#and i worry that’s how the future of the series is going to go

[miley1442111]

hi!!!!! I love your writing so much, and I loved insomniac, and i was wondering if we could get some more aaron and insomniac reader? I just thought it was so cute!!

thank you ml!

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treatment plan (part 1)- a.hotchner

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a/n: thank you so much for requesting, I love this series (as a fellow insomnia girly)

summary: aaron oversteps and it starts a fight.

pairing: aaron hotchner x insomnia! reader

warnings: angst, discussions of insomnia and feeling 'different' because of it, mental health, crying, no happy ending, aaron is an asshole, fighting

part of this au:

insomniac

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Aaron didn’t always know what to do in these situations. He’d never had trouble sleeping, he was lucky like that. He realised very early into your relationship that he was lucky. He didn’t stay up for the simple fact of not being able to sleep often, he wasn’t worrying constantly about whether or not he’d get enough sleep to function the next day, he wasn’t brought to doctor after doctor only to be told the same thing time and again. “Sorry, we can’t help you,” or “No one here specialises in that,” or, his personal least favourite; “You can’t be helped, sorry.”

He knew he was lucky he didn’t have to go through the things you did. He didn’t have to worry about what insomnia would mean for his future health, what not sleeping would do to his body. 

You weren’t lucky. 

Every night was a battle, ever since you were a kid. You’d kick and scream, and even now, often you’d end up in tears. It was awful, and incurable somehow, at least in your case.

Yet, Aaron didn’t want to stop looking for a solution, and that’s how you ended up sleeping at Penelope’s place, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and a dumb rom-com on the TV. 

Fuck him. 

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4 hours earlier. 

Aaron walked into your shared home with his briefcase in his hand. You’d gotten off work an hour ago and come home to cook dinner. You were in the kitchen.

“Hey baby,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he walked in. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, then smiled down at you. 

“How are you?” he asked, but everytime he asked, there was another question underneath it, one he’d stopped asking because it would always end in a fight. ‘Did you sleep?’ 

Aaron had left early that morning, and he felt good when he saw you asleep in your bed, and he was as silent as humanly possible while getting ready, so he’d hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

“Fine,” you nodded, going back to your cooking. “Work was boring, but Lucy’s leaving so we have to go to her farewell party on Friday- if you’re around-”

“You have the sleep test on Friday night honey, we can’t go, remember?” 

You sighed. “I cancelled it. I can always do it another time.”

Aaron was in shock. You’d cancelled the appointment? The appointment that was there to help you, to help you feel better. “Why would you do that Bug?”

“Because Lucy is one of my best friends, plus it’s not like the sleep test is going to work, so it doesn’t matter,” you shrugged and Aaron felt his blood boil. 

In recent months, you’d become what he would call ‘complacent’ with your condition. You saw it as accepting it. After years of being told you were incurable, why should you search for a cure? They were the professionals, and you’d seen more than 60 doctors about this, in your entire lifetime. That didn’t bode well with Aaron. He would fight to the ends of the Earth for you, and he planned on trying to fight this for as long as it took, but that would only work if you were fighting too, which you weren’t. 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. “We were on that waitlist for a year Y/n.”

“I was on that waitlist for a year, and I decided I don’t want to do it anymore, it’s my health,” you shrugged and served him up his plate. “Now tell me about your day.”

“We still need to talk about this,” he scolded, sitting across from you at your kitchen table. “You just decided to stop treatment?” His eyes were darker than usual, his signature 'negotiating stare’ trying to make you feel small. Not that Aaron himself was trying to make you small, just that you always felt… different when he looked at you like that. Strange. 

“I don’t know why you can’t grasp that I’ve accepted my condition?” You scoffed. “You don’t need to worry anymore, maybe this will be good for me! I’m always so worried, and so are you, even Jack notices it for fuck’s sake! My insomnia has controlled my entire fucking life, and I’m sick of it, so yes Aaron, I decided to stop treatment,” you weren’t exactly shouting, but you weren’t calm and collected. You were at your wits end, completely. You hadn’t slept in two days, you were bordering on exhausted, and you planned to take one of the sleeping pills you had, (even though you’re slightly allergic), an allergy medication, and sleep for 15 hours straight. You were very happy Jack wasn’t meant to be back from his cousin’s house until at least after 4pm tomorrow. 

“That sleep study is the closest we’ve ever been! Why would you cancel it? I understand you’re frustrated-” he started, but you cut him off. 

“You don’t understand Aaron. You don’t understand. How could you? When you go to sleep, it’s simply that, sleep. To me it’s so much more, so much anxiety, so many negative thoughts, so much awful shit, so many shitty sleeples nights since I was a fucking kid! And you don’t understand that, and I'm not asking you to, but I’m asking you to accept my decision over my body Aaron. I can’t deal with this anxiety anymore around something as simple as sleeping. I feel like I have no control anymore, so this is me taking back control Aaron-” You felt yourself welling up with tears. His face was set in stone, silently judging you.

“There’s better ways to take back control of your life Y/n-”

“Tell me!” you shouted. He stayed silent. “Exactly.”

“This isn’t healthy, you’re going to hurt yourself more Y/n,” he cautioned and you scoffed, a sick smile on your face, bred from your frustration and desperation. 

“Aaron, what more damage can I do to myself?-”

“I don’t want to wake up someday and have you not remember me!” He shouted. That was low. You were terrified of memory loss diseases like Alzheimer’s and Dementia. 

You stared at him for a minute, small tears pushing past your ‘emotionless’ exterior. “That was low Aaron.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

“No it’s not, it’s your truth. Don’t mix that up,” you cautioned. 

“Am I not allowed to be worried about my fiance?” he asked, but in that stupid condescending voice that made you want to smack him. 

“Aaron please just stop,” you groaned, looking down into your food. This was going to turn into a lecture. This was going to break you. You were right on the edge, hanging on by a thread. And Aaron cut it clean with his next words. 

“You’re being selfish.” 

You blocked the rest of his speech out. Selfish. You were selfish. Selfish was silently crying so he could sleep. Selfish was indulging every single one of his stupid sleep tests and doctors even if you were in pain and exhausted. Selfish was being poked and prodded by doctor after doctor that he brought you to, in hopes of finding a cure. Selfish was hiding your condition’s worst parts (migraines, mood swings, anxiety, memory loss,and everything else) so he wouldn’t worry.

Right, you were selfish. 

You got up and grabbed your jacket, keys, and phone, and you left the house. You ran into your car, Aaron hot on your heels with his booming voice screaming over you, pushing you further. Your car was cold, thus the pleasures of Washington. You shrugged it off and started driving, Aaron was trying to stop you, you didn’t let him. 

Fuck him, he was the selfish one. 

You drove to Penelope’s without another thought, just letting yourself cry. You couldn’t let this condition define you anymore, and you won’t let it define your relationship either. If Aaron didn’t understand that, maybe he wasn’t the right one. 

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With the shitty rom-com over and Penelope heading for bed, you made your makeshift bed on the couch, and tried as hard as you could to sleep, but you ended up just thinking about it all, all night long. 

What a great Friday night.

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[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 40

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.3K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The nightmare that plagued you every night was just one of many torments your mind conjured up to punish you. Despite the comforting presence of Azriel's arms wrapped tightly around you, his protection wasn’t enough to ward off the relentless attacks from your own subconscious. Each time you woke up drenched in sweat, eyes wide and screaming, Azriel would do his best to hold onto you, to ground you in reality and remind you of who and where you were. But even as he tried to anchor you, your mind would still be lost in the grips of the dream, where Azriel was not himself but a monster wearing his skin. As much as he worried about you, you worried right back for him. Though your own eyes were now perpetually bruised and blue-tinged, Azriel's lack of rest was also beginning to take its toll on him. You would often find him falling asleep at his desk, struggling to stay focused during conversations, or napping on the couch in the Town House in the middle of the day, desperate for some respite. But he never complained, never mentioned being tired, no matter how much you pressed him to admit it.

No one spoke of what happened that night. Not even Azriel. There were no more discussions about your newfound bloodline and its potential consequences, no whispered conversations about how it might impact your work as a member of the court. It seemed like business as usual for everyone else, but deep down, you couldn't help but wonder if there were secret meetings happening without your knowledge. Perhaps they were trying to protect you from any further trauma or pain. You held your breath every time Azriel returned home from meeting with Rhys, hoping for any sign or clue, but all he ever did was smile and kiss you before going about his day as if nothing had changed. And so you tried to do the same - put on a brave face, return the smiles and kind gestures, maintain a sense of normalcy like everyone else seemed to be doing. But in moments when no one was looking, whether it was in the shower or alone in the Town House or hidden away in a quiet alley of Velaris, you would break down into sobs that wracked your body and left your head throbbing with pain. After all the time and effort the members of the Night Court had put into helping you heal and get better, you couldn't bear to burden them with your struggles again. Especially since there didn't seem to be any immediate threat looming over you.

Philip hadn't attempted to contact you again, and perhaps his only intention was to throw another jab at you and hope to destabilize you or the court. And unfortunately, it worked - on the inside, at least.

A niggling feeling persisted in the back of your mind, a conversation that took place just a few months ago. You were standing outside the door of the House of Wind in Velaris, straining to hear what the three males inside were saying before Rhys escorted you to the city gates. It was something that had slipped from your memory until that night when Philip approached you. Azriel had posed the question, his voice laced with doubt, "Do you think he could be her father?" And Rhysand's response had been filled with certainty, “I would recognize that voice anywhere.” At the time, it hadn't struck you as important, but now as questions and unexpected answers arise, you realize the gravity of that moment and how it has come full circle. As you stood once again in Velaris, a place you never thought you'd return to after you first left, everything falls into place like puzzle pieces finally connecting. —

You rap your knuckles on the heavy oak door of Azriel’s study, the aged wood creaking slightly in response. The door is already cracked open, and you can hear the sound of pages being turned from within. “Come in,” his deep voice calls out. You push the door open, the hinges squeaking slightly as you enter the room. As your eyes adjust to the dim light, they immediately lock onto Azriel's beautiful hazel gaze. It shines like a beacon in the shadows, drawing you towards him. He smiles at you, and your heart flutters in your chest. “Hi,” he greets you softly.

You walk towards him, your steps hesitant and slow, each one feeling like a weight dragging you down. You return his smile with a small one of your own. “Hey.”

Azriel leans back in his chair, his wings unfolding gracefully behind him as he runs his hand through his already tousled hair. “What’s up?” he asks.

You make your way over to his desk, leaning against it with your hips as you wrap your arms around yourself. Azriel's gaze never leaves yours, that smile still firmly planted on his lips. Your hands rub up and down your arms instinctively, as if trying to ward off the cold even though you know the only chill is inside you. You look down at him, chewing on your bottom lip nervously. He notices your discomfort and furrows his brow slightly. “Everything okay?” he asks, leaning forward slightly.

You nod, glancing away from him briefly before shrugging lightly. Everything isn’t okay, or it may not be after you ask this question.

At your shrug, Azriel tilts his head curiously. “What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you let your hands fall to your sides and brace yourself on the desk as you focus on the wall behind him. One leg bounces lightly, tapping against the wooden floor. “I wanted to ask you about something,” you start, your teeth finding a loose piece of skin on your lip and latching onto it, chewing lightly.

“Yeah?” Azriel responds, still maintaining a casual tone but there is a hint of trepidation in his voice.

You already begin talking yourself out of the conversation. “I may be remembering this wrong,” you shake your head slightly as if trying to dislodge the memory, “But back when I first came here-"

Azriel leans forward even more, resting his forearms on his thighs as he listens intently.

"When I was leaving, I overheard the end of a conversation you were having with Rhys and Cassian." Azriel's eyes harden slightly, and you can't tell if he's searching through his own memories or trying to come up with a plan to respond to where you're leading.

"It was after that night that Rhys had to go into my mind to pull me out of that dream, and he saw my mother with a male." Azriel nods in understanding.

"He said he recognized that male's voice," the small piece of skin finally comes free between your teeth, causing your lip to throb slightly. "And you asked if that could be my father."

Azriel's intense gaze never leaves yours as you turn your head to face him. You search his eyes, desperately trying to find any indication that he might deny it. But all you see is silence. It speaks louder than any words he could have said.

"Azriel, did you know?" Your voice trembles with emotion.

An oppressive silence hangs in the air, stretching out for what feels like an eternity before Azriel finally breaks it. His voice is hesitant and filled with a heavy weight. "I had suspicions," he admits.

You remain silent, your eyes focused on a point on the bookshelf across from you. In this moment, both of you are shrouded in stillness, but Azriel's eyes never leave you as he speaks. Your mind struggles to make sense of the situation, to form some coherent thought. Finally, you settle on one question. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Azriel leans back in his chair, his hand finding its way into his hair as his leg begins to bounce nervously. He may try to appear brooding and enigmatic, but you know him all too well. You can read his tells, and right now, he's fighting to keep his composure. "Rhys didn't want us to," he explains.

"Why not?" You turn your gaze to him, hardening.

