#but it took so long to get to because i couldn't come up with a name for their third friend

[leonsgfpost]

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You let your boyfriend cum inside you for the first time.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: DI!Leon (or Leon RE4) x fem!reader, creampie, unprotected sex, wild Leon, slight mention of breeding perversion.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: It's something that crossed my mind, this man has me bad 🙏🏻

Leon feels like he's in heaven, dizzy, sweaty and with his eyes closed, seeing colors. Like he's really floating, and only because he's ramming your pretty pussy with need. Her pretty pussy. His hands are on either side of your head, he only needs his body to pin you against the sweaty sheets. His lunges jolt your body enough to shake the bed.

"Look at you, my pretty girl taking it so good..." He said between breathless gasps, and you opened your clouded eyes so you could look up at him, grinning dumbly at his words. But he wasn't even looking at you, he was watching your pussy open up around his wet cock. Yeah, Leon was getting kind of nasty.

And though he loved your pussy, and every inch of you. And what you were giving him, like the time you took the condom off for the first time and let him fuck you raw. Every time he sank into you, wetly and slowly he felt alive. But he couldn't help but want more, lust for more.

Leon is a greedy man.

You had not yet given him the honor of filling your pussy, of leaving you creamy and plump inside. He would never do anything against your word, so every time he got close he would come out and cum hard on your belly or your thighs. Even though it felt good, I knew it would feel better to be able to bury his dick and let it explode inside you. But he couldn't do it, not yet.

"Lee, Leon-!" you moaned loudly, dizzy in the ecstasy of his cock exploring every delicious corner of your insides. His head slapping your cervix, his hips slapping yours until your skin was red. It was definitely Leon's favorite sight, you beneath him with a sweaty face, your tits bouncing happily and your hips rising to chase his awkwardly.

"Baby, can I-?" he asked, burying his face in your neck letting out gasps that were starting to morph into animalistic moans. From the way his voice was becoming shaky and his hips were stumbling in their rhythm, he was so close.

"Please, let me... Let me do it." Leon's pride shifted to the side, that strong man taking on nuclear monsters was no match for your pussy. He could die if you denied him the paradise between your legs. And you know it.

"What?" you asked, in the midst of overwhelming pleasure and the sensation of your orgasm beginning to form, ready to burst as easily as a bubble.

"Inside, I want to do it Inside. A baby, let's make a baby-" His words came out in babbles, in between wet kisses he planted on your neck trying to distract himself from how his cock jerked inside you, begging for the release he was holding back. And when you were as dumb as he was, it only took his fingers around your quivering clit for you to quickly agree.

"I want to hear you, I need it, I..." He whispered, moving his kisses up your jaw and keeping the motion of his fingers on your clit, listening to you moan desperately beneath him.

"C-Cum inside, I want it inside." You affirmed in that sweet tone you used only for him. Mixed with long, euphoric moans, arching your back. Your center burned around him, his onslaught creating the most lascivious sounds you'd ever heard. Those words ignited something inside him. Finally, finally his little fantasy was coming true.

He pulled away a little, grabbing the back of your thighs to lift them and let out a grunt as he felt your walls tighten further around him. He was losing his mind. His hips moving in a wild, animalistic rhythm.

"I'm going to fill you up so good, baby." It sounded like a promise, you knew he was going to do it. His blunt nails digging into your skin, trying to hold on to something as he felt his dick quivering inside your walls, closing around his length.

"Come on, come on... Come for me, I want to feel you." His husky, raw tone of pure need finally brought you to orgasm. Your velvety walls clenched around him tightly, as if you wanted to extricate his dick. His breath caught as he felt your tight grip as if you were begging to be filled silly.

But relax, that's what he was going to do.

"God, baby-ah, you're tight me so good." He murmured dropping his head back, closing his eyes and relaxing his jaw with pleasure. His hips quivered, causing his to lose his rhythm.

You would look so pretty, your swollen pussy and his cum spurting out of your hole that was a portal to paradise. The image and the feeling of your wet walls around him was what drove him to madness.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck-!" he moaned over and over, ramming with each curse until potent, strong strands of semen exploded inside you, filling you with as much eagerness as he had wanted. He never would have imagined it would feel so good, so alive. His onslaught gradually slowed to a stop, panting heavily as his cock gave you all he had to offer. His eyes lowered to your pussy, withdrawing only to glowering at his work of art. His mess.

His fingers moved down to open the swollen lips of your pussy and watch his thick cum seep out of your weeping hole. He smirked, lifting his eyes finally.

"This pretty pussy deserves another load, Honey." He stated, beginning to rub his semi-hard cock up and down your quivering slit. Little did you know that you aroused the most primal, possessive side of the man who looked at you as if he wanted to devour you.

Because, oh, Leon is a really greedy man.

Let me know if you liked it, and please ignore if you see any mistakes 🫶🏻💕

(💌) bye, bye !

[werevampiwolf]

If you're blind in one eye for long enough, your sense is where your eye drifts to the middle over time. So your perception of where things are is off by a few inches, even though you've been dealing with this whole half-blind for a while now.

You also start adapting in little ways. I started wearing my watch on the "wrong" hand because I kept hitting it on things. I also tend to hold things like my phone more towards the eye I can see out of, instead of in the middle, and I set up my TV and my computer monitor to be more on my good side. If you still have some limited vision in the bad eye, you might also close that eye if you're trying to concentrate, so you're not having to filter out the extra information. I do that a lot because my eyeball works just fine, my brain just doesn't understand the information, so it's like those AI images that are designed to show you what having a stroke feels like, where everything seems familiar but you can't even begin to guess what things are.

Also, unless the person has damage to the eye or wears an eyepatch, people might not even always notice. Even if they have a glass eye, people still might not notice. I don't have a glass eye, but I went blind in one eye due to brain damage for about four years, and then after that, I became able to at least see light and movement again. And I've worked at my current job for a decade, and I had perfect vision when I was hired. To this day, I think maybe a couple managers know because I've straight up told them, but it doesn't seem like anyone else has noticed.

Side note, if you had strabismus (eyes that don't point the same direction) as a kid and were trained out of it, it might come back if you go blind in one eye. You can also acquire strabismus even though you didn't have it before, especially if your vision loss is due to brain damage. But strabismus DOES affect how people treat you. It took me years to figure out why people suddenly started treating me like I was five (or like they thought I was stupid) a while after I lost vision in one eye. I eventually figured out that it didn't happen when I was wearing mirrored or dark sunglasses because they couldn't see my eyes. But it's because, due to stigma and portrayal in the media, most people assume that anyone whose eyes don't point in the same direction must be intellectually disabled (or at least stupid and uneducated). But not everyone with one has both, and you shouldn't be a dick to people with intellectual disabilities either.

And for fun, you can get eyepatches with designs now. You can even coordinate them to your outfit if you want. I have a couple of plain black ones, but I haven't worked up the courage to wear them in public yet. You can also get custom glass eyes if you have an empty socket. I've seen one guy online who made a flashlight eye.

writing advice for characters with a missing eye: dear God does losing an eyes function fuck up your neck. Ever since mine crapped out I've been slowly and unconsciously shifting towards holding my head at an angle to put the good eye closer to the center. and human necks. are not meant to accommodate that sorta thing.

[hel1nn]

apologies ၄၃

𐔌 . ⋮ satoru gojo x fem reader .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ : angst to fluff | arguments | cursed words |

୨୧ : your boyfriend didn't replied to your texts and calls after leaving for a long mission.

Smau + written part below ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

Satoru sighs in frustration. He hadn't replied to your texts and calls because he was way too busy with work and.. forgot about you. So when he saw your texts he knew he fucked up. He continued his day, trying act everything was normal. Teaching his students then going on other missions blag blah. As always he came home late. Instead of using keys he teleported to your sharing apartment. There he saw you talking with someone on the phone, maybe shoko? Utahime. (Yes)

"i don't think he'll come home tonight" you sighed while talking on the phone, you were wearing on of his shirt, eyes puffy wnd tears stained cheeks, you didn't noticed satoru

"if you're not his top priority just leave him already"

"you don't understand,utahime. He didn't meant it like that but.."

"but what?"

"the way he told me i am not his top priority and if i don't understand i should just leave him,i don't know what to say but i got hurted so bad.."

With that you walked off to bedroom. You didn't noticed him standing Infront of your main door. The dinner left cold on the table. He felt guilty but didn't said anything. He got day off for few days. He sighed. He knew you wouldn't talk to him until all the anger you have disappeares.

-

He puts your portion of the food in the fridge after finishing his dinner. And then lays down on the couch , too scared to enter your room for now since he heard you sobbing there..he felt way more guilty than before but..he wasn't confident enough to approach you now. He sighed, thinking of ways you could forgive him. all the thinking took the best of him and then finally he fell asleep

You woke up a little later than usual,when you came out of your room and you saw satoru sleeping on the couch. You frowned seeing him like that. All you could do was covering him up with a blanket in the cold room. You called yaga asking if satoru got a day off or not,so when you heard he got few days for himself you sighed in relief. Leaving a simple breakfast with a too sweet coffee for satoru before you left for your work. Teaching the students as always, sparring and doing the usual things . But you were still sad about how satoru behaved with you yesterday. You weren't able to see him and now you ended up making things even messier. You don't know how you will greet him when you get home. After the long day when you finally arrived your shared apartment,you hear some noices coming from kitchen,when you go to check whats going on there you see satoru cooking something,hes face slightly covered in flour. A cake in the oven. Him trying to make steak for you on the other side. His six eyes immediately noticed you, looking at you with a nervous smile.

"sweets..your too early.." he mumbles, trying to find any kind of anger on your face. You sigh,trying not smile at him

"what are you doing.." you said as you make your way to satoru standing beside him with a soft frown on your face

Satoru sighed, finally giving you his full attention.

"i just wanted to apologise..for yesterday by...making you a dinner.." he pouted slightly, looking down. Looking like a puppy caught stealing food. He thought you'd say something like 'fuck off' but instead he hears a soft giggle, when he looks up fully he sees a soft smile on your face. You hand covering your mouth "your lucky iam not mad" when heard you say that it felt like a heavy weight got off of his back. He attacked you with a bone crushing hug with kisses and multiple 'sorry's about yesterday. You couldn't stop smiling,cheeks hurting from smiling actually, just like satoru. You helped him with making dinner. You don't know when was the last time you had a proper dinner with him. It doesn't matters now. All that matters right now is satoru.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hey girl! I absolutely love your work. The way you write Desi reader is phenomenal

I was hoping you could write a Lando fic where he and Reader go to a trampoline park for a date and he's live streaming. He sees that she's very sweaty from all the fun and he comments on it and she says "as if you could make me this sweaty, Norris" AND IT GETS CAUGHT ON CAMERA

If you're not comfortable with the last part maybe only the trampoline park date?

Sweaty Opportunities ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

ᰔᩚ ln x reader 🧸ྀི

ᰔᩚ fluff + humour + smau 🧸ྀི

masterlist ☾☼

date days were y/n's favourite, even more than date nights. of course, date nights had a different class of its own. with the wine, and the fine dining, and the pretty dresses and suits that always end up on the floor of the living room because they couldn't wait to make it to the bedroom. it was amazing, definitely.

but, y/n tended to enjoy the date days more. it contained of spending the entire day exploring, eating, and just being kids. they would be in far more comfortable clothes, and would walk around hand-in-hand everywhere. most of their date days were usually lando's ideas, and they were always something reckless and exhilarating. it always made lando's face a pretty red that y/n could never stop kissing.

this particular date, lando had told her that he was going to be making another landolog since it had been a long time. y/n had readily agreed, well aware of how much lando enjoyed making the landologs.

"babe, are you ready?" his voice called out from the living room.

"coming!" y/n replied, trying to get her anklet untangled from her sock so that it didn't break.

lando stood at the door of the room, with the camera in his hand, "chat, this happens every time! i tell her we need to leave at 12, she starts getting ready 12!"

"liar! i was ready to go before you!"

"apparently not, seeing that i've worn my shoes and everything, and you still only have on sock on," lando teased.

"my anklet got stuck again," y/n looked at him with the best puppy eyes she could.

lando sighed, always unable to resist her cute face, "fine, hold the camera,"

she smiled, making a funny face at the camera before she turned it around to record lando. the man had knelt on the floor, and was focused on getting her anklet untangled.

"he's such a nice boy, taking care of me. mumma approves of you too, na," y/n cooed at him.

lando smiled, shaking his head at her, knowing that she was making fun of him. he made a sound from the back of his throat, acknowledging that he heard her. y/n ran her fingers through his hair, talking in the camera how soft his hair was, and how she was envious of it.

"alright, done," lando said, as he stood up after untangling the anklet. he offered his hand to y/n, and she took it, standing up. lando pulled her close to his chest, the camera stuck between them.

y/n laughed, "lan! you're crushing the camera!"

lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and said, "well, they didn't need to see that anyway,"

the two grabbed their essentials, still bickering and bantering, laughing into the camera, as they left the apartment, and into the car.

the camera recorded the couple singing (read as: screaming) taylor swift songs on their way to lando's surprise date location.

"where are we going?" y/n asked.

"we're almost there, lovie. a little more patience."

"look who's talking about patience!" y/n turned towards the camera, and said, "this man has the least amount of patience i've ever seen, okay?"

"that's not true!"

"you almost burned down our home because you decided to set the oven at double the temperature because you thought it would cook quicker!"

"logically, it makes sense!"

"its a miracle we have a roof over our heads, lando!"

he laughed, a loud, shrieking kind of laugh. 

pulling into the parking lot, lando turned off the ignition, and quickly grabbed the camera to catch y/n’s face change from confusion, to understanding, to childlike excitement. he knew this was one of the few places y/n had always wanted to come to, and now, she would finally have the opportunity. 

“you got me to a trampoline park!” y/n shrieked. 

lando winced at the loud sound, but smiled nonetheless, “happy date day, baby!”

y/n wrapped her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, the camera forgotten on his lap, as he hugged her back. “thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispered. 

“i love you,” he whispered back. 

she kissed him, letting him know that she loved him too. 

getting out of the car, y/n jumped excitedly as lando laughed, holding the camera. seeing lando lock the car, y/n immediately began running towards the entrance. zooming on the camera to show just how far she had ran, lando said, “chat, she’s a little crazy, but i’m so head over heels for her,” 

following y/n inside, lando handed her the camera as she showed the place around and yapped. meanwhile, he paid for the tickets, and walked to where y/n was. she had been standing by the popcorn machine, talking to the camera like she was talking to another human. sneaking behind her, lando wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up. y/n laughed, but let him walk towards the entrance of the trampoline park.

she set the camera down, angling it towards them, as the couple removed their shoes, and stored it in one of the cubicles. 

“so, how long are we here?” y/n asked. 

“well, it’s three hours of jumping and bouncing-” 

“that’s what she said,” 

“-and then we go out for lunch, and have cheesecake for dessert, and back home, where we can either sleep or do other things if we have more energy,” lando finished. 

y/n smacked his arm, “you better edit that out!” 

“you’re the one with the dirty mind! i just meant we could bake something or have a movie marathon!” 

“you’re lying, you liar!” lando laughed as he ran from y/n’s smack attack. 

grabbing the camera, he ran inside, immediately bouncing and gaining more speed than y/n. but, she wasn’t far behind. though, once she began jumping on the trampolines, her smack attack on lando was quickly forgotten. the couple went through every zone the park had to offer, playing trampoline basketball, jumping into a ball pit, and obstacle courses that were almost everywhere. 

y/n pushed lando often, laughing every time he fell and bounced back. lando returned the favour. they challenged each other to stupid things, like who could jump the highest. 

“it’s not fair! you’re taller than me! of course, you jumped higher than i did!” 

“that sounds like a you problem, lovie!” 

“bitch!”

or, they challenged each other to who could fall the farthest in the ball pit. 

“i totally won!” 

“no, you didn’t! you moved the balls from the sides, so now we don’t know!” 

“oh, quit crying just ‘cause you lost!” 

“you lost!” 

most of the challenges were unfair for y/n, given that lando only proposed the ones that would benefit him, and in her excitement, she wouldn’t realise it until after she lost. she did try to trick him and win, and that worked. lando said it didn’t count, but everyone knew who the boss was. 

“ready? three, two, one, go!” 

“ow, ow, ow, ow,” 

“lovie? you okay? what’s wrong?”

“i think i twisted my ankle,” 

“oh, baby, lemme see,” 

“ha! tricked you!” 

“wha-? hey! no fair!” 

“sorry, can’t hear you from the finish line!” 

their friendly competitions had resulted in red faces shining from sweat, and bright smiles. the day was exactly what they needed, and y/n had plans to show just how grateful she was to lando for planning such a date. they exchanged kisses, played with the other kids in the park, and tried to outdo one another. it made y/n fall more in love with lando. 

the camera facing towards them, lando watched as y/n jumped on a trampoline square behind him, spreading her arms and legs, making a star every time she was in the air. 

