A/N: I saw that Cain and Abel aren't like present in the show and I know they're technically Adam and Eve's kids, but let me have this please— I just wanna gush about this since it's been invading my mind.
cw: fem!reader (no pronouns, but reader is called wife/mama/mommy/mother)
Imagine: Being Adam's wife and having two sons with him.
I can definitely see him being excited over having sons. Like, hell yeah! But but but also— I have this feeling in my gut that he'd be okay with being a girl dad, sooo after having your sons he's just like "Wifey, Sugartits, Babycakes—" Any nickname under the sun until you finally ask him what he wants and he just says he wants a daughter.
You can't tell me he didn't name Abel— and 💀 It's even funnier since Abel does have a little more resemblance of his father than Cain does. Cain was named by you and looks more like you. However, you can say his attitude is similar to Adam's. I can see them both having Adam's eyes when thinking up of how they'd look, but I'm leaving things up in the air. Just for this, because I think it'd be neat, the boys are twins. Cain is the older twin while Abel is the younger one.
Cain is kind of a menace...but still a good kid. He always pulls that "Because I'm the oldest" card with Abel and if he ever whacked his brother and he started crying, Cain immediately does that thing where the sibling just panics and stops them from crying or else he's getting in trouble with mama and papa. He teases his younger brother, but will get upset if anyone tries to bully Abel. Oh, but the biggest menace he is towards? Adam. Cain doesn't hate his dad at all. No, he just prefers you more and lowkey is a mama's boy. Adam can have Mr. Perfect (Abel), but he at least has mama.
Then Adam just straight up has beef with his own son 💀 Because Cain takes up your time and he swears the little shit is taunting him when you're not looking. Cain comes up when you and Adam are kissing or anything like that, holding his hands up like, "I want Mama's kisses too... 🥺" You can't resist because that's your baby and he's so adorable. There's this stare down between Adam and Cain...meanwhile Abel, being the good bean that he is, waddles towards you all and goes, "Mama! Papa! Look what I drew! :D" and it's just a sweet little drawing of him, his brother, you and Adam.
Speaking of Abel, he's a good boi. Cain calls him Mr. Perfect sometimes because Abel has some natural talent. He's especially good with music, much to Adam's delight. Still, he looks up to his brother and despite Cain's jealousy, they do get along nicely. They have this little game where they're building their own city and decide over several elements of it. Abel somehow always brings sheep into the mix, but his brother isn't complaining.
Abel doesn't play favorites and says he loves you and Adam equally. He always wants to make sure the two of you are present at the same time when showing his accomplishments or what he's found. Speaking of which, he has special interests that last for a while until he moves on to another one or some just last a very long time. An example would be sheep, as mentioned before. He even has a lamb plushie (I can see him watching Lamb Chop's Play Along and loving the show). Cain knows how precious this little lamb is to Abel and will raise chaos if it ever gets lost or stolen (he calls the plush "The Chosen").
Here's a funny little thing: the boys not recognizing Adam in the mask he wears. From the day they were born, they always saw their father without his mask and have grown used to seeing his actual face. One day, they ask you where he was and you tell them it's work related but he'll be back to teach them some new songs. Just imagine Adam coming back, calling out that he's home, which cause the boys to rush up to him. Then they just stop because... "Mama, who's this stranger in our house!?" Abel literally starts crying— saying this isn't papa. Meanwhile Cain's mind immediately says violence is the answer (thanks, Adam). You have to calm both boys down and explain to them about the mask.
Flight lessons are stressful. It all started when Cain began jumping off of the furniture and escalated to him jumping off the bunk bed (because it'd be adorable for them to have bunk beds). So, it seems like it was time to show the boys how to use their wings. It's harder than it looks. Abel isn't okay with jumping off from anywhere unless Cain is going to jump with him. Fine with his brother because he enjoys doing this. Eventually, they're able to fly and it's a joy! They can fly around Heaven with you and Adam and it's absolutely adorable.
Cain and Abel have different ways to refer to you and Adam. Cain calls Adam 'dad' or 'papa' but does call him 'father' when he's upset or serious. Meanwhile, he calls you 'mama', 'mommy', or 'mom' (mom is more frequent when around others or strangers) and it's rare when he calls you mother. Abel just calls you two mama and papa. He'll only use mother and father if he's around people he doesn't know or meeting for the first time.
I have more thoughts about these little beans such as how they are around Lute (#1 and only Babysitter), Emily (Abel affectionately calls her Auntie Em), Sera and possibly Lucifer and Charlie (because you can't tell me Adam would not brag about having kids 💀). Like, I can see Cain being brutally honest when he first sees Lucifer because he's that type of kid. Will 100% make a comment about the man's height. There's also the fact that both boys are into music like their father. Abel once asked, "So if that's Queen, then who's the King?" when Adam tells them about Queen. Also, I can very much see Cain getting into gardening. If you want more of these then let me know!
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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
one | two
Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.
bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
You're in the process of ruining your pyjama bottoms with willow charcoal when your father dies.
The charcoal is fragile, unhoused, and it snaps with too much pressure. An uneven half falls between the sheets of your sketchbook, marring the artwork it rolls over indiscriminately.
You sigh without thinking and rub your tired eyes, spreading a line of smudgy black under your brow. Squinting, you peek at the portrait you'd been drawing. A young woman with deep, dark skin, her cheek shaded by the leaves of a sycamore tree. The branches arc over her skin in shadowed lines, sunlight dappling illustrated by sparse triangles of the white paper underneath.
It had been an okay sketch. The snapped charcoal distracts from what you'd originally set out to do — a dynamic, revealing portrait — and instead replaces it with a more abstract feel.
You sigh again, this time with a melodrama you'd only ever feel comfortable displaying alone. Thankfully, that's the case more often than not. You live by yourself, no partner, no pets, nobody around to see you drop your sketchbook onto the floor beside your bed, kick out your feet toward the rug, and moan. Your socks slide against the hardwood. You kick them like a child as you slip down the side of the bed, shirt caught behind you, soft middle exposed.
You swear to yourself quietly, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes.
A sharp trilling sound chimes. On the nightstand, your phone vibrates hard, and the water in the glass next to it crests against the sides like tiny shockwaves.
You pull it into your lap and stare at the number. It goes to voicemail, and then it rings again. Again, again, and again.
You consider turning your phone off. Five phone calls and counting indicates an emergency, but every cell begs to avoid whatever it is on the other side.
You can't avoid everything, no matter how much you want to. You answer the phone.
"Hello," you greet.
The muffled echo of a cheerful voice responds.
"Yeah, that's me… Okay. Yeah, now is fine."
More chattering. Less cheerful, diplomatic.
"My father?" you ask.
You are told two impossible truths.
"Oh," you say. The walls spin. "Right."
—
"I hate flying," Sirius mutters.
James hums, noncommittal.
"You know, my good looks are wasted if we end up lost in the middle of the Atlantic ocean."
"It's not the middle of the Atlantic ocean," Remus says, sounding about as interested in Sirius' whining as James is currently. "It's an arm."
"It's the fucking English channel," James says. It's barely the ocean. "How much do you reckon a pair of in flight headphones will cost?"
Sirius, despite his anxiety, has the bandwidth to appreciate James' bad mood. "What crawled up your arse?"
James sinks down into his seat, knees immediately pressed into the hard plastic of the chair in front, back aching and head heavy from a lack of rest he won't make up anytime soon.
"He's agitated," Remus says.
"Helpful, Moony. Super helpful."
"Fuck yourself, then," Remus says, pulling his sleep mask over his eyes and plugging in his earbuds.
The tannoy dings. The seatbelt light flashes.
A flight attendant raises his voice from the start of the aisle. "If everybody could take their seats and buckle in, we'll be taking off in less than two minutes. Please turn all electronics to aeroplane mode. Thanks so much."
"Is your phone off?" Sirius asks.
"No, I actually want us to drown in the channel, but thanks for asking."
A dark shock of curls lands against his shoulder. Sirius drapes himself unabashedly across James lap, hand on his friend's thigh, ankle crossing over ankle. Genovian through and through, Sirius doles out affection wantonly, smelling ridiculously nice as he does: a heady smell like browned sugar and citrus blossoms coalescing tickles the inside of James' nose.
"Are you still cranky that you got demoted?" Sirius asks, smooth tones pitched into bubbly baby talk.
"I didn't get demoted," James argues.
James had, in fact, been demoted.
"No, of course not. You've fallen from third guard to the Royal Prince of Genovia, may he rest in peace, to glorified babysitter of said Prince's illegitimate, forgotten child. Sounds the same to me."
"Then we agree," James says, wanting to close his eyes.
He'd pretend to sleep if he thought Sirius would believe it. Growing up together erases any semblance of privacy. Sirius knows James as James knows Sirius, and as they know Remus. Remus likely knows them all better than he'd ever admit, the youngest of the trio and the smartest, most perceptive man James has ever met.
Sirius isn't perceptive, he's vigilant. He can read even the smallest signs of unrest, and it makes him uneasy. There will likely always be a shadow cast over him from a rough childhood, and while James is in a god awful mood, he reaches out to alleviate Sirius' anxiety.
"I'm fine," James assures him, "just tired." Not mad at you goes unsaid.
"It won't be as bad as you're thinking."
"I'm fine. I'm not worried. Didn't sleep last night, and," —he grins as Sirius clasps his arm, their seats shaking underneath them, the plane beginning its race across tarmac— "some scrawny git is squeezing fuck out of my arm."
Sirius flinches away from him. "You're annoying."
James presses his shoe up to the side of Sirius' and leans back in his chair, wincing at the rattling carriage as they take off, and again when he remembers where they're going. You wait in London, though nobody in the task force assigned to your assimilation or the advisement team could come to explain how you'd ended up there. Your Genovian citizenship is unacknowledged on your passport, your birth certificate, even, and as far as Lily had been able to suss, you have little understanding of who you are.
"She sounded tired, mostly," Lily had said when pressed for details about the new princess' personality. "In shock. Slightly disbelieving, but could you believe it?"
Lily, James'... friend, and work colleague at a stretch, is an ambassador for the UK and full-time genovian resident. Along with a handful of other representatives and officials, she’d been responsible for opening the talks between Genovia and yourself. That is to say, she'd broken the news.
Surprise! Your dad just died! Double surprise, you're a princess. And, no pressure or anything, but we kind of need you to come back to Genovia to maintain the royal lineage before your grandmother abdicates the throne (unwillingly).
"Did you mention the tiara?" he'd asked Lily. The Princess' diadem, a master craftsmanship of silver-gold with a diamond the size of an apple.
"Weirdly, Potter, I didn’t mention the jewellery."
He supposes there hadn't been time to weasel that tidbit in between condolences and recruitment.
You haven't promised anything in ways of returning to Genova or taking up the mantle. James understands. If he were in your shoes, he likely would've laughed down the line and blocked the number. You’d shown incredible promise as a future leader, agreeing to meet with Lily and her team at the Genovian embassy. Then, a day later, they'd modified the plan and asked if you'd be okay meeting somewhere more private.
You'd said yes.
As someone who may be very involved in your bodily safety in the near future, James thinks you're an idiot. Somebody calls you, claiming that you're a princess, though nobody has ever bothered telling you this before because you were never heir apparent, and that they'll tell you more should you deign to meet with them in a place with meagre surveillance, and you say yes to this?
How you've survived as long as you have is a mystery.
He hopes you won't make his job difficult. Isn't that what everyone hopes? He feels guilty for judging you without meeting you, promising in his head to be nicer to you in actuality. You're probably grieving and definitely confused. He shouldn't be worrying about his job.
Redetermined, James lets the anxiety of his new assignment water down.
Sirius is thinking along the same lines: how easy will you make his particular occupation. "Bets are on. Scruffy or sweet?"
"Huh?" James asks, pretending he doesn't understand in hopes of rectifying Sirius' attitude.
"Slovenly or love-nly?"
"I'm sure she's fine."
"You should hope so, you'll be looking at the back of her head for a while."
James rolls his eyes.
"I'll manage, pretty or not."
His confidence draws Sirius' curiosity. "How're you so sure?" Sirius asks, chin-lifted, light eyes narrowed in bemusement. His expression dances with the surety of somebody well-raised. He could wear a potato sack and his regal air would endeavour, deep-seeded and neat like the trim stitching of his expensive clothes.
"Look at my face right now. Do I seem affected?"
Sirius laughs much too loudly at the implication. "Don't act like I'm not handsome, Prongs."
"Years of practice." James schools his features into an unaffected mask. "Uggos have no effect on me."
"How else would you look in the mirror?" Sirius drawls.
When Remus wakes afterward, he finds they haven't quite killed each other, though James has threatened it twice. With one hand, Black.
"Far are we?" he asks.
Sleep has made little difference to him. He’s the kind of fatigued that can't be improved with an afternoon nap, and the kind of unwell that can't be fixed. Medicated, diminished, but never fully healed. He rolls his neck and makes three separate, unfortunate sounds, stretching his tight hands out flat over his thighs.
"Landing any minute now is my guess," Sirius answers. "How are you feeling?"
He waves his hand around, tired eyes locking onto James' lasting frown. "Sorry for leaving you alone with him."
Sirius gasps his indignation. The three of them all smile in tandem, James in a rush to add to the joke.
"You should be, fucker, I don't care how sick you are. You're sick in the mind if you think it's acceptable to-"
"You're sick for acting like I'm some misbehaved child you've been pandering to. You're bullies, and as soon as we're in the airport I'm ditching you both in favour of a Great British Burger King."
"One," James says, still smiling widely, "I have your per diem, so unless you brought your wallet, you're sunk." Sirius frowns. "Two, I'd love it if you would repeat that little moniker you gave me a minute before he woke up. Seriously. Shed some light on the real bully."
Sirius pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and places them over the bridge of his nose delicately. "Unnecessary."
"I wouldn't mind Burger King," Remus says.
"We have to be quick," James says.
Sirius is so incensed he actually spits a bit as he scathes, "You fuckers. I want food and it's lorded over my head, but Moons wants something and your only limitation is how fast he can eat it?"
He's not truly as angry as he appears. He's joking, and he's fallen into a familiarity that can only come with years of ragging on one another relentlessly. Still Remus pats his tight shoulder and smiles.
"I'm a slow chewer."
"He's a slow chewer, Sirius. Have some compassion."
“How fast could he chew missing a few teeth, I wonder?” Sirius asks.
James gasps, delighted at his friend's casual threat. Remus does a better job at hiding his amusement, tamping back a smile as he reaches over the armrest between their seats and slapping a hand into Sirius’ seatbelt. The mechanism unlatches, the ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’ sign flashes, and a shaming beeping sound rings overhead.
