#i never once listened to anything from the golden age

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

I know I may have requested something like 12 days ago buuttt I just love your writing.

I will do ANYTHING for you to make a story of Kokushibo x Fem!Wife!Demon! Reader and it’s the readers birthday so Kokushibo has sex with her. So it’s just birthday sex.

I was listening to the song Birthday Sex by Jeremih when I thought of this.

I also FINALLY remembered to put “demon reader” in this request so, yay.

Birthday sex

Paring: Kokushibou x Fem!wife Demon reader

Synopsis: Your husband has a special birthday gift for you (🤫🤭)

Content: Birthday girl y/n, upper rank y/n, made up demon age for y/n, some romance in the beginning, French kissing, kokushibo's long tongue, tounge down throat, Dom kokushibo, squirting, anal & pussy fingering, finger fucking, anal sex, sexual inducing candles (a hc of mine of Canon knowledge from the manga aka how demons react to rare human blood).

Word count: 2.4k♡

A/n: Went a lil crazy with this kokushibo request 🤭 (yall I love writing smut on the (LEGAL) upper ranks omg)

"Happy birthday, y/n! You're 198 now!" Said Douma cheerfully while on a mission with Douma. He had randomly asked when your birthday was, and you told him without realizing today was the actual day of your birthday. Your birthday was something you didn't bother to care about and decided to leave something like that in your past life as a human.

After your mission with Douma was completed, you began to head home. You had a confused look on your face, wondering why the remembrance of your birthday was the only thing you could remember from your human life. Was there never a special moment on your birthday? Did anyone care? Maybe that's why you didn't care but still had the date remembered.

You decided to forget it once you entered your home. Before you entered, you smelt something amazing inside, and as you opened the door, you saw kokushibo, your husband already there waiting for you. "Happy birthday," kokushibo awkwardly said and handed you a single dark red rose.

Kokushibo wasn't always the romantic type. However, despite his silence and reserved nature, you are his wife, and he took a day like this very seriously. You smiled and hugged kokushibo. Before you could thank him, kokushibo took your hand, leading you to the dining room where there is a romantic human dinner waiting for you.

Your eyes widen, seeing the purple candles lit, two vintage golden cups for you and kokushibo, and overall, just looking at how well this was all put together. You look at kokushibo with a thoughtful yet surprised expression on your face. "Did you do this for me?" You asked and watched your husband nod his head.

"I was aware of your birth date before. However I was just planning to take you on a night walk that you like so much since it's our alone time together." Kokushibou admitted. "Then while I was searching for the blue spider lily, I noticed a human man with a human woman having a picnic. I was planning to eat them when I overheard how he did that for her since it was her birthday and I observed." Kokushibo explains.

"I couldn't eat them since what they were doing took my interest. I didn't plan on learning anything from a human but seeing how the man treated his woman made me think to myself, "maybe my wife would like this" but I did this differently since if we did this outside, other demons would be attracted to our food." Kokushibou said in a firm tone.

Hearing his explanation, you couldn't help but giggle. He made it seem like a mission in a way, but you couldn't help but feel flattered by what he's done for you. "Thank you, darling," you said, having the rose kokushibo gabe you between your fingers and held out your hands out for kokushibo to being his face into your palms. You kissed his forehead and then smirked.

"Wait a minute. So you left those humans alive? Very unlike you kokushibo," you teased him. Kokushibo's six eyes look away from you and have a slight embarrassed expression on his face. "I simply wanted to learn. Let's eat the food I've prepared before it goes to waste," he said and then gave you a passionate kiss.

You and kokushibo had a nice dinner. It was romantic. It was nice, and even after finishing the food, kokushibo decided to have you on his lap facing him while you talked about the mission you had with Douma. One thing your husband loved was hearing you speak and just listening to you. "We should head for bed soon. It's already 3am." You wrapped your arms around kokushibo and pressed your nose gently on his.

"I've already closed all the certains in the house. We can stay up until the sun rises," kokushibo said and grabbed your tighs. Kokushibo got up while holding you up as he took you to the bedroom you shared with him. "Kokushibo..." You whispered his name, resting your chin on his shoulder. "You don't think I couldn't feel how you are right now when you first came home?" He said.

A Male demon is bound to feel when a female demon is in heat, especially during a relationship. You had the intention of it, but sitting on kokushibo's lap made you excited, even more excited now that you could feel his sexual arousal as well. "I want you," you whispered in his ear, biting it softly as you felt kokushibo put you on the bed.

You noticed that rose peddles were spread on the bed, as well as candlelight brighting up the dark room. The smell of the candles smelled and felt similar. It's almost like a rare human blood you and kokushibo had before that caused you both to be more relaxed, not caring of your surroundings while lusting for each other. You felt the same feeling again, and you couldn't keep your hands off kokushibo.

Frist touching his face, sliding your fingers down his soft lips and his chest. You felt his muscles underneath his clothing, and you couldn't hold yourself back. You needed him. "You planned for this, didn't you kokushibo don't tell me you watched those humans fuck to get this idea?" You chuckled while undoing the front of his kimono. Kokushibo got his kimono off and pushed it off the bed.

"Human or not, I wouldn't dare look at another woman's body just to get an idea on how to fuck you right" kokushibo low, husky voice whispered against your ear as he kissed your cheek, then your jawline and then your neck. Your mouth opened slightly, letting out a soft gasp from his soft slips, kissing your neck, and his hands undoing your kimono.

You slide your arms out of your clothing and help kokushibo get it off and tosses it off the bed. Neither of you wore anything underneath, so it made things much easier for you both, especially kokushibo. His large hands slide up your stomach, feeling your soft skin on his palms until they reach your tits. Kokushibo moaned softly against your neck at the feeling and began to massage your tits in his hand.

Your back arched slightly, your head tilted back as you felt kokushibo's fingers twist and pull on your nipples while licking your neck. "Just like that," you told kokushibo, having your hands on his wrists as he continued to tease your nipples and neck. Kokushibo opened a pair of his eyes to see your thighs shut together while rubbing against each other.

He didn't want to keep teasing up for too long since he knew just how needy you get for him, and on a day like this, he didn't want you to forget this birthday. "Open up for me, love." Kokushibou said, his heavy breaths hitting your neck as his hand slides between your thighs to get in between. You spread your thighs apart, giving Kokushibou more access to yourself and you whimper at the touch his fingers make to your pussy.

"Good girl." He said, rubbing his thick fingers in circles on your moist clit. Kokushibo couldn't help the faint blush from showing on his cheeks as he watches you moan and react to his touch as he continues to rub your clit before sliding his fingers between your wet folds. "Is it the candle scent having you this turn on? Or is it just my touch" he asked as he slides two of his fingers inside your pussy easily.

"B-Both, oh fuck" you answered with your expression filled with desire and need. "Mmm" kokushibo hummed in approval with your answer and kept his eyes on you while he continued to finger you, thrusting his two middle fingers in deeper and loving the sounds of your moans and whines becoming louder. "You're getting so wet. What a mess your making on my fingers.." he said.

"Kokushibo.." You whined, a bit embarrassed at his comment. "It's even leaking down here.." he said and used his index finger to smear your gooey, wet arousal around your asshole. Kokushibo used his free hand to hold onto the back of your thigh to keep your legs from shutting close when you squealed softly.

"Don't be so shy, y/n. You loved it so much the last time I fucked you here. Can I fuck your ass again? Please?" Kokushibou asked. You felt your heart skip a beat at his. "Please." He sounded so needy at the thought, and you couldn't help your walls from clenching down on kokushibo's fingers when he asked. This caused kokushibo to now have a lustful smirk on his face.

"Is that what you want too? You're pussy won't let my fingers go when I asked... fuck.." kokushibo curled his fingers inside, poking at your g-spot. Your back arched, and you nod quickly. "I want that so bad, kokushibo," you said and gripped onto the sheets once you felt his index finger push slowly inside your other hole.

Kokushibo wasted no time. He got excited and watched how your mouth hung open from just having both your holes fingered. "That's it, relax for me. You're taking my fingers so good," he said, angling his hand to make sure his fingers thrust in and out of your holes properly. "K-Kokushibo, I want a kiss. Please~" you begged, cupping his cheeks again and bringing his face closer to yours.

Kokushibo felt drawn to your lips when you pulled him closer and placed his lips on yours. He felt your soft lips against his, your mouths opening slightly in between to take in a few breaths before kokushibo's tounge made it to yours. It was a heated French kiss, and your fangs accidentally brushed on kokushibo's bottom lip, causing slight bleeding.

You can't say it was on purpose, but seeing his blood, you just had to have a taste. You moaned in response to his taste. Once your tounge licked his blood from his lips, it healed within seconds, and Kokushibo began to kiss you roughly. You moaned in the kiss as Kokushibo switched his finger movements to have two fingers in your pussy and two in your ass.

Kokushibo then deepened the kiss by using his demonic powers to extend the length of his tongue to go down your throat. Your eyes slightly roll with your eyelids flickering at his long tongue down your throat while gently massaging its inside. The feeling was very new. It felt like kokushibo was choking you while in a kissing you, yet it felt like your mouth was stuffed like his cock was inside your throat.

You weren't too sure how to describe the feeling, but you couldn't deny how it turned you on even more. You tried breathing through your nose as much as you could, you felt the water welling up in your eyes as his fingers kept hitting just the right spots and just as you felt your orgasm wash over you, kokushibo pulled his tounge out of your throat and you gasped, letting out a shaking moan.

Your thighs tremble as you cum on his fingers as your hole clenching. "Apologies.. I got too excited," kokushibo said through heavy breaths and revered his tongue back to normal. Kokushibo sat up and pushed your leg back to your chest, making your thigh squish down on your tit and grabbed your hand. "Hold it," he said, and your hand held your leg back.

Kokushibo pressed his tip on your hole and pushed it in. "Oh, kokushibo~" you moaned, trying to relax yourself but your walls so eager to clench down on his big cock. "Easy love. That's it, let me in" kokushibo said, his voice husky as he grabs his thick cock to help push it's way inside, while having his other hand grab onto your hip.

You let out a high-pitched moan as kokushibo made it balls deep inside your hole. "Don't hold your voice back. Let me- ngh, hear your pretty moans," kokushibo said, a sexual sigh mid sentence as he began to thrust his hips at a steady pace. Your tits kept jumping from kokushibo's thrusts and your pussy clenching on nothing while only your ass is being stuffed full.

You gave kokushibo a desperate look, wanting to speak through your loud moans, but kokushibo already knew what you wanted. "I know love, I know" he said, bring his hand from your hip to bringing three of his fingers to your pussy and putting three of them at once inside. Your brows raised as you mewl out from both your holes being fucked like this.

You felt the pleasure, the tingling through out your body, ready to cum as your husband fucks you. "Listen to those moans... it's just your about to cum already" kokushibo said, now slamming his hips, fucking you faster and harder. Your moans grew Louder, you gasped as you cum on his fingers and your hole cle clenching down on kokushibo's cock.

"Kokushibo~" you let out a long whine of his name as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, knowing just how sensitive you are now. "You look so pretty. Even after cumming on my cock your still taking it like the good girl you are, My good girl." Kokushibou curled his three fingers inside your cunt as his thrusts became harder and feeling him deeper.

"I know you're going to cum again" he said, through heavy breaths and his deep moans becoming Louder. "I know you want to love, go on. Make a mess on me. It's your day, all about you," kokushibo said. "Yes, yes yes, yes-" your mouth hung open as your whole body jerks forward from his hard thrusts and feeling the right spots being hit repeatedly.

Your eyes roll back, and shutting tight as your hands grip onto the bed sheets tightly as you let out a screaming moan. "I'm cumming!" You said, "Me too, oh fuck-" kokushibo's mouth opened, his fangs showing as he moaned, made a final thrust and came inside your ass.

He watched your tears run down the sides of your eyes and drool leak down the side of your mouth. His eyes gazed down to see clear liquid gush out from your pussy and how your thighs couldn't help but desperately cling to him. Kokushibo leaned down to hug your trembling body as you whimper from your intense orgasm.

Your arms wrapped around kokushibo, embracing him in your arms and catching your breath. "You did so good," kokushibo said as the both of you embraced each other for a little longer. After a few minutes, you calmed down from your orgasm and eventually let go of kokushibo. He let go of you as well and slowly pulled his cock out of your hole.

Kokushibo felt satisfied seeing his cum leaking out and the slight wet puddle beneath your ass on the sheets from your squirting. Kokushibo continued to hover over you and kiss your lips. When he pulled away, you smiled. "Thank you~" you said softly and gave your husband a kiss back.

"Happy birthday~"

#demon slayer smut #kny smut #kokushibo smut #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo

[testure-1988]

#krush groove #this is pretty much the case with anyone who hates rap/hip hop #...I hated it cause I only heard the stuff on the radio and had the false impression it all sounded like Lil Jon #and Chamillionaire #i never once listened to anything from the golden age #and then Public Enemy & Nujabes both opened my eyes to how great hip hop can be

[lovebugism]

Ok but what about Eddie dating a reader who snores and the gang is like wtf but he finds it cute.

ty for requesting anon! this is dedicated to everyone who gets sleepy at 5pm like i do hahah — eddie's girlfriend falls asleep during movie night and it's a big deal in the sweetest way (sleepy gf!reader, established relationship, 1.4k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

A masked serial killer slaughters a group of pretty teenage girls. Their screams are high-pitched and painfully artificial. The murderer’s chainsaw is way too loud and far too dramatic a weapon. The bright red blood splatters across the baby pink bedroom in several obnoxiously vivid splotches. 

Eddie Munson has never been more grateful to be alive in the golden age of slasher films — the absolute peak of godawful cinema.

He turns to the pretty little thing dozing on his shoulder and grins quietly to himself. 

You’re the purest essence of beauty in all forms, but especially compared to the barbaric horror flashing across the television screen across the room. In the darkness, the neon glow paints you in varying shades of blue, green, and dark red. 

You’re so pretty it hurts.

Eddie didn’t think he could love anything more than dumb slasher movies. Not until he met you, anyway.

“Tired?” he whispers to you when your lashes flutter across the apples of your cheeks.

It’s hardly seven o’clock — the sun has just barely set over the horizon — and more than anything, the tiny trailer is filled with fake screams and faker blood. Most people would be too horrified to be so drowsy. Not you, though.

Everyone’s always admired your relationship with sleep, but maybe just a little extra now.

Your features are blurry with the longing of slumber. They scrunch in refusal when you shake your head, cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of Eddie’s thrifted tee. “No,” you hum with a softness that says otherwise. “‘M just cozy…”

Everyone knows what that’s code for.

All the gang was over for movie night — some more begrudgingly than others (Steve, namely). The brunette boy shares a side eye with Robin on the other side of the couch before both of them turn to look at you. 

Lucas sits on the floor and stuffs his face with popcorn, which he almost chokes on when he laughs. Max giggles at the boy in response from where she’s sandwiched between him and Dustin.

Each of them can practically count down the seconds until you’re fully asleep.

You inhale once — deeply, sharply. The curly-haired boy turns his wrist to check his watch. 

“7 p.m…” Dustin observes with raised brows. He nods to himself like he’s impressed. “That’s gotta be some kinda record, right?”

“I’m pretty sure she was out by six when we were at Steve’s yesterday,” Robin tells him as she leans over Lucas’ shoulder for the popcorn bowl he’s holding hostage.

“Full on snoring by six-thirty,” Steve concurs through a mouthful of candy. “And her legs were on my lap, too, so I couldn’t move for, like, two hours.”

“What about last movie night?” Max questions with pinched brows. “I’m pretty sure she was asleep before it even started.”

Lucas shakes his head. “She was just napping, right? I’m pretty sure she woke up, like, halfway through.”

Dustin nods — the official connoisseur of you and all your sleepiness. You had been asleep by the time Steve turned The Outsiders on, but your internalized love for Dallas Winston had woken you part of the way through. 

“It had to be scrubbed from the records,” the boy explains like it’s something a whole lot more official than you just being tired. “It only counts if she stays asleep.”

“What if her eyes are closed, and she’s using your arm as a pillow, and you don’t have any feeling left in your fingers?” Robin questions with narrowed eyes, recounting the events from the last movie night in question. “What about that?”

“Still doesn’t count,” Dustin shakes his head with a feigned sympathy.

Eddie listens to them with a distant smile on his face. They’re not making fun of you exactly, just noticing all your little idiosyncrasies that he loves so much. It’s what makes you you — the quiet, sleepy girl that’s all but the glue of the group. 

If you’re somewhere else when everyone’s all hanging out together, and not snoozing on someone’s shoulder, something just doesn’t feel right.

“Isn’t she the fuckin’ cutest?” the boy muses amidst the light-hearted banter, the horror movie long forgotten. 

His bright smile and twinkling eyes are met with a group of deadpanned stares. 

It isn’t because you aren’t cute, because you are. Why else would Robin and Steve let you use them as pillows even after their appendages have long gone numb? You’re like a cat sleeping on their stomach — it’s too much of an honor to wake you. 

Their dumbfounded gapes are more so a result of Eddie’s adoration for you. Because you’re you, and Eddie’s… Eddie. 

You’re polar opposites. 

You’re quiet and sweet and gentle, and Eddie’s never been any of those things once in his life. 

You’ve brought out a softer side of him — one that none of them thought a brash metalhead like him could ever have. He talks to you far sweeter and far more gently than he’d ever speak to the rest of them. Mostly because he knows you get spooked too easily and that you always wince whenever people yell. And his PDA is an innocent kind, full of held hands and forehead kisses and boops to the tip of your nose. 

Eddie Munson is so soft for you that he lets you drool on his shoulder and unknowingly steal all the covers from him when you fall asleep during movie night. 

He’s so far gone for you that he’ll let you drag him to bed when most people his age are heading out to party for the night — just so you can drool on him and take all the covers from him in his bedroom, where you can sleep more comfortably than on the couch.

It’s all so sweet, it’s downright disgusting.

“It’s gross how in love the two of you are,” Steve monotones, the only one brave enough to say it out loud even though they’re all thinking it.

“I know,” Eddie affirms with a wide grin. “It’s amazing, huh?”

They all grumble under their breaths about it, obviously not as mushy with adoration as he is. 

It isn’t his fault they’re miserable because they don’t have their own soulmate who gets tired at 5 p.m. and snoozes on their shoulder accordingly. They’d be a lot less crabby if they had someone like you to gush about. 

Not you, though. ‘Cause you’re his and everything. But someone just like you, maybe.

Everyone dissipates when the credits of the movie start to roll — either to get more food, or use the bathroom, or stretch their aching limbs. 

Eddie stays unmoving. He doesn’t want to wake you up.

You begin to rouse on his shoulder, shifting as you wake with a deep inhale-exhale. Your eyes flutter slowly open, and through the haze of sleep, you notice the empty living room and the scrolling names on the television screen.

“’S the movie over?” you question, slurred with the heaviness of slumber.

Eddie nods lazily against the couch. 

He’s about as tired as you are now, with his legs cocked up on the coffee table and his head lolled back against the cushions. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. You didn’t really miss anything,” he assures with a crooked smile.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep…” you murmur, like you’re embarrassed to have slept so soundly.

“I know,” the boy hums softly to you. “’S okay…”

Your temple rests against his shoulder once more. “Wake me up before you start the next movie?” you ask when Eddie presses a lingering kiss to your hair. Your eyes are already fluttered shut again.

“Sure,” he answers, despite lacking any real intention to wake you. 

He’d much rather let you sleep. He knows you need it. He doesn’t mind that you get tired before the sun has set, even though he knows how much you hate it. He couldn’t love it more, personally.

So, he lets you fall back asleep on his shoulder and tries to ignore how much it makes his heart swell. His ribcage shakes with the intensity of how much he loves you — how privileged he feels that you trust him enough to drool on his shoulder and not be embarrassed about any of it. You know he loves you too much for any of that.

“She still asleep?” Steve questions when the gang settles back in the living room. He rattles M&Ms in his palms before chucking a handful into his mouth. When Eddie nods, the boy snorts. “I’m glad it’s your arm falling asleep this time and not mine.”

Eddie’s glad for it, too.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

[sleepingpillscosmos]

I saw your jjk with golden retriever s/o, but what about a significant that has black cat energy? Feel free to ignore this, I hope you have a good day, night, or whatever :)

JJK WITH A LOVE INTEREST WITH BLACK CAT PERSONALITY

characters: megumi fushiguro, toge inumaki, yūta okkotsu, yūji itadori.

wc: about 150 each.

requested: yes, by anon.

a/n: kind of got carried away with megumi lol. hope you all will enjoy!

➪ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

Since you both have the same personality, you didn't really interacted with each other out of classes and mission. This lasted until Yūji and Nobara arrived at Jujutsu Tech. They practically forced you two to hang out with them, and it always finished with those two bickering with each other and you and Megumi pretending not to know them. You two talked outside school for the first time when Nobara dragged Yūji into a shop with her and you remained alone with Megumi outside. They were taking ages and, since both of your phones were practically dead, you started to talk to pass the time. It was really awkward at first, as the both of you aren't exactly the talkative type. But as the time passed it became more and more easier, and you both were surprised to find out that you two had a lot in common. You two started to hang out alone in either his or your dorm, not really doing something together, just enjoying the presence of the other. It was like this since then. You use your dates as a pause from all the noise of your classmates and your teacher. He likes that you really understand each other because he isn't really good with words, as are you, and this allows him to be himself without worrying about being misunderstood.

➪ TOGE INUMAKI

You're the one who understands him better than anyone. Since you're an observer it took you a little time to comprehend him when he talked. You helped Maki and Panda to notice his micro expressions when he talked so that they could learn his vocabulary, which isn't really large. You helped Yūta too when he arrived at Jujutsu tech, and this allowed Toge to find one of his best friends. Toge really likes your quietness because he feels like he is not the only one who's silent most of the time, even if you have two totally different reasons and even if he's actually more of a talker than you. He loves when you two hang out alone, because when he talks he knows that you understand everything he's saying, and he can feel like a normal person and have a conversation with you without someone asking the others what he meant.

➪ YŪTA OKKOTSU

At first he thought you hated him because you were really silent and hardly talked to him. He caught you observing him more than once, and it really scared him. He was probably more scared of you than of Maki, because at least he knew what Maki thought of him, while you never expressed your own opinions on him. Then he understood, with the help of Panda, that you actually didn't plan to kill him or anything, it was just how you are. He loves hanging out with you because, as you both are really silent and calm, he doesn't feel the pressure of making conversation.

➪ YŪJI ITADORI

He tried so hard to be your friend since the moment he met you due to his friendly and extroverted personality. For the first few weeks your conversations were mainly started and led by him, with you nodding or responding with single words or very short sentences. It didn't change much since then, but neither of you mind it. Even if you seem disinterested, he knows that you're listening carefully to what he's saying, because you remember even the stupidest things about him. He really likes the dynamic between you two because you're never annoyed when he starts to ramble and talk about nonsense topics, and you never stop him too, so he feels really appreciated because he knows too that he can be a bit too much sometimes.

#megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #toge inumaki #inumaki toge #yuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuta #yuji itadori #itadori yuji #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #toge inumaki x reader #inumaki toge x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuji itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #toge x reader #inumaki x reader #yuta x reader #okkotsu x reader #yuji x reader #itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjkwritingss

[togenabi]

the language of flowers

gojo satoru x reader (royalty au)

♡—All your life, you have been training for the role of Empress... But nothing could have prepared you to be Satoru's wife.

word count♡— 4.7k (I came back swinging y'all)

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— arranged marriage, romance, crown prince (maybe ooc) gojo, flowers, no use of y/n, afab!reader, ur a princess we're all princesses, minor chara oc's, mentions of my other au's, reader's father is a jerk, reader is tough but falls hard, not fully proofread

author's note♡— this took a while! september was ridiculously busy for me but I did my best with this to compensate! this is also very self indulgent, but I hope you enjoy it! xoxo, belle

As a child, you found out of your engagement to the Crown Prince by accident.

On a chilly winter's evening, you had been chasing the Royal Secretary's cat around the palace. Your father, the King, would frown upon you playing games at this hour. You should be writing essays, learning dance or banquet etiquette.

But all that can wait, you think. You've just spotted the end of a fluffy tail dart around the next corner.

When you catch up to it, the orange tabby is curiously peering into a room—whose grand double doors are slightly ajar. Eyes widening, you quicken your steps but make sure to minimize any sound. The last thing you needed was to be spotted skirting your duties right in front of the King's study.

