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exquisiteserotonin · 9 months

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Footsteps to Follow

Part 2: Show Me How

Series Summary: The loss of a loved one lasts forever and every person finds different ways to heal.

Pairing: Romantic Pairing will eventually be Foodtruck Owner! Joel x Alice, but nonromantic pairing is Dave York and his daughter Alice.

Warnings: MATURE, 18+ ONLY, please. No smut here, but A LOT of angst and sadness, death and violence, human trafficking of minors

Word Count: ~2.7K

A/N: This is going to be a slow burn, I have a clear idea of where this is going. I hope you enjoy and hope you are patient and will stick with me for the payout of this story. It's fast becoming my baby <3 Also a HUGE, HUGE shoutout to one of my besties @imalrightllama who gave me an idea for a certain image in this part.

Also I don't know French I only put one word of it in here, Désolé, and it means excuse me.

Thank you so much to my magical sluts for encouraging me with this! <3 I'm so glad you love Alice as much as I do.

@imalrightllama @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @basicoccult @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @arcanefox207

The morning light floated softly through the air, touching the apartments, cafes, and offices that stood alongside the cobblestone streets. It shimmered against the fresh, clean morning dew that mixed with the aroma of viennoiserie and coffee from cafes that stood like guards at nearly every street corner. Alice sat in a pretty, metal cafe chair stirring in the small splash of milk in her coffee. She dipped the last bit of croissant she had left into her coffee; part of the blackberry jam she had spread on it fell into the bottom of the cup. She swirled the last bit of coffee in her mug before bringing it to her lips. The last bit was always her favorite. The sweet taste and light tartness from the jam was a perfect companion to the bitterness of the coffee.

If it weren’t for the job, she could enjoy her time here more. She rose from her quiet spot near the front door of the cafe. She walked along quiet morning streets as market vendors began setting up their different produce, wares, and textiles. The streets were beginning to become less crowded the closer you approached the seedier part of town, the part of town no tourists were ever supposed to visit after dark. Alice glanced at her reflection in the shoppe windows she walked alongside. She could almost pass for a locale, with a pair of sensible, but fashionable straight legged jeans and navy blue and cream-colored striped sweater. The only part that was unrecognizable was the blonde colored wig she donned on her head. But just like her clothes, the style of it blended well with every other French girl who still had shaggy layers and bangs reminiscent of Brigitte Bardot.

Alice’s strides became smaller as the sidewalk became more crowded with people and refuse. As she walked through the growing crew of pedestrians, she lost her footing when she was jolted off balance by a passerby.

“Désolé,” she murmured.

Looking up through her sunglasses, she noticed a girl not more than fourteen, wearing a short form-fitting black dress, disheveled and confused. She was flanked by two tall and burly men with thick, dark hair atop their square heads.

The Corsicans, she thought to herself.

They were doing a fair job trying to keep her steady but hidden from any unwanted attention. Their attempts were nowhere near the skill level with which Alice blended in with the crowd, unassuming and unthreatening. Alice stole into a small grocery store watching as the two men hoisted the limp girl up the stairs of a perfectly ordinary-looking apartment building across the perfectly ordinary street.

The next part was always the easiest and quickest for her. Floating her way through adjoining terraces and rooftops was akin to taking the lead in a lazy pas de deux, where all she had to do was pirouette, jump, and throw her dance partner around. Their arrogance of leaving a window near the rooftop allowed her to slink in silently. Another girl, not more than fifteen, lay limp on a bed, alive in body but barely in spirit. She wanted to take them away one by one from this life they had been forced into with the promise of comfort and wealth.

The targets are your priority. She heard her mentor’s voice in her head. Distractions will get you killed.

A silencer covered gun in one gloved hand and a knife in the other, she danced her way through. Guns to heads and knives to throats, it took less than 10 minutes. For a moment she thought one of the burly thugs had laughed at her size. It was his mistake. He was dead with a stab to the throat before he could even aim his gun at her. One last target awaited and expected her, having heard his associates fall like dominoes before him. He was holding the girl you had seen earlier unsteadily in his hands.

“One wrong move and her mother won’t even recognize her body to identify her,” the gangster roared at her in French.

She didn’t even need the time it took her brain to translate what he said to English for her bullet to strike him between the eyes. Alice was able to look at the girl’s face as she knelt in front of her grabbing a nearby towel wiping the blood she had spilled gingerly from her face as much as she could. She examined her body for any trauma that might need immediate medical attention. Alice’s inner brows were raised with disappointment and sadness. If she could, she’d stay and tend to the girls to make sure they were safe, but she wasn’t keen on blowing her cover and ending up dead like the mobsters she’d just killed. Instead, she reached into her pocket for her phone and dialed the number of the local police. She gave them the address as she escaped the way she came in, barely a scratch on her. With the agility of a cat, she crept through the open terrace window of a nearby apartment, grabbing a brown sweater from the coat hanger by the door without anyone turning a head or batting an eye. Just in time to hear the two-toned sirens of the police, she was already walking far away from the scene and discarding her blonde wig.

Alice climbed the stairs to the sixth floor of the apartment building to Room 603, her safe house. Rope thin gaps between the curtains allowed threads of light to peek into the otherwise dark and sparsely decorated apartment.

“You should have been here five minutes ago,” she heard a quiet voice of a woman say.

“I had to take care of something,” Alice said to the figure hidden in shadows sitting in the lone modern chair tucked off to the left side of the room.

Alice swiftly made her way to the bathroom, yanking off her sweater and tossing it onto the floor. The figure, her handler, followed behind her.

“Wait,” her handler said as she approached her, “let me look at you.”

Her handler stepped close, placing her hands to her face with a gentle touch as she examined her face and neck. Alice’s eyes shifted to a small tattoo on the inside of her handler’s left wrist. She allowed herself a moment to study its impeccable design. Dots, lines, and shading revealed the delicate design of a firefly.

“You got nicked,” her handler stated, her eyes narrowing with her examination as her voice quivered with something that sounded like concern.

“Stop looking at me like you care,” Alice slapped her handler’s hand away. “You’re not my mother.”

“Because your mother was so good at that.”

“Are we done here?” Alice asked, turning on the shower.

“Don’t get sloppy, Alice,” Firefly said. “Don’t get soft; don’t get killed.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“Your father would---,” she continued.

“Stop,” Alice interjected, the corners of her lips twitching, “you don’t get to do that.”

“Fine,” she let out a shallow breath before setting down a carefully folded paper sleeve on the nightstand. “Your plane tickets. Flight leaves in 3 hours.”

“Got it.”

Alice looked at her, her expression unmoving as she strode away to leave. Firefly turned to her one more time before walking out the door. Her eyes were glassy, and her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly before she pressed her lips together. The way her brows had softened, her eyes rounded and open, and the way her shoulders slowly slumped caught Alice off guard. In response, she pressed her shoulders back and knit her brows together wondering what her handler could possibly say next.

“Don’t get killed…please.”

Before Alice could respond, she was gone.

When she returned to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror before getting into the shower and examined the scratch. Her breath escaped her lips with a fast huff when she saw a small trickle of dried blood on her neck. With a tight squeeze of her eyes, she turned away from her reflection and found her way to the shower, letting the warm water rain on her. An invisible tightness began to lodge itself in the back of her throat at the realization that if one of the targets had just been able to dig the knife a little deeper or slash at her a little bit closer, she would be dead.

It would have been easy to dwell further on her tiny errors, instead she focused on washing her kills off her body and getting out of Paris. She moved like being propelled by the fastest and most efficient motor. Without checking her watch, she knew she had made it to the airport and through security with sufficient enough time that she wasn’t wringing her hands waiting for her section to be called for seating.

A clear voice sounded over the PA system for her section to begin boarding. She sat comfortably in her seat, surprised that Firefly had secured the premium economy section. The hum of the cabin had Alice staring hypnotically out the window. She shook her head, determined not to let sleep settle over her. Fighting against the hypnosis, she buckled her seatbelt and tightened it. She shuffled her feet underneath her and adjusted the air vent, so it blasted her directly with its cold air. Listening intently to the routine safety procedures given to her by the flight attendants couldn’t even keep her eyelids from growing heavy. By the time the aircraft rumbled and ascended into the air, Alice had lost her private fight against falling asleep.

***

A soft, warm haze surrounded Alice as she found herself in an empty room. The walls glowed with gentle orange, coral, and pink light that touched the walls like watercolors on an empty canvas. With cautious steps, Alice breathed in her surroundings trying to make sense of the warm but empty space where she stood.

A voice called out to her that seemed to be coming, impossibly, from all directions.

“Hi baby,” she heard a low familiar voice call to her.

With a gasp that leapt from her heart to her throat, Alice gasped and spun around. Tears started to escape from the corners of her eyes. Standing before her was her father wearing a light blue dress shirt and black slacks: the last outfit she remembered seeing him in. A gentle breeze lightly caressed the strands of his soft brown hair. Every feature of his face was imprinted in her brain, from the way lines formed on his forehead when he lifted his brows, to the way a dimple showed itself on the right side of his face when his smile was especially big. It didn’t matter how young she was when she last saw him, his face was impossible to forget.

A deep exhale rushed out of her mouth at the sight of him. It was all that could come out in place of the words that she wanted so desperately to say.

“Looking for me, Al?” he said as he studied her with soft, round eyes, his hands resting gently and open at his sides.

“I’m always looking for you, dad,” she was finally able to say, her voice barely coming out louder than a whisper from the tightness in her chest.

Her shoulders rose and fell as he reached his arms out to her. With one swift movement, he enveloped her in his arms, and she felt like she was seven years old again. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and tears began to slip continuously from her eyes down the curve of her face. The curve of her parted lips trembled as she clutched the back of her father’s shirt, gripping it tighter like if she did, he might stay.

“I miss you so much, daddy,” she sobbed.

“I know Al, me too,” the way he breathed into her hair as he murmured the words was so warm and so palpable. “It’s almost time for me to go again.”

“No please, dad, please don’t go,” Alice pleaded through her tears.

“Oh Ali-girl,” he sighed as he comforted her.

She felt him drifting further and further away from her like smoke in the wind.

“You’re going to be OK; I need you to be OK.”

His voice became stern for a moment and rough like gravel at those words.

“Please,” she begged as each clutch she made to keep him with her failed.

“Al, please listen, I need you to take care of yourself,” he said, using his turn to beg with one last kiss to her forehead. “Love you, kiddo.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Alice awoke with a wet face and eyes red and puffy from her tears that found a way from her dreams to the real world. She pressed the back of her right hand to her face, allowing your skin to soak in your tears and attempting to hide her face from anyone who might see. She remained awake but lost herself in the hum of the cabin, feeling an invisible haze wrap itself around her body as she stared at the upper left corner of the in-flight magazine resting in the back pocket of the seat in front of her.

“Ma’am…ma’am, excuse,” she heard a shrill voice begin to break through her haze, “ma’am!”

She turned bewildered, still noticing how puffy her eyes were from her tears. An older woman in the seat next to her turned to the flight attendant---the owner of the shrill voice---and glared at her with narrow eyes and the center of her eyebrows angled downward towards one another.

“Can’t you tell that she’s not in the mood?” The woman replied to the attendant.

Still frozen inside her own thoughts, Alice watched as the woman next to her and the flight attendant rallied back and forth with a controlled heat behind their respective words. The flight attendant walked away with barely audible huff. When the woman turned back to her the lines around her eyes had softened and the corners of her lips were curled up into a small and gentle smile.

“Thank you,” Alice said quietly, “that was really kind of you.”

“Well, I hope someone would have done the same for me,” she responded. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine---I’m just---tired,” Alice sighed.

“Well, if you need sleep the rest of the way,” the woman added, “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

“That’s alright, I’m actually trying to stay awake,” Alice replied, “I’m just super eager to get home.”

She could tell the woman was trying to read the emotions that were so obviously written on her face. It was almost laughable to think that she could hide everything and anything she was in a city of nearly twelve million people, but she couldn’t disguise her feelings from a kind stranger in the confined space of an airplane.

“Well, I will let you rest,” the woman responded, giving her yet another gift of silence and the space to swim in her emotions, “but if you need anything, let me know.”

Alice nodded as she reached into the pocket of her blazer. Resting in her hands was her keychain. It was lavender in color and in the shape of a vintage motel keychain. Her fingers traced over the sides of it, the tips of it reading the script along with her eyes. “New Hampshire” is what it read before she had scratched out the final syllable and covered it with beige washi tape. She traced over the tape with a light touch, a smile slowly blossomed on her lips, somehow filled with both melancholy and love as she studied where she had carefully written on it with a fine tip sharpie marker.

New Hamster.

She took one deep breath through her nose and let it out in a slow, quivering exhale. With the keychain safely tucked into the palm of her right hand, she managed to stay awake for the rest of the flight home.

#juice collective #juice bar collective #dave york #original female character #alice york #murder daughter #angst #this series makes me cry while I write it #look up the area code 603

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yepthatsacowalright · 2 years

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One of the things about Mike Flanagan’s series I both like and dislike the most is how often they say the same thing. Sometimes there is almost word-for-word the same line of dialogue (as many a beautiful tumblr gifset has highlighted over the years) and it feels repetitive and maddening if it’s not a subject that resonates with you, but when it is...it’s, in a weird way, healing. Sometimes a character says something in one series that sounds like they are voicing what a character was thinking but not saying in another. Sometimes two characters go through different kinds of pain and come to the same conclusion about it. Sometimes they go through the same pain and experience it differently. None of the series are directly connected, but it always feels like they are, intimately. Like every series is haunting each other.

#the writer part of my brain is like 'this is not how you're supposed to write a tv series'#& the human part of my brain is like 'yes you are correct also please excuse me while i journal about my trauma and cry for 86 hours.'#natsuki was right 'make ghosts' indeed #the haunting of hill house #the haunting of bly manor #midnight mass #the midnight club spoilers

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mortellanarts · 1 year

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I hadn't read the ztd prologue in a while but I'm midway through writing my fic that could benefit from that knowledge so I finally got around to it with some of my friends and I firstly did not recall Sigma losing his cool that quickly but also the only canonical interaction this Sigma has with this Akane being "Swear future you will not lie to past me about how the end of the world goes down" and her essentially lying about not lying is so good and Phi being just as mad at him as Akane but otherwise staying off to the side oough the dynamics at play there

#because! I was fact checking on the wiki and it indicated that they were simply inconsistent with this information #as in she never gives the details away despite her own memories having left D-COM intact #but I did already think she probably just decided to lie by omission about the decision game #but this really did make it feel like that was the intention all along!#so yeah I'm glad about figuring that out logistically speaking it was bothering me while writing to not be sure #she was about to cry from how Sigma was talking to her too... that one fanart I made of her with big weepy eyes.......#stop bullying the criminal mastermind she was born in a wet cardboard box all alone #it works for the angle I'm coming from writing her though that she's feeling the pressure of not knowing everything™#and suddenly having to prevent a whole apocalypse after she just started to have a life again™#Sigma this girl is the best liar of the series do you really expect her to not take the chance if she has to like it isn't second nature #underrated dynamic they're the worst coworkers and no one actually respects one another #they're so funny to me they're sooo at odds while working towards the same goal but no one really got a choice to #and in the end the real time loop was the friends we made along the way and the world really only ended because she got them to prevent it #''oh but there's also the fanatic-'' shhh....#zero escape #ztd #zero escape spoilers #vlr spoilers #sigma klim #akane kurashiki #not art #writing

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thedeadthree · 2 years

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kindly asking for all the faye lore 👀🤲🏼

LEAHH ty so much and i would be happy to offer some faye lore! there’s still a bit of lore that i am figuring out for her that’ll i'll likely know more as I play the games and build more on her, but here’s what i have on her lore at the moment!

her full name is lennon faye marlowe!

