#I think that he deserves to have proper wings

[state-of-beeing]

The Sound From On High || Halcyon LL6

SSC Dusk Wing II, Emperor III, Black Witch I

[tubbytarchia]

was looking through old pictures and found this drawing I did. We were discussing what Pokemon Jimmy would be and I wanted to say Absol but pre-evolved. So here is my pre-evolved Absol. It's Jimmy

[atyourmerci]

Gold wing, angel

meanloser!ellie X classpresident!r

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, v angsty, slight bondage, cunt slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, lite angel symbolism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: actually surprised I finished a req (you all applaud me) this is inspired by “GOLDWING” by billie.

Ellie was a sick drug. Something not to be desired. She was the epitome of the allure of indulging in something you shouldn’t have, shouldn’t know, try at very least.

How did she get this way- who made her like this? Anger taken out through bodies of admission in an act of revenge. Taking back what was taken from her. Her pride regained by your submission.

You could have never fathomed the aggression the loser from AP American literature could obtain. You thought she’d beg on her knees for you. Worship your every move, starstruck by even getting the chance to touch you.

But she didn’t. She reveled in taking you off your high horse, got off on watching the student body president, proper and witty, utterly depraved by getting her cunt abused by a fucking moron.

-

98- A fucking 98, you did not deserve a 98 on the midterm paper. Your work was frankly sloppy, lacked comprehension. It made you ill knowing you were turning in something so lackluster with your name slapped across the front so proudly. The only thing that made you sicker was the thought of receiving special treatment- you had an image to uphold. You got to your position in this society from your own intellect, blood, sweat, tears and all. Kissing ass for a fucking 98 wasn’t in the cards.

The class began filing out as usual, like wild animals in a pack, shiny white teeth like daggers. Meshing together in their navy steam-pressed blazers, hair like defining fur, the only indication of individuality.

Except for her, sticking out like a sore thumb, the great big elephant in the room. Breaking many rulebook codes with her black nail polish, unkept hair to the standard policy, her white polo unbuttoned at the top two buttons that revealed her freckled chest. Despite her all around degenerate persona, she was irritatingly smart. Maybe if she had an ounce of charm she’d take your place.

With the rest of the class out of sight she stares at you. Not cutting off eye contact you both rise from your chairs you practically run to Mr. Stevens desk. The slap of two papers hit his desk, a 98 and a 90 shining in red sharpie ink on the white papers.

“I don’t deserve this,” comes out in unison, the sincerity in your voice cut open by the harshness in Ellies.

“Please one at a time, ladies.”

Before the words can even escape your lips Ellie rages, “I worked my ass off on this. I deserve better than a 90,” she spits out. “I know you can do better than this Ms.Williams, I expect more from you.” Ellie scoffs back at him, “this is bullshit,” she muffles but continues standing at his desk.

Mr.Stevens nods his head in your direction for your speech, you glance at Ellie with her arms now crossed, awaiting your protest. You brush off her insistence on staying and begin, “Mr.Stevens, I appreciate your grading and understanding my agenda for the midterm, but objectively this is sub-pare work. I think you may have given me someone else’s grade… maybe you mixed up my grade with Ms.Williams.”

He doesn’t skip a beat, “I don’t mix up grades, you earned it. Now if you two will excuse me,” Mr.Stevens directs you both to the now empty hallway.

Ellie storms out with rage, cheeks flushed and lips pressed closely, you follow behind. “‘ms Williams’? the fuck was that?” Ellie presses in a scowl, words echoed in a bare hallway.

“Look I read your paper, I think you deserved better,” you retort in an attempt to soothe her. You cant seem to keep your eyes off her cupids bow, the contrast of soft pink lips against her tired skin.

“Oh thats fucking rich coming from ‘ms I don’t deserve my grade’ you’re pathetic,” she points, eyes thinning.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch more people would like you,” you attempt, heat rising in your own cheeks, heart thumping roughly in your chest.

Ellies cruel disposition contorts into a grin, inching closer to your body, “you’re fucking him aren’t you? Ms. perfect sucking off the teach so she can stay on top?���

A power so foreign comes before you, using force to push your wrist into her chest, though she doesn’t budge, “shut up.”

She returns your aggression, pushing your bodies flesh up against the brick wall behind you, ripping the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively grip into her shirt. Her eyes are wild, as if she was surprised she’d taken it this far, or rather puzzled by the fact you haven’t broken your grasp.

You both pant from the intrusion, glaring, waiting- waiting for someone to cave.

Like a dog on a leash you dragged her in, pulling her by her fabric until her lips met your own. A depraved act, met with open mouths and wandering tongues. Hatred in its finest form, digging into her as if you’d ever thought of it. A subconscious desire pulled from the depths of your cravings.

Before true indulgence she pushes you off, taking a moment to look at your hazy disposition, drunk on delinquency, “don’t ever do that again,” she pants out. Taking her thumb she wipes the saliva from your bottom lip and takes off without your response.

-

Time after time you went back. You told yourself you’d stop, never talk to her again. Yet there the keys were in the ignition, a path that you knew like the back of your hand. Leading, controlling your own fate of defacement.

“Can you please just open the door,” you plead on her doorsteps, mind and body corrupted- to only be pleased by the mental games, the destruction in forms of submitting to her.

Strung up like an old doll long forgotten in the attic, bound wrist behind your back and ankles tied to the head of her bed, vulnerable and needy.

“What now? Use your fucking words,” Ellie remarks before spitting on your neglected cunt. Your body winces at the sensation of the hot liquid dripping down the pulsing flesh, “please I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

She hovers over your squirming body, carful to not give you the satisfaction. Gripping your jaw in her hand, “do you ever pay attention to what I tell you? You don’t deserve to come,” cocking her free hand back to lay a purposeful slap to your slick folds causing you to scream out from the blissful pain.

She lays another one into the already beat red skin, a cruel grin growing on her lips as she hears you enjoying it. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” she asks glaring at your tucked in lip, eyes glossy. You nod back at her, signaling your approval for using your body as her personal vessel.

Somehow it was good enough for her, dropping down to your perked nipples and sucking it into her teeth as she uses her hand to cover your eyes. You’d learn very early on that you weren’t allowed to watch her use her mouth on you. In the odd occasion she’d let you have your cunt in her mouth shed have your face shoved in the sheets while she took you from behind. She never told you why- and you didn’t dare ask.

Your wrist wriggle behind your back as your chest arches into her mouth, hot and wet. You obsess over what it would feel like on your mouth again, most nights were spent only thinking of her mouth- foreign, an impenetrable fortress. You began to chase the chance of the feeling her again.

You feel as her mouth comes off of the swollen bud as she removes the hand on your eyes, “don’t look,” she says with no threat in her tone, but you don’t risk crossing her.

You shut your exhausted eyes, dropping your head back as you feel her wrap her arms around the meat of your thighs. She drags an antagonizing strip up your slit, jolting your body into the mouth.

She goes as slow as possible, providing as little pressure she can muster up to the swell of your clit, but from her slaps it wouldn’t take much. Your body akin to a fish gasping for air out of water, squirming under her touch. She digs her fingers deep into the flesh as a warning.

“If you ever want to come again Id advise you behave.”

“P-please,” you plead to her, legs shaking as you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

“I said no, i swear to god I’ll ruin every fucking orgasm,” sliding her two fingers into your clenching hole she drives slow pumps as she returns her mouth to your clit.

Your face contorts in concentration, attempting to hold yourself back but you could only be held off for so long.

“Ellie- Ellie!” bursting at the seams, your body detesting her rules, letting the hot white cum coat her fingers. She only fucks you harder, faster through your orgasm. This is a game you weren’t to win, rather to allow herself to revel in your pain. She got off on destroying your mind, making it to where you can only be pleased by her punishment.

Ellie kept her word, working you up on the edge of finishing and stopping completely, laughing at your pathetic state, crying and begging to come.

Clipping your wings, she hung them on her walls as a trophy. Pleas echoing her room, come splattering her sheets, your lips chapped and neglected.

[rashomonss]

I couldn't stop thinking about this after reading your "Readjusting" hc

Imagine that the reason MC started acting like a "proper" attendant was because Barbatos couldn't stand how improper and casual Mc was with the brothers. He decides to take her under his wing but he isn't gentle about it, not even when it becomes clear that MC is human, on the contraire, he becomes harsher with his methods until even the brothers notice. Meanwhile MC could be in the state of mind to believe that they deserve to be treated in such ways because they feel guilty over letting everyone assume they were a demon

Also think about how this treatment would affect MC relationship with Barbatos. Imagine MC slipping up in front of him and immediately tensing and starting to apologize. How scared MC would be of even the thought of doing something NB!Barbatos though them was wrong and undignified of her to do/say as the brothers attendant.

And how heartbroken OM!Barbatos would be at seeing MC be so terrified of him.

so I’m currently deep diving thru my drafts and inbox and this was from forever ago so I’m so sorry I’m only getting it done now (,,Ծ‸Ծ,, )

anyway oh. my. god.

i absolutely love this idea! the angst potential this ask has is literally to die for. i’ll be incorporating a few of my readjusting ideas as well and yeah i know nightbringer didn’t go in this direction but im going in it anyway, so i hope yall enjoy! (๑>؂•̀๑)

you’re nothing more and nothing less

You admired yourself in the mirror then stared at the reflection looking back at you. 

Sighing you gave yourself a small smile, then remembered his words before giving yourself one last look in the mirror. 

“You really do look decent when you know how to clean up.” 

An attendant is supposed to look sharp, and presentable no matter the circumstance. They are a direct representation of who they’re serving. How was a noble demon supposed to take the seven rulers of hell seriously if their attendant didn’t even know how to properly dress or present themselves? 

Your tie had to be perfectly crisp and presentable, same with the cuffs of your uniform; not a wrinkle should be present. Next, your preferred uniform bottom was ironed with no wrinkle in sight, and your shoes shined to the point you could see your reflection. Each plead and fold was sharp, crisp, and perfect.

Your hair looked presentable and you carried out your normal face routine making sure you looked awake and ready for the day. Finally, you organized your belongings and sat them by your table in a neat fashion ready to be grabbed once you headed off to RAD. 