You let out a huff of relief once you've gently picked up the cat, your arms hugging it to your chest.

Just as you're about to sneak away, however, you hear your name.

From the gap in the door, streams of golden light pour out; contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. The silhouettes of your father and his Secretary leave shadowed patterns on the floor.

You listen, as these silhouettes plan your future without you.

“Ha!” The King bellows. “My daughter. Empress. I never thought I'd see the day.”

Your heart stutters. What?

“When will you inform her, Your Majesty?”

The shadow on the painted tiles waves a hand dismissively as your father does.

“I'll leave that to you, Montgomery. Tell her that she should be honored.”

Heavy footsteps sound as he paces. “It was concerning to have a daughter as a firstborn. I knew she couldn't be made to rule what I've built, but I'll finally have a steady pawn in The Empire once she's sent away.”

Pain shoots into you. Your eyes begin to sting. You had always known your brother was the favorite despite all the hard work you've put in, but to be spoken of as a pawn... Could it be that you have not worked hard enough?

You suddenly remember where you are. Remember how slacking off brought you here. Heartbroken, you hug the cat tighter.

The words your father speak as you walk away deepens the dagger in your chest.

“Do not settle for anything less than perfect for her coursework. She's to be Empress, after all.”

On that chilly winter's evening, your heart froze over like the snow-covered branches looming outside.

...

Several years later.

The carriage goes over a bump in the road, but you do not show discomfort or act without grace. Your expression is controlled and your posture is correct as you balance yourself.

Across from you, Secretary Mont holds a newspaper up, the front page faces you as he reads. Large bold letters take up the entire upper half of the paper:

‘CITIZENS QUESTION IF EMPRESS-TO-BE IS WORTHY OF THE CROWN PRINCE’

You scoff. It makes Mont meet your gaze over the paper before flipping it; he frowns disapprovingly at the front-most article.

“Do not mind them, Your Highness.” He folds the paper and sets it aside—as if it would help prove his point. “The people are not used to your presence yet, but they will be. They will see how you are the perfect choice for Empress.”

The Princess is power hungry, someone who was interviewed had said. You wanted the Empire for yourself, apparently.

Jealous. Vain. Possessive. Dramatic.

Shifting your gaze to the window, you contemplate what you had done to garner such a negative image. Could you have done anything differently?

Your father's face appears in your mind's eye. That same ever-present scowl on his face as he says you should do better. You should be grateful. You should be nothing less than what you've been preparing all these years for. Everything must be perfect.

The Imperial Palace comes into view. It stands high and grand, shining under the bright midday sun. The cloudless blue sky above it makes the scene picturesque.

After the wedding in four months, it is to be your new home.

The Imperial Princess, your betrothed's younger sister, greets you when you arrive. You curtsy to each other, and she surprises you by reaching out to take your hands in hers. She gives them a firm yet friendly squeeze.

“I'm pleased to welcome you, my sister-to-be.” She beams, and you return the look with your own small, composed smile.

“I am honored to be here. Thank you for taking the time to receive me personally.” You gently lower your hands, letting her go.

She leads you inside, passing lines of palace staff as you enter.

“Congratulations on your own engagement, by the way.” You say honestly. After assessing her for a moment, you carefully remark, “I hear you and Prince Toge are quite happy.”

“We are.” She nods, smile glowing even more at the mention of her beloved. “Please allow me to say that I hope you and my brother find your own happiness, despite the ‘political arrangement’ of it all.”

“I thank you for your well-wishes.”

“Would you like an escort to your chambers?” The Princess offers once you reach a grand curving staircase.

“If you have other duties, I will not keep you.” You give her a bow, the ends of your dress brushing the polished marble flooring.

“Very well.” She nods. “A servant will inform you when dinner is ready.”

Gathering your skirt, you make your way up the steps to the east wing, where the guest chambers are.

Your eyes find the path to the west wing, where the royal families' rooms can be found. Soon enough, you would be heading there instead of east. Hopefully, the Prince will be amicable to live with.

The chambers reserved for you are exactly how you remember them. It's spotless and feels homey despite you only visiting a few times a year.

This is the only place you can be truly alone. Your father, try as he might, has no power here.

You step towards the balcony, opening the glass doors that lead outside. The wind caresses your skin like a soft kiss to your cheek, and you take a deep breath to savor it.

Four months.

That's all you have left. Four months of freedom here.

Another breeze passes. It carries with it a tiny dandelion wisp. Catching it almost feels like holding onto air, and yet it is there between your fingers. Small and weighing nothing, but there nonetheless.

For such a small thing, it strengthens your resolve.

You're not here for freedom. You're here to be Empress. And that's all that matters. You will not let anything get under your skin and interfere with your responsibilities.

...

So you said, only to find yourself in a very unexpected situation.

Dinner was uneventful, your only gripe was that your betrothed was not present. You had hoped to show everyone that you got along well... Even if you've only really spoken a handful of times.

However, once you returned to your chambers, you spot the balcony door open once more. Beyond it, looking out at the view of the city, was the Crown Prince himself.

You try not to let your unpreparedness get to you. Bowing respectfully, you greet him. “Good evening, Your Highness. May I ask what brings you here?”

The Prince turns to you, crossing one ankle over the other as he casually leans on the balcony.

“There you are.” Satoru says, his head tilting as he observes you.

You eye him warily, trying to decipher his intentions. If he wanted to see you, he could have simply shown up to dinner. “What are you doing?”

He steps forward. You step back. “Is it a crime to want time alone with my—”

Sighing, you should have expected him to want more time with the future—

“—wife?”

The word knocks the wind out of you.

Of all the names you have been called, ‘wife’ is a new addition to the list.

You are your parents' daughter, your country's princess, and are to be the Empire's most powerful woman.

And yet, to one person... to Satoru, you are to be his wife.

It's almost strange to think about. Your earliest memory of your betrothed is back when he was small and scrawny. It was difficult to take him seriously back then.

Now, something has changed in him. Or it could also be that he's always been like this, and this is a side to him he doesn't show to others that often.

Satoru watches you process the word, seeming to have something to say, but decides against it. You half expected him to tease you for being flabbergasted, but he patiently waits for you to speak first.

“Why are you here at this hour?”

He grins, eyes bringing shame to those distant stars hanging in the sky behind him.

“I didn't want our first meeting in ages to have so many spectators." Satoru explains. “If I had shown up earlier, the scribes would have taken note of how many times I blinked or how fast I chewed."

His jesting does not put you at ease at all. “I have a feeling you have something to say that should not be recorded or overheard.”

“That's true. However,” Satoru says pointedly, “The hour is far too late for all that I wish to say, so I will simply bid you goodnight with this...”

Out of nowhere, he pulls out a red flower with curling petals.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the flower's stem. Satoru watches you back, smiling softly. He's backing away before you can thank him, but he doesn't look like he minds. He seems to be happy you didn't reject it.

“Goodnight, my dear.” He bows, and makes his exit.

...Through the balcony. Again.

You step out and try to find where he disappeared to, but he's gone.

The moonlight out here allows you to get a better look at the flower. How curious. Usually, people in the Empire give roses, don't they?

The red carnation twirls between your fingers, and you think of how much more grand and tangible it is compared to the dandelion wisp that found you before dinner.

...

Carnations mean many different things, according to this book on the language of flowers you picked up. It all depends on the color.

Pink carnations symbolize fondness and remembrance. Some also consider it to mean not being able to forget someone.

White carnations mean purity, good luck, and new beginnings. It's a common way of wishing someone safe travels.

Yellow carnations have varying meanings. Sometimes, they are used for apologies. But most often they are given to express disdain, symbolizing a hopeless state of mind. You stare at the illustration next to the passage. The yellow watercolor is so bright and vibrant, it makes you wonder what it did to deserve such sad connotations.

Setting the book down for a moment, you rest your eyes by scanning the library. Countless shelves with even more countless books. A golden candlestick here. A priceless painting there. A stack of yesterday's newspaper lying a few tables away.

Something unpleasant settles in your chest. You ignore it and resume reading.

Naturally, as is the case for most red flowers, the red carnation means love. True, passionate love and affection.

You shut the book softly, tracing the embossed petals on the cover while thinking of the red carnation sitting on your bedside table.

Things could have gone worse, you suppose. At least Satoru didn't give you a striped carnation, which has no other meaning than rejection.

Secretary Mont enters the library before you could dwell more on that thought. He's arrived with several palace staff for additional wedding plans.

“Your Highness,” Only Mont greets you, but they all bow in unison.

You nod, and gesture to the table. “Be seated. Let's begin with the urgent concerns first.”

Apparently, the most urgent problem was that Satoru had not approved any of the table dressing color schemes. When you review the options, you think you can assume why. There can only be so many shades of white and cream and pearl.

“What shall we do, Your Highness?” One of the butlers ask.

“Give me a few samples, I'll talk to the Crown Prince myself.”

You almost regret saying that, because once you did, several staff began tripping over themselves, requesting you bring up other preparations with Satoru.

Secretary Mont asks if he should schedule an appointment with your betrothed, but you decline. Something tells you that he will show up again tonight.

And so, here you were after dinner in your chambers. A box of wedding planning materials rests next to you on the bed. You left the balcony doors open this time, and he shows up just as you predicted.

“Aw, were you expecting me?” He's smiling at you as he approaches, but it falters once he sees the box.

He lets out a loud breath before settling on your bed too, the box sits between you. “Alright, let's do this.”

“Start with these.” You hand him some fabric swatches, he looks at them in disdain.

“Pearl, then.” He says, barely even looking through all the options.

“Don't decide hastily.” You can't help but reprimand. “It's not just the color you have to consider, but the material as well.”

Satoru blinks, but presses his fingers to feel the texture of the fabric at your suggestion. “Is pearl not good then?”

“It's pretty, but it's too shiny.” You explain. “The sheen doesn't make it soft or comfortable to use.”

“Ah.” He breathes out, understanding what you mean.

You tell yourself your heart doesn't beat louder when he picks the one you had your eye on. Satoru holds the sample fabric up, the label attached reads ‘Snow’.

A clean, classic sort of white. Soft to the touch, almost fluffy. You don't have to tell him that you agree, he can already guess from the way you glance at him.

He doesn't need to know that your eyes strayed to his hair. Soft. Fluffy.

Clearing your throat, you change the subject by bringing out some tableware samples. “Shall we discuss these, next?”

An hour and thirty kinds of invitation cards later, a short break is due. You're writing down your decisions when Satoru calls your name.

You've moved to your desk by now, since your bed has become some sort of wedding moodboard. Something clinking together reaches your ears, and you turn to find that Satoru had tea brought up. He pours you a cup and carefully hands it to you.

“Thank you.” You respond gratefully, taking a sip before turning back to the lists in front of you.

“Aren't you tired?” Satoru asks, reading your writing over your shoulder.

“This is actually quite easy for me.” You admit. “Wedding planning is unexpectedly... Pleasant.”

Satoru laughs softly. “You're probably the only one in this palace who thinks it's pleasant to work with me.”

After a moment, he continues. “I suppose... That's a good thing, if we're to be wed.”

His words make you pause writing. You suddenly feel shy, warmth spreading on your cheeks. The kind you're sure isn't from the flame crackling in the fireplace.

How silly that you're becoming bashful after being engaged to him since you were children. The thundering of your heart can wait.

“I agree.” You respond, not turning to face him. You will not allow him to see you uncomposed like you did the previous night. “I wasn't sure what to expect from our marriage, but I would appreciate it if we were companionable.”

The rest of the evening proceeds smoothly, though you do notice Satoru becoming more silent as the night goes on.

The next day, you spot Satoru speaking to foreign delegates. Something is different in the way he carries himself in front of them. His posture is that of a proper Emperor, not a cheeky prince that sneaks into your room at night.

... It's probably best that no one finds out about that, lest a scandal breaks before you even get married.

When the delegates leave, you're about to approach and greet Satoru when he, unmistakably meets your eyes, then walks in the opposite direction.

You're left there, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. But you stone your expression and carry on as if nothing has happened. Your lessons taught you to be graceful, even in times you feel anything but.

By late afternoon, it's painfully obvious that Satoru is ignoring you. When he rushes through his lunch and gets up right when you take your seat, you try your best to look unaffected.

Hopefully, you're the only one who's noticed so far. If word reaches Secretary Mont, word will reach your father... That troubles you more than you can put to words.

Satoru doesn't show up for your scheduled wedding planning session with the rest of the staff. You're careful not to say that you'll speak with your betrothed, and thankfully no one mentions it even if it shows they wish you did. You're not even sure if he'll show up at your balcony tonight.

When the hour turns ten, the time he's usually here, he isn't. You sigh and can't help feeling a little disappointed.

Perhaps you said something wrong last night. Maybe you should apologize for something. Or he could just be busy, you tell yourself. You can't expect the Crown Prince to always have time to sneak away to you, can't you?

Something taps against the glass of the balcony doors. It breaks your train of thought, and causes your heart to leap just a bit.

But when you go to check, no one's there. You open the doors to find a single red carnation, just like the one he gave the first night.

You're only barely successful at hiding your relief. You reach for it and glance around once more, just to make sure if he left any other trace of him. There are none, but after you lock the doors and turn in for the night, two carnations in a glass vase calm you in a way you hadn't let yourself feel in a long time.

...

A maid knocks at your door a tad earlier than you're used to. When you ask about what's going on, she says she has to prepare you for the Crown Prince's departure.

“He's leaving?” You ask as you rise from bed, already headed for the bathroom to clean up.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She sifts through your wardrobe for your clothes. “He is to go on a business trip to settle trade agreements.”

“How long will he be gone for?”

“I cannot say for certain, Your Highness.”

Pausing in thought, you look to the balcony doors.

A rush of determination fills you as you ask the maid, “Could you prepare something for me?”

The head butler said that he could be gone for two or three weeks. Weeks before you see that face of his, which has a surprisingly forlorn expression on it.

“Thank you for seeing me off.” Satoru acknowledges you with a smile, but his eyes reveal how tired and troubled he truly is.

You say nothing at first, silently taking steps closer to him. You could practically feel the air freeze over as everyone watching holds their breath. This is the closest the two of you have appeared in public.

You reveal a white carnation held in the hand you hid behind you. The stem is cut short, just enough so that it fits into the pocket on his coat.

“I will take care of things here while you're gone.” You assure him, taking a step back to admire how the white flower suits him.

Satoru seems to be at a loss for words, but his eyes regain their usual spark when he addresses you again. “It seems I have nothing to worry about, then.”

You feel stares at your back as the carriage departs, but pay them no mind. You intend to keep your word and perform your duties while the prince is gone.

On your way to the library, you overhear the Imperial Princess and Sir Nanami speaking to each other.

They're in the next hallway, and you were just about to turn to it when you hear your name spoken. You press your back to the wall and listen.

“I'm glad Her Highness seems to have liked my brother.” The princess says. “And of course, I know Satoru would have been over the moon because of that flower.”

Sir Nanami hums. “His concerns were nothing to be worried about after all.”

The princess laughs. “Oh, what was it again that he said? That she friendzoned him?”

“It was that she companion-zoned him.”

You huff quietly. So that's why Satoru had been ignoring you yesterday.

“I look forward to their blooming relationship. I'm sure Her Highness will come around.” Is the last you hear of their conversation as they continue on their way, their footsteps fading further into the hall.

Come around? To what?

A grandfather clock chimes to signal the change of the hour, and you realize you've dilly-dallied for long enough. The rest of your way to the library has no people whispering about you and your betrothed or the flower you sent him off with.

But you would be lying if you said you'd forgotten about what the princess said.

...

Ever since Satoru left, he's been writing you letters. He said his sister gave him the idea.

You've given up on replying on every letter he sends. It seems as though he writes to you daily, and you simply can't keep up. He insists on writing no matter how busy he gets.

His fifth letter is so short that it should be called a note:

‘The flowers here are lovely. I had a bookmark made for you.’

That same bookmark, a dried pink carnation, sits between the pages of the novel you're currently reading. It makes you consider pressing the red carnations Satoru had given you so that they're not just left to wilt.

You write back once a week. But what you lack in quantity of letters you make up with the number of pages you write, and you tell Satoru as such. There are many things you want to report, so you don't hold back on anything.

Well, perhaps you don't quite tell him that you can't fall asleep until you spot the moon through the balcony glass. Or that you think of him whenever you're not distracted enough.

In Satoru's fifteenth letter, he brings the unfortunate news that his return will be delayed. He will have been gone for four weeks before he comes home, and the journey back will take three days at the latest.

Unable to express your disappointment outright, you instead imply that he should make haste for the wedding preparations. That he shouldn't miss the food tasting or the floral arrangements.

‘I trust my wife to make all the right decisions. Even if you don't, I'll consider them right anyway.’

There he goes again, calling you wife when you haven't married yet. It also dawns on you that Satoru has only ever called you by name, or addressed you as his wife. He's probably the only person who hasn't referred to you as Empress-to-be.

You're quickly learning that with Satoru, you're finding yourself again. It's rare for you to feel more than just a princess or Empress in training, but he makes it effortless with just a few words.

...

You begin counting down the days when Satoru writes that trade negotiations have finally concluded. He should be home in four days, and you can hardly wait to see his face again.

But of course, Satoru finds a way to bewilder you by arriving home early. In the middle of the night, no less. And naturally, through the balcony.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you try to decipher if his visage is a dream or a trick or the light. But when he laughs, and tells you he missed you dearly, you need no further proof.

Satoru clasps your hands with his, running his thumbs over your fingers and knuckles. Your eyes travel down to his boots, which are filthy with dirt and grass. His hair is ruffled and windswept.

“Did you,” The word settles on your tongue when you pause. “...Rush here on horseback?” You ask incredulously.

Satoru laughs again, and wraps his arms around you. “Are you complaining?”

You blink, and tentatively wrap your arms around his middle. “No. I'm glad you're home.”

Satoru is so warm compared to the night air that surrounds you. You almost complain when he pulls back, but the serious look in his eye makes you keep your mouth shut.

He clears his throat and rubs your shoulders before taking your hands again. You're completely shocked when he sinks to one knee.

“I know that we're already engaged.” Satoru begins. “I know that we've been preparing for this for years, but I just wanted to ask you properly. Because you deserve it.”

He pulls out a ring, a diamond shines at its center.

“Marry me, and I shall spend every moment of my life proving my love for you.”

“Yes. I will.” You respond, and he slips the ring onto your finger. How does he keep getting more and more lovely?

You place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him up to you. You kiss him, and the air ignites like a spark brought to life.

It's tender, and careful, and carries all the things you wish to say to him. How you missed him. How you love the flowers he gives you. How excited you are to have him by your side for forever.

When you break apart, he seems surprised to find you reflecting his happiness back at him. He's about to speak, but not before he can resist the urge to kisses you again.

You smile into the kiss, but place a hand on his chest, pushing him to ask, “You were about to say?”

“...I've always known I would treat you right when we got engaged. That was always a given.” Satoru cradles your face gently, making you feel like the most precious in the world to him. “You were chosen because you're smart, and you worked harder than anyone else.”

“...But I saw you one day, when we were kids.” He speaks carefully. “You were trying your best to impress your father, but not at all happy...”

“From then on, I decided to make it my mission to make you smile.” To prove his point, he places his thumbs at the corners of your mouth to drag them up playfully. You laugh and swat his hands away.

“A real smile, just like that! None of those diplomatic half-smiles you always throw out to please people. That won't work on me.”

“Before you are the Empress, you are my wife. And I will love and treasure you as such.”

...

He says those same words at the wedding. You jest that he has no originality, but it brings you to tears just the same.

The wedding happens in the palace gardens, surrounded by countless beautiful flowers that dance and sway under the sun when the wind blows. Everything is, in every sense of the word, perfect.

For this moment, you are not the Empress. Not yet. The world can wait a day, you decide. Everything else can wait while you bask in the glowing warmth this man offers you.

As you leave the ceremony behind with your arms linked together, Satoru leans into your ear so you can hear him over the cheering crowd. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Petals shower you both on your way, and you can't help but smile. “Just that we're perfect together.”

Satoru laughs in agreement. “Damn right we are.”

Several staff are positioned at the exit of the gardens, ready to escort you both to the carriages that will take you through the Empire to greet your subjects... But something makes you pause at the end of the aisle.

You pluck a red carnation from one of the floral displays before turning to your husband. You tuck the flower into the chest pocket of his suit, snug in front of his pocket square.

When you glance up to see his reaction, he's already beaming at you, looking indescribably happy.

“I love you too.” He says, taking your hand and pressing the softest of kisses on top of your wedding ring.

When you sent him away back then, you remember thinking how the white carnation matched well with him. Looking at him now, however, the red flower over his heart seems to overflow with all the love and all the words that need not be spoken. You like this one much better.

He leans down to pluck another identical flower, and gently tucks it behind your ear.

Satisfied, he holds your hand tight, leading you to the rest of your lives with the assurance that he will never let go.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added or removed from my taglist

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[wutheringcaterpillar]

A Lesson Learnt

Summary: After dressing provocatively to the golden globes much to Cillian’s surprise. He becomes immensely irritated with how you’re acting, flirting with other men and having no public decency, leaving him no other choice than to put you in your place.

Warnings: daddy!kink, degradation, jealousy, Cillian is single in this with no kids, you’re his adopted daughter, brat!reader, smut a tremendous amount of smut, dumbification, ass slapping, age gap (reader is twenty one, cillian is 48)

sidenote- i may have gotten a bit carried away but seriously it’s a lot of smut. I am not an Yvonne hating person and respect his family. This is purely fiction and has no relation to Cillian’s real life. Don’t like the warnings, don’t read this.

There you were, standing there in a black skin tight dress that hugged your sides quite firmly, complimenting your hips. Your father stood there hand at his hip completely astounded, apalled that you would wear such a revealing outfit to such a prestigious event, if he were to take a guess you were taking a note from the book of Kylie Jenner.

Meeting his gaze, his eyes protruded dominance, his once baby blues eyes turning into a devilish shade of the cavernous ocean as he watched you walk down the stairs toward him.

Diamonds covered the top of your dress, curving elegantly over your revealing cleavage, just hardly holding them in place. 

Greeting the security guard who attempted to look anywhere but you, Cillian leaned up from the wall, holding out his hand for you to take like the gentleman that he always was.

“What the fuck are yuh wearing? This is an award show not a fucking playboy mansion.” You rolled your eyes and walked with him hand in hand to your designated table.

During the evening waiting on nominees and winners, he couldn’t help but notice the glances and innapropriate exchanges you had been making with Leonardo DiCaprio, it fueld his anger even more, knowing you were in this man’s age range of women.

Taking a cherry off of your desert, you popped it in your mouth, seductively tying the stem in a knot never breaking eye contact with Leo, whom was focused on your cherry red lips, imagining what they’d feel like wrapped around his cock.

Cillian had enough of this, he knew what you were up to, a not so poor attempt at getting under his skin. Clenching his jaw, he balled his fists under the table, when he locked eyes with Leo the man looked away, still smirking at the idea of all the positions he could have you in tonight.

Attempting to keep his composure, you felt his hand latch onto your thigh harshly, his knuckles turning white. You held back a yelp from the sudden pain, just barely keeping your knee from hitting the table. Turning to him with a playful grin, you raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong daddy? Can’t a girl have some fun?” He leaned ever so close, his lips just barely touching your ear, whispering in a harsh tone for nobody to hear.

“This is a televised show, I don’t need you flaunting yourself and acting like a whore for everyone to see. Cut the shit before I do for ya” Someone was feisty, just as you had planned. 

Cillian believed the problem to be your lack in parents growing up, no discipline whatsoever, and he was guilty for giving you anything you ever asked for, now he was reaping the consequences.

“And the winner is Cillian Murphy!” As he took the stage and began giving his speech, his tongue lapped over his teeth in irritation when he noticed instead of listening to him, you were biting down on your bottom plump lip, before sucking the chocolate syrup of your dessert off of your finger, never once breaking eye contact with Leo.

He stayed composed finishing his speech, trying to not even look at you and your slutty shenanigans.

He didn’t talk to you the rest of the night until you were back at the hotel.

“What da fuck was dat eh? Did you even care about how long I waited for this moment or were you too lovestruck by a man nearly three times your age. You hurt me tonight Y/N.” Kicking off your heels, you approached him like a lion approaches its prey but in a teasing way, a clear note of sarcasm in your voice.

“Sounds to me like daddy’s jealous.” You batted your eyelashes innocently at him, pouting, mocking him with his emotions.

