held it off as long as he could, now he just needs the experience he's missed out on from people he can trust.

Alpha!Reader doesn't pull his mask up too high, but enough to lick and kiss around his neck and shoulders. There was no intention of lust behind them, merely to help his shoulders relax with warm, sweet lips tending to them.

Omega!Ghost who sinks into it, nuzzling against you. Every instinct in his body he'd pushed down for years over years pooling out in an instant. His trust issues scream at him, and he partly pulls away. "Keep your hands where I can see them... Mutt." He mumbled, attempting to make it clear where his line drew.

Alpha!Reader who fits him in their arms, nuzzling him. As any wolf would, you continued to groom him. "I wouldn't do anything you wouldn't want." Ghost is completely lax. Whatever you did... Fuck you did it right.

Something felt so... New. It felt like your arms were a barrier between him and everything else. Your arms kept him safe, your scent, your presence, this was safety.

Alpha!reader who watches his eyes so effortlessly flutter closed. They nudge his cheek and press a quick kiss to the mask, feeling their heart jump for joy.

"We'll take it slow ... But I think I've found what makes you tick." You chuckle, seeing him fully blissed out, getting a mere taste of what true safety feels like. After years of hiding, worrying and screaming. You've given him just a smidge of what he could have with you.

Safety and companionship.

[mischiefmanagers]

Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 🦇💙

I'm back with another list of one hundred Azriel x Reader and Azriel x OC fics for the Azriel lovers out there! these are in no particular order. enjoy!! ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @ellievickstar

River Side Confessions 💞

by @itsphoenix0724

Peony 💞

Gardenia 🥀💞🌼

Hold Me Gently 🥀🔥

by @azrielslostshadow

I see you 💞

lemon tart 💞🌼

by @imaginesmai

i love you 🥀

right around the corner 🌼

Something new 🔥

by @daycourtofficial

Cassian is a Nosy Busybody Who Can’t Keep to Himself 💞

We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball 💞

Prophesize Me 💞

Love Potion No. 9 💞

Everything is Not As it Seems 🥀

Your Love is My Drug 🔥💞

by @lidiasloca

even in sickness 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

only you my girl 💞

Pretty like the wind 💞🥀🌼

by @gothicbabydollz

more than a distraction 🥀🔥

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Princess 🥀

Best mistake 💞

Scary mate 💞

Failed proposal 💞🥀

Oops 💞

by @thesunloveschips

Eye of the Storm🌼

by @azriels-shadowsinger

Confessions 🥀

by @writingcroissant

As a Trophy 🥀🔥

by @tadpolesonalgae

Milestones 💞

The Secret World of Borrowing

Unchained 🔥

The Dregs of Tragedy

by @spellbookd

Little Mouse 🔥

by @serpentandlily

Untouchable 🥀

Mystique 💞🌼

Arcane 💞🌼

Scared to be Happier 🥀🔥

by @angelshadowsinger

Assistance 🔥

by @batboylover

mating bond snaps with a stranger 💞

Rhysand's Sister 🥀

protective w/ pregnant mate 💞

degradation gone wrong 🔥🥀

by @sxnktaalxna

Threads

by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Mirror, Mirror 🥀

Not my cup of tea 🥀💞

by @florencemtrash

The Artificer 💞

by @readychilledwine

Losing Forever 🥀

Love and 100 Other Lies 🥀💞🌼

Cat and Mouse

Whispers in the Dark 🔥

Lollipop

The Last Cabin on the Left 💞

Past and Future - Threefold 💞

Breathe 🔥

by @sarahs-library

Forgotten 🥀

by @parkerslatte

Drawn to You 🥀💞

Strings That Bind Us 🥀💞

Not Fated 🔥🥀

by @fieldofdaisiies

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart 🥀💞

by @fairydustblossom

losing control 🥀💞

encroaching promises 🥀🌼

by @mxigo

soul sick 🥀

by @leafsandstarlight

Bad Idea, Right? 🔥🌼

Never the One 🥀

Inadvertently Yours

by @jeannineee

Resolve 🥀

by @lure-of-writing

forgotten anniversary 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Binx 💞

I Just Feel You 💞

Back Off 🥀💞

Alone? 💞

I'm Married 💞

Combined Aesthetics 💞🌼

by @theostrophywife

in my head. 🔥

by @cosmic-whispers

Control 🥀

by @artists-ally

Only Me and the Devil Know🔥

Train Wreck 🥀🌼

Smoke on the Water

by @soulessjourney

Autumn's Whispered Secrets 💞

by @aroseinvelaris

Guardian Angel 💞

by @pricklepearbloom

Late for Dinner 🥀

Baked With Love 🥀💞

by @moonlightazriel

Fake it until you make it… 🥀💞

by @lalacliffthorne

sleepy in the library 💞

sunday mornings 💞

when Azriel has a nightmare 🥀💞

by @whisperingmidnights

To Long-Forgotten Gods 💞🔥

by @sapchat

We Are Not Our Fathers 💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

Don't grieve 🥀

Babysitting 💞

by @throneofsapphics

bad idea 💞

by @throneofsmut

Size Difference 🔥

Hunter/Prey 🔥

by @shadowdaddies

The Greatest Casualty 🥀

by @fever-fluff

Home

Cats Out of the Bag, Claws and All 🥀

Take my Hand 🥀💞

by @thevanserrras

Tricks For Treats 💞🔥

by @moonlightazriel

Mask Off

by @azsazz

Midnight Muse 🥀💞🌼

by @acourtofmenandthirst

Love You In The Dark 🥀

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: After accidentally killing your kidnappers, the twins—especially Tangerine—seem determined to keep you away from harm.

Genre: Fluff, hurt & comfort

Warnings: protiective!Tangerine, innocent!civilian!reader, kidnapping, swearing, mentions of injury and blood, canon violence, plot diverts from canon, No Ladybug—the other assassin is supposed to be Carver (since i felt the characterization would have been too off otherwise!)

~ thanks for requesting! i hope you like this hehe <3 @kpopgirlbtssvt ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

So far, the mission was running smoothly.

Lemon and Tangerine had killed all the men in the warehouse and were now making their way out with the White Death's son. Approaching their car, Tangerine throws his bloodied poncho into the trunk as Lemon stuffs the son's passed out body in the backseat. 

"Shit, bruv, I dropped my knife in the warehouse," Lemon suddenly whines with a grimace. 

His brother sends him an annoyed look, "Fuckin' cry me a river will ya? It's just a knife."

Lemon narrows his eyes at Tangerine and slams the car door shut. He deadpans, "It's not just a knife. It's Willa. You'know she's my fav."

"Shouldn't have dropped 'er then, yeah?" Tangerine snaps. 

Lemon ignores him and walks back into the warehouse. He's gone for a while and Tangerine wonders if perhaps he'd been hurt. Just as his annoyance turns to worry, he sees Lemon emerge from the warehouse, looking incredibly concerned. 

"Tangerine, come here," Lemon calls him over and based on the seriousness of his voice, Tangerine reluctantly follows him. His nose scrunches as they walk around the dead bodies they are responsible for. Lemon pulls at a filthy white sheet that hangs in the corner and it falls to reveal a makeshift room with old, beaten, boxes.

However, Tangerine's blood runs cold when he sees you splayed across the mattress in the opposite corner. 

Lemon sends him a look. "Heard 'er shift. I think she's asleep," he says. 

Cautiously, they move closer and Tangerine hears the occasional quiet whimper escape your lips. He kneels beside you, brows furrowing heavily, as with a gentle hand he pulls on your shoulder so you shift from your side onto your back. Your arm falls limp over the mattress and your head rolls to face him, causing Tangerine to inhale sharply. 

Your eyes are shut and your hair is messily splayed around and across your face. You're dressed in a pair of pajama shorts, worn out sneakers, and a tank top, the flimsy bedsheet the bastard that had done this to you had provided you with barely covers your bruised and exposed skin. 

Tangerine's jaw clenches when he sees the fingerprints on your thighs and arms. He looks at Lemon, who shrugs his shoulders and then leans over you to take your wrist and check your pulse. 

"Sleeping," he repeats. 

"Drugged," Tangerine argues and runs a hand over his face. Part of him wants to leave you here. You aren't his responsibility. He has a job to finish and anyway, he'd already killed the men who took you—probably? Hopefully? Fuck. He glances at Lemon, who seems debating the same thing and then Lemon catches his eye, as usual, his brother reads his fucking mind. 

"We have to take 'er," Lemon whispers, "She's innocent."

Tangerine looks at you again and his frown remains. Innocent. For all they know you could be the fucking evil mastermind behind it all. Maybe this was your plan all along and they're the fools who have fallen for the trick.

Only, his eyes soften when he watches your chest lift and fall a little harshly. You look so strangely delicate and it's making Tangerine lose his mind. 

No, you couldn't be anything other than pure innocence. 

Without another word, Tangerine shifts and hooks his arms under you. Your dead weight leans against his chest as the sheet falls from the curve of your foot and his hands tighten around you in fear you'll shiver from the sudden cold. 

Lemon watches his brother for a moment, a small smirk tugging at his lips. As much as he wants to, he doesn't comment on the scene in front of him.

* * *

Your head feels like it's spinning. The man you learned is named Lemon is yapping your ear off as you squeeze through the train aisle. You almost bump into him as he struggles with the poor man they'd told you bumped his head, and then the second man who'd introduced himself as Tangerine almost bumps into you.

You squeal, almost tripping, but Tangerine grunts and wraps his arm around your stomach so you don't fall. 

Quickly, as Lemon finds a booth and pushes the third man to lean against the window, Tangerine removes his arm and pretends like he didn't feel how badly you tensed under his touch. Raw anger simmers inside him at the mere idea of what your kidnappers had put you through.  

You watch as Lemon disappears with the silver briefcase for a moment and you wrap Tangerine's checkered coat closer around you. It's cool in the train and your exposed thighs and arms prickle with goosebumps. You don't dare complain. Tangerine sits next to you and he sends you a look. 

"Ya cold, luv?" he asks seriously. 

You look up at him, eyes widened innocently, and hesitate before you nod. Tangerine hums, happy you're communicating in some way, and he looks around. He stands and disappears down the aisle.

Lemon obscures your view for a moment when he sits across from you and when Tangerine returns, he's holding a sweatshirt over his arm. He hands it to you without a word and when Lemon gives his brother a confused look. Tangerine rolls his eyes and says, "What? I nicked it for 'er. She's cold."

Lemon hides a smirk as he holds up his arm in surrender and doesn't say much more. You slowly let Tangerine's coat fall from your shoulders as you slip on the sweatshirt. It's large enough to cover up to your mid-thigh and you feel less uneasy.

"So, ya really don't remember what those men wanted with ya?" Lemon interrupts.

You shrink in your seat. You wish you could remember more of your kidnapping so you could tell them. When you came to, you were already in the Twins car and they'd informed you you had been drugged and most likely kidnapped. You couldn't remember why. 

While the Twins had been nothing but kind to you, you still can't shake the feeling that they aren't the knights in shining armor you want them to be. You peer at Tangerine as he plucks a pack of snacks from the passing trolley. Without hesitation, he turns and hands them to you. 

You sit up a little and look at the snacks, eyes round. Tangerine nods silently as if to say, "It's okay," and then turns his attention to his brother, his blue eyes sharp. "She said she doesn't remember. Will ya lay off her?" he snaps.

You open the snacks and eat them up quickly. You hiss as your split lip opens from your carelessness but you continue to eat anyway.

Lemon and Tangerine bicker again but you're too focused on the food in your palms to care. Lemon sends you a sympathetic look as Tangerine calms down and the third man, who is sitting in a booth across from you all, starts to stir. 

* * *

"I am not leaving 'her alone with 'im!" Tangerine exclaims as he stares at Lemon like he's lost his mind. Lemon throws his hands up in the air and glares at his brother. "I don't trust 'im. If he's anything like his Daddy then he's bad fuckin' news," Tangerine reasons.

"So, what's your plan then? You gonna keep her safe by your side, hm? Someone took our case and I can guarantee they aren't gonna play nicely, bruv! She's a fuckin' liability, that's what she is!" 