You then made your way to the kitchen and prepared breakfast for everyone as well as coffee and tea for those who usually required it. 

As you were finishing up most of the food Beel walked into the kitchen heading straight for the fridge. “Morning MC,” he said catching his breath. 

“Good Morning Beel, how was your run? Also, your snack is on the counter so please refrain from eating anything in the fridge,” you replied, as you continued cooking. 

“Oh thank you.” he smiled while closing the fridge. As he sat at the counter watching you cook he couldn’t help but become confused at the sight. “Wasn’t it Levi’s turn to make breakfast this morning?” 

“It was but he stayed up late last night, and I had a feeling he would oversleep so I took the liberty of making it myself. Not to worry though because I have nothing against cooking for all of you” 

Beel frowned in response “Yeah but this is the third day in a row you’ve prepared breakfast and dinner” 

“Is it now? Well I have no problems with it unless the rest of you do, I am your attendant after all.”

Beel stopped eating and frowned again, “MC you’re an exchange student from the human realm. You’re back home; there’s no reason for you to still act as our attendant.”

You didn’t respond, instead you finished up the food and began to plate each brothers breakfast. Beel tried to speak again but you cut him off.

“Apologies but could you do me a favor and wake up your brothers for breakfast? I wouldn’t want them to be late for classes.”

Beel gave you a sympathetic look and nodded just before leaving the kitchen.

You did stop to think about his words though. After all everything that happened in the past didn’t need to be continued in the present, you could go back to living how you normally did before.

The only problem was that you didn’t know how to go back to that carefree lifestyle. After being on edge constantly while being stuck in the past you found yourself adapting to that lifestyle. So breaking it all of a sudden was much harder than everyone understood.

Humans are adaptable creatures, they adapt and survive to whatever environment they are thrown into, no matter the circumstances; at least that’s how he explained it.

He drilled it into your head that if you wanted to survive against the best of the best you needed to be superior in every way. It didn’t matter to him if you were a demon or human, neither was an acceptable excuse for not being absolutely perfect.

This mindset had been engraved into your soul during the small time period you were there, so for everyone to just tell you to forget about it was something you couldn’t do even if you tried. They all needed to accept that this was how you were now; and maybe with due time you’ll revert back to your old self.

Numerous voices could be heard in the dining room causing you to snap out of your thoughts. You sighed and then took a deep breath before walking into the room with everyone’s plates.

“Good morning everyone, how’s are all of you?” You asked placing plates in front of each brother at the table.

“Mornin’ MC, I’m fine how are ya?” Mammon said yawning.

“I’m good thank you for asking, but I would be even better if you fixed your tie and shirt” you smiled, placing his food in front of him.

“Dah you sound like Lucifer…” he groaned. It did work however because he buttoned up his shirt and tightened his tie before eating, to which you smiled at him in response.

“That goes for all of you as well, fix your uniforms please.” you said, placing the last plate in Lucifer’s spot. Each groaned and fixed themselves as well before they began to eat.

A laugh was then heard from the doorway which made you look up in response. The oldest then greeted you with a kiss to the cheek before sitting down.

“I see your keeping them on a tighter leash than I am.” Lucifer said looked up at you.

“Well of course. How is anyone supposed to take the seven of you seriously when you don’t even wear the uniform properly.” The room fell silent and Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Thank you MC, but you realize that you don’t have to worry about our images anymore. You know your home correct..? You don’t have to continue being our attendant.”

You sighed then spoke after a few minutes. “Thank you for your concern I appreciate it, but if you’ll excuse me I have to get the dishes clean”

“Wait you’re not having breakfast with us dear?” Asmo asked worried.

“You haven’t eaten with us at all since you came back. Come on MC, please?” Satan then said.

“I appreciate the concern but I already ate. Thank you for the offer though, I do appreciate it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“As their attendant you should not be eating with them unless permitted on a special occasion. It’s basic etiquette as a servant to eat in the kitchen. So you will eat when I eat. Understand?”

That phrase popped in you head again and you sighed heading towards the kitchen.

. . .

The walk to RAD was normal, for you at least, the brothers were a different story entirely.

They tried engaging with you or even walking next to you but you stayed silent and walked behind them.

Normally you’d walk at the same pace and would engage in any kind of small talk but ever since you returned walks to a from RAD had been awkward for the brothers.

Barbatos never walked next to Diavolo, and he taught you to do the same with the brothers.

“You aren’t from the same status, so you should take your place behind them as a result.”

That phrase played in your head as Mammon talked to you about his latest new scheme. You realized that he was walking at the same pace you were so you slowed down ever so slight and engaged in a bit of small talk with him.

The second born frowned as he saw you retreating again, so with a sigh he finished talking and walked a bit faster to catch up with the eldest.

You could see them shorting you glances and whispering to each other but neither said a word to you.

You understood they probably weren’t a fan of this behavior either, but it’s not as if you could break it anytime soon, after all what would he think if you were acting casual with everyone again?

. . .

“Good morning MC” Barbatos spoke, smiling as he slightly waved at you.

Upon seeing him your posture straightened up and you immediately greeted him back with a wave and a nod, in the same fashion he greeted you with. You held eye contact for a brief moment then looked over towards Lucifer.

“I believe we should head out now. There’s paperwork to be done. It was lovely running into you but we’ll be on our way now” you said to the butler.

Before he even had a chance to respond you grabbed Lucifer and dragged him through the hall leaving a confused Barbatos alone in the hallway.

Lucifer tried to question you about your behavior towards the butler but you always avoided talking about it.

Diavolo tried his hand as well and you had given him the same excuse you gave Lucifer. Sighing, the two decided to talk to you over tea instead, hoping that it might calm the mood.

So you followed Lucifer into the council room where Diavolo sat, waiting with a smile. The minute you saw him you smiled back, but soon tensed when Barbatos appeared behind him.

“Sit down MC” Diavolo gestured as soon as you reached the table.

You bowed slightly and did as you were told, making sure to keep yourself in line while Barbatos was present.

Barbatos from the past despised when you were casual with Lord Diavolo and shut down your relationship with him the second he took you as an apprentice.

As Diavolo began to speak you listened attentively and sat up straight making sure to hold eye contact just as Barbatos had instructed you to do before

“MC…” he started. “I understand that it's taken you awhile to try and readjust to everything again, and while we don’t want to pester your progress we do want to talk to you about a few things.”

Were you in trouble? Your heart sank to your stomach as you gripped your uniform bottoms under the table.

“What can I help you with then?” You asked.

“Well for starters you needn’t be so tense, we’re close after all! It’s okay to let loose around us” Diavolo smiled as he gestured towards Lucifer who nodded in response.

“I thank you for your concern, and I will try to relax as you asked” you then nodded.

Your formal response tugged at a frown on Diavolo’s face. “Thank you, now then let’s enjoy some tea.” he said, trying to quickly change the subject.

You froze on the spot as Barbatos brought out the cart of tea and a few snacks. Immediately you jumped up and helped him set the table, much to everyone’s surprise.

“MC, you can leave it to me.” Barbatos said after a moment.

“I understand” you nodded yet still continued picking up the tray of snacks and placing plates in front of Lucifer and Diavolo.

After you finished you stepped behind Barbatos, almost as if you were his shadow. With a sigh he turned to you and tried to ask you to sit back down but you refused.

So instead he tried to guide you to your seat and you stepped away from him in response, the further you took a step back the closer he took a step forward. It wasn’t until you hit the snack cart had you realized how close the two of you were.

However that was short lived as the dish holding the sugar fell off the cart and shattered on the floor the moment you hit it.

Your eyes went wide in horror and you fell to the floor to clean it up in an instant, muttering to yourself silently.

“MC, are you-“

“I’m so sorry, Lord Diavolo, I'll clean this up right away. Please forgive me” you said swiftly picking up the shattered glass and trying your best to clean everything.

“It’s okay, don’t worry it was an accident” Diavolo said as he got up to make sure you were okay.

You shook your head as you went back to cleaning. You were positive Barbatos was going to kill you, he made sure to let you know if you ever messed up in Lord Diavolo’s presence.

So when his figure loomed over you your body tensed with fear as you looked up at him. However his expression didn’t match what you assumed it would’ve been.

He looked concerned and bent down to inspect your hands, hoping there wasn’t any blood due to the shards of glass from the dish.

You immediately retracted your hand when you noticed a cut and Barbatos stiffened.

“I’ll clean this up right away, excuse me” you said as you jumped to your feet and ran out of the council room, leaving three very confused and concerned demons behind.

As the door flew open when you left Solomon walked in with a bewildered look as you rushed out. “What happened? Is everything okay?” He asked as his eyes followed your figure rushing down the hall.

“It’s MC,” Lucifer sighed.

“What about them?” Solomon questioned.

“Long story short they were helping Barbatos and dropped the sugar then bolted out of the room in a panic when Barbatos grabbed their hand to see if they were okay.” Diavolo said with a sigh.

“Ah, that explains things then.” Solomon nodded. “And Barbatos I would refrain from touching or even being near MC for the time being”

“And why is that?” Barbatos questioned with a frown.

“Because MC is probably still on edge after serving alongside you in the past. Let’s just say your methods weren’t exactly…ideal, for a human.” He sighed.

His heart broke upon hearing those words. Barbatos frowned upon learning he was the reason for their rigid behavior and unwillingness to open up to him or Lord Diavolo again.

“I understand,” he sighed.

“If we just talk to MC I’m sure they’ll understand-“ Diavolo started.

“You can, but they haven’t changed their behavior with the brothers so I doubt they change it now. I’ll talk to them when I see them again” Solomon sighed.

Lucifer made a sour expression upon hearing Solomon’s words, mainly because he knew they were true. After all he had spoken to MC countless times yet nothing has changed.

Solomon handed a few papers to Diavolo who read over them in surprise. “Cocytus Hall? That place hasn’t been used in ages, and you wish to move in there?”

“Yes, well Mc and I.” He nodded. “All the paperwork should be there if you’ll allow it”

Lucifer shot the sorcerer a glare and shook his head. “Is that really necessary? That’s quite the opposite of having MC adapt back to the present”

“On the contrary I didn’t suggest this. They did, and if it's what they want I don’t mind indulging my sweet apprentice” He smiled.

