#i need to stop listening to those i think

[unionizedwizard]

i mean typically this is like

>research shows testosterone HRT is not a contraceptive so you still need to use protection!

>ok. do you know if it has literally any effect on fertility whatsoever?

>lol no

>ok. so hypothetically how would a trans man on HRT know if he's pregnant?

>well silly girl :) you just check your period :) if you missed your period you might be pregnant! duh!

>ok. testosterone HRT stops your period after, like, 3 months though

>[windows error sounds] well then you can usually feel your breasts get heavier and more tender :)

>ok. what about people who don't have mammary glands anymore? how would that even work?

>listen i don't know. why don't you have a pregnancy test?

>those tests work by detecting a specific hormone. does HRT interfere with this hormone by either making it undetectable or stopping its production entirely or anything? how do i know the test itself is reliable?

>have you tried the morning after pill?

>the morning after pill is also hormone-based. how do i know it's reliable? does taking testosterone HRT have any impact on its efficiency? could it potentially cause an adverse reaction? could a trans man with updated ID documents even access it in the first place since the pharmacy only delivers it to people they think, at a glance, could be pregnant?

etc etc

[b1eedthefreak]

daryl with a stoner gf would be adorable I love ur work eeek 💕💕

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Lucky Day

⌇daryl dixon x stoner!reader

⌇summary: you find a bag of weed after months of not smoking some. you and daryl get high and get…𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

⌇warnings: weed use, oral sex (f receiving), soft high sex

⌇word count: 8.2k

a/n i absolutely saw the vision here and i hope i did this justice (i don’t smoke or anything of that sort so i tried my best to make it accurate 🫰)

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Back in Atlanta, things were bad…just but not bad enough to quit smoking.

And you didn’t mean cigarettes. You meant your stash. A miracle box of tightly rolled joints in a baggie, wrapped up in a scarf at the bottom of your duffel. You’d brought it when you fled the city thinking it’d all blow over soon, and in those first weeks, you smoked like you were trying to get high enough to escape the world entirely. Sitting on top of the RV, legs crossed and clouds floating out of your mouth while people whispered and side eyed but said nothing.

They didn’t understand. But Daryl, Daryl didn’t either, and he said something. Not in a judgy way, more like “That shit ain’t good for ya,” as he lit up another cigarette. You raised a brow. “Mmm, okay, Dixon. Go suck on your cancer stick then.” He snorted, but didn’t push it.

Eventually, the girls had asked you politely to stop smoking around them. So you had. You weren’t cruel. You knew some people were grieving, anxious, holding onto control by their fingernails, and you? You were just trying to float through it without panicking. You still smoked, but you’d hide away, perched on the roof of Dale’s RV with the moon for company.

Then Lori got pregnant.

And you stopped cold. Not because anyone asked, but because it felt wrong. You didn’t need it anymore. You had Daryl. You had hope. And after all that time, your stash had finally run dry.

Two years later, the world had shifted—even more if that was possible. Alexandria. Safety. Soft clothes and soap and patrol shifts on rotation. You and Daryl had been assigned a two-week supply run with just the two of you, and it was your favorite kind of alone time, long, quiet roads and long, quiet nights in sleeping bags zipped together.

You’d been walking in a field outside an abandoned strip of homes when you spotted the trailer. Metal door swinging on one hinge.

You turned to Daryl. “Be right back.”

He was halfway in the trunk of the car, digging through the last crate. “What?”

“I said be right back!” you called, and then you were already running, boots crunching on dry grass as the little metal trailer came into view.

Inside, it was dusty and stale, but untouched. A couch. A kitchen. Some water bottles. And in a box under the sink—

You were grinning wide, holding the bag like it was treasure when the door flew open behind you.

SLAM.

Daryl burst through with his crossbow raised, breath ragged. “The hell?! You don’t just run off like—”

You turned, held up the bag, and grinned brighter. “It’s our lucky day.”

He froze. Blinking at you. Then down at the bag.

Then he groaned and dragged a hand over his face.

“Oh my God,” you laughed. “Look at this! Untouched! Probably a whole ounce!”

“I thought you were in trouble,” he growled, stepping in. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You walked over, still grinning. “C’monnn baby! Look It’s perfectly sealed. And you’re always so tense.” You pulled out one joint. “Let’s celebrate. Just a little?”

“I told ya,” he muttered, slinging his bow on his back, “shit don’t work on me.”

You were already fishing out your lighter, perching on the faded armrest. “Yeah, yeah. You’re so boring.”

He smirked, arms crossed. “Ain’t boring. Jus’ ain’ stupid.”

“Oh please. You smoke cigarettes like they’re air. And you’re worried about weed?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, rolled his eyes. “You ain’t gonna listen to me anyway.”

You lit the joint and took a deep inhale. Sweet and sticky. Homey. You exhaled and let your head fall back with a slow, happy sigh.

“Fuuuuck.”

Daryl watched you, annoyed. Or maybe charmed. Hard to tell with that face.

You took another hit, then stood, stepping close to him. He looked down at you with a huff.

“You’re so sexy when you give me that look.” you whispered, leaning in—and then kissed him, open-mouthed, slow, as you blew the smoke past his lips.

He coughed. Caught it in his throat, pulled back with a scowl, and then blinked, eyes soft.

“What the hell,” he rasped.

You smiled smugly. “Mmm. What was that, Dixon? Didn’t work?”

His eyes flicked to the joint in your hand. Then your mouth.

“Gimme that.”

Twenty minutes later, you were both laid out on the trailer floor, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

“…Why the hell the ceiling movin’ like that?”

You snorted. “It’s not.”

“I swear it is.”

“It’s not baby.”

“…Shit.”

He rolled over to look at you, red eyed and slow. His hair had gone fluffy from the heat, and his cheeks were pink. “This is your fault.”

“Mhm.”

He reached out to touch your wrist. Light. Barely a brush. “You’re really pretty.”

You turned toward him. “You’re really pretty.”

“Yeah?” he asked, half laughing. “I got like—scratches on my face.”

“Apocalyptic scars,” you whispered, scooting closer. “They make you even hotter.”

He swallowed hard. “Think you’re the only person who’s ever said that to me.”

You blinked. “That’s the weed talking.”

“Nah.” He tucked a hand behind your head. “It’s me talkin’. Weed just made it easier.”

You leaned in, kissed him slow. “How you feelin’?”

He smiled lazily. “Floatin’. You?”

You kissed him again. “High and horny.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, dazed. “That’s my girl.”

You ended up on the old couch, tangled in each other.

You were straddling his lap, shirt half off, hands in his hair while he kissed you like you were spun from honey. His hands traced over your back, then forward to cup your breasts—gently, reverently.

“Always want ya like this,” he whispered, mouth warm against your collarbone.

“You’re just stoned.”

“I’m always wantin’ you.” He kissed lower, down your chest, kissing over the fabric. “This just makes me say it out loud.”

You giggled, high and warm. “Yeah, baby?”

He pulled your shirt up fully and kissed one breast, then the other. “Mhm.”

You felt like you were melting.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbled. “So good.” His mouth found your nipple and sucked slow, lips plush and reverent. You gasped.

“Daryl…”

He groaned. “Love you like this. Love every part’a you.”

He rolled his hips up, and you moaned, grinding down against him, dizzy with pleasure and heat and the buzz of it all.

The sex was slow, sweet, a little sloppy. You rode him with your head tipped back, his hands on your waist, both of you giggling and moaning and whispering how much you loved each other like it was gospel.

You came first, trembling, whispering his name. He followed, face pressed to your chest, holding you like a lifeline.

After, you both lay there, sweaty and still stoned, limbs tangled and sticky and stupidly in love.

“I wanna find more trailers,” you mumbled.

Daryl snorted. “Just for the weed?”

“No,” you whispered, nose against his neck. “For you. For this. For everything.”

He kissed your forehead, smiling. “Yeah, alright. Let’s find a whole damn trailer park.”

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[hittmeandtellmeyouremine]

rafe catching puddin grinding on his pillow? she said she discovered it by watching those movies by herself without rafe knowing

pairing: puddin!reader x older!rafe

warnings: mdni, lottie do not read, smut (sort of), dry humping, ddlg themes, use of 'daddy'.

word count: 1.2k+ words

a/n: what show was i talking about? 😏

rafe had been so busy with work, wrapped up in some 'goat island' deal that was stressing him out like no other. as much as you miss him, you also know he needs his space. he specifically told you that once this passed, his attention would be all yours again.

and boy did you want that.

to soothe the growing boredom that was festering as a result of his absence, you decide to scroll through netflix in search of something to occupy yourself. usually rafe did this but you finished the last show he put on for you and he was busy, so now you had to do it yourself.

you scroll through what's trending on the platform, finding a show about a bookstore owner who develops feelings for a girl he meets. you like books, you like love. seems easy enough.

the title card for the streaming platform plays and you focus your eyes onto the screen. in the back of your mind, all you could think of was rafe and his approval. wait until you showed him the show you found.

it was interesting enough. the main character was a little odd and very flawed but you liked it, somewhat. very different from everything else you watched, surely more mature. you desperately wished rafe was there to watch it with you.

your thoughts of him were put to a stop when you saw the girl start to kiss her boyfriend. not just a nice kiss either, no. it was how rafe had recently started kissing you. you sat up, moving towards the edge of the bed to get a better look.

they were doing what you wanted to with rafe.

you watch as her boyfriend settles himself between her thighs, moving against her with calculated movements. it wasn't the best angle, but you got the point. your eyes lit up as you watch the moment progress, yearning for that connection.

wait. that was it?

it was over before it really even started, she looks disappointed too. the narrator made a comment about her not finishing which you connected to what rafe made you feel, that one night.

her boyfriend was an asshole, making everything about himself and seeing himself out without giving her much time to protest the matter. you frown at the scene, thinking maybe you didn't like this show after all.

you glance towards the door, not hearing any sort of verbal indication of rafe's arrival. you sighed and turn your attention back to screen.

wait. what was she doing?

her eyes focus onto a green pillow, kind of cylinder shaped. you don't have much time to question it before she settles the pillow between her legs. she's moving against it like she was moving against her against her boyfriend. not only that but she looked happier.

