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cl6teen · 4 months

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affection, ln4 ❀ chapter ii. the need to know

masterlist || chapter i || chapter iii

summary: [4.5k words] drunken nights spent in lando’s townhouse are an ode to your friendship, and maybe just a little bit more.

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

contains: lando and reader are in denial, self friendzoning, lots of reminiscing and fluff, lando taking care of reader, very lazy smut, one night stands, oblivious flirting, talks of sex, intoxication, unprotected sex, pull and pray.

note: not proofread, this can be read as a stand-alone or as part of my affection series, however this is not a required read for said series. (sorry for such a long wait! exams were rough and this was difficult to write for some reason)

❀ silverstone ❀

The overarching sounds of EDM and conversation ring through Lando’s ears in a destructive harmony that’s sure to hit him tomorrow morning in the form of a stupid migraine. Still, he pushes through the sea of bodies crowding around, trying to huddle in close enough to him to hopefully snag a photo of ‘Silverstone’s P2 driver’. It has a nice ring to it, since you said that with Max in this competition, P2 is the new P1, so he should be nothing more proud of his performance.

Prideful he was, enough to confidently down shots with today’s true winner, forgetting how the Dutchman always lets as loose as he can during these after parties. And while they didn’t seem to hit whilst manning the dj turn-tables for the last hour or so, the newfound alcohol in his system was certainly making itself known now.

His hands run through brown tufts of hair as he scans the club entrance for you, “Y/n?”

“Over here.”

You’ve sat yourself in an armchair close to the women’s washroom, where you nurse a half-full lukewarm bottle of water in your hands before taking yet another prolonged sip.

“You look like shit.” He chuckles, leaning down to fix the strands of your hair that stray from the rest.

“Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes playfully, a laugh escapes you both, “you’re not one to talk, either.”

Fair point, he shrugs. With tousled hair that manages to go in every direction except for what it was originally in, sunglasses threatening to fall off the bridge of his nose, and the faint red lipstick marks stained on his unbuttoned white collar, Lando looks far from put together. He’s impossible, how can he have the nerve to talk to how you look on a night out while he was so quick to leave you with Oscar (who you had no problems being with—he just didn’t seem to be the party type) after receiving a shameless once over from a leggy blonde passing your group by upon arrival.

“So, where’s tonight’s girl?” He stares when you passively fold your arms into each other and question, completely unaware of how the movement pushes your chest together. He clicks his tongue, stop looking, Lando.

“Hell if I know.” He sighs in fake disappointment, in hopes of cutting that conversation off as quickly as it was introduced, “you’re staying at mine tonight.”

Okay, you nod. You don’t question it—you never do. Instead you sit quietly and watch him swipe around on his phone, no doubt shooting Max (Fewtrell) a quick text to let him know you were both leaving before calling up an Uber Black. Was this normal? To go home with Lando after a long night out? To you, the answer was always yes—hell, if you need him, say the word and he’s on the way, isn’t that what friends were for?

But other people can’t fathom the idea, they look at the two of you with doubtful eyes after explaining that although you can’t seem to go anywhere without one another, Lando’s just a friend. You sigh in exasperation at the thought, Lando Norris isn’t dateable; at least, not to you. He texts you about the girls he’s on dates with and nitpicks about how their breath smells, or how they had food in their teeth, or the potent perfume they drench themselves in to the point of inducing headaches in people they pass by. He’s whiney, and picky, and—

Lando’s fingers snap in your face and bring you out of your stupor, “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

“Nothing.” Your little jump earns you a perplexed look from Lando, who can only stare you down, “nothing, just want to get some rest.”

“The car is here, but it’s a little walk across the street.” He notices the heels toppled over each other next to the chair—you truly are a mess. “Do you have your purse?” You nod, flimsily holding the bag up for him to see.

Lando is no Superman, he knows that well after an ambitious jump off a bunk bed and straight into an ER visit and a three month cast at the age of ten; but now he feels like he’s got the power to do it all, looping the straps of your heels on a finger and hoisting you into his arms bridal style. It’s far from a pretty sight, but it still manages to grab the attention of partygoers nearby, who point and whisper and gush at the scene in front of them. “People will see, Lando.” You look up at him through dark lashes in an unfamiliar way that gets his gears turning—more than anything, he just wants to get you to this car.

“Yeah, but that’s okay.” He smiles nervously, letting you burrow your head into the crook of his neck to hide from the nipping British breezes outside. It's probably anything but okay; pictures might make their way around, and make both his life and your own a pain in the ass, but he can’t rain it on you like that.

The subtle aroma of your perfume invades his senses, and all of a sudden he’s become so hyper aware of his touch on your skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—he shakes his head.

In Lando’s mind, you’re but one thing to him; a friend—one he intends to keep like that.

—

Silent car rides in the backseat have never been Lando’s thing, not when he’s drunk, not when he can’t use his phone because he has to watch you. He’s not complaining, really—but there’s a fleeting moment of relief when forty minutes later, the two of you find way to the steps of his townhome, and he's fumbling around in his pockets for the keys while you stay huddled close to him to keep warm despite already sporting his jacket.

He’s profane as he fiddles with the door handle. You’re lucky he’s sweet enough to give you his clothing, because even though he practically threw it at you after listening to your nonstop whines about the cold, and how he ‘wasn’t even fazed by it’, he is actually freezing now.

“Tonight was…”

Rough, Fun, you both say in tandem; Lando’s enthusiasm is unsurprising, he finds himself at home in these situations. Work hard, play harder, he would say—it makes sense, his job is high stakes, stressful, the media is a pain in the ass; you would look forward to the fun bit too.

However, you’re not Lando, you don’t vacation in Ibiza or party with Max Verstappen on weekends—you travel to Thailand and read on rafts, but your best friend making podium during a home race is more than enough reason to show face for the night, so you make your peace with it and thank whoever that you’re home now.

“I need to change out of this,” you refer to the dress you’ve spent the entire after party readjusting and pulling down only to tug back up. “Lend me a shirt?”

“Did you really need to ask?” He speaks from a hunched over position while clumsily taking off his shoes. “You know where my room is.”

It’s a painfully familiar place; Lando’s never around enough to change it up anyway. When was the last time you were here? Maybe two years ago, during summer break, your memory is too foggy, but not to the point where you can forget your first time visiting. You and Lando were nineteen and twenty, and he wanted to use his well earned ‘Y/n’s daddy’ funded bonus on something practical. A house was not what you had in mind, but twenty five year old Carlos had a bottle of wine and a pipe dream of a three person housewarming party (one your father wasn’t too stoked to hear about, no doubt). It ended just as expected, wine drunk and full on that no bake cookie dough, albeit against the wishes of the drivers’ nutritionists, and you somehow bundled up in Lando’s brand new King bed while the other two found their comforts in plastic wrapped couches tucked away in the living room.

The only thing different in Lando’s bedroom are the bedsheets (thankfully), and frames full of podiums that showcase just how far he's come.

The smile you fight while reminiscing falters when you reach to tug at your zipper and fail. For what you spent on it, the list of inconveniences following your dress just seems to grow.

“Lan!” An exasperated huff escapes you, “could you come in for a moment?”

“My zipper, it’s stuck and I can't get it.” You want to cringe at your words, it’s a cliche—one of the many the universe seems to put you two in. Turning away from him, you move your hair out the way to expose your back, “do you mind?”

His fingers feel warm on your back, it’s a foreign feeling that creeps over the expanse of your nerves and has your breath hitched uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Something is just…different—maybe the alcohol, but you’ve been drunk around Lando one too many times and never has it ended like this, with his fingers nervously fiddling with the metal zipper, tugging at your dress material while gently trying to yank it down.

“Lando, that hurts.” you breathe for the first time in what feels like ages.

He kisses his teeth in frustration, placing a firm hand on your waist to keep you from squirming around, “You need to stay still.” The thickness of his accent becomes more apparent with each word.

You feel so weak, letting just a simple touch bully you into submission, silently you nod. The zipper's journey down is agonizing and slow, for both of you; at this moment, Lando wants nothing more than to leave the room, yet his feet seem glued to the ground he stands on. It’s dimly lit, but you can still feel eyes burning holes into your bare skin, up from the nape of your neck and down to the top of your hips that the lace material underneath clings to.

He watches the thin straps of your dress struggle to stay atop your shoulders and fall down your arms, further exposing the skin of your back—he sees a tattoo, one that he convinced you to get in Vegas last year, it looks good, better than he thought it would.

“—did you hear me? Are you done?”

He should leave.

“Yeah, yup. I just got it down,” and as quick as he came, it feels like Lando’s miles away, “I’m gonna go now, just…grab whatever shirt you would like.”

–

“Hey.” You say quietly, padding your way to the kitchen island.

Okay. Things seem a lot more normal between you two. Maybe all that was needed to fix whatever tension between you both was a fresh change of clothes and some bright lighting.

“You hungry?” He prompts, leaning against quartz counters with the world famous boyish smile signature to Lando himself. “I can make us a little snack before bed, just to lighten the hangover you’ll probably get tomorrow.”

You hum sweetly, the time reads 1:53 am—it’s earlier than you thought, time always blurs together when you’re drunk. “Could you get me a glass of water please?”

“Here you are, missy.”

You scrunch your nose up at his tone, “any name but that.” He laughs obnoxiously, proud of how he manages to get under your skin in a way only he can.

The sizzling sounds of grilled cheese on the pan accompanied by the dull hum of a faulty ceiling light are the only ones in the kitchen (you’re constantly telling him to get it fixed, but Lando never seems to follow up on your suggestions, opting for the answer of ‘I don’t even live here like that anymore’). Sipping from your glass, the lipstick stain on his collar catches your eye again—you’re curious, why didn’t he just go home with her?

“So what happened with the girl?”

“What?” He turns to look at you, brows furrowed into a knot. It’s not until you make a little gesture to the base of your neck that he looks down at his own to see what you mean. “Oh, her, what was her name again…Abby, Aria—no, Amy. She was too…onto me, only talked about racing and the other drivers. Don’t get me wrong I like, love, racing, but I want to have a natural conversation.” he searches for the right comparison, “like how you and me flow.”

You and me.

Empathetic, you sigh into your hands, Lando is simple, adjacently, he likes things that are simple; routine and normal, like you two. “Lando, if you keep comparing girls to me you’re going to chase them away.” You think his attitude will be his undoing, but he says if it hasn’t happened now there’s no chance of it happening ever. “Even worse, they’ll think I'm your girlfriend.”

He shrugs calmly, so normal about the entire idea, “Max says they already think that.”

“Yeah well,” you huff out in mild annoyance, stuttering over your words at the thought of Lando discussing your relationship status with someone. “Max doesn’t know everything.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t date you in a million years,” mouthing off, he turns to look at you with a sour face, “too snobby.”

“You talk like you’re not daddy’s money too.” The reaction of your middle finger poking out is almost reflexive. “You’re not my type anyway.”

“That’s a lie. You thought I was cute when I first met you.” It is a lie, a painfully bad one at that—Lando has always been a cutie; though, his constant need to annoy you in some way seemed to drown that aspect of himself out.

“And then your personality came to light.”

The witted banter between you always comes naturally—he would poke and prod at your last fiber of patience with him until you finally find yourself giving your attention to his words and firing something back that would be surefire dig deep had it not been aimed at somebody like Lando.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t think I’m hot.” Sniggering, he shoots you a teasing wink, “don’t worry, I think you’re hot too.”

“I know that, everyone thinks I’m hot.”

He scoffs to himself, he says you’re a narcissist, you say it’s not narcissistic if it’s true.

The spurt of banter is short lived, and soon enough you’re back to hearing the hum of the kitchen lights. It’s peaceful enough, better than the crescendo of club music from an hour ago.

But you’re inebriated—and needing to talk to keep yourself from falling asleep while waiting on Lando, you start, “Have you ever thought about it?”

“About what?”

“You and me,” you repeat his words from earlier, but they’re not laced with the cool and calm confidence Lando had—instead, they’re shaky. You’re unsure if you want to know the answer to your own question.

“Like…dating?” The pitch of his accent goes higher in confusion.

“Uhm, not dating per say…” you down your saliva to slow yourself before continuing, with the liquid courage flowing through your veins, the mental filter that once barricaded stupid nonsense from revealing itself is nowhere to be seen; which sucks because you could really use it right now.

“Do you mean hooking up?” Lando takes the meek stare you give as a yes, and your sudden shyness has him wanting to press you for more, “Have you?”

Have you thought about it? Screwing Lando Norris? Embarrassingly so, you’ve always wanted to sleep with an F1 driver (to know what makes these girls so insane for them, that’s what you tell yourself), but you prefer to keep those fantasies in your head, locked away in an untouchable space where nobody can reach. Still, it would be a lie to say it hadn’t crossed your mind—even if you harbor no romantic feelings towards him, people don’t usually mind sleeping with someone they find physically attractive.

“And what if I have?” You probe, arms folding into each other as you watch Lando watch you out of the corner of his eyes.

You’ll put him into a lot of trouble soon enough, and he dreads the day you do. “You’re funny.”

“So it never crossed your mind?”

Of course it has, look at you—unbelievably pretty even while piss-drunk and dressed in an old wrinkled t-shirt riding up your thighs. Though, he would never tell you that to your face; it would do him more worse than good. Lando might not love you in that sense, but he is a single man with an appreciative eye; he thinks many of the other drivers on the grid can attest to the fact that you’re stunning, some even going as far as using him as a means of snagging your number. He does you the favor of turning them down in your stead, though, because you would never get with any of them—he’s sure of it.

At least, that’s what he hopes.

“Every guy has thought about hooking up with his best female friend, at least once.” He shrugs, not seeming to care about the way your mouth hangs open at his nonchalant vulgarity. Lando doesn’t actually know if it’s the truth, but he sure as hell feels that way about you, wrong or not. You don’t notice, but he’s already turned the stove burner off before facing you with a jerkish smirk, “what, did you want to try tonight?”

