#anyways sentimental and feelings turning time over

[jimblejamblewritings]

starlight moonlight sunlight — blurb ten

Title: To Be Ignored... And Summer Hopefulness

Pairing: ex!Remus x reader, Remus x Sirius, eventual poly!Wolfstar x reader

Warnings: friendship breakup, light angst

blurb series navigation here | previous blurb here

The girls woke up to the noise of someone shuffling in some trunks late at night. They sat up immediately as they slowly recognized it was you. You had been staying with Pamola and Tilda and even Jace, never staying too long because you were sharing a bed and didn’t want to force them to always share with you. You weren’t exactly happy the three of them chose now to get sick at the same time but there was nothing you could do. So you were switching out your clothes and small bag again and mentally preparing yourself to stay with Max. 

Maybe it would be better if you just stayed in your own room for the night. You were already here anyway. But then the girls would try and talk to you. They, especially Pandora, were worse than the marauders in terms of longing looks and awkward eye contact. This morning was no different. Mary, Lily, and Marlene tried to give you little waves but you purposefully looked everywhere but them. It was hard sometimes. Most of the time, actually. But Pamola, Jace, Tilda, and Max were good about helping you get through it. You threw a final pair of socks into your bag and left the dorm, making the short walk up the second set of steps and into the boys’ half. 

Peter was the first to turn his head at the soft knocking on the door. Max sprang to life, pushing out his desk chair. He barely gave them any warning about you staying over for a few days before opening the door to let you in. Sirius felt his jaw tick when Max held your shoulders and whispered something to you, faces only inches apart. Did he have the right? No, but it still made him jealous. Remus on the other hand didn’t feel jealous, just disappointed in himself. Maybe if they had come clean earlier, he could be holding you in the same way he was watching your friend do. Both men’s hearts jumped when you gave the marauders small waves and a thanks for not minding if you stayed. 

“Did you already wash? Are you hungry?�� Max asked as he set down most of your stuff. 

You picked up his cat, Cromwell, and scratched between his ears. “I already did both.” 

“Good. Get some rest. I’ll come to bed in a bit.” 

Jealousy finally picked at Remus, potentially worse than Sirius although he would blame the full moon for that. You were getting comfortable in Max’s bed, slipping on one of his jumpers and burying yourself in the sheets. The four marauders had never seen their roommate so animated before. Usually, you and your friends were nowhere to be found outside of class. And whenever you were in lessons or the Great Hall, the five of you seemed so stoic. But you were currently talking up a storm in the dorm room. Sirius felt himself subconsciously smiling whenever you laughed. 

Remus looked over when his boyfriend suddenly snuggled into his side, both of them gripping each other’s thighs tightly. There was a silent understanding between them. They were honoring you and Max’s word and not approaching first. But Merlin did they want to. Remus wanted you in his jumper. Sirius wanted you curled up in his sheets. 

The raven-haired boy laughed to himself. He didn’t know you as well as Remus and you were closer to the rest of their friends before you two even became friendly. But the one kiss and the small period of closeness you spent together as bandmates made him want to know you desperately. It was torturous watching Max finally come to bed, having no qualms about cuddling up close to you. The two of you looked like a couple. Like a happy one. That sentiment continued in the morning as they watched you and Max change around each other with no embarrassment, shower and use the bathroom at the same time, and overall have no boundaries. 

Once again, you basically disappeared outside of classes. They were lucky to catch glimpses of you and your friends in the hallways, unsure of where you went all the time. The marauders weren’t using their map for once. If they took Veritaserum, they’d be able to answer honestly that they not once checked where you were. And they kept it that way all the way to graduation. 

The marauders and friends watched from afar as you charmed a camera so it could take pictures and get the five of you in the picture at once. You were in the middle as the other four kissed your cheeks. 

“Here’s to only a year before seeing your family,” Tilda said, happily. “Rounds at some random pub?” 

A chorus of absolutely rang out. You started to pack up the camera when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you were a bit surprised to find James. He was equally shocked, but happy, to see a slight smile on your face. His expression slightly faded as he saw your friends start to make their way back. 

“It’s not to pressure you or anything but I overheard you guys were looking for places and I know money is tight for all of you but our estate has lots of small houses and properties on it so I wanted to offer one of the places to stay. The rent is free or really low if it makes you feel weird about it being free. And it’s one of the farther ones so you don’t have to see any of us if you don’t want to. There’s a pathway separating the place,” he rushed out. 

“Thanks, James. We actually might need that.” You turned around, holding up a pair of keys. “Guys, I found us a place!” 

While your friends still didn’t like the marauders, they weren’t about to look a rich gifted horse in the mouth. Eagerly, they took the keys from you and jotted down the address and house number before apparating. He turned back to face his friends, mainly Sirius and Remus and gave them a thumbs up. They were cautious but optimistic. They had no plans on breaking their promise but some of the things on Potter Estate required walking past the cottages and other buildings. Maybe they could at least get glimpses of you or cross paths. It was worth a shot. 

That somewhat paid off one month into summer. Very much used to walking around the house a little too comfortably, Sirius answered the door while shirtless and still brushing his teeth. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Potter aren’t here rig— Y/N, hi.” 

Like your name was some sort of beacon, Remus appeared from where he was fixing his tea. You might have been mad at them but you were still human, well, part human. Your eyes slowly traveled down Sirius’ entire bare chest and the good bit of Remus you could see through his unbuttoned pajama top. They also looked at you. Less so your body and more what you were wearing. Sunglasses were on the top of your head in a matching color to your sandals. You were in tight and very short shorts with just a bathing suit as your top. And there was a large tote bag threatening to fall off your shoulders. You were definitely going to the lake with your friends. 

“Can you give this to James? It’s just a small thanks for letting us stay here. He kind of really saved us a lot of stress and financing.” You set the dish of custard slices in Sirius’ arms and then pulled another dish from your bag, giving the cookie cake to Remus. “And this is for Mrs. and Mr. Potter. You guys can have some too and whoever’s here.” 

“Thanks, Y/N.” 

The three of you stood there awkwardly before you finally said goodbye and walked away to meet your friends who were waiting for you a little ways up the path.

| next blurb coming soon |

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[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Feeling especially fond of Stray Kids right now

[new-bird-song]

One thing ive been thinking about lately is that like

Its okay to only ever make bad art. Its okay to only paint "boring" things or only draw the same thing a million times or only be "okay" at sewing or crochet. Sometimes i think theres this idea that its okay to make bad art because its part of the process of making good art, but i think its fine to make art that is bad or just okay and not keep looking at it thinking about ways it is flawed or ways to make it better. If you want to improve and grow, thats great and you will through the process of just doing something over and over or looking for advice or other ways of learning.

But its also totally okay to only ever want to make bad art

[n3onwraith]

O yeah forgot I'm supposed to be writing that fic I talked about whoops

[euthymiya]

Sukuna who never was close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[purinfelix]

you're here, that's the thing ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - franco colapinto

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to make your schedules, as a racer and student, work - even when miles apart w/c: 900

a/n: it's finals season for me and i needed to write something self-indulgent as a break from cramming forgive me 🙏

Being a full-time student was one thing, but being a full-time student in a relationship with an extremely clingy boyfriend, who also happened to be travelling the world to race in Formula One, was a whole other challenge.

You and Franco had had some time to adjust to a long-distance relationship since you started dating, having such different lives, and managed to make it work for the most part. But now, with him having to wholly commit to his racing and finals season rolling around for you, it put a strain on your relationship that neither of you was ready for.

It was a strange paradox - the less free time you had outside of classes and studying, the less you were able to spend talking to him, and the more you wanted just to drop everything and fly to where he was. Your morning texts and voice message updates stopped being enough, and before you knew it you struggled to go longer than an hour studying without sending your boyfriend a message to whine and complain.

You were fully aware of how immature and irresponsible this was, but this awareness did little to stop you. And it didn't exactly help that Franco seemed to share the same sentiment, telling you again and again how hard it was for him as well, how racing seemed almost impossible without you there to cheer him on. It hurt, but the two of you just had to do everything you could to get through it - for you to focus on your studies and for him to try his best at racing.

All this came to a head one Sunday though, the afternoon before one of your final exams and - because of the time difference - the night before Franco's next race. Sitting in your dorm alone, surrounded by piles of textbooks, notes and scattered pens you felt a sudden jolt of vulnerability and before you knew it you were reaching for your phone.

"Can you call?" you typed quickly to your boyfriend, your eyes lighting up upon seeing the three dots begin moving almost instantly.

"My gosh, I was just going to ask you the same thing," he replied, and before you knew it your phone was springing to life with a call from him. Clicking accept, you couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of his face.

"Hi," you say, almost shyly.

"Hi baby, how are you?"

"Good," you pause, "stressed."

He nods understandingly, "You're holding up okay, hm? Taking care of yourself?"

"Of course, Franco," you laugh at his almost motherly concern, "and you?"

"Nervous, of course."

"Well, that makes two of us." You pause after speaking, for some reason this call is turning out less enjoyable and more awkward than you hoped.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," you hear your boyfriend say and when you look up you can definitely see it, his eyelids half closing over deep, dark circles under them.

"Do you want to sleep? I have to study anyways."

You watch as he chews his bottom lip, thinking of what to say though once he finally talks his voice is small, almost like a confession. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"We are talking Franco, and we can talk tomorrow once you rest."

This doesn't seem to quell his worries though, his brows still knitted in thought. "I just feel so useless knowing that you're struggling and stressed and I can't even keep you company like I normally do."

You nod sympathetically until an idea pops into your head. "We can keep the call on, carry me over to your bed - you'll sleep and I'll study."

Even through the fatigue pulling him down, Franco nods enthusiastically, doing as you say. You watch him sink into the plush white bedsheets of whatever hotel he's in, and whilst you feel a little jealous at his ability to rest right now, you turn back to your desk and start pulling out your notes.

"You'll be okay," you hear him mumble.

"What do you mean?"

"With your exams," he smiles sleepily, eyes flitting as he watches you pick up your highlighters and pens, "you're the smartest person I know."

"I don't know how much that's saying, you didn't even finish high school baby."

"Hey! I was trying to be nice," he says, feigning offence though there's a soft smile across his face.

"You're right, I'm sorry," you laugh, "you'll be okay as well, with your race tomorrow."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

"I wish you were here," he sighs, looking at you earnestly and all you can do is give him a nod in agreement.

"But for now," you wave your pen to hint at the fact that you need to get back to cramming and he seems to get the hint.

