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[tadpolesonalgae]

Good, Little, Girl <3 Part 3[*?]

A/N: all I’ve been writing recently is smut, smut, smut and I feel like such a whore. I’m so proud of myself

Summary: uh, so this is set a little later (like a couple of months so they’ve had time to hang out and reader’s had a chance to get nice and comfortable with our Azzie)

Warnings: depression, angst, scars, a bit of sexuality, mentions of bdsm.

-Part 1- -Part 2-

“And you’re sure they’re fine with this?” You pressed, following him inside his house. “I checked, stop stressing,” he threw over his shoulder as you removed your shoes from your feet, padding along after him. “This is supposed to be a fun, stress-free evening,” he emphasised, ascending the stairs, his long legs allowing him to go three at a time with casual ease. “I know, I know,” you muttered, following behind him at a more relaxed pace.

He held the door open for you, allowing you to brush past his chest as you entered his bedroom. “Look at you go,” he teases, “not even hesitating.” You rolled you eyes at his mocking nature, having grown accustomed to it over the past few months. “You’ve proved to be entirely harmless,” you threw over your shoulder as you turned.

Azriel quirked a brow at your bold assumption, but before he could throw a sardonic quip at you, you’d already turned to observe his bed. “Hey, your bed’s made,” you shoot him a look, “how luxurious.” He rolled his eyes, pushing off the door frame, moving to the TV, shutting the door behind him. “What do you feel like tonight?” He asked, locating the remote stuffed beneath some neatly folded clothes he hadn’t had the chance to shove away before you arrived.

You hummed behind him, and he could practically see you comically tapping your finger over your sweet, lovely lips. He swallowed. Keep it down, Az. He can’t be scaring you off now. You’re just becoming comfortable around him. “What do you feel about Horrid Henry?” You spoke, settling on something quicker than usual.

He snorted at the choice, turning to find you with a serious look on your face. “Something funny?” You looked unamused. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, “what is it with you and kids shows?” You glowered at him as his hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you to his bed. “Do you have something against Horrid Henry, Azriel?” You muttered, crawling onto the right hand side of his bed. “Nothing at all.” You raised a brow to tell him you didn’t believe a word of it.

You paused for a moment, thinking. “Why don’t you pick something out?”

Azriel nodded, “Horrid Henry it is.” He could feel your scowl from across the bed as he settled down. “I’m serious. You always let me choose to the point I’m genuinely concerned about the things you watch in your free time.” He laughed at that but continued clicking through the TV. It was only when you crawled across to him, settling at his side and tugging the remote from his hands that he looked at you.

And his eyes immediately dropped to your mouth. Thank god you weren’t looking at him as you navigated to the search bar. “Come on, just pick a film. Doesn’t even have to be one you like, or’ve watched.” Azriel flipped the lights off, making the TV stand out in the dark room. “You always let me take the lead,” you spoke, looking at him, trying to get his attention. “Why don’t you even take control?”

He knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it just sounded…

“You never take control anywhere else in your life,” he pointed out, turning to look at you, making you flush. “Ignoring that,” you muttered, eyes flicking away for a second, “I don’t want to you hold back just because you think I can’t handle it.”

Jesus Christ.

He hummed, turning back to the TV, taking back the remote. “Fine,” he sighed, exhausted, selecting something though you didn’t pay attention. You sat there, quietly, watching his profile. The cut of his jaw, the set of his nose, the shape of his mouth. Those beautiful hazel eyes, a swirl of matcha green and coffee beans.

“Why did you have handcuffs on your bed?”

He startled, hazel eyes sliding to yours, alarmed. His gaze ran over you, tracing your form before again meeting your eyes, settling back into the cushions. “How long have you been gathering up the courage to ask?” He drawled, attention returning to the screen. God knew he could no longer look you in the eye to answer that. “It was more a build up of curiosity,” you answered, removing you attention from him.

You waited silently for his answer, but nothing came. “Azriel?” You prompted, turning to look up at him. He attempted to keep his eyes on the screen as he set the film playing, but he could feel the warm pressure of your shoulder against his bicep, and it was taking up most of his awareness. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, turning to see you watching with enlarged pupils. From the darkness.

“I think you know why,” he managed, voice coming out smooth and unruffled. As if he hadn’t spent nights with his hand fisted around his cock, fantasising about what you would look like with those cuffs decorating your pretty wrists. He waited for a reaction, but you didn’t seem surprised. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. “So…what? Women just let you tie them up?”

“People,” he corrected with a wry smile, harkening back to an earlier conversation. “People,” you repeated, following along with him, chasing your answer.

He sighed when your attention didn’t shift back to the TV. His intent to help you hold your ground was backfiring on him horribly. “I like being in control,” he finally admitted, staring you down as you peered up him with those open, curious eyes. “It’s reassuring to have that sense of power, especially during something that can be so intimate.” You were quiet for a moment, before dipping your head in a nod, “I see.”

You didn’t seem to be having any particular reaction other than bland acceptance. It was a little unnerving. “You don’t seem particularly surprised,” he spoke, watching you for any kind of indication to your thoughts. He got it though, when the tips of your ears flush, cheeks warming. You looked away, “I did some research…” You admitted quietly. “There were some interesting…video essays, on the topic.”