Sirius squeaks.
—
What do you wear to meet a British ambassador? A Genovian ambassador? Any sort of diplomat? You aren't too sure what an ambassador even is, only that every word Lily Evans has said to you sounds shockingly official.
"Your citizenship has been reinstated whether you choose to move forward or not. We want to stress that you have choices," Lily says. Call me Lily, please. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"We also want to stress," says Emmeline, the Genovian ambassador, "that your presence in Genovia is greatly desired. For the funeral."
"The funeral," you say softly.
"It will be a… very, very big event. We don't have to talk about all of the logistics now. Or ever, if you're not interested."
Emmeline clears her throat. "The family would appreciate it."
The family. The royal family. The Queen of Genovia, your grandmother, and her… unfortunate younger sister, who's behaviour (according to the Internet) has been less than ideal. Her sisters son, who might take the throne if you refuse it. Or, so you've come to understand.
All this lineage and politics has been hard to navigate by yourself, though rest assured, you've been assigned two personal assistants of a sort. One for appearances of the physical, and one for appearances of the mind.
A stylist and a tutor.
"And a bodyguard," Lily says, "your safety is the most important thing."
You grip the end of your dress in your hands and squeeze the skirts tightly. Safety? You'd rather not embarrass yourself by asking.
"We actually want you to meet them now," Emmeline says.
"Whenever they show up," Lily adds. She sounds embarrassed but unsurprised, like this has happened before.
There's a small silence. You pull your bag into your lap and squeeze it, hoping it hides the curve of your stomach. You aren't sure what you're supposed to wear to occasions like this, and so you'd worn the nicest thing you owned, a pretty, simplistic dress ruched under the chest, and a cardigan overtop.
You catch yourself frowning and quirk your lips up into a practised smile. Gentle, amicable, the kind you'd offer a passing stranger.
"Well," Lily says, filling the awkwardness, "I'm sure they'll come around soon. Maybe we should talk about inheritance."
"Legally, you're entitled to an inheritance. You could think of it like a pension, an allowance you'd be given from the age of eighteen. You've already passed that, and so you'll be given the years upto, and then the rest in annual increments," Emmeline says. "There's a team of people who can and will explain it better at a later date, or whenever you want to discuss it, once you've agreed to a paternity test."
"A paternity test?" you ask.
You feel rather useless. All you've done is ask for explanations since you sat down, your head a spinning mill. Information goes around and around with no time to sink in.
Emmeline opens her mouth to continue and is interrupted by three sharp knocks.
"Come in," Lily calls. She turns her gaze to you, orange hair moving over her shoulder in a silken sheet, and raises her eyebrows.
You don't know what it means.
First to enter the room is a modestly dressed man with straight, sandy hair. It's long enough to peek out from under his ears, where it curls. He steps into the light, illuminating a shock of shiny scars clawed over the bridge of his nose and teasing up into one thick eyebrow.
"Sorry," he says, not quietly but certainly not loudly. "We had trouble finding the room."
Behind him immediately stands a man with dark hair to his shoulders, white but tanned. He wears slacks, in which a shirt has been tucked on one side and not the other, a purposeful dishevelment.
"And the building," adds the second.
Last to enter is the biggest of the three. You'd hazard a guess that he's six foot or taller, not the tallest of his companions but the most imposing, with a monotone outfit of pristine blacks that he fills too well, his shirt clinging to the muscle underneath it. His skin is a warm brown that soaks up the big light overhead and shines golden, his hair black and thick, laying in mussed ringlets stroked back from his face.
He is the most handsome person you've ever seen in real life. It startles you. Worse, when he meets your eyes.
You smile carefully. He smiles back.
Lily stands to gesture toward each man in turn. The first, "Remus Lupin," she says, "your tutor on all things Genovia." The second, "Sirius Black, stylist and your guide on media presence."
The third.
"James Potter," Lily says, not looking at him. "Bodyguard. James will be with you for the foreseeable future, even if you decide on– Well. You should get to know one another, at any rate." You must wear your worries on your face, as she continues, "You're in safe hands. James was third in command in the protection of His Highness."
"Hello," you say.
Sirius' eyes widen in tandem with his smile. "Hello."
"It's nice to meet you. We're sorry for your loss," Remus says.
"No," you say, head tilted toward your shoulder as you frown at James sympathetically, "I should be sorry, you actually knew him. I can't imagine how this feels for you."
"Thank you. But don't be," James says. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess."
You look to Emmeline, almost like you're waiting for her to correct him.
She smiles at you hopefully. "Shall we talk arrangements for your departure?"
—
James is trying not to look at you too much, though if he is he can write it off as purely protective. You're sitting in your seat like you're worried about touching a seat mate who doesn't exist, arms wrapped around your middle and face pointed to the floor.
"I'll rent a car," he says.
You curl into yourself a little more. "What for?"
"It's much safer."
"I don't want you to– I mean, you aren't a chauffer."
"I'm not." He bends at the knees to speak directly to you. "There are seven other people on this bus. One is elderly. Three are younger than sixteen. All seven could potentially harm you."
You look to the left without turning your head, toward the sound of young laughter. He'd bet money on your thoughts. Even the children?
"The driver could have an aneurysm. He could be paid off. He could be carrying a concealed weapon." James smiles at you placatingly. "Understand? If I drive, the potential danger goes down to one."
"Me?"
"No. Me." He tries very hard not to wink and look like a dickhead. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not really my perogative."
"Oh, good."
James recall what Lily had said, rightfully. You and James will be in each other's company for the foreseeable future, and while he has a job to do, there's room for friendliness. Sort of.
He splits his attention between you and the front of the bus, where a small family carts a pushchair.
"What do you do?" he asks.
He knows you attend classes for a degree equivalent at your local college. He knows you're a waitress. He knows you moved to central London when you were very young, and that your estranged mother had been the cause of all this confusion. He asks you because he wants to know how you'll frame it. In your own eyes, what is your life?
"I'm a waitress."
He nods. "Local?"
"Mm. At a pub called The Morgan."
"You have a shift today?"
"Not today. I took the day off." You stand up and click the STOP call button on the rail James is holding. Your arm brushes against his. "It's this stop."
James trails behind you, off of the bus and straight into a busy street.
"How far is it to your house?" he asks, loud to be heard over the hubbub and the roadworks.
"Not long. Are you okay to walk?"
James finds himself oddly charmed by your question. "I'm just fine."
You squeeze through the crowded pavements lining the street, folded in, keeping your arms close, and you apologise every time you touch someone, even if it's the other person's fault. James keeps close to your back, moving to your side when he worries you might sprain your neck trying to check that you're following. He had some height on you, which is a good thing for security purposes — he can see uninterrupted over the top of your head when he stands this close.
The day is cool, the last dregs of an end of summer heat lingering in the air and encouraged by so many bodies in one place. James wonders if you're too warm, dressed as you are in tights, but the thought fades when you trip.
James grabs the top of your arm, fingers sliding between your arm and your chest. Closer than he wants to be, crueller than he means to be as he keeps you steady.
To his surprise, you laugh. A really nice sound, sudden but sweet.
"Sorry, Princess," he says.
"You saved me," you say, a hint of breathlessness in your tone. "Thank you. My flat's in the next building over."
"Brilliant." His bag is fucking heavy, a weight between his shoulders that aches when he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it sets. You've got a long, long night ahead of doing nothing. "What's your address?"
You tell it to him. "Why?"
"For the rest of your security detail."
He slows as you come to the main door of your building. It's quieter here, the loudest sounds a symphony of barking dogs, car engines revving, and the jangle of your keys as you unlock the door and bump it with your hip.
"More people?" you ask. "Is that really necessary?"
"You always do that?"
"It gets stuck," you explain.
He hums. "It's necessary. The media's been paid handsomely to keep our operation to themselves for now, but there's always pressure to be the first to break a story."
"And I'm the story?" you ask, nodding toward the stairs in the centre of the room.
He steps over a bundle of scattered letters. The building is mostly clean, but mail bulges from cubbies, and an old mattress has been left propped against a wall.
"You're the story," he says, head up to analyse the atrium. There's a skylight spotted with green moss above.
You take the stairs up to the first floor, where your flat is the first he comes across. That increases your risk of a break in, rapists or robbers. He asks you to wait at the door while he clears each room, knowing it's an unecessary precaution but taking it anyway. It's not worth saving the half a minute it costs on the off-chance you've been infiltrated.
He snorts at his own train of thought and returns to you, where you're sliding a special locking mechanism between the door latch and the frame. You shake the lock.
"Did you get that recently?"
You look up at him and smile. "Since I moved in. I'm first on the floor. Don't want to get murdered in my sleep."
"Good girl," he says absentmindedly, crossing the room to secure your window.
He moves into your room again and secures the larger window over your bed. Then, because he's awful and curious, he catalogues your things.
"You're an artist," he says, head listed toward the doorway.
You stop by the dresser, hastily stuffing clothes left aside back into the top drawer. "Not– not really."
The room is a crammed collection of things. It's clear you've attempted to keep it clean. You were doomed to fail, an outpouring of your heart stuffed into a matchbox; books, sketchbooks, notebooks are stacked against the leftmost wall between your bed and your dresser, while paints and pencils take up two thirds of your desk. A small sketchbook rests closed in the mess of your unmade bed, dark bed sheets disrupted by a pair of white pyjamas discarded at the end. Soot or something similar stains the fabric.
He averts his gaze from your dirty hamper and faces you.
"At 8PM, one of my team will swap duty with me. His name is Frank, and I've worked with him before, but if you aren't comfortable with anything he does while I'm not working, you can tell me. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell Lily. You can tell me, of course," he amends. "I can take the couch."
"You sleep at eight?"
"I sleep at nine."
"You don't mind sleeping on the couch?"
"Not at all."
You walk to your dresser and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a layer of linens, and you pull them out neatly.
"You don't have to, uh, put on a show for me," you say with a wince.
"Sorry?"
"I'm not a princess. I'm not the princess."
"You don't think so?"
You look sweet, kneeling on the floor, hair in pretty disarray from the walk home. You move it out of your face and offer a folded square to him with both hands.
"It's a misunderstanding. But…" You take a pillowcase into your hand and stand up, closing the drawer with your ankle. "Even if I were, I don't think you need to be so formal, you know?"
You move past him, a wave of nice smells.
"It's my job."
Again, you surprise him by laughing, climbing on top of your unmade sheets to grab one of your pillows. "Right," you say, stripping it of its pillowcase and shaking it into a new one. The tip of your tongue makes a brief appearance as you plump up the corners.
You climb off of the bed. "Here," you say, taking the sheet he's holding to press the pillow into his hands.
"Oh," he says, looking down at the pillowcase. It's covered in small pink flowers. "I don't need this."
"My settee isn't comfortable."
"Half of my job is being able to sleep anywhere."
You smile at him. His words don't discourage you, and he stands in the doorway between your bedroom and your living room as you lay down an old quilt over the settee and tuck a sheet around it and under the sofa cushions.
"I know it's strange, but you could take my bed, if you wanted to. You're so tall, I don't think-"
James cuts you off, not unkindly. "Thank you, but I couldn't." He lets the side of his chest rest against the doorway, arms crossed. Your back is straight, tense with anxiety. "I have something for you."
You blink at him. "For me?"
He grins, his first proper smile all day, and pulls his bag onto the freshly made settee to unzip the front compartment. He pulls out a small jewellery box, pulling the lid off to hold between his arm and chest.
The tennis bracelet inside is thin but strong, made up of gold-silver links with sapphire-coloured gemstone. He assumes them to be real sapphire or something similar, like blue-hued ruby.
"This is a panic button."
You seem more anxious than when he'd pulled out the box.
"Don't worry about losing it. I'm sure the Genovian coffers will recover."
"It's not that. Do you think it will fit?" you ask.
He hadn't thought about it. Luckily, Mary had.
"There are spare links hidden under the velvet."
James puts the box on your coffee table and clicks the links into place, handling the bracelet with less care than he ought to. Firmly snapped into place, he offers the lengthened bracelet to you unlatched.
"Here," he says, pointing toward one link in particular. "If you squeeze this tightly, the heat sensor will alert me."
"It won't feel the heat of my wrist?"
"It will. It's sophisticated, it'll disregard anything that isn't a sudden spike. That's your panic button. You squeeze that–" He pinches it in demonstration. The small radio clipped discreetly to his shoulder starts to beep, a circling alarm. He removes his fingers from the bracelet and it stops. "Okay?"
"I haven't even passed the paternity test yet."
"My being here indicates that you're of special interest. We don't know if you're the Princess for certain, and neither do the newspapers. You're still in danger either way."
You press your lips together and hold out your wrist.
James steps close to you, enough to see details and lines he's missed. The longer he stays in your company, the more endeared he is to your shy smile, and your kindness, and he thinks you're the type of person who's outsides reflect the insides. You smile.
Either side of your wrist glows with heat as he drapes the bracelet over your skin and clicks it closed, wary of pinching you.
The room is quiet. The clock over your small kitchen table ticks.
"There," James murmurs, taking back his hands.
"Thank you."
He disregards it completely. "No worries."
His informality gets you, and you smile, your own first and proper smile since you'd been introduced.
By the time Frank arrives for turnover, James is confident that his assignment to your protection won't be nearly as awful as he'd thought. You'd insisted on making him something to eat, which he'd been sincerely grateful for, as a man can't run on Burger King alone, and then you'd practically showered him in an awkward but entirely genuine hospitality, offering your bathroom and all its contents, every blanket you owned, the TV remote, and a tin of biscuits.
He introduces you to Frank, and for an hour you make yourself busy in the kitchen, cleaning dishes you'd refused his help with and wiping down the counters.
He senses your unease at being outnumbered in your own home. Unfortunately, there isn't much he can do to make you feel better, besides appoint Frank to door duty and try to offer some words of comfort.
James tries not to look as imposing as he feels, clearing his throat to draw your attention as you leave the kitchenette.
"Listen," he says softly, a mirror of you now that you're both changed into lounge clothes and damp-haired from the shower, "I want to reassure you— I'm here to protect you from any and every threat. I know this is unconventional, but I promise to do my best to make this easy for you."
You look down at your trainer socks. "Sorry."
"Can you do me a favour?"
"Yeah, of course," you say, raising your chin.
"No more apologies. This is hard, and I know that, you don't have to say sorry for anything. I'll promise you whatever you need me to if that will make you feel more comfortable."
Princess or no princess, you're confused, and you're unhappy in your own home. James wouldn't want that for anybody.
"Do you think someone's going to kill me?" you ask.