"Right, right, you won't even know I'm here," he assures you.

And despite that, the entire night passes without you once forgetting it. Not that he's distracting or anything, in fact he falls asleep mere minutes after telling you that - leaving you to work peacefully for the rest of the night. Instead, his presence, even as he sleeps, even through a screen and halfway across the world, is enough. You find yourself smiling as you study because maybe having a long-distance boyfriend, even one as clingy as Franco, has been a blessing in disguise all this time.

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader

“Are you sure it’s not too cold?” 

“It’s fine.” You glance down at Emmaline in the stroller, wrapped up in a blanket over her little winter jacket, fuzzy wool hat pulled down around her ears. “It’s not nearly chilly enough to be concerned. She’s probably overdressed, to be honest. In Norway, they leave babies outside to sleep in much colder temperatures.” 

“Why?” He keeps pace beside you, strolling along the park’s walking path leisurely, trying to keep his heart rate normal every time your hip bumps his thigh, or you nudge him with your elbow. 

“It helps their immune system, I think. Exposes them to the germs in their environment, allows them to build resistance, or something. Plus, the climate there is naturally cold? So, I think it helps acclimatize them. Pretty sure some people say they sleep better.” 

“That’s… brave of them.” He doesn’t know what else to say, he can’t imagine trusting the world enough to leave a baby, leave Emma, outside to sleep. 

“It’s different, I guess, when you have a ‘village’,” you use air quotes around the word village, and regret flashes across your eyes. “when you trust your community. Rely on them.” He doesn’t expect the longing that rings in your voice, the doleful, twisted tone of loss, a mournful sentiment that has him nearly pulling up short, slowing to a stop to tilt his head in consideration, his eyes above the mask zeroed in on yours until you’re giving him a meek smile and shrug. “Anyway,”

“Sweet-“ 

“I feel like we’re always talking about me or Emma. How about you? How was your week?” You pause, something occurring to you, pushing your lips forward with curiosity. “I know you said you travel for work, but I don’t think you ever told me what you did?” Shit. He’s not ready for this. He tries to recall how he practiced it with Johnny, the words that they agreed upon, the approach he would take. 

“Ye gotta make it sound at least somewhat normal, LT. Make her feel safe about it.”

“’m not goin’ lie to her.” 

“It’s not lyin’. Just, use the official language. The propaganda stuff, y’know.” 

He knows what he’s supposed to say, the lengthy spiel about ‘managing global conflict’ and ‘identifying and neutralizing domestic and global threats’, the words Johnny had suggested, but instead, what comes out is; “I’m uh, in the military. In a multi-national spec ops task force that focuses on counter terrorism. We operate from of a base just outside the city.” The park bustles around the three of you, runners and walkers circumventing where you’ve slowed to a crawl on the crushed gravel path, families tugging at one another, boys and girls hopping with excitement over promises from their parents. 

“That’s… interesting.” You say the words slowly, like you’re mulling them over, considering them. “Is it dangerous?” 

“Only sometimes.” You raise an eyebrow like you don’t believe him, skepticism plain as day, and he concedes. “It’s not a desk job, but I’m very good at it.” He wants to reassure you, desperate to keep the hope alive that’s been building in his heart for you, needs you to feel safe with him. The water is in sight now, ducks and swans floating on top of the glass like surface, waiting for their offerings that come from so many that frequent their little lake, every day. You motion to an empty bench, turning the stroller in it’s direction, his breath still caught in his chest, lack oxygen starting to make him feel woozy. Say something. Say anything. 

“Emmaline’s dad had a dangerous job too.” You unbuckle her from the stroller, cradling her in your lap as you nestle into one end of the bench, eyes fixed on the group of ducks closest to the shore. “And he was good at it.” 

“Is that how you lost him?” He concludes softly, the question as gentle as he can voice it. You don’t look at him, but he can see the change in your face, tears welling at the corners of your eyes, posture curling over your baby. 

You only nod, but it’s enough. Enough for him to slide a little closer, pressing the outside of his leg to yours. Enough that your free hand wanders, fingers brushing against the fabric of his jeans, your face lifting from the water to his with a question. 

“Can you hold her? While I get the biscuits?”

“Of course.” You shift her into his arms, and he straightens her so that she’s sitting up against his chest, crook of his arm supporting her head, other hand flush with her belly. You rummage inside the bag that’s shoved under the stroller, Emma’s backpack, and she coos at you from Simon’s arms. “Is that your mum?” He murmurs, and she gurgles something in response, a happy string of sounds that has his heart warming inside his chest. “Yeah, that’s her huh?” You straighten, bag in your hand, watching him and Emma, sad expression turning beatific, bittersweet smile pulling at your lips. 

“Come on.” You don’t reach for the baby, instead motioning for Simon to follow you, trusting him to carry her down behind you, to hold her as you as break up the little pieces of biscuit. “I promised her some ducks.” 

[norrizzandpia]

Heyo! I’m totally obsessed with your writing at the moment, can’t put my phone down! Have you seen the video of Mila watching Lando on tv and calling him “lala”? Was wondering if you could write a fic with that in it?

I have had an idea for this specific video sitting in my head FOR AGES

Lala (LN4)

Summary: When Y/n meets Lando’s family for the first time, Lando warns her about his niece who glues to his side whenever he’s around. What she isn’t expecting, however, is the heart melting nicknames he has been given. It prompts some interesting confessions.

Warnings: none

“Baby, one more thing before we go in.” Lando murmured from beside his girlfriend. His hand in wrapped in hers and she fidgeted with his fingers, nervous for the moments that were about to ensue.

Her head tilted up to look at him, “Yeah?”

A small smile graced his face and his eyes softened as he began, “My niece, Mila, likes to stick by me whenever I’m around. I don’t know how much time we’ll get alone during the next few hours.”

Y/n giggled, “Lan, that’s fine. That’s sweet anyway, means you’re good with kids.”

She whispered the last part, eyeing him suspiciously before he whispered an i love you and kissed her temple. His hand knocked against the slab of wood in front of them, anxiety heightening as Y/n began to hear footsteps approaching.

Cisca appeared, bright face and warmness to her that made Y/n feel immediately welcomed.

“Oh, how nice it is to meet you! Lando never stops talking about you!” She yelled, throwing her arms around the girl and rubbing her back lovingly.

Lando blushed as Y/n laughed, “What? There’s a lot to brag about.”

Y/n leaned into him, hand wrapped around his arm as they stepped through the threshold, “That’s sweet, Lando.”

“You’re swee-” He began, but is interrupted by the rapid beatings of little footsteps. His brother and his sister-in-law followed close behind the little girl who rounded the corner with loud giggles.

“Lala!! Lalalala!!” She screeched, arms open as she made grabby hands at Lando from her stance in front of him. Y/n’s brain began catching up with the moment, the nickname sinking in and her heart warming at the sentiment.

Lando picked Mila up, kissing her cheeks and tickling her sides lightly as he laughed with her. The image is something Y/n never wants to forget, Lando in his true element with his favorite people.

Oliver and Savannah stop, looking lovingly at Lando and their daughter, before turning their attention to his girlfriend, “Hi, it’s so great to finally meet you!”

Y/n is still entranced by the feelings stirring in her tummy to genuinely put all her thoughts into a conversation between the couple, “It’s nice to meet you as well!”

A beat passes before Y/n asks, “Did she just call Lando Lala?”

Oliver chuckles, “Yeah. She can’t pronounce his name, so it’s always been Lala.”

Lando meets Y/n’s eye, a twinkle in them he had never seen before, “Cute, right?”

Y/n’s jaw drops, “Cute? Oh my god, it’s adorable!”

The four laugh together before Savannah steals Mila away, whines emitting from the little girl in the wake of being removed from Lando’s arms. Alone in the foyer, Lando turns to Y/n, “She made me realize I think I could do the whole dad thing.”

Y/n grins, “At this point, after witnessing that, I’m going to need you to do the whole dad thing.”

Lando throws his head back as he laughs. Pulling her into him by the waist and kissing her forehead, “Yeah? Kids? A year into our relationship?”

She smacks his chest, “Not now, love. But… in a few years…” She fixes the buttons on his shirt, “Probably.”

His hand over one side of her face, Lando kisses her hair forcefully, “Good. I love you too much not to experience that with you.”

Infamous giggling returns and Savannah yelling for Mila creates new chaos as the girl rounds the same corner once more, waddling quickly to her favorite uncle. When she gets to him, Lando is already waiting, knelt down, for her with his arms outstretched.

“Lala!” She screams again and Y/n is almost ready to tell Lando she wants one now.

Lando’s arms smother Mila as he kisses her head, shaking his head at Savannah when she tries to take her child.

“I got her, it’s fine.” He says, standing up once more.

Savannah tilts her head, “You sure?”

Lando nods softly with a smile, feeling Mila rest her head on his shoulder, “Yeah, I only get to see her so often anyway.”

Savannah shrugs, leaving the room. Lando moves to get to the living room where the rest of his family is, but Y/n stops him for a moment.

Mila’s eyes are closing, Y/n can see, so she speaks in a whisper, “Thank you for letting me meet your family. I love seeing you like this, Lan.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Seeing me like what?”

She kisses the side of his mouth, careful of the sleeping girl in his arms, “Just seeing you right where you belong. Where you’re most comfortable. This is your home, I’m just happy you’re letting me into it.”

Lando coos, “Baby, you are very quickly becoming my home.”

[always-just-red]

Please make a story that zayne is very clingy, sweet , romantic

For Mc

Pretty please

Make it long

Please

Please

Need a food 🥺

Food is served!! (One of these days you guys are gonna see an 'only accepting requests for Rafayel now' post and it'll be Raf hijacking my computer because WHY WAS I CATCHING FEELINGS FOR ZAYNE WHILE WRITING THIS??)

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: Zayne has suggested you skip work today, which isn't suspicious at all...

Genre: Fluff (with a *pinch* of angst)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, some kisses, some mentions of death (just a real mixed bag, you know?)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Do you really have to go?”

Zayne was a lot of things: caring, even doting, but never normally this… clingy.

You pretend not to hear the question, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back as you get ready to leave. You will answer it— you’re not ignoring him— but you have so much to do, and you’ve answered it three times already. Yes, Zayne. It’s work. You finish lacing your boots. And no, Zayne, I can’t get out of it.

And since when was he an advocate for skipping a shift, anyway? Like blood from a stone, he’d calmly pleaded with you to come up with some sort of excuse and you’d stared back, eyes wide, because you didn’t know stones could bleed.