“Jesus, goodnight.” You shove at his left shoulder and try to make a b-line back to his bedroom, only to be held back by Lando's outstretched arm that wraps itself around your shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he’s quick to plead, and he’s equally as quick to overlook the plans of goosebumps that settle across your body at his touch. “What I said was a dick move, I admit it.” Through a fanned breath, he heaves out, “but seriously, hm? What’s got you thinking about all that?”

What has got you thinking about all of this? The shots of Patron making its home in the pits of your stomach mixed with rumors that never seem to die down, maybe. There should be a warning sign, Patron & gossip: can lead to shamelessly flirting and innocently talking about topics like hookups and sex—with Lando Norris no less.

And Lando…

He’s better than this, he knows he’s better than this, letting your suggestions lurch him into a debauched daydream of the two of you coming to a head in the bedroom of his home, skin hot from fleeting touches instead of warm alcohol, hands grabbing underneath the shirt hung over your body and finally being able to do what no other man could—

“It’s not going to happen.”

—do for you.

You bring him out of his thoughts when you quickly dismiss the entire idea (disappointingly so), “I brought it up because I’m…bored, and drunk.” the tone of your voice goes high enough to pan your mumbled words out as a question, even you sound unconvinced of yourself.

Lando recognizes your doubts just as you do. “You suuuure about that?” He says in a way that has you giggling schoolgirlishly into his arms and makes this a little more not-so-awkward. “You know you don’t need to lie to me.”

While there's probably some truth to his reassuring words, he’s being bad, he wants this—maybe even more than you do, you can tell. It makes you a bit more still, knowing that he’s also, to some extent, got a hard on for you in a one-off sense. Meanwhile, Lando’s mind is going a mile a minute (it’s characteristic of someone who actually goes a mile a minute for a living), carefully observing your expressions to see what it is you’re thinking—to some degree he is a gentleman, if you say the words, he’ll forget anything was ever mentioned.

But boy does he want it.

Glassy eyes seem to pierce yours for what seems like an eternity, “Lando…” You hope your voice is calmer than how you feel, but it’s not promising; the world around you feels standstill—like you can’t even breathe for air.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He mumbles, eyes softening at how your body relaxes into his own. The two of you dance around the point of no return, still, magnetically you gravitate towards it. You want to embrace it tonight, and worry about the mess brewing tomorrow.

“Fucking hell.” He curses in the endearing way only a Brit can, arm circling the small of your back and lips ghosting against your own, “it’s just a one time thing.”

“Just this once…”

Just this once is what you tell yourselves when his lips catch your own, tongue languidly breaching your mouth whilst pulling you closer into him as you fall into his touch and wrap your arms around his neck. It’s just this once that he’ll push away plates and keys to pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counters for you to entangle your fingers within his curls, moaning for more as he kisses his way around your neck.

It’s just this once you’ll sleep with him.

—

Lando, like with everything else, is a massive tease. You should complain, but the feeling of warm hands hiking up your t-shirt short circuits your nerves and limits whatever capability you have to bite back, so you take it all; the ghostly touches, trailing kisses along your jaw, and hands wandering from the crux of your neck down to your entrance.

It aches so unfamiliarly, cotton panties are tugged haphazardly to the side and your pussy is wet and overstimulated.

Yes, that’s the word you’ve been looking for. It’s all so overstimulating, the fading pulsations of your last orgasm brought on from having two thick fingers scissoring out of you, the puffiness of your nipples still sensitive from Lando’s ongoing oral fixation, and the feeling of his dick messily slotting itself between folds and up against your clit, it’s all just so much.

“Lando…” You whine, “c’mon.”

He mocks you with a haughty smile, repeating his name shamelessly in a pitch much higher than your own. There’s little to be embarrassed about, yet you feel so exposed, in both a literal and figurative sense. He’s drawn two orgasms out of you with such ease, like your body is as simple to navigate as a track, all without even fucking you properly. Somewhere deep down you’re grateful he’s so observant; it’s a wildly different experience than what you’re used to in every way possible.

“Did you want me to do something? You need to use your words.” He feigns ignorance, like he doesn’t feel the clinging drag of your naked hips against his crotch. Right now, there is nothing nice about Lando—he’s brought you to the edge and left you to plead for him to dig his hands into the meat of your thighs and finally fuck you as promised.

And with eyes barred shut, you do ask for it, muttering a quaint just put it in with a hushed whimper that shoots straight through him, fueling some kind of excessive desire to give it to you straight.

“Lan!” Your instincts to twitch take hold of you when you feel the tip inch into you, stretching you out more than anything else.

“Relax.” He soothes not only you, lazily thumbing your clit to distract your body from the unnerving stretch of him bottoming out, but also himself; there’s a prayer he’s mumbling at the back of his mind, asking for strength to keep him from succumbing to the biting grip your walls welcome him with, he could cum on entry alone. “That feel good?”

It feels great, but you can’t find the words to talk, so you opt for the drawn out whine that amplifies to a full moan when he finds his rhythm. You guess Lando fucks like he races, wild but calculated, hard and fast. His thrusts push you up closer to the headboard, and you think you see stars with each one. Lando’s dilated eyes are focused on the way your boobs move in tandem with his hips, which roll into your own unforgivingly.

If this is what he gets when he does well, he needs to get those wins and that championship, as soon as possible.

“Just like that, Lan.” You exhale out, fingers darting to grapple at his wild brown tufts, “I want more of you. Need it.”

To hear you say you need him, it makes him somewhat insane. His body is eager to close in on your own, lips ghosting over your jaw and inching closer to your ear as a hand gently finds its way to your neck.

“You feel so perfect.” He’s so breathless, practically whining into your ears about just how good you feel, It doesn’t reach you, you’re too focused on feeling every inch of dick buried into you. It feels like he’s mushing up your insides, hitting spongy walls that desperately cling to him. Every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head lazily rolling to the side.

You’re not sure when you cum, but you do. It’s wet and his name is hot on your tongue, as if you’re cheering him on to fuck you through your orgasm, and who is he to deny you? Lando’s undoubtedly happy to see the pleasure he’s giving you, his eyes blowing wide at the feeling of his lower abdomen growing soaked by your arousal.

“Look at you,” he marvels, prideful and horny, “ever done that before?”

You haven’t—it freaks you out, yet despite all of your hurried apologies and groans of embarrassment, Lando finds himself dipping his head into the crux of your neck to suppress a groan. You’re so pretty it hurts him, his hips bore deeper into yours, hoping to get closer than humanly possible.

When he kisses you, your legs slither around his waist as if to cage him. You’ll be the death of him—the two of you are playing a dangerous game, and you both know it.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he smiles against your lips, and your body melts like putty, malleable enough for him to pry your legs from its digging into his back and push them closer towards you by your thighs.

His pace noticeably falters when you flutter around him. You’re muttering something about coming inside, pleading for it—but he pays you no mind; you’re intoxicated by the feeling of dopamine, and as much as he would love it, the feeling of stuffing you full, he’s a smarter man than that.

He cums with a guttural fuck, barely managing to rip himself away from your clutches and spill himself onto your stomach—and you just watch, doe eyed and jolted by the warm feeling on your skin. You both pant heavily against one another, until all you can hear is the noise of the London night leaking in from an ajar window.

“Hey.” He lazes out, rubbing circles on your thigh.

“Hi.”

“This can’t—” happen again, get out to anyone—there’s so much he could say, but you would rather not hear it. Not tonight.

“Yeah.”

❀❀

tags: @babyvinnie @leclercdream @im-an-overthinker@ririyulife @1655clean @sukisheadlights @harrysdimple05 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday

(if bolded i couldn’t tag you i’m so sorry!)

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 x female reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x you

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nahoney22 · 2 months

Note

Hi ! Congrats on reaching 4000 followers, I'm so proud of you and you totally deserve it ! ❤️

Can I request a Crosshair x fem!reader one-shot with the prompt "every time i see you, i fall in love all over again" with Crosshair saying this to the reader after seeing her do something silly/cute (and they've been married for a few years already) ? I just feel like it'll be so cute 🥰

4000 Prompt List Celebration

Crosshair X Fem!Reader

word count: 1.2k

prompt

• “Every time I see you, I fall in love all over again.”

Warnings: Fluffy goodness, married couple, female reader, kisses, reader is a terrible cook, baking chaos, pet names, soft crosshair.

Authors note: so sorry for the wait my darling! @coraex , hopefully this is fluffy enough for you! Enjoy 💜

Life on Pabu was a paradise. The weather was always idyllic, the beach pristine, and your husband, well, he was nothing short of perfect. Yet, amidst this perfection, there lingered one imperfection: your baking skills, or rather, lack thereof. However, fate bestowed upon you an opportunity to fix this flaw while your husband ventured off on a supply run for the people.

And so with meticulous precision, you measured each ingredient, ensuring nothing fell short of perfection. You had even ventured to local vendors and handpicked the finest ingredients to craft a savoury delicacy introduced to you by Phee so naturally, you had to make it. Or give it a go, at least.

As the oven worked its magic, you stepped onto the balcony to your home, allowing the warm breeze to tousle your hair and the sun to caress your skin. Your gaze wandered to the sky, where the familiar silhouette of the Havoc Marauder emerged.

Remaining on the balcony, you observed as the men and the lone girl disembarked the ship. Crosshair, as always, locked eyes with your shared home, a smirk adorning his features. With a wave and a beckoning gesture, you invited him to join you inside.

As soon as the door hisses open, you eagerly dash across the threshold and leap into his arms. The man staggers momentarily before finding his footing, wrapping one of his long arms around you. "Missed me, pretty lady?"

"As always," you grin, leaning back to plant a kiss on his lips. "Even if it has only been a few hours."

"At least I got a hug this time," he chuckles, placing your feet back on the ground and bestowing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

Stepping back, you let Crosshair settle his belongings and smile fondly at him. "Well, last time, you went 'what? No hug for me?'" You recall, earning a playful eye roll as he places his helmet on a table next to a framed holophoto of your wedding day. Every time you look at it, nothing but fond and loving memories fill your mind.

"Very well," he declares, launching himself onto the couch, kicking his feet up on an ottoman. He pats the spot beside him, and you gratefully accept, snuggling into his side. "So, what are you trying to bake this time, then?"

"How did you know I was baking something?" you inquire, a hint of surprise in your voice, as you glance towards the kitchen where you were certain you had hidden any sign of evidence of you baking.

Then, he leans forward and as you think he’s about to steal a kiss, a mischievous glint dances in his eyes. His thumb playfully swipes across your cheek and nose, leaving behind traces of flour and sugar on his finger that he holds up that makes your face flush with embarrassment. "Ah," you chuckle, realising the source of the sensation.

He chuckles too, but his amusement is tinged with concern as he sniffs the air with a subtle frown. "How long have you been cooking for?"

Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, then back at him, you reply, "About two hours now. Should be ready in the next hour or so." Your grin conveys eagerness, but his expression remains neutral, a hint of skepticism lurking in his eyes.

“Babe, I think it’s already done.”

Again, you blink at him, momentarily taken aback. "Huh?"

“I smell burning.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, the shrill sound of the smoke alarm fills the air, and you wince at the piercing noise. Cursing above the noise, you rush towards the kitchen, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and urgency.

“Gloves! GLOVES!” Crosshair's urgent voice rings out, but you're focused on the task at hand and it falls on deaf ears. Ignoring his plea, you yank open the oven door, confronting the billowing clouds of black smoke that engulf the kitchen. Fetching your hand inside the burning oven, you grab a hold of the tray of the baked goods, yanking it out with a small yelp.

Crosshair springs into action, swift and decisive. In a matter of seconds, he's by your side, checking on you with a mixture of concern and determination etched on his features. But after you insist you’re fine, he shifts his focus to the task at hand, pushing open the window to let the smoke out and silencing the alarm with a practiced hand.

“Come here, run your hand under the tap quickly,” he instructs, his voice gentle yet firm as he guides you towards the sink. Switching the water on, he ensures the temperature is just right before gently urging your hand underneath the cool stream.

“Crosshair, I’m fine. Honestly,” you assure him which was not even a lie because you were. It was pretty much a miracle you somehow didn’t burn yourself but as for the savoury treats… burnt to a crisp.

Crosshair moves away from you and inspects the smoking tray, blinking at the almost incinerated food. “Well, maybe they taste better than they look.”

“Oh, stow it,” you retort at his sarcastic comment, though you know he means it playfully. Disappointment paints your features as you glance at the charred remnants of your baking attempt. “Why can’t I cook anything?!”

“You can. Just, badly.”

“If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’re succeeding,” you pout, flinging water droplets from your hand at him before switching the tap off and folding your arms over your chest in annoyance.

Crosshair comes back your way and drapes an arm over your shoulder, using his hand to tilt your chin up to look at him. “Don’t worry about it. You can try again?”

“What’s the point? I’ll probably burn our home down.”

“That’s true.”

You playfully slap his hand away and begin to tidy up your mess, Crosshair helping you along the way by washing up the tray before you move back to the sofa and faceplant onto it with a heavy sigh. The soft cushions provide some comfort as you let out a frustrated groan.

You hear the running water switch off, a small clang of him putting the washing away, and then faint steps towards you.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he starts, quickly earning a loud and unwilling-to-listen whine before you ask what about.

“That every time I see you, I fall in love all over again.”

You roll onto your back and stare up at him with narrowed eyes. “Why are you being soft?”

He laughs, warm and soft before he scoots you into his lap, taking a seat and peppering kisses over your cheek. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

“I don’t care,” you giggle as you let him gush over you, “you are.” You grin at him with bright eyes. “But why did you say that?”