Azriel's eyes search yours before he responds carefully, "He didn't think it mattered at the time."

"Did any of you consider it mattering anytime after that? Like when I got back? Or when I met him at the party?" You ask harshly, more than you intended. But your blood is boiling under your skin and you can't help the sharpness in your tone.

Azriel nods lightly, "It didn't cross my mind until I saw him."

"And you didn't think it might be helpful to pull me aside and clue me in on that little detail?" You hiss, your anger flaring.

"Y/N-" Azriel starts to defend himself, running a hand over his face in frustration.

You cut him off sharply. Your gaze hardens, your nose scrunching up in disgust as you continue,

"It's my life, Azriel."

"I know," he whispers, his face turning pale.

You shake your head, your knee bouncing harder with agitation. "Azriel, why would you keep this from me? How could you?"

"You have to believe me when I say it wasn't intentional. Y/N, I only wanted to keep you safe," Azriel pleads, his palms facing towards you.

You scoff and let out a bitter laugh as your gaze falls to the floor. Your foot kicks at an imaginary speck of dust as you seethe, "Certainly seems intentional. Was safety more important than my right to know the truth about my own family? Or is it because of Rhysand’s orders?"

Azriel looks down hesitantly, “It wasn’t just about Rhys. I couldn’t risk…”

You interrupt him, your voice breaking. “Risk what? My feelings? My trust in you?”

“I… I didn’t want to lose you. And I didn’t want you to get hurt in the process. That's why I had Cassian go get you that night," Azriel admits, looking remorseful.

You turn your hardened gaze back to him, your mouth filled with spite as you ask, "So who else knew?"

Azriel pauses for a moment before considering his answer. "Don't lie to me, Azriel," you warn.

"Only Cassian, Rhys, and myself," he confesses.

"That's it?" You confirm.

Azriel nods solemnly. "That's it.”

You nervously bite your lip again, trying to control the overwhelming emotions bubbling within you. Your tear-filled eyes glance back at the bookshelf, unable to meet Azriel's gaze as you struggle to find words. "Azriel," you begin, your voice quivering with emotion, "Why would you keep this from me?"

Azriel lets out a heavy sigh and leans forward, his intense eyes scanning your face. "I just wanted to keep you safe," he says softly.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, filled with pain and betrayal. "What were you so afraid of? Me leaving? Or Rhysand, or whoever else decided it was best to keep this dirty little secret?" Your voice grows angry and accusatory.

Azriel swallows hard, looking pained. "Maybe we should talk to Rhysand-" he starts, but you quickly cut him off with a shake of your head.

"No," you say firmly, holding up one finger to stop him. "This isn't about Rhysand. I'll deal with him later." Your gaze hardens on Azriel's hazel stare, which looks empty and lost. "This is about you and me. And the fact that I've spent the last few months getting falling in fucking love with you while you've been keeping such a huge secret from me, someone who you claim to care so much about, because Rhysand told you not to share it with me. So tell me, Azriel, what the hell is wrong with that picture?"

Azriel stands up, taking a hesitant step towards you with his arms outstretched as if wanting to comfort you. But you take a step back, your throat catching in a sob as you hold out your hand to stop him. "Don't touch me," you hiss through gritted teeth.

"Y/N," Azriel pleads desperately, saying your name like a prayer. "You have to understand that I only did it to protect you."

"Well that clearly didn't work," you retort, your voice laced with bitterness. "In fact, it backfired spectacularly." You feel the hot tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head in disbelief.

"I know," Azriel continues, trying to close the distance between you. "And I'm so sorry."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Everyone's always so damn sorry. It’s like the background of my life." You shake your head again, feeling the sting of betrayal and heartache. "You're all the same, aren't you?" You hiss out, anger seeping through your words.

Azriel's eyes widen in shock and pleading, begging you not to finish that thought.

"You just manipulate us and string us along," you continue, the words tumbling out faster than you can process them. "You tell us what we want to hear and keep anything that might disrupt your perfect little world hidden from us." You pause for a moment before adding, "So I guess I'm sorry too. Sorry that you wasted your time trying to fix something that was never meant to be fixed."

Azriel's face contorts with pain and desperation as you hold back the sobs that threaten to escape your throat. You stand across from him, feeling the tether between you fray and snap with each passing second.

"Please," Azriel insists, taking a step closer, but you shake your head resolutely. His eyes fix on yours, pleading. "Just let me get Rhysand here so he can explain."

You meet his gaze with steely determination. "Even if he explains it, it doesn't change what you did."

Azriel nods in understanding. "I know that." Your stare is unwavering, but inside your heart is breaking. "Can I please bring him here?" he begs.

You wipe away tears with trembling hands and nod reluctantly. Azriel's relief is palpable, but you can't bring yourself to comfort him. He speaks to Rhysand through their bond before refocusing on you. "He’s on his way."

—

Your gaze pierces through the High Lord of the Night Court, sharp enough to cut through metal. Rhysand sits across from you at the coffee table, Azriel standing stiffly by the mantle watching the two of you square off.

"You knew." You hiss at Rhysand, your voice filled with frustration and accusation.

"I wasn't sure," he responds calmly, calculating every word.

"You were sure enough.”

"What if we were wrong?" He challenges. "What if we told you our suspicions and it turned out to be a mistake?"

"Then I would still be grateful that you trusted me enough to share and we wouldn't be having this conversation." You reply sharply.

“It would have put you in more danger" Rhysand counters.

"Then tell me not to go. Tell me your suspicions and give me all the details. Don't hide it from me," you retort, frustration boiling over.

"At the time, you were leaving," Rhysand continues.

"Then what harm would have come from telling me? I was already out of your hair, just tell me," you argue, feeling your emotions getting the better of you.

"We were trying to protect you, to keep you safe," Rhysand insists.

"By keeping me in the dark?" You scoff incredulously. "That's not protection, Rhysand. That's control."

"Control?" Rhysand repeats, his voice dangerously low. "Is that what you think I'm doing? I care about you; I would never put you in harm's way intentionally."

"You care about me?" You snap, disbelief coloring your tone. "If you truly cared, you would have trusted me enough to handle the truth, instead of treating me like some fragile porcelain doll that needs to be shielded from every harsh reality."

"I have spent centuries protecting those I care for, making difficult choices to ensure their safety," Rhysand counters, his expression darkening.

"But that doesn't give you the right to decide what I can handle, Rhysand," you retort. "I've spent my entire life being controlled by others, being manipulated and thrown around like I'm nothing. And this is just another example of that."

Silence settles heavily between the two of you as you both glare at each other, the tension crackling in the air.

Finally, you break the silence. "I am not a pawn in your game, Rhysand. I am not your possession to be guarded and controlled at your whim."

Rhysand's expression darkens even further, wounded pride flashing in his eyes. "I have always only wanted to keep you safe," he says, his voice strained with emotion.

"Safe from what? The truth?" You scoff, unable to mask the hurt in your voice.

"You may not understand the weight of those responsibilities," Rhysand says quietly.

"I may not understand them," you admit, "but that still doesn't give you the right to take away my agency and treat me like a child."

For a moment, it looks like Rhysand might explode with anger. But then his expression softens and he looks at you with genuine regret. "I never meant to make you feel that way," he says sincerely.

You let out a bitter laugh. "Well, you did. If you had told me, I would have been prepared," you say, frustration still lacing your words.

"But what if it had turned out to be a false alarm? We didn't want to cause unnecessary panic," Rhysand counters.

"I would rather have been prepared and panicked than caught off guard and vulnerable," you argue, feeling your anger flare up again.

Azriel shifts uncomfortably behind Rhysand, sensing the tension crackling in the air. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, wisely choosing to stay out of the escalation.

"Do you really think I'm capable of handling anything that comes my way?" You ask him seriously. "I've fought for myself my entire life. I can handle the truth."

"I know you can," Rhysand says with a hint of regret in his voice. "But I still wanted to protect you from the burden." Rhysand’s gaze drops to the floor. “You already have so much riding against you.”

"I don't need your protection, Rhysand," you say firmly. "I need your trust."

The intensity in Rhysand's eyes gives you goosebumps as he speaks. "Y/N, I can't undo the past. I can't erase the pain that still lingers inside of you," he says, his voice heavy with regret.

You scoff, crossing your arms tighter around yourself. "Excuses won't change anything, Rhysand."

He takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "But what I can promise you is that there will be no more secrets. No more lies or manipulations. You have my word on that."

Your gaze shifts to Azriel as you stand up, determined to hold him accountable as well. Rhysand watches with a hint of unease as you make your way to the shadowsinger, who remains perched silently in the corner of the room.

"Swear it," you demand, your voice dripping with venom.

Azriel's eyes search yours, a flicker of pain crossing his features before he nods. "I swear," he whispers.

In that moment, a burst of tingling energy spreads across your arm, leaving behind intricate black spirals that coil and dance like living creatures. Simultaneously, a matching tattoo appears on Azriel's skin, a symbol of the unbreakable vow.

You turn back towards Rhysand, who watches in a mix of awe and concern at the bond forged between you and Azriel.

"Are we done here?" you ask sharply.

Rhysand nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "Yes," he replies softly.

Without another glance back at either of them, you stalk out of the room, your hand trailing down the newly marked ink on your arm.

—

As you slip out of the house, the heavy wooden door slams shut behind you. Your feet carry you with a sense of urgency, desperate for some kind of refuge amongst the fae who have no ties to your life. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if trying to outrun the anger that has taken root in your heart. The bustling streets are alive with activity, colorful storefronts and vibrant market stands lining the cobblestone path. Families laugh and play, while others seek pleasure in the lively city. But you hardly acknowledge them, lost in your own thoughts and troubles as you trudge without direction.

Time seems to pass by in a blur as you weave through the throngs of people. It's long after dark when you find yourself back at the Town House, its warm lights flickering invitingly inside. You exhale deeply as you stand at the base of the steps, before finally making your way up and slipping inside.

You kick off your shoes and toss them into the closet before removing your jacket. As you do, Azriel pops his head out from the sitting room entrance with a look of surprise and relief in his eyes.

"Hey," he says softly. "I didn't know if you were coming back." He steps closer as you hang up your coat.

You brush past him without a word, heading straight for the kitchen. Azriel follows behind, only a few steps behind. You open the cabinets, pulling down a bowl and a batch of granola that Elain had made and left for you. The crunchy mix falls into the bowl with a satisfying tinkling sound as you fill it with milk. Perching yourself on the counter, your feet dangle above the floor as you begin eating.

"I can make something for you," Azriel offers, lingering in the doorway.

You don't bother looking up from your bowl as you continue to spoon in mouthfuls of the sweet mixture. "I'm already eating.”

Azriel watches you for a moment, shifting his weight from side to side as he debates whether or not to say anything else. "I just wanted to say again how sorry I am.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his gaze for a moment before returning back to your food. "It's done now," you shrug indifferently.

Azriel hesitates for a moment before approaching you, perching himself on the opposite end of the counter. He searches your face for any sign of forgiveness, his shadows flickering restlessly around him.

"I know sorry isn't enough," he starts, his voice laced with regret. "But I truly am. I should have been more transparent with you from the beginning."

You swallow another spoonful of granola before meeting his gaze. "Transparency would have been a good start," you reply coolly.

Azriel nods, his silver eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt and determination. "I understand if you can't trust me right now. But I want to make things right.”

You gently place your bowl down, turning to meet his gaze. His eyes, once vivid, now appear faded with a haunting hue of remorse and anguish etched across his face. It's as if the weight of your disappointment is physically unbearable for him to bear. "How do we move forwards?" Your inquiry is heartfelt, a plea born from uncertainty. Every fiber of your being yearns to seek solace in his embrace, those strong arms that have held you through countless nights, relinquishing control. Yet, a persistent ache at the back of your mind warns you; it reminds you that Azriel may not be different from those males who have caused you so much pain.

Azriel bites his lip, his voice tinged with earnestness. "It’s about rebuilding trust," he proposes.

"So, it all rests on me making a change?" Your words carry a hint of accusation.

"No," his tone deepens as he reaches out, clasping your arms, positioning himself directly in front of you. "No, I need to also prove to you that trust can be restored."

Tears well up in your eyes as you shake your head in turmoil. "I want to believe in us, Azriel. Truly, I do."

A flicker of hope lights up his features, uncertainty melting away as he realizes your genuine desire to bridge the gap between you both.

Tears welled in your eyes, "I wish I could stop all of this." Your confession falls from your lips in a soft pained whisper. The weight of the world presses down harder on you, and you wish for nothing more than to make it all stop.

Azriel’s hand moves hesitantly, cupping your chin and lifting your gaze to meet his. In his eyes, there is hope, light, and certainty that feels intoxicating, but you can’t help but worry if you can ever feel the same.

"If I could take it all away for you, I would," he whispered, his voice laced with determination. "I would drain oceans for you, fight dragons and demons, even slay the Mother herself if it meant making things better for you."