An excuse? You’d repeated in disbelief.

Yes. You could… tell them you’re sick? I could write you a note.

You’d thought it a joke until he drew out a pen and started scrawling something on the nearest scrap of paper. He’d pushed it into your hands, his gaze earnest, as though he were trusting a co-conspirator. Here, he’d said matter-of-factly, you can give it to your captain tomorrow.

The writing was barely legible.

It’s still crinkling in your pocket now: your little ‘get-out-of-your-Sunday-shift-free’ card, courtesy of Doctor Zayne, and yes, you are going to hold onto it, but it’s not for Jenna. It’s for your apartment wall, where you’ll be mounting it in a golden frame, because absolutely no-one is going to believe you when you tell this story.

You collect your guns from a nearby drawer, checking the sights and the safety on each before holstering them at your sides. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll get back,” you shrug.

A nice sentiment— not entirely true. “Or you could stay.” Zayne is looking at your weapons, not you.

He’s sat at the kitchen table, watching you over an untouched breakfast. Yours also sits around him: plates upon plates of every food you could imagine, warm and cold, savoury and sweet. You’d suffered a brief heart attack when you’d first laid eyes on it, presuming you’d forgotten some occasion or another.

There’s even a vase of fresh flowers, flourishing at the centre of it all.

It’s one of the most romantic things you’ve ever seen, but you’re starting to think that’s the point. Like a hand on your heart, squeezing; it’s urging you to sit back down, to relax, to surrender and let him take care of you. Are you the worst person in the world? It feels like you are.

Ready to take on anything but more of his gaze, you return to the table, fully-armed, and pluck a strawberry from the edge of a plate. You pop it into your mouth, savouring its sweetness as you stroll behind Zayne’s chair. “Try not to worry,” you mumble, resting your hand on his shoulder while you lean in to kiss his cheek. “Ok?”

“Ok.”

You go to pull away, but his hand lands on your hand, anchoring you to him. His fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting, guiding your fingers in front of his mouth so he can press a few, brisk kisses to each. Your heart is in a vice again— tightening with every brush of his lips. You can’t take it. You can’t.

He knows, and he’s turning in the chair, slipping his free hand around your waist and tugging until you’re crushed up against him. “Stay. Please?” his voice entreats. You can barely hear it from where his face is nestled into you.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, and you sigh as your hands move to cradle his head and run your fingers through his hair. You want to enjoy this. Why can’t you enjoy this?

His breath is fanning against you and all you can think about is the fact that he’s making you late.

…

You’re marching to headquarters twice as quickly as usual, and you’ve crashed into three people already. Every time there’s been an impulse to scream “get out of the way!” but you’re wearing your uniform, so you have to apologise, smile sweetly, and pretend you’re not one incident away from turning in your badge and leaving them all to fend for themselves.

Someone steps out in front of you and you have to swerve to miss them, almost dropping your phone in the process. It had just started ringing, and the noise persists as you fumble with it.

“Hello?” you answer, putting it to one ear as you plug the other with a finger.

“Hi!” It’s Greyson, finally, and he’s surprisingly chipper for someone you know is just coming off of his graveyard shift. “I saw your texts. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Thanks for calling. It’s just…”  Everything’s too noisy for you to concentrate, and you’re still essentially running an obstacle course. You peel away from the crowd, ducking into the quiet of an alley. “I’m a little worried about Zayne. He’s been acting weird all weekend, ever since—”

“Friday?”

“Yeah.” That couldn’t mean anything good. Your brow furrows. “Did something happen?” 

A drawn-out sigh makes it through the phone, and you know Greyson well enough to know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering just how much he should tell you. “We had a patient transferred to us on Friday,” he caves, “a young woman— a hunter, injured— she was… not in a good way. Recovery odds next to zero, but Zayne? You know Zayne. He had to try.”

You nod, even though Greyson can’t see it. There’s dread in the pit of your stomach; you can tell where this is going.

“She didn’t make it,” he states with the rehearsed evenness of someone who’s spoken the words too many times before. There’s another sigh, then he hastens to add: “Zayne was incredible, though— he did everything he could, really. He was her best chance, he just… wasn’t enough. You can’t save everyone, you know?” He chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah, you know.”

And you do: you’re just as haunted by that truth and all of its ghosts. “Yeah,” you speak at last, seeing their faces. Your throat hurts. “Thanks, Greyson. Really.”

“That’s ok,” he yawns. “If Zayne asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“You think he’s gonna believe that?”

“No.” He’s smiling, now— you can tell. “But it’s worth a try! You take care of yourself, ok?”

“You too. Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

…

You’ve only been gone for half an hour, but Zayne is fast asleep. Though you’d practically burst through the front door, his head is still lowered— dipping over an open medical journal— and his dark hair has fallen over his eyes. You can’t help but smile. This wasn’t the nervous, pacing-the-apartment man you’d expected to find, but it eases the guilt in your chest for the first time all morning.

You sling your bag from your shoulder and set it gently down on the floor, all the while easing the door closed behind you. You unfasten your holsters. Shrug yourself free of all their straps. You don’t make a sound; you’re being very careful.

Slowly, you make your way over to where Zayne’s lying on the sofa. You lower yourself to his level, reaching to pry his book from his fingers. His glasses are next: you ease them from his face like you’re handling a volatile protocore. Your breath is baited. Your hands almost shake, but you’re an expert at this sort of extraction: you’ve done it a hundred times before.

With your mission accomplished, you allow yourself one small reward. You want to see his face— all of his face— so you card your fingers through his fallen hair, smoothing it back into place. He looks like a dream: the kind you’re glad to carry through daylight, long after you wake. The kind you write down for fear of forgetting a single detail.

You want this, this, this. Every morning. For the rest of your life.

And maybe even the next life. Is that possible?

(You hope it’s possible.)

Standing softly, you smile again— a smile between you and the universe, the gods, and the night sky, in all its infinity. There are things you cannot know and even more things you cannot have, but you are more than content with your consolation prize. This:

One minute of peace, for you and your doctor.

You have a funny feeling this is more than you were ever meant to have.

When your minute is through, you watch as Zayne’s face changes, and he is no longer at peace. He frowns, his whole body suddenly tense. There’s a murmur of… pain? It sounds like pain— he winces like it’s pain. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, but you wish you could hold his hand and make a breakfast big enough to keep him from going there.

“Zayne,” you whisper, resting a warm palm on his cheek. A little louder: “Zayne.”

He stirs in his sleep as your voice brings him back to reality. He’s yours— yours— and the inevitable can have him later. Sure enough, his eyes flutter open, lost for a moment, but then? Home. Safe. With you.

“Hey,” you grin.

He squints against the daylight. “Hmm? Oh. What are you doing back so soon?”

You scoff. “Some doctor you are! I’m at death’s door— can’t you tell?” Your hand leaves his cheek, indicating your not-pallid skin, not-flushed cheeks, and not-sunken eyes with a wave. Then you find his hand, pressing his fingers to your forehead.

There’s a second of hesitation. “Ah,” he says warily, “yes, you’re… burning up.”

“Right?!” 

Despite the severity of your condition, you find the strength to clamber on top of him. It’s anything but graceful, and he groans as you shift and fidget, taking your time getting comfortable. Eventually you settle, your head resting against his chest and his arms holding you close. You’re not tired, but you close your eyes, and this is so much better than patrolling for Wanderers.

He draws you higher so his chin can rest on the top of your head. “Greyson told you, didn’t he?” he ventures aloud, because he’s awake, now, so he’s connecting dots.

“Yeah,” you nod against him. “But if he asks, I said it was Yvonne, ok?”

There’s a hum of agreement, then he’s silent. Thinking again. “I’m sorry,” he finally speaks.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s sweet that you worry. You don’t need to—”

“No,” he stops you. “I care about you a lot, and I’ll never apologise for that. What I am sorry for, however, is that a romantic gesture from me is so unusual that you feel you have to call my colleagues. I know I’m not always outwardly affectionate, but—”

“No.” It’s your turn now, and you twist, angling yourself so you can look up into his eyes. “You always make me feel loved, Zayne. Everything you do, everything you say… it’s for me, and no-one has ever cared about me like that. No-one has ever showed me they care like that.”

“Then why—”

“Because you get it, Zayne— the importance of what I do, because it’s what you do, even if it’s different. We’re both saving the world a little, right?”

“Right.”

You draw out his doctor’s note and shimmy it in front of his eyes. “So what the hell is this?”

He admits guilt with a chuckle, his hand moving to catch the evidence, but you’re one step ahead, stashing it back into the sanctity of your pocket. He issues a short hmph, defeated.

“Come on,” you prompt, escaping his arms. “Let’s not let all that food go to waste. You kept it, yeah? I’ve been dreaming about those chocolate-chip pancakes since I left.”

Zayne had been helping you up, but he slumps back as you finish your sentence. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” he confirms with the trademark nod of a doctor, and it can only mean one thing:

You’re about to receive some very, very bad news.

[sunderwight]

SV AU where, while Luo Binghe is supposed to be in the Abyss, Shen Qingqiu comes across a hellhound puppy.

Now, there is an arc in PIDW where Luo Binghe became a hellhound. But it happened like at least a century out from where they are in the timeline, after Binghe had come into his full demonic power, and involved him turning into a slavering beast that eventually become a slavering man-beast (werewolf, basically) who could only be cured by having a lot of very questionable sex with his wives. Shen Yuan wrote a rant about how yet another potentially interesting transformation arc was instead reduced to porn tropes, but it was one of several dozen such rants across many similar story arcs. Airplane barely even remembers writing it because he was having a pretty shit week and just wanted to get the chapters out.

So it doesn't really occur to either him or Shang Qinghua that finding a hellhound puppy might be suspicious. Unexpected, sure, but demons are turning up all over the place all the time, really. And it's years before Luo Binghe is even supposed to be out of the Abyss, like a century before his hellhound transformation story, and when Binghe did turn into a hellhound his two forms consisted of a fully-grown beast and a fully-grown man-beast. Not a puppy.

Of course: that hellhound puppy is definitely Luo Binghe.

He unwittingly triggered this subplot early, and because he's still a young adult, he gets stuck in a juvenile puppy form because hellhounds don't reach fully maturity until they're like fifty.

Anyway, this creates something of a pickle for Luo Binghe, because he's legitimately stuck in this form and can't figure out how to change back. This is not part of his plans. He's fleeing from Huan Hua Palace cultivators who are trying to kill him, which they might succeed at because his Heavenly Demon powers don't seem to be working.