she goes by her middle name! when she turned eighteen she had her name legally changed to her middle name! so now it’s faye marlowe! faye was what people have been calling her for her whole life as well so it worked out :)

her mom was a well known model in the seventies and early eighties turned designer in the late eighties! her father though, was a high level executive at the umbrella corporation. which gave her an in when it came to what she could have access to and what she knew! he began to have his doubts for a while (took him long enough smh!) so when she entered into the fray for her reasons if she was getting nosy he would turn a blind eye to it. she also has an older brother named emery! and emery is leon's best friend!

she was born on may 16 of 1978! she’s a taurus sun, sagittarius moon, and aquarius rising!

fayes mbti is an entp-t “the debator!"

and her enneagram is a type 3 “the performer!"

her fc is b*arbara p*alvin! and her brothers fc is t*om p*ayne (specifically in the show p*rodigal s*on!)

her name meanings! lennon is based on an irish surname meaning “lover” and her parents mainly chose it because they liked the way lennon faye marlowe sounded! their first name choice was faye! faye is an english name meaning “fairy” or “the fates” in latin! marlowe her last name as well as her brother emery’s, is an english name meaning “from the lakes!” her mom always preferred faye being her name, hence why she was addressed more as faye compared to her given name lennon, which was what her father wanted to name her, and was happy when faye had it changed! (petty queen!)

love that for her that her name is lover AND she’s basically named the love fairy :) good for her i think! i really loved how faye marlowe sounded for a character and realizing it would work so well for her! it was perfect! fitting! iconic for her even!

as I said she has an older brother! his name is emery! he’s a “lawyer” who realized the lawyering thing wasn’t working out for him as he kept getting calmly asked with friendly notes to “back off” by a certain pharmaceutical company that had particular links to certain individuals after signing up as “volunteers” would go missing.. can’t make any money when you can’t win your cases u know? so his best friend encourages him to work as a civilian consultant until he can find himself a new profession!

faye is an agent! she’s been one for about? a year? about a yearish into her university she applied and was accepted into an internship into a legal firm that was at the time, just so happened tp be in the employ of a rival company of umbrella’s. and in knowing who she was, she was recruited and set up as a spy where she would put herself under an alias, changed her major and began an internship as at the umbrella corporation shadowing william birkin! her and ada wong were friends and coworkers!

she had a crush that lasted for a couple months and got over a week or so before the events of re2 on albert wesker saksdmkj

she and her brother have had a deal since he left for college that he would call her once a month (he’s not the best at remembering to but since making the deal he hasn’t missed one since!) and she was to surprise him at his new job the following morning! so when he doesn’t call her and news breaks out of the outbreak she BOLTS it to find him! and finds leon instead!

im still figuring out who she’ll end up with BUT im leaning more towards her ending up with leon! it’ll be great as he’s already the best friend of emery! and a scene I have in mind of emery finding out I am VERY excited to write on! it’s re4.. faye and emery are arguing and he takes notice of a particular shiny diamond ring on his baby sisters finger, she tells him that oh yea BTW Leon and I are getting married and if u had called that u would know and be invited (he does get invited and yes he cries), HIS BEST FRIEND AND HIS SISTER HIS BEST FRIEND GOT WITH HIS SISTER WHAT, and chaos ensues! it’s great! nothing like knowing “zombies” are about to get you but! ksanska!

it wasn’t love at first sight for her! she does think he has a charming quip about him but she doesn’t realize her feelings until sometime post re2 and before re4! he had feelings for her from the GET GO, lovestruck head over heels etc etc at first sight! congrats leon! manifestation works!

she steals his clothes all the time. his clothes are hers! especially his jacket? and does he complain?? absolutely not!

she enjoys oil painting! likes fancy cars! has very expensive tastes in fashion and home decor! AN EXTENSIVE and well thought out skin care routine! takes care of herself and requests that leon do the same hehe! no beloved of HERS isnt taking care of their skin on her watch!

after realizing her employers intentions for her being there at umbrella and in using her family name, she quits! but alongside leon doesn’t COMPLETELY get the chance to walk away from espionage as shes offered to work with STRATCOM/dso (later on!) though to be honest she would still WELL into the current day leave the world of spycraft with leon for good! the last time she hopes she’s THAT naïve.

#🪐: leah #arklay #LEAHH thank you so so much for the ask dear! and i hope your having the loveliest day/night!#for the moment this is what I have down for her! brain empty jasni if I think of anything else if u would like ill let u know!#i adore her a normal amount and I’ve always wanted to make a lore post like this so ty so much for sending this! im emotional!#im like..... emotional that y’all are interested in learning more about her and my ocs in general... hold on while I CRY! ty!#oc: faye marlowe #leg.ocs #leg.asks #leg.txt #I also have to thank Alyssa (@risingsh0t) for encouraging me to get into writing/fixating on her again!#and thank you for getting me invested all of u in re..... I missed this series sm! its one of my all time favs!#if anyone has been here long enough (bless ur hearts) I HAD THE HUUGEST re phase a few years ago so this series is beloved to me!#I might also want to give her a virus? maybe in re8 she’s infected and becomes something sort of like lady dimitrescu? a vampire of sorts?#t: text

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cntloup · 2 months

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Why not doing reader pregnant but her boyfriend leave her with her child and she has some trust issues or whatever you want and she's poor too :) then someone (you'll decide who you want) see her in a small house or maybe a garage. I don't know if it's a good idea but hope you'll like it :]

i loved this idea thank you babe<333 i might write a series for this lmk what you think :)

You pass the various shops and cafes, filled with life and smiles and laughter, a sheer contrast to the void forming in your heart as you sob in agony while hugging yourself and rubbing your arms to keep somewhat warm, your flimsy dress doing nothing to keep away the freezing cold.

Your vision is blurry from the endless streams of tears flowing down your eyes and you don’t seem to notice the large figure stepping out of the cafe and appearing right in front of you.

You bump into the mass of muscles and jolt back in shock. You quickly wipe your tears and lift your head to see him already looking at you in high alertness from the sudden impact. You notice his serious look and the numerous scars littering his face.

You take a step back, “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see you.” you apologize while looking down and his gaze softens, noticing the timidness in your demeaner.

“ ‘s fine.” he responds, his voice deep and gruff, but maintaining a soft tone in order not to scare you any further.

He observes the shaking in your much smaller form and how you’re trying so hard to keep warm, and that you have been crying.

“Do you need any help?” he asks. You shake your head no and of course he knows you’re lying. You're scared, even to ask for a small favor. He knows how that feels.

He takes off his leather jacket and goes to drape it over your trembling body, but you flinch away, “It’s ok. Here, take it.” he says, holding the jacket in front of you.

You open your mouth to decline but the brisk icy wind prevents you from it. You take the jacket hesitantly and put if over your shoulders, “Thank you so much, sir.” “Simon.” “Thank you, Simon.” you try your hardest to give a small smile.

But soon the tears come flowing down as rushing rivers, “Hey, hey. It's ok.” he tries to calm you down and goes to touch your arm only for you to pull away. He takes a step back and slightly raises his hands to show you he’s harmless.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” he asks and you sigh followed with a bitter chuckle, “Not really.” you silently scold yourself. You barely know the guy and you say you have nowhere to stay.

He offers to take you inside the cafe and the rumbling in your stomach urges you to say yes. So you sit and talk for a while and he tells you he’s in the military which makes you maybe only slightly trust him and you warm up to him a bit more.

“I’m three months pregnant and my asshole of a boyfriend threw me out when he found out.” you tell him while biting into your sandwich like a starved animal.

“What a bloody cunt...” he grumbles which makes you chuckle and agree.

“I’m gonna check you into a hotel for now. Is that ok?” he offers kindly. He was gonna offer you his own place to keep an eye on you, but bit back his tongue since he knows how it would come off.

Something tells you he’s trouble, but you can’t decline. Where would you stay? In the streets?

“Yeah. Ok.” you accept, not knowing this is the start of something new.

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predestinatos · 3 months

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you mean everything - MV1 ೀ⋆｡🌷

summary: max needed a wedding date and you were used to being his fake partner.

tags: max verstappen x fem!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, max is so whipped, fluff, a bit angsty maybe?, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

notes: i've been writing (and thinking) so much about max... my period is coming please give me a break i'm sensitive. also would love to get some feedback if possible so i know if it's worth making a series out of this!!!!

"If you want to make it believable at least hold my hand" you half-whispered to Max, who was buttoning his blazer while getting out of the car, you behind him.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this with you" he said chuckling. His sweaty palm held yours tightly, and the feeling of it was odd. Knowing Max for so long meant that these romantic gestures felt almost cringeworthy to you both, and you both had to put up award winning performances every time you played this game.

The game in question being fake-dating. It started as a funny joke where you both thought it would be great to test out the Get A Champagne Bottle For Free At This Restaurant If You Propose theory (which worked, by the way). From then onwards, you used each other as dates whenever asked by annoying family members, creepy coworkers, or just because you felt like lying.

The talking wasn't hard - you both felt comfortable in that part, lying with words coming off almost dangerously natural - but when it came to acting the part, both of you felt awkward, like kids who found relationships absolutely repulsive.

This time, though, the performance would last longer than usual: it was a wedding. Max's friend's wedding. Max could've just gone along, or bring a friend (even you as a friend). Yet he had told his friend, after one too many shots on his Bachelor's Party, and after being chosen as The Guy Who'll Take the Longest to Settle, that he had, in fact, a girlfriend. His friends didn't believe him, so he showed a picture of you two together - a selfie really, nothing much. And they still said they didn't believe it. So here you are.

You couldn't blame him, even if you wanted to. You agreed to use each other as a fake partner for as long as you could in as many situations as required, although when it all started none of you ever thought it would lead to wedding attendances.

So now there you were, Max's hand on yours, entering the small church. His eyes locked with the groom, who waved and called for you to sit near the altar.

"So you ARE real" he said, nervousness laced in his voice even as he tried to lighten the mood himself. You giggled at the irony of it, nodding as you said your congratulations.

"Just wait until the guys see this" he continued gesturing towards the bench where 3 other men around his age sat. Men you had seen before in some Instagram pictures, men you spent the previous night trying to memorize basic information about so you didn't sound suspicious.

Max's hand now fell on your waist almost instinctively - it wasn't instinctively, he told himself once he noticed its positioning. And if it was, it was only because he took this so seriously, almost as a sort of method acting. Sitting down next to his friends, he noticed how all of them seemed surprised at your presence, and something like pride filled his chest. He loved winning, loved being right even if he was lying; but most especially, he loved how jealous other men seemed to be over the fact that he was (at least in their minds) dating you.

He couldn't deny - though he tried, really - that you two looked good together. His rougher features mixed with your softer ones gave you both an aura of near unreachability, which yes, was pretentious of him to think but he thought nevertheless.

The ceremony was quick and endearing, a smile spread across everyone's faces at the shared loved between the bride and the groom. As the crowd clapped, Max leaned into you, "don't tell me you're crying". "I am, just to think that I'll have to keep pretending to date YOU for the next 10 hours" you replied, his mocking smile recognizing the joke.

The reception hall was beautifully decorated with shades of soft green and violet orchids. Max tried not to think about how much it matched the shade of your dress, how you looked like you had come to life from a classical novel. He tried to feel like anyone but Mr. Darcy as you felt so much like Elisabeth Bennett to him.

Sitting down next to him, you found this part easier - mingling and socializing was something you enjoyed more than he did - especially with alcohol in the mix. It's a wedding, you thought; this is what weddings are for.

So you drank the wine with the main course and sipper champagne to celebrate and ordered a few cocktails when it was time to dance and talk - and you felt it on your body almost as much as you felt Max's hand occasionally sitting on your thigh, but not even close to how strongly you felt his thumb caress your skin as he did so. Truth was, he too was drunk; his eyes looked smaller and his cheeks were flushed, and the amount of times he ran a hair through his dirty blonde hair had caused it to look messier. As you looked at him, you felt he never looks as attractive as when he is like this - loose and carefree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face when he notices people laugh at his joke.

"I have to admit I didn't think it was true" his friend said when Max left to go to the bathroom. He looked drunker than the two of you combined, his words hard to decypher, like a riddle. "He's been talking about you for months now and we never saw you for real so we thought you didn't exist" he laughed, and you laughed back before it registered.

"Months?" you asked him, eyebrows furrowed yet attempting to remain composed. You shouldn't have asked it - a supposedly month old girlfriend wouldn't be surprised but you were his fake month old girlfriend and you weren't understanding it anymore.

"Yeah. He talks about you so much all the time I think even we started to date you" he laughed again, yet this time you didn't find the joke so funny. You were frozen in your seat, merely blinking as if trying to put the confusing puzzle together, the pieces not quite fitting the way you thought they would.

A touch on your shoulder unfroze you, almost like magic, like a disney film come to life. You turned around to find the groom, somewhat sober, smiling at you while also looking somewhat concerned. "He's calling for you... And he's also absolutely wasted" he said, pointing to the door of the hall.

"Shit" you cursed, getting up from your seat at a speed you couldn't believe, worry filling your heart, making you forget the conversation you were just having.

Opening the door to the garden outside, you found Max sitting down against the wall, shirt partly unbuttoned and disheveled hair. When he saw you, he grinned, such genuine happiness laced with tipsiness.

"Lightweight" you mocked as you crouched in front of him, trying to balance yourself on your heels, somehow managing it despite your own drunkness.

"You're laughing at my mis- Shit- my misery" his throat bobbed up and down, exaggerating his own agony with a hand on his chest and another on his forehead like a Shakespeare character.

"I have to admit it's quite fun sometimes" you bit your lip as you fixed his hair as best as you could, hands brushing through its soft, blonde mess.

"You're so– you're so sweet" he said, his words dragged and messy. He brought a beer bottle to his lips but you stopped him before any liquid touched them.

"I think that's enough of that for tonight" you grabbed it and placed it behind you, sitting in front of him.

"See now... Now you're being mean" his hand grabbed a strand of your hair and played with it softly as he pouted.

"Okay big boy I'm gonna get you some water" you say, getting up once again, yet his hand stops you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You looked at him, startled. His drunken state is visible, and it felt frustrating that you had to be the one sobering up for him. The music vibrated through the wall he leaned against, somehow tickling him, making him giggle.

"Stay," he managed to say, eyes half closed, "I'm so glad we're- Fuck things are spinning so much" his hands rushed to his eyes and his head hung low, "Ah fuck. I'm so glad we're datin- Fuck, no, oops-" he continued laughing despite how sick he felt, the whole situation sounding hilarious when filtered through alcohol.

You giggled along with him, mostly because you wanted to see if you could convince him to move, scared he might feel worse or pass out on the cold floor if he doesn't do so. "Fake dating. Fake dating, I know. I knowww" he continued, his words dragged and his finger pointing at you before poking your nose with such innocent sweetness you were taken aback.

"Max" you tried to sound more assertive but found it hard to do so, your own intoxicated state making the situation lighter than what it actually was. Your heart racing was a symptom of it, one you wouldn't feel if sobriety was an option, you thought. Max's eyes wouldn't seem to stare at you differently were he sober as well, and the way he scanned your features, his gaze staying on your lips for longer than expected, wouldn't affect you in the slightest had you not drank some alcohol.

"I like it when you say my name" he looked up at you innocently, pleading, almost.

"Want me to say it again?" you asked, smiling. You complied with these demands because you knew they were childish whims of an intoxicated man, his happiness a priority in times like these. Upon his nod, you started saying his name, half teasingly, half reassuringly, the leaves rustling in the garden behind you.

"Max... Max!! Max Max-"

He shouldn't. It would complicate things, and he liked when they were simple, clean and organized. He knew he shouldn't even when his whole vision spun and his brain convinced him that he should do things he would never do otherwise. But every time he refrained from saying something he would stumble across all his words and trip and fall and his head would only hurt more, and it seemed as if he could only focus if he kept listening to you and talking to you and looking at you.

The lights shone behind you in a way that made it feel as though he was dreaming, like you were a mirage, too good to be true. Maybe his friends were right - you weren't actually real. He wanted to be sure, in that moment. That you were real and that he wanted you as much as he thought. And though he shouldn't, though it was a terrible idea, he couldn't help but lean over to kiss you.