You smile lightly at his declaration, a small laugh escaping your lips. Azriel’s own smile grows wider as he leans closer to you. "I would tear mountains from the ground and burn the deserts," he continued.

"Oh, would you?" You question, a single tear slipping down your face.

"The things I would do for you would land me in a dank dark dungeon somewhere," he admits, a hint of humor in his voice. "But for you, it would be worth it."

"To suffer me?" You ask with a shaky voice.

"I will suffer you day after day," he responds without hesitation. His forehead presses against yours as you giggle lightly. Azriel’s lips tug into a smile revealing his teeth before it falters, his eyes shutting. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

You hesitate for a moment before wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know," you say softly

Azriel's hands moved down to your hips, gently grasping them as his fingers brushed against your exposed skin.

The kitchen was dimly lit, but the warmth radiating from Azriel's embrace made you feel safe and calm. Though a nagging feeling of distrust lingered in the back of your mind, it was drowned out by the sound of his steady heartbeat and his intoxicating scent. You found yourself leaning into him, savoring this moment of peace together.

Azriel opened his eyes and smiled at you, causing your heart to skip a beat. His hands remained on your hips as you leaned back against the cabinet, your legs swinging off the edge next to him.

But then Azriel spoke up, breaking the silence. "I do have one thing to ask," he said, his voice laced with humor.

You raised an eyebrow in response. "You really think you're in any position to make requests?" you teased.

Azriel shook his head and chuckled. "No, not like that. Just a clarification," he clarified.

Curiosity piqued, you turned to fully face him, waiting for him to continue.

His hazel eyes met yours as he spoke the words that made your heart stop. "You said you were falling in love with me."

Your eyes widened in surprise, but quickly masked your reaction. "No I didn't," you denied, shaking your head even though deep down you knew it was true. You remembered that moment when you had accidentally let slip that small secret of yours.

Azriel only looked at you with a knowing expression. "Pretty sure you did. When you were yelling at me...you said it."

Biting down on your lip with trepidation, you carefully weighed his words. "Can we just pretend it was a heated mistake?" you asked, trying to shrug off the gravity of his implications.

But Azriel's tone turned serious as he spoke again. "Listen, Y/N," he said, his voice grave. "If you didn't mean it, if it was just a slip of the tongue, then I'll understand." His intense gaze locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. "But I need to know...do you truly mean it?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched for any hint of deceit in his captivating hazel eyes. But all you found was a deep desire and longing that threatened to consume you whole. He seemed to be begging for an answer, but which one did he want?

Summoning your courage, you made a decision. "No more hiding," you whispered, leaning closer to him.

He nodded in understanding.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you spoke the words that had been weighing heavily on your heart.

"Azriel," you paused, feeling his heart stop beating at the sound of his name, "I am falling deeply in love with you."

Azriel's breath hitched at your confession. For a moment, time seemed to stand still around both of you as the only sound was the pounding of his heart in his chest. His eyes widened in disbelief, a glimmer of hope sparking within them as he studied your face for any signs of falsity.

"I..." Azriel struggled to find the words, overcome with emotion. He reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch featherlight. "I never dared to dream that you could feel the same way."

His words hung in the air, a fragile moment suspended in time as you both stood on the brink of something new and uncharted. The weight of your shared confessions resonated off the walls of the kitchen, entwining your fates in ways you never thought possible. Azriel's touch was both tender and intense, threatening to consume you with its passion.

As you looked into his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own vulnerabilities staring back at you. The walls around your heart trembled under his penetrating gaze, daring you to open up completely. In that moment, you made a choice - to trust not only him but also yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied your nerves before meeting his unwavering gaze head-on. "I do," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I mean it, Azriel. I love you."

Azriel's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly as he processed your words. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, the tension crackling between you both like electricity. Emotions swirled around you in a tumultuous storm, threatening to drown you in their intensity.

A moment passed in silence before a slow, disbelieving smile spread across Azriel's lips, illuminating his features with a radiant joy that took your breath away. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. The world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in each other's arms.

"I love you too," Azriel whispered against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. "More than anything in this world and the next.”

Sitting in the warm, cozy kitchen you shared, wrapped in each other's arms, you were enveloped in a sweet and intoxicating scent that seemed to emanate from the intertwining of your bodies. As you breathed in sync with each other, it felt as if the pieces of yourself that had been scattered were slowly coming back together, drawn by a magnetic force. You could hear his steady heartbeat, but also feel the rapid beat against your chest as his hands adjusted and gripped onto you, as if trying to hold onto your very soul. In response, you found yourself clinging onto him even tighter, your legs wrapping around him for a more intimate embrace. Gazing up at him through misty eyes, you noticed tears staining his tanned cheeks. "I'm still pissed at you, you know that right?" You said with a hint of playfulness in your voice.

Azriel let out a soft laugh, sniffing lightly as tears still clung to his lashes. "As long as you say you love me, you can be pissed at me until you're red in the face."

"Well," you teased, trailing a finger up his back towards his wings, "I think perhaps it's time you started making things up to me."

He shuddered slightly as your finger traced around the base of his wing, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as he let out a soft moan from his pink lips. "Anything," he whispered breathlessly, "for you, anything."

Readers: Raise your hand if you are interested in the smut scene that comes after this as a bonus scene for tomorrow? If you're interested I can post it along with the next chapter as a lil bonus treat for you. If not then we'll just move forwards! Okay love you byeee

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes @weepingwerewolf @that-one-bibliphole

[karaspal]

here is a reading guide for post-age up jon, including the good parts only so you guys could appreciate him more.

THE UNITY SAGA

superman (2018) #7 - 10 this is the story that started it all. jon goes on a space journey with his grandpa and comes back seven years older with enough trauma to last him for the rest of his life and more.

THE ONE WHO FELL

superman #29, action comics #1029, superman #30 - 32 during his time in the future, jon discovers his father might not have much time left in the present. worried about his dad, jon tries to warn him and prevent the inevitable. this story is cute and shows clark's love for his son and how proud he is of the man jon has become.

WARWORLD RISING

action comics #1030 - 1035 follows up the pervious story. clark and jon find refugees who escaped warworld. while clark is ready to help 100%, jon thinks it's a trap to lure his father and is vocal about his suspicions. this story lets jon have flaws, and they make complete sense for his character. while he isn't the main main character, it's a great read to help you understand his character.

SON OF KAL-EL

superman: son of kal-el #1 - 6, annual 2021, #7 - 8, nightwing (2016) #89, superman: soke #9 - 18, action comics #1050 after clark leaves for warworld to help the people there, jon is left in charge as the main superman on earth. with his dad gone, his identity being public and the weight of the world on his shoulders, jon tries to figure out the kind of hero he wants to be. this series also introduces jay nakamura, a journalist and a freedom fighter jon falls in love with. the final three issues is jon's reunion with his dad.

DARK CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS

dark crisis #1 - 7 with the whole justice leauge dead, jon tires his best to keep the world spinning and the people in it hopeful. he goes around, trying to form a new justice league. this story shows how jon truly is his father's son and that he deserves the title "superman", as well as his strengths, and his undying spirit.

RISE OF METALLO

action comics #1051 - 1056 clark comes back from warworld with twins, whom he and lois later adopt. jon struggles seeing his parents raise the kids in a way they couldn't raise him because of the time they lost. still though, jon tries his best to be there for his new siblings.

this is jon's main timeline since he came back from his space trip. those are the required stories. bellow, i'll list some comics that aren't necessary to understand him, but are nonetheless good.

THE SUPERMAN OF METROPOLIS

future state: superman of metropolis #1 - 2 this is a future state story that isn't canon. jon bottles the city of metropolis in hopes of saving it. the story follows the consequences of his choice.

OUT THERE

dark crisis: worlds without a justice league - superman #1 do you wonder what would've happened had jon grown up with his folks? do you wonder what he would've been like had he not spent his formative years in a volcano prison? well, this is a story for you. this is clark's perfect world, and in a perfect world, he gets to see his boy grow into a man.

NIGHT AT THE CIRCUS

nightwing (2016) #101 - 104 (back up story) nightwing investigates a mystery in the circus and calls jon for help. the story is a cute team-up between the two.

A HEART IN METROPOLIS

action comics #1059 - "a heart in metropolis" (back up story) jon and jay struggle to find time to spend together, with life getting in the way. finally, the boys find the time to go on a date.

MAGICAL MYSTERY CUBE

superman & robin special #1 cute jon and damian team-up. if you like the super sons, this is a story for you. it shows that their friendship can still work, even with jon being older now.

ELECTRIC

lazarus planet: assult on krypton #1 - “electric” during the lazarus planet event, a common criminal gets powers and decides to join jon in helping people. their dynamic is fun: a righteous hero and a flirty villain. even though i don't particularly ship them, i still enjoyed their interaction.

this is it, guys. this is the list. happy reading! :)

[renthony]

🏳️‍🌈 (queer media rec please !)

(Drop a 🏳️‍🌈 in my inbox and I’ll respond with a queer media recommendation!)

I've been sticking to indie or less-popular works for these recommendations, but the most recent Interview With the Vampire episode destroyed me and I need to get more people in on this sweet, sweet suffering.

AMC's television adaptation of Anne Rice's Interview With the Vampire is phenomenal. The season 2 finale airs next week, and I'm hoping very much for more. It's officially available via AMC+, and if you're at all into queer gothic horror, you have to check it out.

The basic premise is that an immortal Vampire named Louis tells his tragic story to a human reporter named Daniel. We learn all about Louis' life as a human, how he was turned into a vampire by his vampire lover Lestat, and how the two created a child vampire named Claudia to be their daughter. It's a messy domestic drama where every single narrator is unreliable, it's a horror show, it's tragic, it's queer as hell, and it's perfect for people who want to see mean, petty, mentally unwell, horny queer characters waging psychological warfare on each other.

Here's the trailer for season 1:

I was very, very nervous when the adaptation was first announced. I'm a huge Vampire Chronicles fan, I was absolutely obsessed with Lestat as a teenager (...and also now...), and I was pretty firmly on the side of folks who were thinking, "we did this already, Queen of the Damned was a horrible (albeit still pretty fun) movie, we can just let the books stand on their own after that one."

When the casting announcements for Lestat (Sam Reid) and Louis (Jacob Anderson) were made, I got even more nervous. In the book, Louis is a white slave owner born in the late 1700s, and I was worried that the showrunners would just make Louis a Black character without examining or unpacking any of the anti-Blackness in the source material. I'd enjoyed Jacob Anderson's performance in Game of Thrones, and I didn't have any ill will against him, but I was genuinely worried a Black Louis was going to be in poor taste at best.

Instead of presenting Louis as a Black slave owner, though, the show reworked his backstory to make him a Black businessman in 1910s New Orleans. We get to know his family and his situation, and the dynamics of a queer interracial romance in turn-of-the-Century New Orleans add quite a lot of new depth to the story. Jacob Anderson deserves basically every award ever, because his performance as Louis is just...goddamn. He is the definitive Louis for me.

The show feels like a love letter to both the book series and the 1994 film. In the show, the interview takes place in 2022, and is framed as a second, "do-over" interview. It makes meta-commentary on the film and the books, and it's a real treat as a fan of the prior works. The constant little book references and hints for future plots are fantastic. The show loves the source material just as much as the audience does, and it never tries to say, "the old version sucks, we're doing it better." It's a loving tribute to my favorite messy queer vampires, and I need everybody to go lavish attention on it so it gets more seasons.

[extra-somethin-somethin]

hey so do you think wtv keiko had to deal with growing up with yusuke could be considered a type of parentification

[ctl-yuejie]

loyalty and compassion

[ravenkings]

i, personally, have no intention of seeing blonde, but i do agree that watching the tendency in some internet/fan spaces of engaging in art and culture criticism purely as a metric as to whether one work or another should be allowed to exist based on a system of black-and-white moral judgement seeping into the critical mainstream to be.......troubling.......to say the least

[theyhadlightinsidetheireyes]

Nandermo is such a funny ship . Both of them are canonically queer, a fact that is regularly expressed on screen - Guillermo even had a “coming out to the family” episode, but nandor has a thing going with Laszlo and makes references to other guys (and stole Guillermo’s boyfriend once).

And that’s usually like the main hurdle if it were a classic queerbaiting situation.

They even both acknowledge they have quite a special bond with each other, not like their relationships with other people.

and yet. and yet.

[aceofvernons]

Aljdjfjdm omg thank you for your lovely comment on my woozi fic, it means a lot! i'm really glad you enjoyed it, much love 💕

oh i’m so late to answering this but of course!!!! i really enjoyed the fic (and the rest of your works i’ve read so far!!) so i’m more than happy to keep leaving my thoughts on them because your writing is nothing short of wonderful and i think you deserve to know that <33

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[findangoh]

Shit

[inbarfink]

So one of the cool and interesting ways ‘Steven Universe’ used to try and balance being both a series of 11-minutes episodes that each have their own satisfying emotional resolution and being an overarching story with complicated character arcs that take multiple seasons to resolve is the… I’m going to call it the ‘Not Quite Right Lesson’ episodes. Episodes where a character kinda learns a Very Important Lesson… but a more careful and retrospective look at the situation shows that what they learned is not Quite the Right Thing for them. They internalized something in that adventure which just ended up causing more Emotional Troubles for themselves farther down the line.