It took a moment for him to comprehend your prim language, but when he did, a bark of laughter flew from his mouth. Your head whipped back to him, alarmed at the startled sound. “You watched porn,” he drawled, looking at you incredulously. A familiar sense of ease settled over him as he watched your lips part, eyes widening at his words. You turned away from him, blushing furiously as you sat straighter.

“I didn’t want to judge something I knew nothing about,” you answered, tone matter-of-fact. How many times had he thought about hearing you order him about in that same strict tone? Too many, Az. Get a grip. Still, his lips curled into a grin, “and what was your strictly academic conclusion?” Your eyes flicked to his, marking his mocking tone, before snapping away.

He waited patiently but it seemed you were set on ignoring him. He bumped his elbow into your side to get your attention. “What did you think?” He asked, softer this time, the teasing lilt to his voice settling into a more serious one. Your jaw shifted as you took an inhale, “from what I could gather…” you began, attempting to keep your tone even, “a video doesn’t satisfyingly demonstrate the trust between partners. I found it straining and nauseating.”

Azriel bit his tongue to keep himself from offering pieces of information you would not want. His heart sank a little. “I see,” he settled on, repeating your words back to you. He deflated into his pillows. That was the end of that, then. There was no way anything would work between you with such vast differences.

“That being said…” you spoke quietly, yet loud enough to snap his attention back to you. Your eyes slid to his, a glint sparking, “…in a written form, where I can understand the emotion behind it all…?” He held his breath, unable to tear his gaze from your own. His heart skipped a beat when the edges of your mouth softened, “I can see why you find it so appealing.”

His head went quiet. Thoughts ceased as he replayed your words in his head. I can see why you find it so appealing. Your eyes had left his, returning to the screen, but he was still locked on you. Was that a sign? Had you just been trying to comfort him, or had you just flirted with him? With any other person, he would have been able to tell. But either way, it was so out of character. The suggestive tip of your lips, the dark spark in your eyes. Those weren’t things he associated with you.

Fuck.

He prayed you wouldn’t look at his lap. That the room was dark enough for you not to notice anything off about him.

“Would you ever try it?” Goddammit, Azriel. Even to his own ears he sounded breathless. What was happening?

You head tipped back to look up at him, questioningly. “Try what?”

Arousal spiked in his lower stomach. Were you really asking that? He swallowed, licking his strangely dry lips, “bdsm?” The letters alone caused your head to dip in embarrassment. “I’m pretty sure you have to have a partner to try it with, first of all,” you laughed to yourself. It sounded like the ringing of silver bells, and he nearly forgot the conversation. “I think I’d have to trust the person a lot before trying anything wild,” you admitted, a smile still on your lips as you watched your hands in your lap. “Someone I could count on and know they’d listen to me,” you hedged, the words unraveling from your tongue.

“I guess…someone like you…”

He went preternaturally still as the admission came from your lips. Someone like you. Someone I could count on… know they’d listen to me.

I’d treat you so good.

He watched from behind his eyes as your own widened, looking at him with a startled look on your beautiful face. He’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? Guess he was doing this now, then.

“I would never hurt you,” he spoke quietly, looking deep into your eyes. “You can trust me with that much.” His fingers brushed yours. Fuck it. His palm moved over your own, gently weaving your digits together. “Give me a chance, and I won’t squander it. I can promise I’ll make you so happy.”

Your lips parted, heart pounding in your chest.

He just confessed.

To you.

Shit. What do you say?

An unsure smile settled nervously on your lips, teetering on the edge of dropping off your face entirely. “I might be into physical pain, Azriel,” you breathed, hands trembling. He watched as something sad flashed through your eyes. “But emotional pain isn’t part of it,” you managed. “So if this is your way of messing around, it’s not cool, okay?”

Azriel shook his head, squeezing your shuddering hand gently. “I’m not messing around with you,” he whispered, eyes locked onto yours, “I’m promising. To treat you well, I mean.”

He waited anxiously, watching you, feeling as your fingers twitched as if considering pulling away from him. His heart thundered against his rib cage, nerves crawling beneath his skin. Your eyes scanned over him, as if analysing him. When they returned to his, he held his breath. You swallowed, “I’d like that.”

He didn’t dare release the air in his lungs, too scared you’d change your mind. You eyes flickered about, before returning to his nervously. “You’re… I feel like I can trust you,” you whisper, and you’re surprised there’s no tremor to your voice. “So I’m going to trust you, Azriel. Because I like you.”

Exhale.

You watched him, fear pumping through your blood, waiting. His eyes softened, free hand lifting to glide beneath your jaw, tilting your head. You held your breath as he leaned forward slowly, giving you the chance to pull away should you now wish to have his mouth over yours. But you did. So badly.

Your eyelids slid shut, leaning toward him. Permission granted.

Azriel nearly groaned as he recognised the action, relief flowing through his body, providing soothing reprieve. His lips were soft against your own, pillowy and hot as he applied a gentle pressure over you, swallowing down your feel.

It was hesitant. Nervous. Exploratory.

Neither of you had thought this far ahead.

