#He needs the comfort and validation

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF movie Mike and Michael meet their younger selves..

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He���s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[borgialucrezia]

so heartbreaking how they used to stare at their father with so much vulnerability and trust in their eyes and gullible to his words of comfort because even though he did love them very much he ultimately loved the power he could achieve through them more...

[torchickentacos]

i will always shout praises of bi4bi but given recent discourse I feel the need to say that I love bi4het too! I just love bisexuality in general in its many forms, and anyone who only likes it when it's 'queer enough' for them is biphobic. Bisexuals should be able to bring their LaMe CiShEt BoYfRiEnD to pride without being made to feel like spectators and outsiders to their own event.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

love thinking kipperlilly spends her afterlife looking for lucy in a familiar forest

[kindaorangey]

dude assad zaman is a good actor. did u guys know this

[kineticallyanywhere]

Monkey’s Paw pages 133-136 ( START HERE || ao3 || previous || next ) AU after episode 62. The Omega Dads try a more desperate gambit, but   careful what you wish for. Our dads find alternate versions of themselves in a strange dreamscape. Ifyou die in the dream, doyou die in real life?

...heeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy

[itshomobirb]

if my parents keep talking to me im going to (remembers that suicide jokes are bad for mental health) go outside and dig a hole to narnia

[cyellolemon]

Some cute doodles with Olive wearing masc clothes and Ambrose fem ones.. i love this sm :3 (Olive with a cap or beanie is cute..)

[harbingersecho]

some pride-themed stuff + random things to pad out the space lol. i do like these kind of pseudo-collage sketches....

also a little (never to be finished) comic thing abt grimmons under read more. didn’t know where to put it bc i don’t want to make a seperate post for it. donut does pride in blood gulch, simmons is stealth and casually finds out grif is trans too

[calamitydaze]

long tag ramble below u have been warned

[c00and]

Uncertain flame of hope I found

Will you lead me back on the right track?

uncensored version under the cut

[loversj0y]

the “she/her truthing” jokes abt ranboo…….. not a fan

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Jinki; I like him :); R

I didn't feel like writing the smut so I wrote the aftercare lol tw for mentions of cnc :3c

"Do you want to cum again?" he asks. "One more for me?" He gets one finger down to press lightly on Jonghyun's hole, all nice and slick and cummy, and very much enjoys the whimper muffled into his shoulder.  “Noooo," Jonghyun whines, and even though he sounds genuinely disappointed, continues, "I'm all tuckered out." 

Jinki surprises himself when he lets out a squeak as he's stretching his arms over his head. His next breath comes out in a laugh, his hands falling down on top of his head, smoothing around to the back of it, lacing behind his neck. He must be more fucked out than he thought. All the more reason to finish up what he's doing in the kitchen and get back to the bedroom quickly.

He taps his fingers on the counter in front of the microwave, watching the nachos rotate in there impatiently. When they're finally done, he grabs them, then grabs a can of soda and a bottle of choccy milky from the fridge, a straw from the drawer, and makes his way down the hall. 

The bedroom door is still open and Jonghyun is right where Jinki left him. Sprawled out naked on his tummy on the bed, beautiful and golden against the white sheets, sweat clinging to him, hair all messed up, cum leaking from his booty hole, all on top of–no. Jinki corrects himself. Jonghyun is a couple inches to the right of where he left him, next to the veritable puddle of his own cum instead of still lying in it. His pretty lashes are fanned out over his cheeks as he dozes, but when Jinki knocks on the door frame and leans into the room, he opens his eyes and picks up his head from the pillow of his arms, smiling sleepily. Gorgeous. 

"Can I come back and tell you you're cute and I love you yet, pretty?" Jinki asks. Jonghyun blinks slowly at him, processing his words. Then he bubbles into giggles, turning them back into his arms. Jinki rolls his eyes fondly. Still giddy. He recovers, though, enough to prop himself up on his forearms and smile, "if you must."

Jinki must, so he does, stepping into the room and sitting on the bed near the pillows, in front of Jonghyun, ignoring the thought of all of the laundry they’ll have to do later. He puts their food down between them, then cups Jonghyun's cheek, pinching, wiggling him a little bit, just because he wants to. 

"You're cute and I love you," he says warmly. Jonghyun smiles back, kissing the pad of his thumb.