“you’re so sweaty,” lando commented as he looked at his girlfriend’s flushed face. 

y/n smirked, “it's because of the jumping around for three hours. as if you could ever make me so sweaty, norris,” 

his mouth fell open as he processed her retort. she laughed at his expression, and began jumping away. lando quickly grabbed her hand and said, “as if i could ever- come on, we’re going home,” 

“what? why? we still have lunch left!” 

“nope. i’m going to show you just how sweaty i can make you,” 

y/n laughed but followed. she wasn’t going to pass on an opportunity like this. she’d never.

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg i CAN make her that sweaty

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hi! i tried to make this desi!reader, but i just didn't find a lot of places where i could incorporate that, so i tried my best to stick to a neutral, imagine-what-you-like character. i hope you enjoy this! i've also got a link for my taglist, prompt list, and all of that you can find here!

[inkedinshadows]

The Path To Healing

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: A glimpse into different moments of Azriel's life: from his childhood trauma to the physical healing, from his struggles and his acceptance to the beginning of his mental healing journey.

Warnings: angst, self-hate, self-consciousness, violence and blood, mentions of torture, language, fingering (brief)

Word count: 8.9k

A/N: I might or might not have cried while writing some parts of this. I focused only on Azriel's hands, and I'm sure I only scratched the surface of what his trauma is. I'm nowhere close to an expert on any of this, but I tried my best and hopefully did it justice. @azrielappreciationweek

Pain was all he knew.

His eyes hurt from crying, and he desperately wanted to rub them, but he couldn't. He couldn't, because his hands… His hands…

More tears poured down his already puffed cheeks, and his cries turned into a choked sound—sobs that tore through his chest and shook his little body, his wings a dead weight on his back.

“Shh,” his mother murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she cupped his face. “It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay, baby.”

Azriel didn't know how to believe her. It seemed to him like nothing could ever be okay again. He couldn't feel his hands anymore—they had been replaced by a blinding pain that reached up to his elbows. All he could see when he looked down was a red splotch, too red to be normal.

When his father had heard his screams, he’d called the healers. By then, it was too late, and the damage was already done. But his father had merely given his half-brothers a disappointed look and dumped Azriel in his mother's care, as if he had become even more of a burden than before. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it.

His mom began to hum a lullaby, but Azriel could barely hear it over his sobs and whimpers. She took one of his shaking hands in hers as gently as she could, touching his marred skin when strictly necessary, but even that drew a shriek from him.

“I know, baby,” his mother whispered as she began wrapping his hand in new strips of clean fabric. “I know it hurts. But I need to bandage it so it can get better, okay?”

Azriel tried to hold back his cries of pain as she worked. He tried to focus on her face and the lullaby instead, but he kept praying through it all—to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to whoever was listening—that it would be over soon. Just like he had begged and prayed while his half-brothers had burned him, but no one had come then.

Now, though, his silent prayers were answered.

“There you go, my love,” his mom said softly, placing a kiss on his forehead. “All done. See? Does it hurt a bit less now?”

He looked down to find his hands covered in white linen. The tight bandages applied just enough pressure to reduce the pain, even if only by just a fraction. He met his mother's concerned gaze and nodded weakly, watching as the corner of her lips twitched upward. It didn't help much, though, and tears still streamed down his face.

“Come here,” she whispered, gathering his shaking body in her arms and holding him close to her chest. “My precious boy. You'll get through this, Az. I promise.”

Azriel buried his face in her neck and cried until he was too exhausted to do even that. But his mom never stopped singing him an old Illyrian lullaby, rocking him back and forth as if he were a newborn baby.

She kept going long after he fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Azriel was staring at his hands, at the ridges of his new scars. He knew he should be practicing, but he could only stare.

“What is it, sweetie?”

His mother came up beside him. His father had allowed her to see him a bit more over the last few months, not wanting to spend money on healers more than once every other week when they came to check on him and his progress.

Azriel turned his hands over, now looking at the backs of them. He still wasn’t used to seeing them like this. How much time had he spent looking at them? During those long hours in his cell with no light, he had thought about them endlessly.

Sometimes, he could swear the darkness whispered in his ear, soothing his mind until he finally fell asleep.

“They're ugly,” he said. His voice was flat, as if he was simply stating a fact. Because that's what they were to him—ugly, ruined, useless. Always shaking and itching.

His mother's soft hands enveloped his smaller ones in a gentle hold. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, meeting her tender, reassuring gaze. Even at his young age, he knew she loved him. His stepmother never looked at him like that, on the rare occasions she even bothered to acknowledge his existence.

“Your hands are not ugly, my child,” his mom assured him. Her tone was calm, but there was a new resolution etched onto her features. “They've just been through a lot.”

Azriel shook his head. “They're ugly,” he insisted. “No one else has hands that look like this. They're full of scars and cuts and…”

His voice trailed off as his mom extended her wings behind her. A twinge of pain crossed her face, and she could only unfold them a few inches, but it was enough for Azriel to see the twin long scars running down their length. He didn't know how she got them, but she once told him she couldn't fly because of them. He’d felt an odd sense of relief at that, knowing his mom couldn't fly either—that her blood, like his, urged her to take off and roam the skies, yet neither of them could.

“Do you think my wings are ugly, Az?” she asked. She still spoke with that soft tone, but it was now tinged with firmness.

Azriel immediately shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No, they're not ugly.”

“But they have scars. They're ruined and useless.” How had she known those were the words he used for his own hands? Had he said them out loud? “What are wings for, if not for flying? Yet I can't fly anymore.”

He shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Mom, no,” he said, decisive and unyielding. “Your wings are beautiful. You're beautiful.”

Her face softened, a smile blooming on her lips as she gently squeezed his hands. “Then your hands are beautiful too.” She lifted them to her lips, kissing each one. “Think of them not as reminders of pain, but of strength. You've suffered a lot, but you're stronger. You're healing. And one day, it won't even hurt anymore.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment. “Is it really like that?”

“Of course, baby,” she reassured him, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair.

He knew she was lying. He saw the pain on her face when she moved her wings. They still hurt sometimes. But he believed her anyway, because he needed to.

His mother let go of his hands and picked up the pen he had discarded just a few minutes ago. “Do you think you can practice a little longer?”

Azriel didn't want to. His fingers had gone stiff earlier, the constant itching even stronger now. But he didn't want his hands to be useless, so he took the pen from her.

Almost two sheets of paper were covered with just one word, repeated over and over. His own name. Easy enough to write, yet the letters were crooked and shaky, the ink smeared where his hand had accidentally trailed over it.

With a sigh, Azriel set the pen on the paper and tried his best to keep his hand steady as he resumed the exercise.

~~~~~~

Azriel really wanted to get laid.

There was no other way to say it. Every time he heard Cassian and Rhysand talk about a new girl they had slept with, he felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to experience it too—to know what it felt like to have that kind of connection with someone and not have to resort to his own hand whenever he couldn't ignore his need.

But he had always been too shy to approach the pretty girls his brothers chatted up so easily. His hands did nothing to help his confidence.

Tonight, though, was bonfire night. Organized twice a year, it was held on the Spring and Autumn Equinox to celebrate the new season. And this year, Azriel had every intention of going home with a girl.

His brothers were laughing and pushing each other as they walked through the muddy streets of Windhaven. He wasn’t paying much attention to what they were saying—something about their earlier fight during training. No, Azriel’s mind was already focused on his plan.

He would keep a safe distance from the fire, where no incidents could happen. But he would scan the crowd of Illyrians for a female who caught his interest, and when he found her, he would approach her, talk a little, and then ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private.

Simple enough.

He was a warrior in training, after all. He had seven Siphons. He was a Shadowsinger.

He had nothing to fear from interacting with girls.

Yet, he couldn't recall the last time he’d started a conversation with a female. In the ten years he'd been at Windhaven, it had probably happened only with Rhys's mother. But she didn't count.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and, lost in his thoughts as he was, he almost fell to the ground. He managed to flare his wings to steady himself, glaring at Cassian as he regained his balance.

“Sorry about that,” Cassian said, though his snicker didn't make him sound particularly sincere. “I've been talking to you for two minutes, but you didn't hear a single word. What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel mumbled, folding his wings behind him again. “Maybe you're just not worth listening to.”

Cassian gasped audibly, clutching his chest in mock heartache as a group of children sprinted by, headed for the square where the first booms of laughter and echoes of chattering rang out.

“Don't worry, Az,” Rhys chimed in before their brother could come up with a retort. “You'll get your first taste of sex tonight.”

Azriel shrugged off the hand Rhysand had placed on his shoulder. “Don't look in my mind,” he nearly growled, checking his mental shields just to be sure.

Both his brothers halted their steps and stared at him, twin shit-eating grins on their faces.

“I didn't,” Rhys said. “But thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

Cassian nudged him with an elbow, already teasing him about girls and first times and wingspans. With a snort, Azriel shoved him away and continued toward the bonfire, leaving the other two behind to push each other around, their chuckles chasing him down the street.

How they had guessed what he was up to, he didn't know. He’d been careful not to tell them, knowing their reaction would consist of snickers and jabs that he was in no mood for.

As he turned the corner, the square came into view. Just like every year, the bonfire stood in its center, rising several feet high and adorned with little homemade trinkets meant to bring good luck and a prosperous season when burned.

They would light it soon.

The square was already packed with people when Azriel reached it. Children ran around chasing each other, their laughs and screams echoing into the night. Warriors gathered in small groups, swords on their back and knives at their thighs or hips, not letting their guard down even during a festivity.

And then there were the females. Most sat together in a corner, chatting idly and glancing at the children from time to time. But some of them—the younger ones, the ones around Azriel's age—strolled in groups of two or three.

How was he supposed to approach them if they were always together? It was difficult enough when they were alone.

Azriel spotted Cassian and Rhys from the corner of his eye and moved deeper into the crowd, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the square from them. The last thing he needed was for his brothers to make fun of him.

Someone shouted a warning, and a moment later, the pyre was lit. Azriel flinched as flames erupted, pressing himself closer to the wall behind him. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat of the fire, warming his skin and casting a flickering glow all around.

He shut it out. He shut out the memory of what fire could do to flesh, the smell of burned skin, the screams and cries of a terrified eight-year-old boy. The shadows suddenly swirled around him, brushing against his arms and neck.

Past. Gone. Gone. Just memories.

Azriel closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, letting the truth they whispered calm his racing heart.

He sensed the girl before even the darkness could murmur of her approach.

He let his shoulders slump a little and slid his hands into his pockets, assuming a more casual stance. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him from a few feet away. Her head snapped around to stare at the bonfire as soon as she realized she'd been caught staring.

Azriel couldn't suppress his smirk. He had grown accustomed to females looking his way from the moment he’d hit puberty, but it still made him feel smug every time. Never mind that they didn't approach him—or that he never approached them.

But now, though. Now he would.

Taking one last deep breath, he took a nervous step toward her. And then another. She glanced in his direction, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, but one more step and Azriel was standing in front of her.

A few inches shorter than him, she didn't back away, her big brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. Her delicate face was framed by strands of wavy black hair that flowed past her shoulders, and he stopped himself before his eyes could travel downward to the curves shaping her slim body. She was pretty. Beautiful, even.

“Hi,” he said, attempting a smile. He wasn't sure it looked right.

The girl offered a small smile back. “I'm, uh… I didn't mean to stare. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's alright.”

For a brief, awkward moment, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Azriel realized she was waiting for him to say something more. Right.

“What's your name?” he finally asked, silently thanking the little shadow that had curled around his ear to whisper the suggestion.

“I'm Teagan.” The girl's smile widened. “And you're Azriel.”

Caught off guard, he blinked. “You know me?”

Teagan chuckled, a clear and crystalline sound that eased some of the tension in Azriel's body.

Some of it.

“I've seen you around,” she answered with a shrug. Firelight danced on her features. “There aren't many Shadowsingers here, you know. None, in fact. You're one of a kind.”

Her initial shyness seemed completely gone now. Good. That made one of them, at least. Because if her words were meant as flattery, they didn't work. Instead, they only made Azriel more nervous.

What if she had expectations? What if she started asking questions about his powers? What if she would be disappointed now that she was talking to him? What if she—

Azriel cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind at the same time. “Thank you,” he said.

Too stiff. Too short. Not an acceptable answer. But he didn't know what else to say. How was he supposed to talk to a girl when he’d barely had any social interaction for the first eleven years of his life?

But Teagan must have found his awkwardness endearing, because she smiled, amusement shining in her eyes. “Aren't you going to offer me some food?”

A blush crept up his cheeks as he glanced over to the few tables laid with food in one corner of the square. People were already gathering around them and filling their dishes. Cassian was there too, shamelessly flirting with a girl whose hands were already wandering over his chest.

Azriel turned back to Teagan and nodded, a shy smile forming on his face. “I am, actually.” He cleared his throat—as if it could help him sound more confident—then gestured to the tables with his head. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his coat. “Would you like to get some food?”

It came out too formal, and his posture was too rigid. And simply nodding toward the tables? Rude. How could Rhys do this so smoothly? How could Cassian be so bold and smug?

Teagan chuckled again, though. She looped her arm through Azriel's and steered him toward the food. “You've never done this before, have you?”

He almost choked. It was worse than he'd feared, then.

“No, not really… I…” His voice trailed off, and he had no idea how to recover.

She leaned in closer as they walked, and Azriel became acutely aware of just how close she was. Her body pressed against his side, and he could feel her breath on his neck now. He wanted to take her hand, or maybe even slide his arm around her waist. If only he had worn gloves, maybe he would have dared. Though he'd need to find the courage first.

“Am I the first girl you try to flirt with?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Try. Not just flirt, but try to flirt. He was failing so miserably. Maybe he should just give up and leave.

Azriel could only nod, his face a deeper shade of red than Cassian’s siphons.

“I think it's cute,” Teagan said, her big smile lighting up her pretty face. “I'm glad you chose me to be your first.”

If only she knew what kind of first Azriel hoped she would be… but judging by how things were going, he suspected they wouldn’t get that far.

“I… don't really know what I'm doing,” he admitted, unsure why he was even saying that. It probably wasn't a smart move to reveal it, but it was too late to take it back.

As they weaved through the crowd, Teagan stepped even closer to him, and in doing so, her wing brushed against Azriel’s. They both gasped, and though she smiled sheepishly, he didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I just wanted to be closer to you. I really think you're cute. And I appreciate your honesty.”

Azriel smiled warmly, his heart thumping in his chest. He could still salvage this, maybe, so that his first interaction with a girl wouldn’t be a total failure.

As they stopped in front of the tables, he stepped back slightly to face her. “I think you’re cute too,” he said, meeting her gaze. He did his best not to sound shy or awkward. “You're very pretty.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He was about to offer her some food when a group of kids suddenly weaved through the crowd and ran by. Azriel heard them coming and tucked his wings tightly, but Teagan either noticed them too late or couldn't fold her clipped wings any further.

The children bumped into her as they sprinted past, and she sucked in a sharp breath when one of them brushed her wing. Azriel was quick to grab her elbow to steady her, and something fluttered in his chest when she smiled in thanks. But then her gaze moved to his hand, still on her arm, and her eyes widened—in horror or shock, he couldn't tell.

He pulled his hand back as fast as he could, tucking it back into his pocket.

Too late.

Teagan swallowed, and the silence that stretched between them hit Azriel as painfully as a punch to the jaw.

“So,” he said eventually, feeling beyond awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What kind of food would—”

“I'm sorry,” she interrupted, already taking a small step back. Her eyes darted to the pocket where he’d hidden his hand before looking at him again. No warmth shone in them now. “But I forgot I had to… do something very important with my friend. Maybe another time.”

Azriel stood there, watching her turn and walk away without another glance. The rejection left him reeling. His mother could say whatever she wanted about his scars not being ugly or horrifying, but he now knew better than to believe her.

His hands balled into fists, and he took a deep breath, flexing his fingers. Without bothering to inform his brothers—who were probably on their way to sleep with yet another girl, since their hands were perfectly normal and unscarred—Azriel left the square. He put a few buildings between himself and the ongoing festivities before taking off to the skies.

He didn't return until long after the sun had set over the horizon.

~~~~~~

Azriel wished he could say he felt at least a bit bad for his half-brothers as Rhys and Cass threw punch after punch at their jaw and stomach. But all he felt while watching the scene unfold was a deep sense of satisfaction, which only grew with every new groan.

When Rhys had told him he needed to talk to his father for court matters, Azriel had refused to go. He had no interest in seeing his father or the rest of his family again, and Rhys had understood, asking Cassian to accompany him instead.