your pupils dilate as you watch, the pleasured gasp leaving her lips making you crave that feeling. maybe you did like this show after all. rafe hadn't given you a taste of that feeling again, not since the night his hand was buried between your thighs. you missed it, to say the least.

surely if she could feel that way by herself, so could you. right?

you nibbled on your bottom lip, debating the matter. you did have a pillow similar to that one and it was longer too. plus, rafe was so busy. he wouldn't be coming back to you anytime soon. you turn around, eyes darting between the pillow and your open door.

the pillow was between your thighs a few seconds later, your body kneeling over it experimentally. the girl was laying on her back but this seems like a better fit, somehow.

your eyes glance back over to the doorway one last time, listening for rafe. there was no sign of him though. and sure, you could close the door but then you wouldn't hear if he was coming.

you slowly begin to drag your hips on the pillow, pressing it between your thighs and keeping it there with a somewhat firm grip. it was an odd sensation at first, you didn't get what the big deal was.

that was until the pillow notches a certain part of you that had you crying out, biting your lip as you caught yourself. it was a blissful feeling, making you angle the pillow to continue it.

the friction was something you didn't fully understand, but it felt like how rafe's fingers felt and that was all you needed to know.

small cries leave your lips as you continue to grind against the pillow, the show long forgotten by this point. you imagine it was rafe instead, touching you and making you feel good. the thought made you moan a bit louder, so lost in th-

"enjoying yourself, puddin'?"

you yelp, jumping and stopping your movements all at once.

rafe leans against your doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. there was a slight smirk on his face.

"whatcha watchin', baby?" he asks, stepping into your room and looking at the tv.

"i-"

you try to answer him, you really do, but how were you supposed to when he just caught you using your pillow like that.

"i can explain, daddy" you start.

"explain what, puddin'?" he cocks his head at you, eyes flickering to the pink pillow between your thighs.

"t-the girl on the show, she was doing it and it looked like it felt good and i-"

"did it? feel good?" he asks, standing at the edge of your bed now.

you hesitate on answering.

"puddin', i asked you a question" he says. "daddy's not mad at you, i just want to know"

"yeah, it felt nice" you say quietly, suddenly feeling guilty.

you pull the pillow from between your thighs, orgasm long forgotten by now. you sink into the bed, legs folded beneath you.

"why'd you stop?" he questions.

"i don't know, feel like i did something bad" you mumble.

"why's that, puddin'?"

"because you weren't doing it with me" you answer.

truth be told, rafe liked watching you squirm. he liked seeing you so curious , so desperate. it stirred something inside of him, knowing that you were still thinking about the other night.

"i taught you how to make yourself feel good though, did i not?"

you nod slowly.

"and you found a new way to do it on your own?" he adds.

you nod again.

"why is that such an issue?"

"i don't want to do it on my own" you whine. "i want to do it with you"

there it was, the reason you were all pouty and pissy. god, your loyalty was truly something else. so loyal to him that you felt guilty for getting yourself off.

such a good girl, his good girl.

"come here" he said, sitting on the edge of your bed beside you and pulling you onto his lap.

"you can make yourself feel good, without daddy. i don't mind" he reassures.

his hands move down to your thighs, squeezing lightly and digging his thumbs into the curve of them.

"i'd prefer if you asked me to help you out, but maybe you don't want that?" he tests.

"no, no. i do" you shake your head.

"i just want my girl to be happy," he coos. "but do me a favor and don't watch this stuff by yourself anymore, yeah?"

you nod obediently.

"i want to be the one who teaches you how to feel good, together—puddin' and daddy" he says, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

"okay, daddy"

"good girl"

-

[luvbabydoll]

soft target — john price

a/n: here is part one

the school’s quiet now.

the sun’s low, painting everything gold, and you’re locking your classroom door with tired hands and a cardigan pulled tight around your shoulders. the same sundress underneath, just a little more wrinkled now. your flats scuff softly on the pavement as you head toward the bus stop, bag slipping from your shoulder.

and then—

“bit late for the bus, isn’t it, love?”

you freeze.

he’s leaned against a dark car at the curb, sleeves still rolled, cap tilted back slightly. cigar in one hand, half-burned and glowing faint. he looks like he’s been there for a while. watching.

waiting.

you clear your throat. “i’m fine. it’s only a few minutes.”

he hums. takes a drag.

“not safe out here. bus stop’s full of pissheads after five.”

you blink. “i take it every day.”

he exhales smoke slowly, like the words amuse him.

“not dressed like that, you don’t.”

your fingers tighten on your cardigan.

“what’s that mean?”

he flicks the ash off the tip of the cigar, then gives you that slow, maddening once-over.

“floaty little thing like you? sweet voice, soft shoes, not a clue how many blokes’d follow you just to see where you get off.”

you shift on your feet.

“i manage just fine.”

“‘course you do, sweetheart,” he drawls, tone all condescension and heat. “still doesn’t mean you should be out here on your own.”

he nods at the car behind him.

“come on. i’ll drive you.”

you shake your head. “i don’t need—”

“wasn’t askin’.”

the words are quiet. firm. but not unkind. not really.

more like... decided.

you hesitate. bite your lip. you shouldn’t. god, you know you shouldn’t.

but then he opens the door for you, like he already knows you’ll say yes.

“it’s not charity, love,” he adds, almost mockingly. “just not lettin’ a pretty thing like you end up on the evening news.”

your heart hammers.

you get in.

the leather’s cool. smells faintly like him. like cigar smoke and expensive soap.

he walks around the front, slow and unbothered, flicks the cigar into the street with a practiced hand, then slides in beside you and starts the engine.

no music. no small talk at first. just the low purr of the car and the weight of his gaze at red lights.

until finally, he says it.

“didn’t peg you for the bus type.”

you glance at him. “i’m a teacher. not exactly glamorous.”

he scoffs. “could’ve fooled me.”

you blink.

“look like you belong in one of those soft little perfume ads,” he mutters. “all lips and lashes. s’no wonder your class won’t shut up.”

you don’t answer.

his fingers tap the wheel lazily. “bet they’ve all got crushes. boys like that—doesn’t take much. just a smile and a dress.”

“i don’t flirt with my students.”

he smirks.

“never said you did. just said you don’t have to.”

you look out the window. cheeks hot.

“you always talk to teachers like this?” you murmur.

he doesn’t hesitate.

“only the pretty ones.”

the drive is quiet again. only this time there’s music.

not loud—just a low hum from the speakers, something gritty and slow and old. a man’s voice, raspy, drawling about whiskey and war. you don’t recognise it, but you don’t ask either. you figure he already knows that.

he doesn’t look at you while it plays. just taps the wheel in time, lip twitching like he’s in on a joke you’re too young to get.

“not your kind of music, is it?” he says finally, eyes still on the road.

“no,” you admit softly.

he chuckles.

“didn’t think so. you’re more of a... sugar-pop sort, yeah? all pink headphones and love songs?”

you bristle, but only a little. “i listen to plenty of things.”

“mm,” he says, unconvinced. “you ever even heard of tom waits?”

“well… no.”

“figured,” he smirks.

by the time he pulls up outside your apartment, the sun’s almost gone. your building looks worse in this light—weathered and crooked, like it’s sighing from holding itself up.

he looks at it, then at your shoes.

“you live here?”

“...yeah.”

he lets out a breath through his nose. not rude—just surprised.

“jesus, sweetheart. i knew teachers weren’t paid well, but jesus lovie.”

you slide your bag onto your shoulder, already reaching for the handle.

“thanks for the ride.”

but he’s already out of the car.

before you can step out, he’s opening your door for you again—holding out a hand like you’re stepping onto a yacht and not cracked pavement.

you blink up at him.

“i can walk.”

“not in those dainty little things,” he mutters. “look at the state of this lot.”

and then—god—he lifts you.

just like that. arms around your thighs and back, bridal-style, all warm and solid and smug.

“john!” you squeak, clutching his shoulders.

“don’t fuss,” he says, carrying you like you weigh nothing. “not lettin’ you ruin those shoes on my watch.”

you want to argue. you really do.

but then you’re at your door and he doesn’t put you down. not right away.

“keys?” he asks, eyes flicking toward your purse.

you fumble, unlock it with shaking hands.

and instead of handing you over the threshold, like a normal person—

he steps inside.

like he’s invited.

like this is his now.

you’re still in his arms when he glances around.

“cozy,” he says again, same tone as in your classroom.

his voice is quieter here. thicker.

you try to wiggle down. he finally lets you go, setting you gently on the floor like a toy being placed back on the shelf.

you smooth your dress. try to fix your face.

“you didn’t have to come in.”

“wasn’t gonna leave you out there in the dark,” he shrugs, looking at your tiny kitchenette, the stack of books near the couch. “besides, didn’t get my proper tour earlier.”

you give him a look. “this isn’t a tour.”

“sure it is,” he says, moving to lean against your counter like he’s done it a hundred times. “i’ve seen your classroom. now i’m seein’ where you keep your soft little cardigans.”

you cross your arms.

“you’re very confident.”

he grins.

“and you’re very polite for someone lettin’ a stranger into her flat.”

you hesitate. “you’re not a stranger.”

“aren’t i?”

he steps a little closer. your back almost hits the wall.

you don’t answer.

he smiles, slow.

“you should eat somethin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

you blink.

“you don’t have to—”

“i know i don’t,” he cuts in gently, brushing a bit of lint from your sleeve like he’s done it before. “but i want to.”

“why?”

“dunno,” he shrugs. “maybe i like takin’ care of soft little things.”

[soliloqst]

EX!

pairing: bakugo x f!reader

scenario: bakugo as your toxic ex boyfriend

Your first ever boyfriend turned out to be some punk who couldn't even bother to walk you home, you don't even know why he went out with you. That was in middle school, you worked up all of your courage to confess to him on the eyes of the setting sun and the breath of the cold wind.

“I like you!” Hands trembling, sweating and cold reach out to him with a love letter, your head looked down straight to your squirming and shaking legs.