He tasted like champagne - bubbly and slightly sweet, his movements sloppy given his state, yet you couldn't help but drink it all in. Part of you - a big part - reciprocated the kiss, felt his fingers on the side of your neck, pulling you messily towards him, and tried to steady him, guiding him gently with your own lips.

It was odd, how this felt so right yet the fake hand holding didn't. As Max kissed you, that thought entered his clouded mind - did it feel wrong because it was fake and this was real? Your skin felt so soft, so much softer now he could touch it freely and unapologetically.

"Fuck-" he started, pulling away, his head resting against the wall once again as he stared at you, noticing how it hasn't hit you yet; what you just did, how it affected everything. "I fucking love you" he shrugged as you fixed your hair, pausing with arms raised for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"You're drunk" you replied, looking at his own grin, the gleam in his eyes making him appear both innocent and guilty of so many things.

"I'm drunk and I fucking love you"

"Max..." you started, and he said your name back to you with such tenderness you couldn't believe his lips tasted of alcohol earlier and not something sweet.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" you continued, waiting for the silence to swallow you both.

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Jedi culture & community fics, my beloved! They're a bit of a rare breed for what you're specifically looking for, specifically focusing on positive Jedi worldbuilding, so if anyone has genfic recs outside of the ones I know, please feel free to add them! But these should help scratch that itch for you, each of them has at least some focus on Jedi philosophy or how Jedi interact with each other or the lessons they teach! It's been awhile since I've read some of them, so there might be some that aren't quite as in-line with how I see the Jedi these days, but they're all ones I felt portrayed them pretty positively and they're all genfic (except one that I made an exception for) and all really lovely fics I remember enjoying for the Jedi worldbuilding aspects! And there are some that will make you absolutely melt with how much you love these characters and their beautiful culture, because by god if canon's not going to give us as much detail as we want, fandom will step up. And fandom made sure to not just focus on the disaster lineage--we love Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka, we always want more of them, please don't stop writing Jedi worldbuilding with them!--but also Mace and Yoda and Quinlan and Qui-Gon and even some Jedi OCs get some love in these fics, which makes me want to explode with joy to see! So, come cry about how much we love the Jedi with me, I WILL GIVE YOU A CRAPLOAD OF FIC TO READ. STAR WARS & JEDI CULTURE & WORLDBULDING RECS YOU'LL FIND HERE:

NOVEL AND NOVELLA LENGTH

MID-LENGTH

SHORT AND YET SO GOOD-LENGTH

NOVEL AND NOVELLA LENGTH: ✦ Remedial Jedi Theology by MarbleGlove, obi-wan & anakin & jedi & cast, 51.3k Let us consider the fact that the Jedi Order is a monastic religious organization based out of a temple, with five basic tenets of faith. ✦ Festival of Light by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 8.7k During his first year at the Jedi Temple, Anakin learns that even the Jedi celebrate holidays. ✦ Out with Lanterns by SkyeBean, ahsoka & mace & jedi & clones & cast, 312.5k In another universe, Jedi Masters Plo Koon and Depa Billaba decide a Padawan could do Mace some good. It takes a while, but he eventually agrees. When he takes Ahsoka Tano as his Padawan, Mace knows that he's broken through a Shatterpoint and changed the course of a life. How, he doesn't know. ✦ eat well; be well by gingerbeer, rainsoaked_benevolence (oceans_bluem), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & yoda & depa & shaak & quinlan & aayla & cast, 18.6k Or, (almost) all of the Jedi High Councilors (plus Ahsoka) gather to eat dinner together. ✦ Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi by stonefreak, obi-wan & anakin & padme & ahsoka & palpatine & yoda & quinlan & cody & cast, 126.3k wip By an old Republic law, all members of the Jedi High Council are senators in the Galactic Senate, and can thus be voted in as chancellor. A Senator from a less prominent planet has had enough of Chancellor Palpatine's incompetence and calls for a Vote of No-Confidence and the installation of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi as Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. This one action becomes the catalyst that changes the direction of the galaxy. ✦ Pragmatics of the Jedi by aroacejoot, ghostwriterofthemachine, loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & jedi, 31.3k A series of fanfiction exploring the consequences and results of the Jedi having their own language, and speaking it still. ✦ light by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & mace & jedi, 56.1k Anakin Skywalker is a Jedi and being a part of their Order means that he is protected and accepted. The war is over and the Republic has to recover from the crimes of the Sith Lord, the Jedi have to figure out what it means to be peacekeepers again and the Clones have to learn how to be more than expendable soldiers. ✦ When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place by IllyanaA, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & kanan & ocs & cast, 94.9k wip After killing three of the Jedi Order's best and brightest, Palpatine's fight with Jedi Master Mace Windu goes shorter than expected. Afraid he's lost his chance at recruiting a new apprentice, Sidious unleashes Order 66 across the galaxy, but, per their programming, the Clone Army is not to harm Anakin Skywalker. After witnessing the most painful loss he's ever experienced and injured at the hands of his captors, Anakin is ready to die like the rest of the Jedi, though not before getting his vengeance.

✦ Knightrise by Deviant_Accumulation, obi-wan & yoda & satine & ahsoka & asajj & cast, 89.4k wip "Strong enough to fight the Sith Lord, you are not.“ And just like that the fight drained out of Obi-Wan, the barely scraped together agitation running out of him like water from a broken glass. He looked at Yoda, the other Master already hobbling towards one of the back exits, his presence burning with focus, obviously expecting Obi-Wan to follow. ✦ Make a Brand New End by Batsutousai, obi-wan & anakin & feemor & qui-gon & yoda & mace & dooku & jedi, 118.6k Feemor, Qui-Gon Jinn's first padawan, did not survive Order 66, but the Force granted him a boon: A chance to go back to days before Qui-Gon's death. He doesn't know why the Force picked him to remember that terrible future, but he's going to do what he can to change it. And if he can heal the rift fallen between himself and Qui-Gon, and finally get the chance to know Obi-Wan, well, he's not about to turn that down. ✦ Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) by Rhiw, obi-wan & qui-gon & bruck & feemor & cast, time travel, 135.1k wip The life of General Kenobi is cut short at the hands of his Padawan, but the sight that greets his eyes upon awakening is not that of blinding light of the Force, but the Jedi Temple he knew when he was still a youth. As he struggles to understand the path laid out before him, Obi-Wan unwittingly captures the attention of a singularly unusual Temple Guard, and that of a reluctant Qui-Gon Jinn. ✦ No Rest for the Weary by orphan_account, obi-wan & anakin & jedi, 61k Needing a break from life at the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, visit a Jedi AgriCorps settlement on the Midrim planet of Helia. There they encounter new friends, new enemies and have new adventures, all while attempting to navigate their sometimes turbulent relationship as Master and Padawan. ✦ The Moments That Time Remembered by CallToMuster, obi-wan & mace & vokara & bant & quinlan & garen & depa & jedi, 82.4k Obi-Wan’s first memory was not his own. Rather, it was a vision steeped in darkness and flashes of red and choking heat and you were my brother and the harsh crash of lightsabers striking one another. He woke up sobbing in the arms of the crèchemaster, Master Kitaddik, who was hushing him and gently stroking the top of his head with her furry hands. Obi-Wan hid his face in the soft folds of her tunic and, still crying, fell back asleep. The first time Obi-Wan collapsed due to a vision was not long after that. [Or: in all the various iterations of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life, the Force spoke to him. But in this one, it never stopped.] ✦ Starrunner by orpheus_under_starlight, obi-wan & jedi & oc, 80.2k wip In what would have been the year 17 BBY, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine is found slumped over his desk, dead to rights and emitting a foul odor. The coroners declare the body victim to a heart attack and the smell a result of a lack of a timely embalming—a bit of bowels humor, the head coroner says with a nervous laugh when interviewed by the Galactic Enquirer.

MID-LENGTH: ✦ 飽了嗎? | Have you eaten your fill? by virdant, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & quinlan & yoda & dooku & mace & bant & jedi, 13k The Force is the first language that Obi-Wan learned to speak, the brush of one mind against another. But food is the second language that Obi-Wan learned to speak with, and he talks, he talks, he talks. A collection of fics about food and how food is an articulation of love. ✦ We Will Abide by naberiie, plo & shaak, 10.3k Light. Dark. Balance. Beneath the Jedi Temple, far below the chaos of Coruscant's Galactic City, ancient halls and corridors sleep in silent darkness. Padawans Shaak Ti and Plo Koon are determined to explore them. ✦ What Is My Heritage? by Marnie, qui-gon & yoda, 7.7k Qui-Gon, age 13, tries to find a place to belong. ✦ Coming Home by Marnie, qui-gon & yoda & dooku, 18.1k A story telling how Qui-Gon comes to be Dooku's apprentice. ✦ Master by CJinn, obi-wan & anakin, 27.5k Obi-Wan Kenobi had always wanted to become a Jedi Knight. What he didn't expect was to become a Master merely days after his own Master died. Adapting to his new role as the mentor and Master of the quite unusual Padawan Anakin Skywalker became a bumpy road.

✦ into the statue that breathes by spoonks, obi-wan & feemor & cin & cast, 8.5k The night watch in the garden was supposed to be the calmest of them all. No mischievous Padawans “sneaking” in or out, or ne’er-do-well civilians conducting “business” around the lower-level entrances that they didn’t know existed. No the gardens was still, and it was like time was frozen in ice that slowly melted away with the rising of the sun. A slow drip, drip— Drip. Immediately Feemor turned towards the central waterfall. Someone was standing there. Whoever they were, they were small and moved through katas with their hands open like a greeting. ✦ The Cave by Ria Talla (ronia), anakin & ahsoka & cast, time travel, 10k Ahsoka Tano, post-Star Wars Rebels/? And there was something else, more important, though Ahsoka found herself loath to do it. Her lightsabers drawn, deep in the labyrinth formed by the stone warriors and the crumbled temple. Yet the words broke certain into her mind. Your eyes can deceive you. Her heart pounded, as though warning her otherwise. But Ahsoka withdrew her sabers, and closed her eyes. Rather than her weapons, she let the Force be her light. ✦ A Candle in the Night by phoenixyfriend, anakin/luminara & obi-wan, time travel, 12k In which Luminara finds a heavily injured Jedi, nurses him back to health, and falls in love. Then they get back to the real world, and she just can't figure him out... ✦ Found Clan by silvergryphon, boba & ocs & obi-wan & anakin & cast, 25.3k wip After the Battle of Geonosis, a Jedi Healer discovers young Boba Fett mourning the loss of his father. Not about to leave a ten-year-old boy on his own, she promptly adopts him with the full collusion of her Padawan. ✦ the heart of kyber by outpastthemoat, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & depa & kanan & jedi, 32.7k Tales of the Jedi: Stories about lightsabers, masters, and apprentices. ✦ Stars of Tatooine by Be_Right_Back, ahsoka & mace & kanan & obi-wan & rex & cast, 10.5k After the end of the world, Ahsoka more or less kidnaps a child, has to air some old grievances, and tries to find whatever peace the universe can still offer. All paths in the Force lead home, eventually. ✦ The Uses of a Sandwich by Laura Kaye (laurakaye), obi-wan & qui-gon & yoda & cast, 17.6k A few months after being taken as a Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi faces a challenge: meeting his Master's first apprentice. ✦ Familes Found by fyrefly, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & mace & plo, 8.2k In a universe where "The Wrong Jedi" never happened, the war ends under different circumstances and perhaps everyone will get a chance at a happy ending after all.

SHORT AND YET SO GOOD-LENGTH: ✦ The Mathematics of Repair by panharmonium, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 4.6k For raw teachers and rough-edged students building in the rubble: tiny steps are enough, provided they carry you in the right direction. Immediately post TPM, in short snippets. ✦ The Living Force; Parables for Padawans by glorious_clio, obi-wan & cast, 6.1k Since infancy, younglings are taught the Jedi Code, “Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.” Obi-Wan Kenobi learns these tenets backwards and forwards again. But even as a child, he is interested in nuance. And so his teachers tell him parables. ✦ A Jedi's Cloak ImperialKatwala, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & cody & rex, 6.4k Jedi cloaks are made for children. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a year and a half old when he first sees this principle in action. He is fourteen, twenty-five, twenty-nine, and thirty-six when he gets a reminder. Or: Jedi cloaks are weird. Here's a series of events showing why they're made that way. ✦ the master, the padawan, the Force by skatzaa, kanan & depa. 1.4k Caleb expects things to be different after Master Depa takes him as her padawan, but really, it feels like nothing really changes. ✦ For the Future of the Order by thetorontokid, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.9k There are important lessons to be found in the Jedi Temple creche.

✦ Memories of Peace by Margan, obi-wan & clones, 2k It's not quite flash training, but the Clones are used to learning fast. It helps that this is something that they actually look forward to learning, to putting into practice. Obi-Wan teaches the Clones how to make dumplings in the middle of war. ✦ Liberosis by Be_Right_Back, anakin & mace & yoda & jedi, 2.2k The war is over, the Sith are gone, and there is now Anakin Skywalker's secret marriage to deal with. While love is a wonderful thing, some truths are hard to face, and letting go is the destiny of all Jedi. Or: the Council and Anakin clash. It doesn't go as terribly as it could have. ✦ Accepting Emotion by LazarusII, obi-wan & ahsoka, 1.1k Dealing with the stress and anxiety of being a prospective Padawan, Ahsoka Tano struggles to manage her emotions. Obi-Wan Kenobi finds her practicing in the dojo, confidence in tatters. His words make all the difference. ✦ A Long, Long Time Ago by ruth baulding, dooku & qui-gon + qui-gon & obi-wan + obi-wan & anakin + anakin & ahsoka, 5.8k A wisdom tale handed passed down through the generations poses troublesome questions for a line of masters and Padawans, from Dooku to Ahsoka Tano.

✦ Duet by Silver Sky 1138, oc & cin, 2.3k Asha Scarsi, the Jedi Padawan who feels the Force through music, isn't half as good at lightsaber combat as she is at singing and mindtricks. So she's a little nervous when Battlemaster Cin Drallig calls her to the training room after class. ✦ The One Where Anakin Tries to Be Serious by GirlwithCurls98, anakin & ahsoka, 1k Even though they're fighting a war, Anakin finds the time to lead his apprentice through one of the Jedi's sacred ceremonies. ✦ Obi-Wan and the Force by AwayOHumanChild, obi-wan & cast, ~1k One of the first things Jedi Initiates learn is that everyone experiences the Force differently.

✦ Night Shift at the Temple by ReneeoftheStars, oc jedi & cast, 1.8k A Jedi Temple Guard sees all, speaks to few, and has attachments to no one. One must be prepared for any threats that may arise, especially at night, while most of the Temple sleeps. ✦ The Orchards by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.6k When young Obi-Wan Kenobi is injured on a previous mission, Qui-Gon Jinn refuses to accept further off-planet missions until his Padawan's recovery. Yoda assigns the pair an in-Temple mission of utmost importance while Obi-Wan heals. Master and Padawan welcome the change of pace. ✦ Tipping Point by Ria Talla (ronia), adi gallia & finis valorum & eeth koth, 3.3k "I believe that if what's happening on Naboo is allowed to continue, the other member systems will wonder what they owe to a Republic that can no longer protect them." ✦ A Personal Touch by DragonHoardsBooks, obi-wan & anakin, 6.2k New jedi padawan Anakin Skywalker realizes that there is more to being a jedi then he tought. Discovering a completely new culture will take time and effort, but maybe he'll make some friends along the way.

