#and i have nothing else to offer at this time

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

part two? 😏 lmk if you wanna be tagged

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azriel tag list 🫶🏻:@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder  @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits @honethatty12

[hyunsuloves]

Hii!! Would you be willing to write some nam-gyu/player 124 x reader hcs? I just love roh jaewon sm <3

boyfriend nam-gyu in the games.

warnings … this is kinda buns… that’s it

lovely notes … i lowkey hate how his character acts but i love roh jae-won too ᥫ���!!

꩜ [ 630 words ]

boyfriend nam-gyu who didn’t tell you he was entering the games. he intended to disappear for a week, and then show up with some bullshit excuse and a large sum of money.

boyfriend nam-gyu who was pissed off beyond belief when he came to find out that you were in the games because of his debt. the salesman recruited you to ease your boyfriend's debt and unfortunately, you couldn’t resist.

boyfriend nam-gyu who wouldn’t allow you to leave his side. it irks thanos a little bit, but he doesn’t really say anything because you and nam-gyu are together.

boyfriend nam-gyu gyu who only votes to leave because of your presence. no amount of money could aid him if you were to die here, and all because of him.

boyfriend nam-gyu who gets into countless arguments over you. he’ll argue over the dumbest shit, like someone bumping into you and not apologizing. he feels the constant need to defend you but he tends to take it a bit far.

boyfriend nam-gyu who constantly has a hand on you. it may be on your waist, his fingers interlocked with yours, or his hands in your hair.

boyfriend nam-gyu who insists on a “good luck kiss” before each game. you both are well aware that he just wants an excuse to kiss you, but who’s going to complain about it?

boyfriend nam-gyu who would lose his mind if thanos were to say something about you. if something he said was the slightest bit of suggestive, he might actually fight him about it.

boyfriend nam-gyu who loathes seeing any other player talking to you. even if it’s simplistic small talk to pass the time, he feels a surge of jealousy seeing other people interact so casually with you.

boyfriend nam-gyu who has you alongside him during every game. you don’t really have a choice because he has a vice grip on your hand. you couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to.

boyfriend nam-gyu who encourages you to stay away from thanos. he knows he’s a terrible person and despite hanging out with him, he doesn’t want you anywhere near a person as heinous as him. he definitely doesn’t want you taking whatever drugs thanos has on him.

boyfriend nam-gyu who always offers you a portion of his food. he’s a little greedy and secretly wants to keep it all to himself, but he puts your well-being before him, so he always offers you a piece.

boyfriend nam-gyu who sleeps in the bed directly next to yours. the beds are so tiny and can barely fit two people, so he finds peace in sleeping in the bed adjacent to yours.

boyfriend nam-gyu who only allows himself to be vulnerable with you during lights out. he doesn’t want any other players to view your affection as a weakness and use it against either one of you. so, the only time you see the true doting state of your boyfriend is when no one else can see.

boyfriend nam-gyu who wants nothing more than to be affectionate around you, but he knows he can’t for the sake of both of your safety. if he wants the two of you to make it out alive, he’s well aware that he has to put on an uncaring facade in the face of everyone else.

boyfriend nam-gyu who would kill someone for you. it’s a terrifying concept, yet not an unusual one amid the deaths all around. it’s slightly unnerving how quick he’d end other players life in your defense.

boyfriend nam-gyu who has plans to take you out somewhere after you get out of here. he’s the reason you’re here in the first place, and the least he can do is try to make it up to you.

[cutielando]

my little engineer | o.p.

synopsis: in which Oscar falls in love with a McLaren engineer

a/n: based on this request! the timeline does not really follow the actual season, i just went along with what came to my head

my masterlist

The air buzzed with the energy of the Formula 1 paddock.

Even on a quiet Thursday afternoon, there was a constant undercurrent of urgency, the kind that kept everyone on their toes.

You were no exception to the rule.

As a McLaren engineer, your days were filled with analyzing data, fine-tuning setups, and making sure that the cars were in peak condition. The team’s fortunes often hinged on decisions made in rooms like the ones you were currently in, surrounded by monitors and endless cups of coffee.

You had been with McLaren for 2 years now, your main focus being on aerodynamics. The team had offered to hire you while you were still studying your degree, mainly because of how brilliant your mind was.

Your job was to squeeze every ounce of performance out of the car, translating theoretical possibilities and what-ifs into tangible speed and a sea of accomplishments.

Currently, you were busy reviewing wind tunnel data when a shadow fell across your desk.

Looking up, you saw Oscar standing there, a curious expression in his face. He was dressed casually, but the unmistakable sharpness of a driver’s focus radiated off of him.

“Hey” he said, his soft Australian accent cutting through the silence.

“Hi, Oscar” you greeted him, giving him a small smile.

“Do you have a moment? I wanted to ask you about the changes to the front wing design we made today” he asked, his eyes darting across your desk.

He could see that you were busy, but he couldn’t help himself. Ever since he had joined the team, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was impressed by your knowledge and experience at just 21, basically his age, and he found himself blushing and stuttering every time he would talk to you.

He was acting like a love-sick puppy.

"Of course, take a seat" you said as you gestured to the chair next to you, straightening up in your chair.

Despite only being in his rookie year, Oscar's performance had been nothing short of remarkable. And you also couldn't deny that you took a small, secret liking to the young Aussie driver.

"Can you explain to me, again, what changes we made exactly?" Oscar asked, having sat down next to you.

"Yeah, we've made some adjustments to the endplates in order to better improve airflow around the tires. It should help with high-speed cornering stability" you explained, pointing to the data on one of the monitors.

Oscar leaned in, his eyebrows furrowed as he took in what you were saying and what he was seeing on the screens.

"How does that affect the balance? Will it make the rear feel lighter?" he asked, scratching his chin.

"Slightly, yes. But we've made sure to compensate with some tweaks to the diffuser. It will feel different, but once you adjust, you should find it predictable and reliable" you explained.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful.

"I see. I get it now, thanks Y/N" he said, giving you a small smile.

You smiled back, patting him on the shoulder.

"Anytime, Oscar. Let me know how the car feels after FP1 and we can make some more tweaks if it's necessary" you said.

Oscar nodded and gave you one last smile before heading out. You watched him go, noticing the quiet confidence with which he held himself, even as he walked.

There was something about him that intrigued you, a mix of his determination to become the best and his calm, almost reserved personality and demeanor.

Something you definitely wanted to explore.

But for now, you shook the thoughts away, getting back to work before you could spiral into something else.

Into something more dangerous.

♡♡♡♡♡

Over the next few weeks, your interactions with Oscar became more and more frequent.

Whether it was in the garage, during debriefs, or even in the cafeteria, he often sought you out to discuss details about the car.

At first, everything was purely professional. Mostly technical questions, feedback on changes to the setup, and maybe the occasional joke to lighten up the mood.

But gradually, the conversations began to shift.

“So, how did you end up in F1?” he asked one evening, leaning against the workbench as you adjusted a model component.

You froze for a second but quickly regained your composure, a little surprised at the personal question.

“Well, I’ve always loved racing. My dad used to take me to local karting events when I was little. I wasn’t much of a driver, though, but I was really curious about the whole mechanism behind the cars. I got into university and McLaren hired me while I was still studying” you explained.

Oscar’s eyes lit up with interest as you spoke.

“Wow, you must have one hell of a brain, then” he said, making you laugh and blush.

You shrugged, not wanting to gloat.

“I guess they saw something in me, I don’t really know. I’m just grateful I have this opportunity” you said, giving him a smile.

He smiled back, his eyes twinkling.

“It’s good that we have you here with us. We wouldn’t get far without you” he said, his voice softer now.

“It’s a team effort, really, but thank you” you said, your cheeks now an angry shade of red.

Oscar smiled and nodded, and his eyes lingered on you for a second too long. You looked away, your eyes now focused on the task at hand, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your stomach and in your chest.

Damn you, Oscar.

♡♡♡♡♡

As the season progressed, the dynamic between you and Oscar continued to deepen.

He’d stop by your workstation far more often than was necessary, most of the times just to have a chat with you.

You found yourself looking forward to his visits, your butterflies being swarmed with butterflies whenever you would see him approach you. And even though you tried to keep things strictly professional, there were small, fleeting moments than hinted at just something more.

Like the time he brought you coffee during a particularly tough and difficult race weekend, completely taking you by surprise.

“Here, thought you might need this” he said, setting down the cup of coffee in front of you.

Startled, you raise your eyebrows, but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks” you said, looking down at the cup to notice that he had not only brought you coffee, but he brought your favorite type of coffee. “How did you know I like it black?”

Oscar smiled and shrugged.

“I pay attention” was the only thing that he said before he turned and walked away, leaving you staring after him.

Another instance was when he had caught you off guard with a genuine compliment after a tougher free practice session.

“You’re really good at what you do, you know. The car feels incredible because of you” he said, trying to comfort you after the tough debrief.

You’d brushed it off as you always did, trying to pass everything as team effort.

But the sincerity and gentleness of his voice stayed with you long after that.

Maybe a little too long.

♡♡♡♡♡

Monza.

It was during a rain-soaked qualifying session that the tension between the two of you reached an all-time high.

The team had completely gambled on a whole-new setup, a very risky one at that, and the stakes were higher than they ever were in the championship battle.

You were sitting in the garage with your headphones on, monitoring the data as Oscar ventured out on the slippery track.

“How’s the car, Oscar?” Tom, his race engineer, asked him over the radio.

“A bit twitchy, but it’s manageable” his voice crackled over the radio.

You leaned forward over the computer, your heart in your throat as you watched his sector times closely.

Even though the setup was still rocky, he was pushing hard, managing to find the limits and extract the most out of his lap times with every lap.

When the session finished and he crossed the line securing a spot on the second row, the whole garage erupted into loud cheers.

Everyone was hugging everyone, congratulating you on the proposed setup (a gamble, really) and how well it had played out in the end.

Oscar returned a few minutes later, drenched but grinning widely.

His eyes found yours almost instantly, and you couldn’t help but give him a wide smile back.

“Nice work out there” you said as he stopped in front of you.