He runs right into Shizun, who is on one of his "investigate stuff to forget the depression" field trips with Liu Qingge.

Luo Binghe is fully expecting his righteous Shizun to kill the demonic beast, and has a moment to think that at least that's better than being killed by Huan Hua, before Shizun rescues him instead.

Shen Qingqiu, meanwhile, is actually kind of excited. There was a lot of lore in PIDW about how hellhounds can actually make loyal companions if they're trained up from young enough of an age, but finding hellhound puppies would be difficult for anyone who wasn't a demonic nobleman, and most of the "trained" hellhounds just disappeared into the harem as gifts to various demon wives and were never seen or heard from again. No additional information, like the full extent of their abilities or what kind of companions they made beyond "loyal" or anything! A species of demon that could even potentially be domesticated by humans, and it was just left at that?!

Needless to say, Shen Qingqiu's not letting Huan Hua Palace kill this one. This is a rare chance for him to get a cool monster companion!

Although... such a creature might die when Luo Binghe comes to take his revenge.

Well, he'll deal with that when he has a chance. Maybe Shang Qinghua can take it to Mobei Jun or Shen Qingqiu can find another place for it before then. In the meanwhile, at least going back to Qing Jing Peak with him is better than being killed on the spot. He talks Liu Qingge into going along with it (Liu Qingge thinks he's insane but also folds like wet tissue paper), under stipulation that the hellhound's demonic energies are sealed and it gets muzzled before they bring it back with them.

Shen Qingqiu rides with it in a carriage, and feels so bad for the poor doggo looking miserable without his demon powers or even his mouth free that he secretly takes the muzzle back off while Liu Qingge isn't looking.

Luo Binghe is overwhelmed with the mixed sentiments of confusion (doesn't his shizun hate demons? is a Heavenly Demon really so especially repulsive to him?), happiness (he's going home! Shizun found him and is taking him home!), worry (Shizun please do not un-muzzle random demonic beasts just because they look sad!), and some rather embarrassing personal revelations about the appeal of being Shizun's pet. The latter situation worsens exponentially after the first time he gets good boy'd and petted for the first time.

Regardless, Shen Qingqiu does take him back to Qing Jing Peak and settles in to train and observe his new puppy. No one thinks this is precisely a good project but it is a project, and is not for instance "staring blankly into the distance while kneeling in front of a sword mound", so on balance everyone decides they'll just keep an eye on things and make sure the hellhound doesn't maul the peak lord. Lots of "just dropping in for a visits" by a rotating cast of peak lords (they have a schedule).

But the hellhound puppy is a fabulous pet! Actually, Shen Qingqiu thinks it's really remarkable how smart and readily tamed he is? Barely a few days in and he's obediently following Shizun's commands, except for "stay", which he seems to struggle with. He doesn't maul or threaten any of the disciples, only growls at Shang Qinghua sometimes and makes a few aggressive displays at Liu Qingge. The former case is just good taste, and as to the latter, well, clearly the hellhound is sensitive and intelligent, and has a more-than-rudamentary understanding of words spoken to him. He probably remembers that Liu Qingge wanted to kill him when they first met. Shen Qingqiu takes his time soothing his puppy and assuring him that he won't come to any harm, he's perfectly safe on Qing Jing Peak with Shen Qingqiu.

At least, for now.

Although actually, the more Shen Qingqiu thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that Hellhound (sue him, he's not the best with names) would be a perfect companion for Luo Binghe once he gets out of the Abyss. The only difficulty would be in how to convince Binghe to accept him, and also how to keep his now-loyal hound from trying to defend his master when justice comes due. Shen Qingqiu figures he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it, and in the meanwhile takes some time to explain to Hellhound about his disciple, Luo Binghe, who is enduring a terrible trial in the Abyss, but who will return one day having become Emperor of the Demon Realms and could probably use a steadfast and intelligent companion who is interested in more than just his incredible amounts of power or irresistible good looks.

Luo Binghe Himself: ?!?!?!

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (4)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of pain

a/n: Thank you again for reading this series, I really love writing it :) More to come! I really really appreciate feedback, as always ♡

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 5 ☁

Series Masterlist

~~

“It’s going to feel like a push,” Rhys explained, his fingers intertwined between his knees. “And then you’ll know I’m in your mind. It shouldn’t hurt—maybe just a pinch and then a pressure.” 

You nodded, clutching the arms of your chair with white-knuckled fingers. 

“He’s in my mind all the time. Uninvited, might I add. Doesn’t hurt, it’s just annoying,” Mor added. 

Turning your head in her direction, eyes downcast toward the floor, you nodded to her, too. 

The faelights gave the room a warm amber hue. It was the day after you met Rhys—or rather, became reacquainted with him—and the day he was going to look for your memories. Mor sat beside you, the blue dress she wore shimmering beneath the glow of the room, and Azriel stood guard by the door. What he was guarding you from, you had no idea, but the act seemed to comfort him. 

“Was Cassian busy?” you asked, and then immediately regretted it. 

It wasn’t Cassian’s job to be here. He was a grown man with a position in this court. He was busy, obviously. You also barely knew him. 

What a stupid question.

Rhys breathed through a smile, anyway. “He’s up at the camps today. But I’ll let him know you asked for him. He’ll love that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” 

“He’ll love it. I was being genuine,” Rhys comforted, interrupting the anxiousness rising in your tone. “Should we get started?”

You took a deep breath meant to rid the feeling of nausea overtaking you. It didn’t work. 

“Yes,” you replied, easing your trembling fingers into your lap. “Yes, I’m ready.” 

Rhys kicked up from the table he was leaning against, spinning a chair around in front of you. He sat, and the instant his knees bent to make the descent, Azriel was out from his hiding place in the dark. He loomed over the High Lord, shadows agitated, wings tucked in tight. To his credit, Rhys only gave the new, menacing presence a quick glance. 

“Should I keep my eyes open? Or do we have to touch or—” 

“Just relax,” Rhys offered. “With everything going on, your mind should be wide open. This will be simple and fast. I promise.” 

A promise from a High Lord—from your family, you reminded yourself. This was going to be fine. You doubled up on tonics this morning, so the pain in your head was minimal and you were safe here.

This was going to be fine. 

You hadn't even noticed the rapid pace of your breath until Azriel’s shadows came to wind around your shoulders, the quick uptick of the darkness more telling than anything else. The small wisps traveled up and down with the rhythm of your breath until it began to even out, and then they curled around your cheeks as if to caress you. When they made the occasional pass by your ears, it felt as if you were being told secrets—as if you were important enough to know something no one else did. 

Yes, this was going to be fine. 

Rhys cleared his throat. 

The first step into your mind was jarring, the sensation making you physically jump. Rhys seemed to raise a hand up at the entry—to knock on something or open it up—but he passed through a permeable wall instead. He passed through with ease. 

The High Lord made a low, surprised sound that echoed in the room. 

“What?” Azriel gruffly asked. 

Rhys paused. “Well, nothing, I just—I just expected some of her magic to have remained where it was. For some of it to be protecting her mind.” 

“Magic?” you whispered. 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to you as if on instinct—as if the sound of your voice was simply something he always followed—but his expression did not match the sentiment. He looked haunted, a shadow cast over the grim line of his mouth. 

“I have magic?” 

Your whisper was cut off by a sharp intake of air. Rhys had moved on from the outskirts of your mind, each step deeper a clicking echo in the stark chamber. He went in directions that felt practiced, like he’d been here before but everything had been rearranged, removed. 

You watched as the High Lord ran a rough hand over his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

Mor placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

Azriel watched the man within your mind, a preternatural stillness stiffening his limbs.

“It’s like you’ve been wiped.” Rhys shook his head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. You still know language, you know how to—to be fae. But everything else is…” 

Within your mind, you felt a darkness roll from Rhys. He was sending something out, inspecting the area. The pain began then, but you weren’t going to tell them. You weren’t going to break and ruin something else. 

The darkness invaded small crevices in your mind, sleuthing and slinking in areas you hadn’t been aware of yourself. More pressure built up behind your skull. 

You could still manage it. 

The air was knocked from your lungs, but you could still manage it. 

“Rhysand,” Azriel warned. Blue began to overpower the orange glow of the room. 

“I think I’m almost somewhere,” the High Lord replied. 

“She’s—” 

“Keep going,” you gritted out. “It just feels odd,” you lied. “I’m okay, keep going.” 

Azriel shook his head, face twisting in an expression of grief that almost had you taking back your words. He abandoned his observation of Rhys and approached your chair, kneeling down next to you, the bone of his knee harshly pressing against the floor. 

He nodded, something resolute in his eyes. “Okay. Okay, whatever you want.” 

From beside you, you heard Mor’s pained sigh, felt her turn to look away.

You tore your eyes from the piousness before you, but Azriel did not budge. His elbow came to rest on the flat surface of his thigh, his fingers extending out to touch the wooden leg of your chair. 

“Please, keep going.” 

Rhys nodded. The darkness in your mind expanded. It flowed like a cloud rolling out before a storm, reaching every corner of unsearched territory. There was nothing it couldn’t reach, and good, let it fill you up. Let it consume your mind because it was no use to you in this state. Azriel was kneeling before you, desperate and scared, and you couldn’t understand why, so let the darkness become you. 

If it led to understanding, to your life, you would withstand this pain. 

The first scream that left you ripped through the air like a strike, unsettling any gentleness that had resided in the small office. Rhys had found something; his darkness had collided with a wall—the only wall, only structure, in your mind—and he had gone to investigate. With the simple press of his hand against the sturdy cobalt, a blinding pain found a home in your skull. 

Azriel jolted, the fingers that had gripped your chair flying to cover your knee. 

You screamed again. And again. 

“Stop! Enough, Rhysand. Get out of her head,” Azriel ordered, but he sounded as if he were underwater. He raised his voice above your screams but he sounded so far away. 

You collapsed forward, hands coming up to cradle your head. There was a touch at your back, maybe another along your hair—you couldn’t tell. The pain was too great. 

“There’s a wall. Something foreign. The energy isn’t hers,” Rhys called. He sounded distant as well. 

The world grew light. 

“I don’t care,” Azriel gritted out. “We can try again later. She’s going to pass out and last time—” 

“Keep… going,” you panted, fighting past the pain to insert yourself into the conversation.

This was your decision, your mind. Your life that was torn away. 