“Enough!” The back of his hand intertwined with the strands of your hair instantly, you let out a yelp, lips quivering in pain.

“You want to act like a whore, I’ll treat ya like a fuckin whore.” He bent you over the dresser aggressively, your chest slamming against the wooden surface nearly taking the breath out of you.

His chest heaved rapidly, adrenaline rushing through his blood when he lifted your dress, seeing the black laced thong that was barely even covering your asshole.

Scoffing, he moved the thin, soaked fabric to the side, only to reveal your little hole dripping, he could swear he could see a small heartbeat atop your clit.

“Well, well would you look at that?” His hand slapped your folds, your slick painting your thighs from how wet you were. You squirmed underneath him in a desperate attempt to crawl out from underneath his arm.

A stinging pain shot up your back when his hand collided with the fragile skin of your ass.

“Daddy!” Cillian shook his head, pulling your hair back, his hand wrapping around your throat in a deathly grip.

“Don’t you daddy me. Do I sound like I’m fucking around Y/N?” His fingers slid into your dripping core effortlessly. Your mouth dropped open from the sudden intrusion, the feeling of his thick fingers filling you causing you to moan desperately, needing more.

His fingertips curled up inside of you, making you gasp in pleasure. Your juices coated him instantly, it was pathetic to him how needy and impatient you were. “Be. Patient? Understand?” You moaned a yes, pushing yourself back against his fingers, grinding your pussy down the entirety of his lengthy fingers. He rolled his eyes in annoyance with you getting far too much enjoyment out of this. When he removed his fingers you whined, and he wasn’t having it, sending another sharp slap to your ass, stoping your crying immediately.

Unbuckling his pants with his other hand, his thick length slapped against your wetness, resting in-between your folds, sliding it up and down agonizingly slow. You released a whine, the anticipation getting the best of you.

“Please. The worst punishment you ever gave me was taking my phone away for a weekend in high school. You’re not going to- Ah!” He plunged his cock full throttle into your tight walls, causing your body to tense from the pain.

Flipping you over, his hands held your wrists at both sides of your head, his nails digging into your skin rather violently, surely to leave marks.

“What’s da matter? Daddy’s cock making yuh too dumb to speak?” At this point your boobs had fallen out of your dress, like Cillian expected them too.

Your round globe-like nipples hardening from how turned on you were in that very moment.

“Pl-please daddy I-“ Grabbing his tie, he shoved it in your mouth, shutting you up.

“Do yuh want the fuckin neighbors to here? Are yuh going to bed a good girl for once in yer life?” You nodded up at him with pleading eyes. 

His hands released your wrists, grazing over your thighs, holding them tightly as he fucked you mercilessly. The sight of your tits bouncing up and down consumed him. He couldn’t resist from latching his lips around them, biting down on one of them, making you release a desperate, muffled moan.

He’s pumping in and out of you at vigorous rate as your hands glided to the sides of the dresser, holding onto them for dear life.

Sweat began to form on Cillian’s pale skin, as he watched his cock disappear in your luxurious, dripping hole. The sight sending him into overdrive.

Ripping the tie out of your mouth, he lifted you up, slamming you up against the wall. 

“Lucky I’m even fucking you with whadda fuckin brat you’ve been. That all it takes is my cock for you to behave?” Your hands searched every inch of his back, pushing his jacket off, undoing the buttons frantically.

You pressed your boobs up against his chest as he drilled into you, the feeling of being so full, so completely fucked out taking over you.

The sweat causing your mascara to run down your cheeks in a beautiful, fucked out mess.

The sight of you so needy for him, so quickly submissive to his every demand turned him on immensely. He watched you with deep intent, paying close attention to every single facial expression with such precision.

He could tell you were close from the way your thighs were twitching around his waist.

Turning you around to face the mirror while his back was toward it, he wanted you to see how desperate you looked, how well you were taking his cock and how he was capable of taking complete control of you.

“Go on sweetheart, do what you do best and cum on my cock. Go on with da slut you are. My good little slut.” The way he spoke with such dialect, his voice as smooth was the wind in a warm summer day had you clenching around his length hard. Moaning and groaning loud enough for the whole hotel to hear.

“Daddy, daddy I- I’m gonna-“

“Cum on my cock, darling. Show daddy how well he treats his princess.”

Your body convulsed as you crumbled in his arms, losing yourself, fully releasing your hot slick all over his magnificent cock.

Cillian kept going, holding you up with a single hand while the other moved your chin up, forcing you to look at him with your fucked out eyes that were just rolling back down from the back of your head.

“Should I come in you? I’m not sure if you deserve it? You were such a bad girl tonight?” You nodded frantically, still hardly able to form words, feeling like you could potentially pass out from the over stimulation of his cock still hitting that sweet spot.

“Pl-please. I’ll be good. No- no more flirting.” His eyebrows raised, his lips curving into a smile, satisfied with your response before he released himself, painting your insides with his seed as his moans filled the room.

When he let you down, you would’ve fell to the ground if it weren’t for his arms catching you, helping you up onto the bed, tucking you in gently.

“Have you been taking your pill?” He asked, caressing  the side of your face with such care.

You nodded sleepily, making him smile softly at the sight of his sweet little girl. You may have drove him crazy at times, but with a little guidance he knew you’d straighten out. Seeing his cum drip out of you, he pushed it back in, making you moan tiredly.

“I have to go and do the closing photos. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed you on the forehead, already sound asleep like the angel you were.

When he took the photos, he didn’t seem to notice how his collar was disheveled, not neat like it was during his speech, but he hadn’t cared.

When his assistant had pointed it out and offered to fix it, he waved her off kindly, repeating the fact he did not care, he just wanted tonight and this award show event to be over.

It was a small reminder to him of how much you needed him in every, aching way.

#Cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #Reader insert #Cillian murphy imagine #ranaewrites

[diejager]

could I please request some dad Makarov content? there's like none out there and I think he'd actually be a good dad

I just wanna see him with his own cute little babies

Cw: fluff, ballerina, proud dad!Makarov, protective behaviour, tell me if I missed any. Note: every dialogue written in italic is spoken in Russian.

Your father was the loveliest person you knew. Vladimir Makarov may be an initimidating person with all his smarts and slyness, but he was soft and tender, a loving father and a caring provider to your life. He was all you’d known, you didn’t know your mother, your grandparents, your uncles and aunts, or any cousins, but all you needed was him, your father. He gave you all you needed and didn’t need, any wish or after though conjured up with his endless amount of money, pampering you with luxuries and comfort few knew.

You didn’t have friends, but you knew your father’s allies - he insisted that you called them allies because he’d never considered them friends. He told you that they were below him and you, dogs on a tight leash that would follow him as long as he gave them what he promised - they were prominent figures in your life, passing or stopping by Makarov’s well-fortified mansion to speak to him in his office, the one you once compared to a war room when you were young, your nose buried in fantasy books to fulfill your need to explore the world when all that was within your reach was inside your golden cage. 

The world on the other side of the wall was a stranger —a danger, your father mumbled to you at night, promising that he’d protect you as long as he still breathed. You were homeschooled, the bests academics invited to tutor you since you were young, from mathematics and literature to language and politics, you were taught by the best, in the little office Makarov kept renovating as you aged. He changed the desk, then the chair, and when the paint started yellowing, he had the whole room repainted in a soft sage to compliment your bright mind. You father was such a perfect parent that you hated disappointing him, you did all you could to reach his expectations and listened to his orders. 

“Мой изящный Лебедь,” he clapped his hands, his eyes gleaming proudly as he watched you twirl and dance in the polished floor of your home studio, “That was beautiful.” [My graceful Swan.]

Your black tutu rose as threw your leg up, twirling on the hard pad of your toes, giving your father a practice show for Cinderella. You always danced for him, letting him probe and give you advice and critiques of your form. Finishing the dance off with a low bow, your legs crossed and feet spread horizontally, you smiled joyfully at him when his claps grew louder. Rising up, your met him halfway, jumping into his arms when he spread them open, peppering your face with sweet and loving kisses, his scruffy beard itching you. 

“It was perfect, you make me so proud,” he held onto you, his warm hands running smoothly over your biceps, herding you out of the studio he had built to let you practice, “You deserve a gift, my little Swan. Is there anything you want?”

“Nothing you can buy me, papa, ” you shook your head, burying your face in his chest when he sat you down on the regal, red couch.

“Then?”

“I want to go see the flowers again, papa, when they’re in full bloom. Can we?”

A soft chuckle rumbled out of his chest, he breathed in your comforting scent, nose nuzzling your hairline with a smile, small and adoring for his sole child. 

“Yes, of course.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod makarov #mw3 makarov #makarov #call of duty makarov #vladimir makarov #makarov x reader #Father!makarov #Dad!makarov #platonic relationships #female!reader #fem!reader

[mini-ism]

#— LIT CIGARETTES.

paring: gallagher x gn!reader (female anatomy, no use of “breasts”)

words: 3.1k

synopsis: gallagher meets a companion that he invites on a smoke break.

warnings: MDNI! intoxication, p in v, dubcon, alcohol, semi-forced smoking, smoking, cigarettes, kinda OOC?, choking, wrist binding, cunnilingus, light degradation, spanking.

DARK CONTENT AHEAD, DISCRETION ADVISED!!

flick, flick…,

the haze of fresh smoke covered his face as he leaned against the stone wall. the golden hour of penacony was ever-bustling. gallagher took a long drag from the cigarette, taking it out of his mouth with his index and thumb, ashing it slightly, and exhaling the smoke.

a cigarette every so often was refreshing, sometimes soulglad can be sickening. or at least to gallagher, though he might be the sole believer of that. damn near every night was the same, “can i get uh… soulglad?” another drunken patron slurred. the face of this patron is just as muddled as their voice. likely because every night, every person asked for a bottle of soulglad. gallagher obliged, as it was his duty, finishing wiping a glass, then uncapping a fizzy bottle of the drink, and passing it to them without a complaint or a mere word.

he took another puff, a longer one. he sighed, murky grey clouds leaving his mouth and nostrils. he put the cigarette back into his mouth, brushing his long, brown hair out of his eyes, savoring every intoxicating breath. he crushed he butt beneath his shoe, tobacco smearing onto penacony’s smooth pavement, watching it fizzle from existence. another benefit of the dream, one could assume.

he scratched at the stubble on his jawline, walking back into one of the many bars he frequently bartended at, bracing himself to serve more damn soulglad for the nth time tonight.

the chestnut-brown hair on his shoulders bounced as he strode back inside, music blaring a bit too loudly for his liking. he cracked his neck, then his gloved knuckles, and made his way behind the counter.

“how was your break?” a coworker inquired, “you smell like smoke.”

“it was alright, i guess. nothin’ too special.” he spoke, “is that a bad thing?”

music rang in his ears as he wiped down a few more glasses. the same coworker tapped on his shoulder after a few moments, “gallagher, look to your left. total cutie over there.”

gallagher wasn’t the type to pay attention to anyone’s looks. he listened. that was simply his job. he just so happened to look to his left, grumbling slightly. “i mean, they’re alright. what’dya want me to say?”

“come on, man, just have fun for once. i get that this is your job, but it never hurts to bend the rules a lil’, huh?” they responded, “i’ll give you like, 200 credits if you talk to them.”

“make it 500 and i might.” he joked, watching as his bartending partner pulled exactly 500 credits out of their breastpocket, slipping it into his pocket.

“do it,” they snickered.

he watched as you settled into your seat at the bar, waving to your friend from across the club. “anything i can get you tonight?” a voice rung from behind you, slightly raspy, yet smooth, and tired.

he was just as tired-looking as his voice led you to believe, “well, firstly, are you okay?” you asked curiously, hands resting on the edge of the marbled countertop.

“yeah, i’m alright. is there anything i can do for you?” he asked again, his amber-colored eyes focused on you, accented by his eyebags that happened to be deeper than oceans. he was visibly aged, and had scars littered all over him.

in the quiet moment you were investigating his appearance, he too was “checking you out.” you looked nice, now that you were in front of him. his vision wasn’t the best nowadays, but it suffices well enough to delineate all the delicate features painted onto your skin and your face. he liked that.

“could i get a crimson sunset?” finally, something that wasn’t a fucking soulglad.

“sure thing, not a problem.” gallagher grabbed a glass with his hand, pouring a mixture of syrups, drinks, and spirits into the glass masterfully. he smiled tiredly at you, passing the drink to you on a red napkin. the drink itself was a pretty red-orange color that faded into a deep purple.

“mind if i get myself a drink?”

“are you allowed to do that?” you replied.

“well, i mean, never hurts to bend the rules a lil’, yeah?” he answered, unintentionally charismatically.

his accidental confidence made you laugh slightly, “go ahead, mister…?”

“gallagher,” he said, pouring himself his own drink. he isn’t mixing it with anything, just straight alcohol from the bottle into the same type of glass you have in your hand, “no need to be so formal. you can just call me gallagher.”

“alright, gallagher, it’s nice to meet you.” you grinned brightly, taking note of the faint smile painting his features and lighting up his dull eyes.

“it’s nice to meet you too… ah…” he trails off.

“(your name).” you replied, giggling slightly as you take a sip from your drink, admiring the complex profile of gallagher’s mixing skills, “by the way, this is really good.”

“thanks,” he shuffles awkwardly, mimicking you by taking a swig of his own drink, “it’s really nothin’ though, just a lil’ bit of gallagher magic.”

he watches as you sip from your drink again, raising his glass again and finishing the rest of the liquid inside. he can feel the alcohol burning in his throat as he drinks it down hungrily, blurring his own mind as you start to talk again. he’s listening, but not a word is registering in his head. gallagher refills his glass with a more potent drink, leaning over the counter and propping himself up with his toned forearms.

“…and that’s how i ended up here, with my friend,” you finished off, the mix starting to get to your head too. he has no idea you could be such a talker, it almost makes him want to shut you up, but that’s not nice and he should play fair! he never does anyways.

“well, ain’t that a story!” he laughs, sipping on his own concoction again, flashing a grin, “here, lemme getcha another drink, it’ll be on me, hun.”

“thank you, gallagher!” you smiled drunkenly, watching him show off his mastery of mixology like it’s a performing art, pouring the beautiful mixture into your new glass.

“mmmn, what? you like the way i do that, eh?” he teased, leaning over the marble counter again, sliding you the glass, “so what if i do?” you teased back, your words starting to slur together to form one big super-word.

“i can do it again for ya, if ya like,” he breathed, his tired eyes starting to look more like bedroom eyes.

“really? can you?” you nearly begged, awe-struck at his sheer skill.

“yeah, i can show you everything i can do. ‘m not jus’ good at mixin’ drinks, y’know?” he said, sending a shiver down your spine, making your back nearly arch with just a single sentence. he looked at you again, greedily sipping his drink, his eyes imploring you to do the same without a single word from him. you do just as they say, watching the spark ignite within his pupils like a flick of a lighter. his lips curl into a smile as he finishes his mahogany colored concoction, a marvel of alcoholic creativity. you cough slightly as you finish up your own drink, the burn in your gut rising like a flame. it travels from your tummy all the way up your esophagus, tickling your lips with a sting.

“do you like it, babydoll?” he collects the glasses, putting them in the sink for later, “i hope you did. i worked really hard on making you a nice drink.”

you nod sloppily, words caught in your throat like the eager blaze that’s simmering within your body. words are barging into your mind, but you cannot decipher, nor string them together, properly. “that’s wonderful. would’ya mind joining me for a smoke break?”

“sure, we can do that…” you smile, your cheeks hot and your skin prickly with fire. gallagher walks out of the bar, helping you walk out of the bar with enough stability. he leads you back to the wall he stood against before, the golden hour much darker than before. you leaned against him within the alleyway.

“have you smoked before?” he asks, taking out a cigarette from the carton in his pocket, where the credits from before lie.

“nooo…” you slur, giggling against the wall as gallagher helps you up, the unlit smoke between his lips.

“…wanna try?” he asks again, lighting the cigarette, flick, flick, shielding the flame with his free hand.

you considered it for a moment. you never thought you’d touch a cigarette, nevertheless smoke it, yet here you are, “uh… sure…?” you said with a hiccup.

gallagher takes a long inhale of the cigarette, his lungs filling with smoke before he takes it out, filling your own mouth with smoke as he puts his lips on yours, gently cupping your jaw with his other hand.

he exhales the rest of the smoke, watching you cough with a weirdly sick pleasure, “you like it?”

just as you were about to whine and say ‘no,’ the rush of nicotine blurs your mind, you can barely muster up a whimper, let alone nod your head weakly. “thas’ good, hun.”

he passes you the lit cigarette, watching you take it between your fingers as you take a small puff, the paper that wraps the tobacco burning up. again, you cough, but the menthol soothes your throat a bit more this time.

“feels real good, don’t it?” he breathes on the junction of skin between your collarbone and your neck, the burn boiling over as you exhale, feeling his hot breath against your prickly skin.

gallagher takes the cigarette from you again, taking a long drag from it, and exhaling in front of you, a bit of the smoke tingling within your throat.

“gonna feel better sooner or later,” he murmurs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and kissing the intersection between your carotid artery and your clavicle, tickling your skin with his raw, swollen lips.

you whine as his hands crawl up your body, feeling your chest and your covered up nipples. he’s getting handsy as he finishes the rest of the smoke, holding it in for longer, then exhaling in your face with a sinister chuckle, “you’s needy. i gotcha babydoll, don’t worry.”

you fall into him as he crushes the butt-end of the cigarette, the orange menthol filter dissipating out of existence. his gloved hands feel all over every inch of your torso, from your collarbones, to your low abdomen. gallagher plants more rough kisses onto you, picking you up and leaning you against the wall, your back facing him as your cheek presses against the cold, hard surface of the wall.

your vision is spinning as your intoxicated state seeps deeper into your mind and body, watching as he unties his pretty magenta-colored tie. gallagher binds your hands with the tie, keeping your hands behind your back, in place and secure.

“you wanna stay here like this? i’m not gonna ask you again, so you’d best tell me now if you don’t wanna go through with it.” he commands, his grip tight, but loose enough not to bruise flesh.

truthfully, you want to do this, your body does too. your words are failing you as you make little noises, your cheek scraping lightly against the ragged surface. you mustered up a meager, “wannit, gall… ger…”

“yeah, hun?” he whispered breathily, heat radiating against the shell of your ear, “you gonna be good f’me?”

“yessss…” you whine in response, shuffling against the wall, your mind buzzing with every possibility.

“thas’ good, so good already.” he smiles, you can feel his lips curl against your neck as he gives you another little kiss, his raw, rough lips grazing against your tender, needy flesh.

gallagher was buzzed himself, he’s always had a high tolerance for things like alcohol and nicotine, being high off life was almost entirely new. something he hadn’t felt in so long, and here you were, back arched, being all obedient. all for gallagher, bartender and bloodhound (that of which you were unaware of).

in a swift motion, he tugged your at your clothing, moving it out of the way, so he can paw at your undergarments. you looked so cute like this, wrists bound and legs spread. all of this just so he can see what awaits him, “my, my, you’re all wet.”

“nnnmh, yeaaah…” you heaved, you’re dizzy, needy, you’re hammered, and you’re vulnerable. how much more adorable can you get? his fingers traced circles around the dampened spot in your underwear. you’re soaked already.

gallagher pulled your underwear to the side, tucking it in the crevice between your lip and your asscheek, working his fingers on your wet slit. he took some of your slick on his finger, rubbing your clit with his dominant hand. he gave your pussy a self-indulgent slap, before teasing your entrance with a thick finger. wordlessly, it slipped in with relative ease, eliciting a loud moan to pass through your swollen lips. he chuckled at your reaction, pulling it out, then slipping the digit back inside.

another moan fell from your lips, throaty and whiny. his finger started to move inside you, at first unbent and quickly fucking you. you slid against the wall, knees buckling slightly, before gallagher’s free hand pinned you to the wall, keeping you in your place. his single finger curled inside you, hitting your spongy g-spot. you mewled, crooning at the sensation, practically seeing stars. your vision started to blur as black splotches started to cloud it, but all you could feel, think, understand, want, smell, need, was him. he continued fucking you with his finger, watching your legs shake and your juices drip down his finger and onto his gloved palm.

“feels real nice, don’t it?” he cooed, slipping in another digit without warning. his scarred, toned arm flexed with every movement, curling and slipping inside and outside of you. his fingers made their way to your clit, rubbing it with vigor and passion, before he spread your other lip with his thumb and put his lips to your pussy. he gave it a rough, sloppy kiss, pulling away to listen to you cry out. nobody could care any less, they were experiencing the dream. in all actuality, this feels like a dream within a dream, if that makes sense. you were just so amazing, you were alluring. definitely worth more than 500 credits. he gave your pussy another sopping wet kiss, his scratchy stubble rubbing against your skin, creating friction. his tongue darted to your clit, licking and sucking it between his lips and teeth. his thumb still held your cunt open. gallagher gave you a couple more long licks and kisses for good measure, savoring your every drop, relishing your taste, before standing up.

“ready, babydoll?” gallagher rhetorically asked before unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants (which happened to be the same magenta color as his tie). you nodded, drooling and zoning out. all you could understand was the pleasure he was giving you, all you could care about was how much more pleasure he could give you, “great.”

he pulled his thick cock out from his boxers, lining it up against your entrance, savoring the difference in size. your small, little cunt and his big, fat dick. how cute. gallagher re-adjusted you, spreading your legs just a bit further, then putting some pressure on the lumbar portion of your back, causing you to arch more instinctively.

without warning, the burning within your body had boiled over again between your legs, the stretch to accommodate his girthy dick nearly destroying you. you screamed, but nobody gives a damn, “scream all you want, babe, you gonna take it.”

gallagher pulled out again, just a little, to slam back into you, watching your cunt stretch as much as it could. he savored how warm and tight you were, tight as a vice could get. your eyes rolled into the back of your head, saliva dribbling your chin and onto your clothing. a loud crack, followed by a searing pain, flooded your senses. his palm made contact with your asscheek again, slapping it roughly for a second time, pushing himself into you with as much force as he could use before breaking you in half.

“you takin’ me so good, ‘m proud of ya, doll,” he chuckled, smiling again. gallagher had found a pace inside you, his hand snaking up to your throat and wrapping around it. he applied pressure to your jugular and carotid with his thumb and his other four digits on their respective sides. he sped up slightly, gripping your hips as air flow lessened.

gallagher continued to slam-fuck into you, speeding up with every thrust, chasing his high. his breath was hot and heavy, huffing in your ear as your vision and hearing fizzled out like the cigarette butt on the pavement. your breathing became ragged as he bullied your pussy ruthlessly, “you ever been fucked like this, huh?”

air rejuvenated your senses as he let go of your throat, you heaved a weak, drunken “no.”

“ain’t no dick good as gallagher’s, huh? good as mine, mmm.” he groaned, his hips colliding with yours faster and faster andfasterandfaster…, “gonna cum, babydoll. i ain’t pullin’ out, though.”

you hoarsely whined, your fucked-out brain needing more of him, any morsel of him is good enough, and it just feels so good, and youreabouttofuckingcumtoo…

“mmn, i’m cumming, hun. i’m gonna fuckin’ cum in you, you needy bitch. fuuuuckyeah…” gallagher’s grip on your throat tightened the moment the burning hot coil in your stomach loosened, allowing you to orgasm and scream out his name just as soon as he came. he groaned and huffed in your ear, his brown hair messy and clinging to his sweaty face, “feels so fuckin’ good, fuuuck.”

you let out a choked noise, prompting him to let go and pull out of you. he leaned over you, resting his forehead against his forearm, that of which was supported by the wall you leaned against. your knees wobbled, and before you could fall, gallagher instinctively held your abdomen with his other arm, tucking you against his chest. you stared at his scars, which littered his arm, as you came down from your intense orgasm.

“…you okay?” he asked with a newfound gentleness. he helped you back up as he untied your wrists and pulled up his pants, fixing his belt. he chuckled, “i bet you’re tired.”

“very,” you panted back in response.

“how ‘bout i clock out and carry you home, how’s that sound?”

“sounds amazing, gallagher,” you leaned against him as he lit another cigarette before walking back into the nightclub.