“Couldn’t have done it without you” he replied, his voice warm and soft.

For a moment, the noise of the garage faded away into the distance, and it was just the two of you there, standing in the middle of the chaos.

Just the two of you.

Later that night, the team had decided to go out and celebrate the amazing qualifying session.

You found yourself sitting at the quieter end of the table with Oscar. The conversation between the two of you flowed effortlessly, moving from racing all the way to hobbies and childhood stories.

You learned that he loved cooking, had an embarrassingly extensive collection of movie soundtracks and missed the Australian benches.

“What about you? What do you do when you’re not making our cars faster?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you.

You laughed, taking a sip of your drink.

“Not much, to be honest. Work keeps me pretty busy. But I like hiking when I get the chance. It’s nice to unplug and just be with the nature for a little while, away from all the chaos and noise” you said.

He nodded thoughtfully, seemingly hanging onto your every word.

“Sounds peaceful. I haven’t hiked in a long time. Maybe I should start again” he said.

“You should. It’s a great way to clear your head” you said, your lips twitching into a small smile.

The evening stretched on, the line between you and Oscar becoming more blurred with each passing moment.

By the time you left the restaurant, walking side by side under the streetlights of Italy, you felt warmth in your chest at the feeling of him being next to you.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the wine you’d had.

♡♡♡♡♡

The slow burn continued as the season went on.

There were stolen moments in the garage, quiet conversations during long flights and shared smiles that spoke volumes. But neither of you made the step, neither crossed the line.

Not yet, anyways.

But the unspoken tension hung heavily in the air, growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.

And it all came to a head in Abu Dhabi, the final race of the season.

After a very hard-fought battle Oscar had managed to finish on the podium, his best result of the season yet. The team celebrated late into the night, the culmination of months of effort and sacrifice finally paying off.

You found yourself on the balcony of the hotel, the cool desert breeze brushing against your skin.

Oscar joined you a few minutes later, a drink in his hand and a soft smile on his face.

“Couldn’t handle the noise anymore?” he asked, leaning against the railing beside you.

“Something like that. It’s been a long season, I’m exhausted” you said, chuckling.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“It has. But I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you” he said.

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the fire in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Oscar…”

“No, let me say this. You’ve been there for me through everything. You’ve pushed to be better weekend after weekend, supported me when things got tough and the car was shit. I don’t think I’d still be here if it weren’t for you” his voice was firm, like there was no room for you to contradict him.

“I was just doing my job” you said, your voice soft as your breath caught in your throat.

Oscar shook his head, determined to make you see exactly what he was feeling.

“It’s more than that. You mean more to me than just…this. I know we’ve got a million reasons why this wouldn’t work, but i can’t pretend I don’t feel this anymore” he said, his eyes boring into yours.

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, all combined shattered every doubt you’d had.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his softly.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it for months, but I don’t want to do it anymore” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a soft smile, and before you could overthink anything, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt as natural as breathing.

The world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the starry Abu Dhabi sky. Months of pining and unspoken tension culminated in a simple kiss, fireworks erupting into every part of your body.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a content sigh escaping his lips.

“So, where do we go from here?” you asked, your voice tinged with both excitement and uncertainty.

“One step at a time” he said, his fingers intertwining with yours. “As long as it’s with you, I’m happy”

And in that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

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[wonderjanga]

Hunting Trip

A little add-on to my Marvel and the Supernatural post from a long time ago. I also took a little bit of inspiration from @yazz-frost’s reposts. It also has inspiration from someone else’s post. I don’t remember who wrote it but they use the characters I used so I want to credit them as well.

Bruce thought over Marvel’s offer. After stewing over it for a couple days, he(Alfred) came to the decision that he would go with the Captain and the rest of his “buddies” to go hunt a bunch of Wendigos. His “buddies” turned out to be Raven and Jason blood.

Jason Blood: “The Batman, a teenage girl, and the Champion of Magic. What a wonderful group we are.”

Marvel: “Oh, and you can’t forget the demon!”

Raven: “I’m also a demon, Captain.”

Marvel: “Hmm… Then you can’t forget the guy that transforms into a demon.”

Raven: “I can also do that.”

Marvel: “Hmmmmm… you can’t forget the guy that’s like 400 years old and has fought in numerous wars.”

Jason Blood and Raven: *both give him a thumbs up*

Batman: *already lamenting his(Alfred’s) decisions*

They go full family camping/hunting trip for this. They got the SUV, they got the road trip songs, they got the magically enchanted weapons brought specifically for Bruce because of his lack of magic. They’re set and for once, Bruce is not the dad in this situation. Weirdly, Marvel is? Both Blood and Raven are brooding in the back like teenagers. They’re also playing tic-tac-toe against each other on Raven’s phone. To be honest, Bruce doesn’t really know what his dynamic is in this group.

Batman: *shoots a Wendigo with a magical crossbow and kills it*

Marvel: “You’re a wonderful shot, Mr. Batman sir!”

Batman: “Thank you. I have the Tibetan monks I trained with to thank for my accuracy.”

Jason Blood: “You and Tibetan monks, man…”

Raven: “What do you mean by that?”

Jason Blood: “I mean, he uses that excuse for literally every skill he has. Astral Projection? Tibetan monks. Blocking mind control? Tibetan monks. Blocking mind reading? Tibetan Monks.”

Marvel: “Wait, the is it the Tibetan monks in Shangri-La?”

Batman: “Yes actually.”

Marvel: “Oh I know those guys! Raven do you remember the time we went there together?”

Raven: “Yes. Their mental techniques are really useful.”

Jason Blood: “Oh my God, you know them too?”

After curbing the Wendigo population…

Jason Blood: “Captain?”

Marvel: “Yes?”

Jason Blood: “Are you gonna take the Wendigo skin?”

Marvel: “Nope. You can have it all if you want. Unless you want some Batman?”

Batman: *sounds a little disturbed* “No thank you.”

Marvel: “Great. By the way, be careful when you’re skinning them around the eyes. Raven wants them.”

Jason Blood: “Aye aye, Captain.”

Batman: “Actually, wait, Blood, can I have a little bit so I can study it later?”

Later…

Jason Blood: *looking at the others, all covered in blood, including himself*

Marvel: *humming a jolly little tune as he packs up their stuff*

Raven and Batman: *looking broody(their normal selves*

Jason Blood: “One of us is not like the other.”

Marvel: “What was that?”

Jason Blood: “Nothing.”

[elstattoo]

Closet Fun: Vi x Reader

☆*:.｡.

MEN DNI, MDNI

Summary: A heated game of seven minutes in heaven with Vi.

WC: 3K

Warnings: fingering(r receiving), praise, pet names

Author’s note☆: This is my first time writing for Vi and I went overboard with this idea… lmk what you think and next is pitfighter Vi because I need her internally😋

The smoke from people’s cigarettes and weed made the air thick and heavy. You pushed past the sweaty bodies of ongoing partygoers making your way further into the party. Music roared through the speakers making it impossible to hear yourself think.

Vi was hot on your trail, having no interest in anyone but you at the party. “Fuck I could go for a beer right now.” Vi thought to herself as she followed you like a lost puppy. Her eyes immediately snapped down to your legs and ass when she noticed the view.

A low groan escaped her parted lips as she watched the sway of your hips as you walked. She couldn’t recall you ever wearing something like that to a party, let alone such a short skirt.

The more she stared, the more she felt her boxers lightly dampen, she shook her head slightly trying to snap herself out of the daze. It was hard to shake off your effect on her, she never could even if she tried.

But for both your sakes, Violet kept quiet about her feelings for you. She pursued nothing but a friendship with you, too consumed with the fear of losing you, the one person she cares about the most in the world.

She continued following you into the kitchen, both your eyes scanning the assortment of drinks left to offer.

Violet’s eyes practically sparkled as she saw beer tucked away in a red cooler. “Beer here I come,” Vi muttered, speed-walking over to the counter and grabbing a cold beer out of the open cooler.

A smile spread on your face, “Of course, that’s the first thing you drink. I’m doing vodka and soda,” you shrugged, grabbing an empty clean cup. Easily you poured yourself your drink and took a sip, and the tang of vodka a little too much. The alcohol washed over you, making you feel a little less jittery than before.

Vi let out a little scoff as she watched you pour your drink. “Of course, you’d go for vodka. Me? I’ll stick with the beer.” Her body leaned forward against the counter as you fixed more soda into your drink to lessen the amount of vodka. Her eyes roamed your body quickly again, taking in the way the skirt looked so damn good on you.

You smiled hearing Vi’s little complaints, shaking your head at her. As you mixed your drink to your liking, you caught Vi leaning closely towards you on the counter, beer in hand. “I think I’m ready to see what Jinx, Ekko, and everyone else are up to,” you said. You felt yourself grow hotter the more you felt Vi’s burning gaze.

“Sounds good to me,” Vi agreed with a smile, taking one last swing of the beer before holding it tightly in her hand. “Lead the way, cupcake.”

Your heart swelled a little at the nickname, she always called you different names. Each one makes your heart skip a beat, time and time again. Quickly you made your way towards the living room, the first area you hoped you’d find either Jinx or Ekko. Neither were in sight, you hummed, wondering where either of them could be. Vi reached out and grasped your shoulder.

“I think they’re probably in the next room huddled together smoking or something,” Vi snorted.

You giggled, the sound made Vi freeze for a second as if you two were the only ones in the room. Your laugh was genuine, one that rang throughout the room, and made others smile. Your smile was just one of the many things that made Violet fall so hard for you, not that you knew how you made her heart swell.

“Let me just text her, that's easier,” you said, your free hand already stuffed into your pocket and pulling out your phone.

As best as you could with one hand, you typed out a message to Jinx. It was very difficult, but you managed, too stubborn to hand your drink off to Vi.

You: ‘Where are you?’

Vi turned her head, watching as you put your phone away. “I shot her a text now to await her response, hopefully, it’s fast,” you shrugged, sipping away at your drink.

Violet hummed, “I dunno, sweetheart. My sister is an avid texting but probably wouldn’t be at a party.”