He pulled away first, pleasure running beneath his surface as it took a moment for you to open your eyes. When you did, they looked glazed, hazy. Your gaze latched onto his, then dipped to his mouth.

Neither of you could resist the pull.

His mouth returned to yours, opening over your parted lips as he drank from you, tasting your flavour as his tongue licked over your teeth, flicking in a way that had you thinking about what he would feel like elsewhere.

A moan sounded somewhere in between your hot mouths. Your eyes squeezed tight when you realised it had come from you. Instead of teasing you for it, he took it as encouragement, spurring his movements on.

Tentatively, he moved over you, keeping you beneath him as you sank into the pillows. Your hands gingerly, ran up his biceps, curling around his neck. Your fingers played with the silky wisps of hair at his nape. Another moan lifted from your throat, only to be swallowed by Azriel, greedily taking every sound you gave him, treasuring each one.

Slowly, his mouth moved to the corner of your lips, kissing down your jaw, trailing over the column of your throat, feeling your breath hitch beneath his tongue. Your lungs were shaking as he latched his mouth over a spot on your neck, softly sucking, taking the skin between his teeth as he nipped. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair as he continued down. Past your collar bones, inching his way down your body. Between your breasts, mapping out his own pathway.

So carefully, he settled between your legs, and you thought you would melt right then and there. He looked up at you, bay and black tea leaves connecting. “Have you ever had someone between your legs?” He breathed, voice coming out horse. Heat swirled in your lower abdomen, eyes weighing with lust and need.

You were too out of it, answering his question honestly, “yes.” His eyes flicked up to yours, sincerity woven through the melodic chords of his voice, “you’re going to forget.” Your eyelids fluttered shut as you basked in his touch, loosing yourself in the feel of his fingers dipping beneath the band of your tights, pulling them off. Your skin felt free, but sensitive, having kept them covered for the past few days.

His hands wrapped over the tops of your thighs - near your hip bone. His heavenly mouth pressed to your abdomen, trailing down reverently, lips meeting the fabric of your underwear as your back arched with budding anticipation. “Azriel,” you breathed, a quiet plea.

Head silent, filled only with you, he began to descend between your thighs, memorising every second should you wake tomorrow and decide to take your words back. His hand slid down over your thigh and he stilled.

Mind frozen, his fingertips traced your skin again. The soft skin, that would yield beneath force, held the puckering slices of scars. Recent ones. Disbelievingly, he pulled back, the light of the TV illuminating the room enough for his eyes to pick out the scratches littering the tops of your thighs. His heart sunk to his stomach as he looked lower, the skin of your shins filled with pursed marks.

All at once, you jerked upright, returning to your body. You’d been swept away by the feel of his loving touch, forgetting why your skin felt so relieved to breathe after having to be hidden.

Awareness flooded your body, skin tingling where his fingers had brushed as you pulled your legs to your body, shoving up the bed. Your arms wrapped over your shins, as if it would wipe the marks from his memory, what you wish you could do to your skin.

Widened, pain-filled eyes locked on your own. Shocked.

Tears flooded your vision, blurring him as they rolled down your cheeks. Every emotion you’d felt over the past month whipping down upon you. Hot, salty water traced forceful, heavy streams down your cheeks, rolling beneath your jaw before dropping heavily onto the your stomach.

“I—…” You don’t know what to say. Just frantic to explain it away, pretend it’s nothing.

Azriel stared at you, eyes struggling to lift from the red-rimmed scars that glared at him angrily. He watched as your hands splayed across your shins, attempting to hide as much of the damage as possible. How painful the sight was. How small your body looked, folded in on itself, head lowered in shame, shoulders trembling with quiet sobs.

Scars littering your skin.

His girl.

The girl he loved, who sliced herself up, not knowing how to manage the torrent of emotions tearing her down.

“What are these?” He asked, voice cracking as his chest hollowed out. How could you ever lay a finger on your body? How could you wield a blade so viciously against yourself?

“I—…I’m sorry,” you sobbed, voice weak and wobbly. “I didn’t mean— You weren’t supposed—…” The tears splattered as the drops burst on contact. The bed dipped, and pain sang throat your chest, gripping your throat, choking on tears you tried to swallow. You tugged your lip between your teeth, hand covering your mouth in small attempt to quiet yourself.

Tentatively, he reached out. He didn’t want to startle, or scare you. But he needed you to know he was there. Even as you were crumbling before his eyes. He needed to hold you together before you disintegrated entirely.

One arm reached below your lower back, lifting you from the bed as he pulled you gently to his chest. “It’s okay…” he breathed, hoarsely, throat wet with tamping down his own emotions. You were pulled into his lap, one thigh settled over his own as he tucked you neatly into the strong frame of his body.

My sweet, clever girl.

The sobs broke from your lips, quiet moans of pain singing from your mouth. He held you through it all, hands gripping your upper back to keep you tight against him. Your own arms wound around his waist, crying into his chest as your emotions spilled over. “I’m— I’m sorry, Azriel… I’m so— so sorry.” A stinging feeling split through his breast bone as he held you tighter. “Stop apologising,” he whispered softly, breath fluttering against the side of your head.