“It’s true,” he shrugs casually. “You may try and burn our home down all the time, but I love you all the same for it.”

You playfully squint at his jokey insult, but instead of trying to be smart and think of a retort, you kiss your husband and tell him exactly how you feel too, cherishing these moments of love and laughter.

“Let’s go out for dinner. It’s on me.” Now that’s an opportunity you won’t pass up on.

Masterlist

More Prompt Works

Crosshair Works

Tags: @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @imalovernotahater @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb

#crosshair x reader #the bad batch reader x crosshair #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch #nahoney22 writes #crosshair the bad batch #late night post #tbb

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aidaronan · 5 months

Note

24 for the Steddie/Spotify wrapped prompt!

Welp. This one got away from me and is less a ficlet and more of just... a fic, but here we go! 24 - Scary Kids Scaring Kids - Watch Me Bleed

Lucky Number 42

Tags & Warnings: Blood, Time Loop, MCD but it’s a time loop so…, maybe it's supernatural or maybe it's maybelline It’s March 27th for the 41st time, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sickly colors of the Other Sky. He won’t forget the blood either, the way it stains Eddie’s shirt and mats up his pretty hair. The way it gushes through Steve’s fingers as he tries to hold it all in yet again, as though if he just squeezes tight enough, it’ll finally—finally—work this time around.

“Guess we’ll try again, huh?” Eddie smiles, red pooling in the cracks between his teeth. “Fuck, Stevie, why’s it always so cold?” Nearby, Dustin sobs uncontrollably. Steve won’t forget that sound either. It’s seared into his brain, all of it. The same day over and over and over again, both of them stuck in it together. Changing everything, changing nothing.

“What is it you told me, Eds? 42 is the answer, right?” Steve squeezes his hand tight, his heart so full of love and yearning and clogged-up grief that he can feel it all spilling painfully into his chest. “That’s gonna be it for us. Lucky number 42.”

But whether he heard him or not, Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s gone again, his eyes empty, his hand limp. Steve sinks into the dirt and hugs his knees, letting his forehead fall against his folded arms.

He has a mental tally running, everything that’s worked, everything that hasn’t.

There’s really only one direction left, the one direction Eddie wouldn’t entertain when Steve suggested it 28 days ago, 24 days ago, 15 days ago, 7... The more they fell for each other, the more vehement Eddie got about how that particular avenue was off limits, ‘un-fucking-entertainable, actually.’

It’s the only way though, has to be. There isn’t any other way left.

Taking a few deep breaths, Steve raises his head and crawls for Dustin, still crying, completely unaware of how many times they’ve been here before.

“I love you, Dustin. I love you and I’m sorry your childhood got absolutely shit on, and I hope you know you deserve better than all this.” Steve will say it again on the next loop, too, when it’ll actually (hopefully) count. But he needs to say it now. For himself.

“This can’t be happening,” is Dustin’s choked-out reply.

Steve wants to say that it’s okay, that he’ll fix it. But he and Eddie have also talked about how maybe all of it’s some kind of personal hell built just for them. So maybe there is no fixing it.

All Steve knows is he can’t watch Eddie die again, and he can’t watch anyone else die in Eddie’s place.

So…

So.

“I know.” Steve holds onto Dustin’s arm, waiting for the girls to make their way back to them so they can get out together, so Steve can shower and fall into bed and do what needs to be done. “I know,” he says again. And he does know. Fuck, he knows 41 times over.

It’s exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes later—it always is, give or take five minutes—when Steve finally lays his head on his pillow., curled protectively around Robin’s back. It’s another half hour or so before she cries herself to sleep.

Then countless unquantified minutes before Steve manages to drop off. On the edge of consciousness, he dreams a voice quietly speaking the number, “two.”

When Eddie asks the plan for the day, Steve lies. They sneak into the woods near the clearing and they have each other wholly, primally, sex forged from bonding in a way that only they could ever understand. And then they plan.

And Steve lies.

He suggests they rehash Day 13 with Day 42’s knowledge, plus Day 17’s solution for saving Max. He talks Eddie through the hang-ups, through the objections, feeling a sickening mix of resignation and guilt with every inch of ground he gains in convincing him.

In the end, Eddie nods. “Let’s do this then. Lucky number 42.”

“The answer to the universe, life, and, uh, all the other stuff.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh and looks at Steve fondly, cupping his cheek. “How many roads must a man walk down indeed.”

When they kiss for luck, Steve focuses on every single millisecond, on the way Eddie’s lips feel, on the hands on him—small of his back, back of his neck—and on the feeling of Eddie’s hair sliding hairspray-rough through his fingers. Every little breathy sound, every note of birds calling, bugs flitting.

Life.

It may not have been everything Steve wanted, but he got to have this. For one fleeting moment, he got to fall in love and to be part of a small family of misfits. Some people never got that lucky.

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you too.”

It feels like a blink before they’re outside of the trailer, Dustin locked in the bathroom in Right-side-up Hawkins. It’s just them and their makeshift armor—spear and nail bat against the swarm.

Eddie looks at him and nods.

Steve looks back and chokes down a sob, summoning all the bravery he possesses. “Eddie. I’m sorry.”

“Wh—”

This is the easy part, years of sports and fighting all culminating in this moment. At full speed, Steve plows into Eddie, tackling him to the ground, covering his body with his own.

They’re already biting by the time Eddie reacts, fighting like hell, pushing with all the strength of someone who spent years hauling around band equipment and theater props. Eddie’s strength is mostly in his thighs though, a force he uses to drive the rest of him. If Steve keeps him on the ground long enough…

“You motherfucker. You motherfucking fuck! You fucking son of a goddamned…” A feral scream, a shove that Steve counters by squeezing Eddie’s arms tight against him. Eddie growls, broken and desperate, “Stevie, please.”

They’re both fighting hard and with all the love in their bones. Apologizing over and over, Steve forces his fingers deep into the dirt, gripping the roots of rotten hell-vines hard even while the bats chew, even while he cracks his fingernails, and his hands bleed along with his body.

He’s halfway dead by the time the bats drop, and he knows it.

Eddie pushes him off and gets onto his knees and Steve can’t help but smile because Eddie is gloriously and beautifully okay. There’s a bite on his arm along with a few scratches from their tussle, but that’s it. He’ll make it this time. He’ll make it.

“I did it,” Steve says, falling onto his back despite the fact that it’s nothing but open wounds. “I did it. You’re alive and no one else is gonna…”

Eddie replies with a broken scream, with hands that reach for the bloodied hole on the side of Steve’s neck, that try to turn him over to see where else they need to press.

“Don’t.” Steve grabs weakly at his wrists. “Please, just… Let me. See if it works.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Eddie blinks out several tears. “Fuck you. I said not this. Not this.”

“It’s the one thing we haven’t tried, Eddie. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to go, you know. Why we couldn’t break—” Steve coughs wetly. “God, it really is cold, huh?”

“Just… Just stay, okay, Stevie. Be stronger than me. Hold on, and that’s how we’ll break it, yeah? With you living.”

In the distance, Steve can hear Dustin finally bursting out of the trailer, crying his name.

He blinks up at Eddie’s brown eyes and smiles at the warmth of his hands on him.

Somewhere else, he can hear voices, unfamiliar and new.

“Oh,” Steve says, the edges of his vision going black, swallowing up Eddie’s face. “So there really is something else after all.”

Death, it seems, is darkness. Not terrifying but restful. Not cold, not warm either.

Just floating, quiet and peaceful.

“Two.”

A voice flows out of the void, a voice Steve thinks he may have dreamed once or even more than once. It’s quickly followed by more, all speaking rapidly from everywhere and nowhere.

“Four in cold blood. Undoing.”

“Two from love’s sacrifice. Healing.”

“And so it is. See how it all knits back into one.”

“Then it is done. Send him back.”

Steve tries to open his mouth. “Where—?”

He never finishes the question.

Steve blinks awake to the rhythmic sounds of a machine beeping.

He slowly turns his head to find Robin curled up in a chair next to him, snoring softly with a book steepled open in her lap.

“Rob?”

She startles awake and locks eyes on him before exclaiming with a smile that goes instantly tearful, “Holy shit. Steve.”

From a lumpy bag by her feet, she unearths a walkie-talkie, nearly flinging it at him in her haste to use it. Her hands are shaking when she brings it to her face.

“Hey, uh, everyone. We’re… We’re having a good hair day.”

There’s a chorus of voices, all of them expressing some kind of joy and relief, all of them saying they’ll be there as soon as they can.

“Already in the van. Munson over and out.”

He’s there within five minutes, hair in a messy bun that implies he might have genuinely thrown it up while steering with his knees.

Standing in the doorway, he pauses, eyes on Steve. Steve feels like his entire stomach might drop out under the weight of that gaze. If he’d had any reason to wonder if Eddie remembered all the loops, he’d have no doubt now.

“Hey Rob, can I have a minute with Stevie boy here before the entire Scooby Gang shows up?”

“Uh…” Robin looks back and forth between them, furrowing her brow at Steve before getting up. “Yeah, sure.”

She softly closes the door on the way out, and just like that they’re alone.

“I should kill you all over again for what you pulled, you know?” Eddie says, sitting down and reaching for Steve’s hand.

“You should.”

“But then again, here we are.”

“Here we are. How long was I…?”

“Dead? Or here? Because you did die. I checked your pulse, listened for a breath, fucking everything. And then the girls showed up and out of the blue, you twitched a fucking finger, so Nance and I… You’ve been in the hospital for a week.”

“I had a dream. Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. I don’t know.” Steve thinks about it again, the infinite peace of the void. “There were, uh, voices, and I think they were saying you and I both had to be willing to die for each other. Like specifically two people in love. To undo Vecna. Are the gates…?”

“Closed, but that could be because Nance and Robin flambéed him alive.”

“Yeah.”

“More things in heaven and Earth though, Stevie. We did just repeat March 27 for a month and a half. Maybe someone was looking out for us. Or they just really fucking hate Vecna. There are many options for motive here.”

Steve rubs at Eddie’s knuckles with his thumb. He hadn’t even taken the time to put his rings on. “So many.”

“It’s over though,” Eddie says. “All of it. The suits cleared my name in five minutes and Hopper ripped the local PD a new asshole. Only question now is…” Eddie gives the spot where they’re holding hands a pointed look. “Now what?”

Steve thinks for a second, mouth twitching at every stolen happy moment in those 42 days of hell. Every smile, every kiss, every sneaky sweaty fuck. Every little conversation that made him laugh, made him feel, made him fall. “Do you remember Day 19 when I asked where you’d go if you ever left Hawkins?”

“I do. By then we’d already given each other hand jobs so I had exactly zero qualms about saying I’d go to San Francisco where I could be gay as hell and also make the heaviest of metal.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “I’m assuming I have to stay in this hospital for a little longer and probably sign, like, another pile of papers that say I won’t tell anyone the government broke Hawkins because they were experimenting on little kids. But after that, why not?”

“Why not? Just like that? ‘Eddie, let’s move in together and also let’s do that in California.’ That easy, huh?”

“We just lived through the end of the world 42 times, Eds. Why the hell can’t it be?”

Eddie laughs quietly and looks down at his lap, shaking his head, a few tendrils falling out of the bun as he does.

Outside of the room, Steve hears a series of sneakers squeaking on linoleum. The door bursts open and Eddie quietly pulls his hand away. But he’s smiling ear to ear when he leans back to let a gaggle of teens throw themselves semi-gently onto Steve for half-hugs.

“Well okay then, Stevie,” Eddie says over the sound of six other people talking at once. “If that’s what you want.”

#steddie #fanfic #mine #spotify wrapped but make it fics #time loop

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ronearoundblindly · 10 months

Note

Evil chuckles *rubs palms together*

Sorry I can't help it!

Imagine his coworker, Bailiff Bucket Barnes, notices that Steve seems to (unintentionally) put a little more detail into his courtroom sketches when reader is in them.

Ohhhhh let the teasing commence 😏

- 👜

court sketch artist!Steve Rogers x lawyer!reader drabble

[super short, just trying to get back into the swing of things. No warnings.]

Steve uses his middle finger to smudge the line of your leg just as the judge adjourns the court for jury deliberations.

It's not quite perfect, so he focuses on fixing the exact angle of your bare calf in those delicate heels.

"Punk," his friend rumbles from the doorway, securing the emptied room, "kinda missed your cue to leave..."

Whoops. Steve hadn't even sketched the judge behind the bench yet.

"Right. Sorry, Buck. I'll get out of your hair."

"Don't bother," Bucky says, stopping Steve's hand as it rushes to replace the charcoal in its tin. "Not expected to take long for a verdict."

The bailiff adjusts his uniform tie and takes a seat next to Steve.

"Ohhh," he coos with a craned neck, "I see why you lingered. 'Bout time you asked her out, ya think? You've been pining over her for six months."

"Have not, jerk," Steve practically squeaks.

Bucky puts up his hands in defeat. "You're right. You're right. It was this time last year that she started with the DA's office."

"I'm not...pining," Steve muses, running a nail through some black buildup on his thumb. "She's just photogenic."

"Then take a picture. With your phone. And then put us out of our misery and use that phone to get her number."

"Us?"

"The poor stenographer lost her bet in the fall. She was so sure you'd make a move after the Kinsey case."

Steve shrugs shyly. "Nah, that was such a big win for her. I bet the office took her out right after--had a party maybe."

"So? There are seven nights a week, big guy. Court is closed two of those days, too."

"Buck, I'm not gonna--"

"Bud, I'm gonna die of old age waiting for you to get your ass off this pew. Shit, my hair will be down to here--" Bucky gestures to below his shoulders "--by the time you--"

"Language," Steve warns.

Bucky relents and settles on a judging look.

After a long pause, he shrugs.

"Fine. Maybe I'll ask her out. She's got great legs."