“Y/n, please. You don’t understand,” Azriel begged, shifting forward and gripping your wrists in his scarred hands. “This isn’t good for you. This isn’t—please.” 

Sweat beaded at your brow. Rhys’s presence hadn’t left your mind. “I have… to know. Have to try.” 

“Rhys, maybe we shouldn’t—” Mor began in a soft, hesitant voice. 

“Go.” With a simple word from you, Rhys bypassed all else. 

Pain exploded at the first talon scratching down the slope of the foreign wall. You surpassed screams, your voice breaking at the peak of the most violent one. At some point, the hands on your head were replaced by larger ones, and you found the texture of them to be a grounding point. Something about the feeling was familiar, like your skin was used to the patterns, the raised edges and the divots along fingers. They traced soothing shapes along your cheeks, dried tears you didn’t realize were cascading down your face. 

And then Rhys stood abruptly, his chair rocking back and forth with his departure. The pain dulled, leaving you with heavy breaths and a lingering ache you weren’t sure would ever go away. 

“You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.” 

Breathing in was difficult. The world felt off its axis. 

Pale-faced and blinking, Rhys breathed out, “We need to go to Helion.” 

You gathered the strength to look up further. 

Azriel’s expression crumbled, his beautiful face only inches from yours and filled with such dread that when you succumbed to the lightness creeping into your vision, you feared the descent. 

~~

Your loss of consciousness was brief, which was, apparently, very unexpected. 

Your once stiff chair was no longer beneath you, and where you expected to be folded up into an uncomfortable shape and cold, you were instead held against a warm, vibrating presence. 

No, not vibrating, that wasn’t right. Just speaking—you were being held by someone and they were speaking. 

“—back there. Rhys, it’s not a good idea. If you said it was the same energy from before, we can’t—I can’t—” 

“He is gone, Az. You know that. Bringing her there would only serve to help her. You know Helion would go to lengths…” 

Your comprehension faded in and out, matching the swells of pain in your head. You were reluctant to open your eyes and welcome the assault of light and sensation that would surely greet you when you did. 

There was a soft lull in the conversation, although you couldn’t decipher where it had left off. You felt a light pressure along your face and welcomed the relief and comfort that came with it. Some of the ache dissipated along the path of the touch. 

“Her screams,” you heard Azriel stress, and it felt as if his words were spoken against your skin. “They were so reminiscent of that night. All of this is.” 

“I know, brother,” Rhys replied. 

“I don’t know if I can do this. If I can survive this.”

A sniff. Something wet along your jaw. The chest you were pressed against seemed to tremble. 

“You have to. She’ll need you when she comes out on the other side of this.” 

“I know,” Azriel whispered, words weaker but somehow even closer. “I know.” 

Disregarding all of your senses that argued against it, you cracked your eyes open. The lights were still low, but even that fact didn’t stop the burning behind your eyes from amplifying. A repercussion from Rhysand’s investigation, surely. 

Whoever was left in the room gave you time to adjust, no one speaking or moving or expecting anything from you other than breath. You felt the hold on you loosen, but not withdraw. 

Part of you, a deep, intrinsic part, knew it was Azriel. His voice and his scent and the feel of his body seemed to be things you could recognize even when nothing else made sense. So, you knew it was him holding you from the moment your mind began to catch up with the environment. 

And still, seeing him so close, feeling him against you—it was a shock to your already overwhelmed system. 

You groaned, face scrunching as you tried to gather your bearings. Azriel’s legs shifted, and your body moved along with them. The motion served as a catalyst in your effort to sit up. 

“Hey, hold on,” Azriel cautioned. Hearing his voice so soft—so careful—had you blinking, trying to parse out what was real and what was still hazy.

“Did…did we figure out what was wrong?” you asked, groggy. “Did you find anything?” 

You turned your head with sharp momentum, regretting the act as soon as you did it. But you didn’t have time for pain—for fear. Rhys looked back at you with a sympathetic smile, both of you ignoring the sound of protest from Azriel at your movement. 

His hand moved to rest along the back of your neck as Rhys spoke, keeping your head in one place. Keeping it supported and still. 

You didn’t have the energy to shake it off. 

Did you want to? 

“I found something. Not as much as I’d have liked, but it’s something to go off of. We’ll… have to go to Day. There’s more information there. I’ve sent Mor to sort out the logistics.” 

A glance around the room confirmed that the blonde was no longer there. It must have been a quick decision to send her away. As quick as Azriel tugging you out of your chair and holding you on the floor. 

Rhys didn’t seem uncomfortable by the display, but of course he wouldn’t—not if his goal was to drive two enemies back into friendship. 

If you were ever even friends to begin with.

The trajectory of your thoughts made you grimace in Azriel’s arms, and even though your entire body protested it, you shifted away from him, hands coming down to the floor to support your weight. A soft grunt left you.

Why did a search through your mind leave you so weak? 

“My lo—y/n, stop,” Azriel fumbled over his words, reaching out for you. 

But with confusion and pain marring your state of mind—causing your usually perfectly practiced, patient replies to skew—you only struggled more and pushed farther away. There were too many unknowns, too many questions, too many feelings surrounding this man who looked at you as if you were never-ending but pushed you away as if you were finite. 

You couldn’t take it. 

And maybe this is how you—the real you, the one with her memories—would react, anyway. Everyone always seemed to expect a strong will and unyielding tenacity, their disappointment at your meekness glaringly obvious. 

Maybe you were supposed to fight against these secrets and this pain. 

“I’ve got it,” you grunted out, pushing closer to the desk, closer to the rift you didn’t understand between you and Azriel. 

You wanted Mor back. 

She made more sense. 

Looking up from your struggle, you caught Azriel and Rhysand in the midst of a staring match, their expressions firm and drawn. With what you now understood about Rhys and his powers, you were sure they were communicating somehow. 

When Rhys spoke next, your hypothesis was only confirmed. “Az is going to take you back to your room,” he said, eyes never leaving the shadowsinger. “He’s going to help you pack.” 

When the High Lord left, the door clicking shut with finality, tension blanketed the room. The worst part of it all was your lack of context. Something big was happening, something immeasurable, and you had no upper hand—not even a foot on the ground. 

You looked down at your palms and then back up at Azriel. He had yet to move from his position kneeling before you, hands still outstretched in some fruitless reach, elbows bent and tense against his sides.

You wanted Mor back. 

She seemed to love you—to want you here.

“I can get back to my room on my own,” you offered, and even though the words were barely a whisper, they were resounding in the silent room. 

Azriel licked his lips and looked down. When his hands fell to his sides, you took that as compliance, as acceptance. On shaking arms, you attempted to lift yourself up. 

“I haven’t been doing this right.” Your unsuccessful attempt abruptly ceased. Azriel continued. “I barely got it right the first time. This time… this time I—” 

“It’s okay, Azriel. I understand, I think.” 

Hazel eyes met yours, the collection of colors confused beneath furrowed brows. 

You so badly wanted to soothe away all of the unease within them, to brush your thumb along his brow even though you were sure he wouldn’t want to do the same—not without his family present to witness it. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

You wanted to sigh, but too much air might’ve made you pass out again. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, twisting your lips as you considered the best way to phrase the thoughts that had been plaguing you. 

“No one will tell me about you—about who we were to each other before I lost everything. I thought maybe it was because you were going to tell me, but then you wanted nothing to do with me and I understood a little better. I understood that maybe we weren’t friends before all of this. And that’s okay, I know that we lived lives that I can’t remember. 

“But then… sometimes you do things that don’t make sense to me. You say things that don’t add up with what I’ve come to terms with and I think… I think my mind and my body get confused. It’s strange,” you admitted, using what little strength you still coveted to push yourself back against Rhys’s desk. “But I think I understand now. And I’m sorry if I make it weird. I think that even if my mind understands who you are to me, there are other parts that don’t quite catch up.” 

“And who am I to you?” Azriel asked, voice raw. 

You looked up from your fingers to meet his gaze again, greedily relishing in the calm they provided you. It was always calm there. “I don’t know. But I know I don’t have the honor of meaning anything to you. Maybe we didn’t get along, or maybe we just never meshed. But I can tell you struggle with this new role—whatever it is the Inner Circle has asked you to do with me. I can tell this isn’t natural for you, spending time with me, trying to be my friend.” 

Azriel fell further back on his ankles, his wings unfurling from their tight coil to drape along the floor in a defeated posture. It looked wrong; you’d been around these men and their wings and they never dragged. 

Azriel’s mouth parted slightly, his jaw off-centered. His gaze left you in favor of staring at the floor, and you surmised that you caught him. You figured him out. This pawn he had become—you had freed him from the game. 

But then sighed and he said, “No,” and the word was whispered with so much sadness that none of this felt like a game anymore. Not that it was fun; this had never been fun.

“No,” he repeated. “Y/n, spending time with you—being around you—it’s as natural as breathing for me.” He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “Gods, I’ve done this so wrong.” 

“Azriel, it’s—” 

“Even just hearing you say my name. After so many days without it, I could sit and just listen to you talk and I would be content.” 

Your fingers felt numb. 

Azriel stopped staring at the ceiling. 

“We have always meshed,” he said. “I was being selfish—avoiding you when I shouldn’t have. The truth, y/n, is that we are close. Very close. Rhysand, Mor, Cassian—they don’t have to ask me to forge some… bond with you because that has already been 300 years in the making.” 

“But at lunch and every time I—” 

“It’s hard and I have been a coward,” Azirel interrupted, shifting forward until his knees brushed against yours on the ground. “This has been inexplicably harder for you and I have been a coward and there is no part of me that wants to be away from you.” 

It somehow felt as if your life was turning upside down again because you had made conclusions and assumptions and none of them were right. You had come to terms with the fact that you felt safest with a man who wanted nothing to do with you and had mourned the loss already. It had been strange to mourn something you had only just gained, but it had felt even stranger to lose Azriel. 

It hadn’t felt right.

“So we’re friends?” you tentatively asked, feeling the wooden corner of the desk dig into your spine. 

Azriel swallowed. “Yes.” 

“And you… like being my friend?” 

“Very much.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Azriel laughed, the sound so startlingly joyous you felt it swelling in your own chest. It filled you up, consumed you, and you wished for a long moment that you hadn’t been so willing to allow Rhys’s darkness into the crevices of your mind. This feeling belonged there. Only this. 

“I am positive,” he assured, a smile lingering on his face. “Being your friend has been my crowning achievement for the last three centuries.” 