You sniffled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry— I don’t know what—” A sob burst from you, trembling in his arms. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say as groans of pain leave your lips, muffled by his chest. His hand brushed over your hair, mouth pressing delicate kisses to your head, over your temple.

He pulled you away, far enough to look at you. Your eyes were wet with tears, cheeks shining as the skin puffed, your upper lip was damp as your lower one trembled, more tears cascading down. Small strands of hair had stuck to your temples. The sight nearly has him collapsing in one himself. He’d just manage to have you, and already you were caving in on yourself.

“Hey,” he whispered, thumbs brushing beneath your lashes, attempting to dry your cheeks but more wetness flowed in their place. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, “it’ll pass.”

You shook your head, “it always comes back. It just— it won’t leave me alone. I can’t do anything about it. It just keeps crushing into me,” you sobbed, hands wrapping over his forearms. “You have to work through this,” he breathed, words fluttering over your skin, “you have to make it out.”

You shook your head again, “I can’t.”

“Look at me,” he demanded softly. Reluctantly, you raised your gaze to his, “you’re going to make it through, okay?” He whispered softly, but firmly. “It’s just a matter of minutes, seconds ticking by. One at a time. Just take them slowly, okay? Don’t think about outlasting all of it. Just go one second at a time, and they’ll tick by before you know it.”

Your sobs slow, evening out, peering up at him. “Look at you,” he praised, quietly, “it’s already been a few minutes.” You sniffed, small tears pooling at the edges of your mind. But that pain had begun to soothe, melting out across your chest, becoming a dull thrum. “There you go,” he mollified, the sway to the deep timbre of his voice resonating somewhere far inside of you.

“Why don’t you relax for a little, yeah?” He soothed, gently settling you back down into the pillows, tucking you beneath a warm blanket. “Wrap yourself up, and we can put something on in the background. Or just sit together. Whatever you want,” he tags on. You curl back into the bed, revelling in the tenderness of his touch, his attentive nature you were just getting to see.

You just sat there, watching him, mind blanking, throwing all your words out just to make room for him in your head. You drank him in, absorbing the pads of his fingertips, the glow of his skin, the depthless swirl of hazel. Devastating.

“What do you feel like?” He whispered, watching you with those beautiful, beautiful eyes.

When you moved to reach for him he came to you, leaning into your touch as he settled down beside you. His heart thundered in his chest as you curled into his side, not saying a word. The silence was pristine, perfect against your ears as you tucked against him, crying into his solid warmth.

You couldn’t muster up the energy to talk, melting into his side, hoping if you kept your eyes closed, focused on the feeling of his skin against your, you could sink into him, forget about yourself. The pads of your fingers pressed against his solid muscle, bathing in the feeling of his clothes lapping at your skin.

The moment would end eventually. But you didn’t want it to.

He was comforting, and strong. You felt safe and tearful around him. Your mind went quiet whenever his eyes touched yours, whenever his words warmed your ears.

Maybe one day it would pass.

As you drifted off in his arms, you found yourself thinking how many seconds it had been, but you couldn’t count. The thoughts had eddied from your mind, replaced with the sound of his voice, soothing as it washed over you.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[lolas-blrr]

need this so bad

[obsob]

once more around the sun!! :3

[homeforclones]

The difference between Season 1 and Season 3 of the Bad Batch

Season 1: Omega: Crosshair, can I have a hug? Crosshair: The audacity??? Of this Child??? Nothing would revolt me more than to show any kind of weakness to sate your neediness. Season 3: Omega: Crosshair, you're getting a hug. Crosshair: The charity??? Of my Sister??? Nothing would give me more joy than to be hugged by the Literal Angel that you are, though I am a lowly worm.

[mortellanarts]

I've found the path my heart will walk today

[eastgaysian]

idont care if your durge was having crazy eroguro sex with gorty can you get them to put some pants on and tell me about their sibling relationship with orin. please.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Hi! I love your writing I was just wondering if you had anything for good little girl pt 3 in the works?

As a matter of fact, I do! It’s going to be a little different from the stuff I’ve written so far though (in general), so it’ll be interesting to see what you guys think!

I want to try my hand at writing about some emotional bonding and people being vulnerable with one another in an initially non-sexual way to explore intimacy through a different lens. I feel that in a lot of my fics I use sex or sexual encounters as the equivalent of intimacy which isn’t always right, and want to write something separate just to test it out!

I think I’ll try and finish it up for Thursday so keep an eye out! (I just realised I started Good, Little, Girl <3 back in April)

(It might be a little sad in parts but I promise I won’t end it on a bad note!)

[raven6229]

dont give me hope....

pinging the three people on tumblr that i know care about this series:

@nightbreakers @frukmerunning @doctorsiren

y'all wanna inhale some copium with me?

[luxaofhesperides]

For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents. 

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside. 

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream. 

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high. 

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face. 

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep. 

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating. 

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head. 

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe. 

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment. 

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian. 

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist. 

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said. 

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body. 

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional. 

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks. 

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her). 

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath. 

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not. 

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together. 

There’s no one he’d rather do this with. 

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.