#tw smoking #tw dubcon #tw alcohol #tw alchohol mention #tw choking #tw intox #tw intoxication #gallagher hsr #gallagher #hsr gallagher #gallagher honkai star rail #gallagher honkai #gallagher honkai: star rail #gallagher star rail #gallagher x reader #reader x gallagher #tw dark content #hsr x reader #reader x hsr #reader x honkai star rail #hsr smut #galgal! #gallagher smut

[lalacliffthorne]

💜 starshine pt. III 💜

Rhysand x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

notes: literally no summary possible without intense spoilers. you´ll probably be able to guess what this chapter entails by just like the first few sentences (btw, it's been ages since I read the books, so I'm working on a lot of creative freedom with this one lol). fair warning: this one's angsty. like I already mentioned, it's also insanely long. so. have fun? I guess?

______________________________________________________________

Slipping through the wards felt like a tingle of ice on my skin. My breath hitched, and for a second, I expected the mountain to cave in on me, squash me as it realized someone had breached the magic binding so many to its halls.

But nothing happened.

The servant fae's dress slipped up my thighs when I slid into the dark corridors. I had caught her when she had lingered too close to the wards, golden whisps of magic seeping through the bounds and engulfing her, catching her when she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. I had swapped our clothes before hiding her floating body behind a glamour and slipping into the dark mountain.

Something closed around my throat lightly as I moved through the shadows, stilling every time I heard a sound.

Fifty years.

Fifty years of chipping away at the wards guarding the mountain, little by little so no one would notice the small growing hole in the thickly woven magic. Fifty years of trying to be everywhere at once, moving through the courts, healing those in need before slipping away before anyone could notice. Fifty years of faeries slaughtered in numbers becoming bigger and bigger, causing rage to grow slowly in my chest.

Fifty years of dreaming of violet eyes like night skies.

I remembered the day Amarantha had caught them all like it was yesterday.

I had been staying in the Day Court, and from one second to the next, the warm summer night had turned ice cold. A darkness had placed itself over the world, the faeries in the garden had disappeared and the glow of the flowers had dimmed. An icy shiver had run down my spine, and like instinct, I had reached out for Rhys, for that familiar feeling that was always not far from the bounds of my mind, the sharp claws that tickled my soul before the deep, rich voice echoed through my head, even when their owner was on the other side of Prythian.

But there had been nothing. No presence, not even when I had called out to him. Instead, there was a harsh wall, like something, or someone, was blocking him.

I had started looking for him the day after.

☆

Following the halls deeper into the mountain, I simply listened to the tug in my chest that pulled me forward, guiding me towards the hum of power. My own responded, slithering angrily under my skin, and I pushed it down, barricading it behind walls as high as the sky.

I had learned to hide the thrum of power flooding through me a long time ago. It was what kept me hidden in the courts, allowed me to exist without anyone bothering me.

Strangely enough, it had never kept Rhys from finding me, like even the way my powers were hidden was distinct enough for him to track me down. When I had brought it up once, he had just grinned so widely, his cheeks had creased as he replied: “Starshine, I would be able to find you on nothing but instinct even if you were galaxies away.”

Back then, it had made something skip softly against my ribs as I had thrown a pillow at his head.

Now, just the memory of his voice caused a strange ache in my chest.

Amarantha had taken Rhys away from his family, his home. And I was sure that the only reason he was playing her game, bowing to her, was to protect them.

If there was one thing I had learned about him in the past century, it was that his friends, his family and his home were everything to him. And that he would do anything to keep them safe.

Even give himself up.

The tight feeling in my chest shifted, like for a second, something scratched the surface, a familiar presence growing closer, and I breathed out soundlessly.

There was no way I was going to let her break him.

Not him.

☆

The whispers from Under the Mountain had been vague, but with time, they had started to paint a picture, blurred and hazy, but clear enough to know that Amarantha had a fable for lavish nights with wine and entertainment.

I had expected that entertainment to be cruel. I had spent the last fifty years trying to protect the faeries, for Amarantha seemed to have developed a taste for keeping them like animals, all while hearing rumors about the Fae trapped Under the Mountain, forced to bow to her will.

But what was awaiting me when I slipped through the doors into the huge cavernous hall, the stench of spirits hitting me and the air pressed from my lungs – was so much worse.

There were Fae everywhere, dressed in a way that left little to the imagination. Their gazes ranged from empty to forcingly amused to petrified, but their bodies moved like they were in a trance, not their own will causing them to dance, grind on each other and do more, in plain sight for all to see.

It felt like a sick, twisted stage play, orchestrated for nothing but the embarassement and torture of the courts and one single person's amusement, one person who loomed on a dais at the back wall, sitting on a throne, dressed from head to toe in blood red.

My eyes zeroed in, and my powers surged against the walls caging them in.

Amarantha had tipped her head to the side, her golden crown glittering in the light of the torches as she watched the spectacle at the foot of the dais. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders, her long nails tapping against the armrests. There was a light amused curve to her lips, but her eyes were cold and calculating.

Somehow reigning in the magic raging under my skin, I pressed my lips together and followed her piercing gaze, down to the steps leading up to the dais -

The wind got knocked out of my lungs.

The noises, the hall around me faded as something pulsed slowly against my ribs, my heart beating like the wings of a butterfly caught in time, trying to escape from my chest as my gaze narrowed in until it was centered on the male at the foot of the dais, a picture of lazy feline confidence so familiar, I had to fight for air.

Rhys.

Suddenly, fifty years caught up with me. Fifty years of his face burned into my mind, his smile and the way his violet eyes twinkled like a glittering night sky.

Only it was gone now. The spark in his iris, the vibrancy of his eyes. His dark hair, though still impeccably styled, had lost its shine, his sunkissed skin was pale and sallow, and his smile –

Something tightened so harshly in my chest, I held my breath.

Gone was the cheeky curve of his lips, the mischievous turn of his grin and that stupidly beautiful smile. It had been replaced by a light smirk, one that was cold and cruel and –

Didn't reach his eyes.

His smile had always reached his eyes. Even when it promised violence and bloodshed and broken bones, it always translated to the way his eyes looked, to the spark in his iris, angry or furious.

Only it didn't anymore.

I tried to swallow, fight against the way something closed around my throat when I stared at Rhys and his eyes, dull and unmoving as he gazed down onto the heap at his feet, a heap -

My breath stilled, and the grip around my throat changed to vice.

It was a sprite boy. A moonwing, with feathery white hair caked with dirt, milky pale skin torn and bloody over too-thin limbs, and his wings –

His wings.

A sound built at the bottom of my throat, a strangled whimper that was swallowed by the harsh noises around me. Something clawed at my chest, a pain so heavy I almost went to my knees as I stared at what used to be thin-as-lace wings, their white membranes hanging in bloody shreds over a whipmarked back.

Quickly clamping a shaking hand over my mouth to smother the heaving sob breaking from my throat, I almost sank into the wall, my body beginning to shake. I felt something hot run over my cheek as I stared at the faerie, swaying as he tried to get to his feet without the support of his wings. His pain was mine, his despair gripping me like an iron fist, my breath trembling as my vision blurred and I whimpered.

No.

Rhysand stilled. I could see his shoulders shift. Then his head rose, eyes tearing away from the moonwing to swiftly move over the crowd, and for nothing more than a second, a fraction of a heartbeat, something flashed through his eyes, something that was buried so deep, it was nearly impossible to make out.

Like somehow, he felt my anguish, could sense a presence in the crowd that didn't belong -

The guards at the edge of the dais moved, and Rhys blinked. Then his eyes moved away from the crowd, and his back straightened when a male stepped forward, staring hungrily at the moonwing.

There was a bloody whip hanging from his hand.

My heart tightened, lips parting as nausea washed over me like a tidal wave.

But before the male could take another step, Rhys moved. His motions were quick and smooth as always when he took a step forward and picked the moonwing up by his neck, and I could see the fairie's iridescent eyes flaring with panic as he started to struggle.

Then Rhys' hand closed around his jaw.

My heart stopped and my breath stilled when the crack of bones snapping whipped through the hall.

The moonwing's body went limp, head rolling to the side.

A muscle in Rhys' cheek twitched, his face unmoving as he let the faerie slip to the ground and raised his head, turning around. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the moonwing's lifeless body as the other male moved towards him with a scowl, gripping one of the fairie's shredded wings before he turned to drag him away from the dais and into the shadows, leaving behind a pool of blood on the stone floor.

Something hot streamed over my cheeks as I fought to breathe, and magic started to push against my skin, slowly growing until I had to keep all my focus on keeping it subdued.

My eyes rose, and a cold fist closed around my heart when Rhys sat down next to Amarantha. Her hand drifted towards him, her fingernails dragging lightly over his skin, and I could see the second his eyes clouded over like he had dragged up walls, high, high, higher as Amarantha whispered something with a smile like a viper.

Rhysand nodded once, eyes trained onto the crowd like it could hide the way his shoulders shifted like his body fought to move away.

It was all I needed to straighten my spine and breathe, something beginning to burn under my skin.

☆

I had slinked into the shadows when Amarantha had risen from her throne, Rhys following suit, though there was something in the way his eyes seemed to dull even more when he moved after her.

I lost them in the maze of halls a few times, but something, like a small tug in my chest, kept pulling me back onto the right path, like the golden whisps of magic swirling under my skin had latched onto Rhys, guiding me.

Slipping around a corner, I just caught a glimpse at a door closing. Waiting for a few moments, just to make sure, I slowly started to move, avoiding lanterns and melting into the shadows as I soundlessly slid down the hall until I could disappear into the alcoven right next to the door.

Pressing my back against the cold stone walls, I leaned my temple against the wall and focused on the noises slipping from the room.

For a second, my mind was slow, struggling to place the muffled sounds that seemed to be a female's, harsh and strangely drawn –

My heart stilled.

I could feel my breath, ragged as I stared at the wall ahead, something suddenly filling my throat like the urge to be sick, to stagger away from that door and what was behind it.

I was already half pushing away from the wall when the wave of emotion hit me like a brick. Like someone inside that room had slipped up, had lost control of what kept their feelings locked deep, deep down, because what they were doing right now was a struggle in itself, a struggle like having a hand around your throat that kept you from breathing.

I didn't know how I knew it was him. I just knew that the way his emotions vibrated under my skin, causing my knees to give out and my body to silently slide down the wall to collapse to the ground as I fought for air, was uniquely his.

Rhys was drowning.

I could feel it, feel the way his sense of self and his will to fight dwindled like they were slowly dragged under water. Overrun and fought to their knees by pain.

Pain that felt like ghostly fingernails running over his skin, like actions that broke apart pieces of him and caused guilt to drown him without his limbs fighting.

It was humiliation, and repulsion, and numbness. And fear.

Fear, so overwhelming and all-consuming, it wrapped around my throat like a rope, pulling tighter and tighter as I crouched frozen at the wall, tears streaming down my cheeks and something in my chest shattering silently as I squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn't know how I long I was sitting in the shadows, nor could I place the moment when Rhys' emotions slipped away like he had found the gap in his armor and patched it back up. But the remnants of them still clung to my chest, joining into a heaviness when I could hear movements behind the door.

Quickly and with shaking hands, I pulled myself to my feet, slipping back down the hall and into the shadows at the corner to the next, tear tracks cool against my cheeks when I watched the door open.

My heart stilled as I watched Amarantha appear in the hall, slipping her dress over her legs with a satisfied smile.

Something started swirling under my skin, growing with every second. Power, golden light that raged like fire, roaring and threatening to break free, to unleash and make the mountain collapse into itself as golden light wrapped around Amarantha's throat –

Swallowing, I forced it down with trembling hands.

Not like this.

It had taken years to gather enough information, barely any whispers trickling out of the mountain. Years to figure out that she had the High Lords under her control, chained to the mountain, all while her guards wreaked havoc on the lands outside. Courts withering, faeries dying.

The children from Winter had been the last straw.

I had to find a way to free the High Lords, get back their powers. Attacking Amarantha would just risk something happening to those caught down here, or outside.

Sinking back into the shadows, I watched Amarantha disappear into the other direction. I waited until she was gone, waited some more, just to make sure. Then I slipped down the hall.

The door creaked a little when I pushed it open, and cringing lightly, I hastily slipped through, closing it behind me carefully before raising my head, and my heart skyrocketed.

Rhys was standing at the opposite wall, his bare back towards me and shoulders shifting as he tensed, going rigid. He didn't turn around when he mumbled: “Anything else?”

His deep voice took away my breath, something tightening harshly in my chest at it's roughness.

He sounded defeated.

His name tumbled from my lips before I could stop it, quiet and hoarse and a little shaky.

“Rhys.”

He froze.

I watched as his shoulders straightened. He looked like he was holding his breath, his hands closing so tightly around the shirt in his hands, his knuckles turned white as he stared at the wall ahead, and for a second, I thought I could see a tremble run over his spine.

I took a step forward, whispering: “Rhys?”

His head turned ever so slightly, like he was forcing himself not to turn around but couldn't fully control his body, and I saw the moment he caught onto my scent.

His nose flared, and his limbs went utterly and fully still, like for a second, he even stopped breathing. Then he looked over his shoulder, and I stared at him, felt something surge high in my chest when his gaze found mine.

Rhys blinked, and my bottom lip trembled when his eyes became glossy, one corner of his lips curving slowly. Then he whispered, rough voice broken: “You're not real.”

My heart clenched violently, and I swallowed, staring at him through the haze of pain. Then I moved towards him, slowly but steadily, and I could feel Rhys fight the closer I got, like the instinct to reach out and the fear of reaching right through me were battling in his chest.

Halting a few inches away, stopping to keep myself from moving even though every part of me screamed at me to get closer, I swallowed before carefully reaching out a hand.

When my fingers brushed over his arm, something rippled through Rhys' body. His eyes snapped up from where he had watched my hand almost fearfully, flying to meet mine as his glossed over ones grew wide and his lips parted.

I sniffled, nose crunching as I sent him a smile, wobbly and uneven.

“Not getting rid off me that easily, remember?”, I whispered, and Rhys' hand closed around my wrist to yank me forward, into his arms.

My heart stopped when my chest collided with his.

It felt like I was thrown into one of the dreams that had haunted me for fifty years, dreams in which he'd been there, had grinned at me and teased me and been his gloriously annoying self, dreams I had woken from with a weight on my chest pressing me down, because I could feel the memory of his presence slip through my fingers.

Only now, I didn't wake up, and there was no pressing knowledge somewhere buried in the depth of my mind that it was nothing but a dream.

No, Rhys was there, tall and solid as he wrapped himself around me, clinging to me like I could be ripped away from him any second, and my breath hitched when I could feel the way his body started to tremble.

Something small in my chest shattered silently, and barely suppressing a soft whimper as pressure rose in my throat, I hastily wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held onto him. Held onto him, his skin cool under my mine, muscles taut as a bowstring when my fingers dug into the back of his shoulders and I clung to him, and Rhys laughed, wet and desperate and causing my chest to tighten so harshly, I hiccuped. His hands grabbed at my back, my dress, one finding its way into my hair, and I fought the heavy weight on my chest and the way my voice thickened when I whispered: “Hello.”

Rhys whimpered, his trembling fingers tightening their hold like he tried to drag me closer, like I wasn't already pressed into his chest, his breath shaking like the rest of him when he buried his face in the crook of my neck, and I could feel the second his walls broke. His chest started heaving, and something warm and wet pooled on my skin.

“It's okay.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I held onto him, feeling tears roll over my cheek as the ache in my chest spread, and my voice broke a little when I whispered: “I'm real.”

A shaking sob broke from Rhys' throat, and his fingers dug into my skin when he breathed out with a shudder that shook his body. Then he pulled back, nose pressing into my hair for a second, and when I raised my head, his hand slipped up to curl around the back of my neck, and Rhys pressed his forehead against mine. His quick, unsteady breaths made my heart skip, and I forced open my eyes, staring at him and his scrunched eyebrows and the tears silently rolling over his cheeks as he fought for air.

Quickly, I slid my hands down to press them against his sides, feeling my voice crack a little when I whispered: “Breathe.”

Rhys' eyes flew open, and the world staggered when his violet iris met mine, shimmering with tears and everything shining through them, like a dam inside of him had broken. He stared at me like I was the night sky he hadn't seen for fifty years, his fingers curling into my hair.

His eyes tracked the dried tears on my cheeks, and then his body went awfully still.

For a second, Rhys gazed down at me, his throat working as he swallowed harshly and his grip slackened a little. His eyes flickered over mine, and his voice, rough and fragile, broke a little when he mumbled: “How long have you been outside?”

I tried to breathe against the heaviness in my chest as I stared up at him, losing the fight against the way my throat closed as my vision blurred and my bottom lip wobbled.

My silence was answer enough.

Rhys' fingers twitched, and I could feel him freeze, pulling back, but I dug my fingers into his bare skin and swallowed harshly, a tear running over my cheek when I whispered, voice shaking: “I'm going to kill her.”

Rhys' eyes followed the tear, widening slightly, and suddenly, he looked panicked.

“You have to leave.”

“Rhys –“

“You have to get out of here, if she finds you with me –“ His breath quickened, his wide eyes causing something to squeeze my heart harshly.

In over a hundred years, I had never seen him like this, so utterly and completely afraid; fear, sheer frantic panic rolling off him in waves, completely ungarded -

“Indeed.”

I could feel the way Rhys froze under my hands when my eyes flew over to the door.

Could feel the wave of his unbridled dread crash over me when the female in the door smiled, her eyes flashing and blood-red hair glimmering in the candle light.

“Now look at that…”

☆

My knees dragged over the stone floors as the guards hauled me into the great, cavernous hall, Amarantha sauntering after us, Rhys behind her as he struggled against the males containing him, his teeth bared even as I could feel, smell the panic rolling off of him.

I tried to reach him, but the powers raging under my skin were slowly slipping out of my control, roaring at the way I could feel him struggle.

“Drop her.” Amarantha waved her hand casually, raising her brows as the guards dumped me to the ground in the middle of the hall and turning towards Rhys.

“You know, I really thought you'd have better taste.” Her tone was mocking, her smile amused. “A servant… and a faerie no less.”

Rhys fought against the guards holding him, but I could see the way his movements were restrained, like she was containing him. He looked like he was vibrating with unbridled fury, but there was something burning under the surface as I forced myself to my feet, something that made my heart tighten harshly.

Amarantha tutted softly, smiling widely. Her eyes raked over Rhys' face, and they sharpened. Then she raised a brow.

“Oh.”

Something skipped high and harsh against my ribs, and one corner of her lips quirked.

“Now that's interesting. Is it possible…” She tipped her head to the side, and Rhys grew rigid.

“You care for her. Oh now, now.” Amarantha laughed, and it rung through the air. “How quaint.” She smiled widely, and it sent a shiver down my spine as her eyes danced.

“The mighty High Lord and the faerie. I wonder…” Sauntering towards me, she reached out, her nails lightly raking over my jaw to tip it up, and I hissed at her, causing her to chuckle.

“Well, she is feisty. Still.” Her head tipped to the side, considering me like prized piece of cattle, and Rhys' struggle grew as she slowly started to smile and raised her brows mildly as she turned to look at him.

“I think you need a reminder who you belong to.”

Moving back, she lightly dipped her head, and someone kicked the back of my legs, causing them to buckle.

Sharp pain shot through my knees when I crashed to the floor, and I could feel my dress shift. Then rough hands pushed me forward and the fabric was ripped open, slipping down my back.

My heart skipped high into my throat, and I tried to reach out on instinct to cover myself, but my wrists were seized, forced away from my body.

I could hear the sound of a struggle, and when my eyes rose, Rhys was trying to tear himself away from the guards holding him, a terrifying snarl on his face. But Amarantha just smiled and placed a finger on her lips.

Iron shackles closed around my wrists, dragging my arms apart until I was kneeling, and my fingers started shaking as I tried to contain the magic brimming under the surface, the golden light trying to break out to rage around me. I forced up my head, and Amarantha raised a brow.

There was movement at the corner of my eye. Then something struck my back with such force, my body was thrown forward.

Burning pain seared over my skin, and a scream forced its way from my throat.

My back arched, trying to twist away, pain pulsing through my body and leaving my muscles trembling, and Rhys roared.

With one mighty rip, he broke away from the guards trying to contain him, but before he could make it even a few feet, Amarantha struck, and Rhys crumbled to the ground.

“No!” I struggled against the iron chains, magic surging under my skin as pressure build behind my eyes and an angry sound ripped from my throat.

“How precious.” Amarantha sounded bored and a little disdainful, waving her hand as she turned away, and two guards grabbed Rhys' arms, dragging him up until he was kneeling, forcing his head up.

He was bleeding, his brow cut, but it was nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes as they found mine, wild and desperate.

Fighting against the tug in my chest, I squeezed my burning eyes shut for a second before opening them again, staring at him as my body trembled.

“I,”, my voice broke with strain, “can take it.”

Amarantha chuckled. “Oh dear.”

Another hit struck my back, the whip slashing the air and through my skin, and a low scream tore from my throat. Tears brimmed at the corner of my eyes, my breath trembling at the pain pulsing through my back and into my body, and from holding onto the whirling storm in my chest.

“I doubt it.” Amarantha's eyes were glimmering with wicked delight, and as the next lash hit my back, I forced my head up, my body shaking as I gritted my teeth and fought the tears pooling from my eyes as they found the male behind her.

My heart stilled.

Went silent in my chest at the way he stared at me, head pulled back by his hair as the guards forced him to watch, his eyes wide, body rigid like he was gripped in an iron fist. There was something swirling in his gaze, not just anguish; pure torment, and intertwined with it was something else, something that reached so deep, I lost my breath.

No more.

The words seemed to whisper through my mind, through the fog and the pain, growing stronger as the air around me started to flimmer.

No more.

My eyes pierced into Rhys', a tremble going through my body. Then something settled in my chest.

No more.

Golden light bloomed around me as I let go. Allowed the whispers of magic to swarm me, flittering over my back, their whispering touch gentle, and I could feel the wounds close, leaving nothing behind but even skin.

The hum seemed to grow still, until I could feel the power in every inch of my body, pulsing and whirling, and Amarantha's voice reached me, sharp as she called to her guards: “Stop her, now -“

A wave of golden light erupted from my body.

Amarantha and the guards holding me got ripped off their feet, flung through the air, the males crashing into the walls as Amarantha slammed into the steps of the dais.

And as the ground started to tremble, the mountain itself rumbling like thunder, the shackles fell of my wrists and I pushed myself to my feet, golden swirls of magic building around me like a hurricane as rage carried me.

The doors flew open as guards streamed in, dozens and dozens more, barking orders as they took position and advanced, and power surged through my body.

The ground shook, then thick vines bursted from the stone floors. They slithered through the air, wrapping themselves around the guards and flinging them through the room, wrapping them up tight and engulfing them, their screams drowned as they turned into giant trees. Weapons turned into slithering branches, closing around their owner's arms and throats, armor grew green moss like treebark as I dodged a sword blow in a swift movement. Arrows flying at me turned into bursts of petals as I dove and slipped the guard's sword out of his hand, slashing it over his throat in one precise movement, and another wave of magic pulsed through my body, sending a wave that tore the remaining guards off their feet, swords and armor clattering when they crashed into the walls and onto the floors.

Raising my head, I felt the light around me flimmer, illuminating the sword in my hand for another moment as I slowly straightened, power surging through my body as the golden whisps began to disperse and I felt my breath again, quick and heavy. Something flickered in my chest when my gaze darted over the throne room, trees growing from stone floors, their branches stretching high up the cavernous ceiling, petals drifting over the ground and unconcious guards strewn across the floor.

The rage in my chest slowly washed away, a deep exhale leaving me, and looking over my shoulder, I felt something rise in my chest.

Rhys was still kneeling on the ground, having caught himself as the guards holding him had been torn across the room. His eyes were wide as his gaze darted over the hall, then they found mine, and something skipped so harshly into my throat, I lost my breath.

Rhys was staring at me like I had ripped open the mountain to show him the stars.

Something rose in my chest, fluttering like a hurricane, and turning around, I quickly stepped over a guard's legs and held out a hand, pulling him to his feet.

Slowly straightening, Rhys stared down at me, and his eyes began to shine in a way that made my breath catch.

There was a light flash of silver from the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and for a moment, time slowed.

Without thinking, I moved, the sword slipping from my hand and clattering to the ground as my fingers closed around Rhys' elbows and dragged him with me as I turned, turned until he was facing the dais and I was in the way, the way of –

Sharp pain struck my back.

I could feel my eyes widen, how time staggered just like my heart when hot, all consuming pain slowly spread from a point somewhere right beneath my shoulder blades. Then my eyes found Rhys', and the way he stared at me, his eyes growing wide, made time fall back into place.