James softens. "No. Nobody is going to kill you." His smile melds slowly to mischief, dark lashes kissing in the corners of his eyes as he squints. "I'm a brilliant bodyguard, okay? Don't doubt my skills. And Frank's alright."
You laugh under your breath, relieved. "I'm not doubting your skills."
"Good. I'm not just a pretty face, Princess."
You sober at the title. The flicker of camaraderie between you fizzles, and you shake it off.
"Can I get you anything?" you ask.
He hopes that in a month, or a year, when you're living the high life in Genovia with a hundred serfs and lavish goods beyond your wildest dreams, you'll keep your earnest smile, and your good heart. He's seen exactly what court politics can do to timid young women like you.
"No," he says, matching your volume, "nothing."
"Okay. You can wake me if you need anything."
He absolutely won't. "Thank you... Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
You disappear behind your bedroom door. James lays down over the small sofa, alarm set for a dry-eyed 4:30AM, and listens to your flat as it cools. You close the blinds, sharpen a pencil, and for a period of time, he's lulled by the mild shushing of a pencil over paper.
He falls asleep. He must. A silence settles, thick and uninterrupted as poured molasses.
A splintering crash pulls him back to consciousness, and every nerve-ending sings as a weight falls to the floor. A thump sounds from behind your closed door. James practically leaps over the settee's arm to your door, Frank hot on his heels.
He throws open the door, braced for impact.
You aren't anywhere to be seen.
˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this first part, and if you did and you have the time please consider reblogging, it makes a difference! plus i'd love to know what u think or what you'd love to see in future<3
the fics title is adapted from a line in piedra del sol by octavio paz
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Could i request and azriel fic where he had a crush on reader for years but didn’t act on it because he wss fixated on this whole three brothers and three sisters thing. But he realised that he and elain don’t have anything in common so they stay friends and he tells her about reader. When he sees her again she had a child with another illyrian but they aren’t together. Her son is maybe 2-3 years old, he starts to spend more time with her as friends but he knows that he still loves her. The bond snaps for him but he doesn’t say anything yet. He basically moved her into his home because he wants them to be together every minute. (Some dadaz and son time would be cute. ) They all sit at dinner with the inner circle and readers son calls him dad, cassian and rhys are both happy for their brother and thats when the bond also snaps for reader. Just fluff and daddy az ? Where he shows him how to fly and tell the babe how he is going to be a big brother.
That may be long, so if you don’t want to write something that long, then thats also fine 🫶🏼
a/n: I can't say enough just how much I love seeing the batboys being fathers
Azriel x Reader
Yours Truly
Azriel hated going to the war camps and always avoided it whenever he could. Despite his feelings, Rhysand had ordered him to go with Cassian to check in with them since the war was drawing closer. He glanced around as they made their way into the heart of the camp, noting the variety of women and children scattered about. There were far more here than at any of the other camps and whereas all Illyrians treated their women horribly, it wasn’t as bad here.
He sat back in the meeting and let Cassian do the talking, being merely backup if it was needed. It was all that he could do to keep his attention on the conversation but his need to leave had him restless. No sooner than his brother could turn to leave the tent, Azriel beat him to it. They all knew how he felt so Cassian continued on behind him in silence as they gauged the training.
They hadn’t made it halfway to the training rings before a body collided with his. He took a step back before kneeling down and extending a hand to help. When you looked up at him, he noted the beauty in you that was much different than any other Illyrian female. You smiled sheepishly at him but placed your hand into his. His eyes scanned over you briefly and hoped that you didn’t notice it but when he met your gaze again, you were grinning. It took him off guard because everyone in the camps usually shied away from him but here you were, unafraid of his intimidating stare.
“Thank you,” you said breathlessly.
“You’re welcome,” he mumbled as his eyes locked on your hand that you hadn’t pulled away.
“I’m Y/N.” You gave him a smile that he could have sworn was apologetic. “Sorry about-”
“Y/N!!”
You spun on your heels to see the male calling your name. He watched your body go tense and could taste the fear coming off of you in waves. There were similarities between you and the male and judging by the scowl, you weren’t treated well at home. The male grabbed your wrist with an iron grip that caused you to wince and he instantly bristled in anger. This was one of the main reasons that he hated being around other Illyrians.
“I was just going to-”
“I hope you had the good decency to apologize for your carelessness,” the male growled as he pulled on you.
He wasn’t sure why it was you in particular that he suddenly felt so protective of but chalked it up to the fact that he usually didn’t see the mistreatment right in front of him. Without thinking, he wrapped his hand around the male’s wrist with a force that had him immediately letting go. A growl escaped him and the man that he assumed was your father stumbled backwards.
“You can leave,” he snapped and the male had enough of his own sense to scurry away.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft as you rubbed your wrist.
“Pleased to be of service,” he replied drily, earning another smile from you.
“I really didn’t mean to run into you.”
Glancing behind him, Cassian had disappeared and he wasn’t sure if he had seen the interaction. It didn’t matter either way but he suddenly didn’t have the urge to leave. There was something about you that had him debating whether he should leave or not, knowing that you would suffer repercussions once you returned home. You shifted your body when he glanced at your wings.
“Do you want to fly?” he asked suddenly, surprised with himself for such an outburst.
“I- Uh- Can’t,” you mumbled, the words almost incoherent.
“With me,” he corrected.
Azriel watched you carefully and felt hope blossom within him when you turned to look behind you. There was a hopefulness in your eyes but the reluctance was written in your body. A silent sigh of relief passed his lips when you nodded slightly. He chuckled when he grabbed you quickly and shot into the air and a quiet scream left you.
Once he leveled out in the air, your eyes immediately scanned the landscape with awe and wonder on your face. It eased some part of his heart that he hadn’t realized had tightened as he watched. There was no questioning the peace that you were now feeling for a partial experience of what you could never have yourself.
You had difficulty tearing your eyes away from the beautiful scenery as you flew in the spymaster’s arms. It was no secret who he and the general were and you had felt embarrassed that you had run into him. Surprisingly, there was no fear of him that most people had but you did feel safe for a change in his arms. Not to mention the fact that you had been even more surprised when he had scared your father off. Nobody had ever bothered to protect you and your opinion of the Night Court leaders were heightened just for that alone.
Your father was in one of his moods and nothing that you did was right in his opinion no matter if he had been drinking or not. He had screamed at you for fifteen minutes but as soon as he raised his hand, you sprinted through the door. It all led you to being able to fly even if it wasn’t your own doing before Azriel landed on top of one of the mountains.
“This is beautiful.”
Your breath puffed in front of you before being swept off by the wind as you stared in awe. When you looked back at him, he was watching you intently and you suddenly felt self conscious. You gave him a small smile that he returned but his gaze never left you, even as he moved closer. Warmth rolled off of him from the few inches that he left between you both and you found so much comfort in it. You couldn’t remember the last time that you felt this way and your heart begged you not to let him leave.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere else and you ended up sitting up under a snow covered tree while he asked you questions about your life. You had been so lost in conversation that you didn’t notice at first when his hand wrapped gently around yours. The small act caused your heart to race and you had no interest in pulling it away.
Time passed you by too quickly for your liking despite the fact that enough had gone by for the sun to now be descending in the sky. By the time that he was gathering you in his arms, you were praying to the Mother that he would come back to see you again.
Azriel brushed Cassian off when he returned home and his brother began to interrogate him. He didn’t want to talk about how he was feeling, especially not when he had to figure it out himself. A quiet nagging in his heart wouldn’t let him leave without knowing more about you and he hated having to leave you alone.
He returned to the camp at any opportunity that he had and lost more sleep than he could keep up with just to see you. If what he felt for Mor was love, then what he felt for you was indescribable. It surpassed reason but he couldn’t stay away, not even when he began questioning Elain’s mating bond. The entire situation didn’t make any sense to him, especially when he felt sour when he thought about it.
“Oh, gods!”
His heart skipped a beat at the sound of your voice. He had just gotten back from rescuing Elain from Hybern’s army and the last person that he expected to see was you as he was being forced into one of the healing tents for his injuries. You watched him with caution, tears lining your eyes while you took in every injury that he had. It caused his heart to clench as his love for you spread through him.
“What are you doing here?” The question came out as if he was out of breath, as if he hadn’t had time to come down from the adrenaline rush. “We’re in the middle of a-”
“War? Yea, I noticed,” you replied, staring pointedly at him. “I’m here helping out. I’m nothing spectacular but I can still help with some parts of the healing process.”
Your words hit him like a stone to the chest. He wanted so badly for you to see yourself differently but he was momentarily stunned into silence as you approached him. You knelt before him and began the process of washing the blood off of him. Every touch was surprisingly gentle even though he could barely think through the close proximity. It didn’t make much sense to him since the both of you were always close together whenever he visited but it was somehow different this time.
“You are.” His throat felt tight and the burning in his eyes started when he remembered that you were treated horribly by his own people. “More than you know.”
Your eyes flicked to his and there were still unshed tears in your eyes. He watched your throat bob before you ducked your head down to continue cleaning and wrapping his injuries. There was nothing that he wouldn’t give to know what you were thinking but he didn’t have time to question you before Rhysand walked in.
“Y/N?” The High Lord raised a brow at her as she looked sheepishly at him. “I thought you were going to bed.”
“Well, I was but I heard Thesan saying that someone was injured and a healer was coming so I thought that I’d help out.” All of the words escaped you all in one breath as you shifted in what he assumed was worry. “I didn’t think it would hurt to help one more person.”
“You’ve been working hard all day,” his brother replied gently, his eyes darting between the two of you. “Although I have to admit that my shadowsinger is in good hands.”
“I’m doing all that I can,” you laughed quietly, the sound causing his heart to clench. “I promise I’m done for the night once I’m done here.”
The High Lord nodded, his face still tender but when you looked away, there was mischief in his eyes. Azriel blocked it out and his attention refocused fully on you. His injuries weren’t as bad as he thought and definitely weren’t anywhere near as bad as his wings were. She took note of said wings before meeting his gaze.
“I wish I could do something to help,” you muttered. “I wish I had some form of special healing magic and-”
“You’re special just as you are.”
Your eyes went wide in surprise and despite his pain, he stood and pulled you up with him. He pulled you into him, enjoying your warmth against him that suddenly had him feeling ten times better. There was an underlying feeling that he couldn’t describe pulling at his heart and he was content to stay like this for the rest of his life.
It wasn’t until Elain suddenly returned to his mind that he pulled away. In no way would it be fair to you to string you along whenever he was sure that the Cauldron had been wrong. He took a step back and the sudden pain in your gaze had him taking a deep breath.
“You really should get some rest,” he mumbled as he took a few more steps back to place distance between the both of you. “Thank you for your help.”
A simple nod was all that he got before you ran from the tent, taking a piece of his heart along with you.
You couldn’t wrap your head around what the shift in Azriel was about. His heart had picked up its pace just before he pulled away from you. It was unusual for him to do so unless it was time for you to part ways but something about it was different this time. The feeling felt more like a goodbye and it was one thing in particular that you had a hard time swallowing.
“Hey, Y/N!”
You turned to see who was calling for you and it was the exceptionally good looking Illyrian that had flirted with you earlier while you tended to his minor wounds. A thought passed your mind that you would enjoy the attention from him in hopes that it would drive your thoughts away from the shadowsinger.
“You look like you’re healing well,” you laughed, suddenly feeling shy as his full attention stayed on you as he moved closer.
“I think I have one that needs to be rewrapped if you don’t mind taking a look at it.”
You knew what the underlying meaning was and you also knew that it was wrong. Despite that, you followed him to the tent with the intention to forget and chase away the weight that came with war.
The male was already gone from his tent the next morning and you were surprised that you had slept in a bit longer than you meant to. By the time you were up and dressed, you could hear the war beginning. You simply stood with the other healers and waited and watched with both dread and hope.
There was so much work to be done when it was over that you didn’t have time to look for the male that you had so desperately fallen in love with. It did hurt your heart a bit when you were told that both your father and brother had died in the war but you weren’t particularly sorry for it. There was even a tinge of pain when the male that you had fallen into bed with was announced deceased as well.
You made a half hearted attempt to look for Azriel but had given up when it seemed like he had disappeared. If nothing else told you that it was truly an act of farewell, the fact that he was staying hidden from you did. With a sigh, you followed one of your close friends back to your camp.
It was strange returning home to an empty house but there was a sense of relief knowing that you would no longer be critiqued about every little thing that you did. A passing thought of being forced unwillingly into a marriage crossed your mind. That thought officially left your mind a month later when your best friend, Iris, found you on the outskirts of the camp by the bushes as you lost your stomach for the third time that day.
“You’re..” The sound of Iris sniffing came from behind you as the female rubbed your back soothingly. “You’re pregnant.”
“What!?”
You spun so quickly that it had your head spinning and you vomited yet again. High Fae had an incredibly hard time having children but it appeared that the lesser ones didn’t. Azriel came to your mind again, the thought of him hurting you just as much as before. There wasn’t a day that went by that you didn’t think about him and it didn’t tear your heart into.
You were foolish to think that someone as important and special as he was to actually want you just as much as you wanted him. Even if he had, you highly doubted that he would now that you were carrying a deceased male’s child. That thought also hurt because your child would grow up without a father and be shunned because he was a bastard child.
Iris was there for you throughout the entire pregnancy no matter what was said about either of you. She was a great friend and you couldn’t be any more thankful for her. She was due to be wed a week before you gave birth and for that, you were thankful as well.
The labor was long and hard but thankfully successful either way and as you held your newborn son in your hands, you felt a love like no other in the world.
Azriel had questioned Elain’s mating bond for four years and even after that, he fell in love with her. Or at least he thought that he had. He had been sure that he was the one meant for her since his brothers had been mated to the female’s sisters. Most of the time, he sat in the garden with her while she chatted away in happiness. There had been a change in her over the last couple of months as she began to spend time with her mate.
He didn’t have much in common with her and no matter how much time had passed, he still couldn’t get you off of his mind. He felt horrible for disappearing on you without a word but at the time, he felt that it was the best course of action. You deserved to be loved and appreciated but what you deserved more was an explanation. He had never been good with expressing his emotions but he should have tried harder with you.
“- And Lucien says that the scenery in Spring Court is beautiful.”
His thoughts of you had tuned out Elain’s one sided conversation but the fact that she was talking about her mate and not him made him feel at ease. He hoped that he wouldn’t be breaking her heart as he had undoubtedly done yours. Then again, there was also the possibility that you may have very well been married off since your father and brother had passed in the war. You deserved happiness but he desperately wanted to be the one to give that to you.