[evergreen-femme]

i wish i had a mom who wanted me to be her daughter and was excited about it

[mouthfulofwhiteliess]

I’ll send you to hell and your new bitch too 🖤✨

[irondreamerface]

Wow that was absolutely beautiful 😍 ��

Good, Little, Girl <3 Part 3[*?]

A/N: all I’ve been writing recently is smut, smut, smut and I feel like such a whore. I’m so proud of myself

Summary: uh, so this is set a little later (like a couple of months so they’ve had time to hang out and reader’s had a chance to get nice and comfortable with our Azzie)

Warnings: depression, angst, scars, a bit of sexuality, mentions of bdsm.

-Part 1- -Part 2-

“And you’re sure they’re fine with this?” You pressed, following him inside his house. “I checked, stop stressing,” he threw over his shoulder as you removed your shoes from your feet, padding along after him. “This is supposed to be a fun, stress-free evening,” he emphasised, ascending the stairs, his long legs allowing him to go three at a time with casual ease. “I know, I know,” you muttered, following behind him at a more relaxed pace.

He held the door open for you, allowing you to brush past his chest as you entered his bedroom. “Look at you go,” he teases, “not even hesitating.” You rolled you eyes at his mocking nature, having grown accustomed to it over the past few months. “You’ve proved to be entirely harmless,” you threw over your shoulder as you turned.

Azriel quirked a brow at your bold assumption, but before he could throw a sardonic quip at you, you’d already turned to observe his bed. “Hey, your bed’s made,” you shoot him a look, “how luxurious.” He rolled his eyes, pushing off the door frame, moving to the TV, shutting the door behind him. “What do you feel like tonight?” He asked, locating the remote stuffed beneath some neatly folded clothes he hadn’t had the chance to shove away before you arrived.

You hummed behind him, and he could practically see you comically tapping your finger over your sweet, lovely lips. He swallowed. Keep it down, Az. He can’t be scaring you off now. You’re just becoming comfortable around him. “What do you feel about Horrid Henry?” You spoke, settling on something quicker than usual.

He snorted at the choice, turning to find you with a serious look on your face. “Something funny?” You looked unamused. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, “what is it with you and kids shows?” You glowered at him as his hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you to his bed. “Do you have something against Horrid Henry, Azriel?” You muttered, crawling onto the right hand side of his bed. “Nothing at all.” You raised a brow to tell him you didn’t believe a word of it.

You paused for a moment, thinking. “Why don’t you pick something out?”

Azriel nodded, “Horrid Henry it is.” He could feel your scowl from across the bed as he settled down. “I’m serious. You always let me choose to the point I’m genuinely concerned about the things you watch in your free time.” He laughed at that but continued clicking through the TV. It was only when you crawled across to him, settling at his side and tugging the remote from his hands that he looked at you.

And his eyes immediately dropped to your mouth. Thank god you weren’t looking at him as you navigated to the search bar. “Come on, just pick a film. Doesn’t even have to be one you like, or’ve watched.” Azriel flipped the lights off, making the TV stand out in the dark room. “You always let me take the lead,” you spoke, looking at him, trying to get his attention. “Why don’t you even take control?”

He knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it just sounded…

“You never take control anywhere else in your life,” he pointed out, turning to look at you, making you flush. “Ignoring that,” you muttered, eyes flicking away for a second, “I don’t want to you hold back just because you think I can’t handle it.”

Jesus Christ.

He hummed, turning back to the TV, taking back the remote. “Fine,” he sighed, exhausted, selecting something though you didn’t pay attention. You sat there, quietly, watching his profile. The cut of his jaw, the set of his nose, the shape of his mouth. Those beautiful hazel eyes, a swirl of matcha green and coffee beans.

“Why did you have handcuffs on your bed?”

He startled, hazel eyes sliding to yours, alarmed. His gaze ran over you, tracing your form before again meeting your eyes, settling back into the cushions. “How long have you been gathering up the courage to ask?” He drawled, attention returning to the screen. God knew he could no longer look you in the eye to answer that. “It was more a build up of curiosity,” you answered, removing you attention from him.

You waited silently for his answer, but nothing came. “Azriel?” You prompted, turning to look up at him. He attempted to keep his eyes on the screen as he set the film playing, but he could feel the warm pressure of your shoulder against his bicep, and it was taking up most of his awareness. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, turning to see you watching with enlarged pupils. From the darkness.

“I think you know why,” he managed, voice coming out smooth and unruffled. As if he hadn’t spent nights with his hand fisted around his cock, fantasising about what you would look like with those cuffs decorating your pretty wrists. He waited for a reaction, but you didn’t seem surprised. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. “So…what? Women just let you tie them up?”

“People,” he corrected with a wry smile, harkening back to an earlier conversation. “People,” you repeated, following along with him, chasing your answer.

He sighed when your attention didn’t shift back to the TV. His intent to help you hold your ground was backfiring on him horribly. “I like being in control,” he finally admitted, staring you down as you peered up him with those open, curious eyes. “It’s reassuring to have that sense of power, especially during something that can be so intimate.” You were quiet for a moment, before dipping your head in a nod, “I see.”