But Azriel had followed them. There was no reason for Cass to be there too, not when he was no good at playing courtier. He doubted Rhysand's father had told him to bring Cassian along.

Hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room, Azriel watched in silence as his brothers—his real ones, the only ones who mattered, as far as he was concerned—landed blow after blow. He knew now this was the real reason they'd come here.

Cassian had been itching for a fight from the moment they arrived and he didn't do a good job at hiding it. Azriel wasn't sure Cassian even tried to hide it. Rhys looked more composed, the perfect picture of the future High Lord dealing with minor problems of his Court. But as soon as Azriel's father had left, both of them had turned to his half-brothers with pure rage in their eyes.

One of them had been either bold or stupid enough to smirk. “How's our bastard brother doing?”

Rhysand and Cassian had both snapped. Despite being a few years older, his half-brothers didn't stand a chance. A warm feeling of affection was the only thing filling his chest as Azriel watched the two Illyrians who had taken him in, taught him how to fly, and showed him what a real family looked like, beat the shit out of whom was supposed to be his actual family.

He didn't make a sound, using his shadows to conceal even his scent. They were all too busy to pick up on it, even more so now that the metallic scent of blood filled the air, but he preferred to be careful.

Azriel didn't know exactly how much time had passed when Rhys and Cass finally relented, their chests heaving and their knuckles smeared with red. They straightened their backs, Cassian’s wings still spread in a fighting stance. Rhys, on the other hand, looked more relaxed, but his cold expression betrayed him.

“Don't you dare speak of him like that again,” Cassian snarled. His voice was just slightly breathless despite the beating he'd just given. “Especially after what you did to him.”

Azriel fought the urge to look down at his scarred hands. Being back in his father's keep was enough to stir memories he had long tried to forget. Instead, he focused on his brothers, on how much they must love him to risk hurting and threatening the sons of an Illyrian lord because of what they'd done to him.

Rhys exchanged a knowing glance with Cassian, and they turned to leave, abandoning his half-brothers on the floor. But they stood with a groan, battered and bloodied, still as arrogant as before. If not more so, now that they needed to make up for their bruised ego after being beaten so easily by a half-Illyrian and a low-born bastard.

One of them, the oldest, flared his wings as if trying to appear more intimidating. “He deserved it,” he spat.

Azriel had to stop himself from lunging forward and burying his own fist in his half-brother's stomach. He wanted to make him understand, to wave his hands in front of his face and yell at him. See this? This is what you did to me. I was eight! How could I have deserved it?

But he remained still, standing in the corner with his hands balled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms.

Rhysand held back Cassian as he tried to pounce on Azriel’s half-brothers. Cassian looked outraged, as if he couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to fight. But Azriel could see the expression on Rhys's face and knew his brother had something different in mind.

“You think Azriel deserved it?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm. He looked a lot like his father now—aware that he didn't need to raise his voice or his fists for people to obey.

“Well, fortunately for you, I can't show you exactly what I think you two deserve,” Rhys continued, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I can at least give you a taste of it.”

Before anyone could move, a crack pierced the air, immediately followed by a sharp cry of pain as his half-brothers both collapsed to the ground once more. Their legs lay beneath them at strange angles, the bone of one protruding where it had pierced the skin. The scent of blood grew stronger as the white tiles turned red.

His mother would have disapproved, Azriel knew that. She believed vengeance should not be sought out, and that living well in spite of what had happened was more than enough. Perhaps she was right, and Azriel was as bad and cruel as his half-brothers, after all. But as he stood there, watching them bleed and whine and scream for a healer who didn't come, all he felt was a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that they now felt a fraction of the helplessness he had felt when they burned him.

Cassian crossed his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face. “Stop crying, boys,” he taunted. “It's not like you won't heal.”

The corner of Rhys's lips curled into a smirk. “I put a shield around the room. No one can hear you or smell the blood. I think I'll leave it in place and let you crawl out to ask for help.”

With a glance to Cassian, Rhys gestured toward the door in a silent command, and they walked out without sparing the two Illyrians another glance.

But Azriel stayed a few more moments. Just long enough to see his half-brothers try to rise, fail miserably, and fall back on the floor. When they began to crawl, using their hands to drag themselves across the floor, smearing their blood over the tiles and their clothes, Azriel smiled.

He didn't care if they were spouting insults at him and his brothers. He didn't care what kind of person that made him. The sight of his half-brothers crawling and bleeding delighted him.

With one last look at them, Azriel winnowed away, his heart full of love for the two brothers the Cauldron had blessed him with.

~~~~~~

It felt like centuries had passed since Azriel had last been this nervous around a girl. It had likely been over a hundred years, if not more, since he couldn't recall the last time he went on a date. Even longer since he’d had a genuine crush. Normally, he just approached girls, or they approached him, and things quickly escalated into a night of sex. But it was nothing more than that—just fucking.

With you, it was different.

He met you a couple of weeks ago when he walked into your little bookstore to buy a present for Nesta's birthday. You were so nice and radiant that he couldn't stop thinking about you, and he lost count of how many times he came, buying books he didn't need and asking for recommendations only to listen to you talk. And then he had finally asked you out, and your smile had lit up the whole shop as you said yes.

He was standing on the other side of the street, watching as you closed up the store for the day. Your dress flew around your legs in the evening breeze, and your hair was styled in a simple bun on your head.

Azriel smiled as you crossed the street. As usual, he had to hold back his shadows as they swirled excitedly around him. “You look lovely,” he said when you stopped in front of him.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, lowering your gaze for a second before looking at him with a smile. “You're not too bad either.”

He chuckled softly. “Thank you.” Offering his arm, he gestured to the street. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his, and together you strolled along the Sidra, your steps unhurried.

Conversation flowed easily, and Azriel relaxed more as you talked about everything from your job to his preference for flying over winnowing. His shadows, which had lingered around his wings, vanished completely. But then you got to the little restaurant where he had reserved a table, and he grew nervous once more.

Even with your arms linked, your focus never drifted to his hands during the walk. Your eyes were either on him or your surroundings, making it easy to forget his marred skin.

Until you sat across from him and the food arrived. There was no way now you wouldn't notice his scars, which normally wasn't a problem—he'd stopped caring about strangers' opinions years ago. But you weren't a stranger, and you weren't just another girl he wanted to fuck.

You were sweet and beautiful, and he was drawn to you in a way he hadn't experienced in decades. He didn't want you to run away from him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken you out to dinner on the first date, because now it was probably going to be the last one too.

Yet you didn't stare at his hands. You acted as if everything was normal, never commenting or asking what had happened to him. You carried on the conversation just like before, and when Azriel, hiding his distress behind a carefully crafted mask, asked you about a theater play you'd just mentioned, you launched into a passionate description of its plot and themes. His uneasiness slowly faded as he watched your eyes light up. You leaned closer over the table, so engaged in your story that Azriel found himself smiling and nodding along, only half listening, his worries about his hands momentarily forgotten.

Your voice suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, and you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to the side. “What?” you asked with a soft smile. Before he could answer, you tensed and added, “I've done it again, haven't I? Rambling on about something you don't care about.”

Azriel shook his head, his hand itching to reach across the table and brush yours, though he held back. “Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet and reassuring. “I do care. I asked you that question. You just had that look on your face.”

Your brow furrowed. “What look?”

“The one you have when you talk about something you like,” he answered, watching your expression grow confused for a second. “You have it when you talk about books too.”

You were quiet for a moment, and then your eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” you said slowly, but your lips twitched up in a smirk. “Did you ask for all those recommendations just to hear me talk?”

“Maybe,” he conceded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His heart fluttered as your eyes met, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

He’d forgotten having a crush could feel like this—like being a boy again. Only now he knew what to do.

He’d never been much of a talker, preferring to listen and chime in occasionally, but with you, it was easy. You had your own way of involving him, asking questions or simply waiting for him to share his thoughts. Even though you barely paused, Azriel never felt like you were hogging the attention. On the contrary, you made him more at ease.

After you left the restaurant, you went strolling through the streets of Velaris. Azriel was just about to answer your question about how fast, exactly, an Illyrian could fly when you let out a delighted squeal, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward a small bakery.

“Oh, I was waiting for this place to open!” You stopped in front of the window with a dreamy sigh before turning to look up at him. “I forgot it was today. Can we go in? Please, tell me you like pastries!”

Your enthusiasm was endearing, but Azriel couldn’t help glancing down at your hand still holding his larger, scarred one. You didn't seem to notice—or if you did, you didn’t care.

Your grip loosened slightly as you noticed the shift in his attention, but you didn't let go. “Sorry,” you said quietly, your eyes searching his face. “I got a bit carried away. Is this alright?”

He wasn't sure what to say. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. That you had grabbed his hand without thinking was enough to leave him speechless, but what you were asking now… it wasn’t just that you weren't bothered by his scars. It was that you wanted to keep holding his hand. Azriel couldn't wrap his mind around it.

You probably misunderstood his silence because you started to pull back. He immediately held your hand tighter, gently squeezing it, as if to silently reassure you. “No, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his voice softer than usual. “I’m just…” Not used to it. “You caught me off-guard, that’s all.”

“I caught the spymaster off guard?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? Do we need to inform the High Lord?” 

Azriel shook his head with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on you before he gestured toward the bakery. “Would you still like those pastries?”

Your eyes lit up, and Azriel made a mental note of how much you liked sweets. “Oh, yes, please!”

“Then let’s get you some, shall we?”

You walked past him as he held the door open for you, a grateful smile lighting up your face. Your hand remained entwined with his, and for once, Azriel didn’t feel the need to hide it.

You did not let go until he walked you home and you closed the front door behind you, and Azriel had never felt such lightness as he flew back to the House of Wind.

~~~~~~

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands with a grimace on his face.

Someone had tried to infiltrate Velaris, likely sent from the Hewn City, and Azriel had been called to find out why. He could still recall the blood and the pleading whimpers. But in the end, he got the information he wanted. He always did.

At a cost.

He had long since learned to keep a cold expression, even in the face of the suffering he caused. He was used to it after centuries, and as long as it kept his city and family safe, he didn't care how cruel he had to become. Maybe it made him a horrible person, but his soul wasn't the cost.

The cost was his hands.

Even after all this time, being in the cells beneath the Hewn City was like being back in the cell in his father's mansion. He had to shut down every part of him that felt, bury those memories deep down in his mind, and remind himself that he wasn't a helpless child anymore.

He was a five-hundred-year-old warrior, and he had a job to do.

But once the job was done, and Rhys decided how to deal with the prisoner and the consequences, Azriel would go back to his room knowing he didn't have much time.

He would wash his bloodied hands, though he knew no matter how much he washed, he could never cleanse them completely. He had five centuries worth of blood on them. After they were clean, if he was lucky, like today, he had time to peel off his leathers before the inevitable happened.

The pain.

No matter how many times he’d been in those dungeons, no matter how many years had passed since he’d last been locked in his father’s cell, he still didn’t know how to stop the pain from returning.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few times, and it was nothing compared to what he had felt while his hands were being burned and in the days after. But Azriel still gritted his teeth, a low hiss escaping from him.

He tried clenching them into fists, but the relief lasted only a few seconds before he had to relax them again. His fingers were stiff as he reached for the drawer, a fresh surge of stinging pain hitting him when he pulled it open. Shadows dove in before he could and quickly whisked up a small jar of white cream. They undid the lid, and Azriel felt grateful for the dark companions that had never once left his side now more than ever.

Willing his hands to cooperate, he scooped up some of the soothing balm a healer had made for him. It always took a little while for its effect to show, but pain was an old friend he had learned to live with.

The herbal scent filled the room as Azriel did his best to spread the balm over every inch of his hands, trying to ignore the stinging itch. Scratching would only make it worse, reddening his already scarred skin until it threatened to bleed again.

He shifted to lie on the bed, wings spread beneath him. He just had to endure the ache for a few more minutes before the balm took effect, and then he could try to sleep. He needed some rest after such a long day, if only to have a clear mind when he met you the next afternoon.

As his shadows hummed in his ear the Illyrian lullaby his mother used to sing him as a child, Azriel let his eyes drift close, flexing his aching fingers every few seconds, hoping for a faster relief.

~~~~~~

Things moved slowly with you.

Neither of you wanted to rush into anything and potentially ruin what you both knew could be the beginning of something great.

You went on several dates, and some ended with him spending the night at your apartment, snuggled up in your bed, which was too small for an Illyrian. Azriel didn’t care as long as he got to fall asleep with you in his arms.

But things had never gone this far.

When he came to your bookshop earlier, he had only planned to walk you home. You were tired from a long day dealing with customers, and he had to wake up early the next morning to leave for Illyria for a few days. Maybe it was the thought of not seeing you—even if only for a week—or the fact that you looked stunning in your simple dress, with strands of hair escaping from your messy bun. Whatever it was, Azriel wanted you. He needed you.

His lips parted from yours, both of you already breathing heavily. “I don't want to go home,” he murmured, his hands on your hips, twisting the thin fabric of your dress, wishing it weren't there.

“What do you want to do then?” you asked, amusement clear in your eyes. But there was desire there too, mirroring his own.

“I want to take off your dress,” he whispered, his fingers already moving to the straps on your shoulders. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Take it off.”

With deft fingers, he slid the straps down your arms, and the fabric slipped off your body, pooling around your feet. You stepped out of it, and Azriel swallowed at the sight of you clad only in your cream underwear.

“If I had known we'd be doing this, I would have worn something more enticing,” you said quietly. There was no shyness or embarrassment in your voice, as if you were simply stating a fact. You did have a point—your lingerie was simple, something you wore every day. It didn't matter to Azriel.

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “You don't need to,” he murmured. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to kiss you tenderly. “You're always stunning, sweetheart, no matter what you wear.”

You hummed, a smile playing on your lips. “Now I want to know what you think when I'm not wearing anything.”

Azriel chuckled, even as desire coiled in his groin. A part of him wanted to toss you on the bed and fuck you senseless. But most of all, he wanted to take his time exploring your body, finding every spot that made you squirm and sigh. Only after he'd thoroughly tasted you would he bury himself inside you.

“Let's find out,” he replied with a smirk, already knowing that, no matter what, you'd always be perfect in his eyes.

He reached behind you to unclasp your bra, and as he tossed it on the chair, he felt himself harden. Your breasts were full and supple, your pink nipples so inviting that he wanted to wrap his lips around them. Yet as he lifted a hand to touch you, he hesitated.

The stark contrast between your soft, smooth skin and his scarred fingers made him pause. He had touched you before, but never so intimately. How could he do that? His hands had so much blood on them. With how they looked, it felt only fitting he would use them for horrible things—to hurt people. Not to touch the wonderful girl he was falling for. How could he be so selfish as to sully you like that? You deserved so much better than him. Someone who didn’t torture and kill for a living, who didn’t have a dark past still haunting him.

Someone good.

He took a step back, lowering his hand.

“Azriel,” you called gently. There was no sign of judgment or disappointment in your voice. You just wanted him to look at you.

Slowly, his eyes met yours. To his astonishment, a soft smile bloomed on your lips.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, taking his hands in yours. He fought the urge to pull away. “You can touch me. I want you to touch me.”

He wanted to. More than anything. He wished he could.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Why?”

How could he explain? He never told you what had happened to him. He didn’t want you to pity him or, even worse, to drive you away. Selfishly, he wanted to keep you in his life.

When he didn’t answer, your fingers slid around his wrists. Neither of you spoke as you lifted his hands to your mouth and kissed each scarred palm. Azriel’s throat worked, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word, you placed his hands on your breasts. You let go of his wrists, giving him the freedom to pull away if he wanted to. But your eyes never left his, and that soft smile never faltered.

Azriel swallowed hard. For a moment, he just stood there, not pulling away but not moving either. Your face was open and serene, as if his scars didn’t bother you, even now that they were touching such an intimate part of your body.

Seeing you like this, so calm and accepting, so soft and warm under his palms… his thumbs moved, brushing over your nipples. You shivered, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again, feeling the small buds harden under his touch.

As if sensing his impending question, you nodded slightly. “You can touch me, Az.”

Though he knew it was wrong and still didn’t understand how you could want his bloodied, scarred hands on you, he gave you what you wanted—what you both wanted.

He slid one hand behind your neck, pulling you closer and kissing you again. The other remained on your breast, kneading the soft flesh, savoring every small sigh that escaped your lips. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss until Azriel’s control hung only by a thin thread.

When you pulled back, you didn’t give him time to lower his mouth to your neck. You grasped his hand, gently moving it away from your chest, and a wave of fear tightened in Azriel’s stomach. You had changed your mind. Of course you had. He should have seen it coming.

But instead of stepping away, you guided his hand down. Between your legs.

His breath caught as his fingers brushed against your panties, feeling the already damp fabric beneath his touch.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Are you sure?”

You were smiling again. “Yes. Please, Az.”

He didn’t know how to say no. He knew he should have, that he was unworthy of touching someone so pure and lovely. But you had already pushed the fabric aside, and he groaned as your slick arousal coated his fingertips. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers found your clit, drawing a soft moan from you.

The thin thread holding his control snapped at the sound, and Azriel let himself give in.

He pulled you closer, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers explored what they shouldn’t. At the first sign of hesitation or revulsion, he was ready to stop. But pleasure was the only emotion etched across your face, and he could see the desire for more burning in your eyes. Yet you were letting him set the pace, giving him time to accept your permission to touch you.

He slipped a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance before tentatively easing it inside, just a little.

Your hips bucked, and your voice came out as a needy whisper. “Please…”

Azriel hesitated for only a split second before pushing his finger all the way in. You were soft and warm, and you both groaned as your walls clenched around it. He couldn’t believe you were letting him do this, but he couldn’t stop now.

As he slowly pumped it in and out, your hips began to rock against his hand to match his movements. He watched in contemplation as your eyes fluttered close and your lips parted slightly, a breathy moan slipping out when he couldn’t resist the urge to add a second finger.

“Azriel…” you murmured. “Feels so good…”

The sound of his name on your lips sent a wave of heat through his body. His wings rustled quietly behind him, and his cock throbbed in his pants. He pulled his hand away, relishing your disappointed whimper.

You hadn’t run away from him. You didn’t let his scars intimidate you, or shape your opinion of him. You weren’t bothered by his marred fingers touching you; on the contrary, you craved them inside you. So why, despite the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t worthy of it, should he deny you something you both wanted so badly? He wanted to taste you, to make you come on his fingers, and see how much pleasure they could bring you.

“I want to do this properly,” he murmured, gently guiding you to the bed. “Will you lie down for me, sweetheart?”

Your face lit up with a smile, and you slipped out of your panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs, baring yourself to his hungry gaze.

As Azriel knelt between your parted thighs, he pushed every thought about his hands out of his mind, focusing only on the beautiful girl before him and the warmth settling in his heart.