 “Katsuki Bakugo... I've liked you for a long time! Will you please go out with me?!” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

You naive little idiot. You were so happy and ecstatic from his response that you didn't even gauge his expression, how he felt, or what he seemed to think of you.

Your relationship lasted for a whole two years. TWO YEARS. And in those two years the most romantic thing he's ever done for you was hold your hand in public. Valentine's? Yuck, everything is so lovey-dovey it's disgusting. Christmas? He's spending it with family who do you think you are? Your BIRTHDAY? You only received a greeting when it was already 11 PM.  Even on your anniversaries, the most you would do is go out and eat or something. 

How in the world did you ever stay with him for two whole years? Well, the answer was easy. Katsuki never, ever abandoned you. 

You could excuse his being unromantic, his bluntness, his awkwardness when he was with you. Your relationship never felt like a relationship, but it was something. Cry infront of him, he'll stop to comfort you without words. Get mad because of something he did, he'll listen and stop it. He doesn't do anything romantic, but he does things for you. He makes you feel like you're someone but can make you feel like no one.

You were the one who broke it off. Your patience didn't exist anymore, you lost all hope of having a boyfriend. You yearned to love, and to be loved. You wanted someone to do the same things you do for them. And Katsuki just wasn't that person. Besides, you were just in middle school. This relationship wasn't anything real anyways. 

 Years pass, you get into the neighboring school of UA. Although UA was originally your first pick, you didn't get in on the entrance exam. The relationship you had as a naive kid had long been hidden away at the back of your mind, and then you see him at the hero license exam

Why? Why are you always haunting me? 

He was with new people now, how funny. He never showed his smile like that when he was with you, he was always frowning. Mad, angry, always heated. It just so ended up that your team was against his, he probably doesnt remember you. He never called you by name the whole time, it's possible he never knew. 

“L/N?” His friends walk over, “You two know each other?” Bakugo doesn't say anything, he's quiet. He hesitated looking your way, he looked… sad?

To him, your relationship was something he failed. Bakugo halfheartedly accepted your feelings and led you on for two years knowing he didn't know how to act, how to love, how to give. It haunts him.

Bakugo never forgot your birthday, he has it on his calendar every year. But he hesitated, always, to say something. He knows you wanted a relationship, but he can't give you what you wanted or needed. He felt guilty, afraid, uncomfortable. Maybe that's why he couldn't abandon you, because he didn't have the strength to. 

Once again, just like before. Bakugo is turning his back on you, failing to meet your gaze. Failing to give you what you've been hoping for. An apology. A chance to talk. An explanation. 

So that the pain you've been carrying those years could be lifted, and so you'd be able to love freely again. Re-do it one more time, not like the beginners you were. Not the idiots you both were. If you knew it would've ended up like that you would've just waited. 

[asukiess]

I need nathalie NOW

I can't take it anymore, I need to have Nathalie. I open miraculous.to, I see her there, I'm scratching at my screen trying to get to her. I switch tabs, I go on tumblr, I feed off fanart like a dog licking the crumbs from the floor. I go on my sangreste server, I freak it about Nathalie. I open AO3, I goon to Nathalie. The walls in my room are white, just like Emilie. I go to my home office, I think about those two words—“home” “office”, and I’m reminded of Nathalie. My situationship says, “we’re divorcing but I love you still,” I collapse to my knees. I look at my hands—they’re wet with tears, or possibly worse, but they definitely don’t hold a ring. “I can’t wait for season 6 to be over so I can write fucked up daddy wheat and nathalie fics,” I tell my friends. “We are still invested in fluffy gabenath,” they respond. She will not stop haunting my thoughts. I’m no longer an atheist, I’m a Nath-theist. The voices are telling me to have a tumultuous affair, I listen to them. But there is no threesome in Tibet, it’s a mirage. No backstory, no Tibet special, no eminath confirmation. Only my prolonged suffering as my pseudo-married form is forced to wait by the warden called death.

[ohokaythtsu-blog]

Saw this movie twice, and I felt like I wanted a story with him but make it what his true nature was, and this is the start of that. So, leave some suggestions. Also, the spelling errors are on purpose for the accent. Also, this isn't a fun fanfic this is something dark like the movie, something I actually dreamed about. :)

TITLE: “PALE MOON”

REMMICK x Reader (Black Female Reader)

Release: IDEK TBH wrote this portion for fun/ Also this is not a finished story

PSA : I am a black woman, so if you read any offensive language in here. A) I can say it and B) this the 1930’s in MISSISSIPPI, I am more than sure this was how it sounded.

WARNINGS: Sexual content (Not what you think it is, or rather who you think it is), Cursing, Blood, Biting, angst, death, mention of racists subjects, KKK mention

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The music pulled through the wooden walls of this ol barn, black bodies swayed and sweated through the floor as we danced, sung, and laughed the night away. I stood over by the door looking down at my drink, swirling around my glass cup, filled with corn liquor. See I wun’t like my brothas, Stack and Smock. Sure money made me smile but I wanted to move my body and dance, but them two, they wouldn’t dare let they baby Sistah sway ha body on the floor where any man could touch and grab me. I wusn’t no damn baby no mo. But let them tell it, I was still baby sis, the one those two left with Mary while they took they asses to Chicago. I had a lot on my mind that night and all I wanted was to shake my body at this new Juke they opened. It was a celebration that my brothas was home, and for me and Mary to grieve her motha’s passing, god rest her soul. But something eerie and exciting about tonight had me on my 4th cup of corn liqa.

“Sis get yo ass over here!”, Mary shouted as she danced with Stack. I huff and saunter over, I was wearing a soft purple silk dress, and my momma’s purls. “What ya’ll wont, finally letting me dance with somebody tonight Stack?” Mary chuckled and Stack looked at me like I stole his money. “Sis it would be a cold day in hell before I let you do that…nah actually I need you to work yo magic”. I looked at Stake wit a scowl. “Boy the hell you need me to do na? It bet not be about them white folk that stopped at the door earlier”, I look between Stack and Mary. “Ya’ll aint serious is ya…Why yo ass and send Mary? What if they Klan?”. Stack looked at me then Mary, “Know what ya’ll can both go, Sis only reason I said you because you a swindler at heart like ya big brothas and judging by the eyes on that white man…whatever he said his name was, he was eyeing yah. Bet you can get bank out him, and Mary yo ass better watch my sista”. Me and Mary looked at him, Mary wanted to help but I did not in the slightest. “Oh, so I can’t shake my body in here or you’d cut one of these n**gas hands off, but you’d make me go talk to a white man? You a cold man Stack”, I said before taken his gun from him and Mary took a switch blade. I put the gun on my garter and walked towards the door. Cornbread was sitting there as I walked past him with Mary behind me. “Where ya’ll narrow ass’s goin?”, Cornbread yelled. I looked back with a mean attitude, “Cornbread mind yo damn business I ain’t lil no mo. You don’t need to be minding my business”.

I sway away and walk towards the three-white people on the bench far outside. They were…singing? I listen closely but something eerie about their singing made me feel uneasy, especially the man with the overalls and gold chain, his eyes in mine as he strummed his banjo. It was almost Hypnotic. Sum ain't right...

[hakkkuu]

You spot Wonbin outside the lecture hall, same as always, a lone figure shrouded in cigarette smoke. His pale skin catches the dim glow of the streetlamp, black hair falling into those wide, haunted eyes. He’s always alone, sitting on the low wall, exhaling clouds of despair. In class, he’s a ghost in the back row, head bowed, silent as the world moves around him. His loneliness is a quiet scream, but you don’t care to listen. He’s just there, a fixture you can’t ignore—slim, brooding, your type in a way that sparks something shallow and selfish in you.

One night, restless and craving a thrill, you decide to pull him into your orbit. “Party tonight. Be my plus-one,” you say, voice clipped, catching him mid-drag. His eyes flicker with surprise, maybe hope, but you’re already walking away. At the party, he’s out of place, clutching a drink like a lifeline. You talk, and he opens up—soft-spoken stories about music, his small hometown, how college feels like a void. He’s cooler than you expected, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not here for his soul. When you kiss him on the couch, it’s calculated, your lips claiming his with practiced ease. He kisses back like it’s salvation, hands shaking, heart exposed.

You take him to your apartment, and the sex is raw, intense. You ride him, his inexperience obvious in every hesitant touch, every gasped breath. He’s a virgin, you realize, his desperation to please you almost pathetic. When he comes, it’s with a broken moan, eyes locked on yours, like you’re his entire world. To him, this is everything—his first taste of intimacy, a moment he’ll carry forever. To you, it’s nothing, just another notch, a fleeting high.

The next day, his texts start. “Last night was amazing,” he writes, words dripping with vulnerability. You don’t reply. His calls pile up, voicemails trembling with need. “Can we talk? Please?” You delete them, annoyed. In class, he stares, eyes raw with longing, but you turn away, cold as stone. He starts trailing you—outside your dorm, near the library, a shadow begging for a scrap of your attention. “I just want to see you,” he says once, voice cracking. You roll your eyes, words sharp. “Stop following me, Wonbin. It was just sex.” His face collapses, but you walk away, untouched.

He keeps trying, texting poems, leaving notes under your door. “You’re all I think about,” one says. You crumple it, unbothered. His calls dwindle, but the pain in his eyes grows—sunken, hollow, like he’s fading. Once, you catch him outside, cigarette trembling in his hand, staring at the ground. He looks broken, a boy who gave you his heart only to watch you discard it. You used him, took his first everything, and left him chasing a love you’ll never give. To you, he’s nothing. To him, you’re the wound he’ll never stop bleeding.

[moongirlrhea]

an ache in you, put there by the ache in me (we could call it even)

chapter four to the azriel and his best friend series :)

series masterlist

azriel x reader

word count: 6.5k

warnings: mentions of bad family dynamics and childhood trauma

a/n: here she is finally, albeit a week late! terribly sorry for the delay, but i hope you enjoy :) let me know what you think, feedback is appreciated! also worry not, there is actual plot on the horizon

to join my taglist, comment on this post

The air in the estate’s dining room was sharp and cold, despite the flames burning in the fireplace.

“Young lady, are you even listening to me?”