My knees toppled lightly when pain crashed over me like a tidal wave, and Rhys dove forward to catch me. His pupils were blown wide as a wave of panic washed over me that wasn't my own, terrifying and mindnumbing as his hands frantically moved over my body, gripping my hips, pushing up my chin.

The pulsing pain from my back seemed to slowly consume my body, and my heart stuttered.

“No.” Rhys' voice ripped its on wound through my chest, disbelieving, hollow and horrified. His eyes darted over my face, all the color draining from his features, but he looked a bit blurred, like he was drifting away from me. I tried to grab at his chest, my movements strangely slow.

“Go.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears, but I forced myself to focus on Rhys' face, trying to fight past the pain the look on his face caused in my chest. His brows twitched as his eyes, panicked and frantic, darted over my face, and I pressed: “Get. Her.”

Rhys stared at me. Then something shifted in his eyes, beginning to glow, and his head rose, a terrifying growl rumbling from his chest.

“You.”

His hands slipped away from my arms and I could feel him move past me, something skipping high in my chest as I staggered lightly, dropping to my knees.

Forcing myself to straighten, I tried to suppress a whimper when I reached my hand up my back, twisting and feeling a rough sound built in my throat at the pain the movement sent cursing through my body.

My fingers slipped over something cold, and with a pressed sound, I pulled the blade out of my body. It clattered onto the stone, and the floor swayed under my knees when for a second, all I could see were black spots dancing before my eyes as something hot ran over my pulsing back.

Behind me, I heard the sound of fighting, snarls that made the hairs at the back of my neck rise, and I forced my head up to look over my shoulder. My vision swam, and my breath stilled when I heard the sound of a body hitting the ground heavily, heart rising into my throat as my eyes focused.

Rhys was kneeling on the ground before Amarantha, a sword pressed against the back of his neck as she snarled at him, hands curled into his hair, forcing his head back. I could see the fight in the strain in his shoulders, like he was battling her in his mind, but his body was trembling.

“Oh, I do like you on your knees.” Amarantha bared her teeth, and something shifted in my chest, blooming into a soundless roar as I pushed myself to my feet.

My fingers closed around the hilt of the sword I had dropped, the heavy blade beginning to glow in my grip, and Amarantha raised her head and scoffed.

“Don't be ridiculous.” She snarled as she stepped away, Rhys caught frozen, limbs trembling in a vain effort to free himself. “I posses the powers of all the High Lords of Prythian. No iron, no steel can defeat me, not even your powers. I have killed Fae for centuries.” Her eyes flickered over me, her lips curling. “You're no match for me, little faerie.”

Golden whisps of magic began to rise around me, the branches of the trees growing out of the stone rustling with a harsh wind, the vines creaking as they slithered, bowing into my direction as I walked towards Amarantha, magic beginning to grow under my skin until I could feel it glow.

I deflected the first blow of Amarantha's sword as it came crashing down, the force making the mountain rumble. Then I swerved to the right, blade slashing through the air as the space around us started to vibrate with power and my sword began to shine brighter and brighter.

“Give up!” Amarantha's voice shook the hall like thunder. “You'll never defeat me, you're a faerie, you'll just -”

My heart rose, and the mountain sang.

When my next blow came crashing down, it splintered Amarantha's sword in two with a blast of golden power. She dropped the useless hilt, eyes growing wide as her head whipped up, and my sword sank into her chest, deeper and deeper until we were face to face.

"I'm not just any faerie,”, I whispered.

A surge of power rippled through the air when I pulled the sword from Amarantha's chest, and I could feel the wards trembling. Then they shattered, the whole mountain groaning as I whirled around and swung the sword, the blade whizzing through the air and cleanly cutting off Amarantha's head.

Blood spattered, and with a thud, the female's lifeless body dropped to the ground.

Breathing heavily, I straightened, and my sword clattered as it hit the floor. The golden shimmer around me pulled back into my body, and suddenly, the world tilted.

My knees gave out, and I would have crashed down the steps if I hadn't been caught, arms wrapping around me and a familiar scent washing over me, causing my heart to jump weakly against my ribs.

I thought I heard a voice, deep and familiar and utterly panicked, calling my name as a warm hand closed around the side of my face, shaking me. But my lids were suddenly heavy, blinking becoming harder with the second. My body felt a bit like it was beginning to float; no more pain, only a strange, calm feeling, my limbs too heavy to move.

Through the fog, I heard the voice, thick and trembling, words not quite reaching me. Then something warm pressed against my temple, nudging my cheek.

“Stay with me.”

☆

Stay with me.

My eyes opened with a flutter, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

My gaze was blurry at first, but I thought I saw a high ceiling, far above me, the branches of trees, and felt arms holding me, propping me up against a warm, solid body that suddenly grew rigid.

Blinking, I breathed out before letting my head slowly roll to the side, and my eyes met another pair.

My heart skipped softly against my ribs at the sight of violet, mixed with starlight in eyes gleaming with tears, widening when they found mine as their owner became completely still.

I blinked, feeling slowly seeping back into my body, and a small sound broke from the back of my throat.

“Ow,”, I mumbled softly.

Rhys stared at me. Stared from shimmering eyes that were blown wide, wet tear tracks on his cheeks. His hand cradling my jaw was trembling, and something shifted gently in my chest at the way he seemed to fight for air. Then he blinked, and the tears in his eyes welled as his lips curved and a sobbed laugh left him, deep and shaking my body as Rhys dropped his head, his arms slipping around me until he was clinging to me, holding me to his chest as he pressed his nose against my temple.

I could feel his shuddering exhale, and how tears began to soak my hair, and something rose in my chest, fluttering wildly as it surged and pressure built behind my eyes, my fingers trembling as I curled them into his arm holding me.

Rhys' grip tightened, then he lightly pulled back his head. His hand slipped to rest against the side of my neck, and my breath hitched, stumbling until it stilled when he slowly started to smile at me. Smiled brighter and brighter, wide and radiant until deep creases formed in his cheeks and his violet eyes twinkled like a sky full of stars, and his voice was quiet and a bit hoarse when Rhys whispered thickly: “Hello, starshine.”

☆

Stepping out into the cool morning air, I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes for a second.

My body was still aching a little, my head thrumming, but it was duller now, like it was slowly ebbing away. The magic under my skin was no longer raging and whirling, instead buzzing softly from the healing I had done in the past few hours, Fae and faeries alike.

The wards had come down, the second Amarantha had died. Shortly after, the doors to the hall had burst open, and Rhys had gripped me tighter when all the High Lords had stormed inside, their newly returned powers thrumming just like the one's of the male holding me.

He had reluctantly left me alone, only after several insurances that I was fine and some mild teasing threats, his swagger returning to him as his mask slipped into place as he had joined the High Lords standing over Amarantha's body, her severed head turned towards the ceiling, her eyes staring lifelessly into the air.

Dropping my shoulders and stretching them slowly, my skin tingled gently right under my shoulder blades, and like instinct, I reached back, twisting my arm until I could brush my fingers over the spot where only a few hours ago, a dagger had nearly, maybe taken my life.

The skin was soft there now, and unblemished, as Rhys had showed me with a quick glimpse into my head.

Like there had never been any wound in the first place.

Letting my arm fall back to my side, I breathed out again before turning, and my heart did a soft skip when my gaze landed on the familiar male a bit away, standing on a ledge, head tipped back as he stared up at the sky that was slowly turning from a pale blue into a soft pink.

My heart skipped, and I hesitated for a second, then I carefully stepped onto the big ledge and softly called: “Rhys?”

My quiet voice carried through the cool air, and when he looked over his shoulder, my chest tightened harshly.

Tears were streaming over his face, his eyes shimmering as they reflected the sky, and I moved, darting towards him and stretching to slip my arms around his shoulders.

Rhys breathed out with a shudder, and his hands closed around my waist, pulling me tightly into his chest. Then he turned his head and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I could feel his tears drip onto my skin as soundless sobs left his body trembling, and my heart tightened harshly as my eyes welled.

Quickly pressing my nose against his shoulder, I let his pain wash over me, my chest aching as tears trickled over my cheeks and I buried my fingers in his hair.

By the time Rhys' sobs had faded away and the tears on my shoulder had dried as he just held me, the sun had started to rise on the horizon.

Carefully pulling back a bit, I looked up at him, finding his eyes already on my face, raw with emotion I couldn´t quite decipher.

“Go home,”, I whispered softly, and a shudder went through Rhys' body, his hands tightening their grip around my waist for a moment.

His eyes searched mine, then he blinked.

“Come with me.”

I blinked, feeling my lips part in surprise as I stared up at him. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no doubt, nothing. Just something that looked a bit like a soft, feverish plea.

I blinked, and warmth slowly spread through my body, something closing gently around my throat.

“I can't,”, I mumbled, and Rhys' grip loosened, causing me to quickly curl my fingers into his shirt.

“No, I just,”, I huffed a little, frowning at him, "not yet." Breathing out, I tipped my head to the side and sent him a soft, helpless smile. “There are still so many in there who need my help. And in the courts. I can't just –“

Rhys exhaled, and my heart skipped into my throat when he dropped his head to rest his forehead against mine, his hands gently closing around my waist.

“You're awfully inconsistent, you know that?”, he whispered, and his rough voice sent a soft tingle over my skin. “You claim to not like the High Fae, and yet, you're still helping them.”

“I know.” I gently tapped my finger against his chest. “I mean, I constantly help you, what's that all about?"

Rhys huffed, and I grinned lightly before pulling back and mumbling: “They've suffered enough for a while.”

Rhys blinked, and his eyes moved over my face, something beginning to glow gently in his iris.

“Promise that when you're finished, you'll come to Velaris.”

Staring up at him, I felt my heart flutter genly against my ribs. Then I blinked and slowly smiled, soft and cheeky.

“I promise.”

Rhys' eyes flickered over mine, and something tightened in my chest, my heart skipping when I quickly said: “Promise you'll find me if you need me?”

The male's gaze moved over my face, and slowly, one corner of his lips rose, just the tiniest bit.

“Promise,”, he mumbled, his deep voice sending a soft tingle down my spine, and I breathed out, a weight slipping from my shoulders.

For a second, I stared up at him, then, before I could stop myself, I stretched to press my lips onto his cheek.

Rhys' grip around me tightened, and my heart rose into my throat when I allowed myself to linger for just a second. Then I let myself sink back to the ground, and my breath hitched when Rhys dropped his head like he was trying to follow me.

The male blinked and slowly straightened again, staring down at me, a look in his eyes that made my chest squeeze gently.

Slowly, I took a step backwards, sending him a soft, crooked smile as I lightly poked his ribs.

“Go.” Warmth spread through my chest as I raised my brows. “They've been waiting long enough.”

Rhys exhaled, a weight seeming to slip from his shoulders, and I turned around. I could feel his eyes track me as I made my way back towards the entrance in the mountain.

When I looked back before stepping through, he was gone like the night breeze.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @stayinglow-exploringworlds @tcris2020

#rhysand #rhys #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand/reader #rhys x reader #rhys imagine #rhys/reader #acotar x reader #acowar #acotar #acomaf #rhysand x female!reader #rhys x female!reader #starshine #lalacliffthorne

[siriuslysmoking]

Swim

Part 4 of Meddle About

Series Masterlist

A/N: Never been on a private plane or been on a sailing boat or been to the bahamas, this is all coming out of my ass. I did however watch a youtube video on how to sail so I'm basically an expert. Much love <3. I recommend listening to Mamma Mia soundtrack once they get on the boat.

Pairing: Fem!college student x sugar daddy!steve

Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, age gap (R:21, S:29), Reader fawning over Steve every moment she can, I don't think I missed anything, Not edited because I don't want to.

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Working and being a student is tough, you never seem to have a moment to yourself, so when one of you co-workers needs a shift and offers to take your saturday night double, you take it. Finally going out with your friends you encounter a strange man with a strange proposition.

-The water's getting colder, let me in your ocean, swim Out in California, I'll be forward stroking, swim So hard to ignore ya, 'specially when I'm smoking, swim World is on my shoulders, keep your body open, swim-

Steve picks you up at nine in the morning two months later. He walks up to your door and refuses for you to carry your own luggage down the stairs. He opens the doors for you and only lets you carry your book bag. The drive only takes thirty minutes to the airport.

"Mr. Harington, this way."

Neither of you go through customs likes you should, you don't get your bags checked like you normally would've.

Both you and Steve are guided by an employee to a side door onto the tarmac, to a much smaller plane than the other big airlines. You eye the side of Steve's face.

Once you step onto the plane is when you realize this is a private plane. You need to stop forgetting how rich Steve Harrington actually is.

The plane ride is full of smiles and Steve explaining the plans for the week. "I booked a nice dinner for us tonight and we can go to the beach after, do you like the beach? I didn't ask."

"I do." You laugh at the panic in his eyes, "No the whole sand thing, but I love the ocean."

"good, good." He nods, "I've never done this before."

"Never been on a plane?"

"No, never been on vacation."

"You're joking?" You look at him in shock.

"Not unless you count work trips."

"You are a ridiculous man." You laugh, looking at him, "If I had the luxury I wouldn't stop traveling."

"I never really had the need to. I'm what some might say, a workaholic."

"You don't say?" You look at him sarcastically, he just lets out a low chuckle. "Then we will have to make this your best vacation ever."

"Only vacation-"

"But best." You point out.

When you arrive at the house, it's the most beautiful thing you've seen. It's a white house with light blue shutters, right on the beach, with a pool, and surf boards.

Steve and you take a walk through the house, the kitchen is huge with a view of the ocean, there's two bedrooms and three baths.

The bedrooms were big with golden mirrors and balconies.

You and Steve unpack in your respective rooms across the hall. You throw your windows open, letting in the fresh air. "Hey, we have dinner in a couple hours, if you wanna get dressed now, we can go walk around town."

"That sounds good." You smile, he nods and closes your door behind him, letting you get ready in private. You throw on a white long sundress that has buttons going all the way down your front so that you can leave the bottom open for your legs. You put on some strappy white heels to match and throw on your favorite jewelry.

Putting on some light makeup while you spray a floral smelling perfume all around you. You access yourself in the mirror while you put your hair up in a clip.

Steve knocks on your door while you put some finishing touches on your hair, "Can I come in."

"Yep!" You look away from the mirror, looking to him.

well damn. He's wearing a simple white button up and black slacks. He's got sunglasses placed on the top of his head and he looks good.

"Wow, sweetheart, you look beautiful."

"So do you." You smile back at him.

"Ready to go?" He holds a hand out.

"Yeah." You grab your bag and take his hand as he leads you down the stairs and into the car he rented for the week.

His hand stays firmly on your knee as he drives downtown. You stare at the beautiful sight- the outside of the car and inside.

You arrive in no time and of course Steve rounds the car to get your door, "Thank you for coming here with me. Doing this."

"Hey, I got a free vacation, I would never turn that down." You joke, he laughs along as he grabs the door to the restaurant.

You two get settled at a table on the patio. Both of you glance at your menu, discussing what you should get.

"You know, I've never asked the simple questions." Steve looks up from his menu.

"Then ask."

"favorite animal?"

"Elephants."

"Why?"

"They are a lot like humans, they mourn their dead like we do, burying them in dirt, trying to stuff their wounds with herbs, and even stay by their dead for days after they die."

"Woah, I didn't know that."

"What about you?" You put your elbows on the table, leaning forward

"Dogs."

"Why?"

"They're cute?" He scrunches his face.

"That's valid." You laugh.

The next day Steve wakes you up to breakfast on the porch of the house. After eating his pancakes you might have gotten down on one knee right there. You thought about going down on both knees when you saw him in his pajamas, simple gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

He explains your plans for the day, he rented out a boat for the day.

A new thing you learned about Steve, He has a Sailing License.

You go upstairs to get dressed for the day and throw on your bikini and a sundress that also counts as a swimsuit coverup. You slip on your sandals and grab your bag. You meet Steve downstairs where he's packing a bag of sunscreen and towels. He goes quiet as he looks up at you, he takes a moment to study you and you suddenly wonder if you should be wearing something else, then he breaks your thoughts by smiling wide and softly saying, "Ready?"

You nod, following him out of the door.

You didn't know much about boats but when you got there it looked like something right out of Mamma Mia.

"This beauty is called a Picchiotti Classic Bermuda Ketch."

"You know that means absolutely nothing to me, right?"

"Just wanted to impress you with my big words."

You watched as Steve tied all the ropes and raised the sail. While he was working you applied sunscreen and watched as reached for different things, his shirt lifting and-

You need to stop. You think to yourself.

Once you're on the water you rid yourself of your dress and lay down in the sun, pulling out a book.

"Having fun?" You hear Steve ask.

"Living my Mamma Mia dream." You sigh, basking in the sun.

"Mamma Mia?" He glances at you.

"Yeah, the movie, they used all ABBA songs."

"I know what ABBA is, but what's Mamma Mia?"

"No." You look at him in disbelief, propping yourself on your elbows, "Oh my god, you're serious!"

"I'm sorry?" He looks at you with a confused expression.

"You should be!" You laugh, "We're watching it when we get back."

"Alright then." He agrees with a smile.

"Tell me when you get hungry, I've got a surprise for you."

"This isn't when you kill me and dump me into the ocean, right?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Again, don't plan on killing you," He smiles then it suddenly drops, "Yet."

"Killed by a rich man on his boat." You raise your hands as if it was on a billboard, "Sounds like a good way to go."

"At least you have standards." He laughs, sitting next to you. "What are you reading?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah, I would." He snatches the book out of your hands, before reading the back, He sits in silence as his eyes glance over the page. He looks at you while you give him a smirk.

"You sure?"

"I see you have high standards in other categories as well."

"Wouldn't you like to know." You repeat yourself with a sly smile, stealing your book back. "I'll let you read it when I'm done."

"Can't wait." He sends you a wink and stands up, turning and asking, "Drink?"

"Yes please." You smile up at him. He comes back with two Margaritas in hand, "Thank you."

"Of course." He sits and you've noticed he's taken his shirt off. You try your hardest to keep your eyes on the pages of your book but you can't help but let them wander.

Twenty minutes later Steve comes out with plates and lays them on a picnic blanket, "I asked Mia what your favorite food was and she was very specific."

You almost melt when you see him lay out all of your favorite food. "Steve."

"Yes-," He pauses, his face almost panicked, "Wait did she mess with me?"

"No, no." You stand when he sets the plates down with a sigh of relief. You engulf him in a hug, he seems shocked by it but after a moment he wraps his arms around your waist, and you whisper. "Thank you so much."

"It was nothing."

"No, it wasn't." You don't let go, hugging him tighter, "Maybe to you, but this means a lot, so accept my thanks."

"You're welcome." He whispers into your hair. He slowly lets his hands fall to your waist and you follow suit, your eyes meet and his hands settle in yours. You hold eye contact for what feels like seconds but hours at the same time. You feel your eyes falling lower from his eyes and then to his lips-

Steve clears his throat, quickly stepping away from you, he motions to the food, "Let's eat."

You stay still for a moment then quietly you sit across from him on the blanket.

A couple hours later you find yourself dipping your toes in the water, Steve's already in the water with his life jacket on.

The wind has died so the boat is steady. You are reading your book and you don't notice Steve looking at you, until you feel water on your face and book. You slowly look up, shoving your bookmark into your book. "That's foul."

Steve just smiles, "You'll forgive me."

"No." You stand. up, leaving your book on the ground, "Maybe if you hit me, but my book is next level."

You jump in the water, splashing him in the process. You feel his arms around you before you even touch the surface. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Attacking you with water."

He laughs, "You really shouldn't be in the water without a life jacket."

"But I have you to save me." You give him an innocent smile.

"Hours ago you were asking me if I was finally going to kill you, now you think I'll save you from drowning."

"What can I say," You wrap your arms around his shoulder as he holds your thighs up. "I'm a very trusting person, some may say it's a flaw-"

"I say it's your greatest strength." He says softly.

"Why, thank you kind sir."

The both of you have been waiting for the wind to pick back up, so when you feel it, the both of you take notice, "Let's get back on the boat."

He helps you over to the boat, not letting you swim on your own even though he knows you're fully capable. He lets you up the ladder first, then he follows after.

You spend the rest of the time just watching him in his element.

You make it back right before sunset and he tells you what he plans to order in. "Sushi?"

"Oh, most definitely."

After picking up dinner you and Steve settle on the couch, he clicks on Mamma Mia and you settle so that you can see all of his expressions and the screen.

By the time you've finished your meals you and Steve have moved close to each other on the couch, your legs rest over his and his hand lays over your upper calf.

Throughout the movie he makes comments such as:

"We have the same boat"

"Why does he have tattoos there?"

And

"Why is she singing to a child?"

At the end of the movie he looks at you with wide eyes, "We don't get to know who the father is?!"

"No." You laugh.

"There's DNA tests for a reason." He huffs, you almost burst out in uncontrollably laughter on how serious he is.

"She doesn't want to know, it's three times the love."

"I think it was Bill." he crosses his arms, seemingly studying the credits.

"I'm a firm Sam believer."

"No, He's a cheater, I can't get behind him." He shakes his head, still looking at the TV.

"Just wait until you watch Mamma Mia 2."

His eyes go wide as he looks to you, "There's a second one?!"

-

-

Taglist: @glamourbabe17 @eddiesguitarskills @paradise-summertime @taeteddybear @strangerparks @ali-r3n @sunmoonandstars2000 @rvllybllply2014 @crazycat-ladys-blog @the-fairy-anon @frogtape @jlovesjj @whomstdev

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Repost and Likes are appreciated <3

#Spotify #stranger things #steve harrington x plus sized reader #steve harrigton x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #stranger things 3 #steve harrington x plus size!reader #steve stranger things #meddle about

[reticent-writer]

Ok, nevermind~ 😚

I know it's long and now I realized I basically wrote it myself (but meh-y), so hey, how would you write it? Would you add something, dismiss something, it's up to you. 💕💕

You don't have to write it ofc. 😘

May I please request something with Gojo Satoru from JJK where reader (male) wears a mask (he's mute) and looks like he never actually smiles or laugh so Gojo takes it upon himself to make it happen.

He tried everything and anything but nothing worked.

One day they meet outside, Gojo tries to come up with something new and in flustration lifts his black eye mask (idk what is it called 🤜😋) and scratches his eye.

That makes reader react a bit, and Gojo notices. He asks what's wrong and reader blinks quickly a few times.

Gojo realizes reader never saw his eyes and takes off his mask.

And reader smiles, or more like his eyes are smiling. He realizes Gojo can't see him smile so he takes his own mask off.

They both stand in silence, smiling at each other like lovestruck idiots which goes to them start laughing.

When they calm down, Gojo tells reader he has a beautiful smile and shouldn't hide it. And reader signs the same thing.

Now when you see them together, they are always facing each other and are laughing, and not hiding anything. Not anymore.

Thank you so much~ 💕

This sat in my drafts for a while and i'm so sorry for that but I wanted to write a short story, it didn't get far so i thought i could add a bit to it, like headcannons. I hope thats okay and once again i'm so sorry.

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Black cat + golden retriever (reminds me of geto and gojo😭)

After the two of you got together Gojo taught himself to be fluent in sign language to surprise you

it did

from then on if the two of you were around anyone he would only have a conversation with you in sign language

Everyone knows the basics of sign language that's to Gojo going on a tangent about inclusion and how even if you can hear your 'spoken language' is sign, it's good to know at least the basics,

Gojo is the only one who sees your whole face and brags about to anyone who would listen

He also buys you masks that he thinks you like

When Megumi was in elementary school he begged you to pick him up instead of Gojo

he was sulking for a week

The two of you rarely ever fought and if you did you would make up before bed

Gojo makes you feel comfortable in any and every situation

The two of you age like a fine wine together but he can be a bit clingy

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

#jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #gojo x reader #gojo x male reader #x male reader #male reader #reticent writes #reticent writer

[raineandsky]

hi! i was wondering if you'd be willing to write a piece where a hero, who is the older brother of the villain and considered "the golden son," and the villain, who had left home once they were of age, haven't talked for months after a big argument. Then one day, Villain is fighting his brother when his brother has a panic attack. Villain tries to leave, thinking it's a trick (cause his perfect older brother could never be hurt, right?) and goes to hide. but then their parents appear and Villain realizes perhaps Hero wasn't as admired by their parents as Villain would have liked to believe. In fact, it almost seemed like they disliked Hero all together. they're being mean and kind of calling him pathetic, and hero keeps getting more and more anxious until finally the Villain realizes something is wrong and tries to help

god this turned out WAY longer than i intended - i hope you like long stories anon!! and ofc thank you for the request :)

-

tw abuse

“What are you doing?”