“Where have your thoughts gone to?” Elain asked, watching him with a curious gaze.
“I met someone a few years back,” he admitted quietly while gauging her reaction.
“A she?”
“Yes.”
Elain fell silent but it wasn’t filled with tension as he had dreaded that it would be. Instead, she appeared thoughtful before her gaze fell upon him again, eyes full of questions. He didn’t know how much information that he would give her but he felt the sudden need to talk about you to someone. Anyone.
“Who is she?” she finally asked, setting down her gardening tool to give him her full attention.
“Y/N.” Your name falling past his lips had him ready to shoot into the skies and fly to you as fast as he could. “I met her in one of the camps before the war.”
“And you love her.” It wasn’t a question but a frown fell on her face. “Why haven’t you said anything to anyone?”
“She deserves better.” A half lie but a shiver ran up his spine as he forced himself to be vulnerable. “She has probably found it after all of these years.”
“You’re a great male,” Elain reassured, giving him a small smile. “My opinion may not matter much but I think that you should at least go talk to her.”
He took a few moments to ponder his choices and what he could possibly say to you to make things better. Elain watched him with that same reassuring smile so he took to the skies before he could think any more about it. His heart pounded hard in his chest during the entire flight, his nerves on edge for whatever could happen.
There were many wary glances thrown in his direction when he landed but he paid them no mind as he let his intuition guide him to you. His first stop was your home and unfortunately, you didn’t answer the door. As he turned back to head back towards the heart of the camp, he was truly beginning to wonder if you had married. The thought hurt but he deserved it if that was the case.
No sooner than he reached the first market stall, the faintest hint of your scent filled his senses. His eyes scanned the small crowd and quickly found you with a small child by your side, a hand gripped tightly around yours. As if you could sense him, your wide eyes met his and it was in that moment that you overtook all of his senses.
The Illyrians around him faded into nothing as that golden thread that now bound the two of you together shined brightly on his end. You gave him a small, shy smile but didn’t make a move to step closer. He let his gaze drift to the child as you picked him up and he noted everything about him quickly.
The boy had every feature of an Illyrian so to him, it meant that you had moved on. He didn’t deserve the explanation that he wanted but found himself hopeful whenever you walked towards him. Instead of directly addressing him, you simply nodded your head to your home. He followed closely behind while glaring at anyone who dared look at you too long or with disdain.
“We haven’t seen you or Cassian in a while,” you started as the three of you entered the home and sat the boy down. “Come to check on training?”
“I came to see you,” he admitted, shifting on his feet in his nervous state. “I didn’t- I didn’t handle it right.”
“Go play, sweetheart,” you muttered to the boy who did as told before you turned back to him. “I get it. I’m not-”
“You are everything,” he growled softly once he was close enough to cup your face. “I was foolish to let you go.”
“Az-”
“No.” His voice was thick again from his throat tightening, his nerves at an all time high as the bond sang inside of him. “I love you and I always have. But you deserve so much better.”
“I could say the same about you,” you whispered as tears lined your eyes again. “Nobody wants a female with a bastard son much less an Illyrian female with one.”
“He’s beautiful,” he murmured. “Any male would be foolish for letting you go. Just as I was.”
“You deserve better and-”
Azriel cut her off by crashing his lips to hers and his heart warmed at how you melted into him. He had come with the intention to win you back at all costs only to find out that you were his mate. It truly was a feeling like no other, an experience that could never be described without doing it justice. Little feet could be heard so you pulled back quickly and place a few feet of distance between the two of you.
“Mama.” The boy peered curiously around the corner, eyes moving between the both of you. “Who’s that?”
“Aeden, this is Azriel.” You smiled tenderly at the boy before looking at him. “Az, this is Aeden.”
“Hey!” Aeden exclaimed happily but turned back to his mother. “Eat and fly!”
“We can eat,” you laughed softly, stretching your hand out towards him. “We can look again for someone to help you fly.”
His heart was now a puddle on the floor. You had a son that more than likely didn’t know a thing about flying at his young age. Aeden’s Illyrian instincts were already screaming at him to learn how to fly and there was seemingly no one to teach him. His brain began nagging him but he wasn’t sure how to voice what he wanted to say.
“There’s no one that will help him fly?” he asked quietly when you joined him on the couch while the boy ate.
“No,” you answered with an equally quiet tone. “Nobody quite wants to be around us due to the circumstances. Not even my best friend’s husband.”
“Come to Velaris.” The words escaped him before he had time to realize what he was thinking. “You would both be loved and me, Cass, and Rhys can teach him how to fly. He’d love Nyx.”
You assessed him for a moment and placed a quick kiss against his lips before your son could see. Relief flooded through him when you nodded your head, leaving him feeling better than he had ever before in his life.
You stood in the foyer of the place that Azriel called home, contemplating everything that had led you here. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful and appreciated his offer but it was because of how out of place that you felt. A townhouse was somewhere that you would have never guessed that you would ever call home. You had barely had time to agree before the shadowsinger was reassuring you tenderly all while offering to help you pack up what was needed.
He had promised that there would be better belongings waiting for you and he hadn’t lied. You were surprised to learn that the High Lord and Lady themselves had gone out of their way to buy both you and your son some things that you needed. Something within you nagged you about the generous charity that it felt like but as you watched your son get settled, all of that went away without a trace.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” you asked later that night, for some reason dreading the answer.
“You have a room there.” He pointed to a guest room beside Aeden’s. “Or..”
“Or what?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting that I can sleep with you?”
“If- If you-” Azriel tripping over his words with a new wave of nervousness was somewhat amusing. “If you want.”
You gave him a small smile, touching his shoulder in reassurance before checking in on your son. Anticipation shot through you as you relaxed in the bath, contemplating your two options. There hadn’t been a moment of peace since you had given birth and hoped that the new environment would keep the three year old in his own bed that night. Once you were clean, you took a deep breath before knocking on the door and stepping past the threshold of his bedroom.
“I was wondering if your offer still stands,” you muttered quietly as heat rose in your cheeks.
“Please.”
There was something in his underlying plea that had your feet moving but you stopped at the edge of the bed. He watched you with patience and ended up pulling you down into the bed next to him. A laugh slipped past you as he pulled you so close into him that there wasn’t an inch separating the both of you.
“I don’t bite,” he murmured, burying his face into your hair.
“And if I wanted you to?” you countered with a coy smirk.
“That could be arranged.”
A devilish grin spread across his face before he had you on your back and it earned him a quiet laugh. You weren’t sure how long he made love to you and worshiped you in a way that no one ever had before. There were too many ‘I love yous’ passed between the both of you for you to keep up with but it had you feeling complete for the first time in your life.
You had no way to know what time it was or how long that you had slept but when you awoke, Aeden was in the bed and curled up next to Azriel. The sight had your heart fluttering in your chest so you simply laid back down and snuggled up to the pair.
A month felt as if it passed by in a blur. Azriel had waited a week before introducing you and your son to the family, seemingly impatient to teach Aeden how to fly. There were so many mornings that your son sat in your love’s lap while they read and you cooked breakfast. It was a sight that you knew that you would never get tired of seeing.
It wasn’t until you watched Azriel and Cassian making progress with Aeden after three months did you realize what true happiness was. Cassian was silly and had jokes when it came to helping the boy all while Azriel fretted like a mother hen. Feyre had mentioned once that it looked as if the male saw your son as his own and it was all that you see when you looked at him.
“He’s making really good progress.”
You glanced beside you to the High Lady as you both prepared the food for the night. A frown fell on your face as you watched Aeden fall out of the air again only to be caught by Azriel. Your son truly had made progress but your heart pounded in your chest each time you watched him make a mistake and start falling quickly towards the ground.
“I’m used to seeing different versions of the males’ training so this is definitely new for me,” you sighed. “I know Az won’t let him get hurt but still.”
“I felt the same with Nyx.”
A smile was shared between the both of you as Elain joined to help finish up the meal. Anticipation and nervousness filled you as it came time for the entire Inner Circle to come together. You had met all of them already, of course, but it felt like a new test with having them all together.
“Ready to eat!” Aedan exclaimed as he ran through the door, covered in dirt with a small scratch on his face.
“Did you let my son fall?” you asked as you looked between Azriel and Cassian.
“I turned my back for one second-”
“He’s fine,” Cassian drawled, laughing hard when his brother elbowed him in the ribs for interrupting him. “Even Feyre took a few tumbles and she’s just fine.”
“That’s different,” you huffed, glancing at your friend in hopes that she would defend you but the female simply smiled.
You shook your head in defeat and ushered your son to his seat between you and Azriel. Aedan adored the shadowsinger and looked up to him in a way that he had never experienced before. At least that was what he had told you during a late night conversation. Conversation flowed easily thanks to the family that made you feel welcomed and loved just as the spymaster had promised.
“Daddy!” Aeden exclaimed. “Want more!”
Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes went wide when you realized that your son had just called your boyfriend his father. It was unprovoked and something that hadn’t been talked about by any of them. You glanced at Azriel and as your eyes met his, your body went tense and loose all at once at the overwhelming new feeling.
“I was going to tell you,” he whispered gently with caution on his face as the bond sang between you.
All that you could do was grin cheesily at him. At that point and time, it didn’t matter that you hadn’t been informed. All that mattered was that you had found the one that you were made for and on top of that, loved your son unconditionally as well. Rounds of congratulations sounded around the both of you but you couldn’t think straight as your eyes refused to move from the hazel ones two seats across from you.
You had never thought that your life would be this good and you would go through all of the hell and heartbreak again if it meant being where you were now.
Tag list:
@amara-moonlight @allygrace74 @sidthedollface2 @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @kalulakunundrum @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @caroline-books @justvibbinghere @wisdomofthebrain
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Gorgeous
(inspired by t. swift's song)
Harry knew the moment that Draco walked into the bar. He always knew, there was something about the way he carried himself; his magic hot and bright, burning its way up Harry's spine before he'd even actually seen him. He turned his head, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the other man.
"Malfoy must be here," Ron grumbled.
He glanced back at Ron, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that every time he shows up here, you tune out most of what anyone has to say," Seamus piped up.
Harry glared at him, "Shut it. I do not."
"You do," Lavender replied as she slid in next to Parvati across from Hermione. "And it's just so sad because he talks to everyone but you."
He frowned, he had tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination that Draco talked to everyone else and intentionally ignored him. But before he could say anything more, Draco was at their table, he said, "this is Clement," gesturing to the attractive man on his arm before sitting down next to Hermione and immediately striking up a conversation with her.
"It's because he likes you," Blaise said, leaning in closer so Harry could hear him over the noise.
Harry rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right." Draco came with a different date every week, he wasn't interested in Harry.
Blaise shrugged, "Suit yourself but I'm telling you, Potter, that boy's been obsessed with you for years."
Shoving Blaise's shoulder Harry tried to put it from his mind. But as the night wore on, Harry watched Draco talking to everyone in their friend group but him (just like he always did) and when Draco got up to go to the loo, Harry couldn't help but follow. Not wanting to be a perv, he waited outside.
When Draco emerged, he immediately jumped, hand over his heart, "Circe's tits, Potter! What are you doing?"
Instead of answering his question, Harry's inebriated brain supplied one of it's own, "Why won't you talk to me?"
"Excuse me?" Draco asked, looking around as though he thought someone was playing a trick on him.
"I mean, we were friends, right?" he asked, knowing that he sounded more than a little desperate and pathetic. "Like 8th year, we sorted out all of our shit, forgave each other, right?"
"Potter, what are you on about?"
"It's just," he sighed and stared at Draco, wondering if he looked at him hard enough if he'd be able to understand him, "you never talk to me. And you talk to everyone else."
"You should be flattered," Draco said before turning away.
Without thinking Harry reached out and grabbed his hand, giving him a gentle tug, "Wait," he said.
"Adam is waiting," Draco said, not looking up to meet Harry's eyes.
"I thought you said his name was Clement?" Harry murmured.
And before he could do anything else, Draco was pressing him back against the wall and kissing him.
Harry's arms instinctively wrapped around him, drawing him in closer as he kissed him back just as desperately.
"That's what you get for touching my hand in a dark hallway," Draco muttered, nipping at Harry's lips.
"I ought to grab your hand more often, then," Harry replied, tugging Draco's body flush against his own so he could kiss him again.
Draco kissed him back for a long, tension filled moment, body surging and pressing against Harry's before he pulled back, "I fucking hate you."
Harry blinked at him, feeling like he was experiencing whiplash, his brain moving too slow, unutterably confused by the mixed signals he was receiving from Draco's body and his words. "What-" he started, but then Draco was kissing him again.
"I hate your stupid face, and your stupid green eyes," he continued as his hands slid under his tshirt and Harry groaned. "I hate the way you grew into your stupid body; all muscled and handsome. You're so fucking gorgeous, of course I can't talk to you."
"Fuck," he hissed as Draco's nails scraped over his back and Harry flipped their positions, pinning Draco to the wall.
Draco groaned, body shuddering against Harry's as he tried to drag him impossibly closer. "And I hate the way you talk, all honest and earnest, and-" he broke off as Harry sucked hard at his neck. "And I hate that you aren't mine."
Harry pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes, "Draco, you can have me," he said.
"Stop," he whined, giving Harry a shove but immediately tugging him back in. "Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not," Harry assured him. "I want you too, in case that wasn't abundantly clear," he said, pressing forward against Draco's body to emphasize his point.
Draco shook his head, "But I want more than just sex with you. Just sex would never be enough."
"Great," Harry replied, kissing down his neck again and pausing to suck at the bruise he'd left forming on his pale skin.
"I'm serious, Potter," Draco growled, fisting a handful of his hair and pulling until Harry looked him in the eyes again.
"Call me Harry," he said.
Draco rolled his eyes, "I'm serious, Harry. I'm a possessive bastard and I will want to keep you forever."
"Is that a threat or a promise?" Harry asked, feeling a little weak in the knees at the thought of being treasured and kept.
Narrowing his eyes he asked, "Are you being serious?"
"Yes," he said in exasperation, "Draco. I want you, too. I've been head over tits for you for ages."
"Really?" he asked, looking back and forth between Harry's eyes.
"Ask literally any of our friends," he said. "Yes. Really." He leaned in and gave him another soft, tentative kiss.
Draco shuddered and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, "Take me home," he whispered.
"From here?"
Draco nodded, eyes closed.
He rubbed his nose over Draco's cheek, "What about-" he broke off trying to remember the bloke's name, "what's-his-name?"
"Who?" Draco asked, hands slipping under Harry's waistband and distracting him even further.
"Your date?" he prompted even as his fingers tangled in Draco's hair, turning his to the side to give himself better access to Draco's neck.