You didn’t seem to be having any particular reaction other than bland acceptance. It was a little unnerving. “You don’t seem particularly surprised,” he spoke, watching you for any kind of indication to your thoughts. He got it though, when the tips of your ears flush, cheeks warming. You looked away, “I did some research…” You admitted quietly. “There were some interesting…video essays, on the topic.”

It took a moment for him to comprehend your prim language, but when he did, a bark of laughter flew from his mouth. Your head whipped back to him, alarmed at the startled sound. “You watched porn,” he drawled, looking at you incredulously. A familiar sense of ease settled over him as he watched your lips part, eyes widening at his words. You turned away from him, blushing furiously as you sat straighter.

“I didn’t want to judge something I knew nothing about,” you answered, tone matter-of-fact. How many times had he thought about hearing you order him about in that same strict tone? Too many, Az. Get a grip. Still, his lips curled into a grin, “and what was your strictly academic conclusion?” Your eyes flicked to his, marking his mocking tone, before snapping away.

He waited patiently but it seemed you were set on ignoring him. He bumped his elbow into your side to get your attention. “What did you think?” He asked, softer this time, the teasing lilt to his voice settling into a more serious one. Your jaw shifted as you took an inhale, “from what I could gather…” you began, attempting to keep your tone even, “a video doesn’t satisfyingly demonstrate the trust between partners. I found it straining and nauseating.”

Azriel bit his tongue to keep himself from offering pieces of information you would not want. His heart sank a little. “I see,” he settled on, repeating your words back to you. He deflated into his pillows. That was the end of that, then. There was no way anything would work between you with such vast differences.

“That being said…” you spoke quietly, yet loud enough to snap his attention back to you. Your eyes slid to his, a glint sparking, “…in a written form, where I can understand the emotion behind it all…?” He held his breath, unable to tear his gaze from your own. His heart skipped a beat when the edges of your mouth softened, “I can see why you find it so appealing.”

His head went quiet. Thoughts ceased as he replayed your words in his head. I can see why you find it so appealing. Your eyes had left his, returning to the screen, but he was still locked on you. Was that a sign? Had you just been trying to comfort him, or had you just flirted with him? With any other person, he would have been able to tell. But either way, it was so out of character. The suggestive tip of your lips, the dark spark in your eyes. Those weren’t things he associated with you.

Fuck.

He prayed you wouldn’t look at his lap. That the room was dark enough for you not to notice anything off about him.

“Would you ever try it?” Goddammit, Azriel. Even to his own ears he sounded breathless. What was happening?

You head tipped back to look up at him, questioningly. “Try what?”

Arousal spiked in his lower stomach. Were you really asking that? He swallowed, licking his strangely dry lips, “bdsm?” The letters alone caused your head to dip in embarrassment. “I’m pretty sure you have to have a partner to try it with, first of all,” you laughed to yourself. It sounded like the ringing of silver bells, and he nearly forgot the conversation. “I think I’d have to trust the person a lot before trying anything wild,” you admitted, a smile still on your lips as you watched your hands in your lap. “Someone I could count on and know they’d listen to me,” you hedged, the words unraveling from your tongue.

“I guess…someone like you…”

He went preternaturally still as the admission came from your lips. Someone like you. Someone I could count on… know they’d listen to me.

I’d treat you so good.

He watched from behind his eyes as your own widened, looking at him with a startled look on your beautiful face. He’d said that out loud, hadn’t he? Guess he was doing this now, then.

“I would never hurt you,” he spoke quietly, looking deep into your eyes. “You can trust me with that much.” His fingers brushed yours. Fuck it. His palm moved over your own, gently weaving your digits together. “Give me a chance, and I won’t squander it. I can promise I’ll make you so happy.”

Your lips parted, heart pounding in your chest.

He just confessed.

To you.

Shit. What do you say?

An unsure smile settled nervously on your lips, teetering on the edge of dropping off your face entirely. “I might be into physical pain, Azriel,” you breathed, hands trembling. He watched as something sad flashed through your eyes. “But emotional pain isn’t part of it,” you managed. “So if this is your way of messing around, it’s not cool, okay?”

Azriel shook his head, squeezing your shuddering hand gently. “I’m not messing around with you,” he whispered, eyes locked onto yours, “I’m promising. To treat you well, I mean.”

He waited anxiously, watching you, feeling as your fingers twitched as if considering pulling away from him. His heart thundered against his rib cage, nerves crawling beneath his skin. Your eyes scanned over him, as if analysing him. When they returned to his, he held his breath. You swallowed, “I’d like that.”

He didn’t dare release the air in his lungs, too scared you’d change your mind. You eyes flickered about, before returning to his nervously. “You’re… I feel like I can trust you,” you whisper, and you’re surprised there’s no tremor to your voice. “So I’m going to trust you, Azriel. Because I like you.”

Exhale.

You watched him, fear pumping through your blood, waiting. His eyes softened, free hand lifting to glide beneath your jaw, tilting your head. You held your breath as he leaned forward slowly, giving you the chance to pull away should you now wish to have his mouth over yours. But you did. So badly.

Your eyelids slid shut, leaning toward him. Permission granted.

Azriel nearly groaned as he recognised the action, relief flowing through his body, providing soothing reprieve. His lips were soft against your own, pillowy and hot as he applied a gentle pressure over you, swallowing down your feel.