The three frowned at Solomon’s words. No matter how annoyed he made them, they all agreed that he was the only one you talked to like normal.

It wasn’t fair that he was the only one that got that attention from you. After a few more minutes of going back and forth Diavolo finally approved the idea, much to Lucifer’s protests.

It was just a thought but Diavolo hoped that if he did this you would eventually come back to them, and not the you that was terrified and uptight, he missed the carefree human who could brighten up the room.

With a sigh the room fell silent as Solomon left, all three demons were running out of ideas and the longer you avoided them the more painful it had become.

How long were they supposed to stay like this? They all wondered with tense sighs.

[loganswdc]

i think franco did a wonderful job today !! he absolutely killed it and he should be proud of himself . i'm genuinely really glad to see that he's being treated well by williams and is getting the support a driver needs and deserves in this sport .

i also think what should be remembered is that logan didn't get to drive the same car franco is driving right now . and on top of that , jv's "support" of logan this year has been incredible fake and killed logan's confidence . he quite honestly didn't have a proper support system within that team .

franco is driving the williams car with all the upgrades , the same one alex has . logan was forced to drive a car with parts from 2023 . both the front wing and rear wing were from 2023 . a car that was overweight by 15 kilos (33 lbs) . a car that was already bad and only was made worse by the fact that it didn't have the same upgrades as alex did . a car that was absolutely impossible to drive and constantly had problems -- remember how often logan's steering wheel was messed up ??

logan's possibilities of an amazing performance were overshadowed by a car that would get upgrades only to have them promptly taken away . they were overshadowed by the fact that no one -- not even the goddamn commentators , whose JOB is to do the research that we are doing -- could properly do their research on what kind of a tractor logan was driving . everyone was under the immediate impression that logan had the same car as alex when that was the furthest thing from the truth .

and now franco is driving a car that is , indeed , finally equal to alex's car . a car that finally has all the upgrades . of course it's amazing that he's matching alex's pace and i am genuinely so happy for him for that ! but it should also be remembered that he's driving a car that is leagues better from what logan had to drive .

the way that everyone is automatically turning around to talk bad about logan and say "look !! look !! this guy is doing better than logan ever could do !! see !! logan does suck !!" is unfair to logan and shows a lack of proper research . it's truly gobsmacking to see how everyone jumps on the logan hate train and yet they refuse to do any substantial research to understand that logan was driving in a car that no driver could possibly succeed in .

i truly do hope that people realize in the future , specifically the near future , that logan was not treated properly this year . that people realize how logan was constantly given a shit hand and told to make something out of it when that was impossible considering the state the car -- and the team , i mean look at how they messed up with alex today ??? -- was in .

like don't even get me started on how williams messed up with alex today . that was just embarrassing on the team's end . absolutely insane what these drivers have to deal with .

[plush-rabbit]

Adam Dating Headcanons

I love him sm and I hate that it's him!! Why couldn't be like Lucifer or something!!

Angel:

With his status as the “First Man”, Adam can get away with most things. In doing so, he has you with him at all times. Takes you everywhere like a pampered pet. If someone comments about you, he’s hyping you up. He’s telling everyone how you’re just so hot, and you give the best kisses, and how you tempt him constantly. You’re all that he can talk about. It’s him bragging about how great you are, and of course, you're great. He deserves all the finer things that angelhood has to offer. You’re an added bonus. Someone so cute and hot. 

He’s crass with everyone, and you are no exception to this. He’ll throw our swears, and phrases that are demeaning. He’ll use awful pet names that have your ears burning, and s scowl twisting at your lips. A part of you believes that he only continues to call you such things to see your reaction. His crude nature is public for all to see and bear witness to. He has no issue telling others the filthiest things that you two have done, and where you’ve done them. He only slows down when you swat at him, your face burning and hidden into his arm, pulling at the cloth for him to stop. His grin is sharp, and for the few times in his life, he takes pity, and he gives you mercy, letting the words come to a sudden halt, about how only he should be privy to just how perverse you can be. 

There are times where he’s just a jerk. Flat out mean, and cruel towards others and towards you.. It never lasts long, it’s more like it’s just second nature to him to know that he’s above everyone else, so he doesn’t have to play nice with others. He’ll snarl and when an angel clings to his robes with stars in their eyes about meeting him, all he can think about is how he has to be somewhere that isn’t there and they’re dirtying his robes. You’ve been on the receiving end a few times, and everytime you give him a certain look. He isn’t one to say sorry without being nudged into it, but he’ll lift his shoulders as if to hide himself, and he’ll mumble something close to an apology, and when you look away from him, he’ll hold your hand. He didn’t mean to snap at you- he thought you were someone else, and you know how it is. When you do take it personal, he still won’t tell you a proper apology, but he will wrap his arms around you and his mask will nudge itself along the crook of your neck, soft words spoken that won’t be heard for a long while.

It’s rumored around Heaven about the past wives of Adam- how they both fell for Lucifer, how they were Adam’s but they left him. He complains about it, grumbling under his breath about the fallen angel, about Lilith and Eve, and there’s this underlining of hurt in his voice. Everytime that you see him without his robe, he almost always has his side turned away from you, a hand curving just under his chest. And maybe because of the betrayal, he’s so attached to you. He wants you around him. He needs you around him. Far more than he would ever like to admit, he can’t- and he hates to even give it thought- he doesn't think he could stand another betrayal like that. So he’s attached to the hip with you. He’ll call you constantly, he’ll want to go everywhere with you. He just wants to be near you. 

While he may have his moments where he’ll whisper honeyed words to you, or give you bouquets of flowers, Adam expresses himself through touch. When the two of you go out, he’ll hold your hand, and if he can get away with it, he’ll tuck his hand over your bum. He’ll put his arm over your shoulders, letting his fingers graze over your chest, and keep you tucked underneath him. His wings are massive, soft to the touch and blinding in the sun, shimmering with gold and snowy white feathers, and while they can be heavy to hold them against his back, he’ll curve them around you, pulling you close to him when others cannot see. You’re protected underneath the gold, and he adores how you always reach out to touch them, to smooth at any stray feathers that bristle when he surrounds you. He needs to be touching you- he has to. In private, he’ll hold your hand and trace over yours with his claws. He’s never been so gentle with someone, he’s pulled apart sinners and covered himself in blood and gore, he’s vile and cruel, but he holds your hand so tenderly, and for a moment, he’s forgotten he’s Adam, First Man, and at that moment, he’s a man, holding an angel’s hand in his calloused claws.

Sinner:

Adam likes to joke that Extermination Day is the best thing to ever happen to you since it’s what allowed you to meet him. Plus, the added bonus is that now you’re protected and you won’t die. Probably. If you listen to what he says. But even then, he always makes sure to keep an eye out for you- hunting near your hiding spot, shooing away any of the other exterminators. It’s a win all around, really. At first, he’d have the two of you meet at the Heaven Embassy in Hell. However, it proved to be suspicious when other angels would question and even his own lies were starting to fall apart. He could always tell them he needed a break from all the singing and pure-hearted delight in Heaven, but he knows that he would have others follow him, peeking into something personal. So, he’s commissioned a new mask, and he’ll ditch his holy robes for something more Hell-esque to visit you.

You’re aware of his feelings towards demon folk, and walking hand-in-hand with him in the very place where he creates destruction, makes you feel like a traitor. You can tell that he's disgusted by everything- the gore and deaths, the rotten stench of meat coming from the Cannibal District. The rottenness of Hell has acid burning his tongue, but when you pull him towards a vendor on the street, he can hold his tongue. He gets to see you, and that’s enough for him. He holds no power in Hell. He could, and while he’s sure he could handle a few of the Hellborn and Sinners, you would be at risk. So any amount of disrespect has him biting his tongue and keeping you close to him. It’s infuriating to know he has to spend his time locked in your apartment, eating takeout- or on the lucky occasion your home cooked meals- and hiding away with you. He wants to show you off. He wants to be showed off. But, you sit beside him, and tap against his horns with an impish smile as you hold a forkful of food near his lips. 

He may never admit it, but he likes staying indoors with you. For those few hours, where you cook and you nap together, and you kiss him earnestly and with want, he can slip into the illusion that this is his norm. It’s vanilla- so much so that if it were any other time or place, he’d be sick. But, with you by his side, complimenting his mask, the tips of your claws curving over the horns and tracing the outline of his mask, he’ll take it. He’ll tease and snap at you, asking you to beg for him to remove his mask, telling you to ask nicely, and when you coo and press yourself against him, he’s grateful that the mask is still on. Not much can make the First Man flush, but when you act so sweetly, lips pulled into a smile with fangs on display, he thinks it’s one of the better sights that he’s seen in a long while. If he’s in a pleasing mood, he’ll rid himself of the oversized robe, and let his wings expand. He watches your expression- the awe and wonder that they hold, the gasps when you touch his feathers. He’ll stare and memorize the shape of your eyes, and the curve of your lips, as you familiarize yourself with his wings. In those few hours when he’s with you, it’s domestic, and it’s nice. 

When he visits Hell, he never stays for long. It’s visits that last for a few hours, but they never stretch into the night, and when it’s time for Sinners and alike to rise, he’s gone, not a single trace of him left behind. The dishes are put away, his part of the bed tucked in and flatten, it’s as if you dreamed a perverse dream where an angel took interest in a demon. You’ve asked him what excuses he gives to the others, never telling him that you wish he would stay for longer. He tells you that he’s told others he’s doing paperwork, or that he’s going to some orgy party and no one should bother him. When you laugh at that, he stares at you, eyes wide and heart- or whatever it is that he has- skipping a beat. You sleep in your bed, and he pulls you close to him, his eyes on the wall, as you make yourself comfortable on top of the Exterminator. He tells himself that he could miss a day- skip work and spend the day with you here, where the two of you could entangle yourselves with one another, but when brushes over your skin, and he hears the demons talk between the thinned walls of your apartment, he pulls away, and rests his lips over your temple. Leaving you behind in Hell never gets easier, and the more he erases that he existed in your home, the more he hopes that you’ll cry and miss him, and want him.