~~~~~~

Azriel jolted awake, his chest heaving. He lifted his hands in front of him, the dim light of the moon casting shadows across them.

They were fine. Scarred as always, but fine.

He took a deep breath as he lay back down. It was just a nightmare—memories coming back to haunt him in his sleep every now and then. Even after centuries.

“Az?”

He cursed silently as you stirred beside him, turning to face him. He could see your struggle to open your eyes, your voice a sleepy mumble.

“Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It's alright.”

It always was with you. You never complained when his nightmares disrupted your sleep. He didn't have them as often since you'd moved in together, fortunately. Sleeping next to you helped, but it wasn't a cure.

“Did you have a nightmare?” you asked quietly. With your head resting on his chest, you could probably hear the rapid thumping of his heart. He willed it to slow.

“It's fine, sweetheart,” he sighed. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and his tone was softer when he spoke again. “Go back to sleep.”

You curled up against him, and he thought you might let it go. But instead, you continued to look up at him. “You know you can talk to me if you want.”

“I know,” he murmured. You’d always been there for him when he needed it. You had been since the moment you met a year ago, and he was grateful for it every single day. He couldn't wait for your mating ceremony in two weeks and prove once more how much you meant to him.

You shifted in his arms, and then your head was on the pillow next to his, your face only inches away from his. You reached for his hand and lifted it up to your lips, kissing his palm, his fingers, his knuckles.

Azriel watched in silence, a lump in his throat. His heart still raced, and he felt the sudden urge to cry. He didn't even need to tell you what he needed, what burdened him. You always knew. Even before the bond snapped, you'd understood him effortlessly.

“Your hands are fine,” you murmured against his marred skin. “And so are you. You're fine. They can't hurt you anymore.”

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. He buried his face in your neck, freeing his hand from your gentle grasp so that he could hold you tighter and press his body against yours. He draped his wings over you, unwilling to let go.

Your fingers stroke through his black curls. “I'm here, my love.” Your voice was soothing and soft, and Azriel felt like the helpless child he'd been five hundred years ago—needing reassurance, care, love. Maybe he would always need those things.

“You're here with me. You're safe now.”

He couldn't stop them, then. Tears slipped past his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks and dampening the skin of your neck. But your gentle caresses and soothing words never faltered.

“It's alright,” you whispered. Your warmth seeped into him, and he felt so cared for that even the last of his walls began to crumble. A broken sob tore through him.

“You're safe, my love.” You cradled his head against your neck, lips brushing his hair. “You can let it all out.”

Azriel did. You'd helped him through difficult moments before, but he had always held back because he didn't want to feel weak. He didn't want you to think he was weak. But if he’d learned anything from you, it was that crying didn't make him weak. That letting his feelings pour out through tears was better than burying them deep down for centuries.

So, he let them rise to the surface. The pain, the anger, the grief for the childhood he’d never had, the bitterness and frustration.

He had never cried about it before, but as he did, he could see it, for the first time in his life—a small light, a way out of the endless cycle of self-pity and hate he'd fallen into.

Maybe his mother had been right all those years ago. He was still healing, even after five centuries. He didn't know how much longer it would take, but maybe he’d reach a point when the nightmares stopped, his hands didn't hurt, and he could accept his scars. And maybe, one day, he wouldn't need his mother or his mate to remind him that his hands weren't ugly.

Azriel had no idea for how long you let him cry and sob in your arms. He had so many pent-up emotions, so much he still couldn't express, words he couldn't voice. But it was a start. And as exhaustion dragged him back to sleep, the weight on his chest, on his heart and soul, felt a little lighter.

Yet you still held him close, stroking his black curls long after he fell asleep.

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Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[judgeanon]

So About That BATGIRL #1...

I put this review up in another site, but since folks here on Tumblr seem to be realizing I have a lot of Thoughts about Lady Shiva, I figured I'd transplant it here. So here's how I feel about it. The short of it is that I think it's a strong start with a few small quibbles because I'm not sure how much of Shiva's writing is her being intentionally OOC and how much is Brombal trying to humanize her.

The long is here:

Now, one of Shiva's main issues as a character ever since they finally split her from the League of Assassins (God bless you Bryan Hill) is that, instead, writers have stapled her to Cass. Literally every major Shiva appearance since 2017 has involved Cass in some way. That is a problem not so much for Cass, who gets to have her own stories and series with and without the Batfam (although mostly with), but for Shiva, who doesn't get nearly as much exposure as her daughter. If there's a Shiva comic coming out, odds are it's gonna have something to do with Cass. Well, except for the other Shiva comic coming out this month that's gonna suck shit.

But at the same time, I don't think that means nobody should ever do another Shiva/Cass story, because I still feel like that's rich soil that nobody has had the time, space or desire to really commit to mining. Hill in Outsiders was writing a whole ensemble cast and couldn't linger too long on them. Writers like Grayson and Cloonan/Conrad both teased Shiva trying to reconcile with Cass but never took it anyhwere. A Shiva/Cass story can still be compelling and interesting as long as the writer is willing and able to Actually Write It.

So when literally the first panel of this new issue is Shiva addressing Cass and their relationship directly, I'm already perked up. Right from the get go, you can tell that Tate Brombal is absolutely here to tell a story about these two women and pretty much nothing else, and also that Tak Miyazawa and Mike Spicer are a killer art team. I adore how hard Tak's figures look without (usually) being stiff, thanks to some solid body language and expressions. And Spicer's colors have a cool kind of dark-but-vivid look. The last leg of the issue, with everything illuminated by fire, is especially cool.

Going back to the opening, it's curous how despite this being an issue #1, there's very little in the way of character introductions or set up. There's no slow burn here, no lengthy creeping intro like previous Shiva/Cass stories. And while I can't help but feel that it must be a little awkward for readers unfamiliar with them or their current situation, I think it also accurately reflects one of my favorite parts of the comic, which is Cass' being just absolutely fucking DONE with her mom.

After years of hyper dramatic standoffs and tearful moments of cheap heartbreak, it's fun to see a Cass who has no time for her mother, who's not interested in what she's got going on, and who's confident enough in herself to even be a little shit about it. It's fun and refreshing and fits Cass very nicely.

That not-quite-breakneck but still fast pace keeps up when the Unburied show up after just a few pages of setup and you know, in a couple of interviews, Brombal mentioned being influenced by Daredevil. And this is the page that made me go "Ah, yeah, that tracks." 'cause brother, those are some MILLER-ass ninjas.

Why Shiva fears these guys or thinks Cass can't handle them is not yet explained, but her desperation to keep Cass around does lead to a small but very meaning-heavy moment: the first punch in this series is not thrown into the face of the new enemies, but it's Cass decking her mom in the face and Shiva loving it.

It's an excellent touch and a perfect mission statement about the series. I love it as much as I love the ensuing fight, full of cool moves in big and small panels, but the most fun thing to me is how it's choreographed as Cass fighting her mom almost as much as she's fighting the Unburied. And on top of being a great fight, it ends with a small nod to QUESTION #1 or the 'Tec '88 Annual, in case I was somehow not sold enough already.

And while I still love Cass being so willing to call Shiva out on her lies, it does bring up one of the small gripes I have with this issue: I don't like it when Shiva lies constantly. I think she's best when she's strong and confident enough to not need to lie, when she just lays everything out on the table the way this comic is almost doing. It's good for Cass, as it keeps showing her as someone who has grown to understand her mother, who sees Shiva for who she is and what she does. And it does set up a slightly heartwarming scene at the end.

Of course, that's personal preferrence, and I'm not gonna say this is a bad comic because it doesn't follow my own idea of what works best for Shiva, especially since it's clear that Brombal is writing her with a lot of intention here. But that leads to the other big-ish issue I have with this issue: it's a bit hard to tell, from this story alone, how much of these moments are Brombal building his own personal version of Shiva and how much of it is Shiva, in-universe, acting out of character for the sake of some hidden scheme. After all, Cass points out that twice in the issue Shiva backs down, first from a moral fight and then from an actual fight.

So it's possible that even the constant lying is Shiva playing a role in favor of a grander scheme which will be revealed in later issues. Which, fair enough, I'm willing to see where it goes. But that second moment of yielding does lead to what's maybe my biggest problem with BATGIRL #1, and it's the Unburied themselves.

There's nothing in that initial fight with the Unburied that suggests Shiva and Cass would've had trouble dealing with them. Hell, there's very little to suggest even one of them would've had trouble with them. Now, I'm not suggesting that this issue should've started with the titular character and her mom getting their asses handed to them. But it feels like there's just not enough to these new enemies yet to justify the escape. Ninjas show up, Cass and Shiva beat them without getting hit once, more Ninjas show up and Shiva self-defenestrates herself.

Again, entirely possible that Shiva has something up her sleeve here, and issue #2 did promise to show us the main villain behind them, but as it stands it leaves me with this weird mix of not quite intrigue, not quite disappointment. It's just odd. They could've had, I dunno, a bomb set in the building or some other reason for Shiva to exit the venue like that.

Speaking of odd things, however, I did NOT expect to be reading a comic that brings up Shiva's cult from Puckett/Scott's BATGIRL #25. It's an "Order of Shiva" now though, with chapters and temples and stuff. Which is a bit of a change, since back in #25 they came off more like a gang of fanboys than an order of servants or anything like that. And after being summarily disposed by Shiva in that same issue, they were never really explored again.

So this is Brombal not just bringing back a bit of old lore, but also shifting it slightly, turning it into a more organized group... and then summarily disposing of them one panel later.

Also, I don't know what it is but I *LOVE* this panel. Shiva's face, her "wut" pose, the O.O, it's just... beautiful.

Anyway, once they're in the temple for the last bit of the issue, I start to see a bit more of what Brombal's doing. Like Gail Simone and Bryan Hill, Brombal seems to want to soften Shiva up a little, to make it clear that deep inside, she does have at least a bit of a heart, or enough of it to feel sadness at the wasteful death of people she may feel like she owes something to. Compare it to BIRDS OF PREY #62 for example:

This one is not quite as dramatic or vulnerable, but it's clear that Brombal wants to write Shiva with a slightly more human heart. Which, again, I'm not opposed to but I don't think it's the best thing you can do with her. I prefer Shiva being more detached in regards to death, like the most she'll do is see it as a waste but she's not gonna get emotional about it, she's going to be way more matter-of-fact. Death happens and such. But I think that kind of aloofness often gets interpreted as monstrous disdain for life by writers trying to make Shiva into a villain, and if I had to choose between what Brombal's doing and what, well, what Tom King's probably gonna be doing in a few weeks, I'll take this anytime.

Anyway, I also didn't expect to see the apprentice from BATGIRL #26, having apparently gotten a promotion somewhere in the last 20 years. Good for him! Less good for him is the shitload of arrows he eats two pages later but oh well.

The last couple of pages lead to a nice moment of sheer badassery for both Shiva and Cass and one last showcase of Miyazawa and Spicer's glorious team effort. Those two work really well together and I'm excited to see more of them in future issues. And while we're at it, I gotta give props to Miyazawa for being one of maybe two artists to draw a visibly older Lady Shiva.

His version isn't just aged but hardened by that age, looking stern and determined without having to rely on gritted teeth or angry looks. And on top of all that, he still finds more than enough moments to give her the kind of cocky smiles that bring out the more playful side of Shiva that some stories tend to either gloss over or turn into outright sadism.

Man... I just love to see that momma smile.

Other than that, there's a couple of minor quibbles I have with the issue. There's a funny moment where Cass pulls a Batman on her own mother (who charmingly acknowledges Bruce's influence) but it's undercut by Cass poofing back into existence on the next page. And there's also the weird, almost surreal emptiness of the city around them. Even after a building explodes, there's literally nobody on the streets other than Shiva and Cass.

On one hand, it speaks to the intentions of this run. This is VERY much a two-woman show so far, with no room for much else. But it's still glaring enough to be distracting.

However, it's that intentionality that ultimately wins me over. Even with all my personal little issues with Shiva's characterization, it's obvious from the start that this is a writer who is genuinely trying to write her as a character, who is ready to engage with her and with her relation with Cass on a deeper level than just hero and villain, or good daughter and evil mom.

Brombal, Miyazawa & Spicer have put some meat on the grill, and although I don't think the biggest pieces are there yet... I'm ready to let them cook.

[achilles-rage]

good luck charm: bonus drabble

come and get your love

summary: after a hard day, you do something to cheer evan up.

word count: 1.6k

series masterlist

a/n: this might be stupid, but it was fun to write and i think it’s cute so sue me!! sigh, i miss good luck charm evan, and i'm sorry this took so long, i just couldn't think of any scenarios i really wanted to tell. if you have any drabble ideas for this series, i'm happy to hear them! enjoy<33

warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You’re in the bedroom putting away some laundry when you hear the front door slam, and you jump in surprise, a frown making its way onto your face immediately. You know exactly what that door slam means; Evan has had a bad day. 

“Hi, baby.” you say, peeking your head over the railing and looking at him in the kitchen getting some water. You offer him a small smile when he looks up at you, and although he gives you a smile back, you can tell it’s fake even from up in the loft. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you sigh sadly.

When you make it to the bottom of the stairs and walk towards him standing near the fridge, you wrap your arms around his neck and raise up onto your toes to give him a kiss. You feel the way he melts into your embrace, and it’s almost as if you can feel all of the stress radiating off of his body; it’s practically suffocating you, and you can’t even imagine how he feels.

“Rough day?” you ask, and he nods once, jaw clenched.

He’s been working extremely hard the past few weeks at the LAFD training academy, and while he comes home most days exhausted but content, there’s some days where he can get overwhelmed.

“You have no idea.” he tells you, his hands finding their way to your hips. You give him a sad smile, then pull him down for another kiss, hoping to get him to relax a little bit more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He huffs at your question, thinking for a moment. He knows it would be better to get it out of his system, but he doesn’t want to dump it all on you. He knows how hard you’ve been working at your new job, and he doesn’t want you worrying about him as well.

“Hey, we don’t keep stuff in, that’s not what we do. You told me that.” you urge him softly when he doesn’t reply right away. He sighs, a smile fighting its way onto his face at your reminder. He nods after a moment, looking into your eyes and rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

“The physical stuff is fine, I’m passing everything easily. Just- The instructors say stuff; try to get into your head. It just got to me today.” he explains with a frown. You nod your head as he speaks, keeping your gaze locked with his. When he’s finished you tilt your head to the side, waiting for him to continue, but when he doesn’t, you raise your brows.

“Do you want to tell me what they said today that got you so worked up?” you urge. You don’t necessarily want to push him, but you know that he needs to talk it out, so you keep your eyes on him, as if pleading with him to tell you.

“We were doing this drill today, and there were a bunch of dummies. They gave them all back stories to make them feel real. I don’t know, I guess I just got caught up in it and in my mind they were real people, because they will be one day. I tried to go back into the building even when some of the other guys let the fire get out of hand because there were still a few dummies left in the building, and some guys had to hold me back.” he says in one big breath, and you follow along with furrowed brows, hoping he’ll continue.