Lemon raises good points but Tangerine ignores him completely. 

"She's our responsibility now, Lemon," he says sternly but he's distracted by the doors to the cabin sliding open and your frame slamming into his chest. Surprised, he tenses as your hands grasp helplessly at his suit and hide behind him. Lemon looks as puzzled as his brother when he sees how scared you look. 

However, unlike Lemon, Tangerine is in a panic. He spins around and holds onto your shoulders. He leans down as you hyperventilate, his heart beating so loudly. "Hey, hey, luv, what happened? Are ya hurt? What's wrong? Tell me," he says. His large hands move up to cup your tear-stained cheeks as he tries to calm you down.

You make small gasping sounds and point to the now shut doors you just came from. "T-the man! H-he w-was poisoned! I saw the person in the costume prick him with something and now there's blood coming out of his eyes. I think he's dead!" you sound completely horrified and Tangerine can't help himself when he wraps you in his arms and holds you closer.

Lemon paces behind him, clearly alarmed that the white death's son was murdered under their care, but Tangerine is only focused on you.

"Hey, darlin', can you look at me," he whispers as he tries to ground you. "You're fine. Shh, you're okay now. You did the right thing running to us, hmm?" you nod, still clutching onto Tangerine. Lemon scoffs from behind you and his brother sends him a dark look. "She's staying with me," Tangerine says. 

"Your funeral mate," Lemon says and unlocks his gun. He looks at you and his eyes soften for a moment before they land on Tangerine. "You've gone completely sweet for 'er," he says in a whisper, almost like he can't believe he's saying those words out loud, "be careful." 

You look up at Tangerine and see his jaw clench for a moment. Something flickers in his eyes—denial perhaps—but he just ignores Lemon's warning and guides you back into the train compartment to make a plan. 

* * *

Your head is throbbing as it hits the wall of the train. You hear ringing in your ears as Tangerine's shouts become hazy. You feel a hand curl around the hood of your sweatshirt as you're yanked up and thrown to the opposite side of the room again. You crash into the cupboards as foods from the shelves fall onto you.  

"Fuckin' bastard," Tangerine seethes, recovering from a punch the man had landed in his stomach. He lunges and hits the man in the nose, the crack audible, as the man crumbles to the ground. Tangerine sees red as he straddles the man and punches him repeatedly. "Ya don't fuckin' touch 'er! Ya hear me? I see one fuckin' bruise from your fingerprints on her again and I'll break all your fuckin' bones!" 

You struggle to stand, shards of glass stuck in your palms as you watch the scene with a scared expression. The man slams a glass onto Tangerine's head and taunts cruelly, "What's she to you, hm? One of your little bitches? Your reputation betrays you, Tangerine." You wince at this man's words and when he stares at you, your breath hitches.

"Huh, you one of his bitches, girl? A stunner like you shouldn't be involved with men like him, you know—but, I can see why he keeps you around, I mean you're—" 

Tangerine interrupts him with a hard punch in the jaw and his sentence falls short. Without hesitation, Tangerine takes your wrist in his hand and speed-walks away from the scene. You stumble after him as he grunts in pain from the blows he'd taken. When he finds an empty bathroom, he pushes you inside as he crams into the small space. 

Tangerine's hip is digging into the sink as he holds up your palm. "Shit, look at your hand," he mutters and then looks up at you more closely, "You aren't too hurt, are ya? I'm sorry, darlin'." 

You stare at him, your adrenaline pumping, and blurt out the first thing you think of as you look at the cuts and bruises across his face, and at how disheveled and bloody his suit has become. "You look like shit," you say with concern, and with your other hand, you push some curls away from his forehead. Your fingers dance across his skin delicately, too worried for him to realize what exactly you're doing

Tangerine's eyebrows raise in surprise and he laughs. You pull your hand away and stare up at him, your wounds obvious from the blows that the other assassin had landed on you. However, he just smirks. "Atta girl," he whispers, and almost as if on instinct he moves to press his knuckles to your cheek. You feel the warmth spread across them. 

Clearing his throat, he pulls his arm away and looks down to unlock his gun. "We gotta find Lemon and we need to get off this god-forsaken train—job be damned. I'm not putting you at risk anymore." You nod, wiping some blood from the corner of your mouth with your sleeve.

"You stay behind me and listen closely. If I say jump, you jump, understand?" he says and slides the door to the bathroom open.

* * *

Tangerine feels his eyes hang heavy as he tries to erase the memory of Lemon's dead body. His heart is pounding as he feels your hands clutch around his arm. He hadn't let you see Lemon, not fully, but you'd cried from the situation anyway (and in fear of his anger he assumes). 

After all, he is furious.

"Fuckin' diesel bitch," he mutters, his gun pointed at the girl dressed in pink.

The young girl snarls and stares at him defiantly. She doesn't seem scared of him. However, as soon as the third assassin—the brown-haired man from earlier—enters, she screams. Tangerine senses you tense beside him and he quickly moves to shield you as the man points his gun at you and him. 

Tangerine fires his gun sloppily and it hits the man in his neck. However, he's too slow to prevent the man's bullet from hitting you in the shoulder.  

You shriek and the pain is excruciating as you fall to the ground. Tangerine spins around, catching you in time as he holds you close and applies pressure to your wound. He holds up your head as he looks into your teary eyes.

"Shit, fuck, fuck, hey–shh, you're okay," he promises, his voice strained. You're not trained for the pain and as much as Tangerine tries to prevent you from looking, your eyes move to your shoulder. 

There's blood everywhere. 

Tangerine can see that you're in shock as your eyelids flutter. He holds you up but he can't think as you lose consciousness. He wants to scream and he slams his hand onto the ground next to you, desperately holding you to him. 

He needs to help you.

Somehow.

* * * 

When you wake, you hear Tangerine's voice loud and clear— "You told me you weren't wearing yer fuckin' vest!" he snaps, pacing around the small motel room. Your eyelids flutter and you see Lemon—Lemon!— sitting on the second queen bed, his head in his hands. Tangerine's pendant still hangs from his neck. 

"Will ya stop screaming at me!?" Lemon hisses, pinching his nose.

"I though' ya'd died!!" 

From where you lay you can see how furious Tangerine looks. His suit is still bloody and he looks as disheveled as he did on the train. You can hear how pained he sounds and your heart sinks.

Lemon is silent for a moment and then he stands. Without any smart comment or argument, he walks over to his brother and wraps his arm around Tangerine's shoulders. Instantly, Tangerine's body seems to melt into Lemon and you hear a choked sob as they hug—you aren't entirely sure who it's from. 

After a moment, Lemon pulls away first but puts his hand on the back of Tangerine's nape. "I see ya managed to keep 'er safe," he says, amusement in his voice as he turns to you and you shut your eyes so they'll think you're still asleep. 

"Barely," Tangerine's voice is strained, "She's hurt. I tried'a stitch her up as best I could but I ain't no fuckin' doctor. She was passed out the entire time—hope she didn't feel a thing."

You hadn't.

"You care about 'er," Lemon states and you hold your breath. 

"I don't," Tangerine insists quickly. "She's just a responsibility. Nothin' more, nothin' less."

Your chest tightens at his words and you feel very stupid. Why would he care more than that? You're still strangers. You don't even know his favorite color. All you know is that you care.

He'd saved you. He was your savior. How could you move on and pretend he wasn't? How could you move on and just not see him anymore?

Lemon sighs sadly, "Why is it so hard for you to admit you care about someone?"

"Because everything I care about dies. Gone. Just like that, Lemon," you hear Tangerine snap his fingers and you flinch, "I don' want 'er to die because of me. Because I cared too much to let her go and live a normal fuckin' life!" 

You bite down on your lip—hard. 

"I–fuck, you don't understand Lemon," Tangerine says and you wish you could open your eyes to see him. You want to see him so badly but you can't so you stay still, listening in. "I almost lost you and you're a trained assassin! She's just a girl. I can't protect her. I couldn't even protect her tonight."

You want to tell him that he's wrong. He can! He had! Without him, you'd still be kidnapped or worse, dead. 

"Mate, you're too hard on yourself," Lemon reasons. 

"No. I'm not. I can't fuck up. Fuckin' up means death," Tangerine says sternly, his tone ending the conversation.

You hear faint footsteps and then the mattress dips as someone's nimble fingers find your hairline and push away some stray hairs. Is it weird that you recognize his touch already? You stir unconsciously and shift onto your back, your eyes opening. 

You're unaware that as they flutter, all Tangerine is picturing as his blue ones staring back at you is the way you looked when they'd found you—hair messy and spilled across the dirty mattress, skin bruised and bloody. His stomach churns and he feels sick. 

"Hi, darlin'," he mutters, and then his fingers, slow and deliberate, move to pull down the blanket so he can access your bound shoulder. You tilt your head and wince when you see the blood seeping through the plaster.

"May I?" Tangerine asks as his hand hovers over your shoulder. You nod, staring up at him with widened eyes as he checks over your wound. 

As he works, you're overwhelmed and you have to look away. When you do, your eyes fall on Lemon. "Lemon," you say, "you're alive!" 

Lemon cracks a smile and runs a hand over his face, "I am. Were ya sad, bird?"

It's meant to be teasing but you nod instantly and Lemon's eyebrows crease. He looks at Tangerine, who stands up and pulls the covers over you again. "She's a sweet bird, ain't she?" Lemon says as he smiles fondly. Tangerine nods and moves some hair behind his ear as the strands fall messily. 

"Yeah," is all he answers and then he tells you, "Rest up now, luv. Your stitches are solid and you need sleep. It's been a long day." You wonder if he knows you'd overheard his conversation with Lemon or if he's blissfully unaware. You try and sit up but Tangerine scowls, "Hey, now, none of that," he reprimands. 

"Don't leave me," you say seriously and Tangerine's eyes round.

"Pardon?"

"I don't want to be alone—" you whisper and settle into the pillows again, looking up at him. 

"Lemon and I will just be over," Tangerine starts to explain but you reach out and grasp his wrist. You stare up at him silently and Lemon chuckles. 

"Think she wants ya to sleep with 'er," he says and Tangerine's cheeks turn pink at the double meaning. He sends Lemon a glare but sits back down beside you. He lets you hold onto his wrist as he thinks of a plan. 

You wonder if asking him to lay next to you is too much. You would understand if he refuses.

"I'm gonna clean up a little," Tangerine finally says, "and then Lemon can take the other bed and I'll—I'll sit here, on the floor, and hold your hand so you can sleep?"

His voice has a slight tremble you wonder if he's suppressing, and you can't help but wish he'd just hold you.

"You'll be uncomfortable," you try persuading him as he stands and his wrist slips from your hand.

"I want to keep watch tonight anyways," Tangerine says and smiles. It isn't a smirk—no it's a real smile. You don't argue as you nod.

Your arm dangles from the bed as you try and stay awake long enough to know Tangerine will actually hold your hand. You feel your body slip in and out of sleep as you catch only fragments of Tangerine's conversation with Lemon through the open bathroom door. 

"We'll call Billy tomorrow morning and she can call 'er family—tell'em she's safe."

"Ya know, ya could just sleep in the bed—next to her—it's really not that odd,"

"Shut up,"

You're so close to sleep your eyelids feel so heavy that when you hear quiet shuffling near your ear, you can't even open your eyes. Your hand twitches and a soft sound escapes your lips when you feel Tangerine's fingers interlock with yours. 

"I'm here," he whispers, the sound so quiet if you weren't so close to him you'd miss it. You hear the sound of his head hitting the bedside table and with an exhausted wince, you shift closer, your hand squeezing his. 

"Thank you f-for everything," you manage to mumble, your eyes remaining shut. You aren't sure your thanks escaped your lips audibly because he doesn't answer. You slip into sleep, unaware of Tangerine's mind racing as his hand remains in yours. 

Don't thank me, he thinks, please. 

His drowsy eyes are trained on the motel door as Lemon washes up in the bathroom. He refuses to shut them. While his back is already aching from sitting on the floor and his arm is tired from being in such an awkward position to hold your hand, he doesn't move. 

Instead, he listens to your calm breathing as you sleep. It's so different from when he'd found you—you'd been so scared and, even drugged, your body had been on edge.