Unsurprisingly, he’s mean. Perhaps it’s his own personal feelings that he’s had with demon folk for the past number of  millenniums, and how in comparison to that, he’s only just met you, that he still has animosity towards demons. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop with you. He can be cruel, referring to you as a Sinner, and sneering at you, and when you flinch, hurt evident in the way that you back away from him and pull your limbs close to yourself, that he groans. He hadn’t meant it. Not like that- at least not towards you. You have to understand, some demons, some of those sinners, well- and his explanations are always cut short when you scowl at him. He hadn’t meant to be mean to you, he promises. He’ll envelop you in his arms, and pout, asking you to not take it so personally. He’s tense, and he waits with bated breath, and he visibly relaxes when you wrap your arms around him. Adam had never thought himself to care about what a demon may think of him, but in those moments where you sit still and he’s unsure if you’d forgive him or not, his mind is racing. He can’t- It can’t even comprehend what it would feel like to be rejected by you. 

[justwinginglife]

I have to request again you keep me alive at this point!

Can we get some angst, maybe reader gets injured while Soshiro is away from base and he rushes back to base while she’s in critical condition praying she’ll be okay in the end and at the same time devastated he wasn’t able to protect her???

Hello again! Very pleased to be keeping you alive. Have some more life.

Whole World

You're Soshiro's whole world.

You're his whole world and at this moment, his world appears to be crashing down on him.

He can't even think straight enough to drive, and he doesn't want to drive anyway. Driving isn't fast enough. He commandeers a helicopter and pretty much kidnaps a pilot, trying his best to rush to your side. He'd grow wings himself if he thought it'd get him to you faster.

You're his whole world, and when they told him you had been badly injured and were now in critical condition, he felt that world trembling, he felt the ground splitting beneath him, the earth swallowing him whole, the magma eroding away at his body, at his heart.

He spends the entire agonizing flight fidgeting with his fingers, with his seatbelt, with anything he can get his hands on. He'd pull his own hair out if it'd distract from the pain throbbing in his chest. He wonders why this flight is taking so long. Why he's so useless. Why he's so far away from you. Why did he allow himself to ever be this far away from you?

He knew it would be difficult to be far away from you, from the moment he saw you waiting by the door for him in just his t-shirt, all drowsy and sleepy-eyed, but still eager to give him a proper goodbye kiss and wish him safe travels before he left, but he didn't know it would be this devastating. He wasn't supposed to be gone this long. And you weren't supposed to be gone by the time he got back.

Would you hold on for him? Could you hold on for him? Was it even physically possible? Or were you too far gone? Would he get to say goodbye? Would he even be able to bring himself to say goodbye? Would he just die right there beside you once he saw your lifeless body?

His thoughts grew louder and louder in his mind until he couldn't even hear the buzz of the helicopter's blades, just the deafening sound of despair echoing in his ears. He thought his eardrums might rupture from the devastation, might bleed from the heartbreak.

He gets notice while he's still in transit that you've fallen into a coma and may never awaken again. And now the only thing waiting for him in the hospital is a difficult decision- to keep you afloat, limp and lifeless, or to send you off to the paradise you deserve. He wonders if he'll go to hell for depriving you of heaven, because he doesn't think he can send you off. He doesn't think he can let you go.

He thinks about how selfish he's always been, how selfish he was when he first claimed you as his own and then kept claiming you everyday since, and how selfish he is now, even when you've almost passed, clinging to you until the very last second.

Will you forgive him if he can't live without you? Will you forgive him for not being able to save you? You always forgave him when he couldn't forgive himself. He doesn't want you to forgive him, he just wants you to be here. He just wants you to be waiting for him when he gets to the hospital, griping to him about how shitty hospital food is. He just wants to be able to say he'll take you home and cook you something even better, something fit for a queen.

He wants to hold you, spoil you, love you. If he could, he'd hold you more, spoil you more, love you more. He'd do better, he'd be better, he'd be anything you wanted, anything you needed, as long as you were still alive to need him.

When he gets to the hospital, he runs to you. As he takes sharp turns around every corner, sprinting down every hallway, he wonders what he's running for. You won't be there waiting for him, you won't be ready with a smile. But he runs anyway, desperate to just be near you again.

When he realizes that you are in a coma after all, that it wasn't all just some bad dream, he collapses beside your bed. He can't think of anything to say at first, and then all of a sudden he's rambling, and now he can't stop saying things. He sounds crazy and he doesn't care. You always liked his crazy. You always matched his crazy. He needs you to come back and be his again and he'll beg you on his knees if he has to.

"Please, I need you. I'll quit my job, I'll retire, I'll give you as many babies as you want. I'll buy you a nice house, the one that you wanted that I said was ugly. I'll teach our kids how to ride bikes. I'll cook every single meal. You don't even have to lift a single, gorgeous finger. I'll do it all. Just please, I need you. Come back to me. Please. Please. I'll do anything. Just please."

He murmurs please over and over again until he's forgotten what the word even means. Until he's forgotten how to say anything else.

He grips your hand tight, squeezing it to a beat, like the sensation will remind your heart what its job is.

Then his heart beats once. It beats again, this time louder. Then it gets louder and louder in his ears and he wants to tell it to shut the fuck up so he can just be in this moment with you but then he realizes it's not his heartbeat he's hearing.

It's yours. On the monitor. It's increasing.

He starts rambling again.

"I'll change my hairstyle, if you want. I'll get a new hobby. I'll learn how to use a gun right. I'll learn how to bake that dessert that you like. I'll fix the fence when it breaks, fix the pipes when they burst. I'll be dependable. I'll be there for you. I'll never leave you. I'll never leave your side ever again. I'll handcuff myself to you. I'll superglue myself to you. You'll be so sick of me and it will be fine because you'll be alive and I'll love the shit out of you every second of everyday, so just PLEASE."

He pauses but all he hears is the hum of the machines, the clatter of nurses running by. Nothing he wants to hear. Not your voice, not your laugh.

He thinks he might drown in his own tears and that would serve him right.

Then a weak voice splits through the thick air.

"I... I quite like your... your hair. Don't... don't change it."

His head snaps up.

He doesn't even bother to wipe the flow of tears from his face as he throws himself at you.

"S-still... injured... h-here."

He laughs and releases you slightly, though still clinging to you, still needing to be near you. "Injured is so very much better than dead. Thank god."

"Also... as much as I'd love to be handcuffed by you... I don't know how I'd like being handcuffed to you for life. And let's skip the superglue, yeah?"

He laughs again and when you laugh, though weak, the sound gives him hope and gives him permission to keep laughing, to keep enjoying this moment with you.

"So don't ever leave me again and I won't have to resort to such drastic measures, okay?" He kisses the top of your head and then he kisses your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He keeps kissing you all through the night but you never get tired of it. You don't even wave him off when the nurse comes in to check on your vitals and is shocked to see you sitting up in bed, with your husband's lips trailing paths all over you.

You're just glad to be alive and nothing makes you want to live more than he does.

You're his whole world.

But he's yours too.

[biblical-chronicles]

Questioning

____________________________________________

where Noel asks the reader about a "dilf" sign he saw at his gig

____________________________________________

Noel adjusted his guitar strap as the final notes of "AKA… What a Life!" echoed through the venue. The crowd roared, hands clapping and voices chanting for more, but Noel was already striding toward the wings. The band sounded tight, the energy was right, and he’d once again proven that no one commands a crowd quite like him.

But halfway through the set, something strange had caught his eye. A poster, held aloft in the middle of the crowd, scrawled with three words in massive, bold letters: "yer a dilf"

He’d clocked it during the set and though it had thrown him for a moment, he’d carried on. Still, it had stuck with him in that niggling, puzzling way. What the hell did that mean?

By the time he showed up at the studio the next morning, the word had been shoved to the back of his mind. Now he was focused on his next idea—a guitar riff he wanted to experiment with—but naturally, he didn’t have the right pedal for it. Thankfully, he knew exactly who'd have it.

You.

You were tucked away in your studio room, most likely immersed in whatever you were working on. Over the past year, Noel had found himself wandering into your space more and more often. You weren’t just another musician sharing the same building—you were clever, sharp, and always good for a laugh. And as much as he hated to admit it, you had a way of making him feel... well, younger. Like the days when he was still figuring out melodies in Manchester, hungry and full of fire.

Not that he’d ever tell you that, of course.

He sauntered down the hall and knocked on your door. “Oi, open up. It’s me.”

The door swung open, and there you were, a screwdriver in hand, clearly mid-repair on a piece of gear. The moment you saw him, your lips tugged into a smirk, and Noel felt that familiar, irritating flutter in his chest.

“Noel Gallagher,” you said, leaning against the doorframe dramatically. “What’s it this time? Lost your capo? Need me to write a chorus for you?”

“Dead funny,” he said dryly, stepping past you into the room. “ I need your wah pedal.”

You crossed your arms, amusement sparkling in your eyes. “The wah? What happened to the one you already have?”

“Dodgy connection,” he muttered, glancing at your gear. “Won’t work for what I’m tryin’ to do, and can't be arsed to call someone to fix it.”

“So naturally, you thought, ‘I’ll nick hers,’” you said, grabbing the pedal and holding it behind your back.

“Borrow,” he corrected, narrowing his eyes. “What’s with all the dramatics? Just hand it over.”

“Hmm…” You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “What’s in it for me?”

Noel sighed, exasperated. “You want me to buy you a coffee or somethin’? Jesus. You’re not exactly doin’ me a massive favor.”

“Not a massive favor?” you repeated, feigning outrage. “You’re using me gear to record your brilliant idea. You don’t think I deserve a bit of compensation for that?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll give it back in one piece, all right? You’re actin’ like I’m takin’ your bloody guitar.”

“Maybe I should start charging you rental fees,” you teased, finally handing over the pedal.

He snatched it, muttering under his breath. “You’re a proper nightmare, you know that?”

“Aw, you love it,” you said, grinning as you leaned against the desk. “Anyway, how was the gig last night? Sorry I missed it—had a soundcheck that ran long.”

“Good,” he said, setting the pedal on a nearby stool. “Crowd was mad for it. But listen…” His expression shifted slightly, like he’d just remembered something. “I meant to ask you summat. Since you’re younger, you might know.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m some kind of translator for youth culture?”