The phone vibrating in your back pocket would say otherwise, and you connected eyes briefly with Vi. A smile made its way onto your face, and swiftly you brought your phone out and read the recent notification. It was from Jinx.

Jinx: ‘Upstairs with a smaller group, meet us losers :P’

“You would be wrong, Violet,” you sneered, “She just answered.”

Violet rolled her eyes dramatically at your teasing tone, “Yeah, yeah whatever, sweetheart. Where are we meeting them?

“Upstairs! Let’s goooo,” you whined, grabbing for her hand after stuffing your phone away. Your hand met Violet’s, her colder hands a stark contrast to your warm ones.

Vi followed you, hand gripping yours as you led the way upstairs. The music drifted with you, people crowded the top of the stairs and chatted away. The pair of you squeezed past more people before reaching a room filled with more people, couches placed about, and a gigantic TV hung mounted on the wall.

You both paused for a moment, taking in your surroundings to look for a sign of Ekko or Jinx. A flash of blue crossed your vision, which had Vi groaning as you tugged her forward.

“Jinx! Over here!” You yelled, trying to raise your voice louder than the booming music throughout the house. Jinx’s head snapped from her conversation with Ekko, towards you, hearing your calls. Ekko himself sees Vi’s pink tufts of hair behind you, and the two of you, hand and hand. Not a surprise at all.

“Hey, you two!” Jinx waves, a grin cheekily on her face. Ekko follows behind her waving at you and Vi. “There’s some people back there playing spin-the-bottle but whoever it lands on goes into a closet for seven minutes and it's locked.” Jinx directed where the people were with the point of her painted fingertip.

Vi let go of your hand, moving from behind you so she can talk to everyone more closely. “Pardon?” Vi quirks an eyebrow, “Seven minutes in heaven and spinning the bottle combined? Alright, fuck it, what do ya say, sweetheart?” Vi’s head turned to you, she licked her lips anticipating your answer. She only would indulge in this silly game if you did.

At the sudden question, you felt yourself grow hot, “Sure! Let’s have fun, what do you guys think?” You ignored the creeping thoughts growing in your head hoping, somehow, that luck would be on your side for once. And… if you played this game, you’d end up, alone, locked in a closet with Vi.

“Hell yeah! I mean, I am the one who told you about it,” Jinx laughed, turning to playfully poke Ekko in the side. He laughed at her, shrugging off her antics.

You all politely asked to join the game, which had the people already playing, clapping, and nodding their heads excitedly. People muttered about restarting the game with the new addition of people, and so a new game began.

“I’m sooo excited,” Jinx whispered, bumping your side as you all watched the people fumble to reset the bottle.

“Wait! Let one of the newbies take a turn,” one guy insisted. His eyes landed on you, “Hey! How about you try it out?”

Your lips parted, not knowing what to say before you nodded. “Yeah, okay,” you breathed, leaning forward to spin the bottle. The time within you spinning the bottle, and then waiting to see who it landed on felt like a lifetime. You felt your stomach doing somersaults, you gulped, seeing the bottle beginning to slow and eventually come to a halt.

The air felt thick, as if time paused at that moment, the bottle stopped and pointed at Vi. A smirk emerged onto her face, your eyes falling from the bottle to her piercing one. Your eyes held contact for mere seconds, the chatter of people drowned out, and you zoned out and only focused on Violet.

Suddenly, you were snapped out of said trance when someone, Ekko, poked your shoulder gently. “Hey, you good?” he murmured, seeing you space out, only mere seconds ago.

You nodded, giving him a thumbs up to reassure him. “Yeah, just surprised. Guess I better go to whatever closet with Vi, at least.”

Ekko smiled, watching you get up as people muttered at you to “hurry up and go.’” Those people were the least of your concerns when you’d be locked in a closet with Vi. The fact it was reality and going to happen had your heart beating wildly out of your chest.

Vi was already standing up, waiting for you and someone to lead you both to the closet. “At least it landed on someone you know, sweets,” Vi added, poking your side. Your head snapped towards her, shooting her a glare.

The girl in front of you, the one leading you to the closet cleared her throat. “Are you guys ready to go now?”

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go,” you shared a glance with Vi before the two of you followed after the girl. You were brought to a room only a few meters away, the closet tucked in the corner. The girl brought both of you right to the closet door.

“Alright, hurry in, the timer starts when the door closes,” the girl smiled, opening the closet door, and ushering the two of you inside. Vi snuck another glance in your direction, herself still not believing the situation. “Try not to be too loud!” She winked, closing the door, and fiddling with the lock.

The closet was small, the two of you huddled together, trying to sit comfortably within the small space. The darkness of the closet provided another challenge and made it impossible to see or navigate your surroundings.

“Shit, why couldn’t this stupid closet have a light?” Vi mumbled, blinking her eyes to adjust to the darkness. “Where are you even?” Her hand reached out into the darkness feeling for you, her fingertips met your thigh, your breath hitching at the touch. “There you are.”

You could imagine the stupid, cocky smirk on her face saying that. You were on the opposite side of the closet of her, body huddled together, knees against your chest. “Yep, here I am… Weird game for friends to end up in, right?” You joked, the word ‘friend’ making you feel sour.

Vi squeezed her hand against your thigh, the plump flesh squeezing in her firm grasp. You gulped feeling the grip. “Mhm, sweetheart friends are all we are,” she leaned closer, her grip on your thigh still firm. You made no effort to move her hand, which enticed her further and helped prove you did in fact like this. “I think we’re a lot more than friends, and it’s pretty clear at this point. So quit the bullshit and c’mere,” her voice was low and husky.

Her words put you in a trance, you leaned forward, scooting closer to her, to close the distance. Her hand lets go of your thigh, and before you can complain at the loss of contact she cups your cheek and brings your lips in for a fiery, hot kiss. It was messy and filled with passion, you immediately returned the kiss. Almost feeling greedy at how you nipped at her lower lip, gliding your tongue against it, before she eagerly opened her mouth allowing you to overtake her mouth. Your tongues lapping against one another, you moaned softly into Vi’s mouth feeling relieved to finally be kissing her.

Vi noticed your spread legs, allowing her to slot herself between your thighs, and forcing you to twist your legs around her. She mentally noted the time she had left with you, slipping her free hand in between your legs and going oh, so dangerously close to your panties.

Your hands were wrapped around her neck, you pulled away to breathe and felt Vi’s sneaky hand near where you needed her most. “W-what are you doing?” You panted out, still trying to catch your breath from the heated kiss.

“Wanna finger you, right here, right now. Can’t help myself, princess,” Vi admitted, chest rising and falling steadily. If you could see her right now you’d see the way her face was dusted lightly, lips red and blotchy from the kissing.

You whined, gripping the overgrown hair at the back of her head, Vi groaned softly loving the way your feelings felt gripping at her hair. “We can’t do it here..” you said in a hushed voice. You so badly wanted it, but here of all places?

“Please… want to please you, princess,” Vi pleaded, and she kissed your lips. Your panties dampened even more and you felt yourself let go, giving in to her frantic kisses.

You pulled back for a second, nodding, “Please… do it before they come.”

When those words left your mouth that was all Vi needed before she moved her hand to where you needed her. Her fingers moved your thong to the side, sliding two into your wet, aching hole. She cut off the loud moan that almost escaped your lips with her lips sealed against yours, you eagerly returned the passionate kiss.

Vi curled her fingers slightly, angling to get deeper inside of you, and hit the spot that felt so good. You needily swiped your tongue against Vi’s, the two of you exchanging saliva in between the messy kisses. Vi pumped her fingers faster, groaning at the wetness pooling around her sleek fingers.

The two of you only had a few minutes left, Violet pulled back. Hurriedly pumping her fingers deeper, before she stilled for a moment to slide a third one in. Feeling her insert the third finger, then pumping them in and out of you, curling to hit your g-spot, had you craning your head into her neck. You muffled the cry of pleasure, hands still gripping her pink hair, and Vi loved it.

The sounds you were making, the muffled sounds of the music playing outside the closet door were long forgotten to her by the smacking of her fingers drilling in and out of you. Along with your wetness squealing in the small space of the closet. She fucking loved it.

“God, pretty girl… you’re so wet just from kissing and my fingers? Gotta get you home after this,” she sighed, smirking to herself at the ideas popping in her head.

“Please, Vi only have a few minutes left and I’m close,” you mewled against her.

“Yeah? We gotta hurry then, pretty girl,” she pumped her fingers faster, if possible, her fingers hitting your g-spot over and over until you felt your stomach clench up, your vision went white, and you swear you heard yourself whine loudly like never before. Surely, the sound alerted people outside the room, but who the fuck cares? With how your muscles spasmed and clenched as the waves of the moment overtook you.

“O-oh my god,” you gasped, clutching onto her shoulders, pretty painted nails digging in as you tried to roll your hips into her hand to ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Vi softly kissed your neck, leaving small marks along your neck as you clung to her.

“Holy fuck, you just came all over my fingers,” Vi uttered with her fingers still curled tightly inside of your cunt. You whined at the sensitivity from your previous orgasm, Vi begrudgingly took her fingers out of you understanding you were sensitive. Her digits were coated in your slick cum, she brought her fingers to her mouth and moaned at the sweet taste of you. She cleaned the mess away off her fingers before pecking your lips. “You feel alright?”

Your chest swelled, your body still recovering from the post-orgasm. “Yeah, that was… Fucking amazing, Vi,” you smiled, your fingers coming up to cup her cheek and passing over the small tattoo under her eye. The one that marked her name… Vi. Your Vi, the one that you love.

Before either of you could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. “Time’s up, lovebirds!” You hurriedly pulled away from each other, you fixed your skirt, smoothing the material as Vi wiped her mouth and fixed her wrinkled clothes.

The door opened, Jinx being the one to open the door this time. She saw your appearance, both your lips red and swollen from the kisses. She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows, “You guys finally confessed and… did a lot more than that!”

You dashed up and playfully smacked her side, your face feeling hot. “Please shut up! And keep it down,” you pleaded. Embarrassment rushed over you, but Vi got up and coddled your side.