Draco whimpered, body arching against Harry's. He waved a hand, "I don't give a fuck. Take me home. Right now." Then softly, in Harry's ear, "Please," he all but moaned and Harry's self control snapped.
He apparated them right from there, straight into his bed, and suddenly Draco had absolutely no problem talking to him.
-------------------
Read more of my fics inspired by songs, if you'd like
tagging the lovely @phoebe-delia since it's taylor swift and that is her jam <3
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I Could Never Hate You (Part |||)
Pairing -> ninthmember!reader x Lee Minho
WC -> ~2,700 words
Includes -> Reader has anxiety, fluff, and maybe some angst due to the beef with Hyunjin
Summary -> You prepare for the day trying not to let your nerves for the concert later take over. This should be easy with Minho by your side but the grudge is still being held strong between you and Hyunjin. They say time heals, but can time heal this?
Author's note -> Hi everyone! Welcome to part three of this little mini series. I didn't expect for this to be even more than one part but now I'm thinking it's gonna be around 4 or 5 parts to completely finish it off. I was gonna try and make this the final part but I realized writing short chapters feels much less overwhelming to me so I decided to break it down a little bit. I hope you like it! Let me know your thoughts in the comments <3
♡ Masterlist // Previous // Next ♡
"You have got to be joking right now..." you mutter to yourself as you frantically look around the bathroom. You had completely forgot to bring clothes to get dressed in after you showered. Hyunjin left a while ago and after a few laughs with your new love, you had decided to actually get ready for the day, realizing you can't spend the whole morning alone with Minho, no matter how much you want to. There's too many things to do today.
So, you had left Minho to go take a shower without too much thought. Well obviously not much thought considering you forgot your clothes. You could easily slip your pajamas back on and go get your clothes, but they were dirty and you were clean. You hate having to wear dirty clothes after a morning shower. It was supposed to be the start to a fresh day. With a concert later tonight, you are already anxious enough as it is. The shower did help a little, but this situation, although a bit silly, is souring your mood a bit. On days like these, you just want everything to go right, so it can get frustrating when little things happen. You take a deep breath, not wanting to let your thoughts go any further.
'Hyunjin would understand' you think, saddened by the events of last night. Normally, he would be the first one you would go to when you got nervous
You sigh, annoyed with your thoughts, and grab the wrinkled sweatpants and t-shirt. It'll have to do. You guys just started dating the day before, you don't wanna scare the poor man away by immediately walking out nearly naked with just a towel to cover.
Just as you're about to slip the shirt back on, your nose wrinkled in disgust, you notice a piece of black cloth resting on the counter next to the sink. Your mood instantly shifts as an idea pops into your head.
You swiftly grab it from the sink, unfolding it so that it is no longer inside out, and just like you thought a familiar design appears on the front. It's one of Minho's favorite shirts. He must of left in here last night when he changed into his pajamas. You smile, admiring the stupid drawings on the front. They are just so fitting to Minho.
Without a second thought, you slip the shirt on, getting a whiff of Minho's cologne as it passes over your face. Looking in the mirror, you notice that it covers just enough to not be too scandalous, especially with your underwear on. Minho wasn't too much bigger than you, but the couple inch height difference and his wider frame made for the perfectly oversized shirt.
It was the perfect solution; you got to wear Minho's shirt, you didn't have to walk out in a towel, and you didn't have to put all your clothes back on from last night. And hopefully, Minho's reaction will be an added bonus.
You open the door and venture out into the room, immediately seeing Minho. He's now fully dressed since he took a shower the night before when you were busy having an argument. He's on his phone patiently waiting for you while sitting in the chair Hyunjin had vacated just about an hour earlier.
He looks up upon hearing the bathroom door open, and you make eye contact. As he does so, his soft brown hair falls in front of his eyes. He uses a hand to brush it away, lightly threading through his hair. You see his eyes widen a bit at your choice of outfit and you send him a shy smile back before walking softly over to your suitcase. You bend over, making sure everything is still covered, and grab the casual clothes you had planned for today. You always dressed as comfy as possible before you had to get into the extravagant outfits the stylists prepared for the concerts. They weren't too bothersome, but sometimes the tight clothes weren't your preferred choice for all the dancing that comes with going on stage. But hey, at least you looked hot.
You stand back up after gathering the soft cotton into your hands. You're a little surprised upon feeling arms wrap around your waist. You smile as the scent of Minho's cologne yet again fills your senses; It's one of the many things you love about him.
He pulls you closer so you’re pushed against his front, his head resting on your shoulder. Your heart starts to best faster and you realize just how comforting his hugs are. You could really get addicted to this fast.
"You look so beautiful," he says softly. His breath hits your neck, sending goosebumps down the rest of your body. He doesn't say anything, but you know he had to have noticed. You're glad he doesn't make a remark, but you know just how caring and observant Minho can be. You can't help but think he's already stored that bit of information away for another time.
"My hair's wet, and I'm not even dressed yet," you say with a giggle.
"I know, I just can't believe I missed out on this for so long," he says as his grip around you tightens slightly. You can practically feel him start to recall memories from the past few years, of the way he used to treat you. It's a wonder how this is the same man who was ignoring you just days ago. But you wouldn't trade it for the world, you would stay in his arms forever if you could. He's the same Minho you used to know all those years ago, before all the insecurities got between you two.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door pulling the two of you out of your daydream.
"God, why can't they just leave us alone," he says, rolling his eyes. You just laugh at the remark, aware of just how much Minho really loves those guys. Sure, they can be annoying sometimes, but you grow to love it.
He brings his head off of your shoulder, pecking your cheek as he moves away. Heat floods your face, despite already having a more intimate kiss with Minho the night before. Your confident that no matter how long your relationship manages to last, his affect will never wear off. Minho is just the type of person you can't help but be in love with.
He shuffles away from you and you move to go back into the bathroom, excited to finally finish getting ready for the day. Minho opens the door, not thoroughly thinking through his actions, eager to get the conversation with whoever knocked over with.
You freeze in your spot halfway to the bathroom when you hear the hotel door open. You look up, seeing Chan on the other side just as you had expected. You're not too uncomfortable since practically all the boys have seen you in this state of dress before. After years of being in the same group, it's difficult not to walk in on each other. You don't mind too much anyway.
However, this may be one of the instances where a quick glance may be your downfall. Minho's shirt and no pants may be a bit too much for Chan to not question anything. Chan can be very scary when it comes to stuff that could affect the group as a whole, and a relationship could definitely do just that. Let's just say confessing to Chan was not one of your goals for the day.
"Hey Minho, we're having breakfast downstairs before we head out for the concert venue. So once you guys are ready just meet us down there," he tells your boyfriend. You can see a small smirk form on his lips as he says the last sentence. You know he's probably thinking about the plan the boys had formed last night to make you and Minho stay in the same room. If Chan was in on it, then everyone was in on it.
While waiting for Minho's response, Chan raises his head to see around him. You assume he's looking for you to ensure the other man will actually pass the news on. The two of you make eye contact, and it's unsurprising as you watch his eyes widen upon taking in your outfit. Your blush deepens, instantly ducking away into the bathroom, not wanting to be under his scrutiny any longer.
You finish getting ready, trying to block out the conversation from right outside the door. You honestly don't even want to know what Chan said after that whole fiasco.
When you go back into the main room, Chan is gone thankfully. He must of still had a few more of the boys to wake up.
Minho and you make your way downstairs to get breakfast together with the guys before it's time to head out for the busy day. Typically, hotel food isn't all that exciting for you. You much prefer to stop at a cafe or some other restaurant on the way, but today, waffles in the middle of a hotel lobby don't sound half bad.
On the way, you walk side by side, your heart skipping a beat whenever Minho looks your way. You glance down as he subtly touches his pinky to yours. You haven't had many relationships before, falling victim to the lack of romance related to the industry you’re in, so you can't help but wish to have the typical teenage romance you hear about in movies. You've dreamed of it for years and the fact that it's finally happening makes excitement bloom in your chest.
Minho takes the hint, clasping your hand in his, sending a smile your way. Emotion floods your body, making you feel as if you could take on the whole world with just his hand in yours.
When the two of you enter into the breakfast area, you subconsciously drop his hand, suddenly aware of how many people are around, fans and members alike. Felix looks up, noticing your presence and waves you over. There's two seats available, one at the end of the table next to Jeongin and the other next to Felix, which also happens to be directly across from Hyunjin, who all of a sudden looks a little too interested in his food.
Without a second thought you go to take a seat next to Jeongin, but Minho beats you to it. He flops down in the seat smiling cheekily.
'Asshole' you think, falling back into the habit of calling Minho names. He may not hate you anymore, but that doesn't diminish his love for annoying the absolute shit. However, instead of making you roll your eyes in annoyance, it makes your hands twitch by your side, nerves flooding your body head to toe. You know it was his plan, but it really is not helpful at all right now.
Felix smiles up at you, yet if you take all the tension into account it could arguably be a grimace. He pulls the chair out, and you take a seat; your back is a little too straight and fingers are still picking at your cuticles. You don’t want to raise any questions, but sometimes you really can’t help your nervous habits.
There had been plenty of chatter when walking up to the table but it had stopped suddenly upon Felix waving you over. It hasn’t resumed since, and the looks your members are giving each other are not subtle in the slightest. It’s obvious they know something.
Just like you had thought, word must have gotten around fast. It’s just a question of who spilled the beans and what it is they all think they know. Is it about the fight with Hyunjin? The fact that you and Minho had slept in the same bed? Or perhaps it was because you were seen wearing his shirt this morning?
But who knows? Before you even have time to fully ponder the questions or for anyone to break the uncomfortable silence, there’s a loud noise gathering everyone’s attention.
Hyunjin had sent one final look of panic to Felix before abruptly pushing his chair back and storming out. Everyone looked up in shock and suddenly it’s very clear that they were not aware of the fight. How are you gonna be able to explain this one? You don't even understand what happened. I mean sure, Hyunjin and you had fought and you didn't make up yet so it was uncomfortable, but you don't know why he would feel the need to make a scene like that. You guys had interacted just fine this morning. Maybe he was just uncomfortable with the idea of having to pretend everything was fine. You aren't exactly hiding the fact that you aren't happy with him right now. Due to basically being two peas in a pod, Hyunjin can usually read you like a book.
You glance over at Felix in hopes that he knows what that was all about. It's not much help when all he sends back is a shrug and an apologetic smile.
Unsurprisingly, there were few words spoken after this; the majority of the silence only being filled with concerned looks.
So breakfast was a bit awkward to say the least...
Unfortunately, that is extremely worrisome considering the schedule for the rest of the day. You guys don't have time for awkwardness and unsettled fights. Yet, you also don't have time to resolve anything. A never ending cycle of tension, how exciting. It's one of the not so fun parts of being an idol; the fakeness of everything. You just have to hope your groups acting is going to be on point enough today to not draw any attention. Fans were nitpicky and it was always best to avoid as many rumors as possible. With how close you and Hyunjin are, there's bound to be questions if you don't act all buddy buddy like you usually do.
The group takes two separate cars to the venue, and you can't help but notice the members are a little different than normal. More specifically, Minho has taken the seat next to you which is typically occupied by Hyunjin. In fact, Hyunjin isn't even in the car anymore.
This isn't the first time the cars were specifically divided out. Years ago, they had to switch which car Minho was in to keep the chaos under control. Previously, Minho had been in the same car as you, but once tensions started running high between the two of you, he had immediately been switched in hopes to keep the peace. It seems that was exactly the goal of today. God, you need to stop making so many issues within the group.
It seems that as the day progresses things are just getting more stressful. Hyunjin is avoiding you, and you can't help but feel as if you're messing up the group's dynamics. Suddenly, you're reminded of the awkward encounter with Chan this morning. If he figures out everything that has happened, is he going to be frustrated with you? Maybe you just never really fit in the group to begin with.
With every mile closer to the venue, you feel like you're approaching your doom. This is not the right mental state to go on stage, but that wasn't exactly an option, now was it?
So for now, you simply grip Minho's hand tighter, hoping to quell the growing anxiety inside you. You just have to make it through the concert and then you can resolve all the issues happening.
But it's never that easy is it?
Taglist: @armystay89 @thisisnotjacinta @silentreadersthings @seungminsapuppy @linos-kitten @hafrenstay @redstayrosie
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Romeo e Giulietta[a mafia love story] pt.2
mafioso!miguel x f!mafioso!reader 🂱
cw: suggestive
first part | miguel masterlist
prev ←→ next
"Papá..." you started.
"Giulietta, where do you always go at night? You barely ever sleep in your own bed," he questions. Long silence ate away at you not knowing what to say to him. You didn't want to lie to your father but you didn't want to tell him the truth because it would hurt him.
"Papá, I can't tell you..." you said, getting nervous because you felt like you were letting him down.
"I just hope it's nothing that will disappoint me, Guilietta," he said sternly.
You gave him a weak smile and continued to climb the stairs.
"Oh and sweetheart, do not forget the charity event tonight; everything must go according to plan, and stay far away from those damned O'haras, especially Miguel," he said, his voice dripping with pure venom and hate as he said the name of your love.
—
The day went on without a hitch; you spent most of the day planning the charity event, which was just a money laundering scheme, but what else could you expect from a mafioso? Besides, you were taking money from rich people. So it wasn't all too bad.
That night you wore a tight black dress with a sinful slit going up to your mid-thigh. Miguel had bought that dress, but you never got to show it off. It was still a bummer that Papá wouldn't let you converse with the O'haras. There was no fun in sulking because you couldn't talk to your sweet boy, so you teased him all night. Wearing that beautiful dress that he had bought, the maroon lipstick that stained most of his button-up collars. Your hair was in an updo so he could see your cleavage, collarbone, and back tattoo perfectly.
When everyone had arrived at the event, you descended the stairs. All eyes were on you. The bright grandiose golden chandelier shone above you. You could feel Miguel's gaze piercing through you as you greeted guests. You gave him a quick smirk as you made your way across the room to welcome more people. You looked delectable and Miguel was lovin' it.
Until he wasn't 'lovin' it' and you would occasionally be touchy with many of the guys your father wanted you to marry. Miguel hated the flirtatious looks that you were giving them, the way you would touch their forearms and run your fingers across your collarbone drawing attention to your cleavage.
That was just enough to tick Miguel off completely. He knew what you were doing to him but how could he resist, when it came to you he was a fool.
When you walked up to the cocktail table and there was no one around he took you by the wrist and dragged you to a nearby powder room locking the door behind him.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" you asked, backing up until the counter stopped you. He put his hands on either side of you on the counter trapping you.