It was hesitant. Nervous. Exploratory.

Neither of you had thought this far ahead.

He pulled away first, pleasure running beneath his surface as it took a moment for you to open your eyes. When you did, they looked glazed, hazy. Your gaze latched onto his, then dipped to his mouth.

Neither of you could resist the pull.

His mouth returned to yours, opening over your parted lips as he drank from you, tasting your flavour as his tongue licked over your teeth, flicking in a way that had you thinking about what he would feel like elsewhere.

A moan sounded somewhere in between your hot mouths. Your eyes squeezed tight when you realised it had come from you. Instead of teasing you for it, he took it as encouragement, spurring his movements on.

Tentatively, he moved over you, keeping you beneath him as you sank into the pillows. Your hands gingerly, ran up his biceps, curling around his neck. Your fingers played with the silky wisps of hair at his nape. Another moan lifted from your throat, only to be swallowed by Azriel, greedily taking every sound you gave him, treasuring each one.

Slowly, his mouth moved to the corner of your lips, kissing down your jaw, trailing over the column of your throat, feeling your breath hitch beneath his tongue. Your lungs were shaking as he latched his mouth over a spot on your neck, softly sucking, taking the skin between his teeth as he nipped. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair as he continued down. Past your collar bones, inching his way down your body. Between your breasts, mapping out his own pathway.

So carefully, he settled between your legs, and you thought you would melt right then and there. He looked up at you, bay and black tea leaves connecting. “Have you ever had someone between your legs?” He breathed, voice coming out horse. Heat swirled in your lower abdomen, eyes weighing with lust and need.

You were too out of it, answering his question honestly, “yes.” His eyes flicked up to yours, sincerity woven through the melodic chords of his voice, “you’re going to forget.” Your eyelids fluttered shut as you basked in his touch, loosing yourself in the feel of his fingers dipping beneath the band of your tights, pulling them off. Your skin felt free, but sensitive, having kept them covered for the past few days.

His hands wrapped over the tops of your thighs - near your hip bone. His heavenly mouth pressed to your abdomen, trailing down reverently, lips meeting the fabric of your underwear as your back arched with budding anticipation. “Azriel,” you breathed, a quiet plea.

Head silent, filled only with you, he began to descend between your thighs, memorising every second should you wake tomorrow and decide to take your words back. His hand slid down over your thigh and he stilled.

Mind frozen, his fingertips traced your skin again. The soft skin, that would yield beneath force, held the puckering slices of scars. Recent ones. Disbelievingly, he pulled back, the light of the TV illuminating the room enough for his eyes to pick out the scratches littering the tops of your thighs. His heart sunk to his stomach as he looked lower, the skin of your shins filled with pursed marks.

All at once, you jerked upright, returning to your body. You’d been swept away by the feel of his loving touch, forgetting why your skin felt so relieved to breathe after having to be hidden.

Awareness flooded your body, skin tingling where his fingers had brushed as you pulled your legs to your body, shoving up the bed. Your arms wrapped over your shins, as if it would wipe the marks from his memory, what you wish you could do to your skin.

Widened, pain-filled eyes locked on your own. Shocked.

Tears flooded your vision, blurring him as they rolled down your cheeks. Every emotion you’d felt over the past month whipping down upon you. Hot, salty water traced forceful, heavy streams down your cheeks, rolling beneath your jaw before dropping heavily onto the your stomach.

“I—…” You don’t know what to say. Just frantic to explain it away, pretend it’s nothing.

Azriel stared at you, eyes struggling to lift from the red-rimmed scars that glared at him angrily. He watched as your hands splayed across your shins, attempting to hide as much of the damage as possible. How painful the sight was. How small your body looked, folded in on itself, head lowered in shame, shoulders trembling with quiet sobs.

Scars littering your skin.

His girl.

The girl he loved, who sliced herself up, not knowing how to manage the torrent of emotions tearing her down.

“What are these?” He asked, voice cracking as his chest hollowed out. How could you ever lay a finger on your body? How could you wield a blade so viciously against yourself?

“I—…I’m sorry,” you sobbed, voice weak and wobbly. “I didn’t mean— You weren’t supposed—…” The tears splattered as the drops burst on contact. The bed dipped, and pain sang throat your chest, gripping your throat, choking on tears you tried to swallow. You tugged your lip between your teeth, hand covering your mouth in small attempt to quiet yourself.

Tentatively, he reached out. He didn’t want to startle, or scare you. But he needed you to know he was there. Even as you were crumbling before his eyes. He needed to hold you together before you disintegrated entirely.

One arm reached below your lower back, lifting you from the bed as he pulled you gently to his chest. “It’s okay…” he breathed, hoarsely, throat wet with tamping down his own emotions. You were pulled into his lap, one thigh settled over his own as he tucked you neatly into the strong frame of his body.

My sweet, clever girl.

The sobs broke from your lips, quiet moans of pain singing from your mouth. He held you through it all, hands gripping your upper back to keep you tight against him. Your own arms wound around his waist, crying into his chest as your emotions spilled over. “I’m— I’m sorry, Azriel… I’m so— so sorry.” A stinging feeling split through his breast bone as he held you tighter. “Stop apologising,” he whispered softly, breath fluttering against the side of your head.