✦ Jedi Parables by Peppermint_Shamrock, jedi, 5.8k Values are often passed down generation to generation through stories, parables, and fables. What stories might the Jedi teach their children? ✦ Songs for Little Jedi by soft_but_gremlin, mace & jedi, ~1k The initiates are having nightmares, so Mace sings a lullaby to comfort them. ✦ a thin thread of hope by wrennette, shaak & clones, ~1k Shaak Ti introduces some cadets to one of her favourite crafts, under the guise of training. ✦ rah kat by js71, obi-wan & anakin & aayla, 1.6k "Aay’shee," Obi-Wan murmurs into her ear, rocking her gently, like when jaieh was off on a mission she couldn’t go on, so her jaieh-raheniel would take turns having her over at their apartments. ✦ Lessons on Attachment by Siri_Kenobi12, obi-wan & anakin/padme & cast, 2.7k "Anakin once told me that a Jedi is actually encouraged to love." She said after Obi-Wan had settled. ✦ Straw Dogs by Cymbidia, obi-wan & jedi & cast, 2.9k An old Jedi Master imparts some wisdom concerning Mercy, Balance, and the Will of the Force to young Padawan Obi-wan Kenobi and a gaggle of other younglings. It is a lesson that haunts Obi-wan for the rest of his life. ✦ Refractions of Light by Independence1776, ezra & kanan, 1.3k Kanan celebrates a Jedi holiday with Ezra.

✦ The grand outing by Ingata, dooku & sifo-dyas & obi-wan & bant & garen & reeft & yoda & cast, 4.5k Eight younglings and two Jedi masters on a field trip. What could possibly go wrong? ✦ A Short Break by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & yoda, ~1k Luke complains about his training, and asks about Jedi training of old. ✦ we are made of our longest days by bereft_of_frogs, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 4.4k Two years after the events of The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan and his new apprentice are called to a remote moon to fetch a baby who’s showing signs of a rare, unique power. On their journey home, Obi-Wan reflects on the last child he brought to the Temple and catches a faint glimpse of three possibly entwining futures. ✦ yellow, you're a dreamer by nightdotlight, jocasta & anakin (& obi-wan), 2.6k Normally, it wouldn’t be unusual, but— Jocasta did not earn her post without listening, and from where she stands in the aisle, gaze fixed upon the back of the young child’s shaking shoulders, she can hear a sniffle reverberate around the space. There’s a child curled up in the corner of the Archives— and they’re crying. ✦ once upon a time (a long, long time ago) by thebitterbeast, barriss & mace & shaak & ki-adi & bacara & trilla & cere, 2.3k The Jedi love children. Children love stories. This changes some things. ✦ not the place that I was born in (doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong) by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan & anakin, 5k “What were you consulting Master Obi-Wan about?” “Tea!” says the other Padawan brightly. “I’m performing a tea ceremony for my Master, one that originates from her home world. It’ll be the first time I sit foveo with her!” She says that word— foveo— as if it should mean something to Anakin. It does not. ✦ A Friend Indeed by ExtraPenguin, plo & ahsoka, 3.3k After their rescue of the colonists of Kiros, Ahsoka Tano's Master asks for her to be sent on a mission away from the front. She ends up being sent to the Deep Core with Master Plo Koon to investigate one of the first known locations of the Jedi Order, since abandoned. ✦ In which we burn bodies as bridges by GraceEliz, obi-wan & ahsoka & depa & kanan & ezra, 1.4k Lineage mantras, and the processing of grief. ✦ Five Times Mace was There for Obi-Wan, and One Time Obi-Wan Returned the Favour by wrennette, obi-wan & mace, 4k five of the many times Mace Windu offered Obi-Wan comfort over the years, and one of the many times Obi-Wan returned the favour

✦ as the dust settled around us by thebitterbeast, finn & jedi, 5.2k Bravery has never been the absence of fear. Prompt: There is no emotion, there is peace. ✦ Adi Gallia, Master of the Order by Perspicacia, adi & jedi, 7.2k wip Palpatine didn't expect it. It was too soon for that in his plans: which Jedi would have left the Temple under assault? But Adi had. Ashes in her heart, she had left the younglings and the elders and the wounded for her duty to the galaxy, choosing to stop the Sith instead of protecting her people. ✦ “The Padawan Chooses The Master” by lurkingcrow, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 3.6k prompt: AU - The Jedi say “The Padawan Chooses The Master” Qui Gon lives, Obi Wan is very preoccupied, and Anakin is put into the creche as an Initiate to learn what he can until Qui Gon wakes up from his coma and gets yelled at by the Council. In the meantime, Anakin meets other Jedi Masters and when the Council asks him who he wants to be his teacher, his answer isn’t Qui Gon. Instead it’s *insert your fav Jedi here* ✦ The Only Home We Know by ReneeoftheStars, katooni & petro & ganodi & byph & gungi & zaft & cast, character death, child death, 2.4k The Jedi Temple is under attack. Determined to fight for their home, younglings Katooni, Petro, Zatt, Ganodi, Byph, and Gungi make their way to aid the Jedi Masters in defense of the Temple. But the situation is far graver than they expected. ✦ Obi-Wan and the Force by AwayOHumanChild, obi-wan & cast, ~1k One of the first things Jedi Initiates learn is that everyone experiences the Force differently. ✦ The One Where Anakin Tries to Be Serious by Mini_and_Might, anakin & ahsoka, 1k Even though they're fighting a war, Anakin finds the time to lead his apprentice through one of the Jedi's sacred ceremonies. Might become part of a series of missing scenes from the Clone Wars. ✦ Markings by wabbajack, ahsoka & plo, 1.6k In which it is revealed that Master Plo Koon has always had a difficult time putting his foot down when faced with his Little 'Soka. ✦ The First Trial by Raven_Knigh, obi-wan & qui-gon, 2k Accompanied by his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, young Obi-Wan Kenobi undergoes his first trial and rite as a Padawan Learner on the frozen planet of Ilum.

✦ Arrival by CJinn, obi-wan & yoda & jedi, 2.6k Little Obi-Wan was only a few days old when he was brought to the Jedi Temple. His arrival caused some confusion among the Jedi. ✦ The Spire by skatzaa, obi-wan & jedi, 2.4k The galaxy was on the brink of war, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been assigned a new room. ✦ Room Arrangements by skatzaa, obi-wan & anakin, 2.2k Anakin has some concerns about room arrangements at the Temple. Obi-Wan does his best to reassure him. ✦ Lineage by virdant, obi-wan & anakin & yoda & jedi, 1.5k Anakin is new to the temple, and he does not yet understand that these are his brothers and sisters, his cousins, his uncles and aunts. He does not know yet, but he will learn, Obi-Wan thinks. ✦ A Discussion of Choices by Peppermint_Shamrock, luke & mace, 2k Mace Windu has traveled the galaxy since the fall of the Republic, keeping out of the Empire's sight and teaching where he can. Upon the request of a ghost of an old friend, Mace finds himself instructing Luke Skywalker, who is still reeling from the truth of Vader's identity. ✦ Emotion is our Shared Tongue by virdant, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & quinlan & jedi, 2.1k There are thousands of different species, with different languages and voices and hands, but what all Jedi have in common is the Force, and with the Force, they have language. ✦ To Know by Armin_05, obi-wan & anakin & shmi & kitster & fives & cast, 4.8k Nearly all Jedi love learning. Anakin Skywalker is no different. Or, how Anakin found a love of learning and shared it with others. ✦ Shatterpoints and Students by soft_but_gremlin, mace & depa, ~1k Depa always has shatterpoints hovering around her.

✦ Home-onym by virdant, jedi, 1.1k Jedi younglings, like any other children, enjoy playing. Playing with lightsabers and playing with words. ✦ Threaded Lineage by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & kanan & ezra & luke & rey, 2.9k The journey of a single river stone through many generations of Jedi, allowing the Jedi of the old and the Jedi of the future to be threaded together. ✦ the river and the rock by nightdotlight, anakin & luminara, 1.8k Lightsabers clash, and Luminara Unduli holds her ground. She doesn’t move, doesn’t lock her muscles, just makes herself an immovable object and lets her opponent strain against the lock. ✦ Five Meditations of Jedi Depa Billaba by skatzaa, depa & mace & yoda & kanan & kit, 5.3k What is says on the tin. (Plus one more, for good measure.)

#lumi.txt #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #mace windu #depa billaba #count dooku #luke skywalker #kanan jarrus #qui gon jinn #luminara unduli #jedi order #fic recs #star wars fic recs #long post

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girlbossagenda · 4 months

Text

How to stop feeling embarassed for everything

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

I know a lot of people struggle with this, this is the same for me, but I've overcame the severe part and I'm here to share some tips to stop feeling embarassed about everything.

୨୧Undestand you can't control everything୨୧

This is so important, cause it lifts a lot out of weight off your chest, undestand that sometime things are not always dictated by your actions, you may just play around 30%-70% of a role in your circumstances, but it's never always 100% . So dont put all the blame on you.

୨୧Will this matter in 5 years?୨୧

Always ask this question to yourself, "Will all of this matter in five years?", if not avoid overthinking it and if you can't help it, scream, cry and journal or record youself while you say everything out lout, but don't treat it like something that it's going to matter in a range of five years, especially if you are young.

୨୧show up for yourself୨୧

It can be as simple as a face mask, cooking a new meal or taking a shower, but you need to show love to youself and to relax your mind and body, writing love letters to youself can be very useful for when you need uplifting affirmations, try to create a comftable envirioment to relax.

୨୧do what you can do best୨୧

Part of feeling embarassed comes from our inability to compleate certain tasks or a feeling of inadeguacy, doing something that you are good at it's going to help you remember that if you are not good at this, you are good at that, or that your value didn't decrease, because you still have other skills to offer.

This is all for today hunns, I hoped this helped you, I will make a mini series with all my advices/guides so if you want to read more guides and tips make sure to stay in tune with this blog, and if you want more advices or simply ask a question you can click the "advice" button on my profile! I will gladly answer you, I hope you'll have a beautiful week xoxo gourgeous!

-𝓐

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chuluoyi · 7 months

Note

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, reader pining on gojo, mentions of injury, comfort

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

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prythianpages · 5 months

Text

A Field of Dandelions

azriel x witch!reader | Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

“Please don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.”

warnings: angst but with fluff at the end, mentions of self-hate/abuse. pretty much Azriel thinking he's not worthy of a mate.

a/n: I've been re-reading the Shatter Me series and there's a scene between Aaron and Juliette that drove me to make this along with the song Dandelions by Ruth B. The dialogue above is directly from the book Unravel Me. I used them as a writing prompt along with the general gist of the scene and added my own twist to it. I just wanted to put that disclaimer out there.

The door opens before you can even knock and your dear friend and High Lady pulls you into a warm hug. She beckons you inside with a smile and your eyes dart around the various paintings adorning the walls, finding that some are new.

Surprise etches onto your features when your eyes land on the Night Court’s Spymaster. He stands at the end of one of the winding staircases with his usual stoic expression. Still as devastatingly handsome as always. You drop your gaze as quickly as you had met his and if he notices it, he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge your presence.

Your ears pick up on faint crying. It grows louder and louder. Turning your head toward the source, your eyes land on Nyx. Despite being in the comfort of his father’s arms, his little features contort in pain. You greet your High Lord with a bow of your head, noticing the exhaustion on his face that mirrors Feyre’s.

“Is Mor on her way?” You ask, adjusting the strap of your bag. It’s full with all necessary tools and equipment you need for your venture.

Feyre had requested if you could make a tonic to sooth Nyx’s aches while he’s teething but your apothecary shop was unfortunately out of the main ingredient. Dandelion root. Not just any dandelion root but the ones that grow in the soil between the courts of Spring and Autumn and given the current tensions in Prythian and your status as a former Spring court inhabitant, it was not safe for you to go alone.

“Oh,” Feyre says as she takes the babe into her arms. You coo at Nyx and he blinks up at you, his crying coming to a stop. His lips tug up into a small smile and he wraps a tiny hand around your finger. “She is unfortunately caught up in Vallahan.”

“So then Cassian is to escort me today?” You ask again, looking up at your friend.

You catch the way she looks at Rhysand. They share a look and you know they’re communicating to each other through their mind. It’s Rhysand who answers you this time.

“Cassian isn’t fond of the spring, allergies and all.”

The Shadowsinger steps forward and your smile falls. You turn back to your friend, who gives you a sheepish smile in return.

“Azriel will be escorting you today.”

You almost want to say no. The thought of being alone with Azriel makes your stomach churn with unease and something else that you can’t quite discern at the moment. But Nyx begins to squirm in his mother’s arms with a pout and Feyre’s eyebrows knit in concern.

“Okay,” you sigh.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Feyre says.

“Our son’s life is in your hands.”

Feyre slaps her husband’s arm with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not dying, Rhys,” she grumbles. “He’s just in some discomfort from teething.”

She then turns to Azriel with a stern look. The corner of her lips threatened to betray her. “Be nice.”

Azriel’s shadows envelop you both, whisking you away to the forest of the Spring Court. It was the safest of the two courts to winnow directly to. The air in the dense woods hangs heavy with the scent of blooming blossoms and you’re thankful for the muffled sounds of nature as it provides a soothing background noise, saving you from the awkward silence between you and the impassive Shadowsinger.

Azriel walks ahead, his movements graceful and quiet. His shadows cling to him like the loyal companions they are but some hover over your boots, silencing your own steps.

He finally breaks the silence. “You’re staring.”

You shift your gaze immediately and wonder if he can also sense the pink that dusts your slightly flustered face. “I’m just surprised you’re the one escorting me,” you answer honestly.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” he responds cryptically.

A slight tension settles between you, your heartbeat quickening as you follow him through the forest. “Right,” you say, your face growing pinker.

You shift the weight of your bag to your other shoulder and Azriel comes to a sudden stop. He turns, his hazel eyes scanning you for a moment. Without a word, he takes the bag from your arm, effortlessly hoisting it over his shoulder.

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard, and a quiet "thanks" escapes your lips. “You’re being awfully nice today,” you can’t help but observe, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your tone “I think this is the most you’ve talked to me since we met.”

Azriel’s lips curve into an almost-smile. A rare sight that sends a flutter through your chest. “My High Lady told me to be nice.”

“Right,” you repeat quietly to yourself as you exhale, a futile effort to calm your fluttering nerves. It’s almost embarrassing the effect Azriel has on you and as the butterflies in your stomach stir, you hope that the rest of the day unfolds quickly.

Mates. Two individuals predestined to be together, brought together by unseen forces and an irresistible bond. Azriel once wondered if he had a mate but after centuries of living, he began to wonder if he was simply destined to be alone.

When his brothers found their mates and he still hadn’t found his, he started to think he was far beyond the reach of love. It was a blessing he could not have. He didn’t need a mate, so he convinced himself he didn’t want one. Romance was not part of his duties and he was starting to come to terms with the fact.

That is, until, he met you.

Nestled right on the outskirts of the area known as the Rainbow of Velaris was a quaint shop. The wooden sign above, engraved with dark letters spelling out Nightrose Apothecary, swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. Azriel had ignored the frenzied whirlwind of his shadows as he stepped into the shop.

Shelves made of twisted vines and polished wood were neatly arranged with rows of glass jars containing colorful powders, dried herbs and exotic roots. A friendly black cat, lounging on the sunlit windowsill, blinked at him in greeting. As he stepped further into the shop, his senses became overwhelmed with the prominent scent of lavender and chamomile.

Behind a worn, wooden counter is where you stood. You hummed to yourself, immersed in the book in front of you. He found himself unable to take his eyes off of you as you skimmed over the rough edged pages, your fingertips carrying an enchanting green glow and eyes filled with darkness.

You were a witch but it was no surprise to him. He had heard about you. You were a good friend of Feyre’s. One of the few people she could trust during her time in the Spring court. When the Spring Court fell into chaos, Feyre had brought you with her and helped you open up this shop.

His steps were silent and he’s sure you’re unaware of his presence, so he shifted, parting his mouth to speak–

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

His steps faltered, eyes widening for a fleeting moment.

When you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, his eyes locked with yours and something deep within him awakened. An exhilarating feeling like no other. He felt light. He felt alive. And he was almost afraid to blink, not wanting the feeling to end.

His shadows peeked out from behind his limbs, curious to see what had their master in a chokehold. They dispersed from his body in a thrilled dance as the darkness left your eyes, revealing their natural color. They’re beautiful and sparkling with kindness, even as his shadows disobey his silent orders and slither up your arms in a cool greeting.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself apologizing, a slight tint in his cheeks. “They usually don’t do that.”