Steve's head whips up so fast that his blond hair falls across wide eyes. "You wouldn't dare," he bites back.

Another shrug is his only answer.

A door at the back of the court creaks open.

"Barnes, call them back in."

"Damn," Bucky cards his fingers through his dark locks and whistles, "my girl's fast."

Heat flares across Steve's disbelieving frown.

Bailiff Barnes stands up with a chuckle.

"See, when you recreate that look at home, the color you're gonna wanna pick is Fuschia."

No sooner has Bucky opened the double doors than you flit past him and down the aisle.

"Barnes," you nod politely before your eyes meet Steve's.

Your head cocks to the side in surprise. "Mister Rogers."

It's a split-second in time, but Steve loses all ability to form words. He had no idea you knew his name. The smile you flash over your shoulder after setting your briefcase down, too, isn't just a polite smile or a confident 'I've won this case' smile. No. That smile is just for him.

Steve gulps, letting that gleaming gesture sear into his brain so he can sketch it later.

He plucks out his charcoal again.

At least he has this chance to draw the judge behind the bench...and put all the others he forgot on the page, too.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Oh boy. Yet another mini-series taking up real estate in my mind... Hopefully, none of you guys are taking bets about how long all these things are taking me!! Luckily, this one is pretty straight-forward fluff--which is, of course, how Threadbare started and that ended up ::checks notes:: at 20,000 words... Whoops, indeed...

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #law and rogers #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers and bucky barnes #ro answers #👜 anon

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onskepa · 10 months

Note

Can I get an Isekai'd Lo'ak x female human reader?

Basically, how I imagine it going is that the reader just finished watching Avatar 2 and then she went to sleep. The next morning, she woken up and saw that someone was in her room (on the floor). She screamed and there pillows at the intruder until she realized that he looked familiar.

After that I just imagine the reader and Lo'ak becoming best friends and the reader starting to fall for Lo'ak, and Lo'ak feeling the same way about Y/n, but neither of them say anything.

Okay- now I'm getting carried away and want this as a series- 🥺

I gotchu! since this is an Isekai I hope you dont mind that I altered a few things. Enjoy! Uniltsa series

PROLOUGE!

Uniltsa

"I see now. I cant save my family by running. This is our home, this is our fortress. This is where we make our stand".

First person POV

The screen turned black and the credits rolled in. Turning off the T.V. I made my way to the kitchen to get something to eat my sorrows away. Avatar the Way of Water came out, and I of course watched it. When I was younger my parents showed me the first movie, and after all these years, the graphics hold pretty damn well to today's standards. I was smol when the first movie came out, so to prepare myself to watch the second movie, I watched the first movie. Already I have my favorite characters and of course, they died. How wonderful.

Seeing the second movie, it was no different. Ok it was in a way. My favorite character is lo'ak. I like him. I enjoy how he is so much like Jake yet more of a goofball. Oh to be fun like him.

My heart broke along side with him when neteyam died and attending his funeral. He lost in most confidant, he big brother. To lose a sibling like that sure hits in the feels. Though he has Tsireya in the movie, I wish he had more than just spider or kiri. Like a true best friend, someone who will always be there for him no matter what. Through thick and thin. Not being kidnapped or not being killed.

In way, I see myself in lo'ak. Can never be taken seriously and always the screw up. Oh well, now with tik tok edits, I see lo'ak all over my FY page. He sure is a cutie. I wanna see more of him when part 3 comes out. Hopefully soon.

Of course I do have my fantasies. What girl doesn't? I imagine myself being along his side, in the wonder planet of Pandora, exploring, catching fish, or collecting fruits. Anything just as I see myself with him. Damn, being a na'vi sounds better than being a human. But this is reality and nothing can be done with a magic wand or wishes.

Ah dang! I'm out of pudding! oh well, I got nothing else to do. Grabbing my sweater and money I head out of my place to get my pudding fix. Me being me, I didn't see where I was going, just staring at my phone looking at lo'ak edits.

Wait a second.....is that a truck-

Honestly what is a Isekai without truck-kun?

Anyways, The real adventure begins in the first chapter!! Hope you all enjoyed this bit! Chapter one is in the works but don't know when I will post it!

#avatar #na'vi x reader #na'vi avatar #avatar the way of water #na'vi x human #lo'ak #avatar 2 #jake sully #kiri #lo'ak x fem!reader #lo'ak x y/n #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar wow #kiri sully #neteyam sully #tuktirey #neytiri

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doomed-era · 4 months

Note

STEAMROLLS IN. dust clears and everytjing is perfectly fine except for me who has been steamrolled. mineru or purah hcs……,,,

HEHEHEH. HEH

WEL. I will be doing purah since I haven't thought about mineru too much yet I just think she's neat

so. in general I think purah is a bit of an oddball, not just in how she dresses but also how she behaves and her opinions on a lot of things. she's brutally honest which is a characteristic she shares with impa, except uh. well impa basically only became that brutally honest in her old age and more or less held her tongue to an extent when she was younger. this isn't completely why I headcanon that purah is autistic (I just like headcanoning characters as nd because it's relatable to me sometimes) but it is part of the reason lmao

her and robbie are childhood friends! they latched onto each other when they were like. eight. and they still keep in pretty close contact in botw! robbie and purah have pretty much always understood their relationship to be completely platonic though they have been teased/questioned about it only for them to look confused and go "um no we are besties what are you talking about "

speaking of that. we're going to go into "stuff i just made up and have no evidence for" territory. but I like to think that even before the whole prophecy thing started and the divine beasts and guardians were excavated purah had a rudimentary understanding of ancient sheikah tech from poking around where she shouldn't have and experimenting. i really don't think the sheikah tribe a century ago had any interest in it for the most part. in fact i think they kinda. discouraged it. heavily. they still know the legends, and before the yiga clan emerges they were basically a boogeyman for young children—an almost comically exaggerated evil (and they turned out to be that way lmao.) so purah got a lot of "you're going to become like the yiga clan if you don't quit messing around with things you shouldn't!" when she was younger and robbie got punished along with her as sort of an accomplice/enabler lmao. they were not well liked and often kept to themselves.

yeah then the whole "the thing you need lies buried underground" or whatever happened. suddenly purah isn't the Freak Child Who Must be Punished but basically a prodigy and their only hope and incredible and stuff. this told purah and robbie one thing primarily: none of this praise could be trusted. the moment the tech stopped being relevant they would be discarded again, so they had to do everything in their power to stay useful and relevant. the guardians and divine beasts becoming corrupted was a huge blow to them both, especially robbie. also yeah the general consensus amongst the tribe after the calamity was that sheikah tech sucked now and though they didn't...prevent people from messing around with it it's still frowned upon to this day. that's kind of why symin never went back lmao. both he and purah do visit from time to time but mostly just to see their families.

speaking of family. purah adores her grand-niece. paya calls her auntie purah! purah's somewhat closed off about this. also she's worried about paya taking impa's place as chieftain because of what a doormat she is. she doesn't think impa prepared her very well and probably thinks cado or dorian should become chieftain instead lmao. (if we're going to talk abt totk, i think purah got really pissed at impa for just running off and leaving kakariko to get crushed by falling ruins and giving up all her responsibility to paya like seriously wtf. impa. one of your closest advisors/guards got their house crushed by a fancy rock and of course those dipshit hylian researchers aren't helping paya doesn't know what to do go back and HELP FIX IT. AAAAAAAAA)

hopefully i won't get more insatiably pissed about totk on main. but oh girl purah is not happy during the events of that game. hiding eyebags with makeup kinda unhappy. though i also think she has a horrible sleep schedule in general. i just dont really think she has any reason to be i mean yeah she managed to scrounge up what was left of her life's work even though most of it vanished without an explanation. so again she tries to stay relevant by helping develop the towers and the purah pad (minimally.) she's spearheading the development of a new town that I'm assuming will probably make an effort to restore castle town when it gets bigger. she is desperate for something to do, some way to be beautiful and useful and cool again, but she gets this looming feeling in the back of her head that none of it will last, and she fears for herself and her tribe, hoping to appeal to hylians and princess zelda as much as possible to avoid disaster.

did i mention i think she's very particular about her appearance? cause she is. she masks a LOT, and she does not like looking bad or foolish or weak to anyone. I mean she is fine with being weird, likes pushing that boundary to see what's palatable for other people, and tries to befriend and protect people who she thinks might be ostracized, but again, she fears not being palatable. she doesn't want to be bullied or shunned, and she wants to look like nothing affects her.

i also think she understates how much she and impa didn't get along as kids. they do generally get along better now, but they try not to step on each other's toes and they've tried to be there for each other during hard times. they love each other very much but yeah they do not touch...sensitive issues

her and josha have sort of a child and her weird aunt thing going on. josha just kinda latched onto purah randomly at some point purah was like "oh no" internally but befriended josha and yeah

she's not completely agnostic but she's about as close as you can get. does not care about religion and does what she does because she cares about other people

oh also she's a lesbian

#purah #botw #totk #asks #glider rambles

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goddess-in-heaven-and-hell · 10 months

Text

The Best is yet to Come (ER) - Gwynriel One-Shot

The (long) story of how Azriel manages to deal with the mating bond snapping for him.

word count: 9.6k

warnings: swearing, mention of trauma/depression, ANGST with some fluff in between

“After we infiltrated the main house, Cat in the kitchen, myself as a worker in the stables, we managed to identify three main passageways used between the servants. The first one is accessed through a hidden door in the library,…”

Azriel fought hard battles with himself. The first against the urge to close his eyes, the second for his mind to remain somewhat focused. He had read that particular passage of the report about three times, still not remembering what was actually important. Both of his hands ran through his tousled locks in an attempt to wake himself up, to push his concentration just a little more.

But it was a battle he was destined to lose.

He knew he had been running himself ragged these past days, weeks even. But what was his health and sanity compared to the well-being of a whole court, of his family? Feyre and Rhys needed this information as quickly as possible in order to make some tough decisions – decisions that impacted the safety of everyone he loved. His heart squeezed together painfully, the thought of Gwyn or Cassian or Nesta hurt haunting him like a ghost, and forcing his attention back to the paper sprawled in front of him.

It was a testament to his slow mind that he only noticed Gwyn standing in front of him when she reached out her hand to grab his.

“Hey Azzy”, her voice was so soft it barely disrupted the previous quiet of the library. “May I help you with some of your work?”

Azriel’s bloodshot eyes found her in a heartbeat, taking in her nightgown, bare feet, and the little smile she gave him. Then his attention fixed on the dark circles under her eyes, contrasting harshly against her pale face. He hadn’t noticed her own exhaustion before now. What kind of a shit partner that made him, he didn’t even want to acknowledge. His brain simply added it to the never-ending list of things he was shit at.

His girl needed sleep, not to sort through reports with him until the morning. “No, thank you. Just go back to sleep, love.” He squeezed her hand with his, trying to convey to her that he was truly okay. Even though he had trouble recalling the last time he was.

Gwyn’s brows furrowed, her arms crossing in front of her body. Azriel sensed her resistance, and with it the draining argument they were going to have over this. Thankfully, his remaining non-fried brain cells were quick to counter.

“Actually, I’m going to head in with you. This can wait until tomorrow.”, he made a show of dismissing the papers into the drawer of his heavy desk, and stood to wrap Gwyn up in his arm. She just looked mildly surprised, swallowing down whatever comment she was about to make and wordlessly inched closer to him.

The couple made their way through the House of Wind, finding their shared bedroom even in the absolute darkness of the hallway. Azriel kissed Gwyn to sleep, gently caressing her sides and arms until her breathing evened out, and his Shadows reported that she was indeed completely asleep.

Centuries of stealth training came to aid as he pushed himself off the bed again, leaving his priestess to hopefully get a few hours of rest, while he dragged himself back to his desk.

He felt like shit. Not just in a physical sense, but also for the white lie he fed Gwyn. He knew she was concerned, and it flattered him, really. But she didn’t understand that he had to do this. He had to give their cause his all. Rhys trusted him with one of the most important areas of running a court, and he refused to disappoint him. Well, disappoint him more than he already did in the past.

So he slumped back into his seat, wings now resting on the cold floor beneath him, and pulled out the paper once more. If Gwyn woke up in the night to find him missing, he’d have to deal with that. If she slept through the night, he could claim he’s only been at work for a minute. That thought settled him enough to resume his work, even though his stomach turned to lead.

Gwyn POV

The summer solstice celebration was everything she imagined and more.

The back garden of the High Lord’s and Lady’s house was nearly drowned in flowers of all kinds of colors, little fae lights illuminating the crowds and the food as the sun began to set on the longest day of the year. But the delicious fruit and pastries, the vibrant coloring and exhilarating music were nothing compared to the expression on the guest’s faces. Gwyn couldn’t get enough of their happiness, joy and relaxation lighting up even the grumpiest. Her own smile grew another fraction as she spotted Nesta and Cassian in the crowd, dancing and giving each other flirty winks.

She raised her glass in their direction, then drank to their health and safety.

A year ago, she would have been content with the quiet ritual the priestesses performed in the library to thank the Mother for another brilliant year. Now, she stood in the middle of a crowd, laughing and chatting and drinking with her friends – her family. She had come so far, growing into her own skin. And tonight was the night she wanted to take another step in reclaiming her body and mind.

The butterflies in her belly fluttered at the sheer thought, her gaze immediately seeking out her very own broody bat. The fluttering stopped abruptly when she finally spotted him.

He was standing in the corner of the party, underneath the shade of the apple tree. Even though night had only begun to fall these past minutes, his presence was already shielded in complete darkness. All guests made a wide detour around him, like he exuded some kind of poison and your happiness would completely wipe out if you stood in his proximity. His features were the only ones not lifted into a smile or a laugh.