Now, you sound so calm and secure and as silly as it sounds, Tangerine's chest tightens. As long as he can help it he'll make sure you're never that scared and vulnerable again.  

[heirofnight]

blueberry scones & lemon squares

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: azriel spends his morning reflecting on various places he's lived throughout his lifetime. his thoughts quickly reroute back to you, his true home, and he reminisces on how you both met.

a/n: another drabble / stream of consciousness that took on a mind of its own. i really enjoy these! i only skimmed over this once, so it's lightly edited. sorry for any other mistakes i may have missed. this one made my chest hurt though - in a good way.

home.

az had resided many places during the course of his lifetime. but, as the years progressed, he'd come to realize that home was not solely determined by a physical structure with four walls - not just a place to lay his head and wings after a long, grueling day, or after returning from missions with bloodied hands and a dagger in need of sharpening. no, azriel's true home was always marked by wherever his brothers were. and now, wherever you were too.

the house of wind. another home of his.

azriel stood atop the balcony connected to his chambers. it was early dawn, the sun just beginning to rise into the morning sky. misty clouds carried on a breeze idled by, so close, az truly thought he could reach out and grab a piece of one for himself. if he squinted hard enough, really focused, he could make out the city of velaris and the sidra river, glowing like melted sapphire, far below him. could see the smoke of chimneys rising to meet the clouds as the city and its patrons began stirring for the day.

he stretched his large, membranous wings outward, letting the sunlight bathe them in warmth. his breath escaped him as visible white puffs, the autumn chill inescapable at the high altitude.

az regarded himself as a self-reflective male. his mind never stopped, and unfortunately, he was not ever able to fully escape it. this morning, he lazily cycled through thoughts regarding the places he'd called home. his early childhood, with his father and step-mother. never a home, he'd thought, leaving that memory behind as swiftly as it'd presented itself. windhaven, where he'd been dumped at eleven years old. his lips quirked up as he recounted his first memories of cassian and rhysand. the way in which they'd quickly become brothers. rhys' mother taking him in - the cabin where so many memories were made. a home.

he took flight now, shooting directly into the blazing sky. puffs of clouds caressed his arms and wings as he ascended right through them, a tickling sensation that he'd never tire of. now, he thought of you as he inhaled deep breaths of fresh, crisp morning air.

the way you both met. your father owned a bookstore right in the middle of the rainbow in velaris. an older business that was well-known and well-loved within the city. it had been destroyed during hybern's attack, and when it was rebuilt - a task that you'd had to heavily convince your aging father of - you'd added on a bakery to the renovated structure. one half was now a quaint pastry kitchen, designed with small café tables that extended onto the boardwalk overlooking the sidra, swirling gold motifs atop white marble, and glass display cases full of baked goods that you'd hand-make each morning. the other half was reminiscent of your father's original bookstore, and while he was still involved, you'd opted to largely take over the business so that he could rest and enjoy the fruits of his labor from afar. this was the first storefront of its kind in velaris, and everyone was smitten. including feyre and nesta.

feyre was absolutely infatuated with your glazed blueberry scones. on several occasions, you'd arrived at the bakery hours before opening to fulfill large-batch orders of them for various events that she'd ask you to cater throughout the city.

nesta, on the other hand, adored the attached bookstore. several times a week, she'd meander through shelves of first edition texts while feyre and rhysand browsed your daily selection of baked goods. nesta would always purchase stacks of books, as many as she could bare to hold within her arms. sometimes, if the group would opt to hang around for breakfast, you'd catch her flipping through her recent purchase, carefully cradling a scone in her other hand.

feyre had given az the task of picking up another large order from your bakery the day that you both met for the first time. azriel began to recall that day as he flew higher into the skies, his heart swelling at the memory.

"six boxes of glazed blueberry scones," his high lady had told him. "and if she has any fresh lemon squares, please pick one up for rhys. he becomes an insufferable baby whenever i return without anything for him." az had huffed out a laugh in response, nodding once to affirm he'd handle the task presented.

he made his way down the boardwalk to the front of your shop, making a mental note of how nicely the renovations had come along since that awful attack on the city. pushing the door open, a small bell tinkled above the doorway that his tall frame had to slightly crouch through. you'd appeared from the back almost immediately, flour dusted along your nose. you wiped your hands on a small towel, looking up at him to offer this beaming smile. a smile that he remembered, even now, being absolutely winded by. "hi!," you'd greeted happily. "you're here for feyre's order, right?," you'd moved towards a nicely-wrapped stack of six pastry boxes, sliding them along the counter for him to grab.

he briefly remembered reminding himself that he was meant to actually move forward. 'grab the boxes, grab the lemon square, and leave,' he thought to himself, feeling absolutely ridiculous for floundering in the presence of such a warm, pleasant female. he'd nodded towards you, approaching the counter. he'd had to tuck his wings in tight against him to comfortably fit within the spread of café tables. once reaching you, he'd cleared his throat before speaking.

"a lemon square too, please, if you have one," his voice steady despite the way his chest felt. you let out a precious, tinkling laugh. "ah, must be for the high lord. feyre's told me of his outbursts if she forgets to include them in her orders.", you shook your head affectionately, clearly quite fond of his family. he huffed out a quiet laugh, perusing over the rest of the goods within your pastry case as you packaged up rhys' lemon square.

he wasn't sure back then what compelled him to utter his next words, although now, years later, he knew. you were magnetic, and he would have done anything to see that beaming smile again and again and again. which is why he proceeded to point at the pastry case and ask for one of everything else within it.

you'd paused, eyes widening slightly at the request. "also for the high lord?," you'd breathed out, purely stunned. the corners of his lips had quirked upward then, your adorable expression hitting him right in the chest. "no, for me.", he'd stated matter-of-factly. you'd graced him then with one of those face-splitting smiles, dimples sweeping across your cheeks in its wake. he was a goner then, and he knew it.

after carefully packing up the rest of his order - which was now so large, he had no idea how he'd manage to fly back up to the house of wind cradling all of these boxes - you'd slid them across the counter to him.

he'd reached out to grab them, and that's when you took note of his beautiful, scarred hands. your gaze snagged on them, and he noticed immediately. his heart sank, a breath lodged in his throat. surely, he thought, this was the swift and brutal end to something that could have been between the both of you.

instead, you hummed quietly, unabashedly meeting his gaze. your next words came out quietly, almost a whisper - a hint of awe woven into the statement that azriel would absolutely never forget in this lifetime or the next: "you must be very brave."

no, it was then that azriel knew he was a goner. and that was it. he'd vowed at that very moment to do whatever he had to do in order to know you, love you. and you had made it so easy for him to do so.

azriel smiled at the memory, smiled at the fact that while he'd spent his morning reflecting on places that he had lived and called home throughout his lifetime, that you had flooded his mind - guided him back to all thoughts of you.

of course you had. you were his home, after all. a living, breathing representation of love so pure. he'd never once questioned it, he'd never felt something so sure. your love had healed him of so many things, things that you weren't even aware of.

and he knew, that if love were enough, all of his physical scars would be washed away too.

a/n: hi thank u for reading! honestly no idea what this is or where it came from, but i do know that i'm PMSing and writing it almost made me cry lmao. i'm such a sucker. anyway pls let me know if you enjoyed this drabble!

[konigbabe]

keep it quiet

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; single dad Leon; breath play; p-in-v sex; praise kink; top!leon; blowjobs; slight face-fucking; female gendered anatomy

Summary: Just single dad Leon fucking you in the janitor's closet during class.

a/n: Canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. Q is for a quickie.

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The pungent smell of bleach hangs heavy in the air, biting your nose with every breath you take; tangling with the bright citrus notes of Leon's cologne, a potent blend of bergamot and lemon. The two scents mingle and dance, a waltz of sharp and sweet.

It’s an unexpected combination. One that should’ve clashed, yet somehow they complement each other.

Your mind tries to process the conflicting sensations, but it’s a futile effort when every sense is consumed by the man behind you and the way his hips keep pistoning into you.

Sharp, short thrusts.

Each one driving his cock deeper into your body.

Angled so that the head of his cock kisses your cervix every time. With a fervor that steals your breath. Baths you in liquid fire.

Each thrust like a battering ram, slamming into you with a force that threatens to tear you apart.

Somehow, you find yourself holding on, clinging to the nearby shelf, like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored to this world. Knuckles straining, fingers curling over the smooth surface, a rush of heat courses through your veins as Leon's grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Fuck, Leon–"

Your whine tapers off, replaced by a deep, purring hum of satisfaction as Leon’s hand encircles your throat; exerting a gentle but firm grip that pulls you closer to him. Chin nestled on the base of your shoulder, his teeth glide across the tender underside of your ear.

A tingle starts at the nape of your neck and courses through your body, like a sparkling river of sensation.

The fluorescent light above flickers intermittently, casting a ghostly and eerie glow over the confined space. The hum of the light like a faint melody.

The grip on your hips dissipates; Leon’s other arm moves upwards. His palm hovers before your lips, the tip of his middle finger tracing the underside of your lip; heartbeat picking up.

"Open up fo’ me."

And you oblige. Without a second wasted, two of his fingers find their way into your mouth. Pressing against the wet muscle, teasing your tongue and coaxing it into action; hooking behind your teeth, you manage to swirl your tongue around the fingertips.

"That’s it–jus’ like that," his words come in a low, gravelly murmur. Dripping in satisfaction. Followed by a brush of his lips against the delicate shell of your ear. "Good girl."

His words flood your body with heat; every nerve alights. His voice a velvet caress. A balm to your soul. A sweet validation.

Nudging your legs further apart with his boot, you suck at his fingers one by one; giving each a secluded attention. Leon’s breath hitches when your tongue laps at the tip of his index finger; the weight of his forehead rests on the crown of your shoulder, lips parting in a gasp of pleasure.

It makes you moan, makes you quiver around him, akin to the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Pushing your hips backwards, you meet the sharp plane of his pelvis as his fingers withdraw; a wet string smudged over your lower lip. Slickness coats your tongue, leaving a tangy taste in your mouth.

Leon's fingers sneak under the hunched material of your skirt, tracing a wet path over the exposed flesh of your thighs. His thumb lingers at the apex, applying just enough pressure to make you shiver, attempting to bite back a moan.

Lost in the sea of sensations that threaten to consume you.

The rough pads of his fingers find your clit; the pulsating nub throbs beneath his touch. It's as if a live wire is coursing through your body, electrifying every nerve ending. Leon’s fingers move in rhythm with his thrusts–

"Leon–fuck, don’t stop–Leon–"

Words mingle together. Mind too foggy. Too fucked up to comprehend a single sentence.

-the pressure enough to send you spiralling; making your breath come in ragged gasps, quiet mewls as his fingers dance over your sensitive flesh, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

A sweet ache coils in your belly, radiating outwards.

Both hands gripping a shelf on each side of the narrow closet, you feel like a marionette. Completely at his mercy. The wood creaks under your grasp, protesting the force of your grip. But you can't help it; the pleasure’s too intense, too all-consuming.

Leon's fingers work their magic; teasing and coaxing your body to the brink of orgasm. Each stroke and brush causing your walls to flutter, squeeze him delightfully; making his hips quake with every movement.

The heat between your legs intensifies, the wetness pooling and spilling over onto his cock. His thumb circles your clit, drawing it out and flicking it back in a rhythmic motion that has you on the edge.

Body like a coiled spring, wound tight and ready to snap, your hips push back.

Until the squeeze of his fingers on the side of your throat fades while leaving behind a warmth that lingers on your skin–

Every touch, every stroke, every kiss a building block, adding to the fire that’s burning inside you.

–and is replaced by a hand covering your mouth, stifling a sound that begins to surge from the depths of your being.

In a natural reaction, one of your hands shoots towards the intrusion, fingers wrapping around Leon’s wrist, feeling the cool material of his watch.

You moan when Leon’s hips still. Pelvis flush against the curve of your ass, buried to the brim, as if he's trying to meld his body with yours. His breath ghosts over your nape.

Footsteps echo through the door. Two sets of heels clicking against the polished concrete floor. You both freeze, bodies still tangled together in the cramped space.