"I think you know what I mean," he whispered as he brought his face closer to yours. His scent was intoxicating, you could smell the vodka and cigar in his breath. That scent was enough to make your knees go weak.
"Papá wouldn't let me talk to you, I just wanted to have some fun," you taunted.
"When do you ever obey your father when it comes to me? If you want fun you come to me," he smirked as he brought his face a single centimeter away from yours.
You nodded and draped your hands over his nape. "I'm yours," you said as you pressed your lips against his. He responded immediately to your kiss lifting you on the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist and deepened the kiss that was already dripping with passion.
He pulled away from the kiss and looked into your eyes, getting lost in them. "You know I love you right?" he asked, still lost in your eyes.
"Yes, of course," you smiled and sat up getting a little serious.
"Then you that I'm a fool for you, and you make me do crazy things," he said as he nuzzled his head into your shoulder. He breathed in your scent. You were wearing his favorite perfume too. Fuck. He thought to himself trying to resist ripping your clothes off right then and there.
"What is this about? What are you saying?" you questioned as you looked into his eyes a little panicked because he wasn't fully explaining himself.
"Just watch the news tonight at 10. Come, your guests will start to wonder where you are," he said as he led you out of the room.
The rest of the night went on smoothly. You stayed away from the guys you initially spoke to, you got what you wanted out of flirting with them. You spent the rest of the night admiring each other from afar all up to the moment after he got kicked out because his brothers were drunk and jumping into the infinity pool.
—
After the party was done and your social battery was intensely drained, you unwinded with a shower and some skincare. Afterward, you get into your bed and watch RuPaul's Drag Race with a Ben & Jerry's Half Baked Ice Cream.
Once the clock struck at 10:00 pm, you put on the news just like Miguel had told you to. It was the usual reports about politics until it was interrupted by a breaking news segment. The title read "8 WEALTHY SONS OF CONGLOMERATE FAMILIES MURDERED". When you saw the photos of the men who were killed your jaw dropped.
They were the bachelors you flirted with hours before. Just then you received a text message from Miguel saying "Ti amo[I love you], this is how crazy I am for you." you still couldn't believe your eyes, but what else was expected from Miguel? You were both crazy for each other and would do anything for each other. Except for going public about your relationship and disappointing your families. How could you tell your father that you are in love with the son of your mother's killer? How could Miguel possibly tell his brothers the woman he was seeing was the daughter of his parent's killer? You never do such a thing...
right?
. . .
→ next part
taglist: @dei-drei @starrygetou @decentsoupperson
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Okay but as someone w lupus who is not doing too hot rn, I would drop kick someone into the sun for a good blurb of Bradley taking care of me 🫣
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐮𝐭
𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞
You aren't sleeping very soundly. Try as you might--drawing the curtains closed, putting a pillow over your face, getting under a weighted blanket, playing white noise, turning the fan on high, even putting a few drops of lavender essential oil on your pillow--the deep and all-consuming sleep you crave just isn't coming.
And it isn't just that you can't sleep--it's that you just don't feel good. You're certain you have a low-grade fever, your joints are aching, and you're sluggish.
After trying to be a productive human for a few hours, you decide to just give into the desire to lay down and sleep. Except the closest you come to sleeping is fluttering in and out of awareness with a sudden jolt.
Bradley comes home, lug-sole boots thundering against the entryway tiles, without a care in the world. He tosses his keys in their designated metal bowl with a resounding clang. He's even still crooning some Peter Gabriel song that was playing in the Bronco on his drive home. Needless to say--he seems to be making as much noise as humanly possible, entirely and blissfully unaware of the throb in your temple.
"Baby!" He calls out dramatically, unlacing his shoes and tossing them aside (another bang, bang!). "Where are you? M'gonna explode if I don't kiss you right now!"
Any other day, you'd be elated to hear such a romantic--albeit melodramatic--statement. But right now, your throat is aching and your eyelids are heavy and you're tired in the very marrow in your bones.
He starts for the stairs, still humming loudly along to a song that is just not playing, and calls out your name. You don't have it in you to raise your voice--which is the only way he'd be able to hear you, anyway--so you just wait underneath your pillow and wait for the sound-bomb that is your boyfriend burst through the door.
Burst through he does--letting the door slam against the wall (a habit you are really trying to get him to break seeing as he's put a lock-shaped hole in the wall. He says he just gets too excited and you think it's endearing, but you're also sure that he's getting tired of spackling the same spot every weekend) as he enters the room full of song and cheer.
But then he sees you.
You look just as tired and worn down as you feel; fingers a blue-tint, body covered entirely by the weighted blanket you only break out when he isn't home to lay on top of you, and pillow pressed against your face a tell-tale sign that something isn't right.
"Oh, baby," he whispers softly, immediately hurrying into the bedroom, now mindful of his footfalls. He presses his hands against yours, tutting when he feels how cold your fingers are. "You should've called," he says soberly, stroking the soft skin of your hand with his calloused thumb. "Would've come home, baby."
You groan, shaking your head, unwilling to open your eyes.
"You're government property," you tell him softly, muffled by a mouthful of pillow. "Can't just tell the Navy to give my boyfriend to me for a day."
Even without looking, you know he's grinning. Even as shitty as you feel and you're cracking jokes.
"Don't you know the Navy answers to you, baby?" He chuckles, bending down to press a fleeting kiss to your hand, patting your forearm.
"Hah," you manage dryly.
That's how he knows you really don't feel good--you can't keep riffing with him. His chest is aching just looking down at you. Poor thing, he's thinking.
"Let me tuck you in," he says softly. "Permission to move the pillow?"
You grumble, but shoot him a thumbs up.
It's so bright in the room, even with the curtains closed. You have to blink a few times, squinting up at him. And he's smiling in that soft way, pitying you and loving you all at once. He hates when you're sick more than anything in the world, but boy is it a breath of fresh air just to see that face of yours.
You frown, your cheeks pink.
"Hi," you whisper, voice ragged.
He strokes your hair softly, slyly checking your forehead for a fever. Then he leans down and presses his lips against yours; it's a soft and sweet kiss, one he's been looking forward to all day.
"Hi," he mumbles against your lips. "Y'look beautiful."
You scoff.
"Shut up," you mutter, sighing. "I'm sick."
He kisses you again, nuzzling his nose against yours. He's grinning now.
"And those two things are mutually exclusive?"
You don't have it in you to retort, so you just roll your eyes.
"M'gonna grab a survival kit," he starts, stroking your cheek carefully, noting how pink it is in comparison to the rest of your peaked face. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"
You glare at him--he just can't help himself today, apparently. You have just enough energy to stick your tongue out at him and he walks out of the room chuckling.
He's good at taking care of you--it's because his mom was good at taking care of him when he was sick. She spoiled him and even if he didn't physically feel good, he loved being showered with attention. So he gives you the same treatment. It's not that he likes when you're sick, but he likes to spoil you.
You drift off for the few minutes he's gone and come to as he pads through the door with his arms full. He kneels at your bedside, humming quietly, in full nurse-mode.
"Open," he hums, holding a thermometer to your lips. You comply without a grumble and he pats your cheek. "Should I crush your pills up and hide them in applesauce?" He asks.
You narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head. He has a shit-eating grin spread across his pretty face, chuckling to himself.
You have to admit--he is endearing when he's like this. You know he's only trying to lighten your mood and honestly? It's working. Damn Bradley Bradshaw.
He's humming to himself as he moves to pull the covers up around your feet and slips a pair of fuzzy socks on you. He even leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your socked feet, which would make you gag if it was any other man than Bradley. But that's the thing about Bradley--you were totally and completely in love with him and he returned those feelings tenfold. Hell, he was obsessed with you! There was not even one part on your body he didn't adore, not one state of being that he wasn't enamored with.
He tucks you in with a gentleness only someone as lovely as Bradley could possess. Then he swiftly grabs the thermometer from your lips and reads it with his eyebrows pinched.
"What's the prognosis?" You ask, resting your cheek on your shoulder.
He opens his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Says you're hot," you and Bradley say in tandem, your tone dripping with faux-mockery and his dripping with genuine charm.
"Am I getting predictable?" He asks, popping a bottle of fever reducer and placing two on your tongue, effectively rendering you wordless again. He holds a straw to your lips and you drink as much as you can before collapsing back into the pillows.
"Only sometimes," you say quietly, eyes growing heavier by the second.
You honestly just feel better in his presence--the ache in your skull dulled by his grin, by his careful touch, by that glimmer in his eyes that makes you gooey inside. So when he kisses your forehead again and tells you that he's going to put some soup on, you are not surprised to feel that tell-tale exhaustion flood you. It's one you can't evade; within minutes, you're slumbering under the blanket he tucked around you, lips wet with icy water, feet warmed by socks he bought for you.
"Nurse Bradley reporting for duty! May I offer you a sponge bath--!"
He stops speaking as soon as he sees your slumbering form.
He isn't gone for very long--maybe fifteen minutes--but when he comes through the bedroom door carrying a tray of chicken noddle soup and saltine crackers and finds you finally resting, he's relieved.
He knew you were tired and he knows how difficult it is for you to sleep when he's not home. He sets the tray down on the bedside table as carefully as he can, quickly stripping to his boxers, climbing onto the bed beside you. You rouse only for a moment as he tangles your limbs in his, tucking your head under his chin, slotting his leg between yours.
But he's quick to press soft kisses to the crown of your head, stroking your hair.
"Shh," he whispers. "S'okay. Just couldn't leave you all by yourself in this big ole bed, baby."
You smile through your exhaustion, wrapping your arms around that warm and taut torso, nuzzling your face in his neck. He smells so good; like the nice soap you buy from his shower this morning, like jet fuel, like salt air. It is a scent that entirely overwhelms you with adoration and comfort.
"You liiike me," you mumble, yawning.
He laughs, kissing you again and again, letting himself get lost in your sweet scent.
"More than that," he whispers. "I love you--so much. Just so, so much."
You're slipping away again, mouth parted, face blanched in the infinite warmth of his tanned skin.
"I love you too," you whisper, muffled by his throat. "Nerd."
His heart is so full right now that he's certain it's going to burst--he loves you more and more every single day. It's something that overwhelms him at times, something that wets his eyes, parts his lips. And right now, with your bodies an endless and intricate pile of flushed and goosed skin, he feels it now. His heart lulled to a steady rhythm that he knows is the cadence of your name, his eyelids heavy with something close to sleepiness, his fingers tingling as they comb through your hair.
Bliss. That's what he's feeling as he holds you, as he thinks about reheating your soup when you wake up, as he mentally marks what time you will need another dose of fever-reducer. Total, absolute bliss.
here is my tag list!!
𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!
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oh my god…. prince……. you can’t do this to me. you’re saying next fic has vox getting fucked, focuses on vox’s transness (AH), AND ALSO HES ON THE OFF SEE SAW OF HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH VAL?????? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL MEE?!!?!!????? I THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY COMBUST. and bc another anon asked abt how alastor views the violence in voxval’s relationship, i have Another thought on the matter. as much as alastor looks down on vox, they can be Very similar sometimes. they are both egomaniacs and very prideful. i don’t think vox, without outside interference, would ever ADMIT that the violence he faces is 1) something he truly hates AND 2) out of his control. he can’t admit he hates it, because then why isn’t he stopping it? that would be admitting to not being powerful enough or strong enough. and hello, 50’s toxic masculinity coming through, he CANT be a victim of domestic violence. he’s a powerful, rich, and important man. it all comes down to perceived weakness. so, the solution is to pretend he’s mostly fine with it. sure, he can act disgruntled and upset in the moment, but i don’t think he’d ever let himself take it seriously. because then he has to start drawing lines in the sand, and what happens then? will val look down on him? will he lose val? yeah, he is not risking that over a problem he mostly refuses to acknowledge exists. and as you said, this is all happening in the setting of hell, where ultra violence IS the norm, and vox himself is excessively violent. it’s the most delicious 50 layer cake of fucked up-ness.
RANT ASIDE THO. i have a question. 2. do you ever plan on having vox interact with the hotel crew outside of angel? ANDDDD what would charlie’s reaction be to their friendship/situationship/ kinda love affair. i think she could add SOOOOO much hilarity and Intense Emotions to this series. not that the boys haven’t been doing their part in that so far. charlie just intensifies everything she does, god bless her. -🌓
The "getting fucked" bit and the trans conversation bit are directly related to and relevant to each other, and frankly I'm just very happy to be out here writing the specific flavors of deeply queer shenanigans that I'm writing, and to have people actively enjoy that. It genuinely means a lot to me that I've strayed so goddamn far out of the bounds of good old top/bottom yaoi archetypes that introduced me to fandom and yet have a wildly enthusiastic audience nonetheless. So, that was my long way of saying that you bring me a lot of fucking joy, anon, hahaha.
As for everything you're saying about Vox, power, and masculinity: YOU! points dramatically at you YOU GET IT! YOU GET IT!!!!!! Everyone just read this, this is it, this is the thing. I have no notes to add. There is a reason that the main point he raises the moment he actually says something vulnerable about it (before he immediately cuts himself off) is a complaint that he's an overlord, so why—?
And with regards to your questions: I'm not gonna lie, my actual planning for 666 is usually, like, extremely by the seat of my pants. I plan nothing except, "Oh, shit, had an idea for the next one. Lesgoooo—" and that's been the case for literally every single installment. It's all just been evolving naturally and building on top of itself. So! I can't say that I plan to have Vox interact with the hotel crew or Charlie, but I also will never say that I'm actively opposed to it.
That said, I do think a lot of this fic is kinda structured around hitting specific topics that come up in intimate settings between Vox and Alastor specifically, with occasional tag-ins from Angel Dust, so I don't really know if there's anything in particular I'd like to write that I think would work better in this series if more characters got involved. But, hey! Never say never!
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Magnus Archives Relisten 1, MAG 1
Very excited to begin this project! I will be updating Saturdays and Mondays, so feel free to listen along and let me know what you are thinking. I will be discussing each episode within the larger context of the show, so spoilers ahead!
I am starting with MAG 1, Angler Fish.
Oh, how I missed that cello intro.
Facts: Statement of Nathan Watts, April 22nd, 2012, taking place in Old Fish Market Close, Edinburgh. I want to keep track of statement times and places so that we could get some semblance of a timeline.
Character Notes: I forgot how autobiographical Jon gets in this first episode. He spends the first ten minutes just describing the archive, how he came to work there, and who he is. If he was just attempting to catalogue the stamens, this seems unnecessary. But, as we know, he wasn't exactly qualified to be an archivist.