Gwyn debated long and hard about whether to approach him now, even though the sight of him made her heart break. Usually, it led to either an argument, or him shutting off even more. And that was the last thing she could use now, hoping the two of them would end the night tangled in the sheets together. So she swallowed her worry, her need to be with her mate when he was being hard on himself, and resumed her walk around the garden. She trusted he would approach her when he was ready, so she waited.

Maybe it would be different if Azriel actually knew they were mates. It was a secret Gwyn kept for two years now, and with good reason. If he’d react cold and hurtful when she simply wanted him to open up to her, then she didn’t want to imagine the fight that insured when she revealed that particular connection to him. Azriel and mating bonds had a past that went deep, and any mention of it, Gwyn knew, would open it up into a bleeding wound.

So, she danced and chatted some more, the colors of the sky changing from their pure indigo to comforting black dotted with stars. Azriel still didn’t make a move towards her, so she decided to take action herself.

Just as she was about to take the first step in his direction, she noticed the female.

She was gorgeous, all long legs and shiny blond hair. And currently flashing her white teeth at her mate in a seductive smile. To his credit, he only looked mildly annoyed as her hand actually reached for his arm. And Gwyn waited, waited, waited for him to excuse himself. Or point in her direction in show of their relationship. Or to do something that was different than just standing there, letting it all happen as if he wasn’t even in his body.

Gwyn approached them, sliding her hand in his when she reached his side.

The laugh coming out of the female’s mouth died there, and she shot Gwyn a look that made her feel like a cockroach. Small, stupid, about to be stepped on. “Excuse me, we were just having a private conversation.” Her honeyed voice was laced with condescension.

Gwyn looked at Azriel and squeezed his hand simultaneously, trying to get him to wake up out of this stupor he seemed to be in. And it worked.

The Shadowsinger turned his head into the direction of the female, eyes raking over her as if he saw her for the first time. “I think what you meant to say was that you tried to come on to me. Consider the attempt failed.”

If Gwyn weren’t a bit riled up herself, she’d have flinched at his tone. The female had just tried to shoot her shot, and he spoke to her like he would to his enemies. Maybe it was the dull influence of the bond, him reacting like that.

The beautiful female paled slightly, fighting to keep the flirty smirk on her face. “But you’re not with anyone else. I waited to approach you the whole night. And when no one claimed you…”

Azriel shut her up by lifting his hand, his face unyielding and cold – so cold, Gwyn couldn’t take her eyes off him, mouth agape. His Shadows swirled around his shoulders, some lashing out towards the female. This was so different to the polite male she knew, someone who would have turned down flirts with a small but firm comment before walking away from the situation. This felt wrong.

“If I wanted company, I would have sought someone out. My girlfriend, for example.”, Azriel continued, finally acknowledging Gwyn. But at this moment, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be on his radar.

The blonde took a step back, raising her hands in front of her body as if to calm down a rabid animal. And to be fair, Azriel had that aura surrounding him. Like any wrong movement would make him explode.

“Apologies then, mylord. Lady.”, she quickly nodded to Gwyn and practically fled the scene. Undoubtedly glad she dodged a bullet.

Azriel let out a long-suffering sign. “Sorry you had to witness that.”

Gwyn just raised her eyebrows in return. “Well, it didn’t look like you were doing something about the situation yourself.” The Shadowsinger just nodded in agreement, squeezing her hand again before untangling it from his.

“Did you have to be so ruthless?”, Gwyn couldn’t help but ask. There might have been nothing inherently wrong with the words he used, but the way he spoke them still sent a shiver down her spine. And not a good one.

Azriel shot her an incredulous look, snorting. “Do you mean to tell me I should have encouraged her flirting?”

“No, of course not. And you know I didn’t mean it like that either.”, Gwyn fumbled for words, careful not to spook him by asking too deep questions, “There was just no need to look at her like you’d drag her to the dungeon.”

Now she was the center of his attention. Not in the way she usually was. His features still as hard and unyielding as marble, he fixed his stare on her. “There was. I know women like her. She’d have continued all night long if I wouldn’t have done that. I thought you’d be glad for it.”

Gwyn shook her head in defeat. “Of course I’m glad you turned her down. Just-“

How was she supposed to tell him that his little show there spooked her a little? Not for her own life and safety, never. But for the direction his mental health is headed to. He had always been closed off, a workaholic to a fault, and so damn hard on himself. However, he never let it show to outsiders, let them be the punching bag he directed his rage to.

Azriel’s gaze hardened, the look turning shrewd and calculating. “Are you having a problem with this, because you didn’t want her to know I had a girlfriend? That you are associated with me?”

The only thing keeping Gwyn from shaking some sense into her mate was the fact that she didn’t want to make a scene.

“Azriel.”, both of her hands cradled his face, her voice a desperate whisper, “I love being with you. I want everyone in the whole of Prythian knowing I belong to you, as you belong to me.”

His face softened a fraction at her words, but she could sense he didn’t completely believe them. His mind was an impenetrable wall, and each day it seemed to get bigger. Gwyn feared the day she wouldn’t be able to climb that wall anymore, loosing her mate behind a border of self-hate and aggression.

“I even-“, she lowered her voice once more, aware of the still crowded back garden they were in, “I even wanted to, you know, be a little more brave tonight than I usually am. So that I can be with you completely. I want to give you every single piece of myself, as broken and weak as it might be.”

Azriel’s stare finally crumbled, revealing the softened, loving face she usually saw. “There is no part of you that is broken, or weak. You are the strongest person I know. At least mentally – physically, you’re getting there.” The slight smile he granted her reawaked the butterflies in her stomach. There he was, her mate. “And I feel honored that you want to spend the night with me. That you keep choosing me, even though I have no idea why.”

Gwyn flushed a little, flashing him a flirty smile. “Well, I like the way you brood, it’s quite attractive. And the way you have communication issues, that’s what a girl looks for in a relationship.”

Azriel snorted, offering her his arm to lead them to towards the house. “I like that you’re able to decapitate someone with one swing of a sword, or probably even your hands if you wanted to. It’s a useful skill to have in a boyfriend.”

Gwyn reached up on her tiptoes to plant a little kiss on his cheek. “Oh, and the wingspan is helping your case a lot, too.”

Azriel’s head fell back as he released a groan. “Gwyneth!”

Said Gwyneth just giggled to herself, utterly happy to have him back. To be able to tease him without repercussions.

“I can’t take you anywhere, defiant female.”, he mumbled, grinning to himself.

Gwyn hopped on the lowest stair leading up to the terrace of the house, Azriel remaining on the grass. “Says the male who stands in the corner at every party, making guests nearly trip over their own feet because you looked at them with you scary, scary expression.”

Azriel’s arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her flush against him. With their height difference cancelled out, their noses were nearly touching. Gwyn melted in his embrace, flinging her own arms around his shoulders.

“That scary, scary look of mine is keeping this court running, thank you very much.”, he said, but the priestess just rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Shadowsinger.”

He chuckled, every single shadow that before haunted his eyes vanishing, “Well, you were never one to be frightened by it, were you?”

“No, it didn’t impress me much.”, she answered cheekily. The truth was that she only ever saw a hero in him, and that opinion solidified after they got closer.

Azriel kissed her slowly, deeply. Probably just to wipe that insufferable expression off her face, but Gwyn took the opportunity nonetheless. She answered the movement of his lips with her own, letting him in to taste the strawberries and wine she had. The Shadowsinger had this special talent that made all your sorrows go away with just one brush of his soft mouth. Gwyn reveled in it, soaking up all the love he handed her. She’d gotten too little of it these past weeks.

When they parted, Azriel looked at her pensively. “I think you were never frightened because you are one of the few people who actually see me. Not just the spymaster, or the warrior, or-“, he stopped, eyes casting their gaze downwards, “the other occupations I usually hold. You saw me as a friend first. You deemed me worthy of being your friend, even though you already had an impressive collection of them.”

Gwyn smirked. Nesta and Emerie, even Cassian, were a force to behold. In addition to a couple of other priestesses she befriended through their training.

“And then”, Azriel continued, “you deemed me worthy enough to be your boyfriend. Which was the most shocking thing of them all. Thank you for loving me.”

Gwyn’s heart nearly burst at the seams. Words were difficult for Azriel, and the fact that he gave her so many now, even though something was clearly off with him, made her feel giddy and warm inside. She heard the bond between them sing, so loud and clear in her head she wondered why Azriel didn’t yet perceive its call.

“You are my partner.”, she said, her melodic voice laced with gentleness, “My equal. Of course I love you.”

Another kiss to his warm lips and the bond began to thrum to the beat of her heart. Louder and louder, with every second passing, with ever taste of his lips. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then Azriel stopped moving against her, withdrawing from her mouth and body so abruptly it left her cold.

When she opened her eyes in question, he was already staring at her. And she knew by that look on his face, that he had realized.

“You are-“, he started, his voice hoarse. When she reached out her hand to him, he took another step back. He might as well have stepped on her heart, for it felt like her world was falling apart. She had expected resistance from him, she had to remind herself. She expected a little panic.

What she didn’t expect was his Shadows tightening around him, engulfing him in a storm of black. And then, he was gone.

And if that wasn’t answer enough for Gwyn, then the absolute silence that greeted her from the other side of the bond made his opinion crystal clear.

Two days. Two days and not a whisper from Azriel.

Not in the townhouse, the House of Wind, or even Hewn City. Gwyn’s nerves were so frail she was certain to fall apart any second. In each and every shadow, she looked for him. With every sight of Illyrian wings, her heart squeezed together painfully. And the fact that he completely ignored his training duties made her worry to no end. Because his was loyal to a fault, not only to his High Lord, but also to the group of females that needed his instruction.

The bond yielded nothing. Now finally acknowledged from both sides, Gwyn felt its presence in her heart, a thread pulled taunt. Waiting for a decision. It made her want to weep, that instead of celebrating right now, she had to wonder if her other half was okay, or if he currently tried to find a way of ridding himself of her.

Another dinner passed, Nesta and Cassian equally worried after they found Gwyn at the party and she confided in them. Another night she spent alone in their room, her bedsheets smelling like cedar and Azriel. She crumbled that night, crying into his pillow, reaching for him with all her might and desperation. But he didn’t answer.

In the morning, as Gwyn tried to eat breakfast, she finally felt something. An awareness settled over her, and she knew he was about to land on the balcony a few seconds before he touched down. She rose from the chair, eyes transfixed on him, but froze midway.

Azriel strode through the door, taking a seat opposite Gwyn. She was always able to read him. Now, his face might as well have been a painting – unmoving and infuriatingly neutral.

She sank back down in her seat, untrusting of her legs.

“You knew.”, was the first thing he said. His tone so flat, no emotion, no slither of care conveyed with it.

Gwyn nodded. She couldn’t speak from the ball of cotton in her throat.

Azriel leaned back. “Interesting. So here I was, desperate for a bond – which, might I add, you very well knew – and you decided to keep me in the dark.”

A flicker of hurt flashed in his eyes, then it was gone. “Why?”

“Well”, Gwyn tried to order her thoughts, well aware of the importance of what she was about to say, “I knew before we fell in love. I didn’t want you to want me just because the Mother deemed us fit to be together. I wanted you to love me for me, not for a bond or what it promised. For a time, I didn’t know I could even be intimate with someone. It scared me.”

Azriel just continued to stare. And a second later, Gwyn wished he would have stayed so indifferent.

The Shadowsinger leaped from his chair, sending it flying back and breaking with the impact. His Shadows expanded along his wings, flaring with anger. And his face – Gods.

“You kept this a secret because it scared you? Because you thought if I loved you before the bond snapped, it would ensure we lived happily ever after?”, he exploded. Gwyn flinched at his voice and words, completely overwhelmed with the situation.

He let out a taunting laugh. “That’s why you said all those touching things to me. Because you thought we are well matched, since you had an unfair advantage going into this relationship. Well, let me tell you, Gwyn.”, Azriel leaned forward over the table, a position clearly meant to intimidate her. He never ever intentionally did that. “We are not. The past made it clear that you can’t handle me, and you never will.”

His last words yanked her back into her body, and she stood as well, straightening up to her full and impressive height. “You will not tell me what I can and can’t handle, Azriel. And if the past made something clear, it is that I’m willing to work for this relationship. For you, for me. Because I love you.”

Azriel snorted, a cruel smile twisting his lips until he became so utterly unattractive to her it was shocking. “You only think you love me. If you hadn’t known about the bond, you’d have cowered in a corner with everyone else. You trusted I wouldn’t hurt my mate, bond acknowledged or not.”

Gwyn had wanted nothing more than hearing him say it, addressing her with the word mate. But the way he spat it at her – she nearly vomited all over the floor.

“Even now, you haven’t seen all sides of me. Only the ones I wanted you to see. You thought you could be with the male I present to the world. But what will happen to brave little Gwynnie if I take her to Hewn City?”, he started walking now, rounding the corner of the table. “Will you still love me when you see me cutting off limbs, when I flay my suspect’s flesh, when they piss themselves at the sight of me? And when you realize I like it?”

Gwyn was sure her heart had stopped beating in her chest. Yet, she stood her ground when the Shadowsinger came to a stop before her, caressing her cheek with mocking gentleness. “Will you love me then? Maybe you could if you thought they deserved it. But what of our relationship?”

He leaned forward, brushing his mouth against her ear. Gwyn never wanted to recoil from him until that moment. “What happens when you learn how I like to fuck? And how you’ll never be able to satisfy that side of me?”

A tear started rolling now.

So, this was him. This was the demon people were afraid of. Gwyn began to understand.

“How could you?”, she whispered, never breaking eye contact. She’d not give him that satisfaction, not now. Throwing the fact that he tortured people in her face was one thing, taking the most vulnerable part of her and stomping on it with his feet was another.

“How could I what?”, his voice remained hard, “Remind you of what I am? Burst your little bubble? Better now than later, Gwyn.”