The villain thought they were fighting, but now the hero wants to sit on the floor and pant like a dog and clutch at his chest. He thinks it’s a fair question to ask.

“I don’t want to fight you, [Villain],” the hero manages through short breaths. “Please.”

The villain doesn’t see him much anyway. He’s not sure why one fight would take it out of him. He simply rolls his eyes, blatantly unconvinced. “If we weren’t on opposite sides I would maybe consider it.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” The words rush out before the hero has to heave another shallow breath. “We don’t have to hate each other.”

He glances up to the villain and– oh god, is he crying? What kind of game does he think he’s playing? The villain scowls wholeheartedly.

“Funny,” he says flatly. “Look, if we’re not going to battle it out I’ll be on my way.”

“No, [Villain].” The hero practically chokes on his name. What a show he’s putting on. “[Villain], please, don’t leave me—”

But the villain’s already turned on his heel to make one of his famous escapes. It’s not quite as extravagant as it usually is, considering he’s walking away rather casually and not pursued in the slightest, but he’s getting the hell out of dodge and that’s all that matters.

Or he tries to, at least. He’s just reaching for the door handle when it swings open with a mind of its own. He just about has the foresight to stagger back to avoid being whacked in the face.

“[Hero],” a voice says coolly from the stairwell.

The villain’s stomach drops in a way it hasn’t in a long time. He’s flitting round the corner to hide before he realises he’s doing it. He hates that his own father can still have this effect on him, even 16 years later.

Two superheroes stalk out onto the rooftop, seemingly oblivious to anything but the hero sagging on the floor in front of him. “Where’s [Villain]?” the other superhero demands after a moment.

The villain shrinks back in his hiding spot slightly. The hero doesn’t even look at his parents. “He left.”

The villain didn’t care what was happening with the hero, but the superheroes don’t seem to even notice. The superhero looks at the hero at his feet like a child who’s done nothing worse than get bad grades in school. The other superhero sighs like he’s simply a stubborn teenager. Of course they do. They never saw anything less in him.

Jealousy isn't the right word. Just distain, maybe. Annoyance that their parents had to have favourites.

“He left,” the superhero echoes coldly, “and you let him?”

The hero’s breathing is in tatters now. He seems like he’s barely even listening, his head bent, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t—”

“What kind of hero are you if you just let villains run out of your grasp?” the superhero snaps, and the other superhero nods shortly. “Villains waltz in and destroy everything me and your mother have created and, what, you cheer them on?”

“H–He’s my brother—”

“He’s vermin,” the other superhero butts in sharply. “You can’t even save the city from a rat? Is that it?”

The villain keeps his emotions carefully in-check. He knows his parents were never going to be happy with his life choices, but it still hurts. Being compared to a goddamn rat is a little hurtful.

And the hero. What’s with the shortness? He’s the best of both of them. The golden child, the star pupil, the one their parents spent all their time building into the perfect son. The perfect hero.

“Answer your mother, [Hero],” the superhero spits coldly.

Even the villain can see the hero shaking even from here. He’s practically choking on his own breath, his sight probably blurry with the tears. The villain’s heart twists in a way it hasn’t in years. He’s my brother reverberates through his mind uninvited.

“He can’t even answer a simple question,” the other superhero says with a disappointed tut. The villain recognises that noise—it’s a lot more of a death sentence than it sounds. “Pathetic.”

He’s my brother. He’s your brother.

The villain pushes himself upright.

“I– I can’t—” The hero stumbles over his words for a moment, a desperate cough pulling from his chest. “I can’t hurt people. I can’t hurt him.”

The villain heaves a deep breath, stabilises himself. “Sometimes you have to hurt people to get them to do what you want,” the other superhero says. She flicks her hair over her shoulder much too casually for this conversation. “You have to whip the horse to get it to move, [Hero]. I’m ashamed we haven’t drilled that into you yet.”

The fact that she doesn’t use his actual name isn’t lost on the villain. He takes a few careful steps out of the shadows.

Don’t leave me.

“You don’t need to whip a horse,” the villain says sharply. The superheroes whip back to stare at him, and it feels like he’s fourteen again; got too dirty, played too rough, liked the wrong thing. The you’re in deep shit kind of feeling. “You can get them where you need if you give them reason to trust you.”

“Ah,” the other superhero says with a disingenuous smile. “The vermin returns.”

The hero’s head has snapped up, tears streaking his face. The villain wants this to be over. “Leave [Hero] alone,” he spits. “Leave my brother alone.”

“Oh?” The superhero smirks. “Now you want to get involved in family affairs?”

“Go on,” the villain taunts stupidly, “show him how a real hero does it.”

The superhero strides towards him, and it takes all his willpower to stay put. “You act like goodness and peace are one and the same.” He says flatly. “Sometimes violence is the only language you animals understand.”

“What a thing,” the villain retorts. He can feel the regret building as he’s saying it like he’s a child again. Don’t draw his attention to you. Stop talking. “To call your son an animal.”

The villain feels, rather than sees, the superhero’s fist on his face. It takes him a moment to realise he’s on the ground, the cold concrete an unforgiving bed. The hero shouts something incoherent, his voice torn. “I would never hurt my son,” the superhero says, emotionless, “but you are no son of mine.”

“Thank god,” the villain says with a mouth of copper.

“Let’s arrest the rat,” the other superhero says. “We can question him about his associates at the agency.”

The handcuffs are refreshingly cool in comparison to the burning in the side of the villain’s face. The superhero shoves him to his feet with no less remorse than any other villain he’s dealt with.

“Let me take him,” the hero says quickly. He stumbles to his feet, breaths still uneven, sniffling desperately. The words come out choked. “I’m sorry for messing up. I’ll take him.”

The superhero pulls the villain a little closer by the cuffs. It’s almost protective, if he didn’t know his father better. “You realise villains aren’t doves that need releasing into the wild?” the superhero drawls. “They are scum that need stamping out. If you take him, we will find him in the agency, won’t we?”

“Of course,” the hero says shortly. “I’ll get him there.”

The superheroes eventually go on their way. The villain spits on the floor after them.

“Some city defenders they are,” he says flatly. “Why the hell didn’t you leave?”

“They entered me in a race I didn’t realise I was running,” the hero says. His face is pulled taut, sweat beaded on his brow, his voice shaking. “And when I figured it out, it was too late to do anything but live up to their expectations and win.”

His hands still tremble on the villain’s arm. “I’m sorry I didn't see it sooner,” the villain whispers, like his regret is a curse. “You could have come with me.”

The hero laughs insincerely. “I’m sorry dad punched you.”

The villain shrugs as the hero gently nudges him towards the door. “Comes with being a villain. I’ve been punched a lot harder than that before.”

“I don’t know how you live like that.”

“I don’t know how you do either.”

They share a smile, kind of. It’s a little awkward and subdued, but it’s a smile between brothers long since torn apart. That’s all that matters.

“Look,” the hero says after a short moment, “I’m really sorry about everything. I’ll get you out of prison.”

“And incur the wrath of those freaks?” The villain laughs. “No, don’t worry. I’ll break myself out.”

“I’ll get you out,” the hero says quietly, “and this time, I’ll come with you.”

The villain stares at him, unabashedly wide-eyed. “Really?”

The hero looks better than he did ten minutes ago—colour is just starting to warm his cheeks again, his breath a little more even. Relief floods the villain’s heart in a way it hasn’t in a long time. “Anyone who calls my brother vermin is no parent of mine.” They start down the steps, slow, lazy, like they’re putting off getting home from school again. “I’m tired of trying to fit into their perfect ideals of a hero. I’ll come with you.”

The villain grins boyishly. Getting punched was almost worth it to get his best friend back. “We have room for you.” Almost. “But you get the bottom bunk.”

The hero rolls his eyes but he agrees, and it almost feels like nothing ever went wrong.

#creative writing #writblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #request #tw abuse #sorry youre getting this so late anon you caught me like 2 days before i went to this conference so i had no time to think on it rip #i think i went a lil off script but i hope its still to your liking!!

[daenerystargaryen06]

This is late 'cause I've been very busy and sick- but let's get into it.

I've seen so many comments like this one on Tik Tok, really terrible platform for comments like these to pop up since everyone likes spreading their hate for Dany on Daenerys edits/videos, especially on other comments that show support for Daenerys and uplift her. But this one in particular genuinely baffles me no, I won't blur the name out; this dude commented this on a public forum for everyone to see. Just don't send him hate or anything... even if this part of the fandom isn't as crazy as all the others.

'Drogon isn't as crazy as his slave master Dany'. Let's break this down, shall we? First point- Dany isn't a slave master, ESPECIALLY to Drogon. Dany was a bridal sex slave herself, in the show at the age of 16/17, in the books at the age of 13. She knows what it's like to be a slave, she was one herself, and due to her enslavement and the horrors she saw when wed to Drogo (his own people's violence against not only her but also the Lhazareen)- Daenerys wants equality for everyone. She breaks the chains from those enslaved in Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. She works to free these people from their sufferings and plight and give them agency to achieve freedom for themselves and no longer live under the cruelty of the Masters. In the show, she sets up a council of freedmen to govern themselves to rule the cities, and she ensures the Masters no longer remained a threat to her people before she left to Westeros. In the Books, she is currently struggling against the Masters and is facing many struggles, but she is still striving to ensure her people remain free and safe from the Masters without worry of cruelty and fear under the Masters for their own profit.

"There speaks one who has been neither." Dany's nostrils flared. "Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I . . . my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?" -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

"He was too eloquent for her. Dany had no answer for him, only the raw feeling in her belly. "Slavery is not the same as rain," she insisted. "I have been rained on and I have been sold. It is not the same. No man wants to be owned." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys III

Even worse is that this comment refers to Dany as being DROGON's slave master. Drogon has never been considered a slave to Dany. He is her child, her son. Her dragons are her children. Dany has never regarded them as slaves, nor will she ever regard to them as such. Rhaegal and Viserion were chained because Drogon killed a child, and Dany feared her dragons would grow unruly and begin to kill more of her people, yet she also regrets this decision. She cries when she does this in the show. She reflects upon it and regrets it in the books. She will always care for and love her dragons, who she loves alike to a mother. She regards to them as her children and would never willingly harm them.

In the show and books, Dany struggles with Drogon making his own decisions. But she does not try to enforce him under her will like a Master would a slave. She wants him to listen, yes, but every mother wants their child to listen and behave. In the show, she never harms Drogon or forces him to submit, he WILLINGLY listens to her once she gains back her identity after burning the Khals in Vaes Dothrak and going against the Masters when she returns to Meereen. If he didn't wish to listen, he wouldn't have to, as he possesses a mind and will of his own which was already shown in seasons 4-5. In the books, she has to whip Drogon into submission, but it was not to enslave Drogon- it was to SAVE him and her people from death in the Fighting Pit when he comes and almost loses his life while burning the people around him. If not for her, Drogon would have died, and he attacks back at her as well within the Pit before he submits to her and allows her to ride upon him away from the violence that was occurring.

Calling Dany Drogon's slave master is alike to calling every other Targ before her slave masters to their dragons, when we know that isn't true, and Dany's connection to her dragons is actually very much different and runs deeper than that of her ancestors with their own dragons.

Now, on the topic of 'craziness', Dany is far from it. In the show, she only became 'crazy' in the very last few episodes of the last season, when the writers ruined her character all for their excuse to have Jon kill her since they couldn't even think up a better ending. Before that, are we just going to ignore the fact that Dany actually went against what her father had done, did things for the good of others and cared for those considered 'lesser', and saved basically all of Westeros when she allied with Jon and it was the majority of HER armies and dragons that fought against the WW and NK? She only went 'crazy' when the writers wanted her to, and even that I don't consider canon, due to the fact she was painted as a HERO before they assassinated her entire character and made her go off the deep end and even that I don't view as just 'crazy'.

In the books, she fears becoming like her father, she is compared most to Rhaegar (a character many in the books view as sane and heroic), and she reflects most upon her actions and questions her decisions made. She is a grey character at most, and even still, she is the one character that does the most good and selfless acts in the books compared to everyone else. She wants what is best for her people, she wants to make them happy and give them good lives, and she wants to be a good Queen who isn't just feared or violent to achieve what she wants. She forgoes Westeros to keep in Meereen for her people's safety. She works the hardest to attempt for peace with the Masters without bloodshed or acts of cruelty and she is compassionate, intelligent, and an empathetic woman. She sees suffering and instead of accepting it like everyone else in that world has, she works AGAINST it to save those who do suffer due to her own experiences of suffering and pain. She is, in all, a hero who wants to do good. That doesn't seem very 'crazy' or 'slave master' to me.

Someone should really pick up the books, but I fear that their reading comprehension would be just as bad as their comments on Tik Tok.

#daenerys defence squad #daenerys stormborn #daenerys targaryen #daenerys targeryan #daenerys appreciation #mother of dragons #pro daenerys targaryen #breaker of chains #khaleesi #team daenerys #queen daenerys #daenerys defense squad #drogon #anti daenerys antis #asoif/got #game of thrones daenerys #anti game of thrones #anti d&d #a song of ice and fire #long post #meta

[miyuhpapayuh]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Her red bottoms click against the black marble with each stride she takes, her fiery red curls flowing down her back. 

Pushing through the glass doors, she pulls her deep burgundy, fur computer chair away from the desk and sits down, grabbing her buzzing phone.

“What?" Simone's sultry, yet irritated voice fills her ex-boyfriend's ears.  

"Why you keep sending me to voicemail? You too good to answer me, now?" He spats.  

"Anything I do is too good for you, B. I don't even know why I gave your dumb ass a chance, in the first place." She scoffs a laugh, pulling the phone away from her ear and putting it on speaker.  

"Wow.... that's how you do me?"

"You cheated on me. What am I supposed to say to you? What do we have to talk about?"  

"I keep trying to apologize—"

"Save it." She hangs up and blocks the number, rolling her eyes as she turns around and stares out of her big window.  

"Boys."

"Indeed," Jada comes in with a bottle of champagne. Simone turns back around and laughs.

"Is it too early to celebrate?" She asks, sitting the chilled bottle on the desk.

Simone checks her watch and shakes her head, reaching into a compartment under her desk, pulling out two wine glasses.

"It's five o'clock and right about now!... I need a damn drink."

“Let's pop this bottle then, bitch!"

Pulling the cork out of the bottle, the popping sound echoes throughout the space. The fizzy alcohol slightly spills from the top and down the side of the bottle.

The clinking of their glasses and laughter is just what she needs, after another long day of being the best editor in chief in Atlanta, Georgia.

Allura has been her reigning domain for about three years and counting, and she's never felt so powerful.

Having one of the biggest offices with the nicest view on the corner of Peachtree was more than a lifelong accomplishment for her, especially doing it all at the young age of twenty-five.

“Congratulations! We all know that your name should be on every issue. I'm so glad that you're finally being recognized for all the work you put in to make us look fabulous!"

“Thank you, chica! You're up next!"

“Simone, you've got a call on line three,” her personal assistant, Logan, buzzes through.

Sitting her glass down, she pushes the little red button and thanks Logan, before picking up the phone.

“Hello?"

“That beautiful voice is one I could listen to, forever."

A deep chuckle rattles through the phone and down her spine, but she quickly recovers, raising her eyebrows at Jada.

“Is that so?"

Jada grabs the champagne bottle and her glass, before slipping out of the door. Simone laughs and shakes her head.

"Indeed. How's your day going?"

"Well, our next issue just went out and my name is on the cover.”

The excitement in her voice is unmistakable.

"That's incredible, princess."

she swoons at the nickname.

"I'm so proud of you. Did you celebrate?"

"Thank you and yes, my best friend and I popped open that damn champagne bottle that's been staring at me for weeks!"

"Weeks." He reiterates, making her laugh.

“I thought you were gonna wait 'til I made it back, to open it."

"Well, originally, I was— why didn't you call my phone? This, technically, isn't a business call."

The deep chuckle returns. "You're a very busy woman, Ms. Carson. I didn't wanna disturb you."

“Hm... fair enough," she sticks her tongue into her cheek, "enough about me... how are you?”

"As long as I'm talking to you, I'm great."

She giggles, sipping on the golden toned liquid that's left in her glass.

"When you kiss ass, you get both cheeks, don't you?"

“Hm, I guess I should pay you a visit, soon. You get a little rowdy, when I'm away for too long—"

“—is that right?," she cuts him off.

A pet peeve of his. He licks his lips and laughs, but she knows it's less than amusing to him.

“That's right. You like startin' fires, but I'm coming to put ‘em out."

She crosses her legs, smirking as her plan works, once again.

“When?"

“Soon."

“I won't be waiting."

A little lie never hurt anybody, right?  

Lie on this phone, again, Simone."

She rolls her eyes as if he can see her.

"I'll see you when I see you."

She hangs up and steps away from her desk, heading out of her own office and further down the hall to Jada's. Walking into the creamsicle colored office, Simone takes a whiff of the cinnamon incense burning, before that amused chuckle fills her ears.

“That was a quick little conversation." Jada eyes Simone as she moves towards the window, with a sly smirk on her face.

“What can I say?" she sighs, "we don't beat around the bush."

"Mmhm. He gon' come beat them walls down, ain't he?" She asks.

A boisterous laugh escapes her, before she can stop it.

“Is he really?!"

The excitement is unmistakable in her tone as she moves from her chair to poke Simone's side.

“He's always poppin' up to put me in my place as he calls it."

“When's the last time he came down?"

“February," she replies.

"It's damn near May, girl!"

“I know, Jada. How do you think I feel?”

“I'd be dead by now, no lie. The way you talk about him, he's the truth."

Simone pulls on her open collar and sighs. "...with his arrogant, fine ass."

They both laugh and move away from the window. "So," closing her office door, Simone raises an eyebrow at Jada. "Where's lover boy?"

“Oh God," Jada rolls her eyes, "he's around here, somewhere. I had to shoo him away—"

“Why?!"

“Cause he's tryna make me fall in love with him! I do not wanna do that. We can fuck— we can do that all day long— but that's it."

"Yeah, right. You know you want him all to yourself.”

“In the nastiest way, possible.... yes."

"Hm.....well I'm gonna head home. Enjoy the champagne."

"I will! Text me when you make it."

"Will do."

Heading back into her maroon hued office, she grabs her phone off her desk and her bag from her bottom drawer, before turning off her lights and locking her door behind herself.

Heading towards the elevator, she pushes the button to take her downstairs. Her phone goes off with a message. The doors slide open and she steps on, pushing the golden button with the dim 1 on it, lighting it up. She pulls her phone out and scoffs a laugh.

Call me when you get home.

So you can harass me, some more?

Cut that out. I just wanna talk.

Stepping off the elevator, she makes her way down the wide hall and passes the receptionist, waving her goodbye.

“Have a wonderful night, Ms. Carson."

“You too, Liz."

Making her way outside, she heads towards her red Mercedes and gets in, plugging her phone up to her Bluetooth. Summer Walker's voice flows through her speakers as she makes her engine come to life. Instead of quickly going home to call the smug bastard that weakens her knees, she cruises down the street, watching as the pink sky turns into a deep orange.

"My last nigga was a bitch nigga I need a nigga wit bout six figures. Someone who know what to do with it, yeah Someone who ain't on that goofy shit..."

“Ugh," she turns down her street and slowly pulls into her driveway, cuts the car off and walks up the brick-lined sidewalk. Once inside her loft, she locks her door and kicks her heels off, heading into her living room to plop down on her sofa.

Running her hands through her curls, she pulls her phone out and shoots a text to Jada, before tapping his contact, watching the call connect after two rings, his handsome face coming into view.

"Don't you look gorgeous.”

"You got me beat, handsome."

"I could never.”

He props his phone up and places his salt and peppered, beard-clad chin into the palm of his calloused hand, his eyes wandering down the valley of her exposed chest.

"You left the house, like that?"

"I'm grown, yes." He laughs.

"Nobody had a heart attack?"

This makes her laugh.

"The usual perverts, but it's nothing I can't handle. How was work?"

"It was fine. Just a regular day at the office, honestly. I'll be glad when I can come back."

"I thought you could just do it, without needing permission?"

"It's a little more complicated, this time. I got some deadlines to meet and then I can be outta here."

The slight pout on her face makes him smile.

"You miss me, don't you?"

"Unfortunately." Her expression straightens, but he's unfazed. He even laughs.

"Nah, you blew that mean ass act, when I picked up the phone… callin' me handsome and flippin' your hair. Don't try it, now."

"That doesn't mean anything."

She props her phone up against the stack of records on her pink tinted, glass table and leans forward, her cleavage daring to jump from underneath the silk fabric.

"You're such a tease.”

"You like it, though."

Standing back up from the couch, she grabs her phone and heads upstairs, into her bedroom. He scoffs.

"My feet are killing me,” she stresses as she lets the phone fall onto the bed, while she pulls a navy blue bralette and panty set out.

"You're annoying, but your hands work magic. I could use that, right now." She continues.

Stripping out of her work clothes in record time, she ignores his chuckle and pulls on her set, grabbing the matching robe off her vanity chair.

"When I come back, you can get all the magic you desire."

"Can I, really?" She asks in a sarcastic tone, as she sits down at her vanity and props her phone up.

A deep sigh leaves as he stares at her. "Damn... you definitely can, babygirl."

"You should find a way to come back, sooner."

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't guarantee anything."

"But, I miss you," that famous pout returns, causing him to chuckle.

"I miss you more, princess. Quit pouting."

"I'll stop pouting, when you get here." 

He shakes his head and stands up, walking into his kitchen. She hums to herself as she watches his back muscles flex underneath his shirt, with the slightest movements.

"Jesus." She mutters to herself, as he turns around to face the camera, his black sweats hanging low on his hips. Her eyes linger on his outlined print, causing a chill to creep up her spine.

"Did you hear me, babygirl?" His tone is full of amusement as he watches her eyes dart up to his face.

"What did you say?"

"You've got some gifts coming your way, tomorrow."

"What kind of gifts?" Her ears perk up.

"Just a couple of things to hold you over, until I return."

"You didn't have to get me, anything—"

"Yes I did. I know you still don't like asking for things, but we'll break you out of that. It's just a couple of gifts, I promise."

"But, babe," she whines.

"Imani. I've already told you, my money is yours to spend." She sighs, staring at her nails.

"I want you to take me out when you come back."

"Where do you wanna go?" He comes back to his chair, giving her a full view of his grown out beard.

"I don't know, yet. It's one of those restaurants where the flowers hang overhead and there's lights everywhere! I just wanna get dolled up, eat good, drink good... come back to my place and fuck good."

He raises an eyebrow at her, but she just innocently smiles. "You're something else."

"That's why you put up with me." She winks.

"That and many other reasons. But, I'll see about the restaurant and set everything up."

"Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome. What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" She groans at the mention of her backed up schedule.

"I've got a press conference in the morning. The building is supposed to be getting redesigned and my goofy ass decided to put my two cents in, and now I gotta sit in for the meeting after that. Then, I've gotta help Jada find her sister the perfect wedding dress, before next Friday— it's just a little too much going on."

"You've got this, business woman. Hard work pays off, right?"

She nods, placing her chin in the palm of her hand. "That, it does."

"It's all worth it, then."

Staring at the clock on the other end of her vanity, she sighs. "It's almost seven and I haven't eaten a thing."

"You drank on an empty stomach?"

"Yeah, but I only had half a glass. I might just order a pizza or something. And no, I don't want you to buy it for me. I'm still mad at you for paying my rent."

"You can front all you want, but I take care of mine. You keep your money in the bank and let me spend mine on you."

She rolls her eyes, fighting the smirk that makes its way onto her lips. "I'm hanging up, now."

"Why?"

"Cause, I can't fight you through this screen." He laughs.

"Keep that same energy, babygirl."

"It's kept. Goodnight." She blows a kiss.

"Goodnight."

˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟ෆ.₊̣̇ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇ෆ.₊̣̇.̑ෆ₊̣̇˟̑ෆ

@ghostfacekill-monger @sheabuttahwrites @thegifstories @blackerthings @twistedcharismaaa @cecereads209 @honestpreference @soufcakmistress @abeautifulmindexposed @awerkofart @nayaesworld @mauvecherie-writes @harmshake @starcrossedxwriter

#sugarff #miyuhpapayuh #poc writers #blackwriters #black romance #yahya abdul mateen ii #simone x anthony

[h0nology]

The Metkayina Way

Neteyam x Metkayina! Reader

warnings: more nightmares (reader can’t catch a break), talk of feelings, slight angst, fluff, ao’nung being a bully again (he’s so hardheaded 😭), reader got a lil mean again for a second, arguing, just a reminder that they’re aged up lol, lmk if i missed anything

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 6.2

You had woken up out your sleep again, this is the fourth time this happened actually. You tried dealing with it alone, but you knew that wouldn’t help so you confided in your mother, who only told you that you had been paranoid again. She went on about drastic changes and how you're probably just worrying over nothing, but that didn’t explain the lifeless body you held in your arms each night.