“That doesn’t seem like much of an achievement,” you replied, the snark in your tone surprising you. 

It seemed to surprise Azriel as well, his brows shooting to his hairline. “Fortunately, you are not the authority on my achievements, especially since you don’t remember them and can’t recall how amazing it is to be your friend.” 

He kept tripping over that word—friend. 

You decided to ignore it, too pleased by the way you made Azriel laugh and smile and not look at you the way he had been for the past several days. 

And something was glowing in your chest, something that seemed to replace the near-constant ache you had grown so accustomed to. 

Later, you would ask more questions. Later, you would ask Azriel about Day Court and the reason why he silently panicked every time you ran your hand along your temple to ease the pressure there. 

But for now, you smiled at the shadowsinger, and he smiled back.

Part 5 ☁

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  sharing a bed with them 𓏸

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

content: pre-relationship bed sharing, flirty/mildly sexual implications

It's truly unfortunate that, while on a mission for the Agency, you have to share a bed with DAZAI — or so you think, at least. He doesn't share the sentiment in the slightest, instead smiling as innocently as possible the moment his gaze falls onto the single bed in the hotel room booked for the night. While he pretends to offer you the bed, he'll guilt-trip you about the couch being way too short for his long legs and about his back already aching until, eventually, you give in and share it with him.

Naturally, he gets into your space more than necessary at night, pretending he's asleep while cuddling close to you, given how, then, you can't cuss him out for wrapping an arm around your waist and burying his face in your neck, breath warm against your throat. It's worse that he knows if you won't get any amount of sleep whatsoever, much too busy with fighting off arousal while he's pressed flush against your back.

“Hm? No, it's alright. I don't mind taking the couch. What kind of man would I be if I let you sleep on there? Still, it's just — it's way too short and hard. Couches this uncomfortable shouldn't exist, really. I doubt I'll be able to get even a wink of sleep tonight, what a shame.”

When there turns out to only be one bed in the hotel room you're supposed to stay in for the night, CHŪYA doesn't even hesitate before offering you the bed, immediately going for the couch instead. He won't accept any protests either; no matter whether you're worried about his comfort or just think it's polite to refuse his offer, he won't allow you to spend the night on a sofa. He's not making a huge deal out of it and, if you keep being annoying about it, he gets more and more exhausted by the minute.

Eventually, he might give in to the idea of sharing the bed. He has no trouble keeping to himself — or so he believes, because, once he's actually asleep, softly snoring into your ear, he's moving wildly, one leg eventually thrown over your body, arms stretched out. If you mention it to him in the morning, his cheeks flush soft pink.

“Hm? The fuck you mean, you'll be taking the sofa? Definitely not. I'm already here — and I don't mind. Go lie down and get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow.”

RANPO, the very moment he steps foot into the room, decides he wants the bed to himself. The idea of taking the couch doesn't even cross his mind; instead, he makes his way over to the bed all too quickly, though, when you end up either glaring at him or asking him to share, he just shrugs.

Really, he doesn't make too big of a deal out of sharing a bed, not even seeming a little nervous at the idea of lying down beside you for hours on end. Meanwhile, at night, he cuddles up close to you — actually asleep, unlike a certain someone —, arms wrapped around you, for once completely unaware of you being all flustered because of him. In the morning, it'll be like nothing happened, even though you can't quite stop thinking about

“What are you looking at me like that for? I said we can share. If you're hoping to have it for yourself, tough luck. I was here first, just saying. Just get in or move to the couch already, I'm tired.”

All of FYODOR'S decisions are based on logic; this one is no exception. If the bed is large enough to fit two people, it's large enough for the two of you to share — though, if you feel like taking the couch instead, he won't protest. That's your decision to make, after all.

While actually sharing the bed with him, it's basically like you're alone in there, anyway. He doesn't move when asleep, doesn't make a sound; it's all too easy to imagine he's not even there, even though, occasionally, a dark strand of hair might brush against your face. What you don't know, however, is that he, at night, while you're fast asleep, he takes the time to watch you up close, lilac eyes tracing over every plane of your face.

“I do not mind sharing the bed with you. I hope you feel similarly. We both are adults, are we not? I doubt this will be an issue. Just lie down.”

NIKOLAI is undoubtedly amused by the idea of sharing a bed with you. He doesn't waste a single thought towards either of you taking the sofa instead; nonsense, just why would you do that? There's a perfectly fine bed right there, and surely both of you are mature enough to share one without any issues, right? Wrong.

He makes a point of being as obnoxious as possible, cuddling close to you the very second you lie down. It doesn't help that he's both tall and strong, his arms closed around your waist so you can't even try to get away or up, and he makes a point of whining whenever you attempt to squirm away. It's going to be a long night.

“What's the matter? Why are you moving so much? Stop it, I won't be able to fall asleep this way. Or — ah, are you trying to rile me up on purpose? That's naughty of you, sweetheart.”

SIGMA immediately makes a beeline for the couch the second he notices the dilemma of having a double bed rather than two separate ones booked. He won't even discuss the topic with you; he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable or forced to sleep on a sofa, so he'll do it instead. There's no whining or guilt tripping from his end; he simply accepts his fate for the night. There's worse things to endure.

If you're incredibly serious about convincing him, however, he might just give in, even though his cheeks feel a little warmer than usual when he lies down next to you, making sure there's an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you. If there's anything he doesn't want, it's you thinking he's trying to be creepy after you've decided to trust him — he probably ends up barely getting any sleep, just because he's worried about accidentally getting too close to you.

“Are you sure you're alright with this? I really don't mind spending the night on the sofa instead. ... Well, if you're sure — thank you.”

NEW POST AGAIN FINALLY AA my commissions are open, by the way!! dm me if interested! 💜

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[dnangelic]

sakura speaks , and the great phantom thief himself can only chuckle and sneer --- grinning to himself well-humored amidst his high-seated knowledge of obsession , and the disastrous lengths that some would always go to prove their so-called loves despite the way their feelings might not have been ever properly returned to them .

' you have noooo idea , ' is all that he happily coos --- suddenly nostalgic for every holiday wherein azumano seemed to be utterly dominated by his presence in left-out shrines and letters to decoration and costume , like on halloween . ' you could be rich already , you know ? not that i've been paying any attention , but if i really have been shedding a lot , then that's all the better for you . '

after all , if the entirety of the province could be enthusiastically willing to impersonate him for a day , then why wouldn't anyone , be they from japan or even out of the country , spend an entire king's fortune on as much as a single legitimate feather ? someone with a better sense of sales could have been entrusted with it . the likes of nirei , if only in serving as a sort of simultaneous secretary , thesaurus , encyclopedia , and delinquent accountant to sakura herself , would have had ended up with quite the thrill in setting up the feather for auction .

yet here was sakura fussing over their care and little , if not nothing else .

' ... hmm . ' his arms remain in their dour cross , and his head only tilts at her at first . ' you're not being very clear . are you sure you're not the one trying to tell me something without telling me ? '

he's careful to study and watch her for any sort of reaction , positive that such a direct pierce might produce something . ' if you wanted to touch them , you could have just said so , you know . ' because he trusted her enough already without the need for her to profess ; had she hoped to ever hurt and hunt him then surely he'd have woken up to a wound or ripped wing by now , night after night that he had arrived and slept now beyond ample opportunity .

' otherwise , you're just a little too late . ' he hums here , lifting his gaze off of her in order to lift the haughty peak of his nose upwards , even higher alongside the ever-proud curl of his smirk . ' my coat's fresh . wait a few months , ' or don't , he thinks , surprised by the way that he's almost said something that he shouldn't have , confessing to every niwa member that should have tended him like birds of a flock . still , the verbal stagger's imperceptible --- after nothing more than an epiphany's winded pause , he finishes his lull as effortlessly as always . ' --- and they'll be brand new again . '

no way in hell he'd let sakura see him molting and miserable , after all . even daisuke , in the brief shame and intense discomfort of the season , would surely have preferred to close himself up and away into the mansion rather than approach sakura ragged and desperate for some sort of preening relief . anything to keep them both from being laughed at while at their most sensitive and vulnerable .

' as for a pillow , why shouldn't i complain ? ' any prior loftiness in his voice immediately hardens with a dissatisfied gripe and whine . ' i can't even use you as one . your stomach's too tough , and so's even your butt . ' seriously , for shame ! ' i don't know how you don't wake up with a headache every morning . even if you're not someone who cares for luxury , isn't something like a pillow just a necessity ? '

“Who the hell would pay for these?”

She’s heard all about the merch that apparently gets made for him all over the world, but surely nobody was such a fanatic for this stupid idiot thief that they’d pay real, actual money for his feathers, right? The idea, both of sellin’em and of makin’em into somethin’, is honestly kinda disturbing to her—He ain’t a fuckin’ collector’s item.

“They’re just a bitch to keep pickin’ up.” She continues on, though the snap holds very little bite to it (well, less than what her ears are used to); to be honest, she’s only pointin’ any of this out because she’s been thinkin’...

“If you need help takin’ care of’em or whatever, you should just say so.”

She means, on a whole, his wings in their entirety; she hasn’t missed how he hasn’t really spread them out inside her place. She hasn’t even really seen the true span of’em all that often as it is—a time or two when they were outside and he’d relax’em, another few times she’s seen him just before he’d fly into or fly outta her window—but they have come out enough when they’re just here. At first, she hadn’t really known what to think of it (when it comes to the amount of people with wings that she knows, Dark is the only one), but over time and after a number of picked up feathers, she’s come to suspect that it may hurt a little to keep them so... Hm, would ‘cooped up all the time’ be the phrase??

At any rate.

“‘c—‘course,” she stammers, as she realizes how she sounds, “if ya don’t need or want any, then don’t let me get in your way. ‘m just sayin’, if ya do, or somethin’...”

How much of him is a bird compared to how much of him is bird-like is still somethin’ Haruka’s trying to figure out, but birds tended to molt their wings after awhile, right? And could him having to keep them so closed up be makin’em drop feathers faster? As much as she can’t really change the state of her place—it just came like this!!—she’d really hate if Dark was uncomfortable here in any way was avoidin’ it all just because he couldn’t do it alone.

“I wouldn’t hurt ya or nothin’.” Intentionally; I ain’t stupid enough to think an accident won’t happen. “I just—there’s been a lotta’em recently, so I figured it was somethin’ you might need help with.”

With the harder portion of this topic outta the way, Haruka’s expression clears a little—just for a moment, anyway—before it pinches just so.