“It’s okay,” you brushed off his worry and he felt lightheaded and bewitched at the smile you directed toward him. “What brings you here?”

Azriel can’t help but feel that you already know why he’s there. He pulled his gaze away, choosing to focus on the crystal orbs on the counter instead. “My High Lady recommended I come to you. I’ve been having trouble…sleeping.”

The green glow returned to your fingertips as you beckoned a small clear vial from one of the shelves behind you. It’s filled with a silver liquid that glistened as it moved, mirroring the twinkle of the stars that light up the night sky.

“This should help.” You told him as you held out the vial to him. “Take a sip before you’re ready for bed and it should quickly pull you into a restful slumber. Some say it even brings forth sweet dreams.”

Azriel nodded his head, taking the small vial from you with a gloved hand. He stored it carefully into the chest pocket of his leathers. His hands then dug into the pockets of his pants but you held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s on the house.”

“But–”

“Any friend of Fey–the High Lady’s is a friend of mine.”

His throat tightened as he realized it’s time for him to leave and he doesn’t want to. He’s caught in a whirlwind of emotions and finds himself torn between hope and fear. Or maybe he fears what it means to be hopeful because for once in his life, he wants something.

He wants you. His mate.

But as he thanked you for your kind gesture, he realized that the bond must have not snapped for you as it had for him. So he reluctantly went on with his day and when the sky darkened and stars awakened, he took a sip from the small vial. He had the best sleep of his life that night and dreamt about you.

The next morning he asked Rhysand and Feyre about what he had experienced because he couldn’t believe it himself. They confirmed his suspicions and they were both delighted. Feyre even more so as you were her dear friend.

She had taken it upon herself to bring you two together. Her first attempt was a family dinner. It was going well until Elain had spotted a spider and upon the small scream she let out, Nesta had rushed to kill it for her. Your distress was impossible to turn a blind eye to and Feyre quietly asked if you were alright.

“It didn’t need to die,” is all you quietly said, your eyes lined with silver.

Witches were one with nature and given your niche with herbs and creation, Azriel realized the depth of your admiration for all life that night. Then, another harrowing one. You were so innocent, so pure. He was guilty, hands tainted and stained red. He didn’t deserve you.

The Cauldron must’ve made a mistake.

Feyre was undeterred so she gave it another attempt, despite Azriel’s protest. She arranged a night out at Rita’s for the Inner Circle and invited you. Azriel didn’t plan on going but Rhysand had made sure his schedule was clear and when Feyre had sent him an image of you in a skin tight dress, he came as quickly as he could.

But it was too late.

He arrived to find a high fae leaning toward you in interest and you were smiling at him. A smile Azriel wanted reserved just for him. The male had placed a hand at your waist and Azriel felt his stomach churn when you laughed at something he had said. A sound he wished to be the cause of. You seemed happy and who was he to stand in your way?

The male was everything Azriel was not. Blond, blue eyed and perfectly smooth hands–hands that were all over you and welcomed by you. He unconsciously hid his scarred hands behind his back and when your gaze met his across the room, he looked away.

Azriel was not worthy of you. He didn’t deserve to have you as his mate. So he reminded himself that romance was not part of his duties and convinced himself that the Cauldron, had indeed, made a mistake.

He couldn’t bear the thought of being just a friend to you. The mere idea pained him so much that he pushed you away. He didn’t return to your apothecary when he finished the vial you’d given him–not even when his nights became restless again and dark circles appeared beneath his eyes. When he’d see you walking along the streets of Velaris, he’d turn the other away and when you would visit Feyre and he was there, he’d find an excuse to leave.

But there was one thing he couldn’t shake off–the primal instinct to protect you. It was the least he could do for you as he felt indebted to you for the Cauldron’s mistake.

So when he heard you needed an escort to the border between the Spring and Autumn courts, he was the first to volunteer, despite Mor and Cassian also offering.

It’s as if the ground beneath you comes to life in your presence. Birds fly over you, chirping and singing a beautiful melody. As you pass, buds blossom into beautiful flowers as if enchanted by you. Even the animals emerge from their hidden abodes. The squirrels playfully dart between branches while a family of deer gracefully emerges from the trees.

It becomes evident that nature itself is captivated by your presence. and it extends beyond nature, weaving its magic onto Azriel as well. It reaches into the very heart of the Shadowsinger, casting an enchanting spell that even he cannot escape.

A blue butterfly dances playfully around Azriel. It startles him, pulling him out of his trance and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes from you. You raise a finger and the butterfly lands on it softly.

“Hello, little one,” you coo softly. You turn to Azriel, holding out your finger to him. “Would you like to hold it?”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you scared of a butterfly?”

Azriel does not answer your question. Instead, his eyes dart around the forest that still stirs with liveliness around you. “What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“Sorry,” you apologize, even though it’s not your fault. The butterfly grants you one last flutter of its wings before gracefully flying away. “I can’t help but be admired by many.”

Azriel lets out a hum. You’re too distracted to pick up on the subtle resonance of agreement, your eyes widening as the meadow finally comes into view in the distance.

You inhale deeply, flooding your senses with the delicate fragrance surrounding you–a symphony of floral notes. Time seems to slow and your worries dissipate away as you kneel down, gently touching the soft sea of green, white and yellow. The gentle sway of the dandelions becomes a mesmerizing dance, their feathery plumes catching the morning breeze like wishes ready to be set free.

Azriel watches you and his eyes are a reflection of an adoration deeper than any meadow bloom. There’s a bittersweet ache in his chest. You close your eyes, a serene expression on your face. Strands of sunlight weave through your hair, creating a halo of warmth and Azriel finds it hard to breathe when your lips bloom into a tender smile.

Your eyes open and meet his hazel eyes and suddenly, he’s looking away. He clears his throat, eyes looking around the field. “What’s so special about this place?” He asks, a desperate attempt to reclaim the distance between desire and reality.

“All life is a delicate balance of give and take. Spring brings forth new life and beauty, new beginnings. Autumn leaves showers of gold, recognizing the temporary nature of all things. “ You answer as if it's common knowledge and upon the bewildered expression on Azriel’s face, you offer the simpler explanation: “The soil between Spring and Autumn is very potent.”

“These are weeds. They’ll grow anywhere.” Azriel deadpans. He regrets it immediately at the brief darkening of your eyes and the slight frown that forms at his casual dismissal.

“You may see a weed,” you begin, plucking a single dandelion from the ground as you rise to your feet. You approach the Shadowsinger. “But I see wishes.”

You extend the dandelion to him with a softness in your eyes that he’s never been on the receiving end of. “They say a single dandelion possesses the power to grant one-hundred wishes. But their beauty lies in their resilience because when they fall apart, they simply start again. A reminder to us all of boundless hope.”

Azriel hesitates, his gaze fixed on the dandelion. His gloved fingers brush against yours and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what your skin would feel like against his. The mere thought dares to send a shiver through him but he swiftly pushes the thought away. He doesn’t deserve you.

You smile at him as he carefully accepts the delicate stem from you. His shadows remain dispersed around the field but from where he stands, he can feel them vibrating in a joyful dance. Your smile is so bright, so dazzling and for the first time since he met you, it’s all for him. A sudden warmth floods through him, a sensation he never anticipated, and he finds himself utterly captivated.

“Make a wish,” you whisper to him, your voice a gentle prompt that lingers in the air like a spell waiting to be cast.

Azriel is not one to believe in things like this but he finds himself surrendering to the magic of the moment. For you.

Under the tender gaze of a field of dandelions, he closes his eyes. He lets out a silent breath, and makes a wish. A gentle breeze courses through you both in that moment. The dandelion’s wispy seeds take flight, unraveling into a delicate constellation of possibilities.

The soft bristles of hope travel through the air and find their way to you and a laugh escapes from you in response to the tickling sensation as they caress your face. Azriel’s heart feels strangely gentle–as if the weight that often accompanies his existence has momentarily dissipated. His entire body seems to soften in the glow of your laughter and a rare smile graces his lips.

He’s stuck in a trance, mesmerized by you, failing to catch the sounds of the creatures approaching. Before he knows it, there are arrows whistling around you both. He barely has enough time to respond as one hisses by his ear and darts to you. He immediately raises his hand up, his shadows rushing to the rescue and forming a protective shield around you both.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the tip of an arrow that is a couple of inches away from you. It’s coated with blood. Azriel’s blood. Your breath hitches at the sight. There's an arrow embedded into his gloved hand and if it weren’t for Azriel’s other hand at the small of your back, you would’ve fallen backwards.

“Are you alright?” His gaze is examining you carefully, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You blink at his words. “Are you alright?”

“Well, well, well.” A voice drawls followed by deep, rumbling growls from the hounds that surround you. They’re kept at bay by Azriel’s shadows. “What do we have here?”

Azriel turns around, ready to face the threat head on. His shadows remain at your side protectively. Some slither up and down your arms, their touch aimed at offering comfort and reassurance.

“Eris.”

The red head smirks and his teeth flash when he catches the sight of the Shadowsinger’s injured and bleeding hand. “My apologies,” Eris sneers. “If I had known it was you, I would’ve aimed for the heart.”

A sound escapes from you–one you didn’t know you were capable of making and you step out from the shadows. It draws Eris’s attention to you. His amber eyes drink you in and you feel Azriel stiffen beside you. The Autumn’s male’s eyes land on the obsidian necklace around your neck and they narrow.

“What is a witch doing in my lands?” His hounds that are still surrounding let out another growl, prompted by their master’s tone of voice. They snap their teeth menacingly.

But you’re unfazed.

Perhaps, it’s Azriel’s protective shadows or the overwhelming anger set alight by Eris’s words that grant you the confidence and push you forward. Your eyes fill with darkness, resembling a night sky without any stars and Azriel can feel the energy coursing through your veins as you call upon your magic.

“Keep wasting the air with that breath of yours and I might just cur–”

A hand comes over your mouth, stopping you from saying anything else and you’re being pulled flush into Azriel’s chest. You grimace at the taste of leather and squirm only for Azriel’s arms to tighten around you.

“Cute,” Eris remarks with a hint of amusement but there’s an unmistakable fear that flashes in his eyes for a short lived moment.

“We’re just passing through,” Azriel states, his voice void of emotion.

Eris observes you both in contemplative silence. He must discern something in Azriel that prompts him to stand down. With a thoughtful hum, he gracefully turns away. His hounds follow suit and as he walks away, he calls over his shoulders: “Make it quick.”

You watch as Eris disappears into the forest, still wrapped tightly in Azriel’s arms. It isn’t until Eris is completely out of view that you squirm again and without thinking, you bite on his gloved hand. Hard. Azriel flinches and finally releases his grip on you.

You turn to him with a glare that he returns.

“Threatening to curse the heir to Autumn? Are you out of your mind?”

“I should curse you for stopping me!” You exclaim, crossing your arms with a scowl. Your gaze then softens as you quietly add: “He hurt you.”

“Gods,” Azriel breathes, stepping away from you and tilting his head backwards. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“You mean besides piss you off by merely existing?” You huff as you snatch your bag away from him to get the jars you brought. “Can’t imagine it gets any worse than that.”

The walk to your apartment is silent and you begin to wonder if you should apologize for your outburst earlier. It was not within your nature to raise your voice at anyone…or harbor anger toward someone. But Eris had tried to hurt you, hurt Azriel and then shamelessly sneered about it.

Azriel follows you into your home, watching as you set the ingredients you collected down. He expects you to bid him farewell and kick him out but as you turn to him and your gaze falls to his injured hand, you sigh.

“Come on,” you offer, reaching out for his hand and he recoils. You frown. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

You know he’s lying by the way his jaw clenches and you can’t help but notice that he appears to be repelled by your touch. You almost laugh. “I promise I won’t curse you. I actually never cursed anyone before.”

Azriel’s expression remains unreadable.

“Just let me see. I can help you.”

“I’m fine.” He says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.” You say in hopes to get him to accept your help and when it doesn’t, you cross your arms against your chest. “Do you really hate me that much? To be repulsed by my touch?”

“I don’t hate you.” Azriel confesses and his voice is much quieter, much softer when he speaks again. “I could never.”

Azriel holds your gaze in contemplation for a long moment. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see his shadows pushing him toward you so you try again. This time, when you step forward, your hand reaching for him, he doesn’t pull away.

“Sit,” you tell him, nodding your head at one of the chairs in your kitchen.

With a hard swallow, he does. He is entirely still as you hold his gloved hand in yours. Even his shadows are eerily still as if holding their breath. His eyes are boring into you with an intensity that heats your skin. You bring your other hand up, a soft green glow emitting from your fingertips. With the help of your magic, you carefully take the arrow out, drawing a sharp gasp from him.

“Sorry,” you say, turning your attention to his glove next. You use your magic to remove it as well, not wanting to cause him any more pain or discomfort.

As the green mist of your magic dissipates, revealing the scarred skin beneath, your eyes widen. The scars are extensive, streaking around his fingers and the palm of his hand and the bleeding gash in the middle is nothing compared to them. You lift your gaze to meet his only to find his eyes are dead of emotion.

“Azriel.” You breathe and it’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his name and it sounds so pretty, so beautiful but the way you’re looking at him…

“Don’t.” His throat feels tight and he starts to withdraw his hand from yours but you stop him. You want to know who hurt him this deeply. Today was a day of firsts for you–first smile from Azriel, first time you ever felt so angry, first time you growled at someone and you were more than willing to add another first to that list. Cursing someone.

But Azriel looks like he’s about to break so you push your rage aside. Realization dawns on you as you now understand why he’s always wearing gloves around you, why he avoided you at all costs before. Your heart aches.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” you say softly as you begin to heal his hand. “Your scars may forever carry their stories with them but they do not define you. Your heart does and I can see it now. It’s bright and beautiful. You’re beautiful and–”

“y/n,” he almost begs. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

The gash on his palm is now completely healed and you tighten your hold on it. “Why?”

“It’s cruel and heartless and you don’t even realize.” His voice drops to a pained whisper and his eyes are fluttering shut, body trembling. Shadows cling on to him, embracing him in an attempt to comfort their master. You’ve never beheld anything more heartbreaking.

“Do you think that lowly of me?” You begin, your voice quiet. “That I would be put off by your scars?”

When he doesn’t answer, your free hand reaches for his face, lifting his chin up. But his eyes are still closed and deep lines form on his forehead because your skin is so soft, so warm and he’s not worthy.

“Azriel,” you steady your breath. “You’re my mate.”

His eyes shoot open, hazel orbs glistening with tears as he looks up at you. “You know?”

“I’ve known since the moment I met you.” You confess with a pained smile. “I wanted to tell you right away but I didn’t want to scare you and when I was ready to tell you, you were avoiding me. I thought you hated me because, well, I’m a witch and not everyone is fond of them.”

“But that night at Rita’s–”

“My stupid attempt at making you jealous,” you explain to him sheepishly. “I thought it would prompt you to talk to me but it backfired immensely.”

Silence falls over you two.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

“For being your mate.” Azriel responds. “I don’t deserve you. My hands are not only scarred but stained red. I’ve tortured many. I’ve killed many. You value life but I take it.”

“I value innocent life. It’s my duty to protect nature–to protect those that cannot speak for themselves.” You clarify. “I understand that it’s your duty to protect this court. I don’t see you any different for it.”

The hand at his face drops and you use it to remove the glove from his other hand. Your hands grasp onto his larger ones and you lace your fingers with his, embracing the thickened and roughened skin. Azriel’s breath hitches.

“This can’t be real,” he murmurs to himself, dropping his gaze. “In that field of dandelions, I wished upon every one of them. For you.”

“Magic doesn’t work that way,” you tell him with a smile as an overwhelming rush of tenderness comes over you. “It cannot create or destroy love. It can only heighten what is already there.”

Azriel’s expression softens and he looks back up at you. Half terrified. Half hopeful. “So this is real?”