You should be panicking, being seen like that. But the fire in your belly refuses to be quenched; your body a bundle of nerves, the thrill of excitement at the thought of being caught mingling with the heady rush of pleasure that Leon is coaxing from you. It's a dangerous game, one that sets your heart racing and your skin ablaze with need.

You’re sure they’ll hear the frantic thumping of your heart, the ragged gasps of breath that escape your lips.

Leon's grip on your jaw tightens, grounding you in the moment, urging you to focus only on the pleasure that he's giving you.

Instead, a whimper slips from your mouth, muffled by Leon’s hand when you feel the slow, deliberate slide of his cock out of your dripping wetness. Moving in slow motion as he withdraws, teasing you with just the tip of his throbbing cock still nestled inside you.

Every nerve in your body alive with anticipation, yearning for the moment when he will plunge back inside you, filling you up completely. You can feel the wetness coating his cock, and the slickness of your own desire as it clings to him, urging him to come back to you.

Your body’s a symphony of sensations, each note building on the last until it crescendos into a symphony of pleasure.

"Shhh," the short stubble grazes your cheek as he murmurs, leisurely drawing his cock back inside your slick heat; the footsteps grow louder, "wouldn’t want your fellow teachers seein’ you gettin’ stuffed by my cock in the janitor’s closet, would you?"

As Leon's hand exerts a gentle force on your parted lips, your head falls back, coming to rest on the sharp, angular edge of his clavicle. Capable of feeling every inch of him as he moves languidly within you, each thrust slow and deliberate, savoring the squeeze of your cunt on him.

Leon’s words, accompanied by a steady slide of his cock, capable of feeling every inch of him; it makes your core throb; your walls to tighten, emitting a gentle moan from the man behind you.

"You’re making noises too," you mumble, the words barely coherent in the midst of your ecstasy. Consumed by the heat of his body against yours, the scent of his mixed with the musky aroma of sex. The sound of his ragged breaths, guttural grunts and gentle moans of your name.

The rhythmic motion of his thrusts lulling you into a state of pure bliss.

"Can’t help it," his teeth graze your shoulder blade, "you just feel too good.." Emphasizing his words; Leon’s fingers pull from your aching nub before giving it a gentle slap. With a sudden shift, his hips deliver a sharp, forceful thrust, shattering the lazy rhythm he’d established earlier.

You inhale sharply at the unexpected sensation, but the burn of desire only intensifies.

Senses on overdrive, the footsteps pass. Leaving you and Leon alone again. It seems to drive him back deeper into you, his thrusts becoming more frenzied and urgent.

Leon’s fingers curl and stroke your clit, slow and steady, then faster, rougher, until—

Heat; A tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, consuming every inch of your being. Your mind dissolves into a haze of pleasure, every nerve ending alight with ecstasy.

–a cry rips from your throat, echoing through the room. The tension snaps, leaving you panting, trembling, and utterly spent.

Cunt fluttering around Leon’s cock, his hands snap to grip your waist. His breathing’s heavy and ragged, matching the pace of his thrusts. He holds you close, his body flush against yours, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

"Fuck–’m gonna cum," his lips latch onto your pulsating jugular, feeling your violent heartbeat, "be good to me, get on your knees," he rasps, having a hard time formulating full sentences as the coil in his body tightens, threatening to unravel at any moment.

Hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself deep inside your leaking cunt, his breath hot against your skin before you obey.

A pathetic whine leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness when he pulls away, hands guiding you to turn around, putting pressure on your shoulders to make you sink down to your knees in front of him.

Jeans pushed down just enough to free himself, heat flushes your face at the sight of his cock, glistening with your cum. Not wasting time, your lips wrap around the spongy tip, tasting the salty tang of your own release mixed with the slightly sweet taste of his skin. Swirling around the sensitive head.

The taste floods your mouth. A heady mixture of musk and lust.

And you savor it. Like a rare delicacy.

"Fuck–look at you," Leon growls.

His eyes smolder with desire as he looks down at you, watching the way your lips stretch to accommodate him. A low, throaty moan of appreciation slips past his lips, his hand tightening in your hair as he urges you to take him deeper.

Eyes moving upwards, his chin is all you can see as he throws his head back, hand gripping the same shelf you were moments ago, knuckles white. The leather of his jacket creaks with the movement.

Coaxing out every drop of pleasure from his throbbing cock. The taste of him lingers in your mouth, a potent reminder of the pleasure you're bringing him.

Breathing becoming ragged, his body tenses under your hands.

Suddenly, his hips thrust forward with a sudden urgency that takes you by surprise. The head of his cock kisses the back of your throat for a second, causing you to lose your breath and withdraw as your gag reflex kicks in, eyes watering.

You can feel the wetness of your own saliva and his precum dribbling down your chin.

"Shit, sorry," he rumbles, eyes back on your kneeling form.

His gaze is glazed over with desire, and his hand moves from your hair to cup your cheek. He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing the slickness across your skin.

"S’okay," you reassure him with a soft smile, "you can do that; just tell me next time."

He nods as your fingers wrap around his base, taking him back in eagerly, taking him as deep as you can, feeling his thick length stretching your mouth to its limits.

This time, you’re ready; relaxing your throat, you let him set the pace. Feeling the pressure at the back of your head as he guides your face towards his cock.

With each drive, he plunges deeper into your mouth. His body taut like a bowstring, every muscle coiled tight. You can feel the tension emanating from him in waves, his arousal thick in the air between you.

His cock swells inside of your mouth, pulsing with each beat of his heart. You can taste his desire, a heady mix of salt and musk that fills your senses.

Tapping his thigh, he stops his movements as you glide your lips along his cock, hand moving in the same rhythm.

You pick up the pace, tongue and lips working in perfect unison to coax out every last drop of his pleasure.

With a deep grunt of your name, he convulses, his body wracked with spasms of ecstasy. Fingernails scratch your scalp as he spills into your mouth, and you savor the taste of him, swallowing each salty, hot drop eagerly.

As he comes down from his high, he looks down at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude in his eyes.

"That’s A plus, miss teacher," he whispers, voice husky, pulling you up to stand in front of him.

[mutantmayhems]

Raph-Centric Fic Recs Pt. 1

pt 2 is here please feel free to reblog this with your own recs!!!

2003:

Curiosity Killed The Cat (But Raphael Brought It Back) by halogalopaghost. raph keeps sneaking out and the brothers are gonna find out why. amazing reveal at the end!

Lemon Boy by theNewHit. brains + brawn bonding!

Near-Sighted by halogalopaghost. this furthers my Raph Needs Glasses agenda. so cute and sweet!

You’re Not Delivering a Perfect Body to the Grave by CricketFerguson. raph whump from donnie’s pov. so good!

2012:

Aegis by clairakitty. a character study of raph's protective nature. literally destroyed me.

brother in the river by JumpingInMuddyPuddles. farmhouse arc, raph pov of helping leo heal.

Let Me Save You by GwydionAE. what if the battle with the kraang went differently? sunset duo angst.

on my own by feduphufflepuff. amaaazing raph kidnapping angst + recovery!

Problem Child by LilliputianDuckling. a character study with complicated feelings about splinter's parenting. it ruined my life. i'm obsessed.

Puppet Tightly Strung by clairakitty. the brain worm, but so much worse. guys i can't put my love for this one into words. JUST READ IT.

Sai, Sigh by nemsolele. the brain worm does some permanent damage. amazing writing!

Solo by GwydionAE. i've always felt like we never got enough of drummer raph, and this fic explores that so well!

The Truth According to Raphael by GwydionAE. raph + truth serum! he doesn't handle it well.

traveling so far to get there by taizi. the sunset duo in a post-apocalyptic world. literally life-changing. 

ROTTMNT:

as though (they) were mine by ApatheticRobots. raph + eldest daughter syndrome. delicious.

haustorium by gumyshark. raph's pov when he was krang-ified. hurts my heart.

breaking free from the bindweed by gumyshark. a sort-of sequel to haustorium.

Glass Heart by kindlystrawberry. raph’s post-movie healing.

Stained Hands, Aching Hearts by HellsTrojanHorse. raph deals with a nightmare.

you got the goods by taizi. raph's relationship with his spikes. super cute!

Mutant Mayhem:

Reciprocity by ThePeak. everyone thinks leo is dead, but raph knows the truth—his brother's just missing. i can't even describe HOW INCREDIBLE this fic is. AMAZING!!!

What Was I Made For? (series) by OliviaJen. a character study that's sooooo painful but so good. absolutely incredible.

if you've got any recs to share, please reblog this and add them!

[tsaritza-mika]

More Tadfools Shit that We all Need

BECAUSE WE NEED MORE CHAOTIC FOUND FAMILY SHENANIGANS DAMMIT!!!

I need Astarion learning he can spider crawl on the ceiling, and then completely fucking with everyone. Everyone’s helms keep coming off their heads when they’re walking out the door? Astarion is failing at trying so hard not to laugh and give himself away. Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Gale, and Halsin’s hair keeps coming undone? Astarion is being a little shit again and stealing the ribbons/clips that hold them in place! Wyll and Karlach discovering their horns now have ridiculous looking ornaments/bells hanging off them? Astarion stole a bag from a shop and thought the two could use some more decoration!

I need Gale to decide that its time to remind everyone in camp where the real power is, and cast a protection spell on himself that makes him immune to intense heat, while making dinner as spicy as fuck! Then he can sit around calmly while everyone else is either crying about how they’re going to die, or rushing to dunk their entire head in the Chionthar

I need Halsin deciding he’s had enough of Minthara’s ‘Drow are so superior’ talk and secretly instructing everyone to act as if all is normal, while leaving an increasing amount of carved ducks around her tent area. Every time she enters/leaves her tent there are more and more freaking ducks!! And then she wakes one morning to find herself covered in them and her bedroll floating in the middle of the river!!

I need Shadowheart and Karlach to go around while everyone’s asleep and use her makeup to draw dicks and other offensive things on everyone else's faces, but then to make sure they aren’t caught, they do it to each other but it's super obvious they were the culprits cause they’re the only ones with compliments on their faces

I need Jaheira to absolutely misuse vine whip as an improvised leash so that keeping these stupid children she’s been saddled with from running off to die ridiculous deaths will be easier

@the-skeleton-speaks We need Astarion being designated the camp tailor, but he’s low-key salty about it because what the fuck do these people just not take care of their shit!? So he deliberately uses thread that is either the same color or just a tad too light/dark and embroiders insults into each of them

We need Karlach helping Wyll with his horns/hair, because he’s not used to working around them, but it takes her a while to get it the way he likes, and by the time she’s done, his neck and her hands are so damn sore

@ultimmmmmp We need Minthara and Lae’zel being absolute trolls and slipping Selunite trinkets/symbols all around Shadowheart’s tent, and then making comments about how bad she’s been at trying to convince them she was such an edgy cleric and followed Shar

@basiliskfree We need Karlach and Wyll getting too damn excited about all the hero stories to the point that they start role playing the fights and quoting terribly cheesy heroic banter

@ryttu3k (this is as close as I’ll get cause I’m not on the bloodweave ship XDDD) We need Astarion messing w/ Gale while he’s asleep by moving all of his bookmarks to the wrong pages, relocating his books around to other parts of the camp, and even being so brazen as to dogear a page or two in some of his known favs @soul-of-rei We need Astarion, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart to be the mean girl crew, commenting on everything and everyone and just being general catty menaces! The three of them turn Vicious Mockery into an art to be feared! Practicing your fighting technique? Pathetic Istick! A Gith wouldn’t need to do it more than twice, yet you’ve been doing it all afternoon and you’re still sloppy as a hatchling! How about your makeup? Shar save us from your pathetic attempt at a smokey-eye... Is yellow your color? Darling if yellow was your color, then it wouldn’t leave you looking like a rotten lemon! @scourgiez Gale and Jaheira just coming to the end of their patience with the aforementioned mean girl crew and casting silence on the lot of them, because holy fuck do they have to comment on every fucking thing within eyesight!? Also please tag me if you draw these, I want to see all the things XDD

[climbthemountain2020]

Pages Turned (Nesta Week Day 2 - Metamorphosis)

Day 2 of @nestaarcheronweek

The sun was blinding on the Sidra as Nesta looked out from the balcony of the River House. Her dress swayed around her in the light breeze, swirling around her ankles as she looked out towards the distant mountains. As long as it had taken her to admit it, she truly considered this place her home. In fact, she could see her literal home from here, stretching across the great mountain face overlooking the city.