“It’s fine, pretty girl. Nothing to be ashamed of,” she shrugged. She acted as if her sister wasn’t right there and didn’t quickly infer what the two of you did. It also didn’t help that she confidently wrapped her arm around you, a smirk adorning her face as she pushed past Jinx and walked out of the room with you.

You were left speechless even when she led you out of the party and to her car.

“Wanna come back to my place or yours?” She whispered, eyes gazing into yours from the driver’s seat.

“Mine,” you grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Please, I want you all to myself.”

Vi hummed, starting the car and nodding. “I know, pretty girl and you will, I promise,” she squeezed your hand in reassurance. “Wanted you… long before this.” Vi never thought she would admit it, but now she could care less knowing you both felt the same. She brought your hand up and kissed it.

Your heart swelled, your hand felt warm and clammy, and you almost felt like you were floating. “Me too, Vi,” you whispered. She put her hand back in yours and drove the two of you back to your closer apartment.

The two of you did a lot more than fingering for the rest of the night.

—

Author’s note: I hope you guys enjoyed… please spare me

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · (𝐡𝐢𝐬) 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤

contents: fluff. early twenties + first year of marriage. found family. gojo’s entire day shifts when you forget to wear your wedding ring. 900 wc.

“Eehh—?” You can faintly hear the noise Satoru let out coming from your shared bedroom, and you know he’d approach you about the situation sooner or later. You remain seated in bated breath as he stands with rounded shoulders before your dresser, cerulean hues staring down at your jewelry ceramic tray. And unmistakably there sits a wedding band with a large gemstone glinting at him under the warmth of the golden rays filtering through the curtains. He had a strong feeling there was a reason for his off-morning and this must’ve been it.

A noticeable pout rests on his lower lip and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his sorcerer’s uniform as he slowly climbs down the stairs. You glance over your shoulder from the couch with Tsumiki seated with her legs folded under her while you finish off her braid, and he looks like a kicked puppy the closer he treads. With a small pat on the young girl’s head, you send her to find her brother in his bedroom for breakfast.

“Oh good morning, baby. Why the long face, hm?” You shift your body toward him with an unperturbed smile, but Satoru sulks where he settles on the couch beside you in a manspread. “I’m almost certain I didn’t forget your morning kisses this time, even gave you more than plenty to last the day. Might I add the extra five or was it fifteen minutes of cuddling you so insisted on.” You tease with a gentle poke to his cheek, but nothing seems to be budging him and you think something terrible has happened. Though your husband’s jutted pout is adorable enough to maintain a lighthearted mood.

“No, but you did forget something.” Satoru sighs with a small shake of his head, letting on a weight of seriousness that makes you breathe out a curious ‘oh?’ at what that could be. With a tilt of your head, you watch his movements as he reveals the wedding ring he proposed to you with from the depths of his pocket. He twirls the silver band between his fingers and relief washes over you because you genuinely thought you had done something grave. “Found it on your jewelry dish. Don’t forget to wear it, princess.”

“Ah, so that's what’s bothering you.” You soften as your head leans against him with your arm looping around his, your left hand coming up so he can slip it back onto your finger. He does so with delicate care, and you offer him an explanation of taking it off before showering while he went for a run because you were afraid it'd fall down into the drain and forgot to put it back on. With having two pre-teenagers taken under both your wings, it’s easy to neglect these small details but you have noted to be more mindful next time.

Satoru hums with a chaste kiss on your forehead, intertwining your fingers together in a sweet hold as his thumb brushes against your skin. “Just don’t want anyone else to think you’re up for grabs. It’s not me who gets all the attention when we’re out together, you know.” He can perfectly recall those encounters where not only random strangers would make advances on you, but also cute grannies wanting to set you up with their grandson. He’s gone for one minute to collect your favorite snacks and you’re not how he left you when he returns.

“Oh Satoru, you still haven’t gotten over that yet? It happened two or three times and I think they were just being polite.” Satoru knew you would say that but allows you to have your own beliefs as you reach over to playfully pinch his cheek with a soft laugh. But you suppose it’s endearing seeing him jealous over something that happened years ago when he has nothing to worry about. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm, that’s an easy one. Never let me go?” He answers with a quickness that causes your heart to flutter, and sure enough he’s reverting back to being your lovable and charming husband. “Besides, having a beautiful and hot wife means that I have to protect and take care of what’s mine.” And he means more than fending off idiots trying to get your number, but also from being potentially targeted by cursed users because you’re someone of great importance to the Gojo clan leader.

“There’s a much better way to handle that. I could just let everyone know I’m happily married to the best guy ever.” Satoru doesn’t hide the smug look overtaking his features before nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing light kisses on your shoulder.

“Heh, flattery won’t get you off the hook.” He drags you impossibly close with his large hand wrapped around your hip. His onslaught of kisses continues along your face and you both fall back on the cushions of the couch and he revels in your giggles. After a moment, Satoru meets your gaze again and sweeps strands of hair away to see more of you. “And I love seeing that ring on your finger. Reminds me of something real special between us and that you chose to be with me.”

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way.” You gently take his hand cradling your face and place it over your chest with an earnest squeeze. “You are the best husband I could ever ask for. Love you, baby.” Satoru leans down to capture your lips sweetly at first, then chases after its softness for little pecks and murmurs how much he loves you back. And from the bottom of the steps of the staircase are the Fushiguro siblings sharing a knowing glance before entering the room to help with breakfast.

꒰ note ᰔ satoru always wears his wedding band on his finger and around his neck when he’s fighting against cursed spirits. ꒱

[icecreambeach]

I have to hammer home this particular part: "He gives Watson a new life that’s less about solid career choices and more about magic, at a time when the world had started to seem terribly, crushingly unmagical."

Because Watson had just experienced possibly the two worst things on earth: war and illness. Both almost killed him, but worse than that, he survived. That means he gets to keep all that pain and reconcile the horrors for the rest of his days. He's not just scarred, he's handicapped in a world where being disabled without "kith or kin" to help had dire implications. It's key that ACD has Watson describe his life in London before meeting Holmes as meaningless. Every dream for his life, dashed. "Health irretrievably ruined." Spending money he didn't have because what future is there to plan for? His life, as he knew it, is over.

Enter a man so brimming with life that his peers think he's a weirdo. With ironic harmony, though Watson's status in the world has been brought terribly low, Stamford is delighted to see him and only sympathetic towards his misfortune. Stamford is far less charitable towards Holmes (as are Lestrade and Gregson) because Holmes openly derides the polite demands of society and never thinks about optics. We are meant to assume that whatever else Watson lacks, he doesn't lack the good faith of any with whom he associates. He's still the popular jock, and Holmes is the nerd.

So Watson is uniquely situated to be attracted to Holmes for his purpose-filled life whilst still retaining something that Holmes does NOT have, which prevents him from collapsing into pure envy and/or simply having nothing to offer Holmes. They're odd equals. They fall into a lock-step symbiosis. They BOTH offer one another social meaning, which is to say, a life!

Just seen your post about what Holmes saw in Watson, but what did Watson see in Holmes?

I mean, Watson himself has more than a bit to say on the subject. But I would say:

Watson was depressed and anxious and lonely. Holmes is enthusiastic, he’s eager, he’s brilliant, he’s unselfconscious; he talks to Watson the way you talk to a friend from the moment he sees him. He’s a mess. He forgets to eat. He needs picking up after. He makes Watson feel better about his own messy existence.

He’s passionate and principled and anarchic and endlessly unexpected. He is mysteries within mysteries. He’s BEAUTIFUL.

He notices Watson; respects Watson. He wants him around. He teases him and praises him. He pays attention to him, plays for him when he’s weary, takes him out, tucks him up, walks with him, begs for his company in everything.

He looks after Watson, grounds him. He talks about him constantly as “my boy, my dear doctor, my Watson,” and someone who calls you “mine” is a revelation to someone as alone in the world as John Watson.

He is chaotic. He undermines the prevailing opinion of society by not giving a damn about it. He pursues what fascinates him, fights for what matters to him, and thumbs his nose at anyone who expects his respect for their position alone. He looks at everything upside down and sideways. He makes the world seem less bound to be the way it is. He gives Watson a new life that’s less about solid career choices and more about magic, at a time when the world had started to seem terribly, crushingly unmagical.

He trusts Watson. He believes in Watson in all the ways he needs most to be believed in: that he is a good man, a decent man, a brave and a capable one, a good doctor and a friend. He believes in other things, things that Watson might have lost sight of somewhere in Afghanistan–justice, kindness, mercy, an underlying love evident in the loveliness of the world. People looking out for people just because they can.

He’s tenderhearted; he blushes and tears up when he’s praised, asks forgiveness when he fails, starts to shake when Watson’s wounded. He gets depressed, and lonely, and admits it; he tells Watson when he needs him.

He makes beautiful things; music and truth. And he loves, could love, no one else in the world as he loves John Watson.

[baambastic]

“Drake,” Damian announced, “I require your presence at an outing this afternoon.”

“‘Hello, Tim, how are you?’ ‘I’m good, Damian, and how about you? Did you need something?’ It’s usually considered polite not to walk in and immediately make demands of people, Damian,” Tim replied from where he was hunched over his keyboard. He didn’t look over at his unexpected visitor, but he bet the brat was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. Will you do it or not?”

Tim hummed. “Depends on what this ‘outing’ is. And why you didn’t ask Bruce or Dick to take you.”

“Father and Grayson are both imbeciles,” Damian huffed.

“They’re too busy today, you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Are you an imbecile like they are?”

“Again, you haven’t told me what it is you want to do.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “Colin has asked me to do something called an ‘escape room’ with him. It sounded mildly diverting, so I looked into it. There’s a recently opened establishment for such an activity, but we need four people to participate.”

“And you want me to be one of those four,” Tim concluded. He pushed himself away from the computer. “I’ve got time, so sure, I’ll come with. Two things, though.” He paused for dramatic effect.

Damian crossed his arms impatiently. “Yes?”

Tim grinned. “First, who’s this Colin?”

“An acquaintance. He assisted me in apprehending Victor Zsasz not long ago.”

“Is he around your age?”

“Approximately.”