You found yourself on the beach again, sitting in the water, meditating. It has turn into a daily thing for you to do, it was always at the same time too. Right before dawn.

“Can’t sleep?” A voice, Neteyams voice called from behind you.

“What are you doing out here, Neteyam?” You didn’t even turn around to look at him.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He sat down next to you in the water.

“I asked you first.” Looking over at him, he slightly smiled, “I cannot sleep.” He simply responded, shrugging his shoulders.

“This is the second night out of the week where you have not gotten any sleep. What is going on?"

“This is your fourth time out on the beach at the crack of dawn, what is going on with you?” He ignores your question.

He was watching you. This whole time he was watching you. Embarrassment crept up on you, cheeks beginning to become hot. The thought of Neteyam seeing you in a vulnerable state wasn’t pleasant at all, this whole week has been full of tears, every night you came out here crying. Every night. And he saw you.

“You are creepy.”

He took slight offense to what you said, just looking at you while he tried to come up with something to make him look like he’s not a creep. That’s the last thing he wanted you to think.

“I am kidding, idiot boy.” You nudge him, “You need to loosen up a little.”

“Me?!” He scoffs, “You are the one who needs to loosen up.”

“I do.”

“I have never seen that side of you.”

You looked over at him, his golden eyes and freckles glowing under the night sky.

“We are not talking about me.”

“I want to, but I cannot.” He shrugs once again, “Explain, Neteyam.” You were starting to grow annoyed with the boy.

“I cannot. Not when my father wants me to be his perfect fucking soldier. It is my job to watch over everyone, keep everyone in line, make sure everybody is okay. Who is there to make sure I am, okay?”

You sat there and listened to everything he said, processing every single word. You heard him. You saw him. The boy was robbed, not being able to live the life any other normal teenage boy. But the life as a future warrior, you understand where he was coming from, you did. But you couldn’t help but wonder what that foreign word was, you decided to push it aside for now.

“I am here. I will make sure you are okay.” You placed your hand in his, “I understand where you are coming from, it is not easy being the eldest of your siblings or a child of a warrior, I understand.”

He looked down at your hands and up to your eyes, Neteyam swears that your eyes are the prettiest things he’s ever seen. The boy was lost of words, his heartbeat starting to quickly pick up.

“Are you okay?” He asked you, “I have seen you all those nights.”

“It is silly.” You waved him off, dismissing the topic. How stupid would you look if you were crying every night over a stupid nightmare?

“If it was silly, you would not be out here crying your eyes out every night. Talk to me, how am I supposed to make sure you are okay if you will not talk to me?”

“It is nothing, Neteyam! Just silly little nightmares. That is all, I do not want to talk about it.” You pull your hand from his and stood up, “Now come, I want to show you something.”

“Hey! Don’t do that!” He said from behind you, placing his hand in yours again, “Don’t pull yourself away from me.”

You tried to hide your blushing face as much as possible, though he probably couldn’t see it since it was so dark.

“Why must you be so loud?! Hush!” You scolded, leading him further into the Island.

You led him, hand in hand into the forest. Your pace picking up when your destination was in sight.

“Where are we?” Neteyam asked as you approached the pond, “What does it look like?” You looked back at him.

You approached the glowing pond, detaching your hand from his to remove your knife holster that was around your thigh. You placed your feet in the cold water, beginning to walk in. You turned to face Neteyam, who was following behind you. He watched as you slowly sunk into the water, wanting him to follow you. He slowly walked in, wincing at the cold water, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him in.

“You are taking too long.” You laugh as he wipes the water from his face.

“Why did you bring me here?” He asked, swimming after you, “Well, it was my place to go when I wanted to get away from everything. Now it can be yours too.” You began to float on your back.

“So now it’s our place.”

“Sure.” You smiled up at the night sky.

The two of you floated together in silence, listening to the sounds of the water and the forest around you. This was the first time you’ve ever brung someone to your spot, your siblings didn’t even know about it. You usually didn’t like sharing, especially special things like this. But you didn’t mind sharing it with Neteyam.

You suddenly flipped off your back, diving down into the water, passing fishes and other little creatures as you went to the bottom.

“What are you doing?” Neteyam signed, “Come here, idiot boy.” You signed back to him.

He swam down to you, and you interlocked your arm with his, showing him the little creatures in the sand. You never knew what they were called, you hadn’t seen them before until your first time out here. Neteyam reached to grab one, placing it in the palm on his hand. The little unknown creature crawling all over his hand, he looked over at you and smiled before looking back at the little creature, who eventually jumped off of Neteyam’s hand and back into the sand.

“What was it.” Neteyam signed to you, and you shrugged your shoulders, laughing at the bad signing.

Neteyam unhooked his arm from yours and wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you up with him. The boy gasped for air as you sat there continuing to laugh at him.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You need to work on your signing.” You admit, “My signing is good!” He defended.

You only shake your head at the boy, his arms stayed on your waist, but his face read try me. You looked at his golden eyes, and his glowing freckles once again. Taking in his beautiful face.

“You have pretty eyes, idiot boy.” You signed.

“Mine? Yours are beautiful but thank you.” A smug smile smeared across his face, “I do not appreciate you calling me idiot boy though.”

You weren’t expecting for him to get it, not that soon at least. You wondered how he had figured it out, maybe he had asked somebody. Who knows.

“Get used to it.”

When you woke out of your slumber it took you a minute to process where you were, your hand touching the damp grass you used as a pillow. Neteyam’s hand rested on your waist as his chest fell up and down, still fast asleep. You wanted to stay like this forever, and you were tempted to for a minute until reality hit you.

The two eldest children of two powerful warriors. Gone.

You hopped up from your spot, startling Neteyam, causing him to jump up as well.

“What is wrong?!” He frantically looked around, “We have to go!” You tied your knife back around your thigh, starting to walk out of the forest.

You prayed to ewya nobody noticed you two were gone yet, you two quickly made your way back on the beach. Only a few people were out, which means everyone was just starting to wake up.

“I will see you later, idiot boy.” You two started walking opposite directions, “Hopefully you have a new nickname for me by that time.” He smiles.

You approached your pod, expecting everybody to still be asleep but they were all sitting around eating together.

“My child! Where have you been?” Your mother gets up to examine you, “Swimming. I go swimming every morning, mother.” You slightly smile, not pleased with yourself for lying to your mother.

“It is a bit earlier than usual, are you okay?” Your father asked from the floor, where he sat with your siblings.

“Yes, I am fine. I promise.” You looked in between both of your parents before taking a seat in between your brother and sister.

You began to eat the mixed berries and vegetables that was laid out on the table, you parents leaving from the pod to do their daily duties.

“Where did you go? I looked for you, you were not swimming.” Ao’nung asked you, like he was your big brother, “I was swimming.” You tell him.

“With who, sister?” Tsireya smiled up at you and you couldn’t help but blush.

“Oh, great mother, do not tell me you were out with the other forest boy.” Ao’nung looks at you, hoping you’d say otherwise but you didn’t, “Those skxawng’s.” Ao’nung rolled his eyes, getting up.

You and Tsireya waved him off as he walked out the pod, probably going to find Rotxo.

“So, where were you two?” She turns you, her smile all big and childlike, “Our spot.” You gave her a sly look, grabbing another handful of berries.

“You two have a spot?!

“Now we do.” I smiled.

“I am happy you are finally not ignoring your feelings.” She playfully hits your arm, “You know I cannot wear my heart on my sleeve like you do.” You shook my head.

Tsireya has always been so open with showing affection, and just a loving person overall. You loved it for her, and you wish you could be the same.

“You should try it.” She says, “You know, you are going to have to pick a mate soon.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Tsireya!”

“What? It is true!” She laughs.

She was right though, it was actually long overdue. Thankfully you have supportive parents, trusting in your decision to just wait. But the clan is starting to talk, and you were running out of time.

“We will talk about that when the time comes.” You begin to change the subject, “Now you tell me about, Lo’ak.”

Though the boy was a little troublemaker and got himself into some crazy situations, you liked him for your sister. You watched them these last few days, it was a good balance between those two.

“He is so…misunderstood. It is almost like he lives in his brother's shadow; I am sorry to have to say that-”

“It is true.” You nod. Little does he know, Neteyam doesn’t want it to be that way.

“But I do not see him that way, I see him as his own person. I see him.”

Your sisters' words caught you off guard for a moment, but the girl did wear her heart on her sleeve, and you were sure that her feelings were not wrong.

“I did not mean—“

“No, no.” You shush her, “If you know, you know. Do not doubt it.”

You enjoyed these little talks with your little sister, girl talk as some would say. You were glad she was able to confide in you and talk to you about these things. You two wrapped up your conversation and stepped outside your pod, walking down onto the beach together. You didn’t really have anything as far as training planned for the day, you thought about what you could possibly do with your time. You ran your hair through your thick locs—hair. Your hair. You had been neglecting it for a while now.

“Tsireya, can you go grab the stuff for our hair? I am going to go find some shells to put in mine.”

“Why did you wait until we left.” She rolls her eyes, “I am sorry.” You say to her as she walks back to your shared pod.

You make your way into the water before diving down, examining looking at each shell precisely. Other things caught your eye while you were down there, grabbing every pretty little thing you saw. Tsireya joined you for a little bit before the two of you swam back to shore. You sat where she put the supplies and showed her all the shells you had collected, you had gotten lucky when you found two almost identical ones, already knowing what you’re doing with the two. You started on your hair, parting and applying the product you had made, Tsireya taking the back as you took the front.

“Hi guys!” The familiar young voice filled your ears, “Is it hair day?” Kiri asks as her and Tuk approach you, taking a seat by you two.

“It is long overdue.” You joke as you continue to twist your hair.

You guys sat there, talking, everybody contributing to getting your hair done. You noticed Neteyam making his way over to the group, the spot where Lo’ak usually stood was empty.

“Where is Lo’ak?” Tsireya questioned, “Said something about a truce with your brother.” Kiri shrugged, finishing the piece of hair she was on.

Truce. That’s interesting, you wonder how it went or how it’s currently going, knowing how stubborn your brother is.

“Me next?” Neteyam says as he approaches the group, “No.” Kiri rolls her eyes over at her brother, “I’m always stuck doing your hair.”

“I was not asking you, Kiri.” His eyes lock on yours, “Why must you put me to work, Neteyam?” You exaggerated a groan, knowing you wanted nothing else but to be running your hands through his hair.

Tsireya hit your shoulder, “She would love to.”

You couldn’t even scold the girl for volunteering you, because you truly wanted to. You didn’t find those shells for nothing, you quickly wrapped up with doing your hair before telling Neteyam to sit in front of you. You brought yourself to your knees, obviously not being able to do his hair sitting down because of his height. You were quickly able to take out his braids, running your fingers through his soft hair trying to figure out what you were going to do with it. You began to part his hair; you’d come up with something along the way. The boy hissed and made remarks about you being too rough time to time, which just made you smack him upside the head and tell him to hush. The girls had left you two alone a while back, going back into the water to find more shells.

You finished the braids and pulled out some string to pull up half of them, placing them on top of his head. You moved in front of him and pulled out two braids so that they could sit at the front of his face.

“I have a feeling I look like Lo’ak right now.” He muttered, “You look like Neteyam.” You shush him as you continued to work on his hair.

You adjusted the bun on the top of his head, then the braids that you had left down, sliding some beads here and there. You grabbed one of the two strands from the front of his head, putting the shell on the strands of hair.

“What is this?” He held up the braid that the shell was on, “Something I found, these were the only two.” You held up a piece of your hair to show him the shell.

He smiles, “I love it.”

“Think of it as, I am always with you.” You tell him.

“I like the sound of that.” He looks at you, “I will find one for you now!” He started to run towards the water, you follow behind him, but he stopped you, “It is a surprise.”

“But your breathing.” You warned, “My sisters are in there, I will be fine.” He assured you.

“Do not drown on me, idiot boy!” You yelled out as he dives into the water.

While you waited for him to return, you cleaned up the supplies, gathering and putting it back into what Tsireya originally had it in. As you were cleaning you couldn’t help but hear the voices of the most obnoxious friend group in the clan, Ao’nung and his friends were laughing and going on about something and you had noticed Lo’ak wasn’t with them all. Your eyes scanned around the beach, making sure he wasn’t in sight before you made a scene. You stormed over to your brother and his friends, already infuriated with them.

“Where is he?” You slightly yell as you approached the group of boys, “Where is Lo’ak?! He was with you all last, what did you do?!”

The boys stood around looking at you, trying to choose their next words wisely. You swear these boys always find a way to make your life hard.

“How are we supposed to know?” Ao’nung shrugs, “Do not lie to me, Ao’nung!” You yelled.

“I am not lying.”

You pinched between your eyes, trying your hardest not to put your hands on your little brother. You didn’t understand why Ao’nung was the way he was, causing all this trouble. Especially now. He was definitely lying to you and if you couldn’t get it out of him, you knew who could. Any other scenario you’d be embarrassed that you couldn’t get your brother to tell you the truth, but at this point you didn’t care. You walked back to where you were before and impatiently waited for Neteyam to come out of the water, all of them actually. How many shells could they be getting?! You took it upon yourself to dive into the water, quickly finding them digging through the sand.

“Out. Now.” Was all you signed before going back shore.

They all emerged from the water, hands full with shells and other little things.

“Go find our fathers, your brother has not returned yet. It is almost eclipse.” You tell the girls, you saw the worry in Tsireya’s eyes immediately, “Tsireya, calm down.” You tell her before they walked off.

“My brother knows where he is, he will not t—” Neteyam didn’t even let you finish your sentence, storming over to the group of boys.

“Where is my brother?!” Neteyam had Ao’nung against a tree, forearm at his throat, “What did I tell you the last time?!”

“Neteyam!” You yelled out, almost coming off as a warning. That was still your baby brother at the end of the day, you couldn’t help it.

“Where. Is. He.” Neteyam gritted through his teeth, “What did you do?!”

“We took him beyond the reef.” Ao’nung finally spits it out, Neteyam hit the tree behind Ao’nung as you stood there in disbelief.

“Oh ewya, give me the strength to not rip out my baby brothers throat! Come on!” You grabbed him by his ear, pulling him towards where everybody was, assuming that’s where Jake and your father were.

You finally approached the large group, pushing your way through the crowd until you stood in front of your father and Jake.

“What is it?” Your father asked, “Tell him what you told us!” Neteyam pushed Ao’nung.

And so, he did, your mother and father were furious, sending apologies to Jake and Neytiri as everyone gathered to go find the boy, including yourself.

Just as everybody was about to get into the water, somebody had called out that they had saw something. You looked out into the distance, squinting your eyes trying to see what everybody was looking at.

“The boy has returned!” The man had yelled.

Eventually you saw Lo’ak on the Ilu, swimming towards the group of people. He finally reached the dock, jumping off the Ilu and looking around at everybody. His mother quickly grabbing her son, looking over him and whispering prayers to herself.

“Ao’nung, you have brought enough shame to this family. Apologize now.” Your father says, “I am deeply sorry.” Ao’nung kept his head down.

“It was not his idea, I wanted to go beyond the reef.” Lo’ak sat there and lied straight through his teeth, “Is this true?” Your father asked and the boy nodded his head.

“Do not lie for him!” You yelled, walking up to the boy, “I’m not lying.” Lo’ak protested.

“That is enough.” Your father placed his hand on your shoulder, you looked at the boy once again before turning and starting to walk away.

“You are a coward.” You hiss at Ao’nung as you push past him, walking away from the group.

Eclipse had come, everybody making their way towards their pods as you went to collect your things from earlier. You gathered the supplies again, picking up the shells everybody had collected earlier before making your way back to your pod, where you knew your father was giving Ao’nung the hardest time of his life. As you continued to walk, the familiar family appeared in front of you, without Lo’ak once again.

“Kiri, Tuk, here are your shells.” You crouched down to Tuk’s level and handed her the shells, her giving you a hug in return.

You stood again, standing in front of their parents with your head held high, “I want to apologize on my brother's behalf for his actions.”

“Thank you.” Jake says to you, Neytiri only nodding at you.

The family begins to walk again, Neteyam quickly making his way over to you before they noticed he wasn’t behind him. But they knew, they all knew. Neytiri nudging Jake to look at you two, holding each other in a quick embrace.

“Thank you.” Neteyam says as he pulls out the hug, still holding on to your arms, “It is no problem. Do not mention it.” The topic of Ao’nung was starting to annoy you.

“You know, that was some of the best sleep I have gotten all this week.” Neteyam refers to earlier, when you had fallen asleep in his arms.

“What are you suggesting?” You smirk at the boy.

“Come on, Neteyam!” Jake called for his son, “You’ll see her tomorrow.” He teases.

Neteyam shakes his head in embarrassment, looking at his father and back to you, “I will see you later.” He picks up your hand, opening it and placing something into it before catching up with his family.

You opened your hand, a golden shell sitting in your palm. Golden. Just like his eyes. You smiled to yourself, watching as the boy walked away into the night.

tags: @afro-hispwriter @mashiromochi @neteyamforlife

#avatar fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x metkayina!reader #neteyam series #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #neteyam #atwow loak #metkayina reader #ao’nung x sister!reader #ao’nung #lo’ak x tsireya

[possibilistfanfiction]

I love any AUs you write! I love any canon you write! Whenever you write anything I'm so happy :) I know things are busy in life always so I'm waiting patiently and with excitement. Thank you

this is so sweet, here's something a little silly.

/

summary: "ava is quiet for a while. 'do you think,' she whispers, 'that we know each other in all of them?'

it's late and ava is drunk and you say things you mean, when it's like this. when the rest of the world is asleep and there's ava's perfume and the mountains. you say the truth quietly: 'i can't imagine my universe doesn't have you in it.'"

[or: in every universe, there's a lot of love. 5 small AUs, + 1 canon]

ao3

//

this is the golden age (of something good & right & real)

this i can tell you: when i came to your apartment for the first time, i recognized it. i knew, without knowing how, that i would never leave. these were the bricks you had been laying without knowing it; this was the path my flares had been lighting. it was the beginning of a wobbly and joyful and occasionally gross carrying on, learning to come home to you, marked and myself.

— jordan kissner, 'backward miracle', from thin places

/

1

it hurts, to hold death in your hands.

there's blood all over your scrubs and there's nothing you could have done differently; your hands are fast and clever and so is your brain. you've trained for so long for this, practiced for years and years, and still, you can't save everyone.

it's what ava tells you, after you've called time of death and after you have to tell a family that their son is dead, that the damage was too severe even before he was on your operating table, even before you'd cracked open his chest and held his shredded heart; he had died with you saying a silent apology, a prayer, a blessing. it's what ava tells you when she finds you in the attending lounge, tucked into a corner of the couch, your hands stinging.

'wanna hear a horrible platitude, dr. choi?'

you tuck your head into her shoulder, take comfort in the familiarity of her rose perfume and the starchy laundry detergent the hospital uses and the softness of her fleece quarterzip, ava silva, md, phd, facs embroidered on one side, department of neurosurgery smaller beneath. you feel her pulse beneath your lips on her neck, less of a kiss and more of a measure: 74 beats per minute, you count, healthy and normal and real.

'when has me saying no to that ever stopped you, dr. silva?'

she grins. 'someone very wise once told me: you can't save everyone.'

you huff, but it's not with any bite, and you follow along when she puts a finger under your chin and asks, silently, for you to meet her eyes. there are things you need to do, now that you're out of surgery and your shift is, technically, over: pick up your daughter from her tennis lesson; remember to remind ava to grill the zucchini for dinner you both keep forgetting is in the fridge; fold the load of laundry that you'd left in the dryer the night before; take your dog to his weekly canine good citizen class. there are things you need to do but for right now the only important thing is your wife, small and beautiful and brilliant, running her hand through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly, stilling her hand comfortingly there, the back of your skull. she rebuilds spines and you save hearts, or at the very least, you try; her back aches, all the time, and you have more grey in your hair every year.

when you had started your residency program here you had known you would be excellent at surgical innovation, at quick, precise sutures, at research; you hadn't anticipated, at all, how ava silva — brash and loud and deeply caring — had made all of that seem minuscule in the face of listening to a patient carefully, every single time. insignificant compared to the way she loves you, the way she has since before she had been so brave and kissed you one day in the stairwell after you'd saved someone. it's always a miracle: stitching someone's chest up, whole; kissing ava like it's the only thing you've ever wanted.

'i wish i could,' you say, softly, an admission and a hope.

'i know, baby.' ava kisses your temple. 'that's why you're the best in the world. that's why you do save so many people.'

you want to tell her no, it's because you love me. it's because you've given me a life and a home and a beautiful child and endless patience when i can't quite catch up, can't quite love as big or as loud or with the same abandon. you want to tell her so much, all the time, but she just cups your jaw and looks you calmly in the eyes.

'i know,' she tells you softly.

'i love you.'

she smiles, easy and delighted, just like she had the first time you said it, all those years ago, in the middle of a rainstorm in the parking lot after you'd jogged after her at the end of a shift, when you couldn't last another moment without saying it, without her knowing for sure. 'oh, bea,' she says, 'i love you too.'

you don't bother to change out of your new pair of scrubs, and ava seems to decide that's fine for her too. she carefully folds your slacks and sweater and puts them in your duffle, then throws her nice clothes in a messy pile on top. you roll your eyes but just for posterity.

she fishes your wedding bands out from the small zipped pocket on the side and puts hers on, then grins when she runs her thumb along your tender wrist and slips it onto your finger. it's raining again today, too, and you open your umbrella as you leave, make sure ava is completely covered. your shoulder gets a little wet but you don't mind. ava takes your hand in hers, cold and slightly chapped and real — so, so real — and you hold it too, easy: life.

/

2

ava silva, you read on the report, and then the details about her arrest. she has no priors and there's a whole slew of cases just like this judge superion continues to dismiss entirely — much to your delight — in the wake of so many protests. your job has been monumentally chaotic lately, but you're glad for it, glad you're able to do something.

you take a deep breath and comb your fingers through your hair with its neat part and clean edges, straighten the lapels on your suit, and set your shoulders: you will win.

when you open the door, ava perks up. she's wearing a t-shirt that says ACAB on it, with a picture of pigs behind, and there's both a small palestinian flag and a small bisexual flag taped on the handles of her chair. her hair, just brushing her chin, is kind of a mess, and she looks exhausted, but, still she smiles.

'you're my lawyer?'

you're a little thrown off by the question: you're young, but so is ava; you'd passed the bar with one of the highest scores in the state a few years ago and have been excellent ever since, offered countless partner track positions at various firms, but instead you've chosen to do work you actually care about; you've been building a rock solid reputation as one of the most gifted attorneys at the aclu for awhile now.

but you nod, offer your hand. 'beatrice, she/her pronouns.'

'sweet. i'm ava — which i guess you already know — any pronouns.'

you nod and make a neat little note on the report.

'okay, before you judge me for what i'm about to say, please know that i haven't slept in 36 hours, and i think i might be getting a pressure sore on my hip because i've had to be in my chair this entire time.'

you frown. 'that's unconstitutional. they're supposed to make sure you have accommodations under the ADA.'

'yeah,' she says, ‘well, if the police state actually cared about disabled people, we probably wouldn’t be in this jail, would we?’

you bite your bottom lip. ‘we wouldn’t.’

she shrugs. ‘anyway. i was just gonna say you’re hot.’

'oh.'

'don't read too much into it,' ava says. 'i'm tired.'

'understandably so. would it be more comfortable for you to move somewhere else? i can probably arrange it quickly.'

'nah,' they say, dismiss the idea with a wave of their hand. 'let's just get this over with, right? i mostly just want to go home.' their shoulders soften. 'thank you, though.'

'of course.'

'you really mean that, don't you?’

you know the weight of it. 'yes, i do.'

ava's smile is bright, tired, easy, especially for all of this. 'do you want to hear my side, or do you already know what you're going to tell the jury?'

'there won't be a jury,' you say, seriously, and then laugh when you realize ava was kidding. 'i suspect, in fact, that judge superion will dismiss all charges immediately.'