Maybe she could swindle the house into some lemon-peach tea and another slice of raspberry tart tonight.

She loved Velaris most this time of year, the flowers of early spring popping through the ground, signaling rebirth and things starting anew. She could see the vast gardens surrounding the eastern and back sides of the River House from this balcony. Elain had done a lovely job curating them all by hand years ago. As she grew more and more comfortable in her fae form, she had enchanted them to shift with the seasons, carefully selecting the colors to complement each other and parts of the garden to always be in bloom throughout the year. Nesta smiled to herself–her sister was a female of many talents.

Another warm light breeze pushed against her, causing her to sigh as the lovely scents of lemon and the sea pressed into her skin. She could smell a smattering of other scents below, the remnants of guests arriving for the ceremony taking place today. In amongst them she could just barely pluck out the scent of Cass, somewhere downstairs talking Az off a ledge, no doubt.

She’d only recently left the room where she’d been with all the other females all morning, pinning and zipping and tying and laughing. She’d left to grab some snacks and finish her own preparations for her role as the “Valkyrie of Honor”, as Cass had teasingly called it, neither mate willing to surrender her to the other side for the ceremony.

Her hair still needed styling, so she turned back to the guest room, stepping carefully across the threshold from the porch and sitting primly at the vanity. She’d brought some jeweled pins specifically for the occasion, silver and dotted with tiny blue gems. She laughed to herself at the little joke.

As she looked in the mirror and began to twist and pull her long strands of hair into place, she thought, not for the first time, how thankful she was to have managed all this–to even be here at all.

Nesta had never been one for reflection, choosing instead to plow steadfastly ahead no matter the circumstances, obstacles, or otherwise in her way. She found there had been little time in her life to ruminate on the “what ifs” for whatever reason, and ultimately, she’d mostly broken herself of the very human habit. Even when it hurt, even when she fought tooth and nail, even when it felt as though her still-beating heart had been torn from her chest, Nesta always ended up where she needed to be and not a moment too soon.

Sure, she would have liked to experience a bit less of the heartbreak life had doled out to her, but in her time as an immortal, she’d come to grips with much of that. There would never be a right time for hardships–of course not–but Nesta was at a point now where she genuinely liked who she was for the first time since she could remember. It wasn’t because others had given her approval, it wasn’t because she’d done “enough” to earn her peace–Nesta just genuinely liked herself.

She was, dare she even think it, happy.

The Firstborn.

Nesta might have been happy as a child, but the memories were too hazy to recall. She didn’t remember a time before Elain, barely remembered a time before Feyre, but she remembered her lessons. From the time she could walk, she was in classes: etiquette, ballroom, needlepoint, pianoforte, singing, modern languages, and painting.

Her grandmother would watch as she would plié, jeté, arabesque around the echoing room, thrumming her sharply with a switch any time her footwork was off and harshly adjusting her posture until her chin pointed to the heavens. She knew better than to fight back, knew better than to complain, knew the only way it would ever end was if she did as she was told.

She remembered being jealous of Elain having more freedom and Feyre being able to be loose and free. For Elain, being around others came so naturally. She was outgoing, friendly, and warm. Feyre was wild, always romping about the woods and the streams and the nearby village, covered in dirt and cursing. Nesta wondered all the time why she’d been born first. What had the universe decided that rendered their order so concrete that she’d be eternally doomed to watching her two little sisters live the lives she craved? She remembered seeing them from the windows of the dance studio, wondering why she couldn’t be outside, too.

Nesta, your power is within your station, and your station means absolutely nothing without skill. Your beauty is a weapon–your social skills a knife. If you don’t sharpen it, you’ll be as worthless as anyone else.

So they practiced, and practiced, and practiced until Nesta’s toes bled. Until the smile on her face was as shallow and cracked as a dry lake bed, but muscle memory would deliver it on a silver platter regardless.

At night, when there was no one left to hear, she would cry, her shoulders heaving in the quiet dark, and she would dream every night about flying away from this place, far over the distant mountains and streams. Far away from her mother and grandmother and expectations of a life that would never be lived for herself anyway.

When Nesta’s grandmother died, she wasn’t sad, but she mourned appropriately. When her mother was taken not even two years later, she hated the spark of hope that rang through her chest. Freedom. She could have that freedom.

It didn’t last long before she realized what it meant.

Her father lost their money, her sisters lost their joy, and she lost the last flare of hope as she realized the sacrifices that she would be making. Had she been happy before, then? In that brief moment in between? Hope and happiness weren’t the same, but that small glance of freedom had tasted so sweet. She started having those dreams again of flying–great wings, almost bright red in the light of the sun, gliding through the sky and carrying her to somewhere better, something greater than this.

In those dreams, at least, she could pretend to be happy.

The Sister.

When Feyre was taken, the dreams changed. She was no longer flying high, but being held down, a great beast that shifted between the form of a wolf and a bear and Tomas Mandray in a barn. She woke up in cold sweats in the manor that was haunted with ghosts no one but her could see. As Elain bloomed under this new money, her father became the person she remembered, Nesta withdrew, remembering her mother’s words and sharpening herself once again to be used as a weapon.

The world moved on, but she stayed–the only one who seemed to recognize this for all it was.

So she hardened herself further, and she walked into town with a bag of dirty fae money, threw it at the feet of a mercenary trading pelts, and demanded to be taken to the wall. Three days and nights they trekked through the terrifying woods, her hair standing on end the entirety of the trip. She swore she heard voices whispering quietly from behind the trees. She wondered if, by the time she arrived, Feyre would even still be living.

Each night, she fell asleep clutching a knife to her chest and staring at the stars until her eyes could no longer hold themselves open. She dreamed of a beautiful golden cage, a city by a river, and a low, red glow of light while a man cried nearby. The sadness overwhelmed her so vividly that she woke up feeling devastated all over again.

The trip to the wall meant nothing in the end. They couldn’t find a way through, and so they repeated the whole journey over again, the fear turning to icy resolve in her heart. Elain and her father might not remember, but she would.

Brick by brick on the journey back, Nesta resurrected her walls. They had their money back, but in the end, her circumstances had not changed. She would still be expected to marry, still be forced into the life she was bred for. In the end, Nesta was always made to be a weapon of society meant to serve her family and then another, so she’d ready herself for a new kind of hardness in her demeanor; she would give herself new safe holds within her mind and heart.

When she’d finally seen her sister again, Feyre had been changed–different–and so had she. Feyre was determined and in love, a feeling Nesta had long since given up on. And Nesta was stone cold–her resolve liquifying in her veins like glacial ire. But Feyre was home, and when she painted with Nesta, the patience in her voice nearly tore Nesta to shreds.

She steeled her face, held her lips thin, but her heart, or what was left of it, shattered to bits, leaving her a fragmented mess of nothingness in its wake as she said goodbye yet again to the littlest sister she’d been expected to protect and constantly failed.

The Weapon.

In the end, Nesta was made into a weapon. Not for society, not for a husband, but a true, honest weapon. She’d had everything taken from her when she’d thought there had been nothing left to take, and as she sunk into the icy depths of a childhood fairytale turning into a living nightmare, it tried to take some more.

All her years of training, all the words about her sharpness, every single time someone had called her hard, difficult, cold, unfeeling–she channeled it all. She let her unending rage fuel her, scraping and struggling and demanding.

As the Cauldron took from her, she took back.

Disembodied voices of all ages and genders screamed around her in the dark, fathomless water, but she pulled and screamed and yanked and shrieked until the powers gave way and silence took over. She floated, thoughtless and ephemeral, until the waters began to ebb and flow and she crested to a light above her, the new power humming in her veins as her fingers found arched ears and her eyes found him.

He who had come into her home when she was cold and hard and angry at the world, preening and strutting like some insipid bird-brained idiot. He who called her Nes instead of Nesta. He who acted as though he was utterly indestructible, drawing sneers from her lips as he smiled smugly at her from across the room. He who had taken shot after shot of magic to protect her, shredding his beautiful wings in the process. He whose wings were illuminated by the ward-breaking magic behind him, lighting up and glowing red and stealing her breath as she recognized them from her dreams.

Truly, she didn’t mind being fae. She hadn’t wanted it, hated that the choice had been taken from her like all choices had, but for the first time in her life, Nesta felt powerful. She felt a power in her veins to match the power she’d felt in her stubborn will, her anger, her rage. She liked the arched ears, she liked that she wouldn’t age, she liked that people were afraid of what she could do.

All this scattered to ashes when she’d been ready to die with Cassian, when she took the head off the king.

Power meant nothing to her if it couldn’t save him.

Afterward, when everyone was okay, she thought she might ride the wave of that power forever–might embrace the image of her beheading the king and add it to her collection of things that made her feel strong. But instead, when she looked at her father’s burning body, all she heard was his neck cracking over and over and her steely resolve shattered like glass. All she saw was Cassian being blown from the sky, ceasing to exist as she called his name, and every defense she’d ever built scattered like dandelions in the wind.

Even with all the suffering–even with all the power–she could never protect those she cared about. The only thing she could do for herself was push them all away so it didn’t hurt so much. All she could do was try to feel nothing at all. She was a monster. The words echoed in her head.

I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms. And I am… I am so sorry, Nesta - my Nesta. I am so sorry, for all of it.

Nesta–my Nesta.

Nesta–my Nesta.

Nesta–my Nesta.

My Nesta.

She’d done this. She’d pushed him away. He’d saved their lives, and it didn’t excuse the years before, but she’d never told him. She’d only tortured him. She’d never told him, and now she never would.

Now, Nesta only dreamed of fires and the cracking of bone.

The Wreck.

Nesta had gone to the beach once as a child. Her mother had allowed her and Elain to swim, though Feyre had been too little. Nesta remembered how the sand pulled in the water from beneath her feet, coming and going with each push and pull of the waves. She remembered being in awe of the power in front of her, the strength in those waves. She remembered being worried if she went under, she may never come back up.

That’s what it felt like in Velaris. Everything was blurry around her, the sounds and sights and smells muffled despite her senses being sharper than they’d ever been before. She felt like she was being pulled under those waves, and every time she tried to come back up for air, something pushed her back beneath.

Cassian tried to speak with her, but every time he did she couldn’t see anything but her body draped over his, throat raw and soul willing to die with him on that battlefield.

Feyre tried to talk to her, but every time she did, all she could see were her father’s features on the face of a fae, his neck snapping like a branch in a storm.

She tried to talk herself out of it, but every day was torture. She couldn’t bathe because it reminded her of the Cauldron. She couldn’t eat because she felt too ill. She couldn’t talk to anyone because her voice might crack, and if they asked her about it, the tight leash she held might snap and she would never get it back in hand.

So Nesta returned to her roots, building that wall up piece by piece until it was even stronger than before.

She spent her nights in her apartment, alone and filling the void with everything she could. Alcohol to numb her pain and quiet her thoughts, gambling to distract her, men–males–to ease the loneliness that ached down to her very bones. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough, but it was all she had.

She knew she could seek out her sister, knew she could even seek out Cassian, but then she’d have to face it all, and she couldn’t. She couldn’t even contemplate the possibility.

But sometimes, at night, as the males snored by her side in a bed that was too cold, she imagined it was Cassian she’d brought home, his hands warm and broad on her body, his chest pressed to her back, his lips roaming her neck. Sometimes, she pictured it was him as she cried, leaned against the door to the bathroom as she let the tears fall where no one else could possibly see.

“It’s okay, Nes. It’s all going to be okay.”

She wanted to believe it, but she didn’t. Nesta didn’t dream anymore.

The Valkyrie.

Nesta wasn’t expecting the recovery when it came. She wasn’t expecting to recover at all.

In fact, the first thing she felt outside of her own despair was rage. Rage and wrath and fury that everyone else was given their space to grieve as they saw fit. Everyone but her, and only because she was embarrassing Feyre.