“Well, they know I have you, and I guess they picked up on the fact that I was thinking about you the whole time; thinking about you in there. They were just saying stuff about me not being able to save you because of my mistakes, and about you having to plan my funeral because I got reckless on the job and I got myself killed.” he continues after a moment. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he waits for you to reply, and your eyes soften at his admission. 

You shake your head, bringing his head down to rest your foreheads against each other with your hand on the back of his neck. You keep him there for a moment in silence, trying to gather your thoughts before you reply.

“My love, your heart is what will make you a good firefighter. You care so much about people. And I have no doubt that you’d be able to save me if you had to, because you’re smart, and capable, and you love so deeply. And I’m not gonna lie, the thought of you getting hurt on the job has crossed my mind, but I know that you’re gonna fight to come home everyday, aren’t you?” He nods immediately, brows furrowing.

“Of course, I will. You know I will.” he replies, and you smile.

“Then I’m not too worried. Worry about actually finishing your training first, and then we’ll talk about you dying on the job, okay? Because I guarantee that when you start at an actual station, you’ll trust your team a lot more than the recruits. You can’t even imagine all the stories my dad has told me about the people he had to train with.” you tell him with a small laugh. You can still see a bit of hesitancy in his eyes as he tells you that you’re right, so you lead him to the couch and sit him down.

“I know exactly what you need.” you tell him when he sits down, then turn and grab your phone off the kitchen counter.

A small, real smile finally makes its way to his face when he sees you scrolling through your phone, knowing exactly what you’re about to do. When one of you has a bad day, the other always does something to make the other smile. He doesn’t even remember when or how this tradition started, but he does know that it always makes him smile regardless of how many times you do it.

His smile widens when he hears the beginning to Redbone’s Come and Get Your Love from the speaker connected to the tv, and you turn from your spot in the kitchen to face him.

You walk over to him as the beat starts, moving your shoulders in time with each step and fighting back a smile, and when the singing starts, you grab the tv remote off the coffee table and begin to lip sync into it.

He watches as you dance to the music with a wide smile, watching the way you move your hips in time with the music, and he can already feel himself start to feel better. He chuckles when you grab one of his hands and duck down to spin under his arm, and when you turn back to face him, you drop his hand and back up a few feet.

When the chorus starts, you continue lip syncing as you raise your hand in a “come here” motion, rolling your body in time with the beat. He gets up off the couch, keeping his eyes locked with yours, then grabs your hips, pulling you against him. 

You both sway to the music with smiles on your face. You can tell that he feels better, and you’re extremely grateful. You know how stressful the job can be, and you only hope you can help him through it as much as you can. 

The song finally ends, and he lifts you up with his hands going to the backs of your thighs, and you giggle as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“You always know what to do, princess.” he says with a grin, and all you can do is lean down to press your lips to his. 

“I know what else I can do to help you feel better.” you murmur against his lips. You feel his grip tightening on the back of your thighs, and he groans, pulling back from your lips to look at you with blown pupils.

“I’m keeping you in bed until tomorrow morning.” he teases, then sets you back down onto the ground. He then grabs your waist and turns you towards the stairs, then pushes you forward gently, but not before giving your ass a firm smack. You yelp at the contact, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder as he speaks.

“Go upstairs, princess. I’ll be right up.” 

“What are you doing?” you ask, but obey and walk towards the stairs.

“I’m ordering takeout, gonna see what I can do before it gets here.” he teases, and you laugh softly, rolling your eyes.

His eyes dart between your ass as you walk up the stairs, and his phone, and when he’s finally placed the order, he races up the stairs two at a time. 

He grins when he sees that you’re already naked, sprawled out on the bed and sitting up on your elbows waiting for him. He groans as he takes off his shirt, then unzips his pants, and then he’s on you in an instant, lips attaching to your neck.

“How could I do this without you, princess?” he whispers against your neck, goosebumps erupting on your skin as his hot breath hits your neck.

“You’d be lost without me.” you tease as you tilt your head back. You feel him grinding against you as he chuckles, and you lower your chin to meet his gaze when he leans back to look at you.

“Damn right, I would.”

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[wren-kitchens]

no big deal (i love you)

2598 words

etho is in joel's house. it should probably be a little more alarming than it actually is, considering the fact that it is two in the morning and joel definitely did not invite him here. however, if it means he gets to make fun of etho for being so obsessed with him that he broke into his house, he'll take it. in all honesty, he is a little offended that etho hasn't already come to pester him—it's not like they’re soulmates or anything. if joel was in etho's house in the middle of the night, the first thing he would do is go to pester etho.

hello i'm back on my bullshit I love qpr boat boys

this took me like. idek how long but it was several months LOL

etho is in joel's house.

it should probably be a little more alarming than it actually is, considering the fact that it is two in the morning and joel definitely did not invite him here. however, if it means he gets to make fun of etho for being so obsessed with him that he broke into his house, he'll take it. in all honesty, he is a little offended that etho hasn't already come to pester him—it's not like they’re soulmates or anything. if joel was in etho's house in the middle of the night, the first thing he would do is go to pester etho.

oh- joel should probably tell you how he knows that etho is here, huh. well, let's be honest, the guy is not subtle. joel has practically memorised the way his claws scratch against wooden floors as he walks from the amount of times etho would pace in double life; when everything else is silent, etho's claws are deceptively loud. for a little while, joel didn't understand why etho wouldn’t use his claws like weapons, until he asked one day only to be told (slightly sheepishly) that he trims them because he hates the way they scratch against metal or diamond boots. honestly, joel gets it—he’s always been secretly pleased about the no-helmet rule in the life series; he would much rather sacrifice protection if it meant he didn't have to squish his ears underneath a helmet.

anyway, it's obvious that etho is attempting to be sneaky and failing miserably, but joel is yet to discover why he’s trying to be sneaky. he expected etho to- well, he’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn't whatever he’s doing right now. although, he also didn't expect etho at his house this late (early?), so it's kind of all up in the air anyway.

on that note, joel has no idea what to do. is it more awkward to pretend he doesn't know etho is here, or to go look for etho and ask what he's doing? honestly, joel kind of just wants to go find him and drag him into bed but- void, even saying that is embarrassing. no- there's no way he’s gonna do anything like that- pretend he didn't even say anything. joel regrets even mentioning it. despite how embarrassing it is, however, the problem remains that etho is definitely in his house, and joel has no idea why.

well, only one way to find out.

grumbling to himself about the blankets being way warmer than the outside world and why etho couldn’t wait until the sun had come up to come poking about, joel drags himself out of his bed and begins the hunt for etho. well- he pauses, grabs a blanket to wrap around his shoulders, and thenbegins the hunt for etho. honestly, why couldn't etho be more outgoing—the guy is way too reclusive to be friends with joel. not that joel is known for being introverted but- oh, you know what he means. 

it doesn’t take long to find etho—he’s curled up against a bookshelf near joel's bedroom, apparently trying to drift off. when he spots joel, he practically jumps out of his skin. 

"joel! you- did i wake you?" etho scrambles to his feet, looking uncharacteristically nervous. joel frowns at it. "i’m- I was just-" 

"are you okay?" joel realises after he says it that perhaps he was a little blunt, but- okay, in his defence, he has just woken up. "I mean- you seem.. uh, not okay."

smooth.

etho's ear flicks in what joel recognises as anxiety, hands clasped together as if to keep them from trembling. "me? oh- i’m perfectly fine! peachy even- y’know." 

joel tilts his head, more worried than he'd like to admit. "you- okay, so." his mind races as he tries to find something to say that won't put etho more on edge. "I- you say i’m obsessed with you, but- y’know, it looks a little like you’re obsessed with me right now."

"oh- no, no, that- I was just- taking build inspiration!" etho says hurriedly, and something about his posture seems slightly more relaxed. "it's nothing like that. in fact- I noticed that you kept that shirt with my face on, which- I mean, I don’t know, that looks pretty obsessed to me."

annoyingly, joel feels his face flush. "wh- okay, you let me keep it."

etho's eyes soften. "it- well. it suits you." joel's ear flicks unconsciously, and etho seems to realise how sappy he just was, because he turns pink and tacks on, "you- just- the shirt- it's oversized, and- you were saying how you liked them. uh- that one time."

joel can't quite suppress a smile at the fact that etho remembered one offhand comment he made two years ago. "whatever you say, etho." it takes a moment (and etho turning even pinker) for joel to realise how fond his voice was. "it- i’m making fun of you. not- y’know."

there's a spark of what joel can only describe as evil in etho's eyes, and he says, "whatever you say joel." with more smugness than he frankly deserves.

"you- no, you broke into my house, you don't get to make fun of me." joel says, indignant. clearly, his soulmate is the worst person in the world, because all etho does is poorly disguise a laugh as a cough.

"it isn’t breaking in if all your doors are open." etho grins. joel is a little annoyed at how well his plan has worked, because whilst he was trying to get etho more relaxed, he did not mean this relaxed.

joel raises an eyebrow, both exasperated and embarrassingly fond. "you haven't said why you broke in."

etho's expression shifts from amusement to anxiety in a matter of seconds, and joel is kind of impressed. "I- well, is that-  important?"

"you- since you asked like that, yeah." joel says, a little worried. whilst etho is pretty awful at actually disguising his emotions, usually he doesn't actually do anything about them unless something is very wrong. "I- y’know, don’t get me wrong, it's not- i’m not mad about it, but. are you alright?"

etho hesitates, looking as if he might try to make a run for it before sighing. he sits back down against the bookshelves, and joel takes the opportunity to sit next to him. "it's not even- it's barely a problem." etho glances at him. "as you would say, it's very dumb." 

joel scoffs, smiling a little. "then I guess it's my job to say that it's not dumb if it's upsetting you." he bumps his shoulder against etho's, who looks a little less anxious now. "what is it?"

there's a pause, in which joel can practically hear etho's brain working to phrase it in a somewhat normal way. "I- it's all-" he gives an exasperated huff. "since we- since double life, I keep getting these.. i’d call them dreams, but they’re really just nightmares." etho pulls his knees to his chest, and joel frowns in worry. "and they’re always something like- like we've won, but now I have to kill you. or you die and i’ve- i’m still there."

joel feels his breath hitch as the weight of those words hit him. "oh."

"so I just- I had to make sure," etho says, quiet. "that it- it was just a dream."

"etho." joel murmurs, resting his hand on etho's knee. etho takes his hand and squeezes. "I hope you know you’re not getting rid of me that easily."

etho gives the barest smile, and rubs a thumb against joel's hand. "I do."

"like, you’re gonna want me dead before i’m going anywhere." joel leans against etho's side in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner, but knows probably isn’t. 

etho makes a noise of contentment, and joel no longer cares about nonchalance actually. "that's unlikely." he says. joel is about to object when etho adds, "I don't think I could ever want you to leave me alone."

joel's tail begins to wag without his say, and he hurriedly grabs it before it embarrasses him too much. etho snorts and he elbows him.

"i’d miss that, for a start." etho says, and joel rolls his eyes.

"I wouldn’t." he huffs, no heat behind it. embarrassing or not, etho likes it, and that's a redeeming quality for anything. because he’s normal. 

etho gives a quiet laugh. "yeah- that's kinda why." he mutters, more to himself than to joel—who elbows him in the ribs and grins as he protests.

joel is quiet for a moment, debating whether what he wants to say is actually worth saying or not. eventually, he decides on, "you know- if you need, i’m not gonna.. kick you out, or anything. you can wake me up. if- if something happens again."

etho nods, staring at his lap. "yeah. I just-" he hesitates, and joel rubs a thumb idly across the back of his hand. "i’m starting to feel like you." he gives a laugh, and joel rolls his eyes fondly. "I didn’t realise just how- it's hard."

"yep." joel says flatly. "you get used to it, after a bit. it gets easier."

"can it get easier now?" etho says, grinning, and joel snorts. 

theres a little pause, and joel shifts a little, getting more comfortable. honestly, etho is surprisingly effective as a cushion—you wouldn't expect it, but he is. who needs a bed when you have a soulmate, is he right?

"are you-" etho starts, and joel looks up to see his eyes crinkle in the way they do when he’s trying not to smile. "is- are you using me as a pillow?"

"yep." joel says, shuffling closer. "I had to get out of bed for this."

etho snorts, wrapping an arm around him. "I see how it is."

they lapse into silence again, and joel finds himself wanting to ask something that he knows he would never be able to bring himself to say out loud. the irony is not lost on him- why is there no easy way to embarrass yourself? could he not just- turn his brain off whilst he’s asking and deal with the aftermath later? that seems so much easier than sitting here and trying to just say the stupid thing. it should not be nearly as difficult as it is.

come on. just- say the stupid thing, and then he'll have said it- it's not even bad. he’s, like- almost entirely sure that etho will say yes- he always does. this is so dumb. okay, just-

"do you-" joel manages, apparently startling etho with his suddenness, and- honestly, that alone is worth saying it. "it- 'cause I doubt we're gonna get much sleep on the floor. do you want to- um." he gives a huff of exasperation. "do you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean." etho says, fonder than he probably wanted to sound, before- "I would love to sleep with you, joel." he says, far too smug for joel's liking.

"you- that's not what I mean." joel splutters, and etho laughs at him. "you’re so rude, etho- I can’t believe i’m helping you right now."

etho is still laughing to himself when he says, "I- really, though. I do- I get what you mean- and I do want to." he hesitates, and joel almost frowns.

"what?" he says, anxiety beginning to creep into his throat.

"I- well." etho pauses, before pulling joel a little closer to him, who almost laughs as he realises what the problem is. "i’m not. uncomfortable right now." 

joel grins at him. "it's not- this isn't exclusively a floor activity. I can hug you somewhere that's actually comfortable." 

faster than joel can process, etho pulls his mask down and kisses the top of his head. "fine, we can move." he pushes himself to his feet, a smirk evident in his voice. 

"you-" joel blinks, watching etho try (very obviously) not to laugh as he scrambles to regain logical thought. he can feel his tail begin to wag again, but he's far too focused on this to try and stop it. "why would you-"

etho shrugs, still grinning as he helps joel off the floor. "I- well, 'cause you do that." he says in a voice that's just a little too sincere to be teasing. "your smile is- it- y’know. 's nice." etho gets quieter and quieter as he speaks, apparently realising how mushy he’s become.

"you like my smile?" joel tries to pull off a smug smirk, but if etho's expression is anything to go by, it's also far mushier than he wants it to be. "aw, etho." he teases, watching with fond amusement as etho turns visibly pink under the mask. 

"that- we are going to bed!" etho declares loudly, pulling joel into a one-armed hug as he cackles. "i’m never gonna bring that up again." etho mumbles to himself, apparently forgetting that joel can definitely hear him still.

joel finds himself leaning into etho as they walk, who squeezes him gently. "you’re such a sap." he grins, pointedly ignoring the way his own tail is still wagging. "it's funny."

etho knocks his hip into joel's. "like you’re not." he says, and joel can hear the smile in his voice. 

"well," joel says, a little quieter than he'd usually be. "it's you." he turns, looking very pointedly anywhere but etho's face.

there's a little pause in which joel can only assume that etho is using to prepare the teasing he will undoubtedly get for the rest of his life, when etho finally lands on, "you- that's- you mean that?"

joel scoffs. "'course I do." he says, seriously hoping that his false nonchalance reads as real. "I- y’know, i’m not gonna- i’m-" he watches as etho's expression goes from anxiety to amusement and huffs, giving up on the pretence. "yeah."

etho pulls him a little closer. "nerd." is all he says, and he laughs as joel splutters in indignation. "sorry, sorry, I- it was too perfect." he grins, and joel scoffs. "I- y’know. I care about you too."

joel leans into him. "I do. know, that is." he smiles to himself a little. "y’know- soulmates and everything."

"yeah." etho presses a kiss into joel's hair, who gives a huff of embarrassed appreciation. "soulmates is a good word for it."

as they reach the bed, etho seems to hesitate a little, and joel—not one for awkward moments—practically yanks him in, laughing as he makes a very surprised squawky noise. after a second of complaining, etho curls up next to joel, who immediately begins to use him as a pillow again. what? he’s comfortable. nothing like a cushion who hugs you back whilst making snarky jokes about you being obsessed (which are obviously false. obviously).

"just to say," joel says, intentionally very casual. "if I got, like- I don’t know, booted from hermitcraft and couldn't see you again, i’d find a way back." he shifts a little, picking at his nails. "nothing could stop me- you know this."

etho is quiet for a moment, and joel is a little worried he overstepped, until- "I love you too, joel."

joel looks up to find etho's mask off, and the man in question smiling just a bit too knowingly at him. "yeah- well." he turns back to his nails. "love you." he mumbles, turning pink.

etho pulls him closer, and joel gets the impression that he wasn't sure joel was actually going to say it back. 

idiot.