‘The Test’ is the most classic example. 

As a standalone thing, it’s just a sweet episode about Steven learning to accept that his caretakers are also flawed and confused and figuring this shit up as they’re going along just like he is, and then doing a nice thing for their sake.

But looking back at this episode, it is quite obviously the nadir of Steven appointing himself as the Family Therapist and repressing all of his problems so he could better help the Gems’ with theirs. Like, there have been some early warning signs for this Complex, but this episode is the one that really cemented that idea in his mind and probably the reason it took him like the Entire Rest of the Show Including a Post-Finale Season to really untangle it.

But… also, I’ve been thinking a lot about the episode right after that, ‘Future Vision’. I think it’s also a very important ‘Not Quite Right Lesson Episode’ for the character of Garnet, and to some extent, the Crystal Gems as a whole. In many ways, it is to the CGs' character arcs' what 'the Test' is to Steven's.

So in this episode, Garnet reveals to Steven the fact that she has Future Vision. She hoped that telling Steven a little bit more about herself and being honest with him will lead to a greater understanding and a greater bond between them… but it backfired. It just led Steven to become a total paranoid, terrified wreck stuck in a total existential crisis.

And it seems like the lesson Garnet learned is that… she should’ve never taken that risk at all. That it would’ve been better for everyone if she just kept Steven ignorant of the truth forever.

Extremely reinforced with the ending of the episode, where Garnet chooses to once again hide an uncomfortable truth (that he just came very close to dying again) from Steven, for the sake of his own ‘peace of mind’.

So, like, the Gems were already hiding uncomfortable truths from Steven since day one. “If you could only know what we really are” and all of that. But I think… With the actual truth of Homeworld encroaching on them more and more at this point of the story arc, this would’ve been a great time for the Gems to reconsider their attitude and actually Explain to Steven What the Hell is Going On. 

But instead, I think Garnet saw the events of ‘Future Vision’ as a reinforcement of the idea that there’s just some things Steven is Better Off Not Knowing. Actually being frank with him about Homeworld and the Diamonds and the War right there and then, that would have just overwhelmed Steven with fears and worries and would’ve ended up doing nothing but hurting him. And Garnet can’t accept that possibility, not again.

And so, Garnet, alongside Amethyst and Pearl, keep all these truths from Steven as long as possible. Only revealing bits of information when they have to. For Amethyst it’s about her emotionally-evasive attitude (also, she legit doesn’t know all of that stuff herself). For Pearl it’s about how she learned to romanticize Rose’s own fucked-up obsession with secrets. For Garnet, with her usually very direct attitude and preference for the most straightforward solutions, I think it’s very much the events of ‘Future Vision’ that were still playing in her head every time she had the choice to actually Explain something to Steven and decided not to. 

But that, indeed, was Not Quite the Right Lesson. While being bluntly and directly told by Garnet all about the Many Ways He Could Die caused Steven to go into an anxiety spiral and an existential crisis for an episode - the way the Gems have been consistently secretive and evasive with Steven ended up causing him so much more emotional grief to him in the long run. As all of these secrets ended up revealed to him in the most surprising, dramatic and traumatizing way possible.

And the secretive attitudes ended up driving a wedge between Steven and the Gems. 

Even after they promised to be more honest with him. Because the sight of Steven crying on the roof that day is one that Garnet can easily move away from. Because Garnet’s Not Quite Right Lesson was almost as difficult for her to unlearn as Steven’s own. 

But after the big confrontation at the start of the Zoo Arc, Garnet ended up being the most upfront about the Crystal Gems’ history. Almost overeager to share what she knows about the past.

I mean also, again, Amethyst just has less to tell and Pearl is hiding secrets for reasons beyond her control - but I think it’s also important to consider from the perspective of Garnet’s arc.

Because the fallout of the Pink Diamond Reveal is very much centered around Garnet (or, well, Ruby and Sapphire). That was the Truth that was hidden from her 'for her own good'. And at the end of the day, despite all the grief that unveiling that truth has caused

It has also brought them, all of them, a lot closer.

There's a reason why 'the Truth' is Garnet's Final Missing Piece in the movie. It is as central to her character arc in the series as Lesbian AngstTM grief over lost love is to Pearl.

And still, some remnants of the Trauma of 'Future Vision' remained...

After all, even the very last episode of 'Future' was centered around the Gems once again trying to hide things from Steven (at that case, their turmoil about him leaving) for his own sake

Even though it once again just caused Steven a whole lot of grief.

It's maybe notable that at the end of this episode, Garnet, once again, tells Steven what's waiting for him in his Future...

[loaksbitch]

blame tumblr for deleting my draft and make me rework this with rush— now girlies, imagine jealous neteyam pull you to his side, claiming you as his yes? this is the long awaited update (pt 3) of the i trusted you series.

warnings - hard angst, vulgar language, jealous neteyam i repeat, JEALOUSY NETEYAM! ugh, cussing, neteyam is tired of hurting and trying, kiri is best girl for boosting up neteyam to make a step kinda? that’s it for now!

likes and reblogs are appreciated for the final part! i love each and every one of you babies mwah!! — 3.2k wc and poor-ish grammar

“i want to trust you.” — neteyam sully (★,꩜)

here’s part (one) – (two) — (four) of this series

neteyam’s state wasn’t good when he went back home.

you’re leaving the clan because of him, you’re leaving your home, your childhood, your everything because of him.

you’re leaving him because of him.

still not accepting the words you’ve said to him, he hadn’t noticed his younger sister waiting for him right when he got back to the village, hunting long forgotten.

kiri on other hand had enough, she’s tired of seeing her brother suffer for what he was trying to make right, especially after that night. the night she saw her perfect brother kneel in front of a female na’vi begging you not to go.

“neteyam,” his name being called, pulls him out from his thoughts and his tired eyes land on his sister who has her arms crossed against her chest. “what part of leave me alone don’t they understand?” neteyam silently says under his breath

“you know i can hear you right?” kiri scoffs

“what part of i want to be alone don’t you all understand?” this time he says it clearly and louder. neteyam doesn’t give her time before walking past her and if only if it wasn't for her next words? he wouldn’t have frozen at his spot.

“if you love her, go for her.”

there she goes again, now he needs to tell her he doesn’t want to hear anything about that future mate of his, that female na’vi he doesn’t even want.

“kiri.” he starts to turn and face her, his amber eyes swollen and puffy it makes her sad. “i’ll say this for the last time, i don’t want anyone to bring äy—“

“i’m not talking about äyea and you know it.”

his heart dropped, amber eyes slightly widening like he was caught. neteyam searches for more explanation from his sister, kiri softly smiles and he definitely knows who she’s talking about

“y/n, neteyam, i’m talking about y/n.” his skin itches at your name being called and he walks fast to his sister before grabbing her by her arms. nobody has to know, not like this and he won't risk to lose you like this

“look, you can’t tell no one, okay?” he’s shaking his sister so hard that her shoulders are hurting. “i can't lose her, if the clan knows they’ll take her away from me.” his body is trembling, neteyam’s mind was too occupied with the worst scenarios that would happen if they find out about you just like this.

kiri closes her eyes and calms herself before trying to do the same for her brother. “nete, calm down” she places her small hands on his cheek. “you’ve to calm down, for her?” she knew you’re his weakness and he would do anything with your name

“i won’t tell anyone.” kiri watches neteyam’s eyes blink, confused and processing her words, “but you must tell them, everyone, tell everyone neteyam.”

he’s slowly sliding his hands down her arms and letting her go, what is she saying?

“i saw everything, the night she knew about it and how you were.” kiri didn’t want to look like she sneaked into someone's business. “i’ve never seen you so weak like this brother, you’re giving up something that makes you happy.”

where is this going? why is she not yelling at him that he failed to be perfect?

“i know you’re soon to be mated but why when you’re not happy? not wanting it, not in love.” neteyam takes every word of hers carefully. “if this is the future you want with her then make a progress.”

“i’m tired of hearing you cry yourself to sleep, starve yourself and worry mom and dad.” he felt like a child. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs and kiri sighs, “you don’t have to apologize for everything.”

neteyam was feeling his heartbeats quickening at his younger sister's words but it’s also painful when he remembers he can’t do that cause you’re gonna be gone, soon… very soon.

“she’s le-leaving,” his words are cut when his voice quivers, kiri gasps at the news. “she said she feels like she doesn’t belong here.” he’s now looking down to avoid kiri’s eyes or he’ll cry

“she’s leaving me, kiri” his sister only pulls him close to hug him and he drops his body on her, head on her shoulder. “i love her and she’s leaving, i’m losing her.” he wants the pain to end, he’s tired of hurting

“oh brother.” kiri pats his head, even though neteyam was the smartest and perfect to hide his emotions, this was too much. he’s literally crumbling down. “it’ll be okay, everything will be okay.”

“it will be okay, everything will be okay.” your mother pats your hair when you lean on her shoulders and cry. all you do is cry, you feel bad.

you’re debating on leaving everything behind and running to your neteyam but then again there’s his future mate being a wall to your love. “it’ll be over soon when we leave.”

if not soulmates why bound to fall in love and hurt?

eywa was not fair, she’s not fair with her doings and you don’t want it. you want him, you want your man, you want neteyam, you miss him so bad.

the ritual is in two days and you’re not ready to watch them or give them your blessing as a part of a clan. once the ceremony is done you know they’ll go home, you don’t even want to think what they’ll do after that.

they’ll have a fruit of love, a baby in the future… what about you? supposed to move on? no, you can’t do that.

“we’ve got to get ready, my sweet child,” your mother says as she eyes the hammock that sheltered you for years. everything is packed, ready and done.

while you’re struggling to make the pain hurt less, neteyam is struggling to make his heart beat less.

it’s now an eclipse and everyone is ready for dinner, “mom! what’s for dinner?” tuk whines when netyiri brings the bowls and trays at the wooden table. “you’ll see baby” she kneels down to finally join her family.

it doesn’t fail to catch her by surprise when her first born is sat across the right side of the table. “neteyam?” her eyes start to whelm when her son smiles at her, oh how she missed having him around the table to eat with them.

“he’s here just like you want him.” jake says and neteyam nods.

neytiri only lets soft laugh out and places a bowl for him. “eat this, it’ll help you get strength for your training.” she motions him to take his food.

kiri silently watches everyone, a smile painting her lips as she sips on her soup.

“tastes good?” neteyam nervously nods, the only thing he’s thinking is a way to bring up his love topic to them. it wasn’t much late before he’s opening his mouth to speak and lo’ak suddenly interrupted

“dad, mom i ne–…”

“tuk stop doing that, you’ll choke.” lo’ak scolds at his sister and neteyam shuts his lips quick. maybe it’s the right thing not to say anything right now.

“tuk, listen to your brother honey” jake says and turns to neteyam, “what were you saying son?”

neteyam shakes his head, “never mind i’ll talk to you guys later.” he doesn’t ignore how kiri lightly groans when he backs out. “i’ll head inside now.” he rubs his sweaty hands on his thighs and gets back to his feet

“you didn’t even touch your food.” now that’s a lie, he actually scooped two times and ate.

“i ate mom, it’s delicious t-thanks.” he hates when the last word breaks. on eywa he’s so nervous.

kiri was quick to follow his steps when he left and luckily her parents didn't question. she was fast to catch up with her brother and yanks his arms to make him face her, “what was that?” she raises her eyebrows

“what was what?”

“don’t play dumb with me right now.” kiri warns and neteyam clears his throat

“i’m scared okay!” he hissed, “i’m so fucking nervous my skin is crawling to leave my bones.” his sister only rolls her eye, “seriously— we’ve talked about this! not being a little scared ass to be telling them.”

“what happened to that?” she crosses her arms.

“kiri,” he sighs and drops his head down, shoulders easing. “you don’t understand how dangerous this is, what if–“

“what if they hurt her?”

neteyam was awfully silent and that answers her question. “you know mom and dad, they don’t do anything about what you care and love…” kiri slowly stops when neteyam shakes his head

“not them,” it’s not them he’s scared of, it’s äyea’s parents he’s scared of, he knows they would do anything to make their little perfect daughter that matches with him, or whatever they say.

kiri presses her lips to a straight line before clicking her tongue.

this is gonna be a bad idea or the best idea she has ever made and decided to tell him aways. neteyam’s eyes widen when his sister pulls him away from their family, what she’s gonna tell him is the only chance to get you back and win your trust and she’s sure neteyam will do it,

do anything for you.

೫ time skip — mating ritual ceremony

your new outfit makes your curves more defined, way more defined than your usual loin clothes that you wear.

your skin shining smoothly, the leaves barely covering your breast, you looked ethereal with your hair not braided and freely displayed all over your shoulders

“honey, are you ready?”

your mother’s words make you gulp and suck a deep breath. “we must be there early to leave early!” she tells while being in the other room.

you finally check yourself and talk back, “yeah, i’m ready.” you whisper morley to yourself? swallowing the lump on your throat.