Everyone had given Elain time to be a useless, depressed, ghost of a person. Everyone allowed her to kick Lucien away like a mongrel on the street. But no, not Nesta. Not the mate of a member of their elite friend group. Not the sister who refused to bend for them.

The world had taken enough from her, and she wasn’t going to let some well-dressed bat and his friends pressure her into feeling the things that she’d carefully shoved away.

But then they did anyway. Every time Nesta thought there was nothing left to take, something else was taken.

Buried in her rage and ignoring her grief, however, she had found something she hadn’t been looking for–kinship. Understanding.

Gwyn and Emerie had not been expected, but for the first time in her life, it felt like she’d been given something instead of forced into giving it away. They understood her in a way that her own sisters never had. They didn’t expect anything of her except for her to wake up and face the day with them as they did themselves. They were all healing in their own way until one day they realized they had been healing together.

Strangely, finding her chosen sisters did not push her farther away from her own. She found, instead, that she respected her sisters and their choices in a whole new light. In learning to give and accept love in the way she’d never done before, she saw how they’d been set up to fail from the start by their family, by their dynamic.

Breaking free from it all had allowed Nesta to heal and see things with new eyes. Knowing that it hadn’t only been her doing everything she could to survive, but her sisters too, let her give freely what she’d withheld so fervently from others, but most of all from herself: forgiveness.

Finding a purpose had fulfilled Nesta in ways she’d never experienced, and finding it with people she loved made the victory so much sweeter. For once, the things she built up brick by brick were not her walls, but her fortitude, her bravery, her trust, and her openness. She found she liked the feeling of pushing herself into something uncomfortable and new, and she stopped leaving claw marks on every part of her she’d had to leave behind.

When Nesta began to dream again, she was afraid that she would return to those nightmares: Cassian injured, her father dying, the fathomless depths of the Cauldron. She wondered if she’d now be greeted by Cassian with a knife, Briallyn with the crown, the swords coming down on her again and again on Ramiel as she fought to make sure her sisters survived.

Instead, when she dreamed, she saw white ribbons, her nephew, and a family that she chose for herself. She was dreaming of wings in the skies again, soft hands on her as the glow of the sun and the siphons bathed her in a warm red glow, and the low words rumbling in her ear and wrapping straight around her immortal heart.

“Hello, Nes.”

The Mate.

Nesta remembered the final step, allowing her guard down enough to let Cassian in to stay. She fought the urge to push him out, to keep that space in her heart silent and cold as it had always been. But his warmth and his joy and his laugh and his love found their way in, nestling within her ribs like a cat in a ray of sun.

She found, at the end of the day, it was impossible to not love Cass. And as much as she’d insisted they hadn’t been well matched, she found every single part of him complemented every single part of her.

Once she allowed herself to love and be loved in return, she was surprised to find that her default actually wasn’t cold and alone. In fact, Nesta found she loved to be held, loved to wake up with that heat at her back, loved to feel his strong hands on her, always–at meals, at training, in passing, and at night. She loved the steadiness of him, of her mate.

The Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death were only soft for each other and those they loved, and that was how it would remain.

Nesta looked out again to the lovely mountains of Velaris, the Sidra glittering below in the mid-afternoon sun. She could hear the chatter on the other side of the house as everyone prepared for the mating ceremony. She’d been organizing and helping to set this up for months, and she was not about to be late to see her work come to fruition. She was sure Cass was already downstairs socializing.

As if she’d summoned him, his booming laugh bounded through the halls of the house, and she couldn’t help but grin as she pressed one last pin into her hair.

A quiet knock on the door before it opened had her turning in the chair.

“Nesta? We’re all just about set to go. You ready?” Feyre had poked her head through the door. “Oh, you look lovely!”

Nesta blushed. Even after all these years, it was hard to accept compliments so freely from her sister.

“Yes, all set! Just finishing up my hair. Is Az shitting his pants yet?”

“Not quite, but he is pacing a hole in the floor. Cassian has been trying to slow him down.” She responded with a giggle, holding out a hand for Nesta to take.

“Well, we’d best not keep them waiting.” She took Feyre’s hand in hers, the other supporting her swollen belly as she came to stand. She rubbed a hand over it, feeling a swift kick in return. It never failed to make her soul feel like it was about to take off over the peaks of Velaris.

She smiled, feeling the tiny winged babe wriggle around beneath her ribs. It wouldn’t be much longer now and they’d have this little one in their arms. The thought of Cass with their child snuggled into his bare chest while she listened to him tell them stories made her heart swell with warmth, and she suddenly couldn’t wait to get down the stairs to see him again.

The Mother.

Biggest thank you to @cauldronblssd, @witch-and-her-witcher, and @tunaababee for the beta reads! I love youuuu

[bomber-grl]

Hiiii!! I'm not sure if you've done this but could you make one with Hiro and a male reader where he just goes through the whole gay panic bc of the reader? If it's not too much trouble ofc :]

There’s this river in Egypt-

Pairing(s): Hiro Hamada x Male!Reader

CW(?): There’s a bit of denial on Hiros part but not in a internalized homophobic sense rather just confused so take it with a grain of salt

Hiro and the rest of bh6 were casually eating in the cafeteria, same as any other day

It was lunchtime and it was usually spent hanging out which wasn’t out of the norm

Hiro wanted to get a snack before he left to the rest of his evening classes and chose to get up and select something from a nearby vending machine

He wasn’t really paying attention, hero work alongside quickly approaching due dates were plaguing his mind

And so he accidentally crashed into you

Was it avoidable? Sure but did he end up regretting it? That’s up for debate…

He quickly tried to collect everything back on your tray and was profusely apologizing over and over, refusing to even look at you.

Any normal person would’ve been pissed as hell but all you did was laugh and wave a hand

It was fine, and he had nothing to worry about

You offered him your hand as he was on his knees on the ground, trying to urgently correct his mistake.

Once you pulled him up he managed to get up he was basically just standing there staring

You were going on with your convo and even pulled out your phone talking about whatever it was that you were

But then you noticed Hiros lack of attention

“Hello? “ you waved a hand in front of Hiros face, he was obviously spacing out.

“Huh? Oh uh sorry I wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying, sorry” his face was heating up and he didn’t know why.

Like seriously, why did he feel sweaty all of a sudden, And when did how he stood start bothering him?

“Oh it’s fine I was just wondering if I could get your contact information? I mean i also ran into you and …” you gestured to his stained shirt “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I offered to dry clean it.”

He stood there staring at you. Then he realized you looking at him expectantly. oh! It was his turn to talk.

“Uh yea I wouldn’t mind if it were you” how could someone fail so hard at being casual. His face heated up even more than it already was at the connotation , “I-I mean considering you stained my shirt!”

Horrible save. “Oh, yeaaa” you said in response and nodded along, great now you thought he was weird…

You two quickly exchanged info and you went on your way

Hiro unfortunately had to walk back to his table like a dog with its tail in between his legs

As if bumping into anyone wasn’t enough of a commotion, he also made a fool of himself

He wasn’t even in the mood for that snack anymore despite desperately bee lining for it a moment ago.

-

That same night was spent with Hiro wide awake staring up at his ceiling

I mean it was the first time he’d seen you, you’d think he would’ve known about another genius his age

Not to mention your voice, and laugh, and you looked pretty cool too..

Maybe he just wants to really be friends with you, yea that makes sense

-

Eventually you ask to meet up with Hiro and give him back his shirt neatly folded

Which was also the start of his one sided pining your friendship

Before you could leave he called out and asked if you could hang out

Of course he stumbled out excuses of having stuff in common and rambled on in typical hiro fashion

Despite that, you didn’t seem to mind the proposition

Doesn’t make seeing you around school any less of a heart attack though

He’s down bad and his heart immediately starts pumping so hard that he literally had to shut Baymax up when you were first introduced to him

He almost gave away Hiros concerning rapid increase in heart beat

This thing doesn’t exactly go unnoticed by others either

Wasabi offers to help him out best he could and honey lemons all for it

But hiro doesn’t know what he’s talking about

He just rlly likes you as a friend

Until he realizes that he doesn’t

It isn’t until his aunt is calling him to try out a new dish that she made for dinner and he’s luckily not in any rush

When he starts to eat, however, his aunt starts talking about going somewhere for the summer and then she brings up you

You were already introduced to her and she’s seen how Hiro acts around you

So she began to talk about you as if you were hiros boyfriend or something

That’s when Hiro realizes and finally begins to wonder if he likes you

Which obviously he does

*insert the rest of the night spent with hiro taking ‘am I gay quizzes’, contemplating and thinking about his sexuality,but also thinks about if you’re into him then maybe he’d have a chance..?

He quickly turns his light off and goes to bed after that thought

He’s already starting to experience delusions..

-

*insert Hiro standing at a bus stop a month later*

You two planned on hanging out that day and you began walking to a movie

Even I have no idea where Hiro got the courage from but he managed to be brave enough to hold your hand during the movie

It was pre planned too 💀

The night before said movie, he was hanging out with the rest of bh6

They had found out about Hiros date hang out with you because Hiro was really fidgety and maybe, by chance.. Cass had mentioned Hiros squealing that was quickly covered with him “clearing his throat” when she passed by..

So then ofc they had started coming up with ideas for cliche things to do and Hiro had none of it

Except maybe one idea got to him

Which leads to now that he reached for popcorn at the same time you did

Was it cringe? Terribly but now or never ig

He refused to even look at you and you pulled your hand back.

He sort of deflated, at least he knew he didn’t have a chance

But then you held his hand, even intertwining your fingers

And you leaned in and whispered “if you wanted to hold hands you could’ve just said so”

If hiro could explode, he would

I mean he certainty looked like he was a bomb waiting to be detonated

After the movie Hiro walked you home and when you got there he didn’t even need to confess because you did

You told him that you’ve liked him for awhile and fortunately for him, you’re not oblivious

Thus, you two began to date yipeeee

Thankfully Hiro finally relaxes and starts being himself more around you

Although, he learns that you didn’t know how down bad he was for you and how you basically “turned” him gay

Maybe one day he’ll tell you that you were his gay panic but he won’t, knowing it’ll go straight to your head

Not like he’s any better when you tell him you thought he was cute since the moment you saw him

[hwaightme]

Like the cherry blossom falls

(masterlist) (join taglist)

🌸 pairing: yunho x gn!reader 🌸 genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, naturalism/slice of life 🌸 summary: every spring is a beginning, and you cannot imagine it without jeong yunho, your friend through the many years. but as the cherry blossoms fall, what will happen when you fall the same? 🌸 wordcount: 5.3k 🌸 warnings/tags: language, memories, mutual pining, from school to college, a lot of spring musings, barely edited mention of food/eating, banter between friends, mention of exams, waiting for love, discussion of love, time, hope 🌸 taglist: @doom-fics @legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @hoshischeekss @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts 🌸 a/n: happy yunho day! our ray of sun, our spring day, the one who gives and works so hard... thank you for everything you do, and wishing you the brightest, happiest days filled with love to come <3 much love, big hugs, all reblogs, notes, comments welcome <3

It was the first warm day in spring. The breeze, which gently tousled your locks and made the bright green trees rustle, was still a little cool – the breath of nature after months of slumber, tucked under a snow-white blanket. The sun rays caressed your skin like a sweet embrace and turned the young flora into a glistening, gold toned paradise. It was a time for new beginnings, a time when dreams felt so marvelously within reach, and daily routines transformed into a pleasant waltzing sequence.

This bright spring day compelled one to metamorphose and take on change with newfound vigour – as you took in your surroundings, even though you were tucked away out of the action, sticking to the sitting area outside of your beloved convenience store, you could feel this energy buzzing all around. The enthusiastic chatter of locals resting under flourishing tree canopies, small groups ambling next to the picturesque riverbank, tired, but satisfied smiles on their faces, in wait for the offerings that the coming hours, days, weeks would undoubtedly bring. 

Your decision to move to Seoul for your studies had been nothing short of awe-inspiring – a gift that kept on giving. And any time you felt like you could not go on, and the gloomy weather settled into your heart and clouded your mind, you would remember the tranquil spring days which had been there for you through thick and thin, since the very beginning. Just like the dancing cherry blossom petals soaring into the skies after a mischievous gust of wind would invite them for a twirl, your worries would dissipate and join the floral confetti, nothing more than memories dotting your vision. Full stops over which you stepped towards another season.