“I am, father” she looked up from her plate to see her father shaking his head, eyes narrowed and studying her. He was sitting at the head of the table, disdain practically rolling off of him in waves.

“I’m sorry” she added quietly, while fiddling with her fingers under the table. The corset of her dress was digging uncomfortably into her chest, disabling her from breathing properly.

“What is the reason you have been walking around with your head in the clouds all day again, hm?” her father’s demanding voice cut through the air again “This is the third time this week your tutors have complained to me about you”

She turned to look at her mother but found the same disappointment in her eyes as well.

“Well,” she started sheepishly. “I’ve just been thinking about Rupert’s journeys recently, you know? He- he has been telling me about them and it all sounds so-” her mother’s scoff interrupted her explanation about her cousin's escapades around the continent.

“Oh, don’t you even start” her eyes widened at that, heart rate picking up at the barely contained exasperation in her mother’s voice. As though she were out of her mind. “You know very well you will get to travel for your honeymoon once you’re wed. But first we need to find a male who would find interest in you”

“Right, mother” She swore the marble pillars of the chamber were growing in size, as if ready to block any window in the room. Any access to the outside world “I just- I think I would like to see at least a bit of the world before getting married.” It was worth the try, she thought. Maybe she could convince them to-

“Your entire focus should be on finding a husband, not on losing yourself in your cousin's stories about exploring a world that is far too dangerous for a promising young lady such as yourself. You will start to bring shame to our name soon if you do not stop this nonsense.” The condensation in her father’s voice was thick enough to make her so scorchingly ashamed, she could feel it almost physically. “I will not even begin about all those foolish novels you busy yourself with reading all day as well, when there are serious matters to attend to. You have not had a suitor visit you in almost two weeks now.”

“But I am trying my best-”

“She already is the black sheep of the ton, darling” her parents looked at each other and her mother breathed out the sentence while resting her head against her palm. Such sadness laced her voice as if truly some tragedy or sickness had struck the family.

She could be described as that, she supposed.

“We spend all this money for the most fashionable dresses, best tutors in the capitol, for her to attend all the most important soirees and balls, and this is how she repays us? By not even trying?” she looked between her parents, mouth opening and closing, trying to cut into the conversation about her own life.

“Truly, I do not know what to even make of her anymore. All day she walks around either reading those novels from Prythian or babbling about some nonsense. Maybe enlarging her dowry would bring in more suitors?” Was her dress supposed to be this tight?

“I’m just interested in history-” her parents exchanged a knowing look. More shame licked at her gut. She could feel her breathing becoming shallow, her vision blurring as if something-

“Young lady, you know very well these are not the matters you should interest yourself in.” -As if something was wrong.

“But you said it yourself, that knowledge in culture is very useful in conversation-”

“Can you imagine a fine lady like your mother walking around all day muttering about history and literature to males with obviously much higher education, daughter?” He looked at her like he was expecting an answer, so she went to open her mouth. Before she could, her father was shaking his head, no sliver of warmth in his eyes. “Worry yourself with matters that were made for you, and leave academics for those appropriately inclined, girl” she could feel her eyes start to burn and her breaths coming out in short gasps.

“It is high time you walked on solid ground, daughter, you are not getting any younger” She couldn’t- couldn’t breathe-

She shot up in bed, gasping. She frantically looked around the room, trying to gauge her surroundings-

Huge, high and open windows with the first morning light streaming through them. Soft curtains pushed to gently flow against the windowsills by the wind. Shadows flowing loosely around the room, curling and twining around the furniture.

The House of Wind. She wasn’t there anymore, she was-

Home.

She took a few deep breaths and looked closer around herself. A navy blue blanket in her lap and a wing draped across it.

Azriel.

She ran a hand through her hair as her breathing finally evened out. She turned to look at him, laying on his side in bed, eyes open and alert. Only his ruffled hair betrayed that he was asleep just a few moments before.

“Nightmare?”

“I’m sure you get worse,” she breathed out as she layed back down, curling into his side. But before he could pry about what got her so scared, she was asking another question.

“How are you feeling?” Sweet girl. He would have to wait until later in the day to ask, then. Her hands shot out to feel his bandage, seeing it tight and in place. She looked back at him wide-eyed, awaiting an answer.

“I’m alright” she narrowed her eyes, not quite believing him. He winked at her and said “Who wouldn't be? With such an immaculate healer” he teased, smirking slightly, mirth dancing in his eye. Trying to make her break even the slightest smile, as always.

She didn’t say anything, though. Only continued to stare him straight into his hazel eyes, which visibly turned from teasing, endearing amusement to something softer when he noticed her concern.

“I’m alright, angel, really” he chuckled, going to unwrap his bandage, before her hand shot out to stop him.

“Wait, what if-” his bandage fell loose before she was done with the sentence.

The skin of his abdomen was smooth, no wound in sight.

“See what a talented healer you are?” she exhaled in relief, sitting back on her heels

“It’s just your natural healing abilities” she grumbled

A shadow twined itself around a strand of her hair, tugging lightly. She swatted it away and it came to brush against her wrist instead.

Silly little things.

“Hm, pretty sure it’s actually not” she looked up at him, unconvinced “What I’m trying to say, is thank you for taking care of me last night”

She knew how hard it was for him to say those words. Probably just about as hard as it was for her to accept the praise he was spewing on her.

“I’ll always take care of you, Az” she mumbled, looking up at him.

Somehow it was just now that she noticed he was laying there, shirtless. That he had been laying there like that all night, that she slept on him like that. The air in the room thickened.

Didn’t she sleep in the chair last night?

Either way, he was in nothing but a loose pair of sleeping pants that outlined way too much, and she was in nothing but a flimsy nightgown that she also couldn’t remember putting on the night prior.

As the silence in the room lengthened, her breathing became shallow for an entirely different reason than it had just a few minutes earlier. Especially when she looked up at him to find him already looking at her. No, watching her with a careful eye.

Three minutes later she was hurrying down the hallway to her bedroom, head cast down to hide the redness on her face.

Three minutes later Azriel was sitting up in his bed, wondering what had gotten his best friend so worked up to escape his bed in such a hurry, leaving only a flimsy, rushed excuse about being late to work. Work which is three hours away. Work which he walks her to and buys her breakfast on the way, everyday.

Huh.

That moment was not what she initially thought it was. Surely, she was misreading things.

She was out of her mind. She had to be, right?

But she swore there was a moment last night where Azriel was about to kiss her. He surely wouldn’t have done that, though.

…Or would he? Fuck.

The early spring air was fresh and cold against her rosy cheeks as she walked along the sidra on her way to the studio through the streets of Velaris. Early blooming flowers were growing on window sills and merchants were already setting up their stalls outside. Spring was coming and the City of Starlight would soon come to life - even though it thrived in the winter just as well.

She left the House a few hours earlier than usual this morning, after she had run off from Azriel’s room. She had then thrown on an ivory dress before haphazardly putting half of her hair up and ended up bumping into Rhys, who flew her down to the city. Since she was almost three hours early for work, she had spent most of her morning walking aimlessly around the rainbow, mulling last night’s situation over in her head.

She was delusional, she had to be. Azriel would never try to kiss her. He wouldn’t want to, surely, and she needed to get those wretched ideas out of her mind before she ruined their friendship for good. She already carried so much of her emotional baggage over to him, it was ridiculous for her to now be thinking of something as absurd as this.

She was seeing things for sure. There were many possibilities of what this could actually be; she’s been so anxious recently that her mind is probably making her think things she would normally find insanely improbable. Like, for one, the notion of her and Azriel as something more than friends.

Azriel was just being a good best friend and here she was turning this situation into something entirely different that he surely would view as an outright disturbing distortion of their friendship.

But somehow the conclusion that Azriel had, in fact, not tried to kiss her and she was out of her mind to think he ever would, didn’t bring even a slither of peace to her mind.

The only thing it did do was bring an awfully stressful tightness to her chest which picked her heart rate up to a point she thought the feeling might climax and she’d simply just explode.

Truly, she should pat herself on the back for handling her anxious feelings so well.

All this made her so distracted she bumped into people at least four different times in the last hour. Azriel would scold her for being so unaware of her surroundings. It’s dangerous, he would say if he were here. But he wasn’t here because she was stupid and making things awkward and- She audibly groaned as she walked alongside the windowsill of one of her favorite bakeries. And, of course, on top of things, she had forgotten to eat breakfast.

She needed to get her shit together, really. Or she needed a break. Or something else that would make things okay.

She sighed out, making a corner. But of course this wasn’t the first time the idea of her and Azriel as an item crossed her mind. She was raised and trained to think of every male she met as a potential husband. It was automatic. And after all, he was the first male she met after fleeting her kingdom. She had been in her old ways, back then.

At least that’s what she would keep telling herself for now on.

It was what she did tell herself after she got to the studio and started to set up.

It was also what she kept telling herself for almost the entire following week, which she spent trying, and failing miserably, to avoid Azriel while also realizing that she was acting a bit ridiculous.

It was just that every single time she saw him, all these thoughts kept resurfacing to the top of her mind and she felt pathetic, embarrassed and like the worst friend in the world at the same time. He’s been doing so much lately to ease all of her worries.

Gods, he’s been basically breaking his back to make her smile and this is how she repays him?

He noticed that something was wrong with her, of course he did. But then again, when was the last time in the last few months when something wasn’t wrong with her?

Cauldron, he was so …gentle about it too. “Are you sure everything’s alright, angel?” he would ask with a hint of worry in his tone, hazel eyes alert and holding that same care she’s come to know so well.

And that made everything so much worse. The thought crossed her mind that maybe he also felt guilty about something - as though he too noticed some sort of shift and took it as his own mistake. As if he saw his fault there.

So, she promised herself that tonight she would go to him. And they would spend time together, like they usually did. And everything would be good.

She would hate it more than anything if she was the cause of Azriel feeling any sort of guilt, the Mother knew how much he struggled with that already. So, she decided they would spend a lovely evening together and she would not allow herself to think, for even a second, about kissing him.

Even though she had, in fact, thought about it all week. He would hate her for ruining their friendship like that - and if that ever happened there would be nothing else to do but throw herself headfirst into the Sidra.