You decide to show him instead by leaning down and kissing him.

Azriel’s body relaxes and then he’s using his hands to tug you forward and onto his lap. He kisses you back. Deeply and desperately. He places his hands on your face, your neck and then they’re at your waist, slipping under your shirt. He wants to feel your skin, all of you and you welcome it, arching into him because his touch feels so good.

It stirs a light of desire in you–a desire so bright that it rivals the sun and blossoms flowers of its own. A desire to love and be loved.

“What else did you wish for?” You gasp out when you both pull away for air. His hands are right under the curve of your chest and he leans his forehead against yours.

His breath is heavy but he smiles at you and you engrave the image into your mind because you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. You’re inclined to ask Feyre to paint it for you later.

“I only wished for you to be mine.” He says, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Done.”

And then he’s kissing you again.

Azriel has heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime–he’s seen it come to his brothers. He never thought it would come to him but he’s pretty sure that you are that love of his and he was a fool to push it away. He knows this now because when he gazes into your eyes, he can see forever in them.

here's like an alternate scene, where y/n is the one who says "please don't talk to me like that" instead of az: read here

here's a scene if you're curious about feyre's reaction: read here

if you're interested in reading more about this au you can find the masterlist for this series here

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar x you #az!dandelions

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

count on us * fem!driver

she often forgets that she’s got a support system she can ask for help from

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver

warnings: stalking, mentions of violence, cursing

notes: i think it's so funny how i took so long to write this that i'm only writing a note like 5 minutes after posting this LMFAO

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

sebastian looks up from his phone, the noticeable lack of a woman’s voice finally sinking in. now that he thinks about it, it’s been suspiciously too long for his driver to be missing.

he raises an eyebrow as he scans the garage for the familiar face, but alludes to nothing.

he presses his lips together, silently exiting the garage to find himself in the paddocks. sending her a quick text to ask her where she is, he puts the phone into his back pocket as he makes it a mission to find the small girl.

in the crowd of people who are heads taller than her, it’s deem an almost impossible mission.

“hey, seb,” max greets him with a nod and a smile, almost passing him nonchalantly.

until sebastian reaches out to stop him. “have you seen (y/n)?”

“i have not,” max frowns. “is something wrong?”

“yeah,” sebastian turns in a circle where he is, gesturing to the empty space by him, “my shadow is missing.”

max raises his eyebrows. “that’s true. she’s usually always around you.”

“if you see her, can you give me a call?” sebastian asks. max gives him a nod before bidding him a goodbye.

he spends the better part of the next twenty minutes trying to spot her, walking the paddocks twice for good measure. yet she is nowhere to be found.

he’s asked four more different drivers if they’ve chanced upon her presence, yet there is nobody that’s seen her.

not logan, and not even oscar. which is odd.

not even a response from you. so, he goes to the one place he hasn’t tried: her driver’s room. she doesn’t frequent staying in too long on media day, claiming that she’s trying to get used to the environment of formula 1.

which, is actually working. there are times she’s able to roam the paddocks and go to interviews by herself. but half the time, sebastian or someone else does an interview with her as a calming tactic.

he knocks on her door once and goes without an answer. he knocks another time before he hears shuffling from the other side of the door.

the door squeaks open, the shorter woman peeking through the small opening she’s allowed. “yeah?”

“i’ve been looking for you everywhere. why aren’t you texting me back?” sebastian asks, looking the door up and down. “and why won’t you open the door all the way?”

“just wasn’t feeling well,” she says softly with a sigh. her head is dropped low, as if to avoid any forms of eye contact. “my room is a mess.”

“you’re not well? why didn’t you tell me?” sebastian questions with the raise of his eyebrow. “can you let me in? let’s talk in private.”

she presses her lips together, as if considering her options. ultimately, she shakes her head. “we can talk here.”

“kid, you’re being very weird. i’m concerned and-“ he pauses, dropping his head slightly to meet her puffy eyes. “have you been crying?”

she tilts her head away from him and lets her hair drop to the side of her face. “none of your business, seb.”

sebastian sighs, leaning on the door frame. “if something is wrong, you can talk to me, you know? i won’t tell anybody.”

“just the hormones,” she croaks, still avoiding his eyes. “i’ll come out in a while for my interviews. i just need a while.”

he hums. “okay. i’ll be in the garage waiting for you, okay? text me when you’re coming out.”

“okay.” and then she closes the door on him.

oscar steps right by the garage’s entrance, careful not to cross the line that would consider him inside. “seb.”

sebastian pops up from behind the car. “oscar! what’s up?”

“(y/n) hasn’t been picking up my calls,” he admits with a sigh. “i’ve been trying to get a hold of her since we arrived on tuesday. have you got any idea where she is?”

“what?” sebastian glances at his watch. “she should’ve been out of her room by now. hasn’t she got an interview with you and logan?”

“that’s why i’m looking for her,” oscar frowns. “i had to ask lando to go first and cover for us. logan and i have been texting her but she never answers.”

“she’s been acting weird all day,” sebastian voices out in concern. “i swear she looked like she was crying when i dropped by her driver’s room earlier.”

“crying? that doesn’t happen often,” oscar mutters. “has she told you what’s bothering her?”

“she just shut the door on me and said she’d be out in a while,” sebastian shrugs. “what do you think is wrong with her?”

“i’m okay,” a small voice comes from behind sebastian. the two men turn their attention to her with puzzled expressions on their faces. “what?”

“no shorts for you today, mate?” oscar asks, eyeing her up and down. “it’s not that cold out today. why the sweatpants and jacket?”

“repping your team today, aye?” sebastian teases, reaching out to nudge her shoulder. “getting into the racing spirit, i see.”

“these were the only clean clothes i had in my bag,” she sighs, rubbing her eye. “i woke up late and i didn’t pack my bag last night. this was all i had in my driver’s room.”

“you could’ve asked me for a shirt,” sebastian shrugs. “you don’t have to get all warm in a jacket.”

“i’m alright, thank you,” she smiles politely. she grins at oscar. “we’re late for the interview, right? let’s go?”

oscar nods, watching in disbelief as she walks past him to get ahead. “yeah,” he says under his breath. exchanging a worried glance with sebastian, he quickly jogs to catch up with her. “hey, wait for me.”

“thank you so much for your time, and good luck for the weekend,” the interviewer smiles.

the three rookies mutter a mix of thank you’s. notably, the girl sat between the two boys stands up with her hands in her pockets.

“hey, are you on mute today? what’s got you so quiet?” logan calls out to the girl who’s already halfway out the door, slowly standing from his own seat.

“nothing, i’m just tired,” she answers monotonously, turning on her heel. “can you guys walk me back to my garage today? i know you haven’t in a while, and like, you don’t actually have to. i’m capable of walking the paddocks myself. but i thought it would be–“

oscar holds up his hands in front of her. “we’ll walk you back. no need to explain yourself.”

she huffs, dropping her head low again. “okay. thank you.”

logan raises his eyebrow. “you’re not fighting with me today?”

“just really tired,” she repeats, then putting the hood of her jacket over her head. “have you guys eaten? wanna go to the cafeteria with me and grab a bite?”

“i’ve got an interview panel in like 5 minutes,” oscar frowns, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “i’m sorry. maybe logan can go with you?”

“i’ve got to film some marketing stuff with alex for williams,” logan mirrors the frown on oscar’s face. “how about we go dinner right after? it’s my last commitment of the day.”

“oh, mine too.”

“then that’s okay. i’ll just eat in my hotel room.”

the disappointment that laces her voice is prominent enough for the two young boys to exchange a worried glance.

so, logan bends down with a warm smile. typically, his snide remarks and playful tone would have been enough to get a confession out of her. so he takes the route. “where’s the remote for your chatterbox function? i want it turned up.”

“maybe tomorrow, logan. i’m very tired,” she dismisses the american, eyes still trained on her feet as they walk.

“come on, seriously,” oscar grabs her shoulders, planting her on the spot while they surround her. “what’s wrong?”

“literally nothing,” she glances up, looking into their eyes briefly. she drops her head once more and walks around them to continue making her way down the pathway.

“you’ve got to tell us someday,” oscar mutters to logan, following behind her. “you eventually give us hints, you know.”

“i won’t,” she whips back quickly, “because nothing is wrong. i’m just feeling a little under the weather.”

“you’re not fighting with me, so i don’t know, dude,” logan whispers, eyes wide at her sudden change in behaviour. “not sure which version of you i like more. i miss your chaos.”

“stop worrying,” she huffs, coming to a stop in front of her racing home. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? i’m heading back to the hotel early.”

she doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on her heel to walk towards her doors.

oscar reaches out quickly, pulling her back towards them. “i’m only letting you go if you promise to stop ignoring our texts in the groupchat.”

“yeah, it’s sad talking to myself,” logan frowns. “oscar’s not a great texter. and he doesn’t even watch my tiktoks.”

“yeah, i do! i just don’t answer.”

“really? what tiktok did i send last?”

“that one edit about that banana cat!”

“liar! (y/n) sent that like a week ago! oscar!”

“well, you send too many! i can’t possibly sit down and watch 20 tiktoks, logan!”

“this is not what we should be worried about right now!” logan says, turning to the girl staring up at them with doe eyes. “watch my tiktoks. seriously.”

she smiles, yet the sadness in her eyes is so unmissable. “okay, i promise. and i’ll text you when i’m back in my hotel room.”

“you better actually text us,” oscar scoffs with an eyeroll. “i know your room number. i will come up and tear your room apart if you don’t.”

“okay,” she laughs. “i will remember to text you.”

she sits quietly at the dinner table, phone buzzing the table off as she continues to gobble down her chicken wing. she stares at the table blankly as she chews consistently.

“are you not gonna pick up your phone?” max asks, putting his spoon and fork down on the plate.

the constant buzzing had been going on for almost 5 minutes, and at first, he wasn’t going to say anything. but isn’t 5 minutes too long to leave your phone unanswered if there is a possible pressing matter at hand?

“oh, i’m sorry. i hadn’t noticed,” she says softly, grabbing her phone. she glances at the screen and all the colours from her face visibly drains and she puts the phone down on her lap. “sorry.”

“it’s something wrong? why didn’t you pick up?” max asks, continuing his meal.

“just the family groupchat going off as always after my interviews for the day,” she laughs nervously, returning to her state of blank stares and eating her dinner. “i’ll answer them later.”

“isn’t dalton gonna nag your head off if you don’t answer now?” oscar chuckles.

they had managed to convince the girl to come out for dinner. but it’s only sparked up more concern between him and sebastian as she opted to be out in her team merch again.

that’s after she swore up and down that she wouldn’t be caught dead in them in normal circumstances where they’re not needed. which also raised max’s eyebrows when he walked into the restaurant and was shocked by the striking purple that made their table stand out amongst the rest.

“he can wait a while longer,” she shrugs.

max pouts his lips. “why are you in team merch, anyway?” he asks, reaching out to pull on the material of her jacket. “you made fun of me for like 4 days straight when you realised i wear red bull merch too often.”

“i have to say i kinda get where you’re coming from,” she answers calmly. “they’re very comfortable.”

“comf–“ max looks around the table in disbelief. “you said that even if they’re comfortable, they’re not very ‘going out’ outfits. what?”

she turns to look at him, bored. “i changed my mind. you’re actually right.”

max sinks into his seat. “what’s gone wrong with the world?”

yuki had been minding his own business, scrolling on instagram when he heard a familiar squeak by a quiet corner outside the paddock’s gantries.

“hey, leave me alone!” a hushed voice says, before he hears shoes thumping against the floor. “i’ll give you the stupid pass if you never bother me again.”

“c’mon. that wasn’t the only agreement we came to. you have to let me take you out on a date,” a deeper voice says.

“yeah, not a chance! you think stalking me for two races and sending me unsolicited pictures would help your chances?” he recognises that voice.

he peeks over the corner, eyebrows raising in shock when he sees the driver push the unnamed man away from her.

“and if you weren’t scared of what i have in here,” he lifts up his hand to show her something, “then you wouldn’t have answered my messages.”

there’s silence for a while, before she grunts. “fine, whatever. here’s your pass. leave me alone in the paddocks, seriously.”

yuki studies the man’s face, before scrambling to walk away from where he is. he hums, walking as fast as he can to the gantry without looking suspicious.

when she pops up next to him, chest heaving with a sweaty forehead, she smiles. “hi, yuki.”

so he smiles back. “hi.”

and then he makes a sharp left after entering the paddocks, on his way to find max. the driver had mentioned the girl acting suspicious and asking a favour of him and daniel to keep an eye on her.

he never actually expected to be the one who find out.

“i think i know what’s bothering her,” yuki says softly, pulling max away from gp with an apologetic smile. he’s thankful that the engineers had been working on the car. he doesn’t have to hush himself so much after all. “i saw her… right outside the paddocks just a while ago.”

“seriously? you didn’t fucking tell us someone was harassing you?”

she sighs, arms folded over her chest as she looks between the men towering over her. she sinks into the comfort of her beanbag chair, defeated by their efforts to find out what’s wrong.

“and we had to find out from yuki because he was fortunate enough to overhear your conversation outside the paddocks?” sebastian shouts. “what the hell! that’s so dangerous.”

“he has pictures from my cloud, seb! that means screenshots of our conversations and my private pictures! i can’t risk that getting out! i’m hated enough as it is!” she explains, trying to reason out before getting another scolding. “can you please see where i’m coming from here?”

“no, because meeting him all by yourself is absolutely fucking insane!” logan throws his hands in the air, trying to make her see how ridiculous the whole situation is. “dude, you could’ve been mauled! nobody even saw you leave the paddocks.”

“imagine what could’ve happened to you? what would we tell your parents?” max adds on, hands on his hips. “this was very reckless.”

“i-“

“and if he planned to physically hurt you, what were you planning on doing?” logan cuts her off, hands on his hips as he grows more frustrated. “did you actually have a plan or were you just winging it?”

“it’s not even that. the way you thought this was even a good idea is beyond me!” sebastian tugs at the roots of his hair. “you should have told somebody!”

tears start to fill her eyes, lips pouted out as they start to quiver. the harassment had started about two weeks ago during their previous race.

initially, she had marked out the instagram dm to be from a spam account. until they sent her a picture only she would be in possession of: her and logan at a beach club from when he was 20 and she was 18 in barcelona.

suddenly the messages and the threats didn’t stop. she couldn’t only think of the repercussions it would have on her career, but everybody else’s who is involved in her life.

her cloud includes a collection of screenshots from their most ludicrous conversations and night outs.

“hey, i was only doing that to protect everybody i know!” she shouts, tears starting to spill out of her eyes. “there’s pictures and screenshots i’m sure each and everyone of you would like out of the public eye! i’ve got a fucking video of you,” she points at max, “giving daniel a lap dance in zandvoort!”

she points at logan, “and you,” then oscar, “and you wrestling to push each other into the pool in your underwear from years back!”

she turns to sebastian. “and you drunkenly crying because you regret retiring from formula 1!” she pushes herself off the seat. “i didn’t know what else to do. i’m sorry, but i didn’t see it going any other way than me caving in to what he wanted me to do.”

“i don’t know, get a fucking lawyer and sue his ass?” max asks.

“yeah, i’ve not got the funds for that! thanks for noticing!” she screams at the older driver, stomping her feet into the ground. “god, i didn’t know what to do, okay?”

she looks at the man in the corner of her room, leaning against the wall staring at the ground blankly with his arms in the pockets of his shorts.

“well, you’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” she points out. “nothing else to add on with everybody’s criticism of how i seem to have mishandled the situation?”

oscar looks up, meeting her eyes for a split second before looking away again. he presses his lips together. “it was reckless,” oscar says. he shrugs when she prompts him for a longer answer. “it’s done and it’s over. let’s figure out how to get him to bugger off, yes?”

“yes, but you have got to realise how wrong this could have gone so easily,” sebastian sighs, slightly calmer than he was a few seconds ago. “come on. be realistic.”

she frowns. “i didn’t know what to do, okay?”

max sighs, walking over to her. he lays his hand on the top of her head and pats it gently. “i’m sorry for shouting at you. i was just concerned. something bad could have really happened to you.”