'whew,' ava says, 'thank fuck.'

'i do want to know what happened, though. if you feel safe and comfortable telling me. i can pull in mental health support if that would be helpful.'

'oh,' ava says, but then shakes his head. 'that's okay. you're, you know, you seem cool. in addition to being hot.'

'ava.'

'sorry.' she grins and you're already helpless against it. she tells you what happened, and, just like you suspected, ava had done nothing wrong, and, just as you've always come to expect, the cop assaulted her, certainly not the other way around. she also tells you that she runs community outreach programming for a grassroots disability justice organization, that she's a mario kart champion, and that she has a cat named serena williams — not necessary, but endearing nonetheless, and you don't stop her. instead, you take notes carefully and put your pen down when it's clear she's finished.

'well, i feel strongly that your case will be dismissed without any issue, although of course i can't promise for certain.'

'poor form, i guess. makes sense.'

'unfortunately, you should change your shirt before we go into the courtroom.'

'damn,' ava says, shaking her head ruefully, although she laughs. 'can i keep the flags, though?'

you shrug out of your jacket; ava probably doesn't have any spare clothes, and it's easier this way. you want her to get to go home as quickly as possible. 'you can keep the flags,' you say, and hand your jacket to her quietly.

'damn, gucci? i — i can't wear this. like, for real, beatrice.'

'no worries.' she still frowns. 'genuinely. it’s due to be dry-cleaned anyway.'

she squints. your suit jacket is deep green, linen lined with gold silk. it had been the first thing you'd bought yourself when you passed the bar, when you were just settling into your skin: tailored suits and crisp button-downs, comfortable, soft sweaters and loose cotton pants on the weekends. you cannot think of a single other person in the entire world that you would so casually let wear something so special, something that holds a lot of comfort and pride.

ava still looks skeptical but he puts it on, lifting with his arms to tuck it properly around his waist, and then buttons it so that the majority of his shirt is covered. 'thank you, beatrice.'

you nod. 'let's go get everything taken care of, yes?'

and you do: it goes as you'd both hoped and expected, and soon, you're walking with ava out of the courthouse. it's bright; you get your sunglasses out of your briefcase and ava grins up at you.

'well, will you let me take care of your dry-cleaning for your jacket as a thank you, at least?'

'i — it's my job. no need to thank me.'

'you have a dry cleaner you like, huh?'

you grimace. 'i do.'

ava's laugh is bright. 'okay, fine. but, dinner?'

when you hesitate, he reaches to touch your hand, just for a moment.

'i'm trying to ask you out. so, let me? if you want?'

you open your bag and get out a business card, quickly write your personal number on the back, and then hand it to her. 'dinner sounds wonderful, ava.'

//

3

you button and unbutton the top clasp on your perfectly pressed collared shirt, then run a hand over your hair that you buzz every week, precise and just how you like it. you’re not supposed to fidget but it’s no use: you set to retying your apron for the fifth time, and then somehow feel regret for the one small, stupid tattoo of a pringle you got, just above your elbow, blackout drunk, on a dare on your twenty-third birthday, even though it's definitely not noticeable among the rest of the tattoos that fill out your sleeve.

lilith scoffs. 'chef,' she says, already a bad start because lilith never calls you that unless it’s at the beginning of an insult. she leans casually against the perfectly clean counter. 'you don't even have hair to mess with, your shirt looks gay, the pringle is admittedly funny, and your apron is as boring and perfect as ever.'

'i have never seen you in the kitchen in anything but a black apron.' it's both incomplete and petulant, unfortunately, and only makes her smile bigger, teeth bared.

'you have a crush.'

'i have never in my life have a crush.’

lilith raises a brow.

‘besides, i don't have time.'

she rolls her eyes. 'that's a shallow excuse. i'm sleeping with no less than three people at any given time.'

you pinch the bridge of your nose; you feel a headache coming on.

'fine,' lilith relents, easier than normal, probably because you both are exhausted; opening a restaurant — even though you'd been the chef de cuisine at superion's before this, with its three michelin stars — is more work than you could've imagined. 'well, i'm going to go do literally anything other than witness you continue to be terrible at flirting, especially with ava. don't do anything i wouldn't do.'

'don't think that crosses too much off the list,' you say, and lilith laughs.

'night, beatrice.'

you wave in her direction as she heads out and check on the stewed lamb you'd been simmering — delicate, full of your favorite spices and scallions and cilantro. it's not fancy, not something you would serve on the menu — not in the same way, at least — but it's comforting. it's cold outside, and you hear the front door bang open and then a shit, fuck, sorry from the woman who is pretty quickly becoming your favorite person in the world.

'i'm in the kitchen,' you call out, which is probably unnecessary.

ava pokes her head in, windblown and red-cheeked, unwrapping her scarf, her hair half-out of its bun — beautiful. 'wouldn't expect you to be anywhere else,' she says, grinning. ‘you do leave sometimes though, right?’

ava doesn’t bother waiting for your answer. he snags a piece of a carrot you'd so painstakingly julienned by hand and pops it into her mouth, still smiling, and then comes to stand beside you while you do your best to not burst out of your skin. he puts his hand on the small of your back and her chin on your shoulder to peek over at the pot. 'hi,' she says, leans into you a little more. 'this smells incredible.'

it takes you a second to find your voice. 'it's the cumin.' you settle yourself. 'this is one of my favorite comfort foods,' you say, not much but, still, not nothing. and, like always, in a measure of grace, ava lights up at the offering.

'i can't wait to try it. thank you,' she says, so sincere, 'for making it for me.'

'i'm sure you have very important chefs making you food all the time.'

you feel her frown against your shoulder. 'well, a tasting menu, maybe. but that's work.'

'this isn't work?'

'is this on your menu?'

you resign yourself. 'no,' you admit.

she stands up straight, triumphant. 'exactly. listen, getting your wine pairings right is really important to me, but i'm not — spending time with you isn't work, to me, chef.'

'you can call me beatrice,' you say. and then, a beat: 'you should. it's not work, to make food for you.'

it's love, you know, but you can't bring yourself to say it, not yet.

ava's smile is soft and she nods, backs up and hoists herself up onto the counter behind you. it's a health and safety violation but you aren't actually open yet so you don't say anything, instead just let her kick her boots back and forth in the air a few times and shake her hair out of its less-than-successful bun. you turn to offer her a spoonful of the stew to try, hold your hand carefully underneath it, and bring it to her lips. she closes her eyes and then moans. 'beatrice,' she says, 'i swear to god, who i believe in now that that's been in my mouth — don't make a joke about that, okay — that is the best thing i've ever tasted in my whole entire life.'

it's so exuberant and genuine you can't do anything but laugh. 'an insult to the rest of my food, then.'

ava laughs too, hops down from the counter. 'no,' she says, 'all of your food is incredible. this is just —' she shakes her head, easy curls around her face.

'warm,' you say. 'it feels warm, right?'

ava tilts her head, eyes bright and soft. 'yeah. yeah, it does.'

you feel untethered, so you turn back to your food: perfect, and perfectly timed — like always, like you've never allowed yourself to stray from. maybe one day you'll be at home with ava, after a sleepy morning when your restaurant is up and running on its own, after you've let her cut your hair for you, after you've said vows in a garden and laughed when you fed each other cake — maybe one day she'll kiss you in the kitchen and you'll burn the eggs.

but for now: 'i brought something.'

'hmm?'

she fishes around in her bag. 'okay, we definitely can't put this on the menu, but i brought something i've wanted to open for a long time.'

ava hands you a bottle of wine, deep red and rich, and when you read the label you have to force yourself to not audibly gasp. 'leroy domaine d'auvenay les bonnes-mares grand cru?' you read the entire thing aloud like some sort of prayer, but ava understands.

'the 1993.'

'ava,' you say, 'this is an eight-thousand dollar bottle of wine.'

'sure,' he says, shrugging like it's inconsequential, like it's an offering that she's never second-guessed. '$8716, to be exact. but it was a gift, no worries.'

'i can — should i make something different? i have a beautiful a5 wagyu ribeye —'

'you made me something warm you love.' she smiles gently. 'i don't want anything else.'

'you're sure?'

'a cab is perfect with lamb, you know.'

'i do — yes, i know that.'

ava laughs at how seriously you confirmed. 'plus, i want to share it with you.'

all you can do is smile, really, small and private and into the collar of your shirt. you get down your favorite bowls — you had picked every single one by hand — and then carefully ladle some stew into them. you dress your favorite light fall salad and get out wine glasses and a bottle opener.

'do you want to sit in the restaurant, or just eat back here?'

'my back is solid today,' ava says, 'so let's eat in here. i know you like it, you weirdo.'

you roll your eyes but really you just want to kiss her. she chatters on about her day and very unceremoniously uncorks the wine, your heart skipping a beat because — 'is this going to be the best wine i ever have in my life?'

'i sure hope not,' ava says, grinning at you. 'because that would mean i've really got a very long, very boring career ahead of me if i max out now.'

you grant her a nod: it's how you feel about getting to eat some of the best food in the world.

she pours the wine and then hands you a glass; you watch, mesmerized, as she holds the glass up and looks at the deep, perfect red with a little bit of awe on her face. she brings the glass to her nose and you follow suit.

'the body on this is so beautiful,' she says. 'do you smell the peppercorn?'

you don't, not really, but she's so incredible you just nod.

'alright,' she says, smiling at you, and then raises her glass to toast. you do with a quiet, careful clink. 'to you, and this wonderful place.'

her kindness — constant, gentle, overwhelming, always welcome — fills you up. you both take small sips of the wine, and she swirls it around her mouth and then swallows. her eyes flutter closed and, even though this is definitely the best wine you've ever had in your life, you can't even think about it, can't look away.

she puts her glass down and wipes genuine tears, then laughs. 'okay, on to the lamb, then!'

you let yourself laugh too, let her feel emotional about something she loves without any judgement or recourse; you've cried over food more times than you can count, even lilith's — you're taking that to your grave.

ava takes a large spoonful of the stew and then groans when she swallows, wipes her mouth with a perfectly starched white napkin. 'holy shit, bea.'

the stew is wonderful, although you'd never say that aloud. 'yeah?'

'god, yes.' she lays her hand on top of yours — hers, with its smooth skin, unbroken; yours, scars from years spent in kitchens, one tattoo stretching up from your wrist. 'you're incredible. i hope you know that.'

you look down at your fingers, twine them together. you haven't even kissed her so you swallow down the words — but even that's warm, like the wine and stew, because one day you'll get to say them. you mean them already. 'thank you, ava. it has been — it has been a genuine gift to get to work with you.'

'not many can elevate your food so fantastically, can they?' she says, taking her hand away and pouring you both more wine, groaning again when she takes a bite of her salad.

you scoff but it's with a smile you can't wipe off your face. 'who even gave you this wine?'

'the pope.'

'no way.'

she laughs, loud and bright. 'definitely not, but i bet that threw you for a loop.'

you're sure you're flushed — from the wine, from the food, from ava — but you don't dignify that with a response.

'dominique crenn, actually. i helped with her wedding.'

'no fucking way.'

'better than the pope, huh?'

'way better.'

'don't you know her?'

you do, but — 'still way better.'

ava laughs. 'i think she had a little crush on me. i'm charming, what can i say?'

you roll your eyes. 'do all the chefs have a crush on you?'

ava grins. 'depends.' she leans forward, into your space, and you can't breathe. 'do you?'

you won't admit to having a crush, not aloud. you've worked all over the world in some of the most prestigious, intense kitchens. your hands have always been steady.

they shake now, but it doesn't matter when you bring one to ava's jaw and close your eyes and kiss her. she smiles into your mouth — you can feel it — and you taste the spices in the stew and the peppercorn in the wine and it's warm, everywhere.

//

4

'jesus fuck, beatrice,' ava says, her hands tugging on your hair as you settle between her legs. you kiss up her thigh and she squirms. and, like, maybe it's not the most ethical thing, but your clients are in europe and the kitchen ava designed really is beautiful. you'd put in the marble earlier this morning, finally finishing the toughest room of the project, and ahead of schedule at that.

when ava had come to see, you'd already sent the rest of your crew home for the day — admittedly, in a little bit of the hope that ava would, in fact, want to do exactly this — and so when she'd seen you in your cutoff tank and toolbelt slung low on your hips, you'd known exactly what you'd hoped for was, in fact, probably (definitely) going to happen.

'god,' ava says, her fingers in your hair verging on painful, desperate for you to stop teasing. she loves it, though, and so you pull back and shush her.

'be good for me, baby. be patient.'

'you saying that to me is not going to help,' she says, her head thrown back, and you can't help but laugh.

'this house is so gorgeous.'

'yes, yes, i'm a brilliant architect. let's revisit that after my orgasm.'

'you've already come three times.'

'you're my fiancé — don't want you me to come for a fourth?' she relaxes her hands, though, and smooths one through your hair, rests it along your jaw sweetly.

'i do want that,' you say. 'i also know how much you love teasing.'

she groans.

'but, for you, i'll make this concession.'

you redouble your efforts and ava is so sensitive it doesn't take long before she's coming again in your mouth, quiet this time, a release. she tugs you up after a few seconds and then wraps her arms around you; you settle between her legs and she rests her head on your chest.

'we should do that more often.'

you laugh. 'we have sex fairly often.'

'sure, but we're used to our kitchen. this was fun.'

'this was fun,' you say, back up a little so you can brush some hair from her eyes, sweaty strands from her forehead. you soothe a thumb over her cheekbone and lean to kiss her softly.

'can you believe we're going to be wives soon?'

it's been four years of loving her, since the first time you got hired onto one of the houses she'd designed; the first time you worked up the courage to set up a small picnic in a half-finished living room, timbers around and the sunset quiet and orange in the background, it had felt like all the disparate pieces of your world slid into place — ease, and peace, and happiness. you work with your hands all the time, rough with calluses, but you know have always wanted to be gentle. ava's smile lights up the room; it always has.

'yeah,' you say, 'i love you. i can't wait to marry you.'

she kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your pulse point, and sneaks a hand down your chest, your stomach, to unbutton your work pants. 'i can't wait to marry you either,' she tells you, voice low and full of want, as her fingers brush the waistband of your boxers.

you nod, whisper the most coherent yes you can muster, and then she's touching you just how you love. the room is bathed in light.

//

5

you hop the fence easily, landing quietly on the other side and rolling to your feet, shooting ava a thumbs up that she may or may not be able to see in the dark. you set your bag down near the edge of the pool and then hurry to the gate, open it as quietly as you can so ava can come through.

she does, not bothering to be quiet at all, laughing delightedly. when you shush her, she just rolls her eyes. 'don't be such a buzzkill, bea,' she says. 'you, like, superhero scaled that fence. have a little fun.'

'i don't want to get in trouble.'

she looks at you skeptically. 'then why are we doing something illegal?'

'you're a bad influence.'

she scoffs, pushing her chair close to the edge of the community pool. it's the middle of the night, so there's no one around, no guards or security. 'i'm a wonderful influence.' she glances over her shoulder, motions for you to come closer. 'plus, you're, like, perfect. not even mother superion has any grounds to fuck with you.'

it's an unspoken truth, then, maybe: you don't want ava to get in trouble. but she genuinely doesn't seem worried about that. instead, she just takes her shirt off and then lifts herself to take her shorts off too, leaving her in her underwear. she waggles her brows at you and you do your absolute level best to not look at her chest, or the apex of her thighs, the soft skin and dark hair there. but you're only seventeen, and it's really hard not to, so you busy yourself with taking your shirt off too, try to fight down any embarrassment or discomfort you have in your binder.

but ava just smiles and squeezes your hand. 'i know you promised me skinny dipping, but why don't you leave your binder on? it counts.'

you don't want to fucking cry on this intrepid — and definitely mildly illegal — adventure ava had begged you to go on for her birthday, so you just duck your head. 'yeah?'

'definitely,' ava says. 'like, it's who you are, first of all, and anyway, when we're older, and you've had surgery, then you can take your shirt off, you know?'

'we're still gonna be skinny-dipping together then?'

'of course,' ava says with a laugh, as if there could be no other option for the rest of your lives but to spend them with one another, two years from now right after you’d had top surgery; twenty years from that — it doesn’t matter. you're young, and you've been hurt; you had nowhere to go a few months ago, when your parents had kicked you out with one duffel bag of your stuff. you had spent a few nights sleeping at the park but eventually you needed to shower, and you needed food. when you had — with a deep, deep cloud of shame — talked to your school advisor, shannon, who you trust implicitly with everything, she had directed you to this program, a group home for unhoused queer and trans youth. ava's been there a while, getting out of a horrible foster home she'd been in, and mother superion — kind without any pity; stern — had shown you your bed on the side of your shared room. you had smiled because ava had made you a clumsy little sign with your name on it and some stickers. you'd talked all night, and it wasn't hard to notice that she was beautiful, and funny, and really, really smart. it wasn't hard to want to be her friend. it wasn't hard, not at all, to love her.

you nod and steady yourself, take off your jeans without tipping over. 'i'd like that.'

ava grins. 'good,' she says. you help her, quietly and without any fanfare, transfer out of her chair to sit on the edge of the pool; you'd been practicing for weeks. she's had hard days, where her hands are cramping badly, or when her body wasn't regulating its temperature properly, but mother superion had been careful and urgent in making sure ava got everything she needed. ava had asked you one night, after a bad day, if you saw her any differently after it, and it was easy to tell her no, to tell her that she is who she is, and the person you've grown to know and love is whole and complete and annoying and amazing. they were easy words to come by, even if you were a little worried you'd say something wrong: you needed to say them. she needed to know.

the trees around you sway in the warm late spring breeze and the night is dark and full of stars. you spend a lot of time doing nothing with her, and it's fuller than your life has ever been. you watch, mesmerized too much to hide it, as ava unhooks her bra and lets it fall from her shoulders. her eyes are big and inky-dark when she looks up at you, and your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. you do the only thing you can think of in the moment, which is to canonball into the pool as forcefully as you can, which feels absolutely ridiculous halfway through but when you come up for air, ava is laughing and smiling and beautiful.

'that's your reaction to my boobs?'

'shut up,' you say, ducking under the water in your embarrassment. but when you inevitably have to resurface, ava is looking at you so softly. she holds her hands out and you swim over to her, make sure you're only in the shallow end so you'll be able to hold her up without any problems.

it's too much, when her body is pressed against yours and there's the moon and the way her teeth look. you feel her, everywhere, and you're horrified you might start crying, which you'd never ever live down. but ava can tell, and so she splashes you and then you're splashing each other, leading her over to the steps so she can sit and you can swim a little. eventually, you both tire, and you go through a practiced plan of making sure you can safely get ava out of the pool too. it goes off without a hitch and you dry off and slip your clothes back on, then sit at one of the small rickety tables set up by the pool, grass wet under your feet. you fish out a cupcake from your bag, slightly squished but red velvet, so ava definitely won't care. you get out a 1 and a 6 candle and put them in the top frosting, and then a light them with a match from a matchbox you'd gotten from lilith, which cost you two lunches and bathroom duty for a week but, for this moment, the way ava's face lights up in the small flames, it's worth it. it's so, so worth it.

'make a wish.'

ava closes her eyes, tight, for a few seconds, then blows out the candles. you insist she gives you the smaller half of the cupcake, and then you eat with your fingers, frosting everywhere, ava laughing the whole time.

you sit back and look up at the sky. 'i'm so glad i met you,' you say.

she's quiet. 'thank you, for this.'

i love you, you want to say. i think i'm too young to love you this way but i don't care. i will love you this way forever. thank you for loving me. i want to kiss you so bad i think i might die. 'happy birthday, ava.'

she winds your fingers together and it all smells like chocolate and chlorine. she kisses the top of your hand and then smiles, soft and only for you.

//

+

you hear ava from down the street, up the stairs, in the front door, and, finally, poking her head out the window where you're reading on the fire escape. you'll have to work more on your stealth training, you make a mental note.

'why are you up so late?' she asks, squirming out and then pestering enough that you scoot over so she can sit too. you can hear the halo's faint hum from here, which means that ava is probably a little drunk. she's so close and she smiles at you like you're the only person in the whole world.

you can't tell her that you can't sleep when she's not here, that you don't give a fuck about the halo most of the time other than that it's what's keeping her alive, it's what's needs to be kept safe so she can stay that way. you can't tell her that you missed her, even though she drives you crazy all day. you can't tell her any of it.

she doesn't mind, though; she's had too many shots and is also just too fond of you to be upset. she puts her chin on your shoulder. 'what are you reading?'

you flip to the front of the book so she can see the cover.

'oh, space. cool.'

'you can read it after me, if you like.'

'thanks, bea.'

'sure.'

'thought you might not believe in all this stuff, you know.'

'what stuff?'

she shrugs.

'science? space?'

'well, the beliefs you do have to hold are pretty weird. you're a gay nun and i'm like, i don't know, hot bi jesus. and there are demons? anti-angels, or something? wild.'

'i can't not believe in space, ava. that's impossible.'

ava just grins.

you sigh. 'i care to know how things works, and i care to know where harmful systems of people and power have told us otherwise.'

ava puzzles through it for a second. 'this is about you being gay?'

it's said so genuinely you can't do anything other than bark out a laugh, which makes ava dissolve into a fit of giggles and then hold up her hand. 'sorry, sorry. i'm drunk but i really meant, like — i care, you know. it's not a small thing.'

you shake your head a little, will the tears burning your eyes to not fall. you clear your throat and turn to a page you'd read and reread.

'there’s a variation of the ever-popular multiverse idea in which the multiple universes that comprise it are not separate universes entirely, but isolated, non-interacting pockets of space within one continuous fabric of space-time—' you read to her 'like multiple ships at sea, far enough away from one another so that their circular horizons do not intersect. As far as any one ship is concerned (without further data), it’s the only ship on the ocean, yet they all share the same body of water.'

she's quiet for a while. 'do you think,' she whispers, 'that we know each other in all of them?'

it's late and ava is drunk and you say things you mean, when it's like this. when the rest of the world is asleep and there's ava's perfume and the mountains. you say the truth quietly: 'i can't imagine my universe doesn't have you in it.'

she swallows and it's not fair, to love her so clearly. but she soldiers on: 'because i'm so cool and, additionally, hot?'

'something like that.'

'i bet in another universe you're, like, a chef or something.'

it's a shift, and a bright one, pulling light out of nowhere like ava can always do. you think the halo chose her because she's the brightest person you know. surely god knew too. surely god has felt her. 'why? i'm horrible at cooking.'

'yes. you're also horrible at using your imagination.'

you roll your eyes.

'well, honestly, you're good with knives but mostly i think it would be hot. yes, chef, and all that.'

you can't do anything but laugh. 'you're certainly a troublemaker in all of them.'

'yeah, fuck the cops. fuck the state. fuck the man. anarchy forever. god is trans.'

'see?' you say. 'exactly.'

ava grins. 'good trouble, i'm sure of it.'

you feel it: kids and jobs and weddings to stress over and marriages to love, the whole world to learn. you feel her, everywhere. it’s faith and it’s truth: 'i'm glad we have good, exciting lives in the other universes.'

'of course we do.' she leans her head on your shoulder. 'and, right here, i have you, and this horrible little apartment, and all these stars.'

you kiss the top of her head, then clench your jaw. it doesn't work to stop your tears this time, and ava picks up her head and wipes them tenderly with her thumbs, her face close enough you can take in the little scar over her eyebrow, faded, and the perfect bow of her lips.

'ava, i —'

'yeah,' she says. 'i know, bea.'

'maybe someday, in this life. we'll live by the beach and hang out in the sun.'

'hang out?' she says, but she's crying too.

you shrug. 'time, with you. in all of the places i exist, that's all i want. i'm sure of it.'

ava brings her arms around you to wrap you in a hug. 'in this life too, yeah?'

'yes. in this life too.'

ava sits back, her grace evident even now. 'even when i'm using up all the hot water?'

'yes, ava. even then.'

she starts to fade, clearly, and so you help her inside and then quietly get ready for bed together. you climb in, the sheets cool against your skin at first, and then warm. ava has always been braver than you; she turns so that your faces are close. 'time with you is all i want too, by the way.'

you nod, stretch your hand out, palm up — supplication — and she rests hers on top of it. 'goodnight, ava.'

'sleep well, bea.'

you stare at the stars outside the window, infinite. ships in the night. you hold her life in your hand as you fall asleep; you dream:

#wn #wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #my babies. all of the worlds #multiverse? i guess!