“Something like that,” he said, smirking. “Right, so there was this sign in the crowd last night. Big letters, bold as anything. It said… ‘dilf’” He spelled it out carefully, like he was reading from a suspicious text. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The room went silent for a beat as you processed what he’d just said. Then your lips twitched, and before you could stop yourself, you burst into laughter.

Noel frowned, watching you double over with your hand pressed to your mouth. “What the bloody hell’s so funny?”

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath. “Oh my God, Noel. You really don’t know what it means?”

“That’s why I’m askin’, genius.”

You straightened up, wiping tears from your eyes. “No, it’s just—” You dissolved into laughter again, practically leaning against the desk for support.

He folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Go on, then. What is it? Can’t be that complicated.”

You took a deep breath, still grinning. “It’s… well… it stands for ‘Dad I’d Like to…’” You hesitated for dramatic effect, raising your eyebrows.

Noel’s expression shifted as realization dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing again in disbelief. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

“I swear I’m not,” you said, your grin widening.

“So you’re tellin’ me,” he said slowly, “someone in that crowd held up a sign basically sayin’ I’m a fit dad?”

“Yeah,” you said, still giggling. “That’s definitely you, Noel.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. That’s gotta be a new low.”

��Are you kidding? That’s a compliment,” you teased. “Take it and run with it.”

“Brilliant,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Just what I always wanted.”

You laughed harder, clutching your stomach as you tried to calm down. “I’m sorry, but it’s hilarious. The fact you didn’t know makes it even better.”

Noel sighed, but he couldn’t entirely suppress his smirk. “Right, well, this is the last time I ask you for help with anything. Bloody hell.”

“You say that now,” you shot back, wiping tears from your eyes. “But you’ll be back. Especially when you break me wah pedal.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, though his voice was lighter now. He leaned against the desk, his earlier embarrassment fading into amusement. “Anyway, remind me not to look at the crowd next time. Clearly, it’s hazardous for me ego.”

“I dunno,” you said, grinning. “I think it’s good for you. Keeps you humble.”

“Humble?!” he repeated, his voice mock-indignant. “That’s rich, comin’ from you.”

You just laughed again, and for a moment, the teasing faded into something softer. His gaze lingered on you, the corners of his mouth still curved upward. There was an ease between you, a rhythm he found himself looking forward to more often than he’d like to admit.

“Right,” he said finally, standing up straight and grabbing the pedal. “I’d better get back before someone accuses me of bein’ a slacker. You’re still a nightmare, by the way.”

“And you’re still a dilf” you shot back, grinning as he headed for the door.

He turned in the doorway, his smirk widening. “See you later, yeah?”

“See you later,” you replied, your smile lingering long after the door closed.

Noel was making his way back to your studio with the pedal after he’d barely had the thing for a day, but something about your teasing yesterday had lodged itself in his head. Maybe he wanted to prove he wasn’t a total thief. Or maybe, if he was honest with himself, he just wanted to see you again.

He pushed open your door without knocking, the pedal dangling from his hand like a trophy. “Right, look at me. Returnin’ your crap like a responsible citizen. You can shut up about it now.”

You looked up from your desk, your eyes lighting up as a grin spread across your face. “Ah, me favorite dilf has returned!”

Noel groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For the love of God, are we still on about that?”

“Obviously,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “I told you yesterday, it’s your new title. You might as well embrace it.”

He dropped the pedal on your desk and folded his arms. “Don’t get too comfortable, because I’m not lettin’ this dilf thing stick.”

“Oh, it’s sticking,” you teased. “Everyone here will know about it soon enough.”

His eyes widened. “What, are you plannin’ to tell people?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Maybe. Could be fun.”

He groaned again, clearly frustrated. “Right, if you’re so bloody obsessed with callin’ me a dilf…” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone, really wanting you to drop it. “Would you like to do that, then?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “The whole DILF thing. Isn’t that the bloody point? If you’re gonna keep sayin’ it, might as well put your money where your mouth is.”

The second the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize what he’d just implied. His face shifted slightly, caught between frustration and awkwardness.

For a moment, you stared at him, your lips twitching as you tried to suppress a laugh. And then it burst out of you, loud and infectious.

“Oh my God,” you said, leaning back in your chair and clutching your stomach. “Noel, did you just—did you seriously say that?”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as his face flushed. “You’re impossible, you know that? I just wanted to shut you up.”

You grinned, still laughing. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Noel sighed, shaking his head. “I’m never hearin’ the end of this, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you said, your grin widening.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “You’re lucky I’ve got a thick skin, or you’d be in trouble.”

“You love it,” you said, standing up and leaning against the desk. “Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he said, though his voice had softened. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a moment, the banter gave way to something heavier, something unspoken.

“Still,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “you haven’t answered the question.”

“What question?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, teasing but with an edge of sincerity.

His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something closer to vulnerability. “Maybe I would,” he murmured, his voice low.

The room fell silent. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly the space between you vanished. His hand came up to your cheek as his lips met yours, tentative at first but quickly deepening into something more certain. You felt your heart race as you leaned into him, your hands curling into the fabric of his jacket.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you found him watching you with a mixture of amusement and something warmer, something deeper.

“Still gonna call me that?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse but laced with humor.

“Absolutely,” you said, grinning as you leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, there was no hesitation, no lingering awkwardness—just the spark that had been building between you for months, finally ignited.

When you pulled back again, you rested your forehead against his, still smiling. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

“No,” he admitted, his smirk returning. “Though I reckon you’re still a pain in the arse.”

“And yet here you are,” you teased, echoing his words from the day before.

“Here I am,” he said softly, his gaze locked on yours.

When you pulled back from another kiss, you couldn’t resist one last jab. “So, was borrowing me pedal part of some grand plan to seduce me?”

“Obviously,” he deadpanned, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’m a bloody mastermind, me.”

“Good plan,” you said, stepping back slightly.

“Told you—got layers,” he quipped, his smirk softening into something warmer.

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on yours, and you could see him hesitate slightly, like he was debating something. Finally, he shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said, a little gruffly. “Since you’re so keen on seein’ me all the time…”

“Oh, is this about to be an elaborate way of asking me out?” you teased, your grin widening.

“Shut it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m bein’ serious. What’re you doin’ later? Fancy goin’ for a drink or summat? You know, if you’re not too busy comin’ up with more ways to wind me up.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I suppose I could pencil you in, dilf”

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that when we’re out in public,” he muttered, though there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You love it,” you said, and he rolled his eyes, heading toward the door.

“You folded your arms, watching him as he finally made his way to the door. “Gonna come back tomorrow and borrow something else?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he said, though his tone was light.

“You know where to find me love, see you later” you called after him.

And as you sat back at your desk, your grin lingering, you couldn’t help but feel that the banter—and whatever came next—was far from over.

____________________________________________

Loved writin’ this one, and don’t worry you lot, I’ll be back to crackin’ on with requests soon x

Loosely based on that vid of Noel clockin’ a sign like that at a gig, if you ain’t seen it.

Let me know what you thought, love ya all loads xx

[sleepyremu]

being the significant other of people on the quidditch team

summary // short little headcannons of what it would be like to be the s/o of golden trio era quidditch players

warnings // mentions of celebratory sex 😝 i can make a more nsfw version y’all like this 🤭

authors note // hi i’m gonna be active again!! i will def post a marauders era version of this too

golden era:

harry potter

harry likes inviting you to watch him practice while you do your homework, especially when it’s warmer out

he swears he does better at practice when you’re there

you love seeing his concentrated face when oliver is giving him pointers on maneuvering his broom in new ways to be faster when he spots the snitch

you love the crinkle in his nose that he has when he’s spotted the wings and is trying to figure out where it has gone next

he’s got to be so cute when he wins

like seeing you in the stands after he catches the snitch?? UGH!!!

i feel like he would have a little signal or motion or something he would do during a game when he sees you to let you know that he’s thinking of you

think like blowing a kiss or something of the sort

he would do it right before the whistle is blown and maybe even when he’d catch the snitch to let you know that he won for you

i don’t think he’d ever let you forget that he LOVES when you’re beaming at him from the stands, even when all of gryffindor is cheering for him, all he can think of is your smile and laugh

he would love celebratory one-on-one time. harry is NOT a super big partier after every single game, he’d rather spend quiet time with you in the common room just enjoying how you feel in his arms

the greatest prize for him is just time with the person he loves the most

i get this headcannon a lot with james, and i think harry has it too where he LOVES seeing you in his jersey 🫢

he’d find you so hot beautiful wearing his name plastered on his back

fred weasley

fred loves to make a total show out on the field for you

he winks at you every time he smacks a beater into that guy from slytherin who just won’t take the hint that you’re his girl

he loves impressing you on his broom, doing tricks and goofing off just to make you smile

this guy is the total opposite of harry when it comes to how he likes to spend time after winning

fred is the life of the party. he’s so hyper and excited when he wins and he loves to take it out on you

if he can catch your hand after gryffindor rushes out onto the field, he’ll whisper something about meeting him near the bathroom in 15 minutes

if we’re talking celebratory sex, fred weasley is the king

he relishes in winning and getting your kind reassurances that he did a good job and that you’re proud of him

“freddie, let me give you a proper celebration, hm?”

“say no more, darling.”

fred loves to celebrate not only with you, but with everyone in gryffindor

he is so cocky and full of himself but in the most charming and sexy way

he knows he deserves the attention

he would be dragging you to parties after games and making you take shots to celebrate his victory

“cmon, love, just one drink f’me? i did so well on the field for you, let me get my pretty girl all hot and bothered like i was lookin at her in the stands…”

george weasley

george has never really showed off during practice than when you happen to walk by the quidditch pitch when you first started dating

some feeling took over him when he saw you in your cute scarf and hands in your pockets, grinning at him with a scrunched nose

he just had an instinct to speed up and down the pitch, spinning on his broom towards you and hard stopping right next to you to peck you on the cheek

he didn’t have to look behind him as he went to join the rest of his team to know your cheeks had flushed and you had frozen in place

that was the first form of pda between you two and you knew he only did it because he just couldn’t help himself

he somehow always finds a way of twisting his own victory into celebrating you

he’d find a reason to buy YOU a gift because HE won his match

this sick twisted adorable little game of his always has you preemptively trying to avoid getting presents from him

“george, why are you buying ME a necklace when YOU won your match?”