He stepped away, making way for the balcony again. Gwyn didn’t think about stopping him. If she were honest, she wanted him gone.

“Who the hell decided we’re evenly matched?”, he ground out, his words addressed to the Gods and the nail to her coffin. As he took to the skies once more, she wished she could carve out her heart, or what remained of it, just to stop feeling.

After she cried, slept, cried some more, talked to Nesta and Emerie, and unleashed herself in training, she felt better. Not good, but better.

Gwyn never thought he’d have the ability to hurt her so badly. As someone who was always attuned to her needs, always had his hand ready to help her, always was so gentle with her, she thought he’d have stopped as soon as he saw the tears rolling. But he hadn’t stopped, and that told Gwyn that there was something fundamentally wrong with her mate. So wrong, that he was only half to blame for the spiteful words he threw at her.

The urge to hurt him in return transformed into the urge to see him safely cradled in her arms.

But the silence from him and the bond continued after that breakfast. Gwyn didn’t know where he slept, if he was working, if he sought the company of other females in his rage. She had reached out to Rhysand at some point, at least confirming that he was alive and showed up to the town house for short periods. Only to give and receive updates, nothing more. And no, he hadn’t spoken to Elain, was the other information the High Lord offered her.

She felt close to being single again, if it weren’t for the hole that took up space inside her chest.

Gwyn managed to push through, not slacking in her work or in training. It was the only thing anchoring her to the real world by this point. One morning after two hours of rigorous sword fighting, Cassian took her aside. He was careful to let all the other priestess clear the training ring, Nesta and Emerie included.

“Are you sleeping, Gwyn? Eating?”, he asked without much preamble. His caring eyes ran up and down her body, trying to assess her health.

To be completely honest, Gwyn hadn’t done either of those things the past days. Because eating and sleeping left too much room for thoughts. And currently, her thoughts were enough to make her want to curl up into a ball and never leave the library again.

“I haven’t gotten around to it.”, she answered truthfully, too tired to make up lies and pretenses.

Cassian only nodded, a flash of anger clouding his face. Not at her, she realized, but at her mate.

“Then I regret to inform you that you are banned from training for the foreseeable future. At least until you can handle a sword with a clear head.”

Gwyn let out a sign. She had expected that much, especially after she nearly swung at Emerie this morning, too slow to realize her friend had moved position.

“I understand.”

With one blissful distraction gone, she feared the next day. Feared the poison her mind will be trying to feed her.

“If I knew where he went, I’d tell you in a heartbeat. I hope you know that, Gwyn.”, Cassian signed, looking up to the sky as if it would summon the Shadowsinger out of thin air. “Maybe we should tell Rhys to just bind him to the house the next time he sets foot into it.”

“No. I don’t want to force this. He needs to be ready on his own time. Otherwise it’ll go nowhere.”

Cassian nodded his understanding. “That had always been my mistake when we had a fallout. Rushing it.” His eyes didn’t leave her as he added, voice thick with emotion. “I know I shouldn’t say this, but right now, he doesn’t deserve you. The male he turned into is truly no match for you. Maybe he realized that.”

Gwyn had to squeeze her eyes together to fight the onslaught of tears threatening to fall at his words. “But the male I got to know these past two years, he was. I’m just not sure what happened to him. Or how to help him.”

“Maybe that’s the issue. He needs to help himself before he can face you again.”

The priestess contemplated his words, saw the truth in them. It didn’t make the fact that he was gone easier to accept.

She wordlessly reached her arms out for him. Cassian pulled her into a tight hug without missing a beat. The comfort he offered her was more than enough to make her break again, and she cried in his arms, cried like she lost her mate forever. The warlord held her through it, and when her tears subsided, he flashed her a small grin.

“If I see you working or training by yourself today, I’ll personally speak to Clotho. We need our Gwyn to be healthy. And that’s what you owe to yourself too, to not let your progress be dampened by a stupid male.”

“If he returns, I’ll tell him you called him that.”, Gwyn’s answering smile was nearly heartfelt.

“When, not ‘if’.”, was all he replied before spreading his wings, about to take flight, “and he knows he’s stupid himself, why else do you think he keeps his distance.”

Rhys POV

Rhysand felt confident in saying that he knew his brother.

After all, they spend nearly every year of their long, immortal lives together. He knew Azriel’s tells and quirks by heart, even though he didn’t have many. He stood by his side through good and truly awful times, always ready to reach out a hand should he want it. He rarely did, only relying on his own instincts, and those of his shadows. Rhysand was certain the worst his brother looked was right after he joined them in the war camp as children, and during the first war.

Those two instances were nothing compared to the sight of Azriel now.

The Shadowsinger strode through the door of his office, reports in hand ready to drop them off as quickly as possible before vanishing again to Mother-knows-where. And the High Lord had to stop himself from flinching in his face when he took him in.

For lack of better description, Azriel looked dead. Like a walking, barely talking corpse. His previously gold-brown skin had turned nearly ashen, eyes bloodshot and void of any emotion. His leathers were clearly the same ones he had worn yesterday, and the day before that. And if Lord Devlon could see the way his wings dragged on the floor, he’d undoubtedly get a beating.

And Azriel would undoubtedly take it, like he took all the dangerous and borderline suicidal missions. With the air of someone who thought he deserved nothing more.

“Here, the summarized reports on Autumn and on Koshei.”, Azriel’s voice had gone rough with disuse. He placed the papers on Rhy’s desk, then stepping back to await another command.

Rhysand contemplated to force him into a vacation. But knowing Azriel, he’d take it as another insult. Standing by idly as he beat himself up had never been easy, and especially not now. “Have you seen your mother this week?”, he asked instead.

Azriel clearly turned suspicious by the abrupt change of topic. “No. Do you have anything more you need me to do?”

Rhys shook his head, levelling his eyes at Azriel’s. The will and sheer recklessness in them had always shocked the High Lord. And right now, he was worried that Azriel would purposefully hurt himself if he wasn’t given another task.

“You’ll receive my orders as soon as you saw your mother.”, he spoke slowly, letting it sink in.

The Shadowsinger raised his brows. “And why would I do that?”

“So she can talk some sense into you. Or beat it into you, whatever works.”, he shot back. Azriel had always reacted worse to coddling than to anger.

His brother snorted, his eyes flicking to the ceiling. “And why exactly do I need that?”

“Because I don’t want you destroying yourself, or Gwyn.”

Her name acted like an arrow to his chest. Azriel stumbled back, his aloof façade falling bit by bit, shadows tightening around him.

“I know you want to punish yourself. But take a step back and see that your behavior punishes others, too.”, Rhysand said carefully.

“I needed to do it.”, was all his brother replied, as cryptic and absent as never before. As he turned to leave the office, Rhysand prayed it wasn’t the last time he saw his brother alive.

Azriel POV

Azriel flew. That’s what he’d been doing after the solstice party, after the confrontation with Gwyn, and it was all he would be doing for the rest of his life. It wasn’t exactly fun, more so a way to flee. He’ll never forgive himself for what he said to her, and he hoped she won’t do either.

That had been the plan, after all. To hurt her so badly, she’ll run and never turn back. Because what would await her with the bond acknowledged or even consummated might be the death of her. And Gwyn slowly withering and dying to keep their relationship going, to keep him in check, was the one thing in his miserable life that he couldn’t possibly take.

He flew for hours. Not feeling the cold or the fatigue creeping through his tired muscles. Maybe, if he did it long enough, that cold would settle in his heart, numbing it enough to live with the fact that he pushed her away. His closest friend, fiercest competition, the only true love he ever had. His mate.

His wings carried him all the way back home, working exclusively on muscle memory.

As soon as he landed in the blooming garden, bees and birds filling it with life, the front door banged open. And on the threshold stood his mother.

“Gods above, what happened to you?”, she greeted him, her usually melodic voice laced with concern and the slight edge of suspicion.

Azriel was at loss for words, just standing amidst the colorful plants like a thunderstorm about to rip them out by the root. “I have a mate.”

Malia’s nostrils flared the second the words left his mouth, confirming them as the truth. The scent of the bond was another factor driving him insane.

His mother gaped at him, took in his sickly skin, the exhaustion radiating off his body, and wordlessly gestured for him to come inside. She sat him down in the kitchen, busing herself with brewing some tea. Azriel knew it was her way of collecting her thoughts. If he were a better male, he’d do that as well instead of immediately lashing out. When her hands were no longer occupied, she sat before him.

“She rejected you, I assume.”, her words held no reproach, only the sadness of a mother who had to witness her boy breaking in front of her very eyes.

Azriel shook his head, not trusting his voice. His mother had that effect on him – she saw right through him until he couldn’t help but be vulnerable. Only one other person held that power over him. His body fought back a physical reaction at the mere thought of her.

“You rejected her because of your love for Gwyn?”, she guessed again, brows furrowing in confusion.

The Shadowsinger supported his arms on the table, letting his head fall between his hands. “It’s her. She is my mate. Gwyn.”

His mother sat back, eyes never leaving him. “Azriel, this is not the moment to let me ferret every piece of information out of you! If Gwyn is your mate, why are you currently not celebrating?”

He almost forgot what it felt like to cry. The last time he did it was when Rhys let himself be captured and bound under the mountain. Now, his hot tears burned a rivulet down his cheeks. If he let the single image of embracing and kissing his mate take root in him, he’d shatter.

He wasn’t celebrating because his mind didn’t let him.

“I-“, he started, failing to find appropriate words to describe the onslaught of feelings inside of him. He never expected anyone to support his decision, yet he yearned for understanding from his mother. “She knew for two years. And when the bond snapped for me on solstice, I panicked. I love her, and every single day I spent with her made me feel it more clearly. She was free to go anytime, and that thought calmed me. But-“, he stopped again, wiping the tears away and running his hands through his hair, “But then I got angry. Angry at the Mother, for shackling her to me like that. For ripping away her option out. I said some hurtful – devastating – things to her in my rage.”

At some point his mother had stood, rounding the table to sit closer beside him, her hand grasping his forearm in support. “You did it on purpose. To make her reject you.”

“Yes.”, he pressed his lips together.

“Why?”

Azriel took at deep breath. “Because Gwyn is everything. She is a Goddess, all the good in the world. She is bravery and strength and kindness. And I am fucking bastard. Who the hell decided we’re evenly matched? If we are to be mated, it will be the death of her. I will be the death of her.”

His mother went quiet for a bit, letting his words sink in, together with the excruciating pain that laced them. He hoped she’d understand. Or at least attempt to.

She didn’t.

“Stupid boy.”, gone was the concern in her voice, her face. Now he was again 12 years old and about to get a tongue lashing. “Stupid, blind boy.”

Malia stood, her chair scraping back on the wooden floor. His mother was one to pace when she felt agitated. Agitation was a mild word for what she felt currently.

“Azriel. I have been begging you to take up counselling for centuries. What happened to you as a boy, and after under the past High Lord’s command, was enough trauma to damage 10 people, let alone one single male.”, her own eyes were filling with tears now. Regret and shame, he knew, for not finding a way to rescue him from her master. He shook his head at her words, trying to wordlessly soothe these feelings within her.

“Do you realize that you finally got what you always wanted? A headstrong, witted, understanding female that chose to be by your side. And you damaged the relationship beyond repair just because you felt the bond between you two? Because you think you are unworthy of her? That was not for you to decide!”, she scolded, each admission a stab to his gut. “The girl is not your counsellor, nor is she a punching bag you can throw your emotions at.”

She rubbed her forehead with her delicate fingers. It had been a few centuries since he was the reason for her headache. “The issue is that you both look at the same person with two completely different sets of eyes. Gwyn sees you how the rest of your family and friends see you: as a brave, smart, loyal male who carries a lot of pain with him. But that was never the problem, not for your brothers, for me or for Gwyn. You, on the other hand”, she stifled a sob, “I can’t comprehend the way you see yourself. You are so far gone in your own head that no one will ever share the opinion you have of yourself.”

He wanted to believe her so desperately. His heart yearned for the love she claimed everyone felt for him. But it wasn’t true. She said these things because she’s his mother.

Azriel just nodded, unsure of what to say.

Malia fell quiet for a while too, thinking and analyzing the situation further. Azriel only sat and stared. He felt nothing anymore. Finally.

“You need to speak to Gwyn”, she finally muttered, “not just to clear things up for her, but for your own health too.” The Shadowsinger had know how painful a strained bond could be. He’d endure it for her. He’d happily die if she finally decided to reject it.

“Go. And explain yourself as best as you can. Pray to the Mother she’ll hear you. Truly hear you. Listen to her opinion, then make a decision.”, Malia finally said, “Not many great things happened when you let only yourself be in charge of your life.”

Gwyn POV

Two weeks had passed since she last saw him. The pain she felt by now wasn’t only the dull throb of her heart, no. Every cell of her body rebelled, screamed at her to find him, kiss him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. Gwyn took to taking ice-cold baths in the evening, cooling down her heated blood and numbing the sensations she just couldn’t control.

Tucked into bed, a romance novel in her hand, she pretended to read before falling into a fitful sleep. Nesta had asked her this morning what the book was about, Gwyn couldn’t recall.

As she turned another page, she cut her finger on the paper with the tremor that went through her. She felt him, felt the bond vibrate with his presence. He was in the house.

Right as she put the book down, a knock sounded at her door.

“May I come in?”

Tears started flowing at the first word he uttered. She croaked out a quiet ‘yes’, then he stepped inside.

Gwyn’s eyes widened at the sight of him, temporarily forgetting her own misery. He was practically a corpse, looking just as bad as she felt. But shame and hurt shone bright in his face as he took a tentative step in her direction.