"Can't believe you made nachos,” he says. He reaches onto the plate and takes one, lifting it up and then twisting it so all of the melty cheese wraps around it. Then he taps the bottle of choccy milky with an empty corner of the chip with an expectant look before he pops it into his mouth. As Jinki picks up the bottle and opens it for him, putting the straw in and everything, Jonghyun talks with his mouth full. "I thought you liked smoothies for your aftercare food." 

"Oh, my aftercare food?" Jinki asks, eyebrows rising into his bangs. This is surprising. News to him, but Jonghyun nods, taking his choccy milky and taking a drink. He also grabs three chips this time, bringing them in a quick, drippy mess to his mouth and then leaving crumbs everywhere when he bites into them. 

"Yeah," he says. "You're the one that needs it." 

Jinki, soda can popped and halfway to his mouth, stops in the middle of that to snort. Oh. He sees. Jonghyun is in this mood again. Big tough baby mood. Super jacked infant just out of the womb with a six-pack mood. Stubborn and impossible to talk sense into mood. Jinki takes a sip of his soda, then raises his eyebrows and says, "you were literally crying at one point."

"Yeah, because the nut was so good," Jonghyun grins."I cry about everything but that doesn't mean I need to be comforted about everything. I'm baby but I'm like. A super tough jacked baby...." And there he goes, on his big tough baby metaphor, just like Jinki knew he would be. Jinki tunes him out in favor of eating some of the nachos before they all disappear. He's heard this enough that he has it memorized and Jonghyun knows that, but he just likes saying anyway, for the fun and the drama of it all. 

Jinki also cannot believe how often that Jonghyun insists that he doesn't need aftercare. Like, first of all, he does just on principle, because every sub deserves aftercare. And second of all, when they really get into it like they did just now, it even wears Jinki out. The pair of them have some harsh kinks, Jonghyun has a few even harsher ones, and Jinki has developed quite a skill for being mean. It's hard to get into that mindset and stay there for a while. He's soft by nature. Focusing on his role takes a lot out of him. He can't even begin to imagine what it does to Jonghyun.

And yet here Jonghyun lays, feet kicking in the air, wolfing down his nachos, giggling as he tries to get through his buff baby speech. Like he really is just chill with it. Preposterous. Jinki tuned him out a little extra when he brought his soda can to his mouth because he knew that listening to Jonghyun laugh would make him want to laugh too, so when he's halfway through chugging the entire thing and he feels Jonghyun's fingers on his knee, he looks down, surprised. 

Jonghyun is smiling at him, opening and closing his fingers on his knee, tickling him a little bit. Once he has Jinki's attention, he says, "doms need aftercare too. It's okay, Jinki my honey. You can admit it." And then, while Jinki is blinking and trying to process that wild statement, Jonghyun stuffs another handful of nachos into his mouth. "Gosh, these are so fucking good," he groans. "I'm going to nut again." 

"Oh, like you have anything left," Jinki replies automatically, grinning. That sets Jonghyun to laughing again, to giggling, "listen, I can nut emotionally even if there's nothing left in the tank," and then the both of them are laughing, talking, joking and smiling together. Relaxing, settling down. After a minute, Jonghyun tries to pick up Jinki's hand with just his pinky lifted off of his choccy milky. Jinki lifts it for him, and then follows Jonghyun's pinky over to his head, where he pets his hair, pinches his cheek, just holds him, gently. 

That's his favorite part about aftercare. Petting Jonghyun. Just touching him, gently, wherever he wants. Making him smile. It puts Jinki's heart at ease to see him so sleepy and content, almost purring underneath his fingers.

They hang out together like that for Jinki doen't know how long; long enough to polish off all of the nachos and then some. Long enough for Jonghyun to roll over onto his back and let Jinki rub his tummy, wiggle his fingers into soft squish. Long enough and so far away enough from the sex that the smell of cum drying and staining into the extra sheets they put down is starting to get overwhelming almost to the point of hilarity.

Jinki still doesn't want to deal with that, so instead, he squishes Jonghyun's face with both hands and leans over him, bending down to quickly peck a kiss to his mouth.

"Want to go shower, cutiepie?" he asks. Jonghyun quickly brings his hands up around the back of Jinki's head, keeping him there to kiss again. When he's done, he shrugs, yawning into the back of his hand.

"Not really," he says. "I'm good."

 "You are not," Jinki sighs. "You are so sweaty and so full of cum." 