“just think of it as my reward for doing such a good job, hm? i get to see my princess wearing jewelry a winner got for her. just makes me wanna keep making her proud.”

george is a happy mix of celebrating with just you and with the entire house of gyffindor

he can get behind a massive function after a well deserved win (aka any time gyffindor beats slytherin)

unlike fred, he doesn’t have all that energy built up needing to be released right after a game

he lets his victory deep into him all the way before he celebrates with sex

he’s so sweet and intimate normally, but some sort of switch turns on when he is successful in a match

he takes his time basking in a victory, and slow and loving sex turns him on so much

draco malfoy

he’s very nonchalant when you pass by him during practice, he knows he doesn’t need to impress you and boy does he have fun being a cocky son of a bitch about it

“darling, i could do tricks for you on the pitch, but you know i don’t need to do anything except look at you to get your heart all funny.”

he likes that you give him his space when he plays because he lets you in on every other part of his life, and he appreciates that you understand he likes having something that is reserved just for him

draco is a very possessive boyfriend (it’s not new information, i know)

he thinks it’s so hot when you wear his jersey to his game

you’d surprise him in his dorm, just the two of you, before he heads to his game, wearing his name on your back and smiling and he’d just freeze

you would get scared for a moment, thinking you did something wrong and that it was too much too soon

but that fear would dissipate in a few seconds as he cracked a stupid grin and peppered kisses all over your face and neck, telling you how good you looked

he’ll pull you into his arms after his game when everyone is on the pitch and says lowly in your ear

“merlin, you have no idea what you’re in for when none of these people are watching us. you were such a distraction, baby.”

draco isn’t a very clingy person, and typically he’s not very grandiose about your relationship

so when slytherin is partying after a victory, he’s not all over you the whole night

he’ll let you talk to your friends and you let him celebrate with his team

but he never loses his manners

i bet his mama taught him that

he’ll come up to you offering to refill your drink, asking if you need anything, firmly holding your hips to his when he talks to you and promising he’ll check up on you in 20 minutes before he gives you a departing squeeze to your hand

he knows the two of you had your fun right after the game in the locker room and will probably mess around a little more after the party to celebrate his win

oliver wood

quidditch is life for him. you know how important the sport is and you respect how seriously he takes it

it doesn’t go unnoticed whatsoever

he can see you trying your best to keep up with his rants and intently listening to his words, even if you weren’t quite sure what all of them meant

he never gave up the chance to rant to you about a recent match he watched or an idea for a new play

he appreciated that you attempted to absorb his words, and just knowing that you were happy to sit and listen to him talk for ages sent a sweet tightening feeling to his chest

oliver would be the type to try and teach you how to ride a broom and tell you that you were amazing at flying even if it was terribly obvious you and a broomstick was a disaster waiting to happen

“you’re a natural, y/n!”

“oliver, i love you, but please don’t lie like that to my face.”

“but you look so adorable after you’ve fallen into the mud- ow! don’t pinch me! this is my scoring arm.”

oliver shamelessly invited you to come to every single practice he held so you could see him in his element

he always had the cheekiest grin on his face when he won, and it kept with him when he met back up with you

he had the most incredibly stupid little victory dance and you thought it was so cute

once, for christmas, you bought him golden snitch boxers you thought were so funny that you could have sworn he’d thrown away

he genuinely wore them because they were from you (and also they were surprisingly soft and stretchy)

you knew he actually wore them because on laundry days, you would see them pretty frequently in the freshly done basket of laundry

“y/n, they’re my lucky underwear.”

oh come on guys how could we deny that oliver wood loves to be called “captain” after he wins a match?

he’d like taking you semi-publicly, like in the locker room, and you calling him “captain” or “sir” just stirred something in him that made him even more fiery than he usually was after winning a game

[zannolin]

lucy talks to rabadash before aslan judges him.

she never knew him well—she's never been very interested in any of her sister's suitors, not unless she's certain she'll need to step in, and he seemed reasonable enough, if smug and rather small in personality when he visited cair paravel. she didn't understand why susan wanted to go to calormen, but she'd never stop her sister from something that might make her happy, and edmund was going with her, so it's not like anything could go wrong. and anyway, someone needed to stay at cair paravel while peter went to the north. lucy would rather have gone with peter, but she'd also rather susan not be alone in the south. susan's alone all too often while the rest of them venture out across narnia. it's only fair she gets to spread her own wings a little.

they never thought anything could go wrong, no matter what the reputation of the tisroc. but then suddenly the splendour hyaline is spotted at the mouth of the harbor, and the raven is bringing her news both joyous and grievous in turn of her siblings' northern flight, and now there's a stag come to tell her that rabadash and a company two hundred strong have come to lay siege to anvard. lucy has an idea what he's crawled out of calormen for, and it's nothing to do with archenland. judging by the sick look on her sister's pale face, susan can guess well enough herself.

it's that look that has lucy mounting up beside edmund and riding out to anvard at double time. there is very little she wouldn't do for her family, and the lion help anyone who is the cause of her sister's distress. in the end, it's probably better it was edmund who fought rabadash in battle, because lucy's not so sure she'd have spared him.

the morning before he is to be judged, she escorts herself to the chambers where he is confined, a knife in each hand, and locks the door behind her. he is unbound, but the look in her eye keeps him seated in the chair where she finds him.

"i should like you to know," she tells him, not bothering with proper greetings—he does not deserve them, after all—as she leans against the arm of the chair opposite his, "that your cowardly plan would never have succeeded, even without the warning."

rabadash sneers at her, and not for the first time, lucy wonders how he ever conducted himself to be anything more than the ass that he is.

"narnia's high king is a fool and a craven," he scoffs. "he never would have attacked the great land of calormen and my father, the tisroc, may he live forever, over something so trifling as a mere sister."

this is not his first mistake, but he is lucky that it isn't his last. lucy's face goes very still and very stern, and rabadash glimpses for one terrifying moment why the narnians all call her valiant. why she is named for the sea, the harsh and changeable mistress, and the flowers that grow back first after wildfires.

"i wasn't actually talking about peter," she says, her voice chillingly light, all pretense and formality dropped, "though if you think he wouldn't have marched on tashbaan to save our sister, you're a much bigger fool than i thought."

her tone makes it perfectly clear just how much of him she thought, and it certainly wasn't very highly at all.

she strides forward to stand before him, which would be a very foolish thing to do in a company of an unbound and dangerous prisoner if that prisoner were braver than rabadash and lucy were anyone else, and leans down to meet his eye. she's not very tall, queen lucy, and yet to him she seems like a giant—terrible and beautiful in an entirely different way than her sister. she's so close he can see a long white scar on her neck, can smell horse and leather and chainmail and clean sweat, can see how her hair is bound back for convenience and not beauty, and her hands are rough and capable.

he is aware, suddenly, that he is afraid. that perhaps he has been since she entered the room.

"know this, son of tashbaan," says queen lucy the valiant, and the smile on her lips does not at all match her eyes. "if you had laid even the tip of one finger on my sister, the queen, i would have skinned you alive."

she leans back just enough for him to breathe, and he gasps with it.

"and do you know what?" she asks cheerfully.

he doesn't want to know. she tells him anyway.

"i really don't think peter would have stopped me."

[loolilyumm]

I CARE SO MUCH ABOUT YOUR CAP 3 PLEASE MORE IF YOU WOULDNT MIND???

JUMPING UP AND DOWN IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED I WILL SO HAPPILY YAP ABOUT HIM

THIS IS AGENT THREE! Most of the people in the NSS call him “Three” or “Captain,” but his real name is Reese.

(SIDE NOTE- I really have to do proper character sheets for them. Please stay tuned for that!!)

He was 15 when he was hired by Cuttlefish and 17 during the events of octo expansion. Now he is a mature 20 year old inkling. So so mature.

He mains the E-liter and typically uses chargers or shooters.

Despite his “cool guy” persona, agent 8 brings out a different side of him… the loser baby side…!!! In Splatoon 2 When the two of them fell underground, Reese was actually the one to find 8, and he had to rescue her from sanitization chambers (you know, the octoling selection screen at the beginning of octo expansion?) but couldn’t save her in time to restore her memory. But she was (relatively) okay! And since then he’s been really protective of her. 8 was registered as a test subject and Reese had to stay behind and watch as she went through rigorous testing.

At that point Reese was really descending into a dark place after realizing that he wasn’t really the big hero he thought that he was. But 8 helped him through it and they formed a really close bond deep in the underground. (Cuttlefish was also there third wheeling. LOL) Reese started to feel flustered and shy around her. He’d never felt that way before, and definitely didn’t expect it. And it CONFUSED HIM!! He was like wtf? Why is this happening to meeee waahwaahhhhh ueueueuee

And then y’know……the rest is history! The blender incident happened and it was the scariest moment of his life. Reese was about to lose the only two people he had ever cared about. He has a tendency to throw himself recklessly into dangerous situations, so he just THREW himself at the blender and well. It worked! In my version, he never got knocked out, and he travelled upwards with 8 and cuttlefish until about the 4th phase. Then he and cuttlefish got separated from 8 and attacked by Tartar - that’s how he was brainwashed.

The battle between agent 3 and agent 8 was BRUTAL. Reese harbors extreme amounts of guilt for what went down - he blames himself a lot and thinks he should have been stronger. 8 got really hurt but she managed to save him and THEN save the whole world. #girlboss! Period.

The two of them are working through the events of octo expansion together! If you want me to yap about 8 too I will gladly do that. (Also maybe I should write a fanfic about it. I am cringe but I am free.)

Cut to 3 years into the future - During splatoon 3, Reese becomes captain of the NSS. He doesn’t think he deserves the title but is honored to accept it.

The new agent 3 that they recruited reminds Reese a lot of himself. Her name is Margot. She’s the quiet kid that he used to be. He sort of takes her under his wing and teaches her how to defend herself and her comrades. She is like a younger sister to him. They bicker and bond just like siblings. I LOVE THEM.

I actually haven’t really thought through what happens during the events of splatoon 3. I’m running with the idea that agent 4 and agent 8 go missing during the events of side order. (I know it’s all virtual but like I might add other things to it IDK IDK) I don’t really know yet. But Reese is a good captain and he can find them ☺️☺️

BUT YEA. AFTER ALL THT IS SAID AND DONE - they’re the NSS! And they are all besties.