The priestess leaped from the bed, crossing the space of the room in just a heartbeat, and enveloped him in her arms. Her body molded itself to his so tightly she couldn’t tell where she began and he ended. All she knew was his arms wrapping around her too, then his wings. The bond between them thrummed with the attention, and for a second, everything felt right. If she could pretend what he said never happened, she’d be happy. But the hurtful words he had thrown at her weighted heavy.

She untangled herself from him first, needing the physical distance to regain clarity. She wanted him back, that much was clear. But she also needed an explanation. And it better be a good one.

Gwyn sank on the edge of the bed, suddenly shy. How do you bridge the abyss that had opened up between them? She was saved from an answer by Azriel.

“I’ve come to talk to you. To make this right.”, he stumbled over the words in a manner she’d never seen from him before. When he struggled to continue after that, he began reaching in the pockets of his trousers.

She watched with rapt attention and slight confusion as he pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

“Since-“, he started, unfolding the paper with shaky hands, “since I’m shit at opening up in a conversation and I don’t trust myself with the importance of this, I have written down my thoughts. Is that okay?”

Gwyn narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to read it. I need you to say it.”

The Shadowsinger was quick to nod. “Of course. This is just in case I mess up.”

Her heart squeezed together as she motioned at him to start. He looked so lost, so anxious that she wanted nothing more than hug him close again.

“My love,” he began reading, “when I found out we are mates, my first feeling was shock. Mostly because I hadn’t noticed during all this time we were together, but also because I didn’t believe it to be true. I apologize for winnowing away at that moment, for leaving you in this vulnerable position. My thoughts began to spiral and it became clear to me within minutes that I didn’t want you to acknowledge or accept the bond.”

He swallowed hard. Gwyn continued to stare at him. So that part was true. He didn’t want her to be his mate. The priestess thought she’d known heartbreak, but it had been nothing compared to what she felt now. Her lungs started seizing with effort to keep her breathing.

“I didn’t want you to accept it because then you’d have been shackled to me for your whole life. You’d have to deal with a male who constantly disappoints, who is too detached, too angry, too burdened with the past to ever be a good mate to you. I felt like I was about to kill you. Not intentionally, but with every one of my bad habits, after every return from a mission or visit to Hewn City, your soul would have yielded yet another piece to me. Because I know you’d try to help, to keep my mind out of the gutter.”

His voice quivered, as he continued reading. “I love you. I love you with all my heart. But I abhor myself. And that was all I saw when I met you again here. When I said-“, he stopped to collect himself, but didn’t shy away from the ugly truth, “I said that you couldn’t handle my occupation, the dark side of me that people are afraid of, but don’t really know. Until I die there won’t be a minute I’m not loathing myself for these words, for being the reason for your tears.”

“I know now that I had no business trying to manipulate you into rejecting me. It wasn’t my place to keep such an immeasurable decision from you. I apologize for that too.”

“The pain you must have felt these past days and weeks makes me feel even more ashamed about how I handled this situation. I thought I acted in your best interest, but it was really just my own ego protecting me from the prospect of letting you see the issues I carry around. I hope this explained my anger and confusion. I am so sorry.”

He had finished, discarding the wrinkled piece of paper on the small coffee table beside him. Then he kneeled before Gwyn’s legs, repeating. “I’m sorry, Gwyn. I know I don’t deserve you. Not now, and not before I fucked this up so badly. But please know that I never stopped loving you. My heart and soul belonged to you since you sliced the ribbon in training. Do with them as you wish.”

He bowed his head before her, his wings drooping to the floor on either side. Beaten, defeated and –

And hers.

Gwyn wiped away the silent tears that escaped her during his explanation, placing both hands on either side of his face. She forced his gaze upwards, forced him to hold hers. Now was not the moment to shy away anymore.

“Thank you for that, Azzy.”, her voice trembled almost as bad as her fingers, “I forgive you for panicking. I forgive you for disappearing on me.” She leaned forwards slowly, giving him time to move back should he want it, and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips. “I’m not sure yet if I can forgive your words.”

Azriel nodded his head, lips pressed together to keep his own emotions at bay.

“I love you too, Az. And not only because of this cauldron-damned bond, but because you have always been my hero. You impress me daily with you sharp mind, with your persistence, patience, and loyalty. You make me laugh, you challenge me to be better, you make me feel things I’d long forgotten.”

“I would have never rejected the bond.”, her voice grew firmer as his eyes flickered with disbelief, “You could have thrown anything at me, I would have never rejected you. I would have fought for this relationship, because I know you, the true you. And the male you showed up as these last weeks wasn’t him.”

The Shadowsinger nodded again, pain etching itself in every corner of his face. “It had gotten worse for a time, the chaos in my mind. Only with you it would sometimes lighten. But never for long.”

Gwyn’s thumbs stroked up and down his cheeks in a soothing manner. “I knew something was off, yet I didn’t do anything. I failed you in that regard. As did your brothers.”

“You did all you could. This is something I have to deal with myself. Speaking to me about my mood wouldn’t have led to anything other than an argument.”, he signed. “I took up counselling.”

Gwyn’s brows shot up, her fingers stopping their soothing movement. She had nagged him to try talking to a professional for some time, yet he always refused, claiming his busy schedule for not wanting to go. “Why?”

“So I could be a better brother, a better spymaster, not letting my emotions get the better of me. So I could be a better boyfriend, if you’ll still have me.”, he explained, flushing a little beneath his gaunt and pale cheeks. “The writing-down was a strategy my counsellor said I could use. I know it’s stupid. But better than hurting you again.”

Gwyn smiled. The first smile in what felt like forever. “It’s not. I’m glad you are doing this. But please also do it for yourself, not just so you can be of better service to others. You already are a great brother and uncle, you are brilliant at your job. You are so valued and loved beyond the position you hold.”

Azriel swallowed again. “Thank you.” After a short beat of silence, he added, “Will you still have me as your boyfriend? I’m not going to blame you if you wouldn’t.”

Gwyn waited to reply. It wasn’t like she had to actually think about her answer. She just needed a bit more groveling from him. “No.”

The Shadowsinger went still. Completely and utterly still beneath her fingers. Resignation began to settle in his eyes, and Gwyn decided to finally release him from his misery. “But I’ll have you as my mate.”

Three years later

Gwyn straightened the already perfect lengths of fabric around her skirt. Nervous was an understatement for what she felt, but it was still nothing compared to the love that radiated off her. Her face had started hurting from the permanent smile it wore. And yet, when she looked at herself for one last time in the mirror, it grew another fraction.

That’s what getting married to Azriel will do to you.

They had decided for a ‘first look’ before they went to the chapel together. It fit the couple perfectly, since they have always been private. Azriel’s first look at her should be exclusively for him.

Gwyn patted down the stairs to the living room of the town house, waiting for her soon-to-be husband.

They had come a long way since the moment their bond snapped for him. They remained boyfriend-girlfriend for a while after, not wanting to rush into a mating bond when both of them couldn’t yet give 100% to their partner. Azriel went to counselling twice a week, squeezing in more sessions when he knew he’d be gone for a week or two. He had worked hard – for himself, for her and his family – and he continued to put in the work. The six filled out journals he kept in his bedside table were testament to his consistency and will, his bravery in confronting his trauma. Gwyn was incredibly proud of him, and she told him so whenever he’d hear it.

The mating bond between them wasn’t yet consummated however. Gwyn still struggled with the frenzy aspect it brought with it, even though they were now well versed in each other’s bodies. But they had nothing but time.

“Gwyn!”, Nesta’s voice pulled her back to reality, “I bring you your husband.” She sounded ridiculously excited.

“Thank you Nes, I couldn’t possibly have found her without you.”, another amused voice chimed in. Gwyn’s body reacted to it immediately, goosebumps travelling up her spine.

Nesta snorted. “You needed this escort, admit it or not. Cassian said you barely managed to tie your own tie this morning.”

“My love, I hope you know you are marrying into a family full of busybodies.”, Azriel addressed her, still hidden from view behind the corner. Gwyn grinned, not only at their bickering, but at the prospect of officially belonging to his family in a few hours. Or rather, he in hers. Azriel Berdara just had such a nice ring to it, they couldn’t resist.

“This busybody is taking off now. Have fun – but not too much fun, please actually make it to the ceremony.”, her best friend warned, then clicked the door shut behind her.

The house filled with silence. Gwyn reveled in it, soaking up all the excitement.

“May I see you?”, his voice was already husky with emotion. Rhysand had joked the night before that Azriel will be the one to cry buckets during and after the ceremony, while they needed to contain Gwyn to keep her from bouncing off the walls with energy.

Gwyn positioned herself next to the fireplace, glancing on last time at her beautiful, simple white gown. Then she gave her okay.

Azriel rounded the corner to step into the living room, and Gwyn was sure none of them was breathing for an alarming amount of time. He looked stunning, handsome in the way a nice suit made you handsome. But the warmth and love radiating off him put him on a different level. Gwyn resisted the urge to pinch herself at the thought that he was to be hers. Married for now, mated for later.

Azriel himself mirrored her expression, eyes filling with tears as he took her in.

“Like what you see, Shadowsinger?”, her voice was meant to be teasing, but it came out softer than anticipated. Wanting his approval, she realized.

Azriel swallowed hard, crossing the room until he stood right in front of her. His scarred hand caressed her cheek, eyes wide in wonder. He took in her half-up, half-down arranged hair with little pearls braided in, her light glowing make-up, and lastly, the delicate lace covering her shoulders.

“I had thought about what kind of compliment I was going to give you in this moment, but I have forgotten all of them.”

Gwyn smiled. “I’ll give you some time till the end of the day. But then I want compliments to rival the greatest poets in history.” Azriel chuckled, reaching for her hands to intertwine them with his. “You look perfect Shadowsinger.”

Gwyn could swear he actually blushed a little. So she went on, ever the partner to enjoy his squirming. “You look like mine.”

“That’s because I am.”, he simply replied. And now they stood their like idiots, grinning at each other with pink blooming on both their faces.

Gwyn reached up on her tiptoes, kissing her Shadowsinger for what felt like the first time. The butterflies in her tummy exploded at the taste of his lips. The bond between them sang and glowed, knowing how far they’ve come. Azriel reciprocated the kiss with a tenderness that rivalled hers, slowly gliding his tongue against her until she opened up for him.

The priestess was just about to forget the warning Nesta threw at them as Azriel pulled back, her lip-gloss smeared across his mouth.

“I know I say this all the time and I feel like I need stronger words for the feeling I’m trying to express – but, I love you.”, he said softly.

“Oh, I know Shadowsinger.”, she giggled, “But I’m still going to need proof of that.”

Azriel raised a brow, fighting to keep his own smile off his lips. “And how will I prove it?”

“I’ve got some ideas,” Gwyn mused, “First, you’ll go with me to the chapel to swear this apparent undying love for me forever. After that you are going to dance with me throughout the whole celebration, and then…” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Then you’ll do everything and anything I ask of you for the rest of the night.”

He simply lifted on of her hands up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to it. A kiss that promised exactly what she’d asked from him. “Forever at your service, priestess.”

Azriel pulled her forward, holding his arm out for her to take. Gwyn placed her own hands on his offered arm, feeling the strength hidden underneath the pristine suit. Ready to get married. They walked all the way to the chapel together, arms linked, steps aligned like only two people who are attuned to each other can. The best part was that this was only the beginning.

#gwynriel #pro gwynriel #Azriel #acotar #gwyneth berdara #Gwyn #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #acotar writing #gwynriel writing

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fiorimaya · 11 months

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Just anything with Janice and Floyd, preferably like domestic and cute, just go nuts

You got it! Gah Janice and Floyd are in my top three all time favorite ships :') <3 A song just came on when I was thinking of what to write for this and it gave me this idea! :D Hope you like it! <3

It was Floyd and Janice's first day together in their apartment. Their apartment. Just the two of them (plus Animal). The two had been together for a few years now, and this just felt so appropriate.

When they had first pulled up in the parking area for the apartments, snow was lightly falling, much to Animal's delight. They had went inside and had barely settled and gotten unpacked before Animal's demands to go outside began. They found their winter clothes in one of the boxes and put them on before going outside. The falling snow had gotten heavier and all of the ground was just a blanket of white. Animal had ran off to do his own thing, leaving Floyd and Janice to themselves. They were walking down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand, when Floyd stopped and pulled Janice closer to him.

"You okay, hon?" Janice asked.

Floyd nodded, his hands moving from her waist to hugging her. He sighed happily. "I love you so much."

She giggled putting her arms around him. "I love you, too."

"You wanna head back?"

"Not yet," she said. She pulled away from him and gave him a quick kiss before she turned and continued walking. "Come on!"

Floyd started walking again and watched her take a sharp right. By the time he turned as well, she was standing there waiting for him with a snowball in her hand.

"Uh oh..."

She threw it and hit him before running off, giggling. He chased after her, stopping to form a snowball for himself. He continued running and threw it, hitting her in the back with it.

"Floyd!" Her giggling grew as she bent over to make another snowball, and he did the same.

Their little snowball fight continued until they couldn't feel their fingers at all anymore. Of course they had both forgotten to put their gloves on.

"My hands are freezing, Jan." Floyd laughed.

"Like, mine too. Let's get going?"

Floyd nodded and reached a hand out to her. She ran and grabbed his hand before they went to find Animal.

Once they got back to the apartment, Animal ran off to take a nap. Floyd turned the electric fireplace up while Janice made them some hot chocolate; his with milk, hers with water. His with marshmallows but hers with vegan marshmallows that she'd found at the market they stopped at for groceries on the way there.

Once they were done drinking them, they got some more unpacking done and other things done around the apartment before deciding to call it a night. Floyd got their bed fixed while Janice showered. He laid down on his side and waited for her. Not too longer later, she came out of the bathroom with her hair dried and her nightgown on. He opened his arms to her and she crawled into the bed with him, into his arms. He held her close as she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He planted a kiss on her head, breathing in her scent. "You tired?"