“i know, but-“

“it’s okay,” max soothes her, pulling her into his arms for a hug. “you held a potential scandal off pretty well. but don’t do it like this again.”

“this is never going to work,” she mutters under her breath. after a wonderful qualifying session, she stands in her least favourite dress.

“it’ll work,” max mutters, “i’m max verstappen.”

“literally what’s that got to do with anything?” she scowls, extending her hand out to land a hit on his arm. “that name means nothing to this man!”

“you don’t know that. i’m a very powerful man,” max mutters dejectedly, hand pressed against his chest to feign hurt. “you’re not very nice.”

“shut up,” sebastian mutters, rolling his eyes at the two unlikely drivers to have gotten along very well. “we spent all qualifying session thinking of a way to get you out of this. be quiet.”

“fine,” she says softly, folding her arms. she takes a step back and sighs as logan takes her into his side for a comforting hug. “i didn’t know what else to do.”

“it’s okay,” logan whispers, rubbing her arm. “it’s over now. we’ll handle it for you.”

“i’m handling it for you,” sebastian mutters.

he straightens his shirt and stands a little taller as a figure comes down the dark alley of the paddocks.

“oh, you brought back up?” the man, who sebastian has come to know as ryan, grins. “big fan.”

“shut the fuck up,” max says, stepping forward when he stops in front of her.

“yeah, here’s how it’s gonna go,” sebastian says, pressing his palm into max’s chest to stop him. “you’re going to hand over that thumb drive or she sues you.”

he scoffs. “with what money? she’s only an underpaid rookie.”

“she’s got a whole grid of 21 other rich drivers ready to back this lawyer up,” sebastian says calmly. “don’t make it any harder for yourself. just hand it over before you get served.”

“i call bluff,” he shrugs simply. “you don’t want something like this out in the media.” he tilts his head to throw a teasing stare at the girl in logan’s arms. “especially not when it’s tied to her name.” he looks back at sebastian. “she wouldn’t let that happen to her.”

max clears his throat. “what if you just listen to us before we make this very difficult for you?”

“like how?”

“just trust me,” max smiles sweetly with a nod. “i can find ways to make life difficult for you.”

“what if i only leak pictures of her?” ryan grins, gesturing to the girl now throwing her head back in despair. “you’ve got good pictures, by the way. can’t wait to have you all to myself, you pretty little thing.”

“yeah, i’m done hearing this fucker out,” oscar mutters.

“oscar-“

logan is barely able to grab the australian’s arm before oscar has already lept forward to shove the man back.

“so i’ll make it difficult for you,” oscar smiles politely. his arm darts forward again, bunching up the material of ryan’s collar into his hands. he yanks him in. “i’m going to take that thumb drive out of your pockets myself, and then i’ll beat you with my own bare hands,” he points behind him, “while she watches.

“and then i’m going to get the best lawyer, find the judge, bribe them both and the jury combined,” oscar chuckles dryly, “put you in jail. and then i’m going to go in there and tear you limb from limb again.”

“ah, you’re too nice. you’d never.”

“say bet?”

“bet.”

“oscar, come on!” she shrieks, stumbling forward to yank him back. “you don’t beat people up! come on!”

“yeah, but i do!” max cheers, his hand darting out to shove the man back harder than oscar did. he stumbles a couple steps back and almost loses his balance, regaining it slowly. “i’ll finish what oscar started. come here.”

“hey, nobody’s beating this man up!” sebastian shouts, before quickly trying to lower his voice to avoid any unwanted attention. “listen, mate. i can make sure a court hearing goes by softly. benefits us, but gonna make you go broke. you decide.”

max lifts a finger into the air. “and don’t forget: i’m born petty. i already know where you work, so if you wanna keep that job…”

“and keep having a damn job for the rest of your life,” sebastian finishes max’s sentence. he holds his hand out, waiting for the item to be surrendered to him. “you know what’s best for you. come on.”

“fine, but-“

“there will be no buts, there will be no negotiations,” max grunts, rolling his eyes. if it weren’t for sebastian, he would have already given these three the show of their life. “you will listen to seb. end of story.”

“fine, whatever,” the man sighs, throwing the thumbdrive at sebastian. he tilts his head once more and winks at the girl. “let’s go for our date — that’s the one condition.”

“seriously, why haven’t you let me beat the crap out of this guy?” oscar asks ludicrously, throwing his hands in the air. he turns back to him. “we just said no negotiations. go and fuck off somewhere else.”

“and you better leave (y/n) alone because i grew up with brothers,” logan smiles, “i can fight.”

she moves her head lower, looking at oscar with wide eyes. she takes her spoon out of her ice cream cup and sways it in oscar’s field of vision. “hey.”

“yeah?” oscar asks, lifting his eyes from the table to meet hers.

“you mad at me?” she pouts her bottom lip out before dropping her gaze. “i’m sorry.”

“sorry for doing what you thought would help you out of a situation?” oscar smiles emphatically at her. he stabs his spoon into his ice cream and puts a firm grip on her wrist. “next time just come to one of us, okay? we’ll handle it.”

she presses her lips together as she sighs. “right. i forget that i don’t have to fend for myself anymore.”

“yeah. we’ve got your back. always,” oscar snorts. “you’re one of my best friends. logan and i would flip the earth for you.”

“likewise,” she smiles. “i’d help you bury a dead body.”

“maybe let’s not go that far.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @love4lando @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @cashtons-wife @bborra @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803

#sebastian vettel x reader #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen x reader #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 fem!drive #fem!driver #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke vr #logan sargeant x reader

2K notes · View notes

loaksbitch · 1 year

Text

imagine you’re too scared to tell neteyam you’re pregnant cause he’s not ready for a family but you’re so wrong yes? this is a little present until i’m done writing the finale of ‘i trusted you’ series — 1.2k wc

warnings - mention of vulgar language, none other than that! likes + reblogs are super appreciated and not pressured thank you sm <3

“my baby in you?” — neteyam sully (✿)

you’re scared.

you’re so scared and mo’at’s voice dining in your head isn’t helping but making it worse. you knew this would happen, it would eventually come but not in a million life time you thought it would be now.

“you should tell him, my child.” mo’at had said to you. “he must know you’re carrying a fruit of love inside you.”

how can you randomly go and tell him, your mate, neteyam that you’re pregnant with his child? he clearly has told you he doesn’t want a family, at least not right now.

you both agreed to focus on yourself and each other and family would come later but here you are crying because of the child you’re carrying, scared neteyam won’t accept him or…her.

you haven’t noticed how you’re protectively covering your stomach until you had to bring your hands up to wipe your tears

hours have passed since you haven’t stopped crying or went to sleep unintentionally.

“princess, wake up.” a familiar voice echoes in your head and you open your amber eyes hardly since it was swollen and pretty puffed up.

once you recognize who the man in front of you is, you jump and scoot away from him. “shit, did i scare you?” he brings his hand close to you, “it’s me baby, neteyam i’m neteyam, your man.” the way he claims he’s yours makes your stomach even churn

what if he doesn’t want to be your man after this?

“that’s right, come here” he calls for you, taking your dainty hands to him and pulling you close for a hug. “you were crying while sleeping.” you’re both now hugging while neteyam is kneeling in front of you and you’re sat on the thick mat

“something bothering you?”

he feels you shake your head and licks his lips before pushing you back a little to scan your face.

“don’t lie to me, pretty girl” you feel him cup your cheeks and trace your blue stripes as he gives you a melting smile.

did this really need to happen, eywa? why was she making you suffer like this when neteyam was clearly strict over having a baby right now?

“princess,” you’re pulled from your thoughts when your mate calls for you. “talk to me, what is it?”

“it’s nothing.” you blurt out and push neteyam’s hand away from you before getting on your feet. neteyam watches you with a furrowed brows when you walk away from him

this time, he calls you by your name and no pet names to make you freeze at your spot. “what’s wrong with you?” he didn’t fail to notice how your moods kept changing this days

how you’re very argumentative or a crybaby with no reason.

“i said,” you take a deep breath “noth–“ neteyam had enough. “cut the crap and tell me, what’s wrong? you know i won’t leave you alone without knowing what’s bothering my wife.”

his wife, neteyam was also on his feet now, towering your small body. he knows how stubborn you can be and he’ll make sure to fight until the end to know what’s up with you

“i’m worried, okay? fuck i’m so worried i can’t even focus on my training”

right, his so-called training.

you bite your lips and look away, why is it hard just to tell him you’re carrying his baby huh? why does this argument need to happen?

“hey,” neteyam was close to you again, taking your face to his large palms. “please tell me baby, mhm?” he presses a soft kiss on your lips but you don’t kiss back nor smile

“what’re hurting you? let me hurt with you, yeah?”

you can’t even describe how much you love this man and just losing him scares you so much. but you’ve to tell him, sooner or later you have to let him know you’re gonna give birth to the fruit of love you both made after months

“nete’” at your call, your mate desperately hums and searches for your eyes that’s becoming very teary. “i’m sorry” you can feel how his face twists in confusion but he’s silent so you can talk farther

you’re finally opening up and he wasn't dating to interrupt you.

but then again you’re awfully silent, only tears trickling down your beautiful face. “why’re you sorry?” his heart is now picking up its race and neteyam swallow down his worry

“i know you never wanted it to be this soon, i know you’re not ready and i’m sorry i’m ruining everything.”

the way your voice quivers makes his plan sweat and chest tighten, he hates seeing you in pain. “baby, please tell me what it is, what am i not ready for?” you’re silent again but neteyam was patient with you

he can see how you’re debating with yourself if you should say what you’re going to say or no

his breath bitch when you look at him, your pretty and big amber eyes wet from tears, neteyam only wipes them off your cheeks.

“i’m…” you stop and take a deep breath, “i’m pregnant, neteyam.”

right there, you don’t miss how his fingers stop wiping your tears, how his eyes are slightly widened and his body completely going stiff.

you begin to panic and bring your hands to him which is holding your face warmly, “i-i know you’re not ready and i’m sorry i ke— i keep ruining things for you.” you’re fast to apologize but neteyam wasn’t budging that you’re thinking he’s having a stroke

“i’ll take care of it myself,” you say wanting to bring back neteyam to himself but no answer, “i’m so sorry, we should’ve neve—“

things were fast when neteyam suddenly clashed himself to you, teeth clashing to each other when he’s kissing you, your wet eyes are widen and neteyam is desperately tugging on your lower lips with his teeth

did he not get what you said? you literally told him what he doesn’t want to hear and he’s kissing you.

one hand on your cheek and the other slides down to your lower back and pulls you close to him, you close your eyes and kiss back.

warm touches and tongue licks your lower lip, neteyam whines to your lips. he breaks the contact and a string of saliva latches to both of you.

“you’re having little us.” he was pressing his forehead against yours. you’re somehow confused and open your mouth to speak. “you’re not mad?” you softly whisper and neteyam looks at you like you’re stupid.

“mad? baby, i’m the happiest na’vi alive.”

something in you finds relief and you start to smile.

you giggle when you’re swept away from your feet and neteyam twirls you while laughing happily. “neteyam!” you say in between your laugh but neteyam was too happy to even listen

once you’re back on your feet, neteyam searches for your eyes, “you have my baby in you?” his eyes were teary when you shyly nodded.

“don’t ever apologize for this, it’s not only you who’s in this but me too.” he tucks your braids behind your ears, “princess, you’ve no idea how scared i was to tell you i want a family with you sooner.”

neteyam takes a deep breath, “i regret telling you i’m not ready because i was from the start, i just didn’t want you to feel pressured.” he says and your lips curve for a smile.

“i’m so fucking ready you’ve no idea.” he places a feather light kiss on your forehead.

“i love you baby,” he pulls you for a hug and loves how you fit on his chest. “i love you too.” you hug him back, silently thanking eywa and apologizing at the same time.

i need a man like neteyam and it’s not even a joke, i hope you liked this one! thank you for reading — likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 i love each and everyone of you sm! mwah**

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wintrwinchestr · 7 months

Text

obedience | part 1

summary: you decide to act out after feeling neglected by joel for over a week. it doesn’t go quite according to plan, but his punishment does help you unlock a new kink or two.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, daddy kink, d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, brat tamer joel, degradation/humiliation (use of slut, whore, 1 use of bitch), orgasm denial/edging, boot riding, pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart, honey, puppy), entering petplay territory??, finger sucking, one face slap but she likes it (and so do i), taking/sending nudes at work, subspace, hair pulling, joel cums on reader’s face, cum eating, two idiots who finally communicate and apologize to each other, gets soft at the end bc i’m a woman of many interests, reader can be carried by joel but no other physical descriptions, winter’s limited knowledge of what contractors do, pic of girl in the moodboard is for bra imagery only, reader looks just like you!! :)

word count: 4.1k

a/n: this is extremely self indulgent so please don’t look at me!!! lil shoutout to @pascalisbaby for inspiring me to write something just so i can use “puppy” bc their love’s gonna get you killed series has fucked me up extremely bad.

divider by @saradika

(read part 2 here)

It’s coming up on nearly a week and a half of Joel working long days and late nights at the latest suburban McMansion he’s been contracted out to. Each and every time he creeps into his side of the bed after you’ve already gone to sleep, never failing to wake you up in the process, he always has a different excuse. “My concrete guy was out sick today”, “the vendor gave us the wrong size rebar”, “the landscapers were in our way all damn day”, and other similar eye roll-inducing anecdotes that were followed up with sleepy apologies.

Tonight, you’re almost certain, will be just the same.

Slogging through yet another slow and uneventful day at your corporate nine-to-five, you’re practically counting down the seconds until you’ll be able to escape your drab little cubicle for the day. You aren’t exactly looking forward to going home, though, either. You know that all you have waiting for you will be another lonely night of heating up a frozen dinner, watching reality TV reruns until the ten o’clock news comes on, and then tucking yourself into a cold bed.

While you’re waiting around for a coworker to message you back about something painfully unimportant, you decide to get up to kill some time in the bathroom on your phone and stretch your legs a bit. You stand up from your rolling chair, grabbing your phone in the process, and head down the hall to the one single-person bathroom in the building that you know of.

You step inside and click the lock shut behind you, looking forward to having a rare few minutes to yourself without the threat of your manager lurking over your shoulder. You inspect your makeup in the mirror and address some flyaway hairs before leaning back against the sink and swiping your home screen into view. Your heart soars at the discovery of a text notification from Joel, but settles just as quickly when you read the words across your screen.

A couple of my dumbass guys fucked up some measurements again. Gonna be another late one. Sorry baby.

You let out an exasperated sigh and turn around to face your reflection again, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink and trying not to cry. How much fucking longer are you going to have to put up with this? You'd been getting through it alright so far, but his sterile text had ignited a raging fire deep in your stomach that made a scorching heat climb its way up the back of your neck.

You’re determined to get his attention tonight, one way or another. Even if it means pushing some of his buttons, riling him up, making him feel a few licks of that very same inferno. You’re feeling fucking bratty.

You undo the top few buttons of your blouse and shimmy it off your shoulders, exposing the blushing lace of the bra you had chosen when you were getting dressed this morning. Using one arm to hold your phone up to the mirror with the camera app open, you use the other one to prop yourself up against the sink and assist in pushing your tits together. As a final touch, you pull down one of the delicate cups along with its accompanying strap, exposing an already peaked nipple. Meeting your own eyes in the reflection and forming your glossy lips into a faux pout, you snap the picture and attach it to your text conversation with Joel. You type out a coy little message to go along with it and send it off.

that’s okay daddy. just sad i wore a rly cute bra today for nothing :(

While you anxiously wait for his response, you take a few more lewd photos to tease him with later, and make your way back to your desk after you button yourself up again and smooth out your skirt.

Sitting back down at your cubicle, you check your notifications to find a response from Joel, sent just a few seconds ago.