This breeze that spurred you on, encouraged you, kept you going and became your pair of wings throughout your life took on many forms. One, the most important of all, was in the form of a boy, now a man who had grown from pulling your hair for fun to now making your heart flutter. The man who had just so happened to inadvertently plan his near future with you and made the choice to follow you to the big city. The man who was sitting across from you, his brown doe eyes glinting with gold from the sun that filtered through one of the pink-hued trees, it having left a gift atop his crown of dark, lustrous hair in the form of one petal. You were not exactly sure how you got here, and how the years had only made you closer, but you would not trade it for the world.

A tranquil late afternoon by the peacefully meandering river, cheeks stuffed with cheap ramen that tasted like memories and a hope for forever, tears springing to your eyes as you struggled to not burst out laughing while your best friend imitated one of your lecturers. His mischief and boyish eagerness to elicit the biggest reaction from you was enough to make your heart hurt, and the way he had to splay his legs out in order to not fall from the flimsy plastic chair – your spot outside the convenience store that had become your shared safe haven, was simply endearing. It was impossible to ever get tired of the radiance, the unfiltered, puppy-like energy that this wonderful man who you had the honour of having in your life exuded.

Had anyone told you five years ago, let alone ten that you would be in love with Jeong Yunho you would have laughed in the poor messenger’s face. Your shared path with him was more accidental than anything. Similar journeys home, similar interests. Even answering the question of how, or when you had become friends perplexed you to this day, with you being unable to pinpoint a specific moment. Sometimes, in him you still saw the excited school kid, clad in a crisp ironed navy uniform, running towards you to show off a particularly cool stick that was totally shaped like a laser gun from an anime, or the kid who dragged you to the arcade as soon as lessons finished. But with one spring replacing another, and with each new refreshed blanket of pink on the ground appearing more gorgeous than before, an innate, growing longing bloomed in your chest. And thus, you had come to treat what you had previously deemed an accident, a mistake or a coincidence as serendipity.

As your gaze followed the stubborn petal, Yunho’s movements grounded to a halt until he was staring right back at you, confusion written across his features.

“Hey, I’m not explaining maths or anything, why so spaced out?”

“Hm? No, I’m not spacing out… Actually, this will keep on bothering me, wait-” your body moved on its own accord as you set down your chopsticks and the foil which you had folded into a makeshift bowl onto some plastic packaging. Leaning over the table, you gingerly pinched the spring snowflake and held it out for Yunho to observe, smiling softly as he lifted one of his hands and cradled it.

“Well, would you look at that! I had a little hat on and didn’t even know about it!” and just like that, the petal ended up on your friend’s hair once again, only this time it was hanging on for all its worth as he launched into a seated fashion show, hands on hips and flaunting the new look. “So, how is it?”

“Stunning. Immaculate drip.” You responded without missing a beat and raised your eyebrows once in approval.

Yunho chuckled, picking off the petal and letting it fall onto the table, landing right by his bottle of water. He took his time with lifting his eyes to meet yours, wondering if the outwardly comical statement contained any element of appreciation. For as long as he had known you, there was one thing that remained constant, and that was that you were someone who was immensely challenging to learn and read, unless you openly wished for it to happen. But he would be lying if he said that it was not enthralling. As he let the breeze cool his lightly blushing cheeks – something of a permanent installation when he was around you, Yunho placed his elbows onto the table and cradled his head in his hands.

“Now you have to sign an NDA, you’ve seen the new spring collection.” He joked, a nod to the job that you had taken on prior to the start of the academic year, which had resulted in many midnight coffee runs, one conversation after another of Yunho keeping you sane enough to last until the end of particularly exhausting days, and a revelation that what you had been feeling was indeed, not an illusion. Fortunately for you, while you were afraid of misinterpretation, you sensed that what you had come to realise only now might just be reciprocated.

“Oh gosh one more mention of that and I will scream.” You shook your head, and dramatically stretched out your arm to lie on the table, hair cascading over the sleeve as a jacket, cushioning your temple. While the situation behind Yunho’s words was less than pleasant, he made it sweet by preserving it – like a pressed flower or leaf in a book, he kept a precious collection of your and his happenings. Yunho had a talent for remembering anything and everything that you shared with him, to the point where you were certain that there were a number of events that he probably could recall much better than you ever could.

“Come on, your internship wasn’t that bad.” a chuckle, a gentle tap on your hand that lasted a little too long, giving you ample opportunity to muster some courage and grasp at his jacket’s sleeve to prevent him from breaking contact. The barely audible gasp, replaced by a bashful silence and a return of the pressure of his hand on your forearm was confirmation enough that your spontaneity was right. Nonchalant, you continued.

“Except that it was like I was stranded in a deathmatch at the hardest possible level, overwhelmed inside, disconnected from outside.”

“I mean… in principle… that means you reached the match and hey, normally those maps are cool?” he seemed to have returned from his daze in record speed, though beaming a little brighter and perky from the game reference.

“So was that place… until- ah, too gloomy.” You attempted to lift yourself up, but one glance to Yunho’s resting hand had you forgetting that idea altogether, so you settled for a simple raising of the head, “Whatever, you heard me rant about all of this anyways. Let’s discuss the quality style instead.”

The action made Yunho retract nonetheless – ever so polite, and so you took to keeping your head in one hand, admiring your friend through blissful, lenses the colour of cherry blossoms. You noted how Yunho moved the feast that you had bought further away, and turned so that you would be facing each other directly.

“Yes please, I will have to ask you to expand on that wonderful statement.” He winked: a lighthearted ruse to keep himself together and not give away the kind of effect that you had on him.

“I am this close to taking my words back.” Almost pinching your thumb and index finger together, you shot back.

“Nuh-huh, I wore my special denim jacket today you can’t do this.”

“Yes, I can. And can remind you of your much more iconic looks.”

“Curious. Which one?” as soon as the question left him, you languidly pushed yourself from the metal, and leaned in close, closer, and closer until you were the reason for Yunho being on the verge of short circuiting. You were rarely this forward; any semblance to seeking contact was the odd accidental brush as you would walk side by side, but this, this was something else entirely and he was not prepared. If anything, this was reminiscent of what his imagination would conjure – so far removed from common reality that he was thinking spring itself was playing tricks.

“You… wrapped up…” your voice dropped into a whisper, and Yunho held his breath in trepidation, “in a duvet at the library.”

It was surprising just how much relief an unexpected humorous memory could bring. Recalling the basic fact that he was a human, and that he was to be socially appropriate even around the closest, most precious person in his life, he let out a sharp exhale and an airy chuckle. At least he had the time you were inferring as clear as day in his brain.

“Ah, you mean the time you were wearing the fuzzy onesie?”

“It was-”

“-finals week. Second year. We really popped off on those fits.” He completed your sentence smugly. Any other time, he would have probably crossed his arms or raised them up in a mock victory, but you kept him frozen in place.

A quietude washed over you. Muted, mutual reminiscing. Time to relive what had been, turning into awe at the fact that in the flurry of ponderings, of long gone snippets that twirled around in your mind palace, most were with this beautiful man.

“Yeah.” “Yeah.”

Was all either of you could utter, before falling back into an expectant silence. There was always a shift between the winter and spring, at least that was how you liked to describe it. It was in the scent that graced your room as soon as you opened the window. It was in the longer days, with somnolent darkness being replaced by a budding brilliance, reflecting in soft leaf buds and the beginnings of pollen – nature’s fairy dust. And just like this, from the slumber of a comfortable, amiable and cosy winter time, a shift between you and Yunho could be detected. On the first warm day in spring, as the blossoms rained down, the petal that was on your table now rejoicing upon having found an adventurous companion that landed only millimetres away. While you could never answer the question of how you got so lucky to have Yunho, you were inspired to guess how the continuation of what you had could unfold, if you wished for this flower to bloom and meet the coming seasons. The mere notion made you feel warm, unlike the rapidly cooling ramen that you were unlikely to return to any time soon. Last wisps of steam were escaping the containers, along with the illusion that this spring was to be just like any other.

“By the way, just for the record, banter aside, you do look really good, okay?”

He wanted to poke fun at you for your habit of playfully attacking and then immediately falling back into a truce – fearful of the possibility that you had hurt your interlocutor’s feelings, but found it to be too endearing to ever comment on. It was normally the time when you were most vulnerable, and the time when you had let most of your true feelings slip through your friendly, yet naturally reserved demeanour. Your expression was unreadable, but there was a tantalising tension that was luring him in. Suddenly, the table was very much in Yunho’s way, and led him to spontaneously rise from his chair, pick it up, flinching as he overestimated the weight and nearly hit himself with the back, and step around the picnic table to set it down next to you. You raised an eyebrow, puzzled, but your intuition was good enough to figure out the response, so you simply seized the chance to give your secret everything a onceover, as if you were seeking confirmation for the statement that had already been established in unwavering truth.

“It’s the jacket you picked out, so of course. But thank you.” Deflecting the generalisation, Yunho focused on the article of clothing, the tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink as he inspected it.

“Oh? OH! Yeah! I spammed you with the link to it!” you clicked the fingers of your free hand, agreeing.

“Yeah, but it was not on sale then, so I hunted it down until it was.”

“Well damn don’t I have good taste.” You mumbled, questioning your own ambiguity. Did you really mean the jacket?

“Yep, and in people too.” And that was your answer. Yunho mirrored you, setting an elbow on the table, a gleam dancing on his lips.

“How sneaky! But you do have a very good point, the universe did do good on this one.”

Unable to refrain from the gesture, you reached out to pat the top of his head. It must had been somewhere in the beginning of high school that Yunho became known as the ‘golden retriever’ type, the puppy boy, the energiser. And right about then, you had started to find immense joy in ruffling his hair, be it to praise, or in encouragement, or just because you had not done it in a long time. And while he would normally pout or roll his eyes, not once did he not tilt his head into the sensation. As you took your hand away, you noticed that he intuitively followed. A smile settled on your features as you sank into the indescribable unity. Not needing words to communicate, you sank into his dark orbs, their magnificent glint shining brighter for you than the afternoon sun and the glittering river.

Had you not been looking so intently at him, and had he been able to take his own eyes away, Yunho would have been pinching himself repeatedly to gain confidence that this was all real. You were the one who he had always quietly admired, the one who he always spotted in a crowd, his desire to achieve, to try his best, his confidence and his blue sky. You were the reason why he had so much focus. He had never experienced the tumultuous feverish youthful love – it was easy when only one person could ever be his motivation, inspiration, the keeper of his adoration. He tried to be with other people, tried to be close with other people. But that was all it was, some ‘other’, when all that mattered was ‘you’.

If one were to assess his situation objectively, Yunho’s feelings towards you were ridiculous. A mess of emotion that he could never untie, the beginning of the knot having faded into a distant oblivion, and him having no intentions of ever tearing the threads apart. Having only ever been acquaintances, friends, best friends, he had no foundation to build his romantic feelings on, at least that was what he repeatedly told himself, and yet, here he was, years deep and pining like a fool.

The spring only made him reminisce about how his feelings had grown in the shade of his turbulent, busy life, amongst the daily worries and a packed schedule, budding flower rising through the cracks to turn into a garden in his psyche. He almost did not want to unlock its gates out of fear that the beauty he had cultivated would be dispelled, and, considering you and him having your respective dreams and aspirations, he had previously felt it would be unjust to impose himself upon you. But much like the cherry blossoms that twirled and fell to the ground that still retained some of the February chill, he only fell deeper, and if he did not make the decision for himself, the garden would do it for him and more and eventually, the flowers of his fascination would consume him whole.

“Do you remember how we met?”

“Why are you asking me this out of the blue?” when you only received a motion with the chin to proceed, you pretended as if you were trying to remember, “That was so long ago-”

“But do you?” he persisted, frustrated at having to drag the answer out of you.

“Do I… Honestly? No. I tried to remember but my mind draws a blank.”