Was he some sort of meta, then? How else would a (presumably untrained) kid be able to handle Zsasz? Tim decided to file that away for later inspection. At least it sounded like Damian was making friends. He definitely needed some. “Alright then, second thing. You said you needed four people. Even with me, you only have three. Who’s your fourth?”

Damian looked away. “I… hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Was that embarrassment Tim heard in his voice? Damian was usually too proud for that.

“Okay, not a problem. I can wrangle us another person.” If the person he was thinking of could make it, both Damian and them could get a lot out of this. Hurrah for two birds with one escape-room-shaped stone.

“Very well. Colin and I will be waiting outside for you. I presume this fourth person will meet us at the establishment?”

“Probably, yeah. Did you really leave Colin on my doorstep?”

“He did not want to enter, I would say because he thought he might be unwelcome. A stupid notion; you are far too trusting.”

“Thanks,” Tim said drily. He waved towards the door. “Alright, lemme make this call.”

Damian nodded and walked away. Before fully exiting the room, though, he turned back to Tim. “What are you working on, anyway?” he asked.

Tim hummed. “Nothing much. Just preparing.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. After a few moments of waiting expectantly, Damian huffed and left.

[sammakesart]

Just thinking about the scene with Solas and Lavellan where she tells him he doesn’t have to go alone, and he replies where he is going is terrible.

Yes, it’s a warning. But it is also disbelief she could want to follow him somewhere terrible. That she would still want to be with him, despite where he must go. Why would she choose freely to go somewhere terrible? For him? The concept is foreign to him.

The last time he loved someone, Mythal, he asked her to leave everything she knew behind to join him, and she refused. He did that very thing for her, but she would not do the same for him. He made her a place for her to be comfortable, and she never saw it.

Solas has nothing to offer Lavellan. No castle to gift her, no place for her to be comfortable. He is at his lowest. He is going somewhere terrible. He only has empty, bloody hands to give.

I’m reminded of that scene from Little Women (1994) when Professor Bhaer tells Jo, “But I have nothing to give you. My hands are empty.” Jo takes his hands in hers and says, “Not empty now.”

Lavellan does much the same. She reaches for his hands, bloody as they are. She tells him it won’t be terrible if he is with her. They make this journey together, always. She doesn’t need anything else. He is enough. Their love is enough. There is no fate but the love they share.

Why would she choose freely to go somewhere terrible? Because she loves him. It’s True Love. The kind that only can exist in stories. Good thing we’re in one.

[insidekatmind]

Rainy day~Jobe Bellingham

The rain was softly drumming on the window panes, creating a soothing melody that enveloped the room in a sense of peace. The gray clouds outside made the atmosphere cozy and perfect for a day of cuddling at home. You and Jobe Bellingham were on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, while the aroma of hot tea filled the room.

“I can’t believe we finally have a day all to ourselves. No training, no commitments… just you and me.”

You held him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. His strong arm wrapped around you, offering you a feeling of security that only he could give you.

“It’s perfect like this. I missed spending time with you without rushing.”

You heard him sigh, while his fingers gently brushed your hair.

“I know… Sometimes I think time flies too fast. I want to be able to stop every moment with you, enjoy it without thinking about anything.”

You looked into his eyes, your heart beating faster for that sweet and sincere smile.

“I wish time would stop too. With you I feel safe… I feel at home.”

He slowly approached you, placing a light kiss on your forehead. That simple but loving gesture made you smile.

“I promise that I will always try to find time for us. Even when life gets hectic, even when I’m far away… you will always be my priority.”

Those words warmed your heart. You looked at him with affection, moved by how sincere he was.

“You don’t have to promise anything. I know how much you love me, I see it in your gestures, in the little things. And I love you for who you are, with your commitments and everything else.”

Jobe smiled and held you tighter. After a moment of silence, he got up from the sofa.

“Where are you going?”

He turned around, with an amused expression.

“I have an idea.”

He disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes and returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a tray of cookies. He put everything on the coffee table and sat down next to you again.

“There’s nothing better than a hot chocolate on a rainy day.”

You took your cup and smiled sweetly at him.

“You’re too sweet.” you say softly

“Just for you.” Jobe replies with a sweet smile .

As you sipped the chocolate, the conversation flowed naturally. You talked about your dreams, your fondest memories, the future you wanted together. Every word made that day even more special.

At one point, Jobe took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Do you know that every time it rains I think of you?”

You looked at him with surprise and curiosity. “Really? Why?”

“The rain makes me think of how you bring calm into my life. You are like a sweet rainy day… relaxing, enveloping, and incredibly beautiful.”

Your heart seemed to burst with emotion. His words were sincere and full of love. You slowly approached, placing your lips on his in a sweet and delicate kiss.

“I love you, Jobe.”

“I love you too, more than words can express.”

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside the house there was only warmth and love.

[duck9irbl]

1

Everything is numbers. Even nothing has a number. 1 thing can change everything. Perhaps it was a moment or a memory a single action or in action of someone or something. Did or didn't do or said or didn't say. 1 out of multiple what if's.

Just like right now 1 single thought overwhelming the mind. Covered in darkness the only light in the words...

To who they belong too or who is directed at are for now unknow until we get to peck into the shadows your a monster

We see 1 man standing what looks to be 1 bed containing 2 people. The people look asleep peaceful unaware. They seem to not know the man but he knows them. I can make this quick and easy

'The chose should be easy right?' He thinks to himself. But as he looks upset from his slight frown. Yet conflicted onto what to do with the furrow of his brow and scrunched up face. From the 2 bag under his eyes you can at least tell he's tired. Again looking down.

1 sentence yet again appeared in his mind. with all of my heart and every fiber of my very being

That 1 sentence again surrounded by darkness the only light the words itself. How could numbers change everything?

1 sickness, 1 boy who escaped being the 1 survivor, 1 offer that he took, 2 brothers with 2 different paths he both took. their just kids

That 1 boy got to grow up despite- because of two brothers. That one boy becoming 1 man staring back at the two brothers. He sits their and watches over the cover of the shadows watching- like he's waiting for something to show up- rather someone. The roles revered 1 man. 2 boys. 1 sword. 1 choice he has to make. That will change everything.

1 lived 1 died. That would stay the same one would live the other would die that much was the same but the question was? Witch brother? YOU

He looks again to what he see's now are not 2 brothers fighting, 2 brothers who picked different paths to different outcomes. But right now- right now he see's 2 brothers sleeping peaceful unaware of the danger that might come. 2 children who don't know any better.

Both kids look at him seemingly awake in shock but maybe thinks is just a bad dream. He doesn't move as to not alert his brother. Their both awake but the other doesn't know that Their just kids who don't know any better

Again that same sentence pops into his mind. Growing more upset, more bitter, more painful stronger and stronger each time. It doesn't stop itself after once no it goes again and again. The same 3 words the 1 sentence repeating again and again. I HATE YOU-! Why?

Like a mantra, a silent prayer, a plea, a beg- hoping to forget. It gets so loud so overwhelming it consumes your very being. You can't hear anything else, you can't feel anything else you can't see anything else. You can't think of anything else. You just want to get rid of it. For it to get off the face of this reality to go somewhere else- anywhere else. JUST GO AWAY-! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOUI HATE YOU

I HATE YOU-! it'd be so easy just to kill him

He snaps out of it with a turn of the children heads the cuddle close to each other as if trying to shield each other from this bad dream- this nightmare.

Then a thought came to mind 3 simple words so similar yet so different. Just like the two brothers. Both words each have 3 in them with the same amount of letters in each, both making 1 sentence. How can something so similar be so different?

He stares at the boys hate oozing off of his in a glare yet he can't bring himself to fully do it. His eyebrows furrowing as his eyes look distant. He looks lost. His eye bags looking darker than before as his decision finally puts the full weight on him. With those 3 distant words yet he wants to remember fondly.

I love you.

I hate you. I love you.

Both words holding so much meaning. He loves 1 of the brothers his farther figure the one who not only gave him a chance in life but a chance to love again. The other brother he hates. The monster who almost made him lose sight of how things truly were.

I love you. I hate you.

I hate you.

This supposed to be the right chose... right?

His face scrunches up as his eyebrows furrow even closer together. As as he allows himself to close his eyes to calm down to rethink onto what he's going to do. What he was gonna do. What he wanted to do. With the words echoing for now one last time.

I love him.

I hate him.

The words no longer in pure darkness with light surrounding them. Yet what frames the words is darkness.

I love him. I hate him.

Time travel swapped AU

Law and his incoming mental breakdown 🙃 He hates Doflamingo with burning passion but little Cora-san clearly loves him. What now?

[thewizardingpost]

The Sting of Jealousy

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary ⌇ dating them comes with rewards and consequences, one of which is dealing with your jealous roommate. warnings ⌇ 1.8k, estblashed relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, bullying, injuries (r receiving, bruises), Marauder's coat described as loose on reader, this is my post (I just got a new account)

Whenever you felt like you were taking two steps forward, there would always be a day when you had to take one step back. It was life’s way of reminding you that things aren’t always fair—that for every ounce of happiness, a bad day lurks nearby to keep you humble.

Since you’d started dating the Marauders, it was like you’d been placed center stage with a spotlight shining directly on you. You weren’t completely invisible anymore—their reputations had eclipsed your own. Being friends with them was one thing, but dating them was another—and it had brought a lot of negative attention. You had “crossed the line” for many onlookers. Those who had fantasized about being with the three of them before bed and during classes weren’t happy to discover that you’d taken the place they’d only dreamed of.

They just couldn’t understand why they’d open up their circle for someone like you.

Your roommate—after witnessing a kiss placed on your cheek—felt her heart drop. The door had barely shut before she was moving off her bed.

“Did James Potter just kiss your cheek?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you waved her off, moving to your bed to remove a coat that your roommate immediately recognized as too loose on you.

“That’s not nothing,” she slid over to sit beside you. “How long have you been with James?”

You fiddled with the coat. “And Remus and Sirius. I’ve been with them for a month now.”

She nodded, biting her cheek and looking away. “So the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

You watched her stand, eyes following her as she wandered back to her side of the room. The prolonged silence made your heart race just a little faster.

“That you’re a whore for dating three men.”