Jon describes himself as a not believing in the supernatural and the archive as where the "dead end cases" end up. It's suspicious that Elias would hire someone who doesn't believe in the supernatural at all to look into the cases with the least evidence, which foreshadows that Jon wasn't hired because of his research or archival skills.
Another part of this episode that I really love is where Jonny puts the listeners focus in terms of character. At the beginning of the episode, Jon kind of glazes over Tim and Sasha to talk about how much he hates Martin, which in turn makes the listener ignore Tim and Sasha to think about Martin. Jonny really draws your attention to what's important there.
Additionally, at the end of the episode, Jonny brings the focus back to Sasha as he describes all the online research and computer-related work she does. So from the get-go, he was showing us how involved she was with the archive and how committed she was to work.
And of course, it wouldn't be TMA without Jon's complete tonal shift from describing to reading the statement. It's such a stark contrast.
Statement Notes: It's been said before, but the fact that the statement that draws Jon in is called "Angler Fish." Especially after hearing how immediately when he starts reading the statement, his voice changes. He is completely absorbed in it from the moment he starts reading. I know we all make fun of the way Jon acts out the statements, but he just can't stop himself. Once the statements start, he's no longer in control. We hear this in his voice from MAG 1, but don't realize how intense it is until Martin has to shake him out of statements in season 5.
It stuck out to me that Nathan was drunk when he met the thing in the alley. This serves as a reason for Jon to dismiss the statement, but I vaguely remember several statement givers being under the influence, which makes me wonder if entities specifically choose to prey on intoxicated people because they have a lower capacity to reason. Maybe because they're more likely to act based on fear than logic?
Entity Alignment: The entities overlap a lot, especially in this episode, so I'm going to share all the entity vibes I got and hear what others think.
Going on imagery alone, there's definitely something to be said about The Dark in this episode. The fact that actual angler fish live in the darkest section of the ocean and the creature refused to let itself be fully seen really bring that fear into this episode. Also, when Sasha reconstructs the photo one of the missing people took of the creature, Jon says it's on a stairwell. I remember the creature on the stairs episode being pretty Dark-aligned, though I doubt they're related.
But, the fact that Nathan and the listener are afraid of the creature because they can't see it and don't know what it is makes me think of The Stranger, too. Nathan says that, "whatever was asking, it wasn't the thing in the alley well," which really reminds me of "I don't even have a voice box." The creature isn't speaking for itself, an unknown voice is coming from an unknown place and it's asking for a cigarette. Nathan also says that when he told people about what he saw, they didn't believe him, only responding with "pity and concern." This is similar to how people would treat those who remembered the people The Stranger replaced: they were treated like they were acting weird and different, when it was the Not!Person. Also, before Watts realizes the thing in the alley isn't human, he calls it "The Stranger."
Yet, the entity I believe is really aligned with this statement, is The Web. With everything from Jon asking for a cigarette before trying to blow up the world, to his spider lighter, to this being the statement that draws him into the archive and leads to him becoming the Archivist, this episode is so reminiscent of Annabelle Cane and her plot (Can you say reminiscent before something happens? Is it just "miniscent"?). There were two things that really got me thinking this was a Spider ep though.
Number one, when the creature disappears, Nathan describes it, "as if a string had gone taut and pulled it back." This really seems like Annabelle or The Web itself had placed the creature there, let it play its part, and then yanked it off stage when it was done.
The second part being the very last line in the show. Sasha, IT god that she is, reconstructs the image of the creature, and a hand is visible in the darkness. Jon, without an ounce of professional distance or feigned objectivity, says, "I find it oddly hard to shake off the impression that it's beckoning." And just- Oh my god. Jon. It's beckoning him. It's calling to him. It's telling him to keep coming back. Telling him to change. To disappear. To become another mystery. It was all planned from day one. He never had a choice but still made all the wrong ones.
Anyway,
Will be posting about MAG 2 on Monday! Please share your thoughts on this episode, hope you enjoyed reading. Also hope that you have a great day, because you deserve it.
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SAM WINCHESTER HEADCANONS
Sam Winchester is left handed.
He is lactose intolerant, which isn't confirmed but is also my headcanon and I am keeping it because I can.
He enjoys forensics, chemistry, law, english and theater - particularly law and forensics, but is really skilled in english which is mostly canon.
Not a huge fan of tattoos, but still got his along with Dean after Sam got possessed by Meg.
His favorite scent is grass and old books. He just finds it comforting and reminds him back of Stanford, when he and Jess would sit together under a tree, on the grass, reading books. Total silence, but still no time was being wasted.
He can't enjoy being around cats. He just doesn't like them. There isn't really a reason or a trauma behind it. He sees a cat, he keeps his distance if he is given the chance.
Sam feels relatively anxious if he can't understand something. This will sometimes cause him to chew on his nails or even obsess over the problem in question to no end.
The reason his wifi is exceptionally good is because he actually befriended a witch. The deal was an essay in exchange for all wifi bars anytime he needed. This isn't my headcanon but I love it.
He is able to draw really well, but only when he has visions about it.
Sam sleeps mostly laying on his stomach but sometimes feels comfortable sleeping on his right side.
Mostly vegetarian - once or twice he will break the rule but he likes to keep to that diet.
He actively searches hunting lore. He doesn't fully hate hunting itself. He just hates not being given the choice.
This is more canon than not, but if you want to read Sam Winchester's emotions, look at his eyes. What his face won't show, his eyes will immediately show as much as he tries to hide it.
Sam can't stand to talk about himself without talking about other people's problem's first. The moment he tries, he finds himself struggling to get the words out.
He is non-binary bisexual, but really can't care much about the labels.
He will always finish what he starts and avoids making promises he can't keep.
Sam absolutely loves dogs and if he can, he will stop to pet one.
Sam's favorite colors are powder blue, brown, white, black and gray-green and his favorite season is autumn
He seeks control for himself. He needs to be able to feel in control of his life, thoughts and actions, since people are always depriving him of that, which then becomes an issue with the entire Ruby situation (she made him think he was in control).
Sam's playlist is very strange. He'll listen to Bon Jovi, Amanda Palmer, Celine Dion, but would probably enjoy some styles of classic romantic music or baroque on certain days.
He's the type that would listen to christmas songs in June. Especially Frank Sinatra.
He is sometimes able to sense ghosts in his presence - this has been something that he's felt since he was a kid but had nobody to tell (he feared Dean would be upset with him)
He would definitely shamelessly listen to Adele.
Jess taught Sam how to knit, or at least started teaching him.
Sam is actually a decent cook.
Sam's friend group at Stanford was Luis, Jess, Brady, Zach and Rebecca.
They sometimes went over to Zach's and Rebecca's just to play Mario Kart and watch movies all day after their exams.
Their group photos burned down along with Jess so Sam never had the chance to retrieve them.
Sam was actually really short until he turned 17-18. His growth spurt came out of nowhere.
Sam had to wear knee braces during most of his time at Stanford.
Autistic with some slight OCD
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Jack one sentence (smut?)
“You belong to me. You’re mine and I’m yours, got it?”
Warning: Smut, DNI if under 18
You couldn't even remember the reason you started fighting with Jack this evening, your mind clouded by the fullness you were currently feeling in your throbbing pussy as he thrust into you, making sure you felt every inch of his length.
"Oh, fuck." You whispered out, the stimulation from his mouth on your nipple almost too much.
Jack's mind was clouded as well, but instead of being focused on the beautiful body that was currently at his mercy, he couldn't shake the image of your face from a couple hours before, tears streaming down your face as you begged him to commit to you.
"I just want people to know that we're together. I hate that we have to be so secretive all the time." You swallowed, trying to keep your composure, the lump in your throat threatening your airway.
"Baby, you know that I can't. I don't want people to talk about us. It will never stop, we'll never have any privacy, and we'll never be happy." He hung his head; this conversation was giving him a headache.
"I'm not happy now, Jack. In fact, I'm in so much pain over this. I don't know how much more i can take."
At some point during the night the pain had turned into anger and passion, and while you were currently blissed out, minutes away from your orgasm, he knew that deep down he had hurt you. He was afraid of losing you, and was angry with himself for standing in his own way.
He wanted to tell the world you were his girlfriend, that he loved you more than anything, but he was afraid that his career would seep into your relationship, and he wasn't sure any amount of love could withstand.
He studied your face as he continued to snap his hips into you, your hand circling your clit to get you to your climax faster. He slowed down, his chest suddenly tightening. You noticed immediately.
"Jack, what's wrong?'
"Nothing." He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He drove into you again, his strokes shallow and hitting your g-spot just right every time. Your back arched as you felt your core tightening. "Don't stop please. I love you, Jack."
He lowered himself so his arms framed your face, his hands cupping your face as he brought you to your orgasm. "Cum for me, baby. Let go", he whispered, his hot breath on your neck making you shiver. He pressed a hard kiss onto your lips, but all you could do was let out a sharp breath in return, tears brimming in your eyes. You dug your fingernails into his back, the mix of pain and pleasure drawing out his own orgasm, his release warm as it filled you up.
The two of you laid there as you caught your breath, the feelings of your argument immediately flooding the room. "Jack, I'm sorry", you were the first to break the silence.
"Please, you have nothing to apologize for. Can I talk for a second, baby?" Jack turned on his side to look at you. You nodded.
"I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't love you. I love you so much, I can't breathe when you're not around, and I can't imagine my life without you." He pressed a kiss onto your cheek, your tears hitting his lips as he lingered on your skin.
"I'm just scared. I want to do everything to protect you, I don't want anything to happen to you, or to us. I care about you too much. But to think that I've hurt you in anyway, it kills me."
"Jack, I'm scared too, but I don't want fear to rule our relationship. If you don't want to tell people, I'm fine with that." You weren't and you hated that you were lying to him in the moment, but you loved him so much, you'd force yourself to be fine with it.
"No. You belong to me. You’re mine and I’m yours, got it? I want everyone to know." He grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles as you wiped your eyes. Jack pulled you into his body, covering your naked body with the blanket so you could get warm.
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Sending Nudes
SwissxDewdrop fic
So I had this picture in my head of Dew sending a hot nude to Swiss (I've even made a sketch, but I haven't been drawing in years and it looks terrible so I probably won't post it) and I had to write it!
Dewdrop was bored.
And horny.
He was laying on his bed, only in Boxers, and stared at the ceiling. He really wished Swiss was here right now. But he didn't want to get up to look for him.
Also, he thought he said something about a meeting earlier he had to go to.
So probably he was there now anyway.
But maybe he could text anyway?
Dew could use that and tease him a bit.
And he loved to tease Swiss.
So he took out his phone and texted the other ghoul.
Hey Swiss, what r u doing?
It took a few minutes until he got an answer from the Multi ghoul.
In a meeting with Copia and some others right now.
So you're busy?
Obviously
Dewdrop sighed. Okay, so he was right with that.
But it's boring tbh
Was the next text he got from Swiss a few seconds later which made him smile.
Need some encouragement?
Dew smiled at the thought of what he had in mind to do next. And when Swiss sent a simple 'yes' back, he got up with a smile and took off his Boxers.
Then he placed himself on the floor in front of his whole body mirror and took a picture.
He kneeled, his legs spread, but leaned on his hand, which was placed perfectly between his legs, to cover his dick. He had to move a bit around, so it was completely hidden behind his forearm and you couldn't see anything, but in the end, he worked a way out somehow.
His long hair fell over his shoulder, beautifully smooth and untangled,
covering one of his nipples. You could see a bit of the nipple piercing through it, but only if you really concentrated on it, but really just if you focused on it a lot. Thanks to the amazing camera quality on those new phones.
The other nipple was completely exposed and you could even see his nipple ring in all his beauty. A bit of light reflected on it and made the picture as a whole look even more beautiful.
On his lips was a grin, exposing his sharp teeth and he stuck his tongue out between them too, looking straight into the camera while doing so. You could see the teasing look in them even through the camera.
He really liked this picture. And send it to Swiss immediately.
Oh, how much he would love to sit in this meeting room right now, seeing Swiss' reaction. Probably looking at his phone below the table, so nobody notices him doing it. His cheeks get hot and blush. He looks up again, staring at whoever speaks right now, which doesn't make it really inconspicuous that he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do.
Dewdrop imagines him swallowing, trying to hide how hot he finds this picture and that he even looked at it. He lets his eyes travel through the room to make sure nobody noticed his doings.
Dewdrop looks at himself in the mirror another time and smiles complacently. Then he gets up again, but doesn't put his boxers back on and just falls on his back back on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling again, then starts to scroll through his phone until he gets an answer from Swiss.
Dew
Fuck
Could you please warn me next time?
What the heck was your plan with that?
Dammit, I hate you
Dew grins. That's what he wanted to get from him. And he loves it.
Hmm. dunno, but I don't think I'll warn you next time. And I know you don't hate me, love
He texts back, still with a grin on his face.
But since you're not here, I think I have to take care of myself on my own
Again, he has to wait for an answer from the Multi ghoul. This shitty meeting. Why can't he just stare down at his phone the whole time, texting him back and looking at this picture the whole time..? He sighs.
It takes a while again until he gets another message.
Don't you dare to touch yourself without me.
Dew bites his lips and his thoughts revolve around touching himself and sending Swiss another picture of it. But he stops himself from it. He will wait for Swiss. Even though this will be very hard. But he can tease him anyway. He can text him that he doing it and he won't know.
Not sure if I'll be able to do so. Maybe I'll have a solo round before you join
Even though Swiss wasn't there, Dewdrop thought he could hear his grumble through his phone. But he <em>knew</em> Swiss would do it if he could, but he couldn't, because he was in a meeting. And Dewdrop liked the thought. He could tease Swiss as much as he wanted and the poor Multi Ghoul couldn't do a thing. He had to sit there, be silent, behave, and watch Dewdrop sending him those naughty messages.
Don't you dare, you little naughty shit.
I'll be out here soon, and then I'll be in your room within seconds.
Mhh.. I like it more when you take longer and don't come too fast. It's more fun then
Dew, shut up.
Why? Scared you will get caught staring at your phone? Or that you have a boner?
Sad that you can't touch yourself right now, not like me.
But you're not going to touch yourself now, I know that
That confused Dewdrop kinda. What was that supposed to mean now?
Of course, he would wait even if Swiss wouldn't have said that, but what was his thought behind this now?
But before Dewdrop could ask, he got his answer already.
You can make yourself come, but we both know that I can make you come better. And I know how much you prefer having my hands touching you, feeling them all over your body. And especially on your beautiful dick, instead of your own beautiful hands.