Shouldn’t you, though? Care about’em, at least. That’s the question she wants to ask’im—she won’t, though, because she doesn’t know how to convey what she really wants to say right. To her, they’re worthy of care even as dropped items, if only because just abandoning them to the trash or to be forgotten about in some pillow or household cleaning item is sad as all shit.

(The first feather of his that she ever got, the one from their one-and-only failed sleepover, is still hidden away in the left pocket of her Bofurin uniform pants—the very pants she happens to be wearing right now, since she just got back from a night patrol. Important to her not just because of that night, but because it was a feather from him and a reminder that he wasn’t gonna be gone for good, as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise.

As it stands, though...)

“...I bet you’re just tryin’ to tell me without tellin’ me that you want a pillow on the futon again, though.” Is what she ends up sayin’ out loud, followed by a pointed hmph, because it’s a topic he has harped on in the past. “I told ya to quit whinin’ about it.”

[taegimood]

kitty or shark hybrid tyun thoughts pleasepleasepleaseplease

i already had kitty tyun in the works so you read my mind but omg SHARK TYUN ???!!!! i know we literally just talked abt this on discord but i never thought abt how it would actually work… i’ve never thought about marine hybrids before 🤔 would he need water ??? reverse sandy cheeks LMFAO but no the predatory aspect mmmmm we should talk abt this later

edit this is longer and kind of turned into more of actual writing (??) than the soobin one ugh sorry i’m so inconsistent i’m ekwkndndkfk almost don’t even wanna post it BUT ANYWAY ,,,,,

next on my agenda: cat hybrid!taehyun !!

cat hybrid!taehyun with perky dark brown ears that nearly blend in with his hair, and a sleek tail to match. he’d be reserved when you first bring him home, but not shy or nervous like soobin; taehyun would be cool, collected, on his guard but in a way that lets you know he still sees himself as one in control.

at first it would seem like he really couldn’t care less about your presence in the apartment; quickly getting comfortable enough to make it his own, but apparently you weren’t included in that sentiment, judging from the way he’d just side-eye you before carrying on with whatever he was doing as his only form of acknowledgement every time you attempt an interaction 🫠

it makes you nervous; was this the right decision? will we ever form a bond? little do you know… muehuehue

you knew that cat hybrids were notoriously hit or miss in terms of how affectionate or independent they’d turn out to be, but i mean come on — taehyun acts as though he doesn’t even need you at all !!

imagine the first time you try to pet his ears, him flattening them and immediately swatting your hand away to shrink back with a scowl; the way your stomach would drop as you quickly start to apologize 😭 but he’s already stalking away into the next room like a grumpy grouch >:(

it’s not that taehyun hates you or anything, it’s just that he doesn’t like his personal space invaded — or at least, that’s what he thinks at first, but more on that later 👀

him hearing you crying in your room one night cuz you’re just so frustrated and sad :(( wanting to build a happy comfortable life for him but he’s not even letting you try and you don’t know what you’re doing wrong 🥺 that’s the first time he’d feel a little twinge in his chest, an unfamiliar emotion that he can’t quite place as he finds himself wanting to… comfort you? hmm.. he decides that he doesn’t like this strange new feeling and continues on to his room instead.

but the next day you’d be shocked when you’re on the couch and he actually comes and…. sits.. in the same.. room.. as you ???? someone call oprah ✋🏼

he’d silently situate himself in the armchair away from the couch, opening up his book an educated mf and starting to read without a single word as you sit there gaping at him like 👁️👄👁️ not having any clue that this is his way of offering a small bridge for the gap you’re even a little suspicious tbh LOL but you get so excited regardless and even though you try to hide it, his sharp senses are quick to notice the change in your demeanor.

also you keep glancing over at him like every 10 seconds so that’s kind of a giveaway in itself

after that you’d begin to notice little things that he’d start to do that make you realize you need to let him be the one to decide when to come to you, when you’re allowed to touch him, etc — and honestly you’re just grateful to be making progress.

you’d be on the phone with a friend one day when they start asking about your new hybrid, taehyun’s ears perking up from the kitchen; (you glance over to see his head poking out and his boba eyes sparkling with interest before he catches you looking and instantly scowls, feigning indifference as he disappears again 😭😭 your heart clenching at the cuteness..)

him listening intently as you talk about him, surprised as you even defend him when your friend makes a comment about the cat hybrid stereotypes — “he’s not ‘hellish’ in the slightest. he’s been very good. he just likes his space, that’s all.”

but his favorite part of all would be when they ask you about his breed, what he looks like, etc; his chest swelling with pride as he hears you talk about how handsome he is, how strong and lithe he seems to be, and he finds a purr escaping from his throat at the praise as you boast about him.

after that, even more progress seems to be made; like him randomly coming up to you one day with an extra bit of his food in hand as he places it in front of you and says, “i brought this for you.” and walking away again before you can respond 💀

with how put-together he always seems, you’re finally starting to see how cat-like he truly is the more he opens up to you ❤️‍🩹

he starts speaking to you more often too, his voice a pleasant surprise to you; smooth and even-toned, inducing a bit of a blush from you whenever there’s a slight rasp or purr caught at the end of a phrase.

he perplexes you at first with how blunt or monotoned he can be, but you learn to read him better as time goes on, learn to understand his subtle undertones, and each flick of his ears or swish of his tail.

you’ve also learned that he can be won over with certain treats and presents… which ends up leading to the mess you’ve found yourself in now.

when you decided to buy a bunch of catnip, thinking it would be nice to bake him some desserts with it every now and then, you didn’t think you’d have to go out of your way to hide the stuff. since you brought him home taehyun has never acted out much aside from the occasional swipe of something off the edge of the counter when he’s bored; but he never scratches up your furniture or makes a mess of the apartment, so imagine your shock when you come home from a late shift one night to find your kitchen absolutely ransacked.

drawers and cabinets thrown open and their contents scattered everywhere, kitchen towels shredded to bits, and for a minute you’re terrified that someone broke in or something.. until you realize what you’re looking at.

catnip is strewn EVERYWHERE.

the tub of it fallen open on the floor has you gaping as your eyes follow the trail of it, from the cabinet taehyun must have smelled it from, to where it then spilled across the counter, before being knocked to the floor and.. rolled in??

with a start you suddenly realize that it’s too quiet.

taehyun is never one to come and greet you at the door, but this time, something feels.. different.

which is why you nearly jump out of your skin when you turn to go and look for him, ready to call out his name, only to find him standing in the entrance of the kitchen already watching you.

he’s so quiet that you didn’t even hear him approach and you’re convinced that in another life he would’ve made a great vampire or something.. taehyun salvatore has a nice ring to it iykyk

“holy shit, kitty, you scared me! why are you lurking like that? what the hell happened in.. here...”

your voice trailing off as you actually take in the sight of him and….

taehyun’s chest rising and falling at a quicker rate than usual, normally neat hair all tousled out of place, tail swishing sharply back and forth behind him, ears twitching — you meet his eyes and swallow hard. he’s never looked at you like this before.

his pupils are blown wide and taking in every inch of you, roaming over your body before locking onto your gaze, as if he’s looking straight into you, hyper-focused; silent and still and.…

predatory.

there’s a crackling tension in the air as something flickers in his eyes.

before you can process the speed that he moves forward with you’re being pushed against the kitchen counter with his body flush against yours, radiating heat as he rolls his hips, rubbing his face into your neck as a deep, growl-like purr reverberates in your ear.

you gasp, thighs pressing together instinctively, his tongue licking a rough stripe up to your jaw as he growls, “whose scent is this?”, and you barely even have time to remember the new coworker that he must be smelling let alone the time to answer him before he’s mouthing at your neck, muttering, “doesn’t matter.. i’ll just have to scent you myself.”

his tail curls around your waist and you inhale at the slight prickle of his sharp canines as he smirks against your throat;

“have to let him know that you’re mine.”

you don’t know how you got here, bent over the kitchen table as your previously aloof hybrid pounds you from behind, licking and biting at your shoulder and neck as he purrs roughly in your ear, your pussy clenching hard around his thick cock as he tugs your hair to bring your head up into a scorching kiss; whatever insane energy high that catnip gave him was all being released onto you right now, and you really can’t complain.. nor can you even remember whatever guilt you may have felt since at this point he’s fucked it right out of you.

he’d be telling you how your scent belongs to him, how no one else can have you like this; this sudden possessiveness coming out of seemingly no where, baffling you with the whiplash of taehyun’s deeper feelings coming out.

(feelings that he honestly didn’t even realize he had himself until that catnip got him good)

he’d so be the type to act completely nonchalant about it all the next day, to the point where you’d just about convince yourself that you went crazy and dreamed it all up until he’d do something to show you that no, you definitely did not.

standing at the sink washing dishes after lunch, lost in your swirling thoughts, when he’d come up behind you to place his own dish in the sink — chest ghosting against your back as he leans in just close enough for you to feel his smirk against one of the many love bites littered across your neck. quickly turning to face him but he’s already walking away, casually and without another glance in your direction;

later you’d be tidying up the apartment when he’d walk by you and his tail would curl sneakily around your waist, trailing over your ass as he passes by..

but it’s the last straw for you when you’re sitting on a conference call and taehyun slinks into the room, eyeing your computer, and you can already see the wheels turning in his head at the sound of your male coworkers going over their part of an example presentation.

your eyes widen marginally as his narrow — lip curling as he quickly deduces that one of them must be yesterday’s icky scent culprit — and you give him a stern warning look that he only ignores with a sly smile as he approaches where you’re sitting, your breath catching in your throat as he suddenly gets on his knees between your legs, just out of sight of the camera.

you’re about to mute your mic and ask him what the hell he’s doing when you hear your name being called from the screen, quickly averting your attention to answer your coworker’s question, when you feel the tip of taehyun’s claw begin to trace up your inner thigh.. ohhh boy you’re done for.

you’d be panicking as he’d tease his way under your skirt, flipping it up to reveal your panties that he’d so easily push aside, your voice coming out in a squeak when you try to continue talking as he nuzzles his face into your cunt.

trying to deter him by pushing his head away, but that only spurs him on more at the feeling of your fingers brushing past his mischievously twitching ears; your coworkers asking you if everything’s alright as the sudden warmth of taehyun’s tongue against your pussy sends a rush of electricity through you in the form of a choked-out moan that you can only disguise as a cough.

having to sit through the rest of your meeting as your naughty hybrid meticulously eats you out, his shameless rumbling purrs sending vibrations through your core while he laves at your juices, smug eyes glittering up at you the entire time as you try your absolute hardest not to squirm and moan.

it’s so filthy, so obscene, and he’s got you so so close to the point where you have no choice but to feign sickness and quickly hang up the call with reddened cheeks and labored breaths.

but taehyun pulls away immediately and you give a sharp whine before you can stop yourself.

you can see the satisfaction in his eyes as he poorly feigns indifference poorly on purpose ofc and states, “i’m bored,” with a move to stand up — but you’ve had enough of his teasing.