You felt as if you stopped breathing, your breaths short and shallow.

“What?”

“Others are saying wild things, suggesting you’ve cast spells to get them to date you,” she added, looking at you almost playfully. “Have you?”

“No. Never.”

“Hm. Not sure why that’s hard for me to believe. Anyway, goodnight.”

She climbed into her bed, turning her back toward yours. The weight of her words affected you both differently. It brought a smile to her face, knowing she’d made yours drop.

The next day, you noticed people staring, others whispering behind their hands as they looked in your direction. With the knowledge of what people were saying, you felt self-conscious—walking with your mind tumbling in all directions. Two hands appeared in front of you, gripping your forearms.

“G’morning,” James smiled down at you. You attempted to return the smile, but it felt forced. “You nearly ran into me. Everything alright?”

“I’m alright,” you lied, “I just didn’t sleep well. Sorry.”

He didn’t seem to fully believe you, but he pulled you into a hug anyway. In his mind, he hoped it would help like it always had before, but this time was different. The affectionate gesture caught the attention of nearby students. The glares you received made you pull away from him. You were sure there was confusion and hurt on his face, but you intentionally avoided looking at him.

It was like someone else was controlling your body. You didn’t want to hurt him or push him away, but out in public, it felt like your eyes glazed over. Your focus shifted from the guys to anyone else that passed by. It did nothing but worry them. You noticed the way they exchanged looks across the dining table, but they brushed it off that night—trusting your word that you were just tired.

Back in your room that evening, you found your roommate and a few of her friends lounging on her bed. You offered them a polite smile, but it did nothing to thaw their cold expressions.

“Where are your boyfriends?”

“Back in their room. I can go get them if you—”

“No need,” she interrupted, patting the sheets beside her. “We just wanted to talk to you. Can you come over here, please?”

As you stepped toward them, you found yourself stumbling backward instead. You collided with the edge of her desk, your arm taking the brunt of the fall. The impact made you wince.

The girls smiled, not caring at all that you had just injured yourself on their behalf. You’d been sure the rug had been beneath you, but when you looked down, you saw it had been pulled into a different section of the room. It was almost as if they’d moved it on purpose.

“Oops,” your roommate whispered, wand raised. “Sorry. Just trying to prepare you for when the boys inevitably ‘pull the rug out from under you.’ By that, I mean they’ll dump you.”

You blinked back tears, rushing out of the room. With your room occupied, you were thankful there was one place you could go—their room. Even before you’d started dating them, they’d always welcomed you to stay.

James opened the door when you knocked, his wide smile faltering when he saw your expression.

“Who’s at the door?” Sirius asked from inside. James opened the door wider so Sirius could see.

“Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?”

“Of course, you’re always welcome,” James said, stepping aside so you could slip through. He sent a glance to the other two as you did. You settled at the edge of the bed, Remus sitting closest to you, a book on his lap. James flopped back on the ruffled sheets near Remus.

Usually, when you came over, you were greeted with hugs and kisses all over your face. You missed the teasing and planning for the next day. Now, the room was silent, and all their attention was fixed on you.

“Are you okay, dove?” Remus’s voice was soft.

“Yeah.”

“Anything happen?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Sirius swung his chair around, dropping the front legs to the floor as he leaned in. “We can all tell something’s bothering you. You keep looking off like there’s a ghost in the room.”

“I’m fine. Honest.”

“Like hell, you’re fine.”

Remus shot Sirius a look, and he threw his arms up in exasperation. James moved closer, sitting beside you and rubbing sweet circles on your back. When his fingers brushed over your left side, where you’d collided with the desk, you couldn’t help but flinch.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed James flinch too.

The room went still. The tension was palpable, freezing everyone in place. You heard Remus stand up behind you.

“Can I lift your shirt?”

You nodded, allowing him to pull up the side of your sweater. He examined the spot where you’d winced earlier. The welt was just beginning to form, but there was enough swelling and color to worry them.

“Is this why you’ve been distant lately?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked into Remus’s gentle gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t mean to hide anything from you.”

He shushed you gently. “Don’t apologize. Can you tell us how you got this?”

“I swear to Merlin, if anyone else caused this injury…” Sirius began, but he stopped when James placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s let her explain first before we jump to conclusions,” Remus said, his thumb gently brushing over your hand, urging you to speak.

“The other night when you dropped me off, my roommate saw you kiss me goodnight. For some reason, she brought up the rumors people have been saying about us, about me. And… I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have pushed you all away over a few rumors.” You glanced at James. “And just now, at my room, I think she pulled the rug out from under me—like a cruel prank. She said she wanted to prepare me for when you’d do the same.”

James’s grip on Sirius’s shoulders tightened as he tried to stand. “Really, James? You’re going to stand there while her roommate is in the room right now? Perfect timing, don’t you think?”

“I know,” James replied, holding Sirius back. “But it’s better to deal with this now. Look,” he nodded toward you, seeing you weeping into your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “I should’ve told you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Remus asked gently.

“I didn’t want to be a bother. I thought you’d all dealt with stuff like this before.”

“We have,” James chimed in. “But we had each other. We learned to tune them out.”

Sirius threw his hands up. “I’m only coming to talk to her. Calm down.” He turned to you, his expression softening. “Look, gorgeous, I’m sorry for what she said and did. None of it was warranted. My only regret is that you didn’t come to us sooner. If you’d told us what she said right after, she never would’ve done what she did just now. I can promise you that.”

You smiled through

your tears, and the sight made his lips twitch upward.

“You’re right,” Sirius continued. “Even if you told us, it wouldn’t stop people from being arseholes. But it would’ve meant we could care for each other. You don’t have to go through that alone, alright? Promise you’ll talk to us next time?”

“Promise.”

[spideyhexx]

A miscellaneous night with mr coriolanus snow

this is longer than it was meant to be but also happy bday to me for writing😭enjoy :)

Coriolanus internally winced at the state of the elevator when he gestured for you to walk into the lobby of his apartment building. He was hoping all day that it would be magically fixed by maintenance, but he should have known better. 

He brushes his hair back at his left side and clears his throat, gesturing towards the stairs, “We’ll have to take those, I apologize.”

“No worries. We need the walking after taking the trolley,” you chuckle and nudge your elbow into his side, letting him take the lead. 

Coriolanus tries his hardest not to touch the spot on his side that you touched, afraid it’ll make his cheeks flush more than they already are. He manages a small laugh in response to your words. He had been adamant the two of you take the trolley since it was dark out and then adamant that he paid for you both. It was his last two tokens. Something he’ll tell himself tomorrow was a slip-up, but for now it was the best decision he could have made. 

You typically studied with him in the library after classes, but as of late, Coriolanus found talking about anything and everything with you to be more than splendid. Perhaps it’s because you knew of the Snow's state and never made a snide comment about it. Or the way your posture was ever so perfect. The way your leg crossed over the other, poised gracefully more times than not. There was an air of elegance about you, yet the way you spoke so kindly to him, so interested in him, reminded him of something warm and comforting. Not the fake elegance that many of his Capitol peers put on to form alliances and kiss-up to the ones above them. No. You were genuine, he decided, a long while ago. 

When the two of you reach his door, he takes the key out and turns it in the lock, silently praying that his grandmother was asleep already. To his luck, neither her or his cousin are in sight, and he locks the door behind him after you step in, setting the keys in a small dish tray in the foyer. 

“We can go to my room if you uh…,” he trails off as you look around the living space with a curious glint in your eye. 

Your eyes find the stained glass portrait of his father and he almost wants to yell your name to bring your attention to…to what? The fireplace? Dirty. The couch? Stiff. Himself? Too conceited. 

But you don’t speak a word on it and he breathes a sigh of relief. Your eyes fall on the stray mannequin draped in some dark blue fabrics and a smile graces your lips, “I suspect this is Tigris’ doing?”

“Yes. Her friend lent her some fabrics to mess with, but she hasn’t made a choice on what to do yet exactly. I don’t know why this is out here,” Coriolanus says as he takes a few steps closer to be at your side. 

“There’s good light in here,” you suggest, glancing to the windows where you can see the dilapidated building across the street. 

Coriolanus nods and follows your eyesight. He shifts on his heels, then toes, hands clasped to the strap of his book bag, “If I’m not doing my reading in my bedroom, it’s usually out here.”

The grin you give him almost makes him forget why he invited you over. Ah, yes. He had told you he had an edition of a history book written by your great uncle, that you so desperately wanted to get your hands on. Your family had none (because said uncle went rogue and joined the districts). Coriolanus is not sure why he had the book in his possession in the first place. It had to have been at the Academy and he forgot to return it, but after the uncle fled to whatever district he left for, they threw out any and all books written by the man. 

Part of him thinks he should be concerned as to why you want the book, but he’s read it himself. There’s nothing radical there that could turn you into something else to his memory. He offered to give the book to you. Coriolanus planned on bringing it to class the next day to give to you but you insisted it would be better to hand it off privately. He had a sneaking suspicion you just did not want to go home, but he didn’t push. 

At first, he was hesitant to let you come to his apartment. He had a multitude of plans in place to specifically keep his friends from not coming to his apartment. But he couldn’t find it in himself to follow any of them when it involved you. 

When he realizes it’s been silent for too long, he clears his throat, “My room is just this way,” and walks down the hall, wincing to himself at the creaky floorboards. 

He turns the knob and at first, the door doesn’t open. Coriolanus pushes his shoulder against his door as subtly as he can, which pushes it open and his cheeks heat up at your small chuckle. 

His room is not messy, but nothing to write home about. The only thing a little messy is his dresser, which had a drawer open a shirt hanging out of it that he quickly, subtly, pushes into the drawer and closes it. 

“Oh my god,” you say and he freezes, wondering what he’s left out that warrants that reaction. 

He watches you walk over to his bed and point at the stuffed dog that lies next to his pillow. He’d like to be swallowed whole right about now. 

“That’s so cute. He needs a wash though.”

You think it’s cute? Oh, he’s in over his head. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he needs a wash, I guess,” Coriolanus mutters, putting his book bag down on his desk chair and watching you carefully pick it up. 