“yeah, i’m ready.” neteyam closes his eyes and breaths trying to focus on not messing up everything, he’s not even sure if you’ll show up and some part of him wishes you do show up

extra loincloths and decorations on his body makes him uncomfortable with its weight crushing him down.

netyiri proudly looks at her son’s figure while the kids are outside, “mother.” the sudden call of her name, netyiri answers quickly. “what is it? nervous?”

neteyam gulps down his fear and walks to her, “i love you” netyiri feels her eyes tear up and smile at him, “your mom loves you too, baby.” neteyam envelopes her with a hug and netyiri cries to his shoulder telling him how he’s grown up

“now don’t mess my face up with tears! let’s get you ready there.” it’s time to face reality and wait for his soon to be mate come

when he’s out of his hammock, he’s greeted with his family smiling at him and jake’s proud smile. even half of the clan was standing at his hammock.

“neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan” everyone chants and neteyam feels his inside clench in discomfort. he doesn’t want this if it’s not with you, everything makes him sick. “c’mon son, let’s get you to the trees of voice, your mate is waiting.”

what the fuck, that was what neteyam said inside his head. what does his father mean when he’s gonna meet his mate under the trees of voice? it was all about you and him, neteyam would never mate with some random girl he is set up with in a place with memories filled with yours

neteyam turns to his sister and kiri has the same expression because what is this bullshit?

“nete’ she’s waiting for you.” his mother placed her hand on his back. no, no, no— his own feet are betraying him when he realize he’s walking and the clan opens way for him straight long line created till where he’s supposed to see äyea

you on other hand stand in line with the people and pray under your breath for eywa to give you a strength not to cry or make a scene, especially when they will be bound where you thought you and neteyam would have been

it doesn’t take long when starts to cheer as the future Olo'eyktan starts to get closer and closer.

lo’ak was the first one you saw from the sully families while he’s holding tuk close to him so she won’t get lost in the crowed. “Aeyaeyaeyaeyaye!” the clan yells

neteyam’s eyes keep searching for specific someone which is you, eyes desperately looking for you and feeling more scared and anxious when he can’t figure out your face from the crowd he takes a deep breath

you finally take his figure to your sight and god he was so beautiful.

your breath hitches at his appearance, the dangling material on his forehead making him look more attractive than he already is, you realize it’s so hard to let go of him.

you suck a deep breath when his eyes lands at yours and neteyam halts his pace, confusing everyone for a second. your tears are fast to blur your vision and you blink before looking away from him

his heart cracks when you do look away, you don’t want to see him and he understands

once neteyam passed you, the crowd surrounds him and cheers when he stepped close to where äyea is found.

you hate how your mother looks at you sympathetically while her hands grip yours tighter, “it’ll be over soon” she whispers to you but you shrug her off, only watching things unfold in front of you as your heart breaks

“it will be over soon.” neteyam says to himself

it’s sickening how everyone can’t notice this is not supposedly to happen, kiri’s plan better work or he’ll seriously fuck this ritual up and run away with you.

“son.” äyea’s father greets him and neteyam, bringing his hand to his forehead. “ty’mar, i see you.” he then turns to his soon to be mate’s mother and repeat his actions.

the way äyea was smiling makes your throat hurt from desperately wanting to cry.

‘no, don’t tell her you see her neteyam. please. please.’

äyea softly giggles when neteyam stands in front of her and blush, “neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan” the way she tries to voice out his name makes neteyam feel sick.

“i see you.” she says but neteyam doesn’t bother to say it back making her smile slightly fall.

netyiri also notices how neteyam is acting, what would possibly be bothering him? definitely not everything.

after everyone was introduced to each other, the ceremony began. drinks were served, everyone clapping and dancing to the songs the na’vi’s are singing.

you’re a little far away from the crowd to breath clear air and dry your tears that constantly burn your eyes. your eyes are on neteyam who isn’t enjoy one bit of the ceremony while his soon to be mate squirms and waves her hands up

both of them are sitting on a throne-like wooden chair, both of their parents beside them just say like them.

this is so depressing how awkward and uncomfortable it looks and actually is. you think, brining the drink to your mouth

you didn’t notice the na’vi male sneaking behind you that actually has been staring at you since you joined the crowd in line. “enjoying the party from far doesn’t seem too boring after all.”

you’re now jumping in fear when a breath hits the back of your ear.

“mother eyaw! who the fu–” you scream and stumble in panic, but before you’re falling you feel strong arms hold you on your ground. “shit, I should've announced i came, i’m sorry.”

you’re about to tell him it’s okay and leave when he’s offering his hand for a shake.

“i’m no’xus, by the way.” great, now you’re stuck talking with someone.

“y/n.” you say and turn over to place your drink on the talk flat table looking object, it’s obvious you’re ignoring him and uninterested but he keeps talking

“why’re you not dancing?” the tall na’vi asks and you face him before speaking, “because i don’t want to?” you just want this over and privacy, how hard can it get to understand!?

“mhm,” the male hums, “wanna dance with me?” at his offer, you scoff mentally and realize you’re not getting him away from you soon– before you reject him, a strong glare radiating from far makes your body tingle

it was neteyam, sending glares to the male who was next to you while sitting far away.

you didn’t bother it at first but the way neteyam’s face twists makes your brow raise. why is he bothered? jealous? if no’xus had not cleared his throat, you would’ve forgotten about what he just said.

“look notoxo, i really don’t feel like…” you watch him awkwardly chuckle and correct you.

“it’s no’xus not notoxo.”

“you know what? fuck it, let’s dance.” you’re pulling him to the crowd, maybe it’s the drink or maybe it’s him, it’s neteyam making you do this.

your mother was long gone to where you don’t know, no’xus was just a bonus to get your frustration out and you’re now dancing with him. too occupied to bother, you haven’t noticed how neteyam’s nose are flaring in anger

neteyam watches how you’re dancing and it’s very obvious it’s targeted to get him out of his mind

he is not even listening to äeya and brought himself up from his throne-like seat. rage and anger is in him, this needs to fucking stop or he’ll rip the male’s hand that’s holding you by your waist and moving you sides to side

all of his fear gone when the na’vi’s eyes are on him when he’s stepping down from his seat and walking straight to you

neteyam ignores his father’s call, sight on you and you only. you didn’t notice how he’s dangerously close until no’xus stopped his moving. “what is it?” you’re annoyed when your distracted self is brought back to reality

“put your hands off of her.” it was an order and no’xus looked at him manically. “i’m not fucking repeating myself.” all the na’vi’s are confused, even his parents and äeya’s family.

your body is jerked away from the stranger you just met and you hiss when neteyam tugs you close to him. what is he thinking? in front of everyone? his last words makes the whole omatikaya village gasp and whisper.

“fucking let go of what’s mine and find your own mate.” neteyam scowl’s dangerously.

how’re we feeling, sweets? are we feeling anxious? excited? invested? spill in the comments cause i love reading your thoughts sjsjsj

also do you guys want a toe curling smut at the end or no? since neteyam is aged up!20 years old in this series, lmk in the comments if you want smut — tag list in the comments &lt;3

[fillinforlater]

On her jeans (Part 1 of 3)

Male Reader x Kim Minji

Length: 3128 words

Tags: backstory, sex as payment, degradation, all things blowjob: face fuck, deep throat, gagging, chocking, throat bulging, rough face sex, training, passive hand job, master/daddy kink, desperate_trainee!Minji

TW: Minji is selling herself here kinda (oh no)

Credit: @sooyadelicacies for co-writing this crazy series with me. Mad lad!

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-

(A/N: Hey you! I know you're reading this. Get ready for your favorite girls to get defiled one-by-one. Goon or go (or something like that, sounded cooler in my head). For everyone else, have fun!)

"Huh? Minji? What are you doing here?" 

Kazuha asks, surprised to see the still-trainee on this floor of the HYBE building, knocking on an unoccupied training room that she has nothing to do with usually.

"I-I came here to ask you about something,” the younger stutters. “I heard you were personally selected for LE SSERAFIM—and that there is some backer for your success. Even th-the group's scandal went away without a hitch. 

“Who is helping you, who is he?"

"What are you talking about?" Kazuha responds, face in scrunches. 

"I know that you know, Unnie," Minji says and catches the door before Kazuha can close it again. "I need answers, please. I-I've seen their plans, this is going to blow up, we'll be a failure, HYBE's loving stock.

"I can't fail this."

Kazuha looks at the determined young girl, her face loosening up a bit, turning from trying to defend her future spot at your side from a new rival to worrying for Minji. She curls her finger and Minji enters the otherwise empty training room.

"You have some dangerous knowledge," the Japanese woman then says. "Asking for this—I think you have no idea what you might get into."

"Doesn’t everyone say this about the industry?" Minji responds with wit and looks at Kazuha's sweaty body in the mirror. "Everyone always shares their doubts, from the moment you start. And now we are here, ready to debut. I know I have talent, but will it be enough?"

"You really want this, Minji?"

"Yes, Unnie, more than anything."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen. Why do you—"

"I'll give you his number." Kazuha sighs deeply, but nonetheless, her words have Minji in a delighted dance. "I'll tell him that you are good, so be good, be honest to him. I'm doing you a favor here."

"Thank you so much, Unnie!"

"But be careful: he is greedy, he wants more than you can imagine, so be ready to give him everything. And also—" 

Kazuha pinches Minji's chin, tilts it towards her piercing eyes and whispers in the most kind yet threatening voice: 

"Never try to get between him and me."

# 

"Oh my—your concept, these plans. They are fucking terrible. It's going to take a lot to salvage this, even you seem to know that, Minji." There is no need for you to hold back. If you think a plan is bad, you better tell someone before they fail. You’ve seen your fair share of bad plans, but not by HYBE and not to this extreme.

"I-I know. I tried to tell them, but the managers just shut me down.” Minji puts her arms back on her thighs. They were just dramatically cast into the air to get her point across, but the young girl saw your unimpressed gaze and quickly got professional again. “They are running us straight into a brick wall."

"I've seen many examples like this. A lot of companies think they can do no wrong, especially when a lot of time has passed since their latest failure." 

You give Minji her tablet back and rest your chin on one hand, the other tapping the giant desk before you. You are deep in thought, at least Minji should believe that. Instead you are looking into her eyes, mariana trenches of passion, hopefulness, determination. Minji has a pretty face, leadership qualities, all the skills of a superstar but most importantly, she has some thick lips that will be perfect for cock sucking. 

Okay, you are getting ahead of yourselves. The other big thing she has is the willingness to trade everything for her dream, for hope, maybe for fame too. She will give her dignity for glory—and you will make her do it right fucking now.

"This is a difficult case," you say slowly, watching her expression shift a bit, not yet gloomy but getting there. "Luckily, I and HYBE still have the time and resources to make your debut a success. People will talk about it for a long time. I can even guarantee you a music show win from the get go."

"Really? Oh my God, thank you so much, sir. You are way too kind." Minji jumps from her seat and takes a deep, formal bow. "I hope I can lay all of this in your hand?"

"You sure can, Minji, but you know this comes with a price, a hefty one at that. This cannot be solved with two phone calls and some convincing. Hell, I barely have any time." You stand up from your chair and look at the young woman, upper body still tilted but her huge eyes fixed on you, now you’re in front of her. You still dwarf her and she only now knows that she is completely outmatched and will pay up.

"I-I will give you everything, as soon as I can," she stutters. "I only need some time and, and—"

"But I need it now, Minji. Right fucking now.

"Get on your knees."

"Sir?" Minji asks, shocked. "On my knees? Do-do you want me to beg?" 

You snort. “I thought you were smarter. What did Zuha tell you exactly?” 

“H-how did you know—?”

“Minji, what you're asking for requires a complete 180. Your entire concept will have to be changed. From what I’ve heard, you need some new songs too. I have someone in mind who can spearhead your group but she's a wildcard, batshit insane really, but the right kind of crazy needed for something like this. But all of this will take a lot of fucking effort, time and money. And I need you to prove your worth, now."

Push down on Minji's shoulders until she winces and sinks to the floor. Black tiles, hard, cold and somewhat reflective. You know that for a moment all of them hesitate when seeing the rough outline of their head mirrored back to them. Are they really going to do it? Is this what they have to sell? Is it worth it? 

Those that stayed are now superstars and because Minji somehow knew about it and had the guts to look for you, there is not a single doubt in you that she will devote herself to you.

"I can make your dreams come true," you proclaim calmly, yet your words put Minji under unbearable pressure. "Fame, money, success are all guaranteed, out of question, beyond that everything is possible. When you just stay there, on your knees and open your pretty mouth—"

A zip and your semi-hard cock is released, to the absolute shock of Minji, whose mental image of her face is replaced by the first phallus she has ever seen before her eyes. 

"—I'll fulfill your desires."