Thank u for coming to my ted talk.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Since you've done a mini ask with winged Mc how do you think the M6 would react to a winged Mc that doesn't take proper care of their wings?

I.E Mc should be preening them weekly but only does it when they feel as uncomfortable as they look. Having ruffled, bent, and broken feathers

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a Winged MC

~ put a spin on this so I could apply it to the vesuvia weekly prompt, hope you enjoy it anon friend! ^.^ ~

-- to set the scene --

You like having wings. You really do, but sometimes you wouldn't mind forgetting about them for a bit. Just putting them away, where they can't catch on door frames or whip into people's faces or make you wince every time the sensitive feathers snag on something. Folding them out of sight and being able walk around without the stares is so nice, it becomes your new normal.

Until one day, the pain that's been slowly twisting knots into your shoulders and back becomes too much to bear, and you pull your wings out for the first time in months. They're crushed. Ruffled. Just looking at them is the stuff of nightmares.

Thankfully, your beloved seems to think they're the stuff of daydreams.

Julian

He'd known that something was wrong with your back - the only other person he knows with that many knots in their shoulders is himself - but he'd had no idea it was because of this

Why didn't you say anything? Did you think you'd be asking him for too much work?? Don't you know that taking care of you and seeing you depend on him makes him the happiest man alive???

Rummaging through his overstocked medicine cabinet, rambling between self deprecation for not noticing more and nerding out on winged human anatomy

Doesn't think to ask if it's okay to help until he's already seated behind you, reaching for your wings and realizes your closeness

Excellent at wing care once you tell him what he needs to know, his eyes and hands are trained for spotting physical issues and delicately treating them. He touches you like he's cherishing you

Can't stop daydreaming about how romantic it would be if you ever saved him like this, swooping through the air and snatching him from a burning pirate ship where he'd been held hostage ...

Asra

They'd been the one to teach you about how to manage your wings, and they'd been hinting at maybe taking care of them sooner, but they'd also done their best not to interfere

Approaching you quietly with a pained but sympathetic look on his face, bringing you the stuff you need and telling you however bad it is, you'll fix it together

Has the softest touch, running their warm hands over your shoulders and back as they work through your feathers, easing the pain both in your wings and through your muscles

The funny thing about his daydreaming tendencies (and goodness, does he love to spend time doing that -) is that when he's relaxed, he mumbles

Which is how you begin to hear all kinds of muttered whispers about how gloriously soft they are, how much they just want to hold you in their arms while you shroud them in your wings

All wrapped up in a tiny, feathery, world of your own, with nothing in your shared space but each other - MC, why are you blushing??

Nadia

Let it be known that this Countess is the queen of self-care and values it so highly that she sets aside a weekly budget for it

Which is why seeing your state is enough to horrify her

Your wings! Your glorious wings, they're in such poor shape, you must be in so much pain, her darling deserves so much better

She's dragging you to her private bath. She'll put you in a robe that lets your wings loose and set you up for an afternoon of recovery

Her perfectionist tendencies make for a thorough preening. She'll sit with you between her knees, carding through your wings feather by feather, straightening each one

And with the top quality products from her own personal stash, you slowly begin to glimmer in the sunlight through window

It captures your Countess's attention, making her linger over each feather and cover your wings in loving touches

She wants to see you glorious - she wants to cover you in fabrics and adornments so fine you look like you've stepped from a stained glass window, her own angel on earth

Muriel

He knows you have wings and he'd falsely assumed that the reason for never seeing them was because you didn't want to risk him crushing them with his big, clumsy hands and rough touch

(Note: his hands are not clumsy and his touch is actually quite delicate, he just needs help believing that he's not a danger to you)

Thankfully, the painful state of your wings when he sees them causes enough concern to override his anxiety

He'd be lying if he said you didn't remind him of a very tired, gorgeous bird who's been roughed up by a bad storm

Starts by silently bringing you everything you need, and then standing watchfully nearby until you invite him to help you

He's cared for wings before (though never ones this big, or attached to a human) and he doesn't need much help to get started. Feeling your feathers between his fingers is grounding

He keeps seeing visions of you at peace, the sunlight between the leaves dappling your wings as you walk through the trees, his own heart in the forest bringing beauty and wholeness into the world

Portia

Her first reaction (to someone who doesn't know her well) is anger

How could you do this to yourself? You have the most beautiful wings, they're such a big part of you, and you neglected them like this?? How dare you cause yourself this much pain -

All while she bustles around you, pulling out every product you could need and plenty of other comforting items, pulling up a stool behind you and rolling up her sleeves like it's her calling

She'll figure things out as she goes if she needs to, so don't even think about trying to tell her that you'll handle it yourself

With her background in Vesuvia's version of cosmetology, she understands quickly what you need to get done and already has the skill set to do so. Her hands are fast, thorough, and gentle

The longer she works with you, the more excited she gets. How often are you supposed to care for them? How high can you fly? How sensitive are they? Can she keep one of your feathers?

Soon she's telling you snippets from her favorite novels, about flying together through the sky, an angel and their lover

Lucio

He doesn't really notice how bad your wings are at first, because he's busy being briefly jealous. How come you get to have them and not him? He could totally be trusted with wings!

It's only as he pouts a little closer and gets a better look at the pained look on your face (and the frankly terrible state of your feathers) that he shifts from annoyance to concern

You're the best thing in his life, MC, why aren't you treating yourself like it? Why would you neglect such an awesome thing?

He gets your reasons, but he's also asking right away if he can help

(Because he loves you and he doesn't like seeing you in pain, but also because he really, really wants to touch them, please let him touch them they looks so cool and soft and ... safe?)

It's the safety that gets to him. When you nod and let him sit behind you, literally watching your back, showing immense trust and vulnerability by letting him hold your wings

He wants to know what it's like to hold onto that safety, the brief respite from violence, securely hidden behind your wings ...

[tubbytarchia]

Doc and Jimmy brainrot part 1 lmao oh no

Basically "What if Doc was in the Life games and Jimmy triggered his parental instincts again". You guys will see my vision. I don't care what it takes. You will see this very specific vision I have god damn it if it's the last thing I do

This is all I have to use as propaganda right now but some ideas and justification below cut!!

Been imagining a lot of Doc/Jimmy interactions both in a traffic and HC context, both of which I'd love to draw for but obvs this for now is 3rd life and I want to draw a little something for each Life series. You'll see!!

The general idea is inspired by a moment from one of the Decked Out streams in which Jimmy calls for Etho and Doc's all "you're triggering my parental instinct... I wanna take you into my hand and take you to a safe place" yep that's it that's the whole inspiration!!

Jimmy deserves love and he does get it to various degrees ofc (Tango, Bad Boys etc) but man... It's so fun to me to imagine Doc in traffic, I think he claimed that he didn't want to be part of the life games because he was afraid of being too competitive (or so I heard), but god it's so fun to imagine big scary mad scientist goat man in that scenario and him probably going at it on his own a lot of the time, but this god forsaken mf Jimmy knows exactly how to unintentionally trigger his parental instincts. I want Doc to subtly take Jimmy under his wing especially as Jimmy keeps dying first. So maybe Jimmy is a bit incompetent and loud as far as he knows, but he sees that he's trying his best and the dad in him can't help but intervene just a tiny bit (and I do mean just a tiny bit) as the games go on. Yes I'm just gonna shove Doc into the Life Games just because I wish this dynamic could have happened and I beg you to put up with it!!

For the above drawing specifically since, sigh, I'm slow and that's all I have to offer rn... it's of course 3rd life, starting off. I imagine Jimmy's wings sprouting during that, because the whole "canary curse" began with the Life Games etc. And this post isn't about FH but just for context as I imagine it, Scott who doesn't like unpredictability convinces him to clip his wings (thanks Bree) because Jimmy's not a proper avian (unlike Grian who has a more "airborne" body, bird feet etc rather than just... wings) and he'd never be able to take flight anyway, those wings would only encumber him. (And then Jimmy keeps clipping them himself until DL Ranchers but cough this post isn't about that). I imagine the avians (for my specific roster, just Grian) have their wings magically clipped anyway just enough to prevent flight and make the games fair. Doc ofc isn't avian himself but he knows that Grian greatly frowns upon the act of willingly clipping wings so when he sees that Jimmy's quickly growing wings have been clipped as well, he can't help but ask, because why would that be necessary while his wings are so small anyway? And Jimmy's response triggers a wee bit of fatherly concern in him but thats it for 3rd life woo

For the rest I just wanna draw more tiny moments of interaction until I get to Secret Life, I guess!! The brainrot is really fucking strong guys

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Why am I just thinking of Charlie having all sorts of impulsive thoughts. She tries her best to ignore them. But most of the time they win. XD

Vaggie: Babe. Why did you lick my wings?

Charlie: Poor impulse control T.T

Some of Charlie's other impulses: 'I should dye Lute's hair' 'Can Angel fold up into a pretzel...?' 'What if... we give Husk coffee...'

XD oh GODS

Vaggie: "You SHOULD dye Lute's hair, babe, give her a proper emo look. Not that she deserve it. She would hate it though- but yeah, Angel Dust probably has "can fold into a sexy pretzel" on his resume. And giving Husk coffee..."

Vaggie: "...."

Charlie: "...might kill him?"

Vaggie: "Don't get my hopes up."

Charlie: "Have you ever thought of tapping Alastor's little antlers with a tuning fork?"

Vaggie: "NOW I am."

Charlie: "...."

Charlie: "We're not gonna get any sleep tonight are we."

Vaggie: "It's 3am already so probably not."

Charlie: "Shit."

Vaggie: "It's fine. Being in bed with you is always nice."

Charlie: "Even if we're just lying awake all night tired and cranky because I've infected you with all my worst impulsive thoughts from the day and now neither of us can stop thinking about them?"

Vaggie: "I wouldn't call them your worst thoughts. Just, very creative."

Charlie: "Ugh."

Vaggie: "Thanks for sharing them sweetie."

Charlie: "Hmm."

Charlie: "Vaggie?"

Vaggie: "With all the love and bravery in my heart, hun, I ask- what?"

Charlie: ".... think Husk is still awake?"