"Not rully now. You?"

"Wide awake." He laughed.

She sighed and smiled up at him before pulling away, laying her head on her own pillow. Floyd turned over to face her, his hand by his head. She reached her hand up to hold his. They laid there like that, smiling at each other for a while. Janice was thinking about just how lucky she was that she had someone like him. He was truly the greatest guy that she had ever met. He was perfect for her. Meanwhile, Floyd was admiring her beauty. She was the most beautiful girl that he'd ever laid his eyes on. She was everything to him and he'd do anything in the world for her.

Eventually, Floyd propped himself up on his elbow and gently put his lips on hers. She kissed back, and the kiss got deeper and deeper... until yelling from the apartment next door ruined their moment. Floyd sighed and fell back.

Janice sighed as well. "Hopefully they're like, not one of those couples who do this all the time..."

Floyd laughed. "I sure hope not."

The fighting went on for a while, but eventually stopped.

Floyd sighed again and looked at her. "Well... besides that, how do you like our new place?"

"I love it," she told him. "But I think I would like, love living anywhere with you."

"Me too, baby," he smiled at her.

She smiled back before yawning a little.

"Getting sleepy, Jan?"

She nodded before returning her head to his chest. He put his arms around her again and kissed her head. She lifted her head to give him another kiss before retuning her head to its spot on his chest again. "Goodnight," she told him softly.

"Goodnight, baby doll. I love you."

"I love you too, Floyd."

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cal-a-bungaa · 2 years

Text

Home - Jake Kiszka

Home Part 4 - Jake Kiszka

Link to part one, two, three

Synopsis: While trying to fix your marriage, bumps in the road cause even more damage that you are not sure you can recover from.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut! swearing, mentions of alcohol and pregnancy, slapping, Domish reader, arguing, mentions of cheating.

Enjoy!

__________

The bouncing of your foot noticeably shook your body in a steady, but fast rhythm. You watched the way your husband paced the porch he grew up running around on with his siblings through the sliding glass door. Jake would occasionally swipe his hair out of his face, holding his forehead as words that you couldn’t hear were spoken into the cold Michigan night. Your in-laws make conversation around you, trying to avoid asking questions about what was happening. Last time you saw your husband pace around on the phone like this, twas the night before he proposed to you. Jake was freaking out on the porch of your home, ranting to his mom about all the things that could go wrong. She had to reassure him that you loved him more than anything in the world; that you two were meant to be together. He had the marquise cut diamond sitting in his pocket, weighing down the jeans he wore. He was worried that it would be too much of a surprise and that you weren’t ready for marriage yet even after the six breathtaking years you’ve been by his side. In the back of Jake’s mind, he knew you’d happily say yes, but he couldn’t help but stress. He had put in a lot of time and thought into exactly how he would propose to you and finding the perfect ring that would encase your finger for the rest of your lives. Jake had even brought Sam along on his trip to the jewelers to have him try on the rings he had chosen. Sam had dainty fingers like yours. It was a little weird to Jake knowing his younger brother had worn the ring you’d be wearing; hopefully. But in the end, it was perfect. He’d looked inside through the windows a few times to catch your questioning gaze and he’d given you a soft reassuring smile to comfort you. It wasn’t like he could just go inside and tell you what the conversation was about. Instead, Jake abruptly hung up on his mom and waltzed back inside to you. He’d have to beg her for forgiveness later, but that was the last thing on his mind. He wanted you. He wanted you forever and always. Your attention has returned to the novel in your lap, not noticing the way that Jake falls to one knee before you until he puts his hand on your knee. And he says the words he has been replaying in his mind all day, “Will you marry me?” But sitting at the Kiszka dinner table, you know this is not a similar situation. His lips moved frantically, it seemed to be fueled with anger. Maybe even seduction if your guess was right with who had interrupted his time with family. She had such control over your husband and how you didn’t notice it all sooner remained a mystery to you. Karen laying her hand atop of yours knocks you out of your daze of watching Jake. Her motherly instincts told her something was clearly worse than what you led on to in the kitchen about an hour ago. Josh sighs, tired of Sam talking his ear off about some girl he had just met the night previous. He nags on about how Jake should be inside with everyone and not on the phone, talking to whoever was so important. It made you feel somewhat better, knowing everyone else was slightly irritated by his actions. As Karen removes her hand from yours, Jake walks into the house once more and shoves his phone into his pocket, hoping to not be distracted from the night again. “So, who was that?” Josh asks his twin. Jake doesn’t give him an answer, just takes his place next to you. His hands don’t creep towards you or anything, not even his eyes will meet your own. He was ashamed of himself. It was no secret now to you that it was her who had decided to call him. And he willingly answered. Jake left you and went to talk to her… Just like the nights where he’d be stressed and leave you at home to have some stranger get his dick wet. Before you could think, you stand and walk towards the door. “I’m sorry guys, I'm not feeling very well again.” Your mother-in-law gives you a suspicious look. “Jake. Maybe we should go home now.” You see your husband lightly nod before giving everyone a brief hug. You waited for him outside to unlock the doors to the car. Once he did, he still had his head down, remaining silent the entire time he started the engine and backed out of his parents driveway. About now would usually be the time where he places a hand on the meat of your thigh, but not tonight. “You wanna tell me about that phone call?” Jake wets his bottom lip. “No, not really.” You look out the passenger window, watch the trees fly past you. “You’re not gonna tell me how she called you tonight?” “It wasn’t her.” “Bullshit it wasn’t her, Jake.” You scoffed at him. He was trying to lie to you even now. He was all for trying to mend your marriage and he can’t even be truthful about what you saw with your own two eyes. His knuckles began to turn white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It wasn’t important. Nothing you should worry about.” “Nothing I should worry about?” Your head hurts a little from how hard you rolled your eyes. “It’s not something I should worry about that the woman, who isn’t your wife might I add, you fucked is calling you on our anniversary?” You were getting agitated with how your husband was just letting everything roll off of his shoulders. He wasn't even phased by your anger. All Jake did was keep his eyes on the road as he continued to drive the two of you home. “I’m not arguing with you while I’m driving, Y/n.” “Then pull the fuck over because I want answers from you.” Jake shakes his head. “You tell me you love me and want us to still be together and you pull this shit? No. I thought you said it was over…” The blinker flashes on in an instant. “Fine. You want answers?” Jake parks the car on the side of the highway and turns to look at you. “Yeah, she called me. It is over. But she won’t quit contacting me. Baby, I’m not trying to lie to you, I’m trying to not hurt you again.” “My hero.” You say in a sarcastic tone. “Don’t give me that shit, y/n, we are working through this and I’m doing all that I can to be the husband that you want me to be!” “The husband I want you to be, Jake, was the husband I had before he decided to fuck some random girl that he met at god knows where.” Jake knew he was in the wrong here, he just couldn’t help but be on the defensive about it all. He thought you were blowing it all out of proportion. “For fucks sake! You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” He growls and slams his fists against the steering wheel. “You want me to forget that you cheated on me? Seriously?” “I want us to be happy again. I want you to see me as me, not that!” “Well sorry that I can’t do that, maybe you can give her another call and head on over there for the night, she’ll treat you how you wanna be treated.” Jake places his forehead on the leather cover on the wheel, “I don’t want her! I want you and our baby!” You stay silent, tired of trying to express your feelings as they keep getting shut down by your husband. He was filled with guilt and had no other way of showing that other than to blow up in your face over everything. You weren’t quite sure how you could recover from this night. Knowing he cheated was one thing, to see him still be in contact with said woman was another. Two entirely different situations. You had witnessed your husband's affair right before you with his own family surrounding you. It was embarrassing. “Baby…. I- It’s over. I blocked her number, she shouldn’t be reaching out again.” You slowly nod along with his words, drained of any energy you once had. He reaches over the center console and brings your hand to his lips.”I love you.” Jake travels his mouth up your arm, pressing feathery light kisses up the expanse of your skin. “Jake… Stop.” “You deserve to know how much I love you.” Your defense was crumbling, you wanted him, you have wanted him. It was just too much at once, but right now he was lighting your skin on fire. “Come on, baby…” Your husband's hand lands on your waist, tugging you towards him. You swing your legs over the center console to straddle his lap. You forgot how your husband's eyes looked. A sweet dark chocolate brown with caramel swirls swirling around. His lips were as pink as strawberries, but probably tasted of menthol and beer, mixed with the lasagna you had for dinner. You wanted a taste. Jake’s eyes widen as he feels your lips pressed against his own, your teeth clashing together as you find solace in his kiss. It's been so long since you’ve been so close you couldn’t help but let out soft moans as Jake slips his tongue past your swollen lips. Jake relished in the way you wanted him like he wanted you. He missed the feeling of your skin rubbing against his. His hands bunched up the skirt you had on around your waist, feeling the smooth skin of your legs for the first time in months. Breaking away from your eager mouth, Jake latches on to your throat, leaving purple bruises like the one you had seen on him that one morning. Your hands shove his shoulder back in anger, thinking about how he treated her this exact way. “You’re such an asshole..” It was your turn to leave your marks on him, you bite the skin of his shoulder, imprinting the pattern of your teeth into him. “Baby…” Jake groans. “Shut up.” After a few seconds of struggling to get his pants down to his thighs, you gain access to the dick that once only belonged to you. Your hand wraps around your husband's cock, giving him a few pumps and watching the way Jake threw his head back against the headrest. He was so pretty like this, at your mercy. Jake’s hands grope your breasts, wanting to feel more of you as you work him closer to the edge. You tear his hands away from you. “You don’t get to touch me right now.” The groans that escaped from him turned into low growls that filled the dark car. Jake could feel the cool metal of your wedding ring brushing against the sensitive skin of his cock. “Baby… fuck. I’m gonna cum.” His eyes watch the way your hand works him to his orgasm, but right before he reaches his peak, you stop. “You don’t get to cum until I say you can.” Jake watches you lift your skirt higher and push the white lace of your panties to the side. You looked so pretty to him. Your pussy was even prettier, all soft and wet for him. You lift your hips and align his cock with your entrance. Just to tease him more, you sink down on just the pretty pink tip. From the way Jake’s fingers dug into your thighs, you knew you’d have bruises the next morning. Removing himself from you once more, you wanted to see the look of frustration take over your husband's sharp features. Still holding his cock in your hand, you glide your wet pussy over him, brushing the mushroom head of his dick against your clit. If you wanted to, you could get off just from that. The stimulation buzzed through your veins, giving you a high that you had dearly missed. Your fingers just didn’t do enough for you anymore, you needed more. “Baby… baby please let me fuck you.” Frustrated with hearing his voice, you shove your fingers into his mouth and press down on his tongue. “I told you to shut up.” You couldn’t bear it anymore, you need Jake inside of you. Once more, you align your hips with his and sink down onto the cock you hadn’t had in months. Loud moans fill the dark car that was dimly lit up every few seconds from the blinker that was still on. Rolling your hips against him never felt so good. Jake wanted to move, he wanted to feel your tight pussy wrapped around him as he fucked up into you, but if he moved he knew you would stop. You buried your face into the junction of his neck, biting and sucking the skin that had yet to be marked. Jake moved his hands from your thighs to the swell of your ass to help you ride him. He remembers the way your legs would get tired easily. Dismissing all that you had said, Jake holds you still and roughly thrusts up into your wet cavern. He fucking loves the way your walls flutter around him and the wetness from you pussy drips down his cock. Even the way your head is thrown back and your back arched is breathtakingly beautiful. Your moans were enough to encourage him to keep going, to get you off on top of him. He wanted to see your blissed out face as your mixed cum seeps out of you and drips onto the leather seat beneath you. Even while being filled with his cock and the ecstasy that is coursing through your veins, your anger is still burning. Without thinking, you raise your hand to bring it down against his flushed cheek. The imprint of your hand remains on his skin and Jake fucking loved it. He knew it was out of anger, he even knew that he deserved it, but fuck did he love the way the sting of your palm felt. “I fucking hate you.” You moan out, almost screaming as he reaches a place inside of you that always had you squirming underneath him. “Shit..” Jake moans along with you. “I love you too.” Scratches are left in bright red lines on his shoulders. “Fuck Jake, don’t stop please baby. Don’t stop.” Jake bites down on his bottom lip, fucking into you faster so he can see the way you cream around his cock. “Cum baby.. I’m gonna fucking cum.” With his command, you arch your back further and leak around him. Your screams of ecstasy echo into the void. Your eyes are clamped shut and mouth wide open. This was Jake’s favorite view, watching you break from what he’s given you. Not long after you, Jake spills into you, panting and groaning. For moments after, you collapse against your husband's chest, trying to catch your breath. Your pussy continued to clench down on him and it drove him insane, if he knew you weren’t spent, he would flip you over and take you on your back. Jake tapped your thigh twice to signal you to lift your hips. Removing himself from you, he watches how your pussy pushes out the mixed cum and how it drips onto his thighs. Jake tangles his hand in your hair and brings you in for a bruising kiss before helping you settle back into the passenger seat. You turn to him and gently swipe your thumb over his cheek where the red mark of your hand still remains. “I’m sorry..” “Don’t be.” Your husband removes your hand from his face and kisses your palm. As he gets back on the road to your house, you couldn’t help but wonder if what you just did was a mistake. You were angry. You let it all out on Jake and didn’t think twice. Your hands cupped your barely noticeable, swollen stomach, thinking about if it was worth putting a child through all of this. You loved Jake, you really truly did, but after tonight you hoped that it could all return to normal. It was wishful thinking and you wanted to believe him so badly. But she lingered in the back of your mind and would probably never go away, you needed to know that he wasn’t going to fuck up again. “Jake..” His eyes flash over to you. “Yeah, baby?” “I think I want a divorce…”

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