[str8upspam]

Big yap warning

I keep thinking about the possibility of some ghouls not getting ghoul strength bc of another character too. But I was thinking, if Kaito had ghoul strength I feel like he would be way less pathetic and even try to show off for mc? I don't think he would be as much of a coward as he is currently if he had ghoul strength, the only times he attempts to fight is when he has his weapon.

Another thing I thought about which is why I'm kinda convinced that leo might not have ghoul strength or even trusts himself is because of the scene where we first see him calling sho to help him out. He never attacks and stalls for the longest time just waiting for sho to come save him. I feel like if he did trust himself enough to fight back, he might have been done with the guy and said to sho "took you long enough, i already too care of him by myself 😒," because I don't think leo would have the patience to wait that long if he could take care of it himself? It was only one guy after all. I do get tho that maybe the guy could come back with the precieved notion that Leo couldn't defend himself and would try to get back at him when he's alone but gets beat up.

I do also think that leo is trying to make himself look weaker than he actually is, it could either be because he wants guard dogs or because he wants to keep expectations low so that in a fight people would underestimate him. But I also get this feeling that he's scared of being hurt so he doesn't even try, I don't think we've ever seen him try to engage in combat because he always tries to hand it off to someone else. It could be a stupid reason like "omgg I don't wanna get bruises on my arms :///" or like he doesn't want his fears of being too weak to defend himself be confirmed.

It also makes me think of how he is with sho and how he tries so hard to isolate him. There's a sense of "I can't lose him bc what will happen to me if I do?" If leo can't defend himself against one person, what could he do against the hordes of enemies that he's made throughout his life?

I feel like him wanting both sho and alan to think of him as weak could come from a place of "yes do my bidding" and also maybe even necessity? I think there's a lot of possibilities here

"I have Sho and Alan so you can't hurt me"

"I have the strongest men under my thumb so that makes me the strongest"

"Extra defenses just in case everyone tries to kill me"

"Sekai de ichiban ohime sama ✨️"

Sometimes I wonder if Leo's actually weak or if he's just pretending so he can have a big strong man do everything for him

I mean, ghouls are supposed to be stronger than normal people

But damn asking for help with a bottle is really erm...

[itachiiwrites]

𖹭 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖞

𖹭 Synopsis— A random act of kindness was all it took for you to be infatuated with Gojo Satoru, what about him?

𖹭 Dear Diary Archives.

A/N: this is my first time writing a long fic idk what this is but it's something? Let's see how it goes. Divider by @/cafekitsune

𖹭 CW. This story will content dark elements, hence it's 18+. It includes: Murder, Gore, obsessive themes, stalking, suuuuperrr unhealthy behaviours, everyone is insane, the reader is not a healthy person, or exactly a good person for that matter. There are other warnings too but i forgot, gojo satoru is his own warning

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝟎𝟏. 𝑾𝒉𝒚?

All your life, there was an absurd kind of thirst present in your body. You could never pinpoint what exactly it was, what drove you menselessly crazy, made you deranged.

It was hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together, blaming your moldable brain areas for not being able to figure out what was wrong with you. What was wrong with you that the girls in kindergarten wouldn't want to play house, inclusive of you? The question of why was so predominantly present in your vocabulary that it presented itself in your mind even as no curiosity to seek answers to was present. The answer was always the same anyway.

'We don't like you because you're a freak.'

Creep. Freak. Oddball. Psycho.

If you didn't know you had an actual name, you'd be convinced that these were your real names with how often you were labelled that. It wasn't like you didn't have any friends, there were friends present but their presence felt as if it existed only because there was some pity.

Not for Gojo Satoru, however.

The first time you talked to him it was near a cheap, a little worn, worm eaten walled—candy shop. The purpose of going there was to pass time, having nothing better to do when all people would do in your class was draw vile things on your desk, how childish. If they had the balls they should tell you those seemingly outrageous incentives on your face, but it didn't matter because you had found your reason for being.

Was he fucking stupid? Offering you one of his sickly sweet candies? Couldn't he tell what you were already?

"Your eyes are gonna fall off if you keep looking at me like that, miss girl" What an infectious laugh. How cute.

"Come on, take it, I'm doing this only 'cause I have an extra" The boy with the white hair sighed and groaned at how stupidly frozen you were in your spot—making the effort to wrap the chocolate bar in your fist, his cold, clammy hands made you wince. He walked away before you could even get out a spur of a word— away with a casual wave of his abnormally large hand.

At first all you could do was stare at the chocolate bar that he handed you, taking a soft sniff to make out a tiny hint of his scent. There was nothing, all blank, as if he didn't exist, as if he was a figment of your imagination.

That chocolate was placed onto your table, tucked between your trinkets like a souvenir. Because it was, it was a reminder that someone made an effort to give you this diabetically sweet chocolate, just because he could. You didn't even dare to open it.

Frequent visits around the same crippling shop lead you to the information that his name was Gojo Satoru, an 18 year old student at Jujutsu Tech, a religious school.

And with a name in your hand, everything was in reach with internet at disposal.

Checking his myspace became a ritual. Satoru was a social person because.. Ofcourse he was. This was your only gateway to him for now but the desperation to know more was catching up.

He was beautiful.

You found him absolutely captivating, a sight that made your heart race with an intense langour.

The more you looked at him the more his beauty became ethereal, a vision that awakened something so grotesque within, it scared you.

Each feature of his face, every move he made no matter how ridiculous it was to others, fueled your obsession further until it was all-consuming. In his very presence that you never came too close to, you felt an overwhelming need to possess him completely, to have him all to yourself. His beauty was like gasoline to your raging flame of yearning, making your desire grow exponentially. For him.

This love of yours made you question yourself, it was idiotic to be in love with someone so unreachable, someone so beautiful. But an idiot is never complete without their mindless optimism for the better.

And you, were truly an idiot.

The way your heart dropped to your guts and your body manoeuvred nausea as if it was the only thing it knew. Seeing an equally beautiful man holding his hand, looking at him with the same longing in his eyes, the one that leveled yours. The pain was shrill, piercing, tinnitus and unbearable.

He wasn't yours.

The walls of your room that were plastered with his face all over felt smaller, it was getting hard to breath. Something simple like air came so difficult, with emotions risen like a tempest making your chest incredibly tight.

He had to be yours. He was yours.

The question of 'why' was up yet again, but this time with burn in your throat so harsh that it felt lacerated and while a thousand knvies gauched into your heart.

Why. Why. Why.

Only one of all the why's you've had in your existence, this was the one you could answer.

A knife like that from him felt bearable enough.

He had to be yours.

Taglist (Open :D) @rinachains

All rights reserved to ©itachiiwrites, 2024. Plagiarism not authorised. Do not copy, distribute my work on other platforms. Reblogs and feeback appreciated!

[simplyzeeka]

Yes Day

Warnings: MDNI!! Smut, dirty talk, oral (f receiving, condescending dick Terry, unprotected sex (just... don't) p in v, oral (m recieving)

Pairing: Terry x plus sized!oc (Fatima)

Note: She was supposed to sl*t him out, but Terry said no, not happening and just took the reigns.😔

This one's short and sweet

He should have known better. Terry should have known better than to participate with his girlfriend in ‘Yes day’. He knew better than to indulge because he knew how Fatima's mind worked.

At first he thought it would be miniscule things, like getting him to add sugar in his grits in the morning, or get her to pick his clothes for work, because his baby wouldn't dare ask him to do the impossible, right?

Wrong. And unfortunately for Terry, him underestimating Fatima forced him into a very compromising position.

Knees to the ground and his wrists bound behind his back, in some black fluffy cuffs while her thighs closed around his face. All that and one rule that ran in his mind constantly. “No touching.”

So yes, he should have known better, because she was also speaking to him like she had lost her damn mind.

“Don't be mad, baby. I asked if you were hungry and you said yes.” he should have known better, because he knew she was a tease. “Now be a good boy, and eat.” Fatima guides his head deeper into her pussy, his nose nuzzling against her clit deliciously while he put his mouth to good use, indulging them both.

“Mhm, doin’ so good. Just like that, you ain't new to this hmm?” She coaxed, resting on her elbows as she stared into the beautiful petrichor of his eyes. “Uh uhn, my baby true to this, eating me so good. Keep going.”

That almost made him forget his predicament, always loved how she talked to him, never being one to shy away from being vocal. When Terry talked to her , best believe Fatima was gonna talk back.

Fatima's hand travelled to her supple breasts, groping softly as she threw her head back. “Eyes on me Fat, wanted me to eat so bad, so you gon’ watch.” And damn, did he love to talk to her.

The languid movements of his tongue had her leaning her crotch closer to his face, something about the way he curled the wet muscle that made her think he was urging her to come closer. She raised her head, looking down at him as he made beautiful love to her swollen nub. Terry hums against her flooding heat, sending agitated vibration through her pussy and straight to her stomach, and a little to her messy, deluded head.

He couldn't help but smile against the wetness of her folds, holding back a mocking chuckle, because even with his hands cuffed, even when she tried to take dominance, Fatima obliged to Terry’s every command.

She looked so pretty to him, her hair in simple straight back plaits. No make up on her face, showing every blemish, mole and pimple. Eyebrows a little outgrown since she missed her appointment to trim them, lashes long and lush, Terry swore they could kiss her cheeks.

Honestly, he could do this to her anyday, but the need to touch her burned him, just as it did Fatima, because she loved it when he touched her.

She was writhing now, his mouth not being nearly enough. “Uncuff me, baby.” a simple order, and she contemplated. Frowned as she pouted at the loss of his hot mouth against her mound, still, she nodded and slipped off the dinner table.

She should have known better. Fatima should have known better than to think Terry would let all of that slide. Should have said ‘no’ and wore his mouth out, let him put her to sleep.

Because now, Terry was so deep inside her that Fatima would the one to fuck around and put a ring on him. He put it on her like he wanted death to be the reason they part, cause there was no way Fatima would ever fully allow him to fuck anyone else like the way he was doing her. “Fuck you thought this was? Telling me not to touch you like you run shit. Fix that arch, Fatima.”

They have moved from the dinner table, now on the couch as Fatima rested her elbows on the armrest as he drilled into her gushy folds. He reached the most unreachable depths of her cunt with each thrust, well at least she thought they were unreachable until now.

He gripped at the flesh of her hips once she did as told, then picked up the pace as he began with his much appreciated torment. “Can’t ever let us have a good day, hmm? Always gotta run your mouth.” There is a small slip of a whimper as he speaks, that sound alone being enough for Fatima to fuck him back, just to draw more out of him.

“M’sorry baby, fuck, Im so sorry.” She was clenching around him so much, in hopes that that would stutter his movements, but with the way she spilled her excitement around him, that only made it easier for him.

With his bottom lip captured between his teeth, Terry awes at the beautiful sight of her slick coating his dick, her hums in approval. “I know baby. Makin’ it up to me. You wet as fuck, Fat. Dammit.”

His moans were enough to motivate her to gyrate her hips, catching each and every thrust he threw at her with skill. There was something about the way Terry spoke, something about the baritone of his voice and the slight slur of moans that had Fatima wanting to do anything he wanted. He's always had that kind of leverage over her, barely had to do much to get what he wants, he just had to ask in a way that had her constantly clenching her thighs together.

“There you go, Fat. Keep on baby, you gonna catch this nut baby, hmm? Have my baby?”

And as always, she would say yes, because Terry fucked her so good. Stroked his initials with the tip of his dick in the depth of her warm cunt. Places she was sure no one would be able to reach. “Oh my… fuck yesss.”

“Yeah? You so nasty Fatima. Why you letting my fuck you like this?” Always so full of mocking, but then again, condescending Terry was always the best to give dick, and dick dumb Fatima was always the best to take it. A great team they made

“Can't even speak. But you was talking all that shit earlier.” Terry slowed down to deliver a slow and deep stroke that had Fatima reach and arm behind her and push at his stomach. “Fuckkk, let up T.”

Terry shook his head, grabbed her arm and pinned it to her back. He continued offering the slow stroked, a frown on his face as sweat dripped down onto Fatima's back. His legs were getting tired with how long they've been at it, but he ignored the burn in his thighs, kept going, he was nowhere near done.

“I'm ‘bout to nut. Milk me dry baby, c'mon.” Terry coaxed, maintaining the slow, steady pace of his hips while he felt his orgasm nearing closer, specifically because Fatima couldn't stop clenching around his dick, doing just as he had ordered.

“Fuckk you did so good baby. Just like that.” Terry coached her through his game, pumping in and out of her. Consciously pumping his nut inside of her. “There you go, pretty girl.”

Fatima slumped on the couch once she felt Terry slip out of her. She heard Terry shuffle around, but couldn't find the energy to turn and look over at him. She did hear the soft pattering of steps, the carpeted floor not being enough to drown Terry's steps.

She only looked up when she felt a fan of breath on her face. She came face-to-face with Terry's face, his hand met her head and ran his fingers between the parts of her plaits. He was still stark naked and crouched on the floor, admiring Fatima's messiness. “You good, baby?”

Fatima could only nod with a small smile, blinking up at him. “Hm, good. Take a lil’ break, we ain't done.”

And soon enough, after he wiped her clean and gave her water to drink, Terry had his dick stuffed in her mouth while he sat on the couch, letting her apologise for her stupid requests with little gags and whimpers for the rest of that evening.

Note: I'm thinking of starting a taglist, for all my fanfictions. If you want to be added, please comment or send a dm

[impval]

i found love

Victoria Neuman x fem! reader soulmate au

Everyone had different bonds. Some shared pain or emotions. Some even simply had timers, counting down to the moment when they'd first glimpse into the eyes of the person they were meant to be with.

The movements and subtle pulls of the thread, the little tugs and twists, were a constant in her life. She found herself often idly touching the red thread that no one else could see, and wondering where it led to… and who was on the other end, connected to her.

Orphaned at a young age, adopted and learn quickly to survive - it had shaped Victoria. So, she decided that soulmate were just an unnecessary risk. A liability. No soulmate, and no messy emotions or attachments involved. She didn't need one.

No, it was better not to think about it. Better to simply ignore it, ignore the thread that seemed to itch and burn with every passing year. Victoria had always had a plan, a goal, something to work towards. She simply couldn’t afford to have her whole life thrown into chaos simply because there was a chance that her soulmate could somehow... complete her.

Work was the closest thing she had to a lover, to a companion. She'd had fleeting relationships over the years, casual things, but she never let any of them grow into something more.

Victoria didn't really think much of the patterns, at first. Just a curious observation that slowly started to nag on her mind, and which she'd occasionally think about when she got the time to do so. The subtle tugging and pulling throughout the day... there was a distinct rhythm to it that only made sense if the person on the other end were in a similar time zone.

It was just another day.

Wake up, get some coffee, get to work, deal with reports, lunch time if she lucky, reports, meetings, and more reports, and then home. It was a routine she was used to - something that was familiar, something that made at least part of her life predictable.

But it took a few hours, embarrassingly long, for Victoria to realize that something was off. Her soulmate always moved during lunch, sometimes stopping before it started again, as though her soulmate was checking their phone or something...They weren't moving today. Why?

It could very well be that her soulmate had simply forgotten to eat lunch - a trivial and harmless explanation for her uncharacteristically still thread, that lay motionless, red against her arm. Or it could also be something worse. Were they ill? Were they... dead?

No. If the fucking thread was there, obviously her soulmate was alive. Obviously. It stupid to be so worried about a thread, she kept telling herself. But then lunch break passed, then the hour... and then another. The thread still did not move.

Her mood began to sour as the evening drew on. Sitting alone in the safety and secrecy of her home, with glass of whiskey in hand, Victoria let her eyes settle on the thread.

Just... sick, she told herself. Perhaps she was worrying over nothing. Perhaps they'd just come down with a cold or something. There was no reason to worry.

Victoria had her hands full - between dealing with supes, potential terrorist threats, and the occasional meeting with other government officials, the days had been busy and exhausting. Every time she had looked at the thread in the last couple days, the movements had gotten better... but they were still somehow off. It was still concerning, and she still couldn't quite figure out exactly why she was worried.

The incident had happened almost a week ago, the usual supe bullshit...Apparently, some supe had gotten drunk, used his powers to destroy the entire club, and injured several people. The only reason this accident was even in the news was because the supe involved was a relatively well-known hero. Otherwise, these kinds of cases tended to be ignored by the media.

The survivors were now in the hospital and, well, it was good PR, public image was key.

Victoria knew the drill - pay sympathy, try to look as earnest and as concerned as possible. It wasn't even that much of a problem - she did care about the people affected - it was just exhausting, pretending to care more about it than she actually did.