She had analyzed the situation thoroughly in her head and came to this conclusion: she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to engage herself in any sort of romantic thing. It brought to mind a plethora of negative memories, but this was Azriel. Which made it all the more ridiculous.

Besides, she’s already established that she shouldn’t even allow herself to think of her best friend like this.

She was the carrier of entirely too much emotional baggage that Azriel already had to comfort her about, now more than ever. It wasn’t the right time to think of such matters when in the span of the last month she cried in his arms multiple times about one situation, which she still had no idea what to do about.

Nightmares and flashbacks wrecked her mind extremely often and of course she went to Azriel for comfort, but he had to be tired of her by this point. Especially considering that her past is like a walk in the park compared to his.

Of course she was very aware she shouldn’t compare their situations - but she can’t help it, sometimes.

Embarrassment burned hot in her gut at the idea of Azriel, the male who has been comforting her like some child for the last few weeks, seeing that in the meantime she’s been wondering about whether he wants to kiss her or not. She felt her cheeks burn at how pathetic that seemed. Gods.

Enough of this. She would not kiss him. She would not ruin their friendship, which was the one stable thing in her life, she reminded herself, and everything would be fine. End of story.

The ingenious plan for the evening would have worked out fine, if it weren’t for the fact that Azriel wasn’t in his room. Or anywhere else in the House.

Great.

She was almost fully certain that he did not tell her about going on another mission this week. What if he specifically chose not to tell her, because she had already ruined everything- She shook her head with a furrowed brow, as if that would send the vicious thought far away.

No. She would not go there. There was still one more place to check - the library that Nesta and Elain spent a lot of their time in after first coming to Night. He liked to read there sometimes, when he had the time or wanted to relax after an especially stressful day. And so she took the stairs to the higher floor and was already preparing what to say to him, wondering if she shouldn’t have maybe baked something for him, when it turned out that the library was certainly not where Azriel was.

It was however, where Nesta was reading on a blue velvet armchair standing next to the huge floor to ceiling windows. The City of Starlight was bathed in late sunset, the first stars already shining, as were the fae lights in the cobblestone streets and houses. It wasn’t until Nesta spoke that she realized she was standing frozen in the doorway, disappointment probably evident on her face.

“Azriel had to go on a last-minute mission. An emergency” the female looked up from her novel, icy eyes piercing into hers, and cocked her head “Cassian was supposed to tell you?”

“Oh. I haven’t seen him” she sighed and crossed the room to sit in the armchair opposite to Nesta’s. “Is everything alright?” An emergency mission wasn’t a completely strange occurrence to her, but it didn’t happen often. And Azriel hadn’t talked about having any trouble.

The other female’s eyes narrowed at that. “Azriel didn’t say anything to you about his last few missions? Really?”

“What do you mean?” But Nesta just shook her head.

“Maybe it isn’t my story to tell, then”

“Nesta, come on” She obviously wouldn’t intrude on Azriel’s privacy, he had the right not to tell her about something, but she had a feeling there was more to this. What if he was in danger? “At least tell me if he’s safe”

“As safe as on any mission, as far as I’m aware”

“The last time you guys said he’d be fine he ended up getting stabbed so forgive me if I’m not very trusting on this”

Nesta chuckled, a half smirk appearing on her face as she leaned back in her chair “Listen, I know you two go full mother-hen mode on each other like, three times a day but he really should be okay. From what I know he’s just there to pick up on conversations, no participating in anything” she said in a light tone “And before you ask, Rhysand asked him to immediately go check on something, so he genuinely had no time to tell you”

“Yeah, I know that he must’ve had a good reason not to tell me” she mumbled with a frown, at which Nesta cocked her head to the side again

“I’m sorry, but you guys have been acting awkward recently. I just wanted to make sure you knew he didn’t do it on purpose”

“We- we are not acting awkward” she sputtered out immediately

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! There’s nothing wrong”

“I didn’t say there was something wrong” the other female had a knowing glint in her eye when she said this, almost proudly.

“Oh”

After a beat of silence Nesta hummed and readjusted her position on the chair “You don’t have to sit here like a doe ready to bolt as if I were about to force you to tell me what’s going on”

“Everything with me and Az will be alright, tho”

“Well, I should hope so, it would be a shame if-” Nesta stopped herself, smirking slightly.

“If what?” The other female just looked her in the eye, raising an eyebrow as if she expected her to figure something out. But all she could think about was why Azriel hadn’t said anything about something going wrong in his missions.

Now that she thought about it, recently he hasn’t even been telling her where his missions were.

“Nesta, what has been going on during those missions?” she asked finally, voice stretched thin. Nesta just looked at her, face suddenly serious. She glanced at the window to the side and then sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“Fine, I’ll tell you but only because I can’t stand to look at you with those puppy eyes of yours. He has really told you nothing?” There was audible surprise in her voice, which was quite rare for Nesta.

“Nothing”

“There has been a …group, I suppose, operating mainly on the continent but they’ve been moving around”

“A group? What does that mean?”

“They’re Rhysand’s enemy, is what I know. We’ve been trying to establish who exactly they are, because they’ve not revealed themselves. But they have quite a vendetta against the whole court, that one’s clear. We don’t really even know the scale of the danger yet, if they’re something we should truly worry about”

“And this …group, is one of them who stabbed Azriel?”

“As far as I’m aware, yes”

“And, uh, how many of them are there?” Nesta just pressed her lips into a tight line, giving her a knowing look and shaking her head.

Well, it appeared her and Azriel had more to talk about than she initially suspected.

The time she finally saw him was while she was at work. She’s spent a lot more time at her studio recently than she usually did, but it was good on her. The shop has been busy and she’s been selling practically every single design she had in store.

Working also provided her with at least a bit of reprieve from the mess that was happening in her mind. Her life. And she was frequently visited by Mor and Cassian, who couldn’t for the sake of their lives hide the fact that they were really just trying to check if she hadn’t absolutely spiraled into madness, yet. Her cheeks heated uncomfortably every time she was reminded that quite literally every single member of her family bore witness to the whole family fiasco.

Even though she despised being coddled, the company was greatly appreciated now that she saw Azriel less than usual. Well, that was until now at least.

He walked into her shop quickly and scanned the room until his eyes landed on her working at her table. Determination shined in them.

She stood up and scanned his body up and down. He seemed alright. He must’ve come back at least a few hours ago, because he was clean and wearing fresh clothes: a black shirt and pants. A coil of tightness seized her heart at the fact that he didn’t go to her immediately after coming home.

A heavy silence encapsulated the room, and she started to play with her fingers. Then she went to open her mouth to say something, but so did he, and -. Neither of them said anything.

Gods, when did it come to this?

She chuckled awkwardly and refused to meet his eye. Azriel ruffled his wings, stretching them out and pulling them back in. Then he exhaled and shook his head.

His shadows came to her before he did. The swarming little things twirled around her whole body. She laughed a little as they twisted around her legs and arms while also pulling at strands of her hair and the edge of her dress.

Then a set of hands was on her waist and shoulders as she was pressed against a muscled chest. She swore a tight knot that had been noticeably bothering her recently loosened immediately at the familiar feeling. She put her arms around him too, and rested her head against his shoulder, breathing out.

“Hey” he half whispered finally, voice hoarse and thick.

She pulled her head up to look him in the eye and swallowed before replying “Hey”

He was back.

An underdetermined amount of time passed as they simply stood there, holding each other. Sharing the space.

And then it was as though a dam broke; they were sitting on the floor, her legs swung over his as they talked. And talked.

She told him about what she had learnt from Nesta. He was apologetic but told her that he didn’t tell her because he didn’t want to unnecessarily worry her when she already had so much on her plate.

She wasn’t too happy about it, but neither was he about her avoiding every single question about her family. If she was anything, she was dismissive of her feelings, he was well aware, but he was especially worried about her these past few weeks. This family thing was taking a toll on her and he hated that she felt too burdensome to talk to him about it. Hated that they had made her like this and still dared to this day to impose on her peace.

He hoped, if only a little, that they would, in fact, dare to come here because then he’d be able to personally tell them what he thought of them.

And so the pair continued on their conversation; she told him about the ridiculous situations she’s been having with clients and about Cassian throwing a fit a few days prior when Rhys ate all of the brownies she had baked. And he laughed fondly before starting to tell her about his mission and for a moment, she truly believed that everything would be alright. That the short time they had apart from one another really did do both of them well and they’d be back to normal.

Until Azriel mentioned something that she’d been very purposely, and successfully avoiding, thus far.

“I think we have to postpone our Summer Court trip, sweetheart.” she freezed and tensed as something started to ring in her head. Not something - Amren’s voice, from the last time she saw her. “I’m sorry, angel, but with this group gallivanting around the continent, we don’t know if they aren’t in Prythian at this point as well. They could be targeting other High Lords too and I’d rather you stay in Velaris, where it’s safe, for now, at least while we're gouging out the threat”

Azriel’s reasoning was absolutely logical. It was just that her mind was not.

It was obvious that now wasn’t the best time to go on a vacation because of what Azriel was saying, but she couldn’t help but think that there was something hidden to it, too.

Amren was right and she had, in fact, been selfish and unthoughtful. And Azriel knew it but he would never say it to her face.

“Sweetheart?”

“That’s, yeah -. That’s okay, we’ll just have to go another time, then” she gave him a tight-lipped smile as she felt something heavy settle against her chest.

“I know we were both looking forward to it, and we will go, once it’s safe to, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah sure” she replied softly, although her mind was already somewhere else. She was a bit disappointed but- It was for the better anyway, she guessed. She did see the glances her family exchanged at that dinner, while Amren was storming down on her. Like they agreed with the silver eyed female, like she was wrong for planning to go on a trip while her own family drama would climax in the meantime, and they’d be left to deal with it.

They were right.

Hot, scorching shame that she’d lately come to know so well consumed her whole body. When had she become …this? She was better than this, stronger. Or at least she used to be. Maybe it was her parents making her revert to this stumbling, scared shell of a female. But somehow such a thought didn’t help her one bit. It was still… her.