Vaggie: "If he isn't then the cup of black coffee we give him will probably fix that up real quick."

Charlie: "To the kitchen?!"

Vaggie: "And then the bar. C'mon."

Charlie: "Wait wait WAIT! I have to text Angel! He'll never forgive us if he misses out on this!!!!"

[theostrophywife]

Ok, so this is definitely a NSFW thought, but I just imagine this with Az and holy moly 🥵

on the edge.

author’s note: goddamn edging azriel is such a hot concept. i hope i did it justice. warning: smut under the cut.

The shadowsinger can’t stop shaking.

His breaths are coming out in low, strangled pants as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock. It had been an hour of nothing but this torturous teasing, sixty minutes of you grinding down in a languid pace, letting his cock slip in and out of your pussy, stopping at the midpoint before starting the sadistic routine all over again.

Azriel wanted nothing more than to hold you down, fully sheathe himself within your silky walls, and fuck you into the mattress until you were hoarse from screaming in pleasure.

But he couldn’t.

He didn’t have permission to fuck you.

He didn’t have permission to make you cum.

You were clear on the rules. Tonight, you were in charge. Azriel could do nothing but let you use him as your own personal fuck toy. Over and over again, you brought him to the edge only to pull back once his orgasm was so close he could taste it.

Even now as you raked your nails against his tattooed chest, using his shoulders to give you the proper leverage to grind into him, Azriel couldn’t stop trembling. His legs are shaking as you ride him and he’s so overstimulated, the tip of his cock throbbing from the multiple orgasms that you’d denied.

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as you grabbed his shaft, rubbing your soaking wet folds along the underside of his cock. You moaned as the throbbing vein rubbed deliciously against your clit and you rolled your hips into him, letting the friction build your pleasure.

Your mate trembled from the effort it took to keep himself from cumming. His wings unfurled as a sob racked through his body, a single tear falling down his cheek as the absence of your sweet pussy tore him away from an orgasm once more. He feels so overwhelmed, so conflicted between pushing you away to stop the sensation and cuddling into you for support. Azriel’s hands hovered on your hips, his head falling slack against your shoulder as he cried.

You swiped at his tears with your thumb and kissed the spot where they fell. “Poor baby,” you cooed, running your hands through his soft raven locks. “You’re doing so well, my love. Gonna give you what you want, okay baby?”

Azriel looked up at you, his hazel eyes pleading. “P-please,” he breathed. “Please. I need you, mommy.”

“I know, baby.” You kissed him softly and he sighed in relief as you shifted in his lap. Azriel let out a sharp gasp as you finally sank all the way down, taking all of him in. He could have cried with relief at how your walls hugged around his cock, snug and tight and secure just like it should be. “You’ve been such a good boy for mommy, haven’t you?”

Azriel sniffled, nodding. The praise felt like a beam of light in the hazy fog. “I think you deserve a reward, Azzie. Do you want me to keep riding you or do you want to fuck me?”

His voice was barely a rasp. “I want to fuck you. Please.”

You flipped over and pulled him on top of you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pushed him further in, groaning as he stretched your walls.

“Come fuck me then, baby.”

[eirianerisdar]

For the director's commentary thing: I would love a director's commentary for Icarus on what went on in Red Bull HQ after Daniel came back, specifically when he went on the sim for the first time and it all went so horribly wrong- what happened that we didn't see in the story afterwards, how did Simon and the rest of the team cope? And how did Max react when he came back, did Daniel or Christian tell him what had happened?

Hahaha this is asking more for a Director's outtake rather than commentary, but I don't mind.

For the unaware, Icarus is a platonic maxiel wingfic where Daniel is pressured into trimming his wings for speed in McLaren, and has a long, slow fall before anyone notices. Much Maxiel angst and hurt/comfort and fluff.

Have an outtake from Max's POV that would have slotted directly after chapter 28 of Icarus:

=====

It's late when Max reaches Christian's country estate at last. He guns his engine and takes the imposing driveway up to the mansion at twice the proper speed limit, manicured trees blurring past on either side.

He's probably ruining the cobblestones. He doesn't give a fuck.

He should've insisted they delay Daniel's sim session until his flight landed. He should've-

Max steps back from the door, his hand smarting. He hadn't planned on banging at the door like that. He'd planned on ringing the doorbell. But every fibre of him is screaming for his flock; his wings feel like they are on fire.

One of the house staff opens the door. "Mr Verstappen-"

Max shoulders his way past. He's probably being rude but he doesn't care.

A moment, where he stands in the cavernous, marbled entryway, with sweep of the grand staircase up to the second floor and heavy oak doors leading in every direction.

Daniel. Where's-

"Max," a voice calls softly. "You're here."

Geri. Max snaps towards her. "Where's-"

"They're in the garden," Geri says, tilting her head towards the back of the house. "I think Daniel's alseep." She doesn't seem to mind the dirt Max is tracking into her house. But maybe she has people for that.

Max moves through the house like a dream. Entryway, living area, kitchen; through a set of french glass doors and into the back garden. The garden itself is dim, but there is a bonfire in the fire pit casting the grass in ruddy reds and yellows. Silhouetted in the flickering light are two winged figures - one with golden eagle wings crouching to tend to the fire, the other bundled in a blanket on a lawn chair, bandaged macaw wings painted sanguine by the light of the fire.

Daniel.

Christian stands as Max rapidly approaches. "Shh," he says quietly, holding a finger to his lips. "He's sleeping."

Max's ignores him. He drops to his knees next to Daniel's lawn chair, reaches out with a shaking hand to brush Daniel's curls out of his face.

Daniel looks paler than when Max saw him last a week ago. The firelight makes the shadows under Daniel's eyes look bruised.

Daniel shifts in his sleep, leans into Max's touch. Even in sleep there is pain on his face.

Max twists to look over his shoulder at Christian.

"Explain," he says accusingly. He needs to understand.

Christian had promised he wouldn't force Daniel's healing wings into the sim before they were ready. Christian had promised that the team would treat Daniel with the care and respect he deserved after what that other team had done to him. After he'd almost lost his wings.

"He reopened his wounds in a couple of places," Christian says. His eyes are fixed on Daniel's bandaged wings. "But the hospital said he'd be okay. They've stitched him up."

"What the fuck does that mean," Max hisses. "How did it even happen?"

Christian puts up his hands. "Simon tells me he pushed himself," he says. "Went through the break without stopping, and he wanted to get back in the sim so we could perfect the setup for Brazil-"

"Fuck off," Max hisses. "Don't - don't fucking tell me he was bleeding into the sim and nobody noticed."

Christian looks at him. There is grief and guilt in Christian's eyes, but over it all, bitter, seething fury.

"Max," he says. "None of us noticed for a whole fucking year."

All the air is punched out of Max's chest.

It's true. Max hadn't noticed his own flock slowly fading to nothing as Daniel hid his trimmed wings from the world. Max hadn't noticed Daniel entering a wing crisis that fateful week before Monza, either.

Daniel shivers under Max's palm. His breath comes short against Max's knuckles.

Max takes a slow, shuddering breath, takes up Daniel's hands in his own to warm them. They feel like ice in the cold night air, so Max sets a hip on edge of the lawn chair and pulls Daniel into his arms. He wraps his trimmed wing as far as he can around Daniel's shoulders and drops his chin into Daniel's hair.

Daniel relaxes. His breath evens out.

Max inhales, breathes in the warm woodsmoke of Daniel's hair. "I'm taking him home."

Christian frowns. "Don't be ridiculous," he says, and he is Max's boss again, sharp-tongued, effortlessly efficient. "It's late. Geri and I'll put you up."

Max gathers Daniel closer. "I'm taking him home," he says. "Back to my apartment in Milton Keynes. We'll fly back to Monaco in the morning."

Max's apartment in Milton Keynes; the spare room that has slowly morphed into Daniel's, with Enchante merch in the closets and preening brushes in the living room, a place that smells of flock.

Christian rolls his eyes. "Max, don't be-"

"Daniel," Max whispers, pressing his forehead to Daniel's temple. "Daniel, it's time to wake up."

Daniel stirs. He blinks up at Max, brown eyes turned muddy with painkillers.

"Oh," Daniel slurs. He scrabbles at the sleeve of Max's jacket. "Maxy."

"Yeah," Max says. His heart is expanding and shattering at the same time. "It's me. I'm taking you back to my place."

Daniel blinks rapidly as his bandaged wings shift behind him. His face blanches with memory and shame. "I'm sor-"

"No," Max says. "You can apologise later. Let's get out of here."

Christian stares between them. "You're fucking serious," he says disbelievingly. "Both of you."

Max doesn't bother looking at Christian. He pulls Daniel's arm over his shoulders and gets to his feet, dragging Daniel up with him. They make their slow, swaying way back through the house, Daniel's head lolling on Max's shoulder and his breath gusting over Max's chin.

Christian is talking rapidly with Geri now, but Max doesn't care. He brushes aside Geri's well-meaning hands and hoists Daniel down the front steps and into the passenger seat of his car.

"You know what? Fine," Christian is saying from the front door. "I can't stop you two being idiots. Fucking goodnight, then."

"Christian!" Geri admonishes. "Goodnight, Daniel, Max."

Daniel acquiesces for Geri to pat his cheek, and Max shuts the door as soon as Geri steps back. He moves past Christian as he circles the car to get to the driver's seat. Christian doesn't say anything, which is good. Max doesn't want to talk to him.

They pass the stupid marble fountain and pull out of the driveway proper, on past the artificially manicured trees and into the Oxfordshire night.

The motorway is nearly empty this time of night. Max takes up a steady pace towards Milton Keynes.

Daniel wraps his blanket more tightly around himself. Max reaches over wordlessly, threads his fingers through Daniel's.

Daniel sighs as Max's thumb moves over his. His breath evens out slowly, slows into sleep.

Max doesn't let go of Daniel's hand the entire way back.

======

For the uninitiated, you can read more of Icarus here!

Send me an ask with a scene or set of lines from any of my fics and I'll give you a director's commentary! Or, send in a ⭐star⭐ to have me select a section I've been dying to talk about!

(This particular ask ended up being an outtake, but director's commentary is more in the vein of explaining choices in wording or scenes, or explaining narrative choices)