The folder her assistant had handed to her had detailed information. Nothing more than routine - she always prepared for any and all situations. Her gaze lingered for a moment, longer than it had for any of the other names on the list of patients: the last one, your name.

People hurried back and forth, the beeping of machines and the smell of antiseptic pervaded the air. Hospitals had always made Victoria feel uncomfortable.

She walked through the hospital, nodding and making sympathetic noises and reassuring people, reassuring herself that she was doing a good work. Most of the victims had suffered relatively minor injuries - a few broken wrists, concussions, a lost eye... it could have been much, much worse.

The thread was shortening with each person she met, and she'd be lying if she said that she didn't notice - but she pushed it to the back of her mind, tried to focus on what was said instead.

And then...

This was the last stop, the last patient. With blank eyes, Victoria stared down at the red thread, and let out a deep, almost exhausted sigh.

She'd almost made a choice to not even stop by your room. That would be the smart thing to do, the practical thing, the one that would save her from a lot of heartache.

The conversation with her assistant was brief, and in a moment she was alone, standing in front of the door to your room.

Victoria told herself it didn't matter, that it wasn't important. She'd made it this far in life without ever considering finding a soulmate - why worry about them now? But the red thread was pulsating, beckoning her towards.

But there was that other part of her, the part that was curious about what it would be like, the part that was lonely, that wanted to know.

She took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Some swore that the moment they saw their soulmate, the world suddenly made sense - became beautiful. Others claimed that it was no different than meeting anyone else, just... less complicated. For all the research and discussion, no one agreed of what it was like.

The room was quiet, only a low beep from the heart monitor - you were laying in the bed, attached to an IV, a visible scratches and dark bruises across your body.

You looked familiar to her, your face and your eyes - and Victoria recognized you, even though she had never seen you before. Familiar. Warmth and comfort. The feeling of being known... understood, even without knowing this person. She could have gone her entire life without feeling that, and yet here it was anyway.

"Hello," your voice was so soft, so soft that Victoria almost didn't hear it.

Your face, oh my god, so beautiful, had a big smile on it - you weren't smiling with your teeth, as if you were embarrassed for some reason (braces perhaps?). Fuck, how was it possible that you looked cute, even though you were currently in the goddamned hospital?

"Hello," she said, equally quietly, taking a few steps closer.

A week ago, she had been completely sure that a soulmate did not matter to her. And now, the stupid part of her brain was screaming that she wanted to hold your hand, run her fingers gently over your skin...

There was nothing particularly special about your appearance, Victoria admitted to herself, and yet... she couldn't help but look at you - so beautiful, so familiar, so perfect.

Well, Victoria has always been adaptable.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "I've seen you on TV. Victoria, right?"

She snapped herself out of her thoughts, clearing her own throat and willing (and failing) to clear her mind of all the new, confusing, and unfamiliar (yet welcome) thoughts and feelings.

"Yeah… that's correct," Victoria nodded, trying to get a hold of the swirling thoughts in her mind.

She spoke your name and god, it was beautiful to hear, it was like...

No, focus.

You slowly lifted yourself to sit on the bed, the movement looking like it took a bit of effort and clearly put you in some amount of pain - and she had to suppress the instinctive urge to offer help.

"And here I thought the nurses were joking about a politician coming to the hospital. To be honest, I expected an old white man."

Despite everything, she let out a quiet laugh. It sounded shaky even to her own ears, but she was too focused on watching you to really pay attention to it.

"I always get comments about me being the wrong age and gender for a politician," she replied with a small, easy smile - or at least that was what she tried to portray.

You'd dreamed of this moment. Imagined meeting your soulmate, had probably thought of this moment so many times, over and over. And then it happens, and you meet your damn soulmate — and it turns out to be a fucking politician. To make things even better, one who was famously anti-supe and you were currently in the damn hospital because of a supe attack.

"How... are you feeling?" she asked, her voice softer with the question. "Your injuries, I mean."

There was a sudden feeling of guilt as she looked at you, and she pushed it aside quickly - she could worry about the implications and consequences of her secret identity later when she was alone.

The thread seemed to vibrate as Victoria took another step closer.

You let out a small huff, and shrugged slightly in response, before grimacing in pain. "Like I was hit by a truck," you stated dryly. "But the doctors say I will be fine. And the painkillers helps."

Her eyes darkened at the thought of someone hurting you like this, injuring you so badly that you were in a hospital. Whoever did this was going to face consequences. Not now, of course - she was going to wait.

For now... Victoria took another step forward. Her eyes glanced down at the way you wrapped the thread around your hand, and she almost - almost - reached out to imitate the action herself.

But she didn't - her hands, instead, gripped the metal rail of the bed, her knuckles turning white from the force of the grip. So many questions entered her mind, all at once. She had no idea how long you'd be in hospital, who came to see you, how your recovery process would be going - the list was endless.

"When will you be discharged?"

"Sometime next week, apparently. My injuries are... non-life threatening. Mostly just..." you gestured to the scratches and bruises on your arms and face. "Well. I'm lucky."

You were blushing under her gaze and she noticed, a small part of her preening with satisfaction at the idea that her mere presence was enough to make you blush.

"Do you have family, or someone else who could look after you?"

a partner?

The mere thought that you might be with someone else, with someone other than her, was just wrong. It was just wrong. Victoria had no right to think that way, and she knew it - she'd only just met you, for god’s sake.

But she felt it, she couldn't help it.

Victoria couldn't help but noticed - no flowers, no "get well" balloons, nothing at all that might have indicated visitors.

"No," you shook your head. "My friends are currently in Spain and my family... we don't talk anymore."

Wait.

So who the hell was taking care of you while you were in the hospital? No one? She was your soulmate. You were hers, and it just felt wrong to leave you in your current condition, with no one to take care of you…

Hers. The word echoed through Victoria mind, over and over again, her soulmate, her responsibility, her to protect, to take care of -

"That won't do," She found herself saying before she realized it.

- and Victoria had always held a sense of possessiveness over the things she considered hers. In this case, she would have no compunctions about using her power and influence to guarantee your safety, to make sure you would be looked after.

But you tried to brush it off, of course you did - yet all she could focus on was the fact that no, you weren't going to be alone while you were recovering.

As her hand touched yours, you immediately went silent. The thread wraps around connected hands, and Victoria found herself thinking that the red looked nice on you.

And that's how Victoria was suddenly having a crash course in learning how to be a doting soulmate.

Funny, but she would have never, in a million years assumed she'd be acting so... obsessive over her soulmate, and yet here she was, finding out information that she felt the compulsive need to know.

How were your injuries healing? Had you been prescribed enough painkillers? Were you comfortable? She learned your medical history, for god's sake.

Victoria visited you at every spare moment she had, taking time out of her schedule just to see you. It was pathetic, in a way, how quickly her entire world seemed to revolve around you, the person she'd just met.

She had flowers brought to your room, balloons, even a stupid teddy bear, all while her logical thinking was telling her that this was all just too fast and too much. But the fact that you were alone, without family or friends, drove her to the point of near-aggression, and Victoria wanted to shower you with so much attention you would hardly be able to breathe.

You blushed and stuttered as you told your friends on the phone about all of this. They were surprised, of course, who wouldn't be surprised and a little freaked out, but there was also genuine excitement, and they were happy for you.

You'd always dreamed of having a soulmate, and now you had Victoria. Even her publicity and the fact that she was a politician didn't bother you as much as they probably should.

She was smart, and knew things before you even tried to say them. And once her mind was set on something, she was stubborn as hell, and you soon found that you were completely unable to resist her, especially when she looked at you with those big brown eyes.

You were staying with her when you were discharged. That wasn't up for discussion. She had already had a room cleaned out for you, had set it up to make sure everything was comfortable.

The thought that she'd be looking after you soon wasn't as intimidating as it should have been. Hell, you'd welcomed it.

Once you'd gathered your things from your home, she took you to her apartment, and you weren't surprised. It was definitely the sort of place Victoria would have. All things said that she was incredibly well-off, not shy about how much she spent in any way.

It was funny, the way she was acting right in front of your eyes. The way she doted on you, the way she made sure you were comfortable and happy, that nothing was missing - anything you wanted, she would get it for you.

Unfortunately, the reality was that she needed to work, and that required her to follow a certain schedule.

You adapted quickly, and she began to get used to the routine of having you around, the feeling far more comfortable than she'd expected. You soon learned that she loathed waking up early but did it anyway - and now sometimes you got up with her, even as she protested, cooking breakfast for her while she was in the shower.

Whenever she was at work, at yet another meeting, where she had to deal with the bullshit of idiots and incompetent employees, she would find herself missing you more than she thought she would.

Before, she'd always spent her evenings working, taking her documents home with her and continuing to work when she was in the comfort of her apartment - but now, that routine was changed.

Victoria found herself actually looking forward to coming home, because you were there, always happy to see her.

At first, you slept in the guest bedroom. It didn't take long for that situation to change, though - it was a nightmare that made it necessary. Anxiety and nightmares were hardly surprising - you had been attacked by a supe, after all. Your body recovered fairly well, thankfully, but your mind was another story.

And if that supe that hurt you somehow died in a mysterious, unexplainable accident, it was all just a coincidence.

If she was late coming home from work, claiming that she had suddenly had more important papers to work on, that was just a coincidence as well.

Coincidences happened all the time.

Victoria's bed was soft and comfortable, and it smelled like her. It was probably one of the best decisions she'd made, having you in bed with her. When you had nightmares and woke up sweaty and breathless, she could help you immediately, and she would often wake up to you clinging to her. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she liked seeing that.

You were hers, and even in your sleep, you were subconsciously seeking her out.

Soulmates didn't have to love each other romantically, it was true, and the relationship between soulmates could take a myriad of different forms.

But Victoria wasn't an idiot. She saw the same expression in your eyes, the same look that was most likely mirrored in hers. She wasn't the most romantic person, but some things were not hard to see. This was a romantic soulbond.

A month and then another passed, you were fully recovered now and yet neither of you even bothered to bring up the subject of you moving out. Why would you? You were soulmates, and moving in together was something that would happen anyway at some point - besides, Victoria clearly enjoyed having you there, and you had no objections either.

Not to mention, getting to see her in her suits every day was a pleasure.

Even for a couple that was going a bit fast, you were taking things slow in other aspects. Gentle touches, late-night conversations, the way you talked about the little things, all of it helped you learn each other, figure out habits and personality quirks.

You eventually introduced her to your friends, and Victoria, being the charming woman she was, didn't exactly struggle to win them over. They were quite amused that you moved in with her so quickly, cracking jokes about the lesbian stereotypes that you definitely seemed to be fitting right into.

The most difficult topic was Victoria's career. It was important to her - and unfortunately, that meant that she would have to figure out what she was going to do with you soon.

But you weren't certain whether you wanted people to know about your relationship with her, especially being a public figure and all that came with. And you were also aware that politicians had two options when it came to their soulmates. Politicians either hid their soulmates or they paraded them out like a trophy.

But the main concern on Victoria's mind was your safety.

She had loads of assholes who could be a problem, including those idiotic Hughie's friends, Homelander (she would end him if he dared to even look at you), her adopted father and whoever else decided to add themselves to the metaphorical list.

What you didn't know was that Victoria was protecting you already, using her connections to make sure you had a pair (or sometimes more) of watchful eyes on you when you went somewhere without her.

And while she held you in her arms and watched you sleeping, Victoria decided that it was perhaps time to thin that metaphorical list of threats with a very literal approach.

You had no idea about the violent thoughts that had invaded her mind, and she preferred to keep it that way, for now. To you, Victoria was just your lovely soulmate, who kissed you every morning before work. Someone who wore comfy, stretched-out sweaters around the house and read the newspapers while drinking coffee like a grandma. She was the one who smiled warmly every time you did something nice for her, and she responded by overly spoiling you with expensive gifts.

Part of Victoria felt guilty that she hadn't even considered telling you the truth about her powers. If you found out the truth, would you look at her differently?

Would you see her differently knowing she was a supe too? Knowing that she'd killed more than once? That she would kill again without hesitation, if it meant saving you and her career?

Well, you didn't hate supes, but you were hurt by one of them before, and you were still having nightmares from the goddamn trauma. How would you possibly react when you found out that she was one too?

You were perfect in many ways. You were so considerate and patient, holding her tight while she ranted after a day of dealing with idiots at work, or giving her space when she needed to sort out her own anger.

As the protective one in the relationship, she was well aware that you were also strong in your own way, though not as obvious about it… but would it all be enough?

Victoria shoved those doubts and conflicting thoughts far out of her mind, to be dealt with another time, when she had time to sort through the mess of feelings.

For now, she had a career to build, and a wonderful - if completely oblivious - soulmate at home who she couldn't get enough of.

Coming home after work to find you there, waiting for her, the weekends now filled with you instead of work, laughter in the house and your smile, and...

Victoria would come home after work just to hear your voice and see your smile, feel your touch. Even on the really bad days, when her anger was still bubbling just beneath the surface, even when she was stressed.

This wasn't a life she'd ever thought she would have, but it was one she didn't want to give up for anything in the world.

[gelatonic]

Idk if you write for Leo Valdez but if you do!

Him and reader being enemies, like the whole camp has known about it. It’s a whole thing. Kinda annoying atp, like people just want them to get over it.

Chiron wanted the reader to help the Hephaestus cabin with a project and they end up being the last people there. getting stuck in bunker nine because someone forgot about them and locked the door and it was jammed, it was already passed dinner so likely shot was that they’d be found in the morning

One thing led to another, and reader said Leo didn’t know how to fuck. Leo took that as a challenge

(If it’s okay could I be🫀 or🚂 anon? And if you don’t write for Leo, you can switch it up to fit another character!)

leo x f!bratty!reader ꩜ .ᐟ ignore how long this took plz lovie ;3 smut!

it all started when he decided to be a meanie to you

here you were, minding your business and being all cute while you dance at the bonfire for the camp, and Leo Valdez has to go and comment something slanderous towards you!!!!!! yelled something about how he could dance better, and you just couldn't accept that, getting all huffy and puffy with crossed arms as you choose to ignore him forever from then on, except his stupid nagging wouldn't stop! it seems everything you do, he just has to comment on, but you weren't going to take that, no! so you bite back, things escalate, and now here you were with your one and only enemy at camp, Leo Valdez.

everyone else seemed to like you, yeah, so when Chiron asks you to help out with the hephaestus cabin, ofc you say yes!!!! why wouldn't you? all the other kids there besides Leo are such sweeties, you don't mind! but then it turns out its just Leo who needs help, which leads to you being cooped up with him in bunker nine :(

and so inevitably, he just has to say something not very nice to you, so you just have to say something back. but you just look so cute when you argue, when you get up to leave, he almost stops you! but Leo doesn't have to, when it seems you can't yank your way out the door.

you turn back, cheeks all puffed up and tinged pink as you cross your arms at him and stifle back to sitting on the floor, glaring at it. "can't believe I'm stuck with an idiot like you," you grumble, legs criss-cross applesauce on the floor, letting Leo look at the way your already-short skirt rides up your thighs.

"yeah, sweetheart?" he says exasperatedly, setting down his wrench and stopping whatever he's working on so he can get a good look at how upset you were right now, with that stupid smirk on his face! "its not like I want a brat like you here either, y'know."

"brat!?!!?" you yelp back, scrambling to your feet so you can stalk to him, finger pointing sharply at him accusingly, "I'm only a brat to you because you're mean to me!"

"mhm," he hums with an eyeroll, not taking anything you say seriously, "y'know, at least I provide to the camp, make all these things. what do you do, huh?"

"well at least I can fuck!"

ohhhhh no, you shouldn't have said that. now here you are, bent halfway over the cool metal slab of his workspace, getting rutted into from behind. "who can't fuck, huh babygirl?" he's huffing a calloused laugh from behind, pumping you full of his dick. one of his hands goes up to your ass, gripping a handful of flesh and kneading it under his fingers.

"soooo fuckin' bratty, aren't you? what, just need a good fucking from Leo to put you in your place?" all you can do is mewl and whimper in response, legs kicking and hips squirming, making him push on your lower back to keep you still as his hips smack yours.

he's laughing as he watches how your pussy sucks him up whole, balls deep, before he wrenches in and out making you cry. he's leaning his weight down on you, smushing your tits on the table as he thrusts in and out, hand yanking at your hair hard, making your scalp tingle.

"wonder how many times I can make you come before morning. would you like that baby? wanna cum on my dick til you pass out?" he coos, making you babble something unintelligible as your drool puddles on your lips and on the table, glassy eyes half-lidded.

"yeah, you'd like that, huh? all cummed out for me, hm?

he is not stopping anytime soon...!!