Minji looks up at you and gulps. She thought the auditions and training evaluations were the final tests respectively, but now her entire career comes down to this one huge cock right in front of her. She curses the producers, the managers, those idiots at Ador—their mistakes have to be redeemed by her sucking dick and lowering to the level of a desperate whore.

Minji has no option. Idols are born from hardship and this is just another step, she believes. So her lips part a little, and when she locks eyes with you, they part a lot more. With a satisfied groan, you shove your cock deep into her throat.

"From now on, you'll call me Master. Later will be Daddy, but not until you've proven worthy. Your next few weeks will be rough, new people, new songs, new choreos." The first tears form in Minji's gorgeous eyes as gags bounce through your office. "I don't care how tired or sweaty you are, when I call you, you come to me right after practice, no excuses. You will obey every fucking wish, especially because I have so much work with you."

You drag your balls over her chin, let your cock rest at the top of her mouth and open it wide. Minji is clumsy with her teeth and with the way she tries to dodge your thrust, be it intentionally or out of fear. This is of course vastly inferior compared to a blowjob from all those second and third gen stars you've made big after giving them your big cock.

The only redeeming, already great quality, are her lips. Natural, not a talent or skill. She'd be a lot better just not moving, not thinking, a fleshlight, but how should such a young woman know?

"I assume you're smart enough to understand all this," you tell her expectantly and pull out. Minji leans forward and coughs up her saliva on your floor. You grab her hair and pull it back, get ready to spit at her, but she has wit.

"Ye-yes, Master. Excuse my incompetence, I—you're so big."

"No crying? No regrets? Well, that's more impressive than your blowjob skills. How about you clean up your incompetence?"

You take a step back and pull her face down, down by the hair, onto the tiles where her spurts of saliva lay. Minji hisses out in pain, you know she stares down angrily, shocked at how rude you are to her. She grits her teeth—

"Yes, Master, sorry, Master."

—and begins to lick the floor, slowly and only with the tip of her small tongue.

You are mildly impressed that she adjusted to her situation rather quickly. It is the sign of a prodigy in bloom. 

"I am curious, baby girl. I was informed you didn't really set out to become an idol. So why put yourself through all of this?" You muse and question her. Minji's eyes widened a little, finally shifting from their bristling anger. "Oh, I know everything about you, Kim Minji. It is my job to know and then some. So tell me: what is your ambition? What is your desire?"

"Who doesn't dream of being famous?" Minji says, determination in her eyes which she has pointed at you like sharp, pointy arrows. "I want to be a star, the idol that all my classmates, parents, grown-ups have never seen in me. I want to show them how wrong they were."

"Too bad that even after joining the great and successful HYBE, you are about to be their first blunder," you taunt her and slap her forehead with your cock. "Good thing you're ready to suck cock for some adjustments of their mistakes."

Minji puckers her lips and a bit carelessly gets your cock back onto them, spreading small licks on your cockhead. "This is nothing, I know hardship."

"Oh, 

"You call this nothing?"

You tsk and slap her face with your cock.

"You know hardship? Do tell, Minji..." You grip her head and begin to plunge into her mouth. "Hardship? We haven't even started yet. I'm not even at full size, stupid girl!" 

You see her eyes widening as tears begin to form with your rough treatment. Thinking back to Minji's words, you read her well. People doubted her—you could too. She wasn't so different from the others you've trained. All they needed was education to rely on you, devotion to you and love for you and only you.

"Make sure to keep your fucking teeth off of it," you growl while your fingers search for new ways to pull at her hair, to push her away and then slam her back down on your cock which is finally hardening at the arousal her fearful face brings. The inside of Minji's mouth grows wetter, sloppier, warmer, until suddenly—

The annoyance of her teeth returns and it stings. To start with blowjobs has both been a disaster for your pleasure but intense fuel to introduce Minji to the harsh reality that is you; you and the success that you bring. Everything she has ever wanted, you can bring her, and so she fights trough the tears and accepts that you press her flat on the floor and fuck down into her mouth like it's a pussy.

"Open wide, open wide," you repeatedly command, a hand on Minji's jaw to help her make this command come true. "You useless slut, don't waste your lips on such pathetic blowjobs. Fucking hell, when I'm done with you, you better deepthroat like a mid porn star.

"Fucking waste of my time, you stupid stupid girl. This is the standard HYBE is accepting now? Fuck, maybe we can't even blame the company for your group's future failure—it will all just be on you. If you don't fucking step it up, this is the last time you will ever contact me." 

Gaze still intensely focused on her, you pull out your cell phone and unlock it. You don’t really use it for much, except for phone calls, but this alone makes this device insanely valuable. You however don’t need to make a phone call now. You only need to show Minji one thing: your contact list.

She can see you scrolling past the names of tons of people, all in the industry. Well known producers, managers, executives, staff members, but most importantly, all highlighted by a colorful array of yellow, orange, red and pink: 

The full names of hundreds of female idols. Minji scans through the list, recognizing one Unnie after the other, from nugu second gen groups to absolute super stars.

You pull out of Minji's mouth, give her time to cough up all leftover spit and wipe her tears away. Ultimately, you help her up from the cold hard floor, the only thing still laying on the floor is her pride.

"Do you get it now?" you ask and look at her, eyebrows raised with the highest of expectations.

"Yes, Master."

"Then you know what you have to do."

"De-deepthroat like a p-porn star."

"Can you do that?"

Minji hesitates, something you cannot stand for the love of everything. You grab her hips and throw her on your desk, spin her until her head is hanging off of the table. With no further warning, because she does not deserve those anymore, you press your cock on her lips and fill more than her mouth. Minji's throat starts to visibly bulge from the massive width of your cock. 

Of course she is gagging, kicking her feet but that isn't even a flight response. There is no need for you to pin her down. She wants to stay, wants to become a good slut, a stupid girl that can suck your entire cock. Sadly, her newfound eagerness isn't rewarded with success. She needs training and stretching and so you stretch Minji's throat with lazy thrust and train her nose to accept your balls on them.

"You're so silly, but finally, we have some effort, Minji," you growl and reach into the top of her shirt. "We can work from here."

You fondle her breasts, run your hands down her soft stomach. 

"Good, I can definitely work with this. You remind me of—" 

But you pause, not wanting to divulge any advantages for her to pick up on. She looks like an absolute fuck doll as her head continues hang off the table. Even upside down, it was pretty when stuffed with your cock, your balls now touching her lips with each plunge. 

"Minji, it's not enough to deepthroat like a porn star. You'll learn to deepthroat like one of my perfect sluts, whores. Porn star is a start, but it will soon be an insult to you.”

She had no idea that her consideration as a future perfect whore meant you already took a liking to her. As of now, all she knew—no, all she could think of—was your cock and that she needed to keep her teeth off of it. It needed to fuck her throat if she wanted any chance at a great career. 

And so Minji takes it, acts like a whore who willingly gets gag induced drool over her face, then fat, filled balls on her nose and accepts the greedy hands all over her midriff. Minji always thought that she needs this tight, perfect form for the approvement of the public—now it's you who decides if her body is acceptable and ripe for a fucking. 

Your seal of approval is the frantic way you tear open her shirt, then her bra and start to knead her breasts, while her tongue movements become actually enjoyable. You thrust harder, making Minji's face pale as she struggles to get air. She looks gorgeous like that, so you slap her tummy and before the choking is too hard, you back off and pull your pants up.

"That's it for today," you say as Minji still gasps for air. "From now on, you'll be here everyday after practice."

Short silence, disbelief in her eyes. "H-huh—yes, Master."

"The door will be open. Walk in and lay down on the table, just like this. You will wait until I return or have time for you. It doesn't matter what happens, you will lay there until I am finished with you."

"Yes, Master."

"A lot will change." You rub sweat and spit off her temple with a gentle hand and look at her glassy eyes. "You might not get any sleep at all. Now you will learn true adversity.

"Okay, fuck it. You don't deserve this, but I don't care."

Pull your pants back down and lower your balls onto Minji's mouth. This time, there is no hesitation, and she opens her fuckable lips wide. Her tongue starts to twirl around your sac while you begin to jerk yourself off. When Minji finally starts to suck, you feel a satisfying conclusion to this messy meeting arriving. But—

"Why would I do it myself? Get your hand here!"

You find one of Minji's hands and start to spit on each finger. Like a waterfall, it runs down until you deem it lubricated enough. Then you put them around your manhood and begin to thrust. It's a lot colder than a pussy, but Minji seems to instinctively know how to tighten the gap, the grip, her hand-pussy suddenly becomes worth cumming in.

Take a final breath and climax, each pump sending long streaks of pearly white on Minji's body. You cover her in seed until one long line, from her navel to her throat, forms and you admire how carefully she worships your balls. Wipe your cockhead clean on her hand and make a mental note to have this soft palm be a useful masturbation aid for another time.

"Who would've thought that you're already in love with my balls?" You almost crack a smile through your stone cold facade. "A good sign that you're already a whore."

"M-Master, I..."

"Shut the fuck up.

"Tomorrow, after practice. No underwear, no questions, no one is allowed to know."

[maysileeewrites]

Don’t Want You Like A Best Friend

17+ content; mdni!

Part I | series masterlist | my Coryo masterlist

summary: You and Coriolanus have been best friends ever since you can remember. You've always thought of him as the protective older brother you’ve never had, but lately, your feelings towards him have changed - not quite so pure and innocent anymore ...

chapter tags/warnings: some best friends to lovers angst and emotional confusion, lots of fluff, slightly ooc Coryo (don't worry, the possessive jealousy borderline crazy obsessive behavior will come in later parts!), a lil smutty treat at the end of the chapter

word count: 5,7k (it’s worth it, I promise!!)

You and Coriolanus have been best friends ever since you can remember. 

You’ve grown up together, experienced everything together, with your family living just across the street from Coroy’s family’s apartment. 

You’ve been there for each other during the dark days of the war, when both his parents and your father died. You’ve attended the academy together for years. 

You’re planning on going to University together as well, though that is still in the future, seeing as it will be a few more months until you’ll both finally graduate the academy. 

Really, Coriolanus is such a constant, important aspect in your life, you can’t imagine life without him. 

He’s always there for you - whether it be to laugh over a silly joke one of you two made or to hug and console you after a bad day or to look out for you and protect you. 

You’re inseparable, really, spending almost every moment together. 

Before, you’ve always thought of him as the protective older brother you’ve never had, but lately, your feelings towards him have changed - they’re not quite so pure and innocent anymore.

Lately, you’ve caught yourself staring at Coriolanus more and more often, gaze lingering on his bright blue eyes, his mischievous smirk, his blond curls or his toned, muscled arms or chest. 

When he hugs you, you can’t help but notice how good it feels to be pressed against his toned chest, feeling his heartbeat against your skin. 

When he reaches out a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into his warm, comforting touch. 

When he reaches out to draw you closer, his hand settling possessively on your waist, the first thought in your head is that this - this feels right. You and Coryo together, as close as possible. 

And you can’t help but want, no, crave, more of it. 

More of Coryo, more of you two together, more of that dizzying, heady feeling you get whenever he touches you that sends your thoughts spiraling and makes your heartbeat go haywire. 

You’ve started to crave his touch more and more, always trying to come up with ways to inconspicuously touch him - letting your hand brush against his, laying a hand on his arm to steady yourself or reaching out a hand to brush a stray curl from his forehead. 

You feel yourself starting to get addicted to him more and more - and you have no idea how to stop it. 

Though, if you’re honest with yourself- you don’t want to stop it. 

You want to get lost in this snow storm of feelings. 

“Let’s go through this one more time”, Coryo says from his place at your desk, prompting a sigh from you. 

“Coryo”, you say, whining, “we’ve been going through this this whole afternoon. I think you’ve got it. Besides, the test is not until next Monday, you’ve got the whole weekend to continue studying - not that you need it.” 

“You know that I can’t afford to get anything other than an A on this test, right?”, Coryo replies, sighing. 

“And you know that you’ll get an A, even without studying, Coryo”, you reply, finally sitting up from your sprawled-out position on your bed. 

You can see Coryo shaking his head, about to say something else, so you hastily add: “Please, Coryo. I know how much you worry about your grades - I get it, I really do. But, you’ve slowly been driving me insane this afternoon, I can’t go through this stuff yet again, at least not right now.” 

When Coryo doesn’t reply immediately, you nervously bite down on your lower lip. You didn’t want to sound so mean, but the truth is that he has been driving you crazy this afternoon. You’ve already gone through all your notes of ancient history three times and you really don’t want to go all through 18 pages - front and back, in Coryo’s small, neat handwriting no less - of notes yet again. 

Coryo sighs frustratedly. 

You look up, only to find his intense gaze fixed on you, his blue eyes boring into yours. “I’m sorry, you’re right”, he says, sighing again and running a hand through his blond curls. “Maybe I just need to take a break-“ 

“That sounds wonderful”, you say, cutting him off before he has the chance to add a but to his suggestion. 