"I was sweaty," Jonghyun tells him. "Not anymore. It's all gone. And I can just put a plug in."

He's doing this just to be a little brat. Jinki knows this. It's in the sparkle of his eyes, the smirk on his mouth. It's true that Jonghyun probably doesn’t mind not showering right now, but he wouldn't mind getting in the shower either. He’s having fun choosing not to just to be contrary. Jinki loves him. 

"Up you get, leaky boy," Jinki says, sliding off of the bed and then grabbing Jonghyun's wrists. He leaves their dishes on the bed, to be cleaned up later, when he feels like it. Jonghyun offers him no help whatsoever, exaggeratedly limp and useless as Jinki tries to pull him to his feet, and then when he succeeds at that finally, Jonghyun leans all of his weight on him so he stumbles back a couple of steps. Jinki doesn't even bother reprimanding him. He knows that all Jonghyun would do is giggle.

"Do you mean my dick or my bootyhole?" Jonghyun grins into his neck.

"Yes," Jinki replies, smiling into his hair. Then he tugs him into the bathroom, ignoring his little smiles about wanting to stay sweaty and sticky. He cranks the water on hot, turns the fan on, rustles around in the closet looking for their fluffiest towels. When he turns around to toss them onto the counter, Jonghyun is sticking his hand tentatively under the water and then stepping in, standing directly underneath the spray and letting it fall directly onto his face.

Once he’s pleased with how wet he is, Jonghyun turns and leans back against the shower wall, arms limp at his sides, head tilted back, bangs in his eyes, just smiling at Jinki. Jinki smiles back, a little lovestruck for a moment, until Jonghyun sticks his tongue out at him. 

Shaking his head, Jinki pushes the pajama pants he threw on after they finished down to the floor. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he glances back at Jonghyun. Jonghyun politely closes his eyes, pretty lashes long against his cheeks, smile lazy and content. Jinki loves him even more. 

Jonghyun keeps his eyes closed all the way until Jinki steps into the shower, pulls the curtain behind him, cups his face, and presses their mouths together softly. 

"You are so gay," he murmurs when Jinki pulls away, smiling at him through his lashes. Jinki smiles back, kissing him again.

"Thanks," he says. Then, since he knows that Jonghyun isn't going to bother, he reaches for the shampoo and washes their hair for them. He slicks some conditioner through their hair as well, then gently leans Jonghyun back against the wall so he can soap himself all up quickly. Jonghyun doesn't help with that so much as just bother him, rubbing body wash over his back lazily with soft, tickling fingers, feeling up his arms greedily while he's trying to rinse himself off. 

Not once while he's doing all of this does he let his eyes wander down further than Jinki's collarbones, but still. When he's done, Jinki gets Jonghyun's wrists in his hands, pinning them to the wall so he can kiss him again.

"You are a nuisance," he chides. 

"I thought you were being nice to me now," Jonghyun pouts. It's not much of a pout, with his mouth turned up at the corners, but his lips are still puffy and his voice is still baby and Jinki feels bad anyway. 

"You're right," he sighs. Between kisses, he continues, "because you're cute. And sweet. And kind. And I love you." 

And for his compliments, and his kisses, Jonghyun calls him gay again. And then adds, "continue your aftercare. Pamper me." 

“Yes, of course," Jinki says blandly. "My aftercare.” 

He ignores the affirmative hum from Jonghyun, picking up the body wash again and getting to work. He takes his time, goes slow. He starts with a neck rub, then moves down to his shoulders, turning Jonghyun around to work his thumbs into his muscles and down his back. When he does Jonghyun's arms he makes sure to go all the way down to his hands and then kiss the back of each one, smiling against his fingers to make Jonghyun blush. 

Jonghyun dramatically lifts each one of his legs to be washed in turn, which means that they spend a turn clinging to each other and giggling, hearts pounding probably harder than they did when they were fucking, when Jonghyun loses his balance and almost falls.

And then, finally, the time comes for Jinki to spend a disproportionately long but still extremely necessary time washing Jonghyun's booty. Jonghyun senses this too, because as soon as Jinki gets his hands on the booty, he wiggles happily. Loosely circling his arms around Jinki's waist, Jonghyun nuzzles into his shoulder, closes his eyes, and gets right back to his perfect and most gorgeous state of practically purring. Jinki's favorite.