Dewdrop swallows and feels his cheeks heating up. He's lucky nobody can see him right now. Probably the color of his face is the same as a tomato. Because Swiss was so damn right, and he hated it. But at the same time, only the thought of Swiss' hands made him get a little hard. Fuck, he can not let him get control now.
But right when he starts tipping he gets another message.
And with my dick inside you, you not only make such beautiful noises, but also come even better and harder.
Dewdrop bites his lip. Only the thought, oh damn.
Thanks for the pictures in my head, now I can do it myself even better
Swiss doesn't have to know his impact on Dewdrop right now. And that he will wait, even if it will take hours for Swiss until he will be here and even if it will be the worst time ever for him.
Oh, since you're talking about pictures...
Dewdrop grins.
Liked the view? You want another one? Can take plenty more if you need.
No, it's fine. This is more than enough already. I'm pretty sure at least one person in this room caught me staring at my phone already anyway. This Picture is forbidden hot and attractive. But that's not my point right now.
What's it then?
I think you like this Picture too. I know you and I'm sure you think it looks hot.
Maybe... So?
You can be sure that you'll look at yourself in that mirror. Exactly in that position, with my dick shoved deep inside you and one of my hands will be around your neck, having you choking for air and letting out choked-off moans because my other hand will be around your dick
Dewdrop lets out a pathetic sound. Swiss won and he can't deny it. He could try to turn this around again, but he knew he was inferior to him, he couldn't win anymore. He had started this with a complete other intention and now Swiss was the one making him get hard and whimper. He hates this damn multi ghoul. Why was he able to do this so easily?
Oh, and Dew?
He bites his lip. Not more, please. It was so hard not to touch himself already. If Swiss is sending him and other text now he can't wait for him anymore. He has to touch himself. No matter how hard he would like to try and not do it. He was so hard already. One more text and he couldn't resist anymore.
I'm standing at your door right now
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hi sci! i think at least once a day i am taken aback by how much of an incredible artist you are. your ability to create and your passion for it is just astounding to me, over the course of a few years your work has become such a pillar of inspiration for me 💘
i've asked you before for drawing tips and i value those so much but i've found myself actually wanting more and more to get into writing fanfiction but i have about a million worries and i'm not entirely sure to start. i definitely smashed out a few so-bad-its-bad obscure anime fanfictions as a kid but i really haven't touched creative writing in eons. I know you've been writing for a good while, but do you have any writing tips you tend to refer to or any advice for begginners? ... and any advice on getting over my internalised cringe culture when i can't open a word document and type out "peter parker" without shrivelling into myself...
anyway! have a great day! i love you very much and i am so excited for the spidercablepool fic to ruin my train of thoughts for the forseeable future :] ❤️
immediate cringe upon the mention of "peter parker" is par for the course, i'm afraid
bless you so much @saeram!! bless you for all your kind words, i... houugh... thank you so, so much. thank you so much for reading the goofy things i put out into the world - i'm so, so glad you're enjoying it!
i don't know if i have a lot in the way of writing advice - i think the only way to overcome the shame of it is just to whisper "i am cringe and i am free" and do it. i think anything you enjoy doing is worth doing - and, you know, if it's not enjoyable you just wouldn't do it. you post your first fanfiction - you get feedback, you find out people hate it when you write in first person. you learn, you come back stronger than ever. (not from personal experience. okay. yes. it's from personal experience.)
(i still like my first person pov fics. shut up.)
maybe my first advice is don't write in first person (people hate that.) (but actually i love it, when it's done well. but i'm freaky kinky.)
i'd say reading definitely helps when it comes to writing, but again, that's me giving good advice that i don't follow (i'm jared, 19.) - i mostly read comics. and i mostly read comics that i don't enjoy. don't be like me. read things that you enjoy - even if you've read it a hundred times before, odds are, it'll inspire.
i did say when people asked me advice on writing dialogue (which is my absolute FAVOURITE thing to write) - watching movies and television with dialogue / characters that you really like honestly really helps - more so than reading, I think, for me. performance is so, so important when i'm writing dialogue. it's not just words, i have to have such a clear picture of how it's being said, ya feel. how the characters are performing it. and so, in that way, it plays out a little bit like a movie in my head, even though there's still a lot of internal monologue in there (the internal monologue i write is often very reliant on visual metaphor too - i'm just - i'm a really visual person, i think.)
all in all i don't think there's any better advice than just DO it. just DO it! and once you've done it once, the second time is easier. and then the next, and then the next. it might help to discuss it with others - do some back-and-forth, or even have proof-readers - (i rarely do, but i also love to overshare all my wips, because i'm a giddy little schoolgirl when i'm knee-deep in my writing.)
if you'd like to spitball ideas or share your writing (particularly in regards to peter parker, my beloved) i'd be happy to help! god speed and good luck, and i hope you'll be putting your beautiful fanfic babies out into the universe for us starving folk to enjoy
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Since y'all are sleeping on my Tetovage masterpost, I'm going to post them all individually with extra tidbits of info and there's nothing you can do about it!!
Last, but not least, Eighteenth is Fairy!
More info under the cut.
Ah, Fairy! Another screaming about 'what pokemon do i choose' and constantly changing it. When I realized Fairy was going to be last, I decided to give her some Legendaries/Mythicals. Magearna had already been a contender from the jump, going back and forth between Fairy and Steel as a choice. Zacian I'd brought up once or twice, but I initially showed reluctance because, if I brought it in, I wanted to bring in Zamazenta, too.
I got over that eventually. Zacian was literally a last minute choice, in the end. I do not regret it. Once again, thank you MMD Pokemon riggers for my life I would not have been able to figure out the dog's damn shapes without you.
For the character designs, I knew what I wanted to start. I wanted a devil & angel motif. The devil/imp theme I had figured out immediately. I could envision it perfectly. The angel one... not so much.
I thought I had it figured out when I thought of Princess Peach and her in Sunshine. I could envision it clearly. Almost like a magical girl, but not quite. Big flowy ribbons in the back, tiny little angel wings, pastel colours, and this sparkly, translucent skirt & sleeves underneath the main dress
I hated it. It didn't turn out how I wanted at all. I didn't do the concepts in order, so I said I'd come back to it later and see if I changed my mind.
Later came, and I had not changed my mind. I still hated it. To google I went, looking up cute fashion ideas when I saw an outfit that hit me like a truck and gave me the immediate inspiration for the final design, which turned out perfectly. I still got to keep the Sunshine Peach inspiration under the jacket.
I would post the inspiration photo here but I can't find it anymore. It was mostly the jacket that inspired me lol. It had big ol pockets that made me think "you could fit a plushie in there--WAIT A MINUTE"
Now, Fairy was optionally going to be the final image. There was one I wanted to draw afterwards, but it was always a maybe, and that was to make something for the Stellar Type, introduced in Scarlet/Violet!
I got the concept art down, but by the time I'd finished lining and colouring all of the other pictures, I was extremely drained, burned out, sick, and absolutely dying of pain. Damn you chronic pain for making my hobby hurt.
Instead of making a new post, here's the concepts, and the sketch for the final illustration for the Stellar type!
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Momo doesn't understand what age regression is at first...
She hears about it through Denki and Sero, who are very involved with the topic. Sero is Denki's (and Shouto's, but no one else besides Sero really knows that) caregiver.
They play video games together and do finger painting sometimes. It is really fun and is a nice way for the both of them to relax after the stresses of UA's hero course.
Denki decides that he wants to include more people with his regression and be able to go into littlespace where ever in the dorms he feels like. So, they start talking to people about it.
Some get it and some don't. Momo falls in the latter category.
"Why can't you play those games without Dino pajamas and a sippy cup?" she asks genuinely.
Denki just shrugs, grin never falling from his lips, "it's just easier to slip and have a good time overall. to not have to worry about every little stress and only focus on.. well, little things."
She nods, but it is clear to both boys that she doesn't understand.
She declines their invitation to see a play date in action, but not because she isn't curious to learn more but because she must do some research first. She hates when she doesn't know something.
Research is what takes up the rest of her evening time and so it is a few days later before she can find Denki alone to ask him more about it. She asks and he answers.
She doesn't ask to be around him while he's little for a little while still, but when she does she brings supplies. She waited until she was completely comfortable with it because she read that having an unsure atmosphere can sometimes throw a little off. So she brings stuff.
They play with Play-Doh together and make multi-colored sandwiches that she had to stop him from eating more than once. Sero says he's about four years old.
"Tanksies, Momm...oh," he says after the materials are all put away and he is laying his head on her shoulder.
The name sounded weird from his garbled speech. As if the last syllable was a mere after thought than intentional.
"What did you just call me?" she asks gently, nudging his head up so that she can meet his eyes.
He pops his thumb in his mouth and stares back at her.
Sero moves over from the other side of the room (he'd been there the whole time to keep a watchful eye on his little guy for Momo's first time with him). He sits on the other side of Denki and gently pulls the boy's thumb from his mouth.
Denki makes an argumentative sound, but Sero is there to hold his hand a shush him. Momo watches this play out while quietly observing.
"Shh, you know you can't suck on your thumb anymore. Not after you hurt yourself..."
Sero's voice takes on a tone that Momo has never heard before when he talks to Denki while he is little; more of a parental talk than she would have ever given him credit for before this moment.
Sero guides Denki to sit closer to him while he relaxes into his new spot on this couch. Denki sucks his thumb when he is anxious, so Sero had told Momo that the best thing to do is hold his hand and cuddle him.
It doesn't work this time.
"Nhnoo," Denki fights back, drawing out the consonant sounds.
"What, why not? You love cuddles," Sero watches Denki with a certain level of exasperated fondness in his eyes.
Honestly, Momo hadn't realized they were this close.
Denki shakes his head and says, "wanna still sit next to Mama." He cuddles back into Momo's side.
Sero's eyebrows shoot up to his forehead and he let's Denki snuggle close to the woman there.
Momo is speechless.
Mama?
Had he meant to say her name? Or was it intentional? She didn't know.
So she asked: "am I Mama, Denks?"
Denki's grin is immediately as he rubs his cheek into her arm and shoulder. "mhmm, yesh... Mama, mama, mama..." he murmurs, voice growing heavier with incoming sleep.
Momo maybe finally understands.
Being called that name makes her feel special. Like, his simple mind chose her to look after him. She was deemed special enough by someone in such a vulnerable position to be called that?
Sero grins at her while watching this all play out on her face while Denki snoozes against her.
Later, once Denki is big again, they ask her if the name is okay and if she'd like to be more involved in the future and she agrees immediately.
♡♡♡
I just love, love, LOVE Momo being her littles' Mama. She'd be such a good one, too! She'd make them all kinds of custom little gear and make sure they had plenty of snackies and didn't burn themselves on their tea. Ugh, I just love her!!
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Know what would be a funny AU? Amnesiac Vlad from before Bitter Reunions.
Disclaimer: yes, I know this isn't how amnesia works. This isn't real-world amnesia, it's trope amnesia.
Vlad gets hit with something like a car in public he couldn't avoid without drawing suspicion. Everyone is shocked he survived, but he's got partial amnesia.
He can remember his name, the year, and most stuff about Dalv Co, but when it comes to his personal life? Nothing. Well, the reunion is coming up (why did he plan this, anyway? Were these people his friends? Did he want to one-up them?), and unfortunately for him, a doctor breaks HIPPA laws for money so everyone knows.
The worst part, though? He's pretty sure he died in the car wreck, because he keeps walking through walls and there's a bunch of ghost vultures that call him 'boss'.
In comes Jack, Maddie, and the kids. Danny, of course, immediately picks up on the ghost thing, figures out pretty quick the dude doesn't know he's dead, and runs interference every time his parents pull out ghost weapons.
That's right. Vlad, Danny's mortal enemy, has pinged the protection obsession, so the dynamic between Danny and Vlad? Completely switched. Vlad is, ironically, the only adult he feels he can trust.
Over time, Vlad starts remembering things: not all at once, or in order, but one day he knows nothing, the next he knows he was oddly fascinated by vampires for the past few years, especially the capes. Why the capes? No clue. A week later, he's remembered how to do shields, so he teaches it to Danny. Wait a minute, he dated like 30 women who all looked like Maddie? That's a little concerning.
Then, Danny can't reach his ghost friend for a good 2 weeks because Vlad suddenly remembers dying. No, not when he took a car to the face. In the hospital, 20 years ago. And all over again, he's pissed off at Jack and Maddie, this time. He died in a portal accident (and he can acknowledge it was an accident), and 20 years later, their son dies in a portal accident.
They didn't notice either time.
Vlad comes to his 'abandon your father and come to ME' plan, but it adds abandoning Maddie and bringing his sister. And it's considerably more tempting because, by this point:
Vlad took him and Jazz away on Christmas so they could actually enjoy the holiday (both Danny & Vlad low key hate it for different reasons, so it was basically a few days of just relaxing)
Vlad has helped him learn how to deal with bullies, something his parents and teachers never cared to do
Any of Vlad's houses are way safer, and he can actually sleep there because there aren't weapons going off randomly
Vlad already knows he's a halfa, and is a halfa too- they're both learning the ropes here. And unlike his parents, he doesn't want to destroy/rip out his ghost half.
Danny and Jazz are really, honestly considering the offer. (Unlike cannon, Vlad has never tried to hurt Jazz in this). That is, until Desiree comes along, and somebody (it would be extra cruel irony if it's Vlad, Danny, or Jazz), wishes Vlad had his memories back.
Suddenly, Vlad is stuck, and his core is messing up, fighting with itself because his obsessions are now conflicting. Kill Jack and marry Maddie? Killing Jack is fine, but how's he going to keep the two teenagers safe from Maddie if he marries her? Love and care for the kids? Or control Danny, and get rid of Jazz as an unnecessary witness?
Up until now, it's been fine. But now that he remembers everything, not just parts and pieces, his past comes to bite him. It turns out Vlad, who always thought of himself before the accident and before gaining his memories as a pretty decent guy is actually pretty evil.
So what does he do? There's heartbreak any way you slice it. Does he try to pretend nothing's changed and force his old memories to the backburner? Turn his back on the changes he's made in his life? Try and release Desiree so she can take these damn memories back? Hunt down CW or anyone else powerful enough to get rid of them? Probably even debates taking a dip in the river Lethe.
Does his core just shatter at the conflict between his obsessions, truly destroying him? (If so- Danny's guilt would be...ouch)
What about Danny and Jazz? Suddenly, the only adult they ever really trusted is completely different. Tough but kind Vlad has been replaced by a cold, cruel monster right in front of their eyes. But sometimes, they can see the Vlad they know peaking through. Do they try to help him?
Are Vlad and Danny inevitably enemies, or is there a way for them to get along?
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