Azriel was saying something, trying to distract her, because how could he not notice when something was irking her mind? And so she let him, she tried to focus on his story, let it wash over her mind. And she loathed her family a little bit more than usual when vitriol filled thoughts wouldn’t stop taking over her mind.

Azriel noticed something was wrong back in the studio when she locked up at the mention of their trip. He knew how excited she was for it, but surely that couldn’t have ruined her mood that much.

And yet her eyes were downcast and sad all throughout dinner. He watched as she barely greeted everyone and ate her meal in silence, only glancing at her family a few times. His attempts at making her laugh only succeeded in making him feel pathetic and when he tried to gouge out what was going on, Nesta, Cassian and Morrigan all gave him sheepish, knowing looks.

What happened while he was gone?

Noticeably, Amren was absent from the table.

He felt his hands tense and clench everytime he looked at her and saw the downturn of her lips as she moved her food around her plate.

His girl was sad, and it awakened a simmering, impatient anger within him. If Rhysand would have let him, he’d have gone to that kingdom and dealt with the situation himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already tried presenting such an idea to his High Lord.

Another thing he noticed was how …tired she seemed. Her movements were sluggish and he easily picked up on other usual signs of her being overwhelmed. He needed to fix this before things got bad.

Azriel’s first step to fixing the situation was to find out what had happened in his absence to make his best friend go into massive survival mode at the idea of having family dinner. And so, soon after dinner was over, he found himself standing in Rhysand’s office and listening to him recount a conversation that happened on the night he got stabbed.

Less of a conversation and more like one of Amren’s egocentric monologues.

“And none of you thought to tell her to quit it?” Rhysand sighed as Azriel gritted out the question from between clenched teeth.

“We did”

He scoffed “Seems to me like the damage had already been done” Rhysand recognized the sharp glint in his brother’s eyes. This wasn’t Azriel talking; it was the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. Ruthless in protecting what was his. “You know damn well how much of a sore subject this is to her. All of you do, yet you let Amren go on and on, even though you’re well aware how sensitive she is about this”

“Azriel-”

“No!” The spymaster slammed his hands down against Rhys’s mahogany desk. The High Lord, sitting on its opposite side, tensed up. “What the fuck, Rhys?”

The other male sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose “I do realize how stressful this situation is on her, Azriel. We all do. You’re not the only fae here who cares about her" He looked up to meet Azriel’s unforgiving glare “But the facts are this: as long as she stays here, she has nothing to worry about. We operate on our law, no one can take her anyway”

“I know that”

“And yet you don’t act like you do” if the situation wasn’t as dire to Azriel, Rhysand would have smirked. He actively had to stop the corner of his lip to quirk up. “You need to do something about this, brother. You’ll only scare her off if you keep up this act of playing guard dog to her. If you threaten to bite the heads off of everyone around, she’ll get scared about her own”

Azriel clenched his jaw “You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Don’t I?”

“No, you don’t” he gritted out.

A second later, he was out the door.

The second step in his plan to fix things was to find her and talk. That would’ve been easier if he hadn’t just learnt what he did. He knew very well that Amren had her moments, but this was rich coming from her. It was just now occurring to him that he hadn't seen her at all in weeks.

Pathetic.

His shadows were agitated as well, squirming around him angrily, already well ahead of him on his way to his girl’s room. He heard her squeak as they swam into her chamber under the door.

Trying to reign them in was useless, at this point.

A heartbeat later, she opened her door and peeked around the corridor looking for him. A nervous smile graced her face when their eyes met.

“I’m sorry about them, angel. I hope they didn’t scare you?” he asked softly as he walked in her direction. Somehow, half the anger that was consuming him just a second earlier vanished from his body at the sight of her alone.

“They kind of did, but it’s okay.” she giggled as she stepped from one foot to the other “It’s cold here. Do you want to come inside?”

He lifted an eyebrow as he looked at her: she was only wearing a shirt (that he recognized from his own closet) and a pair of long socks. No wonder she was cold. But she just smiled sheepishly and opened the door wider for him to come in.

“I wanted to talk” she freezed, her back still to him as he shut the door behind his back.

“Oh- okay. I mean-”

“I heard what happened with Amren”

“Oh” she turned around to face him now. Eyes wide and cheeks flushed. A beat of silence followed, and it was like he could see her raise her hackles. She couldn’t conceal it, not from him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong” she only pursed her lips and sat on her bed, starting to fidget with her fingers.

“I kind of did, though. You can’t stand there and tell me it wasn’t selfish of me to think I can just-”

“Yes, I can” he stated calmly “It wasn’t selfish of you. You didn’t do anything wrong”

She groaned and looked up at him “You’re just saying that, Azriel! You weren’t there, you didn’t see how they looked at each other”

“Who?”

“Everyone!”

He frowned a bit as he crouched down next to her and put his hand on her knee. “No one blames you for anything, sweetheart. No one, you hear me? Nobody thinks you’re selfish or egoistic or anything of the sort”

“Right. They just pity me” his frown deepened at that.

“What are you talking about?” He felt like he was pulling at strings here. He felt something in his chest tighten when he noticed how red and watery her eyes were getting. This would be her breaking point, he realized then, and he felt a bit of self-loathing slice at his chest. He’d never mean to make her break down, but Gods- she can’t possibly think it okay to keep overwhelming herself and bottling everything up, right? There is not a universe in which he would bear witness to that, and not step in.

“Everyone can see it, all the time!” She flung herself back on the bed and laid there, staring at the ceiling while she talked “I’m a mess and I’ve been a mess and I don’t know what to do” Her last words were watery as she obviously tried not to cry.

He walked to her slowly and laid down next to her. “I know things have been hard, angel. But you’re not alone, I’m right here, alright?”

She hiccuped “I just- I feel so much of this …guilt, you know? For- for leaving, I think that’s were it started and now it’s like no matter what I do, it comes back for me”

“I know”

“I want it to be over, but this vision of them coming here keeps hanging over me like- like-”

“Deep breaths, angel, that’s it” he coaxed her through it gently “Like what?”

“Like a death sentence”

He felt his heart break in his chest. It was then that he made the decision that he’d been putting back for years, for fear she wouldn’t be happy with him. If he ever got his hands on those people, he wouldn’t hold back. Not one bit.

His trail of thought was interrupted by the sound of her turning around and curling into his side. She pressed her whole body against his, hiding her head in his shoulder. His wing instinctively curled around her as she released a shaky breath.

This is where he was, and where he would stay present. He wrapped his body around her and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I’m right here, sweetheart”

He would stay here, for as long as she needed him to. Until there was not a single worry plaguing her mind. And then some.

Time passed quickly after that night, and she spent her days on work and spending time with Azriel, like it used to be. Although it did feel like calm before the storm - again. Maybe that’s just what life would look like for her in the near future.

She hoped not. Azriel was there more than he had for those past few weeks; it seemed that whatever trouble that group had been causing had been managed at least a bit.

Tonight, he promised to take her to the theatre for an opera premiere - it has been a long time since they were able to go out and fully relax. Spring was finally coming into Velaris in full bloom, and they both deserved to come back to life too, just like the world did. And so, during one of their flights over the city, Azriel came up with the idea of doing something special, once a week from then on. She had initially wanted them both to attend a painting class together, but they ended up laughing and deciding that wouldn’t really end well for the canvases. And so it landed on the theatre, for the first week's excursion, which she hadn’t visited for months.

She hummed a tune to herself as she packed things up in the shop and made sure everything was in place. The late sunset golden light bled onto the streets as she walked out and started locking the doors.

She was excited to finally have a good night, giddy even. And it definitely could’ve been that, if it weren’t for the rough hand that suddenly pressed tightly against her mouth. If it weren’t for the strange voice, pressed too close to her ear telling her to stay quiet.

And it certainly would’ve been a good night, if it weren’t for the needle that pressed into her arm, and the unending darkness that consumed her afterwards.

taglist: @greenmandm @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @dark-night-sky-99 @ly--canthrope @azrielssgirl @topaz125 @azrielsmate3 @i-am-infinite @stressed-reader @blonde-bansheee @k-homosapien @azysmate @brekkershadowsinger

[alexanderlightweight]

Hey! I love your stuff so much!

I am here to humbly request a possible additional chapter to ‘To Find, To Yield’ please 🩷

thank you so much! so this is sfw since it wasn't mentioned, just to be safe though sex is talked about. the first part here

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

to find, to yield

Alec wants whatever Magnus wants.

He knows it in the way he knew that he could wholeheartedly agree to every oath Magnus asked of him.

Magnus could fuck him here, in front of the Clave delegates and numerous of his subjects and Alec would agree.

Magnus could slit his throat, bleed Alec to the brink of death for a ritual and Alec would bare his neck for the blow.

That last thought is barely a murmur in his mind and Alec hisses, blood stinging in his veins as if the mere whisper of such a thought is a betrayal.

“I’m going to have to keep careful watch over you, lovely.” Magnus murmurs against his lips. Alec’s king, his reason for living and perhaps more, because those weren’t normal vows. “You’ve got no self-preservation instincts. Have you?”

Normally, yes.

Alec has amazing instincts.

However for Magnus, Alec feels all of that stripped away, leaving him to rely on Magnus’ guidance.

Alec tries to explain, but words fail him because Magnus keeps kissing him.  It’s impossible to think clearly when Magnus is kissing him. It’s even more impossible to try to think every time Magnus pulls away to let Alec catch his breath; when all he can think of is how much he wants Magnus to kiss him again.

—-

The hardest part, Magnus thinks to himself, is to stop kissing Alexander. He manages. Barely. Still, Alexander’s slack mouth calls to him and the way his eyes follow Magnus’ own mouth hungrily. 

Alexander listens though.

He doesn’t verbally beg, even if he pouts and obeys Magnus silently, following him hand in hand as Magnus returns to his throne.

Alexander kneels without being told, so pretty on his knees as offers his submission before the masses.

Magnus can feel the discontent of the crowd, not at the submission but at the blatant intimacy of it, for Magnus hand is gentle on Alexander’s head.  

It would be better if Magnus fucked him.

Easier for the Clave and everyone else to play that off.