Jinki positions them to be under the shower spray more directly, so their conditioner will rinse out while they’re occupied. With water running down his face, he closes his eyes too and takes his time feeling up the booty. Squishing it, kneading it, cute and small in his hands. When he teases his fingers over the crack, pulling him open just the tiniest amount, Jonghyun gasps. His fingers curl into Jinki's back. Jinki smiles.

"Do you want to cum again?" he asks. "One more for me?" He gets one finger down to press lightly on Jonghyun's hole, all nice and slick and cummy, and very much enjoys the whimper muffled into his shoulder. 

“Noooo," Jonghyun whines, and even though he sounds genuinely disappointed, continues, "I'm all tuckered out." 

And then, quickly, a smile in his voice, tacks on, "and I mean, like, actually no. Not, like, yes please no.”

"I know," Jinki laughs. He knows. Of course he knows. He kisses the side of Jonghyun's head, conditioner and all, and starts to move his hands away. Just as quick, Jonghyun grabs his wrist and keeps his hand still. 

"Finger me, though," he says. "Feels nice."

Jinki doesn't know how he's supposed to resist that, so he obeys. With one hand, he holds Jonghyun open, and with the other, he pushes two fingers inside of his hole. He goes slow, and gentle, in and out so Jonghyun can feel each and every centimeter. He teases around his prostate without ever actually touching it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Every so often, he spreads his fingers, pulling Jonghyun open, so more cum drips out onto the shower floor and down the drain.

Jonghyun rocks his hips back against his hands. Every breath of his is either a soft little gasp in or a pleased hum out. Jinki is pleased himself, pleased and content, comfortable to stand here and do this for as long as Jonghyun wants. Anything for Jonghyun.

"Hey, Jinki?" Jonghyun says eventually. Jinki hums back to show that he's listening. Jonghyun squeezes him a little bit, smoothing his hands up and down his back. "When I was begging you to stop and saying I couldn't handle it anymore, and then you said ‘who cares?’" he says. "That was really hot." 

A smirk automatically finds its way onto Jinki's mouth. He knew that Jonghyun would like that. The demoralization, the dehumanization, the stripping of his boundaries, the tiniest hint of ownership. It was the perfect thing for the perfect fucktoy to hear and Jinki is so proud of himself for coming up with it on the spot like that. Plus, "I could tell when it made you nut so hard that you passed out for a minute," he says. Even if he wasn't sure about saying it, that reaction was a huge giveaway that it was a good idea. 

"Gosh," Jonghyun says, and he's giggling now, pressing his forehead into Jinki's shoulder. "It wasn't really a minute, was it?" he asks. 

 "15, 20 Seconds, maybe," Jinki shrugs. Long enough. 

"And you kept going?" Jonghyun asks. 

"Obviously," Jinki replies smugly. Jonghyun inflates with a big, happy breath, squeezing him tight around the middle. He squeezes him so tight that Jinki's back cracks, and then, between their breathy laughter, Jonghyun sighs, "I love you so much." 

He sounds so content and cozy and perfectly in love that Jinki has no choice but to believe him, and then he has no choice but to put his own face into his hands and decide that they're done showering now. He can't keep standing here like this if Jonghyun is going to get all soft and genuine on him. He can't handle it when he can hardly believe that he deserves it. 

Instantly Jonghyun picks up on this, and instantly he decides to take advantage of it, looking at Jinki with hearts in his eyes but a smirk on his lips while Jinki struggles to get the showerhead off of the thing so he can rinse them off properly. And when they step out of the shower, he gets to the towels first, so Jinki has to just stand there and be gently dried off and kissed all over, Jonghyun smiling soft words into his skin until his ears are bright red. Jonghyun kisses those too, and he almost melts into a puddle right there on the floor.

"Not fair," he whines, snatching the towel back to cover himself. Jonghyun, shimmying around in his own towel, opens his mouth to reply, but Jinki cuts him off first. He holds his fist up between them, wiggling it, and says, "for the laundry."

One of them has to do it, and reminding Jonghyun of it is as good enough a way to distract him as any. It works; even though Jonghyun definitely knows that's what he's doing, he still lifts up his own hand and it shakes out a quick game of rock paper scissors. He loses, so they do best two out of three, and then out of five, and then out of seven, and then Jinki stops trying to give him a chance and tells him to just get started. 

Jonghyun does with a sigh and a pout and a kiss on the cheek after they get dressed in new comfy pajamas. 