“Does he have a name?”

“Horace.”

“Naturally,” you mumble, holding the stuffed dog up as though you are examining it. “I like him.”

“Just don’t go telling everyone at school, they’ll have a whole laugh about it,” he chuckles. He’s trying to come off as joking, but he’s also maybe completely serious. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Coryo, I won’t mention it.” You put the dog down gently next to his pillow, patting it’s head twice, then you set your book bag on the floor. 

He gestures to his room once your eyes meet his, “I know this isn’t much but-”

“Coryo.” 

The look you give him makes him shut his mouth and he lets his shoulders ease only the slightest bit. He barely realized how tense he had been. 

“It’s still your room. That’s nice. I don’t care what it looks like,” you tell him and each word hits right through to his heart. 

He nods and then clears his throat, turning to his small bookshelf to find the book for you, “It might be a little dusty, but I haven’t touched it since I read it.” Pulling out the gray spine of the book, he blows over it, grimacing at the dust and then brushes off the cover, handing it over to you. 

Coriolanus feels a sense of pride in his chest at how happy you look, clutching it to yourself and then looking at the forward, “Thank you, Coryo. I’ll let you cheat off my biology exam for this.”

He chuckles, “I don’t need that.”

“I know,” you say, and a lull falls over the two of you. For the first time, he sees you be the one to clear your throat awkwardly and you bend down to grab your bag. 

Coriolanus thinks himself a respectful man, but he does look at your thighs as you do. He rationalizes that it’s fine because that one time in seventh grade he was pantsed and you saw his thighs so who cares if now he’s-

“Coryo.” 

He blinks and returns his gaze to your face, “yes?” 

“Is it cool if I stay a little longer?”

He’s nodding before he’s speaking, but maybe he should have thought it through. Maybe it was bad to have you stay. Distraction. That’s what you are, really. Or are you? You do study with him and the studying has definitely helped him over the past year. So is it really a distraction? 

Staying a little longer turns into two hours passing.

Coriolanus tells you about his neighbors across the street and how he loves people watching from his window. You relay your own people watching stories and he shares laughs harder than he has in recent weeks. 

You’ve migrated to his bed, feet on the ground, but your back against the stiff mattress. Coriolanus sits backwards in his desk chair, facing you, and after another bout of silence, he says, “That cannot be comfortable.”

“It is if you tell yourself it is.”

He snorts. Since when does he do that?

“No. I know my bed. That’s not comfortable,” he sighs, “I’m sure your bed is miles better.”

Your face twists up into an emotion he cannot decipher. Distaste? Disgust? Contempt? Whatever it is, he feels as though he’s said something wrong, so he jumps to say, “I didn’t mean like-”

“It is more comfortable, but I’m okay here.”

Coriolanus wonders if he’s on the precipice of learning something new about you. He’s never been to your residence. Only heard of your high-achieving father and high-achieving mother. You rarely talked about them, other than to occasionally complain about their pressure on you. 

“Will they be worried about where you are right now? Your parents, I mean,” he says in the softest tone he can muster. He prepares what to say in case you blow him off. 

“I called them while we were in the library. When you went to the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods, “And?”

“And…they don’t mind. Though I should go back before midnight,” you glance over at his small clock on his nightstand. “I would just rather be anywhere else tonight. It's too stuffy there.”

Coriolanus wants to laugh. Stuffy? In your nice, expensive, big apartment? “Why’s that?”

“Cause they just…,” you trail off and gesture aimlessly with your hand, “they’re always a lot, okay? But on my birthday? Fuck, they’re even worse. I would much rather spend it with someone I like, hence,” you gesture again, but to him this time. 

Coriolanus wants to celebrate the small victory that you like him, but he pauses. “Birthday? It’s your birthday?”

You turn your head so you’re able to see him while still laying down, “yeah.”

His eyes widen then he chuckles, “and you didn’t mention?” He feels bad he didn’t know. He should have, right? But the fact you hadn’t told him and he didn’t see anyone mentioning your birthday today tells him you seldom want people to know. 

“Didn’t feel the need to.”

“Right. Well, happy birthday to you,” he says, his voice having a slight sing-songy lilt to it at the end and it gets you laughing. He can’t wait to tell Tigris about this tomorrow.

“Thank you, Coryo. And I meant it. I’m glad to be spending it here with you,” you say and he watches your hands fiddle like you’re nervous. 

A rush of boldness overcomes him and he stands from the desk chair and plops down on his bed right next to you, his arm fully against yours. Shoulder to shoulder. Coriolanus stares at the ceiling, inhaling deep, “I wish I knew how to bake. I’d make you…I don’t know…double-double chocolate cake?”

“You remembered!” 

He laughs and nods, recalling the very chocolatey cake you had three slices of at a party the Plinth’s were throwing a couple of months ago. He wonders if that’s the day he decided you were worth being distracted. 

“Do you remember my favorite pie?” 

You narrow your eyes to think, turning to look at him. He mimics the face you’re making, which causes you both to dissolve into giggles. 

“Blackberry. Or pecan,” you finally say and he nods, “Yes to both.”

His index finger twitches and touches your fingers as he studies your face. The soft smile on your lips and the slight tiredness in your eyes. Your hair is less kept than it had been earlier, which feels so unlike you, but you are being so you right now that it doesn’t matter in the slightest. He’s sure his own curls are out of order. 

Coriolanus keeps lightly lingering his fingers on yours, his voice a drop quieter, “Do you ever think that…everything you’ve worked hard for…can be lost because you…care too much?”

You look taken aback at the question at first, then you settle. His heart jumps when you let your hand hold to his instead of the dance your fingers had been doing. “I guess sometimes I do. Caring a lot is painful in many ways but…it’s also…”

“Nice,” he finishes in a whisper. Coriolanus doesn’t intend to look at your lips, but he does and he’s sure you notice. 

“It’s nice and…shows others how passionate you truly are.” You decide, playing with his fingers instead of your own. 

“But isn’t it also a weakness? Something others can pick out and use against you?”

Your brow furrows slightly in thought, “Sure…but you just have to be smarter than those against you so they can’t exploit it. And I happen to know for a fact that you, Coriolanus Snow, are one of the smartest people I have and will ever meet.”

The weight in his chest melts and smiles, not sure how to respond to such a grand compliment, other than saying, “Snow lands on top.”

It makes you laugh. A full laugh that has you gripping to his hand firmly and somehow bringing the two of you closer until you rest your chin near his shoulder, “You’re aware that that is extremely cheesy, right?”

“Oh, always,” he mumbles, and takes that risk of looking at your lips in a more obvious way, and he tries to convince himself that he’s imagining it when you shift closer. Your nose brushes and he envisions a world where he can kiss you whenever he wants. Where he can make you happy and laugh the way you just did forever. 

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“I’m incredibly self-aware,” Coriolanus mutters, as your nose brushes and nudges to his. It’s like a dance of who’s gonna make the jump first. 

You grin and bite your cheek to lessen it. His heart feels like bursting out of his chest and he wishes he wasn’t holding your hand because he’s definitely getting clammy. But he can’t think of that. There’s no way Coriolanus can dwell on the other parts of his body when your lips are so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. That he can see your eyes go through the thought process, wondering if you should kiss him or if you should let him kiss you first. 

You’re not sure who does it first, but your lips meet in a gentle touch. Hesitant on both ends, yet searing with an undeniable surge of something warm. Something satisfying. Coriolanus is the one to deepen it. Squeezing to your hand (for his sake), he tilts his head and kisses you deeper, memorizing the feel of your lips on his. When you shift on the bed to turn more towards him, he doesn't break the kiss, not even when he feels your hand rest near the collar of his shirt, like you’re tugging him in. 

When you inevitably break for a breath, he chases after you, only to pause and clear his throat from embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I was just-” Your lips find his once more and Coriolanus melts into it, letting you bring his hand to the side of your face right when your tongue slides along his lower lip. He hopes he’s not a bad kisser, but when you hum into his mouth and rub your hand to his neck, the confidence surges in him. 

He’s not sure how long the two of you kiss, on and off, tongue and no tongue, wandering hands that never quite go to places more intimate. But when you break off and duck your head into his neck, resting against his side, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you and bring you closer. His lips find the top of your head, kissing there, and rubbing your arm. 

When you fall asleep against him, he fights with himself over whether to wake you and get you home safely, or to let you stay there in his arms. Coriolanus will mull it over in a couple of minutes. For now, he relishes in the moment. Who knows if he’ll let himself have it again. 

[spriteofmushrooms]

Au where wen zhuliu becomes jiang cheng's bodyguard

[on ao3]

The puppies tumbled over Jiang Cheng's lap, each trying to give him kisses. Their bellies were round with milk, and they still didn't know how to play like big dogs could. But that was okay, because Jiang Cheng would teach them.

"Little Love, Jasmine, Precious, be careful! You're going to fall out of my lap!" Jiang Cheng picked up each and gently set them down, but they kept returning. Frustrated, Jiang Cheng snapped, "No! Bad puppies!"

At the loud sound, the dogs flinched and looked around, seeming more confused than ever.

"Is something wrong, Jiang-gongzi?"

Zhao Zhuliu had recently joined the sect. He was tall and looked older than most adults Jiang Cheng knew other than the aunties and uncles who sold food by the docks. He always wore gloves and didn't smile. Because Jiang Cheng was a stupid baby, his mother had decided that Zhao Zhuliu would be his bodyguard. Jiang Cheng hated it. Only useless boys like Jin Zhen needed bodyguards.

But he did need help.

"We have to go see a-jie, but I can't carry them all," Jiang Cheng said.

Expressionless, Zhao Zhuliu replied, "I will carry two."

Jiang Cheng wasn't sure if bodyguards knew anything about dogs, so he picked up Little Love and showed Zhao Zhuliu how Jiang Yanli had shown him how to carry puppies. "They're really small and get scared easily," he said sternly, "so you can't move too quickly. You have to support their whole body, but don't hold them like a cat, because they might jump down and hurt themselves. And you have to be nice to them."

"I will," Zhao Zhuliu said.