However this? Alexander simply kneeling for Magnus; staying on his knees and letting himself be pet — accepting every touch as if it’s a gift from the angels..

They won’t be so lenient with something like that, not that they’ll have any choice in the matter. 

Besides, Magnus does have some understanding of  limits. He’s not going to accidentally tie every new vow to sex magic, just because he can’t handle waiting a few hours. 

Magnus always  fully intended on having Alexander Gideon Trueblood wait in attendance during Magnus' court before making him show Magnus the Institute.

That it will happen in a more intimate fashion doesn’t change his plans.

Magnus will simply fuck Alexander in his Insitute.

In front of Alexander’s shadowhunters, to show exactly who their Commander belongs to. 

In every way possible.

Let the Clave have a full report of it, if they dare. There’s nothing they, or anyone can do but Magnus would just love for one to dare and try his patience.

Alexander’s hair is soft beneath his touch.  Even as the various alphas reswear their allegiance — the smart ones avoiding looking at Alexander — he notes to add to Alexander’s hair care.

It’s something a bit more important than actually paying attention to the renewal of vows.  The magic ensures the bonds are woven as tightly as necessary and death comes to those who betray.

Pondering Alexander’s care and well-being is more important, when Magnus already knows who he’ll need to cull.

[numberonesnarkfan]

thinkin about... Doey.. Ok here's some more autism

a while ago to start practicing writing dialogue for him, I went through all his dialogue and tried to identify which 'self' was speaking at any given time and what I found was pretty interesting.

except in extreme distress, none of the boys ever seem to talk fully individually, it's more like a spectrum between all three where Doey always leans toward one of his three 'parts'.

Kevin's voice is actually softer than the other two's. Unless he's really angry he generally speaks in a low murmur that sounds very practiced and controlled.

He also is a lot less angry than it seems the fandom thinks - I think because they take the word of the Evil Scientist's dehumanising monologue about him as gospel. (It's not necessarily, and is also talking about him in the PAST, from over TEN YEARS AGO)

Doey also really really seems to have parallels to the Freudian Trinity of Mind. (Matthew = Ego Kevin = Superego Jack = Id) if that's intentional, which I hope it is, that's pretty cool since it sort of brings the theming of chapter 4 back around to being about the brain.

Kevin is of course the most immediately interesting of the three since the most attention is drawn toward him but the other two have interesting characterisation as well.

Matthew is tired, he's been resigned to his fate all his life and took it on the chin with a weary smile even when the Things Just Never Stopped Keep Happening. As the caretaker, he sees himself as responsible for regulating not only his own emotions but everyone else's as well. It took a lot to crack him and cause him to become part of Doey's implosion.

Jack seems to be perpetually in a kind of state of shock, or maybe stunted development. Listening to the dialogue, it seems like he can't help but giggle and interject at strange moments, usually with a smile on his voice. His whimsical cartoon persona isn't just for display, it's how his psyche protects him. After a sudden, overwhelming major traumatic incident that completely changed his life, his unconscious mind needed a way to keep itself alive, and learned, 'well, the world can't be painful and scary if I perceive it as silly and fun!' ...Until, of course, pain of either emotional or physical kind shocks him out of it and causes him to shutdown or meltdown.

When Doey lost Safe Haven, that wasn't any of their first time losing their home. Not even their second time. Or third, if you count being taken from your body as losing a home.

I think Doey is both good and bad as system rep. The bad comes from the fact that we see him from an "outsider who is the victim of a violent attack by a mentally ill person" perspective, which is always going to be iffy no matter what.

The good comes from the fact that none of his parts are presented as malicious or even selfish, all of them want to protect, care for or improve the lives of the people they care about, and generally they work together in harmony. Doey is what a system is not just because he has multiple identities, but also because all of those parts work together in order to survive after a majorly traumatic childhood.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

*shyly stumbles into asks, blushing and giggling* uhmmm heres a silly one...bill with a girlfriend who really likes boba fett (we are talking original trilogy. bill is a prequels anti. i will explode on that hill.) & wants to...get freaky with him..while he's wearing the helmet / cosplay...? ‪‪❤︎‬ thats niche !! if its too silly, disregard ‪. ❤︎‬ hehe.. xoxo - @battingmyeyelashes

(Lol he gonna go full nerd on you, gatekeeping and all

Title" STAR—WHORES"

(Epilogue bill dickey x reader smut, role-playing, star wars references, dorky shit)

You’re sitting cross-legged on the musty futon in Bill’s basement, surrounded by half-unboxed McFarlane Toys and the faint stench of Mountain Dew Baja Blast that permanently haunts the carpet. You’re in your Boba Fett shirt (1983 print, thank you), and Bill’s ranting about The Mandalorian again—he’s one bong rip away from a coronary over "lore desecration."

“It’s not even him! It’s his f**king kid cousin with Disney-fied trauma and a plush toy sidekick!”

You smirk, half-listening, until you spot the Fett helmet and gloves on the shelf behind him. It's dented in that perfect, screen-accurate way. You slink off the futon and grab it.

“What the hell are you—don’t smudge the visor, I swear to God, do not—!”

You cut him off by placing it on his head.

"Just leave it on," you purr.

Bill pauses. Under the helmet, he’s quiet—too quiet. You’d think you asked him to LARP as Jar Jar Binks. But then… then that sick little glint creeps into his body language. That self-important, smug power trip kind of silence. He adjusts the helmet. Stands up straighter.

“You want Fett?” he grunts, voice muffled through the helmet. “You got him. But only the OT version. None of that prequel Mandalore crap.”

You nod, climbing back onto the futon. He’s still in cargo shorts and a torn Flash Gordon tee under the helmet, which is somehow even funnier. But hey—it's Bill. He’s not gonna not leave the socks on.

You reach for him and he jerks back.

"Hold on. You're not worthy of touching Fett yet. Recite the bounty hunter lineup from Empire. In order."

“Are you—”

“IN ORDER.”

You groan. But, okay. Fine. “Bossk, IG-88, Zuckuss, Dengar—"

"WRONG!" he barks. "Zuckuss came after 4-LOM. Jesus. Do you even care about this franchise?"

The helmet fogs slightly as he inhales. Then, dead serious:

"You better start showing some f**king respect if you want to ride Slave I tonight.”

You roll your eyes, legs already draped over the armrest as he paces in the Fett helmet like some gremlin bounty hunter with a superiority complex. Which, well. He is.

“You done?” you ask, cocking a brow. “Or do I need to do a f**king thesis on the Sarlacc pit to touch your dick?”

He stops mid-step. Helmet tilts.

“…You think Fett just lets people touch him?”

“Oh my God, Bill—”

He cuts you off with a gloved finger to your lips, voice muffled and hoarse through the helmet.

“Quiet. You’re not talking to Bill right now. You’re addressing the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter. And you?” He walks toward you slowly, kneepads squeaking. “You’re my little… carbonite trophy. My precious… filthy… rebel scum.”

You snort, but it turns into a moan when he grabs your thighs—rough, sudden, like he's trying to prove something. He doesn’t kiss you, because kissing is too intimate for Fett (or because the helmet’s in the way), but his mouth is definitely open under there. Breathing heavy. Nerd-lust mode fully activated.

“You’re gonna sit there,” he growls, dragging your hips forward until you’re perched on the edge of the futon, “and I’m gonna show you what a real original trilogy character can do.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “You gonna choke me with the Wookiee braids?”

“You wish I’d bring the braids out. You haven't earned that yet.”

He hikes your shirt up with way too much flair, like he’s revealing an action figure variant. There’s a hesitation, though. He’s hard—you can see it through those pathetic cargo shorts—but he’s still Bill, which means even when he’s seconds from railing you, he’s got a goddamn opinion.

“You know, Fett wouldn’t actually do this. He’s too professional. Too controlled.”

“Bill,” you pant, frustrated and turned on in equal measure. “I swear to God, if you break character now, I will peg you in that helmet.”

A beat.

“…Yes, ma’am.”

He gets to his knees like it’s a command from Jabba himself. Helmet bobbing between your thighs now, breath hot through the dented visor.

And somehow, under all that smug geek fury, that helmet becomes the hottest thing in the room.

You're still panting, legs twitching, body wrecked in a way that should be embarrassing, but then again—Bill Dickey just f**ked you in a Boba Fett helmet and had the audacity to salute when he came. You're already bracing for the post-nut review.

And right on cue—

“That,” he says, voice muffled, “was better than anything in Attack of the Clones.”

He pulls out with a wet sound and flops beside you like a dead Jawa, the mattress groaning in protest. The helmet’s still on, tilted back now, his sweaty hair plastered to his neck like a guy who forgot hygiene after middle school.

“Better than Clones? That’s your f**king metric?”

He turns his head (helmet squeaking against his pillow) to glare at you like you just defended midichlorians.

“I sweat for that performance. I bled Star Wars lore into that nut. And you’re asking about metrics?”

You roll over, eyeing his now-soft, vaguely sad dick resting against a gut that somehow jiggles with both superiority and shame. You’re about to say something, but he raises a hand—gloved, still—like a traffic cop.

“No. Listen. I just put in more character work than anyone in the sequels. And you—” he jabs a finger at your chest “—you came harder than an EU author writing Mara Jade fanfic in the ‘90s.”

You blink. “Did you just call my orgasm Expanded Universe canon?”

“I called it peak lore integration. And frankly, you’re lucky I didn’t bring the jetpack. That’s a level two fetish unlock and you haven’t earned it.”

You groan, dragging a pillow over your face. “I cannot believe I let you raw me in that f**king helmet.”

“Oh, you didn’t let Bill Dickey raw you,” he says smugly. “You got drilled by Boba Fett as he was meant to be portrayed. Pre-Disney. Pre-bulls**t. Pure uncut LFL masculinity.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, softly:

“…I love you, but you are the most insufferable man I’ve ever f**ked.”

He grins under the helmet, glowing like a Funko Pop finally taken out of the box.

“And yet. You still came.”

You throw a sock at his face. He lets it hit him like it's a blaster bolt to the chest.

“Bill. Take the helmet off.”

He pauses.

“…You sure you’re ready to see the man behind the Fett?”

“Take it the f**k off, Bill.”