[bottomlouisficfest]

We hope you’ve enjoyed the last couple of weeks of fics from the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2024! Every two weeks, we’re compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

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I am br(ok)en

A fic by SweetieR on AO3 | @SweetieR08 on Twitter

53k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry is a 28 year old Alpha who just got his heart broken by his long-term boyfriend. What happens when he meets Louis, a 30 year-old omega who is the spitting image of his ex? Sparks fly and hearts get on the line... Will Harry be able to understand his feelings before it's too late and he loses everything ? Or - The one where Harry is a stupid (stubborn) Alpha who can't understand what his heart is trying to tell him after the worst heartbreak of his life, and Louis is the sweet omega who arrives out of nowhere, wanting nothing more than being loved and cherished.

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Soft Hands Organics - Adore Sensitive Skin

A fic by SilverStuff50 on AO3 | @silverstuff50 on Tumblr | @SilverStuff50 on Twitter

8k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 504: PWP where OMC/Harry owns a skincare line and is about to launch extensive butt skincare products. The problem is that they are a small business and do not have enough budget to hire a model who would show their naked bum cheeks online for limited pay. Enter Louis, who could be a friend to a friend who’s up for it. Ass worship. OR The Ass Worship fic...

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don't make me feel special

A fic by moaismee on AO3

27k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 118: Its only when Harry is chosen for the Triwizard tournament that Louis realizes that his feelings are returned. Make it ABO please.

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I love it better if I repeat it many times; firefly, firefly, firefly ᡣ𐭩

A fic by puppyvirginloui on AO3 | @puppyvirginloui on Twitter

66k | Not Rated | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Louis, don't marry him.” he gasped loudly as the alpha cornered him at the engagement party. Louis watched behind Harry to make sure that no one was paying attention to them. “Please don't.” he begged, Louis' blood was boiling, he roughly pulled away from the curly’s firm grip. He couldn't believe his audacity. “What's wrong with you? You just asked Naomi for her hand, you asshole!” He yelled through clenched teeth, still looking behind his back. Harry shook his head for a few seconds, holding his hair that was ruined in a flash. “I can't believe it. You’re-” “I know you don't love him. I saw it in your eyes, Lou. Please.” The brunette omega fell silent, opening his mouth in astonishment, the ring he'd received from Rowan identical to Naomi's weighed heavier against the accusation that fell from the alpha on him. Harry took a step closer, they were practically already close from a start, right now, their chests were brushing. He watched his pleading gaze, his large, warm hands clinging to his arms, Louis felt his mark burning. “Harry-” “If you ask me, I won't get married. If you ask me, I’ll give up on all of this.” His heart along with his knees went weak.

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No bananas in the library

A fic by emmli28 on AO3 | @emmli28 on Twitter

36k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Sometimes it all starts with a dare, sometimes the dare comes later, and sometimes the dare is actually the push someone needs to be brave enough to talk to someone. Louis wouldn’t say Harry is his enemy but that loud frat boy can be incredibly annoying, always disturbing Louis when he tries to study, and Louis has certainly told him so. And he’s always eating his disgusting bananas. However, one day Harry approaches him to say that he wants to get to know Louis. This isn’t the typical “dare”-story.

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we're leading each other out of the dark

A fic by anditsonlyforthebrave on AO3 | @HARRYSC1NEMA on Twitter

16k | Not Rated | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“But I don’t want you to think that I left because I didn’t care,” Harry admits, “Lou, you’re terrifying in the best way. And I knew that if I told you, if I said goodbye, I would’ve come back crying after two weeks,” Harry explains, “and I wish I had a better explanation, but everything I have ever said to you was true. I loved you, and you were the most important person in my life and I never, ever wanted to let you down.” “But you left me.” Harry nods, “and you hid the fact that I had a child for six years, involving my own mother.” “But you left me,” Louis repeats. or Harry leaves and never looks back, only for him to eventually come home to find Louis and a little girl that looks exactly like him.

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I used to call you my best friend way back before you were my everything

A fic by @roselouis on AO3 | xx on Tumblr | @locksloxlahks on Twitter

7k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Okay, this is going to sound insane, but I really can’t stop thinking about you.” Louis’ eyes widened and his heart skipped. “How do you mean?” he whispered. “I mean. I kind of, like, want you. And like. I don’t know if I can have you.” “Oh, yes you absolutely can,” Louis gained confidence at Harry’s sudden lack thereof. “What? I was supposed to look after you, and now, not only have I gone and put myself in a position to not be there for you, but I also just. Want you. What would everyone think?” “Harry, I—I want you, too. Who cares what anyone thinks? Do you mean my parents? They’ll live, considering they love you more than they love their own sons sometimes.”

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as the summer fades away

A fic by cinnamons on AO3 | @sunbellylou on Tumblr | @sunbellylou on Twitter

66k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry and Louis were not supposed to be. And that was a fact Louis had been very aware of for the past decade. It was just the way the universe was. And Louis knew there was no bending and pushing that would change the facts. Harry was his neighbor and his father’s best friend. A constant in Louis’s life for years. Sturdy and unmoving, with an ever present frown pulling on his mouth. Unattainable. When Louis landed back in Texas after graduating college, he learned that sometimes the universe could bend a little at his will.

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Remember to give these fics kudos and comments, and spread their fic posts!

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All roundups will be linked here:

Weeks 1-2 Roundup

Weeks 3-4 Roundup

Weeks 5-6 Roundup

Weeks 7-8 Roundup

[n0vazsq]

The art of forgivness | PA17 x Reader

pairing . . . paul aron x f!reader

summary . . . When Paul and (Y/n) have a fight, he doesn't know if she'll ever forgive him. However, he decides to take his chance and ends up with a happy girlfriend.

request . . . no!

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . cursing

alexavia yaps . . . little random story idk i kinda stole it from myself <33 tell me who yall want in the next one <3

It was almost noon now, Paul knew damn well that he should be practicing on the sim, but he wasn't. 

He re-read the messages between him and (Y/n), for what seemed like the millionth time. Was he really that much of an asshole? He couldn't believe how she didn't physically attack him, he'd want to do it to himself.

Cocky, annoying and asshole-ish. That was he was to (Y/n), and he didn't understand why she still dealt with him. Perhaps homicide of oneself would be useful now.

His fingers lingered over the keyboard, aching to send her a message. It was so painful to restrain himself, he basically longed to see the blue message appear on his phone.

Sighing, he closed his phone and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was messy, he looked rougher than usual. He guessed that this would happen when the thing you love most is taken away from you.

He brushed his hair slightly with his hands, and put on the rings (Y/n) gave him, the ones he always wears. Grabbing the bouqet he had bought off his bedside table, he closed his hotel room and went out into the dangerous, dangerous hallway. 

Paul knew he had fucked everything up when (Y/n) didn't respond to his text. Usually, she'd reply within seconds, always surprising him with her fast replying speed.

If only she was as fast to forgive him.

Something like this happening was inevitable, whether they liked it or not. They were both foolish to think that they'd have a relationship with no fighting whatsoever. Stupid of them.

The thing was, it wasn't only this recent fight that made them like this. No, it was multiple mini fights that just made their frustration build up to the point where they both snapped. 

Paul was wrong, he knew that. But he couldn't bring himself to admit it, always so stubborn, both of them. He knew that if he did, he was going to be teased, even though it was the right thing to do.

And after a very heated argument with himself, he'd decided to go apologise to (Y/n). He had promised himself to not get cold feet when he arrived at her hotel room. But as he stood there, a large bouquet in his hands, he felt the urge to run off and never return. 

He was already regretting his choice of flowers: white lilies, blue hydrangeas, and a few blue hyacinths thrown in just for the aesthetic. Why'd he chose blue specifically? He'd never know. 

The shame and guilt felt heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down as he took a deep breath, finally bringing himself to knock on her door. Two heavy knocks and one light knock, that was their code. Paul slightly regretted doing the secret knock, what if she didn't open the door because she knew it was him?

Stop that, take deep breaths and calm down. He'd told himself, the dread slowly enveloping him the longer (Y/n) took to open the door. It was very dreadful.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she opened the door. Paul had to force himself to not start sobbing from relief. (Y/n) had opened the door! This was one small step for her, but a giant leap for him. 

He was brought back to reality by his girlfriend clearing her throat, glaring at him, as if urging him to speak. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, her face a bit paler than usual. Had she been sick? He knew that she got sick easily, and more often than not, he'd find her sniffling and shoving pills into her mouth.

"Uh-hi! How have you been? I....I brought these flowers for you. I know you don't like red roses so I choose against them but then had the weird urge to-"

"Yes, yes. Thank you. Why'd you come here?" (Y/n) cut him off, her tone frustrated, or maybe annoyed. He didn't know why he started talking so much, good job you idiot.

He should've asked Ralf or even Dino for help. This was a bad idea, he already regretted it. Now he'll never be able to get his girlfriend back and she'll never forgive him.

"Paul! What is the matter with you? Speak." He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he forgot about (Y/n) standing infront of him. Ironic.

"Ah, yeah. I just came here to apologise to you, I was an asshole and I knew I was wrong. I am so sorry, kallis," He mentally facepalmed when she raised an eyebrow at that. "I just want you to forgive me, I should have cared and noticed when people were hating on you. I love you so much and don't want to lose you. So please, just forgive me, (Y/n)."

Wow, where'd he pull that from? He should start considering a job in film writing, or even writing books. His lines would probably have people sobbing.

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes at him, her face pulling into an awkward, forced smile. Maybe he should stick to being a racing driver.

"I appreciate all this, Paul. I really do. But..."

But what?! 

"You really didn't need to bring flowers, you could've just came and apologised. Thank you."

Paul's anxiety vanished instantly, all hints of the shaking hands he had vanishing. His face formed a grin, his whole body relaxing.

"I-h....I love you so much and I can't deal with losing you again. " He managed to say. His voice shook, as if he was going to cry. He really couldn't lose (Y/n) again.

"I can't either, ange. And I'm sorry, for everything. I love you too." (Y/n) gave him an apologetic smile, and he could see in her eyes that she really meant it.

Paul felt immense happiness flood him, all tension from the past few days disappearing. He wouldn't have known what to do if (Y/n) hadn't forgave him

"So...are we back together?...." Paul trailed off, he really didn't know at this point. 

"We broke up?" She said, tilting her head at him. 

"Oh... Well, I thought we did. Uh, sorry, it was a stupid question. I don't know what I'm saying." He scratched the back of his head. Great, Paul, you ruined it now

"How have you been?"

"Quite depressed, actually. You really did light up my life," (Y/n)'s eyes widened, and her cheeks were tinted red. He still has the charm. "Well, I have to go now. I have to do the track walk with Amaury. See you around, I guess."

"See you."

He didn't know what to do with his arms, part of him stepped forward to hug her, and part of him raised his hands to wave. (Y/n) sighed and pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back while she laid her head on his chest. His heart was propably beating out of his chest, still not used to the feeling.

Then, he swore he heard her mutter something like 'I missed you'.

[vodika-vibes]

Me again 😈 this is the last one (for now)

How about Howzer x reader with "sh, sh, I'm going to patch you up."?? I love Howzer so much and virtually no one writes for him </3

Playing Doctor

Summary: In an ideal world, being trapped in a cramped place with Howzer would be a dream come true. After all, you’ve been crushing on him for ages now. You just wish the situation was a little less sucky.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: Reader is injured, pining, Howzer is jealous but pretends that he isn't

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I couldn't get Howzer to agree with me. Until I put on a Disney playlist on Spotify and the words just started flowing. (Also, I have been in a not-great mental place since the 6th, but I think I'm better-ish now). I hope you like it!

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You’ve known Howzer for years now. 

You first met him at the beginning of the Clone Wars, all of those years ago. And, looking back now, you can admit that your first impression of him wasn’t the greatest. 

He was arrogant. Cocky, even. And in his opinion, you were a meddling busybody who needed to spend a day or two sitting in a jail cell.

You weren’t, and aren’t, a soldier. You were the former base commander’s receptionist, and when he left for greener pastures, you were left behind with a handful of soldiers and support staff who weren’t important enough to anyone to manage to pull a reassignment.

In truth, you kept the base running through duct tape and a prayer. And then Howzer came along and took it from you. 

It wasn’t until he realized that none of the NatBorn soldiers, or support staff, would listen to him, that they all deferred to you, that Howzer realized that he stepped on a few toes. 

And he didn’t apologize until your Squad of Misfits pulled him and his men out of an ambush that should have killed them, but only left him badly injured and with a scar on his face.

The rest, as they say, is history.

By the time the Jedi Purge happened, you and Howzer were friends. Friends enough that, when he called you to ask for help, you dropped everything and hurried to his side. 

That had been a year ago, and while you won’t ever say that you regret it, you do wish that you had been more clever about your career prospects.

Or, at least, more clever.

Surely, if you had gone to medical school like your mother wanted you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Right?

You release a pained whimper as Howzer presses his hands, firmly, over the wound in your side. You try to pull away from his painful touch, but the way he has you positioned against the wall of the cave you’re taking shelter in means that you can’t move.

“Howzer—”

“I know it hurts, ad’ika.” His voice is low, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a grim look on his face before. Well, not directed towards you, at least, “but I need to stop the bleeding.”

Hesitantly, because he’s been funny about you touching him lately, you wrap your hands around his wrists, “‘m sorry. I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault. Who knew that the Stormtroopers had people who could use fucking javelins. Where are we, the Middle Ages?” He sounds stressed and angry.

“Many Indigenous people use weapons like that,” You reply, “Like the Ewoks and the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine.”

Howzer releases a huffed laugh, “Why do you know that?”

“I saw a documentary about it before,” You admit.

“Yeah? When was this?” He applies more pressure and you whimper as the sudden pain knocks the air out of your lungs, and you see a muscle work in his jaw.

“When I was a kid,” You manage to say, “There used to be a show. Tula the Tooka. Tula would teach kids about different races and show how we’re all the same.”

“Fighting bigotry one little kid at a time?”

“Something like that.” You wince, “She also covered some basic language skills, like how to say hello, or I’m lost, in whatever language.”

“Sounds educational,” Howzer shifts his hand and glances at your side, and then he takes your hand and presses it over the wound, “Apply pressure while I pull out my kit.”

“You could always just leave me here,” You offer.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, I’m not leaving you behind.” Howzer replies as he starts digging through the bag he’s been carrying, “You can’t actually think that I would do that.”

“I don’t.” You admit, “Make your life easier if you were less loyal, though.” You pause, “Idiot.” The word is affectionate, and the corner of Howzer’s lips curl up into a small smile.

“Wonder what having an easy life would be like,” He jokes, before he turns back to you, “Alright, move your hand.” You do as he asks, though you don’t realize why he’s saying that until the sharp scent of alcohol reaches your nose.

You yelp and jerk back when an alcohol-soaked cloth presses against your side. Though, you don’t get far.

“Shh, shh,” he effortlessly tugs you closer, so he can keep the cloth pressed against your side, “I’m going to patch you up.”

“You couldn’t have given me some warning?” You choke out.

“Sorry, ad’ika. But you’re kind of a baby when it comes to pain.”

You stare up at him through tear-filled eyes, “And you thought this would help? You’re a jerk. Rex would never—” You yelp again when his touch gets rough enough that it hurts.

The painful pressure vanishes almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m sorry! I forget that you’re so much more fragile than me.” Howzer blurts as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a tear from your cheek, “Please don’t cry.”

“I-it’s okay, you didn’t mean it.”

Howzer sighs, “It’s not okay, but thank you.” He pulls some bandages from his bag, “I bet Rex would never forget that.” There’s something odd in his voice, and you realize, with a start, that he’s jealous. 

“Howzer?”

“Hm?”

“Are you jealous of Rex?”

He fumbles with the wrapper of the bandage, and his dark eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, before dropping back to your side, “Course not.”

You stare at the top of his head for a moment, and then you sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“Are you allowed to have favorites?” Howzer asks as he applies the bandage and tapes it to your skin.

“I think you’ll find that I don’t care about what’s allowed,” You counter, “You’re my favorite, and I’m glad that I ended up stranded here with you over anyone else.”

He finally meets your gaze, “You hate being stranded anywhere.” Howzer corrects with a wry smile.

“See, no one else knows me like you do.”

“Well, I have known you for years now,”

Your hand falls from his hair to rest against his cheek, just over his scar. There are so many things you want to tell him. So many thoughts you want to share. 

Things that he deserves to know.

But the words seem to stick in your throat.

After all, there’s no way he feels the same way for you as you do for him.

So, instead, you offer a tiny smile, “I’m guessing you have a plan.”

Howzer turns his head and presses a light kiss to the palm of your hand, “Always do.” He pulls away from you, “Are you okay waiting here for me?”

“Just don’t forget about me.”

“Never.” He stands and peels off his jacket, “Here, use this as a pillow and get some rest. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

You take his jacket and fold it so you can lay down, “Be careful,” Howzer tosses you a wink, and then he’s gone. 

And, now alone, you release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Howzer.”

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