You get up from your bed, walking over to your desk and grab both of Coryo’s hands, trying to get him to get up, but Coryo doesn’t cooperate, becoming a dead weight to you. 

“Coryo, come on”, you plead, huffing a sigh of frustration, when he still makes no move to get up. 

You take another step closer to him, putting even more strength into the motion of your arms - just when Coryo smirks up at you, before tugging hard on your hands, causing you to stumble forward; right into his lap. 

“Asshole!”, you exclaim, pushing against his chest with your hands, but Coryo doesn’t budge. 

He just looks up at you with a triumphant smirk, a daring expression in his blue eyes. Daring you to do what exactly, you’re not quite sure. You just know that you’re trapped in his gaze, unable to do anything but look at him and get lost in his blue, blue eyes. 

And - this isn’t the first time that something like this has happened lately. In fact, lately you’ve found Coryo’s eyes lingering on you more and more often, his intense gaze seemingly burning you. 

And it should frighten you, how much you’ve come to crave the feeling of his eyes on you. And it does, but there’s something else there as well - a yearning for his attention that hasn’t been there before. 

The soft sound of Coryo chuckling at your scowling expression draws you out of your thoughts. 

“Need some help?”, he asks you, smirking. 

You huff a sigh of frustration, trying to push against his chest again - at the same time that Coryo tugs on your arms again, causing you to shift even more forward in his lap, until you’re pressed flush against his strong, muscular chest. 

Flustered, you feel your cheeks warming, your heartbeat quickening. Coryo is so, so close to you, you can feel his breath on your skin, his heartbeat under your hands. 

And - well, you’re sitting right in his lap, and once you’ve worked through your initial confusion at his sudden closeness, you can feel something else as well. Something hard pressed against your stomach- 

Coryo clears his throat then, gently pushing you away. You stumble, disoriented from the sudden motion, but then Coryo’s hand is there on your waist, steadying you. 

He leans in even closer towards you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He smiles softly, as if nothing has just happened. “You were saying something about taking a break?” 

You swallow, trying to calm your still erratic heartbeat and forcing a smile onto your face. “Sure. How about a snack and some hot chocolate?” 

“Finally satisfied with all the torture you’ve put me through today?”, you say, yawning, when you see Coriolanus finally closing his folder - you feel like you’ve been studying for ages and you never want to see his ancient history notes ever again. 

He laughs softly, the sound reverberating against your back. You don’t quite know how you’ve ended up in this position - both of you on your bed, Coryo sitting behind you, you sitting between his legs, your head leaning against his chest. 

It shouldn’t feel so good, being this close to him, especially after that incident earlier this afternoon- that still has your mind reeling and your cheeks heating up whenever you think about it -, but it does. 

In fact, now that you’ve got a taste of it, you don’t ever want it to stop. 

You bite down hard on your lip, trying - and failing - to stop this dangerous line of thinking. Because allowing yourself to let your thoughts spiral like this, allowing yourself to feel this nervous, heated energy that’s coursing through your veins, instead of suppressing it, like you’ve done until now - is dangerous. 

It will only lead you down a road of heartbreak. Yet you can’t seem to find it in you to hit the brakes and stop. 

„Torture?“, Coryo now says, drawing you out of your thoughts. „You seem to be in an awfully good mood for suffering through a whole afternoon of torture.“

You can’t help but smile at his words, though you’re glad that Coryo isn’t able to see it - he’d just call you out and tease you for smiling like an idiot to yourself. 

„Yes, well, going through eighteen pages of notes - front and back - four times is torture-“, your words are cut off by a surprised, startled yelp, when suddenly, Coryo starts tickling you. 

„No - Coryo, please!“, you manage to get out, but he’s unrelenting, only tickling you harder despite your protests. 

Both his hands are wrapped around your waist and your back is pressed flush against his broad chest. And even though you’re still giggling, trying to fight him off, you can also feel that nervous, heady feeling that sends your thoughts and heartbeat haywire again. 

You give up trying to fight him off, then, which Coryo immediately notices. He laughs softly, before finally ending his tickling attack and resting his head on the crook of your neck. „Enough torture for today?“, he asks and you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You try to turn around to face him then, but both his hands are still on your waist, trapping you in place. „You’re a jerk, you know that, right?“, you say, though your voice doesn’t sound quite as steady and dry as you’d intended it to. 

Coriolanus just laughs, the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over your skin causing you to shiver involuntarily. „You’ve never complained before.“ 

You huff, rolling your eyes. „Well, you’ve never bothered to acknowledge it.“ 

„Mhm, that’s probably for the best …“ 

You roll your eyes again - his answer is just so typically Coryo. 

„What, no witty retort?“, Coriolanus asks, but you only shake your head, yawning.

„We both know that you can be quite the jerk, ’s nothing new … besides, it’s late …“, you mumble, trying to suppress another yawn and leaning back against his chest again. It is late - already way past eleven, the street outside your window already dark, safe for the streetlights. 

You close your eyes, wishing that you could just stay like this, wrapped in Coryo’s comforting embrace, if only for a short moment longer.

„You’re right, it’s late“, Coriolanus now says. „I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have held you up so long, I should get going …“ 

„Or you could stay.“ 

The words are out of your mouth before you’ve thought them through and you can feel yourself flushing again. Now, you’re really glad that you’re still facing away from Coriolanus - you feel like you’d die from embarrassment if he could see your face going beet-red. 

„I could …“, he says, his voice uncertain. 

„Yes … you, uh, could …“, you say, feeling your cheeks heat up. You’re glad that Coriolanus isn’t able to see it - really, you’re just glad that he hasn’t noticed how weird you’ve been acting around him lately, your heartbeat picking up, your cheeks flushing, your hands getting sweaty when being around him; sometimes just from a single touch or a lingering look from Coryo. 

It’s not like you’ve never done this before, like this has never happened before. This wouldn’t be the first time that Coriolanus sleeps over at your place. In fact, he used to do so a lot when you were younger, right after his parents died and he was plagued with nightmares. It stopped happening as often when you both got older, and now, it hasn’t happened in years. 

And somehow him sleeping over at your place now seems to be something totally different than him sleeping over at your place when you were both little kids. 

You’re not little kids anymore - you’ve changed. You both have. Your friendship has changed, evolved as well. 

Coriolanus is still your best friend, the one person you wouldn’t want to live without; but somehow, he’s not just that. He means something more to you as well, something else, something much less innocent than friendship-

„Yes, I could - I mean, only if that’s alright with you and your mother-“

„Sure“, you interrupt him, your voice sounding incredibly high and nervous. Fuck, you think, running a hand through your hair, and trying to calm your erratic heartbeat. „I mean, it’s no big deal …“ 

Lie. 

It is a big deal, but it’s probably for the best that Coriolanus doesn’t know that the thought of falling asleep right next to him excites you way more than it probably should. 

Coriolanus laughs softly. „Great … Should we get ready for bed then? It’s quite late and you always take ages getting ready for bed-“

„Just admit that you need your beauty sleep“, you interrupt him, teasing him back. You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s rolling his eyes at your remark. 

„Exactly“, he says, dryly, before gently losing his embrace and getting up. 

You follow him to the bathroom, your mind still spiraling. Just minutes earlier, you were complaining about going through Coryo’s ancient history notes four times; now, you’re following your best friend to the bathroom that’s connected to your room, to get ready for bed - with your best friend who’s sleeping over. 

In your bathroom, you hand Coriolanus a spare toothbrush, a comb and a towel, trying to ignore the tingly feeling in your fingertips when your hands brush against his. But then, he draws you closer with one hand, his hand resting on your waist for just a moment too long and you’re blushing again, the thought that you shouldn’t feel so excited and nervous about your best friend sleeping over already forgotten again. 

It takes you quite some time to get ready for bed. Not, as Coriolanus keeps insisting, because of your way too long and time consuming evening routine; but because of him distracting you with his lingering touches and stolen glances - messing your hair up again right after you’ve combed through it; catching your gaze in the mirror over the sink again and again while you’re brushing your teeth; drawing you closer just when you’re about to reach for your night cream. 

It’s way past midnight when you’re finally laying down in bed - right next to Coriolanus, who turns to look at you with a soft smile on his face after you’ve reached for the bedsheets, drawing them over you both. 

He scoots closer to you, before wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you even closer to him, your back flush against his chest - the gesture so casual and natural, as if it doesn’t make your heartbeat go haywire. 

„Good night“, he whispers, before resting his head on the crook of your neck. 

Your heart skips a beat then. 

„Good- good night, Coryo“, you manage to get out, your voice wobbly. 

You close your eyes, though you already know that actually falling asleep will be almost impossible - how are you supposed to just fall asleep with Coriolanus right there, your back pressed against his chest, his hand on your waist, his head resting on the crook of your neck? 

No - you probably won’t even catch a single second of sleep this night. 

But somehow, that doesn’t sound too bad. (Not when you get to spend the night like this, with your best friend wrapped around you.) 

The next morning, you’re the first one awake. 

Coriolanus is still soundly asleep, his even breath ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver. You’re in almost the same position as you were when you fell asleep, with Coriolanus’s hand on your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder. 

You were right, you think, yawning, you didn’t get much sleep. It took you ages to fall asleep, your mind still reeling from Coriolanus’s overwhelming closeness. You must have fallen asleep at some point though, because you distinctly remember waking from Coriolanus tightening his hold on you and muttering some unintelligible. 

You yawn again, carefully turning around to face Coriolanus. 

He’s still asleep. 

You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him, study his face - as if you haven’t already memorized every single one of his features. He looks so calm and peaceful when he sleeps, his expression soft and open. 

Without thinking, you reach up with one hand and brush a stray blond curl from his forehead. The motion seems to wake Coriolanus though, because his eyes flutter open, and then he’s looking at you - his blue gaze still a bit disoriented, but you feel caught up in his gaze nonetheless. 

„Hey“, he says, his voice still a bit sleepy, „sleep well?“ 

You quickly withdraw your hand, forcing a smile onto your face. „Well, could’ve been better if you hadn’t snored so loudly“, you say, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Coriolanus just scoffs. „I do not snore“, he says, indignant. 

No, you think, but you still kept me awake all night long, just by having your hand splayed across my stomach, your head resting on my shoulder. 

Still, you force yourself to shrug. „Easy for you to say.“ 

Coriolanus just scoffs again. But even though he’s annoyed by your comment, shooting you another indignant look, you can’t help but think that you want to spend every single morning just like this. 

You want to wake up right next to Coriolanus every morning - something you shouldn’t even be thinking about, but something that you still desperately crave nonetheless.  

It becomes a habit, then - Coryo sleeping over at your place.

At first, he only does it after one of your study sessions, once or twice a week. But then, it starts happening more and more often - him sleeping over after a movie night (considering that it took you a lot of convincing to get him to finally agree to a movie night, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a lot, cuddling up to you on your living room couch, resting his head on the crook of your neck, sending your heartbeat haywire) or after an evening of cooking together or after a long evening spent together at the Academy’s library, finishing an assignment for Professor Sickle.

At first, you don’t really think anything of it. 

But then, one Sunday morning you’re going through your clothes (for once, Coryo didn’t sleep over at your place, because he and Tigris promised the Grandm’am an early breakfast before helping her out with her roses) and suddenly,  you realize that there’s a whole stack of Coryo’s clothes in your closet. Dress shirts, plain shirts, pants, even one of his favorite shirts - it’s all here, in your closet. 

Without allowing yourself to think too much about it, you grab a simple long-sleeved grey shirt from the stack with Coryo’s clothes and put it on. (It’s oversized, the sleeves way too long, but you don’t care, the shirt is so soft and comfortable. And besides - it still smells like Coryo, like roses and powder and something else, something that’s entirely him.) 

After throwing on some simple, comfortable pants as well, you walk over to your bathroom - and startle when you see the box with Coryo’s things on one side of the big, marble sink. A toothbrush, a comb, even a small tube of Tigris’s face cream that he secretly uses - you’re the only one who knows and he’d made you swear not to tell a single living soul that fact. 

You smile at the memory, absentmindedly running a hand through your hair and letting your eyes wander through the bathroom. 

But everywhere you look, you see Coriolanus. Everything seems to somehow remind you of him. 

That towel on the sink, which is lying neatly folded right next to the box with Coryo’s stuff. It’s one of your own towels, nothing special in your opinion - you’ve got lot of other towels and really, a towel is just a towel - but Coryo insists that it’s softer than your other towels and feels better on his skin. 

That old butterfly-shaped hairpin of yours, lying abandoned on the windowsill. You only have to look at it to be taken back to Thursday night when you were getting ready for bed, brushing your hair in front of the great mirror over the sink, when suddenly Coryo walked into your bathroom, your old hairpin in hand. 

„That’s the hairpin you got for your tenth birthday, isn’t it?“, he asked, smiling to himself. 

You nodded. „Yes, I thought about giving it away, maybe gifting it to my little cousin, because I don’t really think that it suits me anymore.“ 

Coryo’s smile seemed to freeze at your words. „Really? I still think it looks great, look“, he said, drawing you closer with one hand whilst reaching up with his other hand to place to pin in your hair. 