Little Love and Jasmine were more adventurous than Precious, so Jiang Cheng handed them one at a time to Zhao Zhuliu. It was funny to see the wiggly puppies in his black gloved hands, but they seemed comfortable there. Jasmine even started licking Zhao Zhuliu's wrist.

Holding Precious like a baby, Jiang Cheng led the way to Jiang Yanli's courtyard where she learned girl things like illusion dances. Along the way, Jiang Cheng explained that these puppies were very smart, because they were farm dogs who protected sheep from tigers and yao. "The farmer said they think they're part of the flock, and sometimes when a sheep is taken they track it down, and they come back covered in blood because they're good dogs, and the sheep cuddle with them because they love them. We don't have any sheep, though."

After a moment of silence, Zhao Zhuliu asked, "Earlier, when you yelled, were you worried?"

Jiang Cheng could feel his shoulders curving in. "Yes, Zhao-shishu."

"Dogs can't understand Chinese, so they don't know why you yelled. You have to think like a dog. Puppies are still babies, and they understand even less than adult dogs. You're much older than they are, so it's your responsibility to show them how to act. How else could you have showed them what you wanted?"

Jiang Cheng slowed down. That was the most he had ever heard Zhao Zhuliu say. For the rest of the walk, he offered examples of how he could better train the puppies while Precious tried to eat his hair.

———

Father picked up Wei Ying even though he never picked up Jiang Cheng except three times. Wei Ying was crying over nothing and Jiang Cheng couldn't have his puppies anymore and Father was walking away. Two disciples Jiang Cheng couldn't recognize through his tears had already picked up his puppies and they weren't doing it right because nobody cared about his puppies at all.

Zhao Zhuliu knelt before Jiang Cheng. "Xiao-gongzi, do you trust me?"

Looking up through his tears, Jiang Cheng studied Zhao Zhuliu's face. He still looked old, but his expressions weren't as scary now that he didn't look blank all the time. Jiang Cheng didn't think Zhao Zhuliu hated him even though Jiang Cheng had thrown a tantrum when he was assigned a bodyguard, and he knew that Zhao Zhuliu knew about dogs, and even liked his puppies.

"Y-yeah," Jiang Cheng sobbed.

"I will find a flock for Precious, Jasmine, and Little Love to protect. They're going to have a lot of sheep friends, Xiao-gongzi."

"Can I visit them?"

"Zongzhu and Yu-furen will determine that," Zhao Zhuliu said.

Jiang Cheng knew what that meant. He cried harder.

"Xiao-gongzi," Zhao Zhuliu said, then started again. "Jiang Cheng, I will return as soon as I find them a home. I swear it."

Jiang Cheng wanted to say they already had a home, or that he would run away with them, but both would be petulant and stupid. He nodded. When Zhao Zhuliu gestured sharply at the two disciples, they brought the puppies to Jiang Cheng so he could say goodbye. "Be good, be good," he whispered, kissing the soft fur on their heads.

[blluesiide]

It's sometime in the night when Spencer opens his eyes. Sometimes he sleeps through the night, others he can't sleep to save his life. Then, there's nights like these. His eyes open softly, and he stares at the soft moonlight peaking in from the window against the walls. Then he goes back to sleep.

He's in the middle of tracing the pattern of the curtain in his mind when he heard you sharply inhale, followed by your hand softly reaching out to find him. When he feels your faint touch you let out a quiet sigh, relieved to find him there.

This happens sometimes, to both of you. Waking in the middle of the night from a nightmare, reaching out for reassurance that your love is in fact, right next to you.

The touch is usually enough, but this time he feels you scooting closer, wrapping your arm delicately around his waist and nuzzling your nose into the curls at the nape of his neck. It feels like you want to squeeze him, but you're holding back.

He presses back a bit into you, and it's then that he feels you tighten your grip.

"What was it about?" He asks softly, already privy to this routine.

"You were in love."

"and it was a nightmare?" He offers a soft chuckle.

"With someone else."

He falls quiet, "I could see you, in that Washington DC sweater. I wished you luck. You smiled and ran off. Away from me."

"and you let me go?" He asks, jesting softly.

Your grip tightens, your face pressing closer to his skin. Your silence speaks volumes to him, and he rolls over to face you, "Hey." He whispers, firmly.

You look up at him, eyes melancholic.

"I'm sorry dream me was so blind. But real me is right here. With you."

You offer a small smile. Your face thoughtful for a moment before you go, "I'm really lucky to have you."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." He speaks.

You stare into his eyes for a moment before he cups your cheek, pulling you until your lips softly meet his.

"I'm all yours." He whispers as he parts. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

You softly bump your forehead into his, nuzzling him, the way a cat would. It makes him chuckle. He pulls you in then, by your lower back, nuzzling in close as you both settle down, ready to slip back into the stages of sleep.

"I love you." He whispers, hearing you repeat it back, just as he dozes off in the safe comfort of your arms.

[ofbatsandballads]

Hi Rae. Who gave you permission to snap my heart in two at midnight? No, really, this has me going insane so have my ranting under the cut:

He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see. […] But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

The way I’m already screaming “because he does have a place there!” before we’ve even hit the end. Something about Jason not being able to accept love not because other people are liars or insincere but because he can’t comprehend why anyone would love him is so heartbreakingly in character.

It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

Reciprocity—tit for tat, an eye for an eye—being so ingrained in his perception of the world and of himself that he can’t realize he doesn’t have to return the favor, that he can just accept the kindness for what it is, makes me want to cry. Thanks.

shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin.

Stray dog coded Jason who doesn’t know what to do when touch doesn’t hurt is so dear to me. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: your characterization of him is golden.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does.

Jason who loves so deeply, so completely that it could destroy him. Jason who has spent both of his lives just trying to stay above water, running from anything that could harm him. Jason who was killed because he loved so fiercely. Just…him finding himself loving someone that much again and sort of bluescreening on what that means for him.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

The absolute overpowering emotion of needing to drill it into his head with love and kindness and care that there is a happy ending with all of that actually. And that he does deserve good things and patience and love. I just know loving him would be so frustrating sometimes but that each time it would just make you want to stick around more.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

So this whole paragraph took me out but that last line destroyed me. The phrase “truly and devastatingly unwanted” is going to live rent free in my head for a while now.

it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else.

I recently read a piece of Jason meta that said that he would accept any and all harm or mistreatment just to get the companionship and love he craves and this really speaks to that because why are you picking up ice cream when you’re bleeding out??? Oh, it’s because he thinks he’s unworthy of basic human decency if he has nothing to offer.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

Clawing at the walls while screaming “they do it because they love you!!!” I love reading this from the perspective of his partner because it’s just sitting here listening to the internal monologue of man that is confidently incorrect. Your description of him being an unreliable narrator is spot on.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

One of my favorite things about how you write Jason is that he always, without fail, breaks at the end just a little bit. The sustained love and care and kindness always manages to get the tiniest foothold in his soul, like a flower growing through a crack in concrete. Even when he thinks he’s being selfish or delusional or blindly hopeful. It’s so true to what loving someone like him would be like—slow and gradual and hard fought, but resolute and unflinching.

So yeah, in short I love this with my entire being and I will be sending you the bill for my therapy (please never stop writing).

If He Could

Jason is an unreliable narrator ~1k words

Jason's no good for you. He's too brash, too rough, too easily pulled away to defend the streets of Gotham. He's a liability in your life, a dark stain in the otherwise perfect fabric of your reality. He's all the worst of shadowed alleys and tortured corners of decaying apartments.

He's quick to pull a weapon, even quicker to throw a punch. He doesn't quite remember how to make his smile look natural, how to stand without his shoulders tense and ready to dodge whatever comes his way. He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see.

But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

And he doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know how he should react to your bright eyes and soft touches and fond words. It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

He knows he shouldn't tense up at your reassuring pats to his arms– but he freezes, shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin. He knows he shouldn't be so quiet when you ramble about your day, but he can't find the words to describe just how much he does care about every mundane fact you share with him.

And oh, does he care. Too much even. Cares in a way that scares him off the grid for days at a time, only to sheepishly find his way back to your fire escape with a tub of melting ice cream or cooling coffee and a half-baked excuse on his tongue.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does. It's you who he wants to come back to when his feet ache and his eyes strain to make out words and figures. It's you who makes him feel not so heavy when the sun starts to rise over the tired, crumbling buildings he knows better than his own skin.

He has a portion of his heart and mind set aside just for you. But Jason can't tell you that. The more he relents to you (because he can never say no when you ask), the more he threatens to ruin you. He's a slow rot, a plague that sets into the very marrow of your bones.

But you don't see it. He doesn't want you to, but you should. You should understand that by carving out a place for him besides you, you are going to destroy yourself from the inside out.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

It's not fair to you– to either of you. But he always ends up back in your living room, always ends up with his hands curling into fists as you graciously take whatever food or trinket he's brought to try and win your continued affections.

He secretly believes he must be the most selfish person in the world when he leans into your warm hugs, when he passes out on your couch after your semi-regular movie nights. (He tries not to linger on what it means when he sleeps better on your old, worn furniture than his own bed)

It's cruel of him to lead you on like this. It's cruel of him to set himself up for heartbreak. You'll learn that he's not worth your time soon enough. But, for now, he can't help but bask in the way you offer to stitch the tears in his clothes, the way you so excitedly ask him to try every new recipe you've made.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

Those words still haven't come from either of your lips– don't come– even when he messes up and brings you the wrong flavor of ice cream. (It's not that he forget what you liked– it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else)

The words don't even come when he doesn't tell you why he disappeared for over a month this time. (Someone got too close to his identity– to you. He had to track down everyone involved before he could even think of resting or seeing you again)

Jason wants to have the right words, wants to do the right thing, and make you laugh and watch your eyes light up because of something he did. He wants to hug you back in a way that makes you feel safe and needed and wanted above all else. He wants to. He just doesn't deserve to give you that, even if he knew how to do it.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

But for the life of him, he can't stop. Can't stop his familiar trek to your windowsill. Can't stop craving the hugs you offer, the conversations you share.

He wants this forever. He wants to keep this– you– whatever this is, in between his fingers and never let go. (He could if you'd just let him) You would.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.