What’d I tell you about sendin me shit like that when I’m at work? Put your fuckin tits away babygirl. Not in the mood today.

Despite his harsh words, you know your plan is already working in your favor. You can’t help but giggle to yourself as you attach another one of the photos you had taken in the bathroom, this one of your matching lace panties pulled aside to expose your bare pussy to the front camera. You type out another flirtatious message and tap the button to send it.

idk what u mean daddy :( just miss u is all. she misses u too :((

You promptly turn off your phone and place it screen-down next to your mousepad, resigning yourself to a mere ten minutes of work before you can’t resist temptation anymore and pick it back up again to check for a reply.

Last warning babygirl. I got enough shit to deal with today, don’t need your slutty pictures distractin me. I’ll see ya tonight.

whatever. u don’t pay attention to me anymore anyway :/

You begin to regret your message as soon as you send it, worrying you might have taken things too far. But it was true; you’re upset, in a bratty mood, and feeling neglected. And, maybe you did want to work him up enough for him to take it all out on you, to fuck the attitude out of you the way you know he likes to do every so often.

A few seconds after you power off your screen to do a few more minutes of work, it illuminates again.

Oh I don't? When I get home tonight you better be kneelin in front of the door waitin for me undressed like a good girl. Not like the fuckin brat you’re actin like. And we’ll see about payin you some attention. Now pull your fuckin panties up and get back to work.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you read his text, now feeling exhilarated that your plan is officially in motion. After you’ve read his words through a couple of times, squeezing your thighs together and stifling a whimper as you did so, your trembling fingers type out a simple reply:

yes daddy <3

The remainder of your work day seems to pass by in slow motion, every minute feeling more like five. You can hardly bring yourself to focus on any of your mundane tasks, your mind constantly drifting to what you might be in for tonight. Will he spank you and leave red handprints on your ass for days? Will he fuck your face while you sputter and gasp around him? Will he work you over with his tongue until all you know how to say is “I’m sorry, Daddy”? As you shake yourself from your trance and try to focus your eyes again, you wonder why you hadn’t thought to act up like this earlier in the week. You keep your eye on the little digital clock in the corner of your monitor for the last five consecutive minutes of your work day, and as soon as 4:59 flashes to 5:00, you practically sprint out to your car in your hurry to get home.

–

You’re cuddled up on the couch underneath your favorite fleece blanket, already stripped down to your peony-colored underwear set like Joel had requested. The past couple of hours have been spent cycling between all of your streaming services and social media apps, trying desperately to find something to occupy yourself with until he gets home. You’re half-tempted to get up and walk some laps around the house, but around 10:30, you finally see the scanning headlights of Joel’s pickup as it turns into the driveway.

You immediately spring up from your little nest on the couch and prance over to the front door, kneeling a few feet in front of it just like he ordered.

In your excited anticipation to see him, you tune your ears to pick up every little sound you hear as he makes his way to you: the slam of the truck’s driver’s side door, the dull thud of his work boots heading up the walkway, the prolonged jingling of his keys as he fumbles with them to unlock the door. You’re sure he’s fidgeting with them for a few seconds longer than usual, just to tease you and keep you waiting. A shiver runs up your spine and you can feel your heart pounding against the walls of your chest as he finally turns the lock.

He calmly steps inside and closes the door behind him, dropping his dusty work bag onto the floor and stripping himself of his canvas tool belt. He stalks over to where you’re knelt on the hardwood, wrapped in your dainty lace for him like a little doll. There’s something arousing about the contrast between your barely-there feminine attire and his dark, practical clothing.

“Well, whaddya know, she can be good after all… Waitin’ for me all nice and pretty just like I asked. All it takes is an order from your Daddy to get you actin’ right again, ain’t that right, babygirl? Obedient lil’ thing…” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he speaks, keeping your eyes trained on his. You nod up at him, doe-eyed and dazed, already feeling yourself beginning to slip into that familiar saccharine headspace.

Every time you had previously tried your hand at bratting, it never lasted very long, and tonight was already proving to be no different. He was right, after all, it doesn’t take more than a command, a look, a gentle grasp of your chin, to remind you of your desire to be good for him.

“What, Daddy doesn’t get a proper greetin’ after a long day o’ work? You already that far gone f’ me, can’t use your words proper like a big girl?”

“H-hi, Daddy… Missed you today,” you half-whisper, your voice sounding a little higher and further away than it did earlier in the day.

“Yeah, I know y’ did… I’ll bet your lil’ panties are ‘bout soaked through already, bet you left a wet spot on your fuckin’ desk chair just from daydreamin’ about what I was gonna do to you tonight, hm?”

Another silent nod accompanied by a pitiful little whimper. The blazing fire in your gut from this afternoon is quickly being replaced by something much more easily tamed, something more akin to a flickering candle flame than a wildfire. You struggle to keep your eyelids open as they begin to feel heavier with submission.

A stern look and a ticked jaw is enough for you to correct your wordless response.

“Y-yes, Daddy…”

“And what is it that you think I’m gonna do with you tonight, babygirl? Speak up, now…”

You rack your brain for a moment, suddenly unable to remember any of the depraved fantasies you had been conjuring up all day instead of replying to emails. You eventually land on a relatively straightforward answer.

“I th-think you’re gonna… gonna fuck the attitude outta me, t-teach me a lesson… right, Daddy?”

He lets out a dark chuckle, releasing your chin from his hold to give your cheek a couple of condescending pats instead.

“Aww, dumb lil’ thing… you thought Daddy was gonna touch you at all tonight, make that pathetic lil’ pussy cum after the stunts you were pullin’ today? Nah, I don’t think so… Open that slutty fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re reeling, taken aback by his harsh words, words that were certainly not in any of the countless scenarios you had been imagining at work. There’s a long beat of silence as you struggle to process his command.

You hear the smack across your face before you feel the heated sting of it, and it prompts a debauched mewl to spill from your parted lips.

“I said open your fuckin’ mouth…”

Your jaw falls slack in an instant, your pulsing cunt releasing an ashamed wave of wetness at the degrading slap. Joel shoves his thumb inside your waiting mouth, and you wrap your lips around it obediently as you swirl your tongue along its calloused landscape. It tastes salty, a little dirty, and you like it.

“Good girl, suck on Daddy’s thumb, tha’s it… dumb whore’ll suck on anything Daddy puts in her mouth, won’t she? Desperate lil’ thing… Bet you wish it was this fat cock instead, don’t you baby?”

You whine and nod around him, your hole squeezing around nothing as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“Well… that’s just too fuckin’ bad, ain’t it? Tonight’s not about what you want, you can gimme that sad puppy look all you like, sugar, not gonna change anythin’...”

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, and your slick lips try to chase after it until he wipes it clean on the side of your face. His hands make quick work of opening his stained work jeans and freeing his stiff cock from his briefs, taking it into one hand and beginning to pump it with languid strokes. He grabs a fistful of hair at the base of your skull with his free hand and taps the leaking head of his length against your cheek, adding to the dampness there from your own saliva.

“This what you want?” Tap tap tap. “You want Daddy’s cock? Hm? This what you been thinkin’ about all day, dirty girl?” He rocks his hips back and forth as he speaks, smearing his arousal along your skin.

You can’t help but squirm as a humiliated heat begins to pool in your tummy.

“Yes, Daddy, please let me have it, wan’ it so bad…” you beg.

He releases your hair and pulls his cock away from your face, making a show of massaging it and taunting you with what he won’t let you have.

“Nah, you ain’t gettin’ any of Daddy’s cock tonight, baby… In fact, I’m gonna stand right here and take care of m’self, and you’re gonna find somethin’ to rub that soakin’ cunt on while I watch…”

As the last of his words leave his lips, he steps one foot forward and nudges it between your thighs, looking at you expectantly. You lower your head to face his steel-toed work boot, covered in dust and dirt from his day at the construction site. Your mind still too deep in the clouds to understand what he’s asking of you, you lift your eyes back up to him for guidance. He juts his chin out in a silent “go on, then”, and you return your confused gaze back to his boot, the toe of which is positioned just in front of your aching heat. Your breath hitches and your eyes go wide as you finally realize: he wants to pleasure himself to the sight of you getting yourself off on his boot.

All at once, it falls into place how he wants the night to unfold. He wants to deny you. Deny you of his touch, his cock, even the privilege of making him feel good yourself… all because you acted out, disobeyed him, tested his limits.

“We understand each other, darlin’?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” You meet his eyes as you speak, voice coming out a little unsteady. Any confidence you had while you were teasing him this afternoon is long gone, fully submitting to him now and completely at his mercy. He didn’t need to fuck you in order to put you in your place, he knew plenty of other much more degrading ways to rid you of your bratty attitude, to remind you of who you belong to.

You position your cunt over the filthy toe of his boot, the gusset of your lacy panties now completely saturated with your wetness. Your hands planted on either side of his leg, you try an experimental grind onto the leather-covered steel. A bolt of electricity shoots from your swollen clit to your fevered cheeks, burning with the eroticism of being made to humiliate yourself like this. He allows you to wrap your arms around his calf, using his sturdy form as leverage to rub yourself harder and faster against the solid material.

“Look at you, humpin’ my boot like a fuckin’ dog… that’s just what y’ are, ain’t it? Daddy’s lil’ puppy…” he teases, spurring you on with his words and the indecent sounds of his wet fist working along his thick cock.

You let out an involuntary yelp at the new pet name, which he’s quick to catch with a huff through his nose.

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she? Y’ like that, sweetheart, bein’ Daddy’s good girl, his obedient lil’ puppy? Yeah, I know y’ do… I got you trained good, don’t I? Do just about anything I want, won’t you? Got you rubbin’ that slutty pussy on my fuckin’ boot, for Christ’s sake, barely even had to ask… fuckin’ pathetic.”

The degradation makes your stomach swirl with a cocktail of embarrassment and pleasure. Your cunt flutters as you continue your frantic movements, releasing broken whimpers that sound something like uh huh and yes, Daddy. You’re sure that your slick has to be dripping down his boot by now, soaking straight through the leather and pooling onto the hardwood. You wonder if he might punish you for that, too, for making a mess of him and your freshly mopped floors. Just the thought of it has your hips picking up the pace, desperate to reach your high.

Your eyes are shut tightly as you pursue your orgasm, but you can still hear the shallow pumps of Joel’s fist and his stuttering breaths that indicate he’s close to his own release.

“Yeah, grind that sloppy fuckin’ puppy cunt on Daddy’s boot, there ya go… lookin’ like a goddamn bitch in heat… desperate whore… c’mon, puppy, make a fuckin’ mess for me…”

“I’m gonna cum, Daddy, gonna–”

Just as you feel yourself about to crest the wave of your climax, he pulls his foot out from under you and yanks your head back by another fistful of hair.

“Open up, puppy,” he groans as he splashes his hot release all over your face, aiming most of it around your mouth as you cry out from the denial of your own pleasure.

“Look at you, filthy girl… So pretty for Daddy, all covered in me,” he coos as the last few milky drops land on your cheek. Before any of it can start to drip, he scoops it up with his thumb and feeds it to you a bit at a time, and you continue to suck his finger into your eager mouth once again.

When your face is fully cleaned of his spend, he pulls his thumb from between your lips for a final time with a pop, and you stick out your tongue to show him you’ve swallowed everything he’s given you.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting the side of your hair in soothing strokes. “What do you say to Daddy, hm?”

“Th-thank you…” you choke out, still trying to steady your voice.

“And what else?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. “And… I’m sorry, Daddy,” you relent.

“For what, sweet girl?”

This was always your least favorite part, the part you struggled with the most: admitting that you were wrong.

“For being a brat today, for not listening and disrespecting you…” Your posture deflates, wondering if you should continue your confession. You remember one of the ground rules that was laid out when you first entered this dynamic with him, the one about how important communication is, and decide to keep going. “I jus’ feel like you’ve hardly paid any attention to me the past few days…” You start to sniffle as you speak, the overwhelm of it all finally catching up with you.

“Oh…” he breathes sympathetically. “Here, can you stand up, babygirl? C’mon, come sit on Daddy’s lap for a minute.”

He offers you his hands, and you use them to push yourself up onto shaky legs, feeling like a newborn foal. You wrap your arms around his neck and he scoops you up, carrying you bridal-style back to your cozy spot on the couch. He situates you in his lap, wrapping you up in your blanket again, and you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between his shoulder and neck. You inhale through your nose, smiling to yourself and sighing contentedly when your senses are flooded with his natural comforting smell.

“I know I’ve been workin’ some real late nights recently… I’m sorry about that, honey,” he apologizes, rubbing comforting circles around your upper back.

“‘S okay, Daddy, ‘s not your fault,” you say into his skin.

“But I shoulda made more of an effort to give you some lovin’ anyway, I shouldn’t have had to wait for you to brat on me… Look at me, baby.” You lift your head and meet his sincere gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry too, Daddy.”

“I know y’ are, sweet girl, I know…”

You exchange warm smiles, and he curls his pointer finger under your chin to pull your face toward his, placing a delicate kiss to your lips. He settles both of his large hands on either side of your face before breaking the kiss to press your foreheads together. You close your eyes and try to match his breathing, enjoying this moment with him.

After a minute or so, you break the silence. “So… puppy, huh? That’s a new one,” you giggle.

He laughs and releases your face from his hold, meeting your eyes again. “Jus’ wanted to try somethin’ new, I guess…” He snakes a hand under the blanket, thumbing over the damp crotch of your panties. “And judgin’ by this lil’ mess down here, I take it you liked it. Hm, pretty girl?”

Still sensitive from your earlier denial, you let out a high pitched little whine and an involuntary buck of your hips into his hand.

“See? Even sound like a lil’ puppy… Daddy’s good girl. You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

“Uh huh, yes, Daddy, please…” Your face is buried in his chest as you rut into his hand, squeezing it between your thighs, back to the same place you were just before he pulled his boot out from underneath you.

“Daddy was so mean earlier, wasn’t he? Not lettin’ you cum, punishin’ you for actin’ up… But I think you’ve learned your lesson now, huh puppy? C’mon, sweet girl, let go, soak Daddy’s hand…”

And you do. With his permission, you cry out, muscles spasming and cunt twitching as you finally ride out the climax you’ve been chasing all night. You’re panting by the time you start to come down after what feels like several minutes, exhaustion hitting you hard all at once. When some of your awareness has come back to you, you realize that Joel is gently rocking you back and forth on his lap, petting the back of your head and gently shushing in your ear.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, babygirl, I gotcha, Daddy’s gotcha… So good for me, baby, my precious girl…”

When your breathing evens out once more, you muster the strength to lift your head from its place against his heart, and he chuckles at the sleepy and sated look on your face as you blink slowly at him.

“My lil’ puppy’s all tuckered out, huh? Let’s get you up to bed, darlin’, Daddy’ll tuck you in.”

He stands up with a groan, cradling you in his muscled arms, and carries you into the bedroom. You’re already drifting off to sleep when he sits you on the bed, carefully stripping you of your ruined underwear and helping you into a clean, sensible pair of cotton undies. He retrieves one of his oversized “Miller Contracting” shirts from his drawer and slips it over your head, helping your weak arms through the sleeves. Brushing your hair away from your face, he places a scruffy kiss to your hairline and helps you lay down onto the cool sheets. He pulls the covers up all the way over your shoulders, the way he knows you like, and smiles to himself when you burrow yourself into the sheets.

He takes a quick shower to rid himself of the grime and grit he collected on his skin during the day, and slips into bed beside you. Another private smile and a small shake of his head when you instinctually turn to face him and snuggle into his warm body, wrapping your arms around the breadth of his upper arm and inhaling the masculine cologne of his body wash.

He reaches across his chest to gently scratch at the top of your head, prompting a dreamy little noise from you. “Just like I said,” he whispers to himself, “a lil’ puppy.”

He wouldn’t have you any other way.

not really sure who to tag for this one, gonna use the same list from my last fic if that's okay!! anyone else please let me know if you'd like to be tagged on my future fics!!

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @gracieispunk @iamasaddie @rebel-held

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

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