Just as he was expecting, middle school was one big void, out of which only one constant remained, and that one constant was currently stifling a chuckle. It never failed to amaze Yunho how you could quote show after show, novel after novel, occasionally refer him to a particular page in a textbook because, apparently ‘the shape of the text was kind of funny so it stuck in your head’, but when it came to people, you drew a blank. Maybe it was just him. Or at least that was the part that hurt him, and the part that he needed to bring to light if he was going to lay all his card out on the table and risk your friendship.

“Classic, Y/N, classic.”

“Well you are my brain cell after all. An unhinged one that has long lunch breaks, but I’m taking what I can get.”

“That is an interesting way to compliment.”

“And I have heard you on voice chat on Valorant so I think we are pretty even.”

Whether it was his nerves or his infatuation that made him so easily affected by you, he could not tell, but the comment was enough to make him break into a fit of giggles, calmed down only by him massaging the back of his neck and reclining into his chair to collect his thoughts. If he were to be any closer to you physically, he was not confident in how he would act. Narrowing your eyes, you detected the change in his behaviour, the subtle tint of worry, and bit back any remarks.

“Fair. But now, no laughing, okay?”

“Okay? That is ominous, but… go for it?”

Everything had gained an unexpected loudness. From the colours that you were bathed in to the symphony of sound that accompanied your conversation, your heart was accelerating. Finely attuned to a series of delighted shouts from afar – a pair of teens strolling down the pathway at the riverbank, you imagined it to be you and Yunho. In fact, that had been you and Yunho back in your hometown. While you could not pinpoint quantitatively, with ease you recollected the warmth. The giddiness of youth that had gradually matured into being each other’s number one fans. Much like those adolescents by the Han River, you had given each other pep talks, screamed your heads off for therapeutic reasons, and watched the sun lazily move across the sky, waving you goodbye as you entered first school, then university.

It was with Yunho that you understood the idea of someone becoming something like a limb. Or a part of your identity. It was so easy being with Yunho, that you simply forgot how time passed. Much like how one was not conscious of when they were using their hand, instead focusing on the words typed out on a phone screen, you had experienced life with, and through Yunho. He was always there – a constant in the chaos, and without being aware of it, you had flourished independently thanks to him believing that you could. The one supporter of your radical ideas. Number one fan. Reassuring you through actions time and time again that he was always ready to help, and you could only hope that you had done the same.

“So… um… Y/N.”

“Are you about to give me a speech?” you interjected, making the young man whine.

“Shut up for a second I am processing at high speeds here.”

“Okay, okay.” You at upright, placing your hands on the armrests, as though you were about to stand up. Perhaps it was to be the case, as you could barely hear Yunho over the sound of your pulse in your ears.

“Anyways, as I was saying. Y/N. We didn’t exactly meet. We uh… well I ran into someone, and you were walking by. At least that is how I see it.”

Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut as he visualised the scene in front of him. The chase, the hit, the whistle of the referee. How just as he was trying to stand up, a girl his age, one he had seen sitting on the other side of the classroom, was already rushing towards him and yelling that he should stop moving or his injuries will get worse.

“Huh?”

“That time, I was in football practice and decided to, you know, touch some grass quite literally, but didn’t realise that grass and gravel would give pretty nasty cuts.”

“And?”

“You gave me cool band aids.”

“Huh? Did I?”

“Yeah, it had like… superheroes on it and stuff. So, needless to say you got instant respect from me.” That interaction gave him band aids, a packet of wet wipes and an interest in you that he struggled to resist. As you left the field, he had watched the charm on your backpack swaying back and forth, a pendulum hypnotising him.

“Glad to know… Is that the whole meeting?” you asked, Yunho’s certain delivery and courage making you cower.

“Let me continue. Okay, going from there, you also shut down some rumours basically at their source. Oh, and you had brought me homework and notes for two weeks straight while I was sick.”

“You lived nearby so it made sense to do-” putting one of his hands over yours was only natural, and any prior tentativeness had dissipated.

“And let me say, this is all in the span of one term. One school term. Just freshly started the school year and you’re out here being cute and shit and then totally oblivious.” His speech accelerated to the degree that you wanted to remind him that he was not presenting in class and fighting a time limit. If he were to take the step forward, he needed to be sure that this was what he wanted. The wind picked up its pace, and the trees shuddered.

“What are you getting at?” to encourage him, you flipped your hand around and intertwined your fingers with his, the action sending something reminiscent of an electric shock through your system. But you were not about to expose your exhilaration.

“Mmm… I think you know.” He shied away, gawking at the palms pressed together as though it was a work of art. You did the same, though managed to utter:

“I might do but finish your point.” Yunho huffed in agreement and squeezed a couple of times, confirming that this was real.

“So, you tell me that you don’t deserve my help or that I do too much right?” a new wave of passion flared up in his tone, demanding your attention. The rays that melt away the winter chill prevalent in the voice, any argument not feasible. However, you were not one to not try leaving your two cents, especially not when you could count the number of barriers and filters that you relied on dropping to an unmistakable zero.

“Yeah, right, because that’s true.”

“No, because that is bullshit. I am basically paying you back, and never will be able to. Because you have given me nothing but kindness. And every single bit is like a petal.” Words spilling over one another, Yunho shared his soul. With one swipe, he picked up a stray petal from the table and lifted it: “Yeah, see? Like this one.” Shaking it a couple of times, he flicked it away to let it spin to join its family on the ground. “And they just keep on falling and falling and falling and falling and I am falling along with them too. These little gestures, how you stayed up to make sure I came back to the dorms safe, how you… seriously it is impossible to list everything okay?!”

It was as if someone had lit a match, and your body contained nothing but gasoline. Your suspicions had been proven right, and the words were heavenly music.

“Wait… come back to the falling part again. As you say. Expand on that?”

“Shit…”

“Now that’s not romantic.”

“Oh, come on.” Yunho tried to pry himself away, awkward laughed bubbling up, but now that he had given you a glimpse into his feelings, you were not about to abandon them – not when he had recounted moments of when your actions were what reached his heart.

“Look, Yunho. We have known each other for long enough to read the vibe. And I can feel that you are terrified. Guess what. I am terrified too. In the same way. So, say it. For both of us.” You peered into his eyes, smiling, relieved that Yunho was more pleased than you imagined he would be.

“How about… we say it on the count of three?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. If we are about to ruin things, then let’s just say we crossed the finish line together.”

Ruin. If there was anything else to ruin, it was only the ramen that was definitely stale and soggy at this point. But love knew no earthly needs, only the game of chance and destiny.

“Well damn, okay. Fine. If that helps you.”

“One, two, three-”

“I like you.” “I like you.” The phrase resonated like a plucked guitar string, two voices turning into one, with neither of you capable of holding back laughter as the three words that previously were an unbearable load now joined the spring air, the vibrancy and rejoicing of nature, carried away by the breeze. Commenting on how both of you went for the safer option, you leaned closer to one another, a magnetism tugging you along.

“You look like you are debating whether to let your now-approved impulsive thoughts win or not.”

“And you look like you really want them to win.”

“You know it.”

“Are you su-”

Yunho’s eyes shot wide open as you leaned in and cut him off by locking your lips with his. Time stood still as he searched for any sign that he was dreaming, alas, none was to be found. It was your plush, rosy lips against his, a perfect harmony. Those lips that he had spent too long staring at, that haunted him, now capturing him whole. The brightest sun in his chest that rivalled the one that left your practically glowing. Relaxing into the newfound heaven, he brushed back a strand and returned the kiss, slowing its pace to a sultry exploration, a worship of the moment that, even compared to the years that had preceded it, was an eternity that he wanted to sink into and never come out of.

“Who’s impulsive now?” only when his, and your lungs were burning for oxygen did you pull away, and were face to face with a goofy, adorable grin, playfully taunting you.

“Not me. I am cool, calm, and calculated.” You replied, your voice still airy.

“And I waited long enough.”

This was you, in plural. Yunho guided you out of the white chairs and stood to wrap an arm around your waist. You had hugged before, as friends. As friends who wanted more. He wanted to scream out at every bird and passer-by that you felt the same as him. Elated, you melted into one another as your lips reconnected, the perfectly connected puzzle pieces. You tasted of memories and a hope for forever – also known as what you had been having for lunch, but suddenly, that interesting flavour choice was his favourite. Your arms snaked around him, and slipped under his jacket to protect themselves from the flurry of flowers. Even when you pulled away, your foreheads remained pressed together, eyelashes almost touching, and you rocked slowly, side to side, in a silent dance. Embraced by the spring of love. Yunho nuzzled into the crook of your neck, enveloping himself in all that was you. More than he could ever have hoped for. You wondered if he would tear up, but instead he mumbled, dumbfounded:

“So, we are like… a thing now.” You snorted, amused at the choice of words.

“Thing.” Yunho raised his head again to give you a worried glance.

“I am so scared to call you my girlfriend, I seriously think you will disappear if I do.” He explained, hugging you tighter.

It was charming, and simple enough to understand. Much like fearing snowfall in the early days of a floral reawakening, he could not bear the possibility of you fading into an extended frost. But now you were certain, that as much as he was your always, you were his. It could be that you had never considered romance before because you had already committed yourselves to one another so early, that they was never time to process. Hence why you judged your shared life only by the constant. By Yunho.

“But I was here the whole time?” you were no fool to believe that this was the same. Even in the year or so that you had carried the burden of hiding adoration, it was only yours to keep. You had been his, just the title and privileges were a little different.

“But now is even better. I get to call you mine officially.” After a pause where he got lost in his musings, he added, with a euphoric grin, “Too early to say I love you?”

“Ten years isn’t enough time?”

“I mean romantically…”

“Kiss me again and say the words, this is a threat.” You whispered, and pulled him in gently, your hands moving forward, and tugging at the collar of his jacket as you close the space once more, entranced by the magic.

Like the cherry blossoms fell around you, you fell for Jeong Yunho, and he for you. Through the years, you had seen one another’s ups, downs, spirals, and lines. You had adored the best and worked through the worst. No matter the season.

Spring was time for new beginnings. And while the comfort, the ease, the person were all the same, the future promised a myriad of fresh pink blossoms, the petals celebrating your new journey.

[lemon-natalia]

Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 46

oh Gideon’s died three times from these freaking Heralds?? even with Lyctor level healing powers i feel like thats traumatising. 

ahhh i love how the whole ‘cavalier controls the body while the Lyctor is in the River’ thing was mentioned so many times but i still never saw this coming 

also i was too busy freaking out over Gideon being back last chapter to note this, but i love the narration choices made here!! the combining of 2nd & first person and how Gideon is actually the one narrating Harrow’s perspective is a really creative way of showing what it would be like to be in someone else’s body

‘had a hunger only thumbs could satisfy’ Carl, is that you? 

‘I’d touched your intestines, which is usually what, fourth date’ these guys went immediately to something like seventh base, and skipped the first six

awww the way that Gideon is trying so hard to take care of Harrow’s body. not just in not dying/being injured, but trying not to do anything that she knows would make Harrow uncomfortable 

LEMON-MOUTH PRIME. what better description of Mercy could exist

and Mercy was very very scared of Gideon-in-Harrow (hah), thinking she was someone else who ‘never could act human’, before realising she wasn’t. i have a feeling she’s referring to the Locked Tomb body, she’s been described as a ‘monster’ before after all

Mercy stabbed Harrow?? as a form of, well, mercy i suppose 

‘What the fuck are you talking about’ oh this being from Gideon’s perspective is so fucking funny, she is absolutely clueless and has no idea of any of the Lyctor soap opera drama that might help make sense of any of this

gideon: okay jesus christ, i don’t know what’s going on here 

ok, now Mercymorn’s talking about … Someone called the commander, who og!Gideon was having an affair with, and then immediately moves onto talking about Gideon Nav’s mother. is og!Gid Gideon’s dad then, i was fucking joking when i said it was ironic he had red hair?! but he was also sent to kill said Commander (possibly Gid’s mother)?? like i said, Lyctor soap opera

and Cytherea’s body, being possessed by Someone apparently, has a gun rn and shot Mercy ok!!! and then didn’t shoot Gid for some reason?? ‘what the fuck is going on’ you and me both Gideon