“nuh uh,” you breathe, your hand in his hair pulling him back in with a surprised little trill as your need to cum overpowers your conscience.

“finish what you started.”

and he’s more than happy to oblige as that same flicker from last night returns to his eyes, yanking you towards his waiting mouth as he ravishes your pussy with even more vigor than before.

“taehyun, y-you’ve been such a… bad.. k-kitty…”

and he eats it right up, the both of you knowing who really seems to be in control here despite your scolding words as you lose yourself on his tongue.

coming apart easily not once but twice before he finally sits back on his heels, licking the wetness from his lips and observing your spent form in satisfaction;

from then on it’s decided that taehyun does like his new owner after all, quick to jealousy but even quicker to remind you that you’re his; who’s the real owner here, to be honest? 🤔

and he even comes to realize that - you know what? - curling up with you for cuddles and head scratches really isn’t so bad after all. he could definitely get used to this ❤️‍🩹

my dom!taehyun agenda knows no bounds i couldn’t stop myself womp

also this feels to me like it had a much different vibe from the soobin one as in like a lot less detailed even tho it’s longer…? idk but later i wanna post more than just one thing for each member anyway so

[ennabear]

hi ennabearrrr...im back at it again...poppin in your inbox with a request for more loser!abby fluff if u want! 💙 i need her to be all blushy and squishy and i literally want to just EAT HER WHOLEKELFKTO love your writing soso much, it brightens up my day every time!

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ HIIII SWEET PLUTOBEAR!!!!! i love having you in my inbox don’t worry 🫶 i’ll build you a comfortable little nest so you can enjoy your stay and come back sometime... HEHE ANYWAYS making fun of this fucking loser again but she’s actually just me in another universe… nsfw at the end but i swear it’s cute!!! 18+

can’t stop thinking specifically about loser!abby falling asleep in front of you for the first time when she comes back from patrol completely wiped out. the trudge back to her room feels like it’s never ending, her whole body is sore and aching but she’d rather pass out in bed than on these concrete stairs. you’re sitting in her bed waiting for her— sheets freshly washed and pillows fluffed— when she clambers through the door. she doesn’t see you at first, yelping and almost falling backward when she realizes there’s another person in her bed.

“abby, it’s me.” you laugh, staring at her panting and hunched over form.

“jesus fuck, never do that again.” she sighs, holding her face in her hands.

you beckon her closer, opening your arms to make room for her. she flops right down on top of you, completely crushing you as her muscles relax. “how was patrol?” you prompt.

“mmmh, it wasn’t great.” she groans. “we almost lost a guy because he got shot in the leg. he was losing so much blood, saying shit like ‘tell my family i love them’ and it kinda freaked me out, you know how i am.”

“he’s gonna be okay though?”

“yeah. at least i think so. i just pray that never happens to me.”

“it won’t.” you assure her. “i love you too much to let it happen. plus, i wanna see what you look like with gray hair and wrinkles.”

she giggles softly into your neck, wrapping an arm around you and settling down. before long, her gentle breath turns into soft snores, and her soft snores turn into her sounding like a fucking chainsaw with a puddle of drool dripping down your neck.

you laugh again at your loser of a girlfriend, letting her exhausted cacophony of snores lull you to sleep like some sort of evil white noise. this was the first time in a while you fell asleep with such a smile on your face.

or… loser!abby oversharing to you while she’s drunk. you’ve never questioned why she was so sentimental about certain things, like how she could remember how and when she got every coin in her collection, but would never let you touch them. as soon as she got some alcohol in her system, she felt like it was impossible to shut up. (although she frequently felt that way, sober or not.)

it didn’t really cross your mind that she’d lost someone so close to her. sure, you’d lost your own family and friends a few times. the world is cruel but we adjust, we learn to grow around the grief, changing into bigger and better versions of ourselves. that’s what abby was good at.

she was so sweet, so confident, sometimes even a little bit of a badass although she’s a true dork at heart. so when you hear the story of her fathers passing, the brutality of it absolutely wrecks your heart. the fact that she was in the building when it happened, letting the mysterious murderer escape right under her nose, leaving her with a giant hole in her heart that could never be filled.

“i’m sorry…” she giggles through her waterfall of tears. “we were supposed to have fun tonight and i killed the mood. again.” you frown at your girlfriend, pulling her in for a tight hug and letting her sniffle into your shoulder. yeah, it’s true, she did technically ruin the mood. but how could you be mad at your baby? at least you know her better now, and she’d probably find another way to ruin the mood if not this one.

on a happier note, walking in on loser!abby masturbating... she’s actually had a great day today, and she wants nothing more than to be pleasured by her girlfriend to end it. she just doesn’t know how to ask for it. after giving you a quick parting kiss in the cafeteria, she showered and returned to bed, deciding to finally do something about the ache in between her legs. should she go get you? what if she just rubs one out really quick and then forgets about it? should she wait until you get back?

fuck it, she decides, and she’s instantly shoving two fingers into her weeping hole. the stretch is easy, she’s used to it by now. she whimpers as her fingertips graze her g-spot, reaching up to tug at one of her nipples. “abby?”

“oh, jesus!” she gasps, clamping her hand over her mouth as her cheeks redden. “you have got to stop doing that!”

“having fun?” you tease, watching as her blush spreads from her cheeks to her ears. “yeah… well, no actually.” she sputters. giggling, you climb on top of her and tug your shirt off, then lean forward to place a sweet kiss on her nose bump. “would you like some help?”

as soon as you get her approval, your lips are suckling onto her clit with two of your own fingers pumping in and out of her. she’s breathing incoherent praises like “gah, fuck! oh- it- i’m !!!” as you slide in and out of her, pausing repeatedly to lick up some of the slick that’s dripping down your hand.

once she tips over the edge, you rub her thighs in encouragement, mouth too occupied sucking up all of her cum to praise her verbally. when you pull away, she’s staring up at you with doe eyes. her lips, cheeks, nose— fuck, her whole face— looking more kissable than ever.

“i’m sorry.” she sighs once you have her wrapped up in a warm blanket, guiding her head to rest on your chest.

“for what?”

she ponders this for a second. she’s so used to apologizing for embarrassing herself that she forgot you’ll love her no matter what, even if it’s as awkward as walking in on her with her hands down her pants. “uhh, actually, i dunno anymore.” she smiles. “i love you though.”

you crane your neck down to kiss each of her eyelids as they flutter shut for the night. “i love you too, silly.”

[northsealight]

...and dry it off with care

summary: you're tired and not sure how to receive comfort. jason helps you relax :)

notes: a quick little imagine to tide MYSELF over while i try to grow the balls to post my insane jason related project soon (hint hint its medieval).. but this is my first post.. yahoo!

彡𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 彡

The past couple of weeks had little to look forward to. You, an unfortunate slave to your degree, had subscribed to the Sisyphean cycle of waking up at 6:00 AM, eating stale leftovers, and killing yourself at lectures until you dragged yourself home at 8:00 PM. The part of your miserable routine that stung the most was the fact that you barely had time to see Jason. 

This night was no different. Dead on your feet with a head of freshly showered hair, you painfully clambered into bed with your slumbering boyfriend. Unfortunately, the hopes of drying your scalp died long ago with the remainders of your arm strength. 

As you try to get settled quietly between the sheets, Jason, being a horrifically light sleeper, blinks awake to your dismay. He groans, and lifts one sleepy eye open. Secretly, you think to yourself how cat-like your boyfriend is. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, reaching over to brush the soft strands of hair from his eyes, “Go back to sleep.”

Jason only hums, and traces your hair with his outstretched fingers. He yawns. “Your hair’s still wet.”

“Astute observation. Now go back to sleep.”

“Mm. No,” Without warning, he arises from bed, padding off to the bathroom. You snort incredulously when he comes back with a blow dryer.

“Sit up,” He gently commands, sitting on your side of the bed now. “Gonna catch a cold if you sleep like that.” 

Your brain stalls, for a second. “What?”

Jason rolls his eyes and motions for you to scoot over, the remnants of sleep previously clinging to his face dissipating by the second. “I’m not letting you go to bed like that. Up.”

Oh. Your chest, in your half-sleep haze, instantly melts at his tenderness. 

You almost feel like a third party observer as your body folds into a sitting position, leaning flush against Jason’s chest without your control. You don’t miss the way how one his comically giant hands is always on you, touching your thigh, or resting on your waist.

Jason begins to gently dry your hair with the machine on the lowest setting. Maybe it was how emotionally draining your day was, or the sentimentality of the late evening, but your eyes became mysteriously damp at the way he handled you– took care of you. In the quiet darkness of your shared room, his movements felt languid, almost delayed. It felt wrong, distorted in some form. Each careless movement of his body against your own wasn’t deserved, like your body should dissipate at the touch of another. 

Wanting to push him away, your muscles tense, the vulnerability and sheer closeness overwhelming you. Jason in turn, still gently drying your damp scalp, notices the stiff movement. 

“Relax. What, you’ve got a crush on me or something?” he teases. You almost snap out of your stupor at Jason’s stupid jab, but you humor him anyway.

“In your dreams,” you sniff. “ I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be teased. He plays along, and you can almost envision his small grin with his response. “Now who’s this mystery man? He’s lucky to have a pretty thing like you.” 

You sniff again. “He’s a big idiot. He sings off-key Cher to piss off my neighbors and keeps forgetting where he left his glasses. And he always insists on staying up for me when he should be resting up for tomorrow.”

“Hey.” Jason warns you, waving around the blow dryer. “Need I remind you who's wielding the potentially lethal electric device?”

You only snort and push at him. When it falls quiet, you break the silence with an unsure apology. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Jason only shushes you. “Don’t apologize for that. S’no bother.”

You close your eyes and lean back, further into him, to anchor yourself. Jason only presses a gentle kiss to your neck, and continues drying your hair.

You fall asleep that way. Morning comes to find you with a dry head of hair, an aching heart, and a gentle giant curled around your figure.