Jinki grabs their dishes to wash while he's doing that, and once he's done, he takes a moment to lean on the sink and bite his lip and think about Jonghyun and smile. Jonghyun was right. He is so gay and in love. 

He pushes off of the sink and heads to the laundry room. He doesn't want to leave his love alone for longer than he has to.

Jonghyun is pouring detergent into the washing machine when Jinki gets there, and he smiles over his shoulder when Jinki puts his hands on his waist and kisses the back of his head. Jinki doesn't say anything; he just holds Jonghyun, tight but gentle. Just to be with him, touching him, loving him. Jonghyun stays quiet as well until he gets the washing machine started. Then he pulls himself out of Jinki's arms, turns around, and hoists himself up onto the washing machine, sitting on it, legs spread to give Jinki room to stand in between them. 

"Hey, Jinki?" he asks, quiet. Jinki hums his response, putting his hands on either side of Jonghyun's hips and pressing their mouths together softly. Jonghyun kisses back for a minute, soft, slow, deep. When the kiss breaks, Jonghyun circles his arms around Jinki's neck and rests their foreheads together.

"I know you love me," he says. 

Jinki has to take a moment to process that after he hears it. He wasn't expecting that, and he wasn't expecting it to come from Jonghyun's serious voice. He opens his eyes, looking at Jonghyun's closed eyelids. Jonghyun plays with the hair at the nape of his neck as he continues, "I know you do. And I believe that you do. I can tell, all the time, that you love me." 

"Um," Jinki says.

"I wasn't done," Jonghyun tells him. He holds Jinki's head and turns him to kiss each of his cheeks. With a smile pushing up his own cheeks, he says, "I know you love me, even when you're calling me a filthy, worthless, desperate little fucktoy and using me until you're done with me even if that pushes me way past what I say my limits are." Finally he opens his eyes, meeting Jinki's up close. He has that glint in them where Jinki knows that he's being made fun of, but he is also still so soft and genuine that it almost makes Jinki's heart hurt. "That's kind of the whole point," he grins.

Jinki purses his lips, annoyed. He thinks he sees what's going on here. 

"Is this still about how you think I'm the one that needs aftercare?" he asks. 

"Am I wrong?" Jonghyun replies. He raises his eyebrows at Jinki, plays with his hair, tilts his face up to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. Jinki doesn't answer at first. He wants to say that yes, Jonghyun is wrong, but. That really would be a lie. He can see that now, in this quiet little moment. Instead, he sighs, kissing Jonghyun once again. 

"I guess not," he says.

"Oh, you guess not?" Jonghyun laughs. He leans back on his hands, breathy, incredulous, bumping Jinki with his knee. Jinki can't help it; he laughs too.

"Listen," he says. "I'll admit that I deserve love when I'm good and ready." It's just that it's a whole process, and he's been working on it, but it's going to take a while, and Jonghyun knows this. "You can settle for me saying maybe." Maybe he needs care and assurance after rough sex, same as Jonghyun. Doubtful, but if Jonghyun wants to convince him, Jinki won't stop him. 

Jonghyun looks at him for a moment, lips pressed together, sighing through his nose, and then he rolls his eyes. "Fine," he smiles. "Good enough. C'mere." He makes grabby hands like he wasn't the one that moved away in the first place. Jinki leans closer anyway, letting Jonghyun hold his face and kiss him.

And kiss him, and kiss him. Jinki guesses that they're going to be doing this for a while, making out in the laundry room with the washing machine rumbling underneath them, and he can't say that he's opposed to it. 

What he can say, after another moment when a thought occurs to him, is, "did you give yourself a boner again when you called yourself a filthy worthless desperate little fucktoy?" 

Jonghyun bubbles into giggles against his mouth, then pulls him closer so he can laugh into his shoulder.

"Almost," he admits. "It was close." 

"Uh huh," Jinki says, rolling his eyes, more in love than ever.

[radioiaci]

Replies will be coming later tonight, but I AM interested in rping some injured Alastor good-ness, if anyone is down. I guess reply to this if you'd like a starter on that vein, I can't promise that I'll get it done tonight, but I'll try! :D They'll be unique from one another. I just need him to be a little beat up for whatever reason LOL.

[pandora15]

idk man i guess it's just that i'm struggling to find fic to read and barely having the time/energy to write at all