„See?“, he said, smiling. 

You laughed, shaking your head. „I mean, yes, it’s beautiful, but I’m not ten anymore, Coryo.“ 

You wanted to put the hairpin away, but Coriolanus insisted on you keeping it just a little longer - maybe you’d change your mind about it. 

You reach for that hairpin now, absentmindedly running your fingers over it. Coriolanus is right, the pin is beautiful, even though it looks a bit worn down after years of usage. 

You decide to keep the pin, then. Not because you think that you’ll wear it again, but as another reminder of Coryo. 

It is in this moment that you realize that your feelings towards your best friend have changed - you no longer view him as just your best friend. 

You no longer want him like a best friend. 

You don’t want to be just his best friend anymore - you want so much more than that. You want - no need - his attention, want his lingering eyes on you, want his warm, comforting touch before falling asleep, want to wake up next to him, want to feel his lips on yours. 

You tighten your grip on the hairpin, until you feel it starting to dig uncomfortably in your skin, but the pain still can’t distract you from your thoughts and the heavy, crushing feeling in your chest. 

Because no matter how much you might want to be more than Coryo’s best friend - to him, you’ll never be anything else. He’ll never see you as anything other than his best friend. 

It somehow becomes both easier and harder to be around Coryo after your realization. 

Easier, because it means that you still get to be around him, get to talk with him, fall asleep with him at your side, ly next to on your bed while he’s motivating you to study. 

Harder, because it means that you still get to be around him - all the time. Looking at him, laughing with him, touching him; fantasizing about him in ways that you definitely shouldn’t think about your best friend. 

His presence is almost like a drug to you; addicting and intoxicating, leaving you craving more of it, even though you know that it’s not good for you - in the end it’ll be your heart that’ll be broken. 

„Something on your mind?“, Coryo’s soft voice draws you out of your thoughts, his hand absentmindedly drawing circles on your back. 

It’s already late evening and you’re lying together in your bed - you wearing one of his shirts, which he noticed with a satisfied smirk earlier, over your nightdress. 

You shake your head, thankful that Coriolanus can’t see your face, seeing as he’s spooning you from behind. „Not really, no … just all these papers we’ll have to hand in during the next two weeks …“ 

„Well, if it’s nothing else …“, Coriolanus says, laughing softly, his warm breath tickling against your skin, but something tells you that he doesn’t quite believe your words. 

„Nope“, you say, trying to sound nonchalant, before freeing yourself from Coriolanus’s grip, taking off his shirt, so that you’re left in only your lacy, red nightdress. 

The distraction works - Coriolanus’s swallows, the expression in his eyes darkening. „Won’t you - uhm, freeze? If you’re only sleeping in that, I mean, it doesn’t look very warm …“, he stutters - actually stutters. 

„Freeze?“, you ask, grinning, „with you right next to me?“ 

Coriolanus just scoffs, rolling his eyes. It’s a discussion you’ve had quite often these last few weeks - with you convinced that his body temperature is too high, and him convinced that yours is running too low. 

Though maybe Coryo does have a point and you always feeling so hot when you’re being embraced by him has more to do with your heartbeat quickening and your palms turning sweaty from being so near to him and less with his body temperature. 

Suddenly, Coriolanus sits up, leaning in towards you, before closing both his arms around you, caging you in his embrace. Both of his hands are splayed possessively over your stomach, though one feels dangerously close to your chest. 

Though - maybe that is just your imagination running wild with you again.  

„Warm enough for you?“, Coriolanus asks, resting his head on the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. 

You laugh, trying not to squirm - you’re insanely ticklish, something Coriolanus very much know. „Yes, Coryo, more than enough …“ 

„Hm …“, he laughs softly. „Can’t have you freezing now, can I?“, he adds, reaching for your blanket and draping it around you both. 

„Hm ...“, you hum, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against his chest. You feel so warm and content, being so close to Coryo. It’s so easy to get lost in your imagination like that, to pretend that you can actually have this with him, to pretend that this is not just your best friend messing around with you - to pretend that he feels the same way you do. 

You stay like that for a moment - Coryo holding you in his arms, bodies pressed flush together. 

Then, after a while - you can’t tell whether it’s been only a few minutes or a few hours; time always seems to either stop or pass you by in a blur whenever you’re with Coriolanus - he clears his throat, breaking his embrace. 

„It’s late, we should probably try to get some sleep …“, he says, trying to suppress a yawn. 

You nod, forcing a smile onto your face. „Sure … can’t have your mind in a foggy, exhausted state when you want to make a good impression in Sickle’s class tomorrow morning …“ 

Coriolanus scoffs, laying down on your bed. 

The moment you’ve lain down as well, he scoots closer to you, enclosing you in his arms. Something he does every night when he sleeps over, though your heart still skips a beat at the action. 

This is dangerous, you think. You can’t keep thinking about your best friend like that, can’t keep falling and falling for him- 

„Good night“, Coriolanus says - and then he does something he’s never done before: he leans in closer towards you, pressing a gentle, soft kiss to your hairline. 

Your heartbeat quickens and you can only hope that Coryo won’t be able to pick up on it. 

„Good - good night, Coryo“, you say, your voice shaky, barely being able to get the words out. 

Coriolanus laughs, before resting his head on the crook of your neck again. 

You swallow, trying not to shiver. 

This night, it takes you a long time to fall asleep. 

When you wake up, Coriolanus has wrapped himself around you, caging you in between his arms, one of his hands splayed possessively across your stomach, his other hand dangerously close to the hem of your admittedly quite short night dress. (You may have decided on deliberately wearing this particular lacy red night dress, seeing as it has made Coriolanus look at you with a dark expression in his eyes when he’d seen you wearing it once before.)

His strong, muscled chest is pressed flush against your back - though that’s not the only thing pressed against your back. 

You feel your cheeks heat up when you realize what this means. This has only happened two times before, and both times Coriolanus was quick to embarresedly scoot away from you when he woke up, realizing that his erection had been pressed against your back. 

Now, though, Coriolanus seems to be asleep and in no hurry to move away from you. In fact, he suddenly makes a low muffled noise, his grip on you tightening, his hand at the hem of your night dress moving up even higher until you can feel his fingertips brush over the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

You can’t help the surprised noise that escapes you then - even though all of this should feel so wrong; it doesn’t. 

It doesn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, you want - no, crave even more of this, of you and Coryo pressed so closely together that not even a single leaf could fit between you, Coriolanus’s hands on you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Coriolanus suddenly says your name, his lips brushing against your skin, causing you to shiver. 

„Cory?“, you ask, trying to turn around, but his grip on you is too tight, keeping you in place. 

Then - your name falling from his lips again, followed by a loud, coarse moan. 

„Yes, right there - fuck, so good, so good“, Coriolanus moans, one hand suddenly finding its way under the skirt of your night dress, his fingers moving up higher and higher on your thighs, coming dangerously close to the hem of your panties-

„Fuck!“ Another loud moan, followed by Coriolanus’s hips moving against yours, his erection pressing against you. 

Oh, you think, cheeks impossibly warm, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from making any sound. 

Besides your imagination running wild these last few weeks, one dirty fantasy of you and your best friend chasing the other, this has never happened to you. You thought that it never would happen to you - at least not with Coryo. 

Though he’s only caught up in a dream of his own, you try to remind yourself, when his hips move against yours again. 

It’s only a dream. But why is it your name that he’s moaning then, not any other? But maybe it’s just a coincide-

Every single thought is wiped from your head, when Coriolanus’s fingers brush over your panties, teasing your clit though the thin fabric. 

You can’t help the moan that escapes you then - not when this feels so good, Coriolanus’s fingers teasing over your clit, his hips moving against yours, his lips pressed to the skin of your neck, his other hand still splayed across your stomach. 

Coriolanus moans your name again then, his fingers cupping your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties, and you find yourself moving your hips against his, driven by pure instinct. 

The low, coarse groan that escapes Coriolanus then has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together, but his fingers are still there, still teasing over your clit. 

Suddenly, his fingers start to move, drawing teasing circles over your clit, and it’s all too much for you. Overwhelmed by all the different emotions coursing through you, you tear yourself away from his grip, getting up on shaky feet and walking over to the bathroom that’s connected to your bedroom. 

Your head is still spinning when you find yourself leaning against the cold, marble walls of the bathroom, your core still aching, yearning for Coriolanus’s touch. 

You shiver, even though you feel too hot, your skin feeling like it’s been set on fire. Coriolanus touched you. Your best friend’s fingers were almost inside you and- 

Fuck. 

Fuck, you’ll never able to look your best friend in the eyes again, even though all you want is to be as close to him as you were moments ago. 

Acting on pure instinct, you shimmy out of your nightdress, letting it fall to the floor, before stepping inside the shower. Maybe a good, cold shower, will help, you think, turning on the shower. 

You step back, letting the cold water hit your body. But even though the cold water feels like needles prickling against your skin, you still feel as if your entire body was set on fire, your core still aching and empty. 

Almost on their own accord, your fingers find their way to your clit. You bite down hard on your lip, trying to blink back the tears in your eyes that are suddenly threatening to spill. 

Still, you can’t help the low moan that escapes you when your fingers find their way between your folds. 

You close your eyes, letting your head fall back - letting pure instinct take over, as you fuck yourself on your fingers, wishing that it were Coryo’s fingers filling you up instead. 

When you come, it’s with a desperate, breathless cry and images of Coriolanus pressed against you playing over and over again in your mind.

What you don’t know, though, is that Coriolanus has been awake all this time - every single touch was a deliberate, strategic move on his part and you’d reacted even better than he could have imagined. He followed you to the bathroom when you got up from bed, and now he’s watching you come undone from his position behind the door that you forgot to properly lock in your haste.

He feels like he’s going crazy, crawling out of his skin as he watches you screw your eyes shut, throwing your head back. Your breathless whimpers and moans are all that he can hear, echoing through his mind. 

Wracked with shame, guilt and desire coursing through him, he shoves one hand into his pants, his eyes still fixated on you. 

It only takes a few strokes over his already achingly hard length until he comes undone as well. 

And when he unravels, it is with your breathless moans echoing through his mind, his eyes on you, and your name like a bittersweet, deadly poison that he just can’t get enough of on his lips. 

sooo ...? please, please lmk what you think, I'm so excited to hear your thoughts!

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[billfarrah]

One of my favourite things about Young Royals and its characters is how much it romanticizes being utterly ordinary.

Stories often focus on characters who are exceptionally good at something or who are more ambitious than the average person. Even in the teen shows I’ve watched, these young characters always seemed to have their dream career and dream university figured out at a young age and I could never relate to that because I had none of those things figured out as a teen. It always felt like pushing this narrative that teenagers need to have their entire lives figured out before their brains are even fully developed.

None of the characters in YR seem particularly ambitious and in fact, the main character’s journey is a story of anti-ambition. When he is introduced to Simon, it is precisely Simon’s ordinariness that draws Wille to him. Sure, Simon is a very talented singer, but it’s never indicated within the series that he has dreams of being a pop star. It’s just something he likes to do. Simon is motivated by very ordinary things - he wants to do well in school so he can have better opportunities for himself, he wants to take care of his family, he wants to hang out with his friends and play video games. He’s a dedicated student but not necessarily valedictorian. It’s not his ambition that Wille is drawn to but his integrity and kindness and warmth.

Wille had a chance to be extraordinary - to be Sweden’s first gay king - but being extraordinary has never been Wille’s ambition. Wille’s ultimate goal and dream within the series’ narrative is to be free to make his own decisions and live his life as he pleases. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend and get drunk at parties and live his life one day at a time instead of spending every moment of his life preparing for an inevitable future he doesn’t want. In the end Wille is extraordinary not for his ambition, but for his bravery to reject the expectations thrust upon him and throw himself into the unknown and see where it takes him. Wille had a whole future in front of him as crown prince and future king - he’d never have to work a day in his life and would have people advising his every move - and he rejects that. This lack of ambition is not portrayed as a moral failure, but a necessary step in Wille’s journey to personal self-discovery and fulfillment of his own desires. His desire right now is simple - be free with Simon, but that doesn’t mean his dreams end here forever. He deserves peace and tranquility after all the trauma he’s been through without having to worry about where or who he’s gonna be in a few years. He deserves time to just exist.

None of the characters know where they’re going when they drive away at the end. We as the audience don’t know what careers if any these characters will find themselves in, but that’s also not important to this story. The series is saying you don’t have to have everything figured out when you’re 17 and you don’t have to do something just because your parents think they know what’s best for you and even if you don’t know exactly what you want to do, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the agency to know what you don’t want.

It’s not a moral failing to want the simple things in life or to be ordinary, and I love that Young Royals celebrates that. It shows the beauty in simple moments that feel revolutionary to a person - touching the person you love, forgiving someone and making amends after a hardship, whooping with your friends in a car as you drive into the summer and celebrates them. Ultimately these are the moments that make life worth living.