You sniffled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry— I don’t know what—” A sob burst from you, trembling in his arms. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say as groans of pain leave your lips, muffled by his chest. His hand brushed over your hair, mouth pressing delicate kisses to your head, over your temple.

He pulled you away, far enough to look at you. Your eyes were wet with tears, cheeks shining as the skin puffed, your upper lip was damp as your lower one trembled, more tears cascading down. Small strands of hair had stuck to your temples. The sight nearly has him collapsing in one himself. He’d just manage to have you, and already you were caving in on yourself.

“Hey,” he whispered, thumbs brushing beneath your lashes, attempting to dry your cheeks but more wetness flowed in their place. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, “it’ll pass.”

You shook your head, “it always comes back. It just— it won’t leave me alone. I can’t do anything about it. It just keeps crushing into me,” you sobbed, hands wrapping over his forearms. “You have to work through this,” he breathed, words fluttering over your skin, “you have to make it out.”

You shook your head again, “I can’t.”

“Look at me,” he demanded softly. Reluctantly, you raised your gaze to his, “you’re going to make it through, okay?” He whispered softly, but firmly. “It’s just a matter of minutes, seconds ticking by. One at a time. Just take them slowly, okay? Don’t think about outlasting all of it. Just go one second at a time, and they’ll tick by before you know it.”

Your sobs slow, evening out, peering up at him. “Look at you,” he praised, quietly, “it’s already been a few minutes.” You sniffed, small tears pooling at the edges of your mind. But that pain had begun to soothe, melting out across your chest, becoming a dull thrum. “There you go,” he mollified, the sway to the deep timbre of his voice resonating somewhere far inside of you.

“Why don’t you relax for a little, yeah?” He soothed, gently settling you back down into the pillows, tucking you beneath a warm blanket. “Wrap yourself up, and we can put something on in the background. Or just sit together. Whatever you want,” he tags on. You curl back into the bed, revelling in the tenderness of his touch, his attentive nature you were just getting to see.

You just sat there, watching him, mind blanking, throwing all your words out just to make room for him in your head. You drank him in, absorbing the pads of his fingertips, the glow of his skin, the depthless swirl of hazel. Devastating.

“What do you feel like?” He whispered, watching you with those beautiful, beautiful eyes.

When you moved to reach for him he came to you, leaning into your touch as he settled down beside you. His heart thundered in his chest as you curled into his side, not saying a word. The silence was pristine, perfect against your ears as you tucked against him, crying into his solid warmth.

You couldn’t muster up the energy to talk, melting into his side, hoping if you kept your eyes closed, focused on the feeling of his skin against your, you could sink into him, forget about yourself. The pads of your fingers pressed against his solid muscle, bathing in the feeling of his clothes lapping at your skin.

The moment would end eventually. But you didn’t want it to.

He was comforting, and strong. You felt safe and tearful around him. Your mind went quiet whenever his eyes touched yours, whenever his words warmed your ears.

Maybe one day it would pass.

As you drifted off in his arms, you found yourself thinking how many seconds it had been, but you couldn’t count. The thoughts had eddied from your mind, replaced with the sound of his voice, soothing as it washed over you.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[blueskittlesart]

deeply refreshing to see someone critical of Swift who also like, genuinely likes her. Like i'm neutral to positive on her, but the online discourse has been absolutely rancid. flipping between "Taylor Swift has never done anything wrong ever and she's a fucking genius" and "Taylor Swift is the worst lyricist of all time and also a bad person" is exhausting, so thank you for like. nuance or something lmao

not to make it serious for a sec but i genuinely think that being able to like things that are bad is really important. like I think that it's an important skill to be able to look at something and see what you personally enjoy about it and then take a step back and acknowledge that objectively it's flawed. and to also be able to acknowledge that liking something isn't necessarily an identity or a moral stance. and i think that fandom space in general could really benefit from more people taking the time to learn how to do that. it's okay to like things that are bad

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Interviewer: Avatar Aang, why did you run away from home? Aang: I was told I was the Avatar at like 12, and the pressure got to me so I childishly ran away. :( Ironically that ended up being the right choice, but that's a diff story. Interviewer: Fascinating. Did you take anyone with you? Aang: Of course! My best buddy, ol' pal Appa! :D Appa: Moo Interviewer: Avatar Korra, why did you run away from home? Korra: Well the first time- I don't want to talk about the second time- it was because those jerks wouldn't let me BE THE AVATAR! So I ran away to do my duties! Interviewer: Fascinating. Did you take anyone with you? Korra: Of course! Only the best girl ever, Naga! Naga: Woof

Interviewer: Avatar Kyoshi, why did you run away from home? Kyoshi: After witnessing the death of two of my loved ones. I swore to escape my sifu's control and to get revenge by any means necessary. Interviewer: Fascinating. Did you take anyone with you? Kyoshi: Of course! I took my totally 100%, platonic bestie Rangi! Mmmhmmm just friends, totally, ONLY friends. Haha. No secret longing feelings here, no siree. Rangi: Platonic???? Not by the end of this trip, not if I have anything to say about it!