He peels it back with the drama of a Sith Lord revealing himself. Sweat-slick hair, flushed cheeks, glasses askew. That s**t-eating smirk.

And somehow, in spite of everything—the bad breath, the elitism, the deep-seated rage at Rian Johnson—you still want to kiss him.

You sigh, straddling his lap again. “Alright. But this time, I get the lightsaber.”

He looks terrified and horny all at once.

“Only if it’s a legacy replica. I swear to God, if you bring in Force FX, I’ll—”

You cut him off with a kiss, already reaching under the bed for the box labeled “DO NOT TOUCH—SABERS.”

---

[floralcavern]

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/critics-of-the-helluvaverse/post/782804402529583104/tw-for-assault-i-think?source=share

I just found all this out, and I am beyond furious. Everything makes disgusting sense now. The way Vivziepop refuses to acknowledge the abuse dynamic in Stolitz, the way she rushes to defend Valentino a literal rapist and how she brushed off a fan who related to Blitzø’s trauma? That’s not ignorance. That’s not bad writing. That’s someone who’s into this kind of shit. Stop sugarcoating it

She was drawing sexualized art of her underaged OC Addison back in her Zoophobia days, who was paired with an adult. Let that sink in. And the absolute worst—she deliberately brought someone with a known rape fetish to storyboard for a sexual assault survivor like Angel Dust. The playlists are non-con. This isn’t “dark storytelling.” It’s fetish fuel and it’s bleeding into the show, and people are still defending her? This should absolutely be part of the conversation when talking about Stolitz and "ValAngel"

Why the fuck isn’t this talked about more? Why is this not common knowledge? Survivors have spoken out saying Angel Dust’s portrayal makes them uncomfortable—and what does Viv do? Nothing. No accountability. No listening. Just more bullshit dressed up as “representation”

I’m sick of seeing her get away with this under the guise of “queer art” or “edgy humor.” Vivziepop has a massive platform, and she’s using it to normalize abuse dynamics and sexual violence through stylized animation—and her fans are still defending her like she’s some misunderstood creator

This should be everywhere. These screenshots, these receipts, this truth—it all needs to be shoved into the spotlight. She loves arguing with fans online? Great. Throw this in her face. Expose it. Stop letting her hide behind a fandom that worships the "aesthetic" and ignores the rot underneath

I am done. Done watching survivors be dismissed. Done watching people call this “deep” or “meaningful” when it’s just thinly veiled fetish content. Vivziepop is not a victim of “cancel culture.” She is a woman who’s shown us who she really is and it’s past time we believe her and act accordingly

link:

I’m guessing you checked the videos in those photos? For context for those not know what they meant by ‘dark storytelling’, I asked for context for those videos. If they were noncon videos, or dark short films. I’m guessing anon actually looked into it. And.. ya. It definitely explains a lot. People have been speculating that she has a rape fetish for a LONG time now. The way she actively follows people who make ValAngel art, the way she defends Raph to the grave. If you want more context as to how Viv clearly doesn’t give a shit about SA, look at these posts

If I had the equipment, I would make a full length YouTube video going into this. This is disgusting. Share this around.

[sugardollcurse]

Could you write something where is reader has OCD? preferably with john?<3

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ john lennon x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ obsessive-compulsive disorder, intrusive thoughts, compulsions, self-stigma

꒰ summary ꒱ john doesn’t understand why you do the things you do... until he finally listens

꒰ note ꒱ angel this one means a lot ♡ i tried to approach it with the care it deserves, so i really hope it resonates with you ☁︎︎ also got my sister to help out with this cuz she's actually got ocd too :b

The first time John says something, it’s not cruel.

It’s just careless.

You’re in a dressing room in Manchester, one of those tiny white-tiled hellholes that stinks of hair oil and nerves. John’s flopped back on the couch like he owns the place, legs open, one foot on the table. You’ve just gone to the sink again... for what must be the third time in ten minutes, and are scrubbing your hands so hard it squeaks.

He watches you over his sunglasses.

“You worried they’ll fall off, or what?”

You blink. “What?”

“Your hands,” he says, gesturing vaguely with a half-smoked cig. “Keep washin’ ’em like a surgeon, don’t you?”

You glance down at your fingers. Red, cracked at the knuckles. You can still feel the ghost of the doorknob you touched five minutes ago. Still don’t know if it was clean enough.

You dry them with a paper towel. Too rough. Start again with another.

John makes a little laugh. Not mean. But it lands hard anyway. “Careful, you’ll wear ’em down to the bone.”

Paul looks up. “Leave off, John.”

“Just sayin’.” He shrugs. “They’re practically smokin’.”

You go back to the sink.

John stops talking after that. But you can feel him watching.

━━

It’s not new. Not really.

The need to check, to repeat, to tap the side of a lamp three times or else something terrible will happen. It’s been with you as long as you can remember. Most people didn’t notice, or at least, they didn’t say anything. You were quiet, polite, efficient. Easy to dismiss. Easy to smile at, and then ignore.

But with John, it’s different.

He’s not like anyone you’ve met. Not kind, exactly, not at first. Not gentle. But he sees things. Picks up on shit no one else does. And that’s the problem.

Because once he notices a thing, he doesn’t let it go.

━━

You’re on the tour bus, three nights later.

He’s sitting across from you, knees knocking the table. You’ve got a book open, but haven’t turned the page in ten minutes. You’re watching the trees go by, counting them in fours. Always fours. Has to be fours. Otherwise-

“You do that all the time?”

You flinch. Look up. “What?”

“Countin’,” John says, nodding at your fingers. You hadn’t realized you were tapping... index, middle, ring, pinky. Four beats, soft on the page edge. Over and over.

You pull your hand away.

He leans in, narrowing his eyes. “Y’think you’ll die if you don’t, or somethin’?”

You say nothing.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning to himself. “Bloody weird, that.”

“Okay, John,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t grin at that.

━━

You try to hide it better.

But the stress is getting worse.

Every room, every handshake, every doorknob, contaminated. You start to recheck your bag six, seven, eight times a day. You wipe your shoes. You refuse to touch shared water bottles. George asks once, politely, if you want a bite of something. You tell him no, even though your stomach’s been empty since childhood.

And John, John just watches.

Like he’s trying to figure it out. Like you’re a puzzle someone forgot to give him the box lid for.

Then one night, it’s too much.

It’s late. You’ve been left behind at the hotel while the boys go to a press dinner “Didn’t think you’d want to come,” Paul had said gently, and you knew he meant well, and you’re standing in the bathroom again, raw-skinned, washing, washing, washing. You’ve got your palm under scalding water.

Someone knocks.

You freeze.

“Oi,” comes John’s voice, muffled through the door. “You in there?”

You don’t answer.

“Look, I know you are. You left your room open. That’s dangerous, you know. Might get germs.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Go away,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

Instead: “You alright?”

You blink. Water still running. The question is too soft. It throws you off.

“No,” you admit, barely audible.

There’s a pause.

Then the knob turns, and he opens the door.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees you.

You’re still by the sink. Water running red from your chapped hands. Shirt sleeves wet to the elbow.

He steps in. Shuts the door behind him. Looks around like he expects to see blood.

“You been cryin’?”

You shake your head, then nod.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Alright. Right.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Tries to put one in his pocket, fails, runs it through his hair instead.

“You… do this a lot?”

“Only when I don’t want to die,” you say.

The silence sharpens.

He looks at you for a long time.

Then: “It’s really like that?”

You nod. “I don’t want it to be. But it is.”

“Thought you were just…” He trails off. Waves a hand vaguely. “You know. Bit fidgety.”

“John.”

“What?”

You meet his eyes. “It’s not funny.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t smile.

“I didn’t think it was,” he says, quietly.

You stare at him.

“You laughed,” you remind him.

He breathes in. Doesn’t look away.

“Didn’t get it,” he says. “Still don’t. Not really. But I can see it’s not… you’re not takin’ the piss. It’s real.”

You don’t say anything. Just stare at the sink.

He scratches his jaw. “C’mon. Sit down.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he says, then sighs. “Unless you’re into that, which, hey, bit of fun, but maybe not now.”

You snort despite yourself.

“There’s the smile,” he says, pulling you gently away from the basin.

You collapse onto the closed toilet lid. Arms around your knees.

John crouches in front of you. Not touching. Just looking.

“D’you want me to leave?”

You shake your head.

“Alright,” he says. “Then I’ll stay.”

And he does.

For nearly an hour.

━━

You’re in Paris when he asks.

“What’s it like? In your head.”

You pause. You’re sitting on the floor in the hotel hallway, late at night. Everyone else asleep. John’s got a drink in his hand, but it’s mostly melted ice now.

You consider.

“Loud,” you say finally.

“Loud how?”

“Like… there’s always a siren. And if I don’t do exactly what the siren wants, something will explode. I don’t know what. Just... everything.”

He watches you.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ nightmare.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Can’t just ignore it?”

“Would you ignore a bomb ticking?”

He huffs. “Suppose not.”

You look over at him.

“Most people think it’s weird,” you say.

“I think it’s mad,” he says, “but not in a bad way. More like, fuck, if I had a brain like yours, I’d have jumped in the Thames by now. You’re tough.”

You blink.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it.”

You smile. Just a little.

He sips his watered-down drink. Then glances at you.

“You’re not mad at me? For bein’ a right prick about it at first?”

You tilt your head. “You were. But you’re not now.”

“Yeah. Guess I needed a slap.”

You grin. “Next time, I won’t hold back.”

He laughs, really laughs, and leans his head against your shoulder.

You sit like that until the sun rises.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[xo-myloves]

can you please write a Izzy fic where reader has a hobby for writing and one day while she's out with her friends or whatever, he finds a stack of poems and letters written just for him<3 thank you , luv u

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

Izzy wasn’t snooping. He’d tell himself that more than once.

You were out with friends, and he’d stopped by your place to crash—just like always. The window was open, breeze barely lifting the sheer curtain. His boots were off, jacket tossed across the chair. Everything smelled like you—ink, old paperbacks, a little bit of vanilla and something warmer underneath.

He was looking for a pen when he found them. Not hidden, not obvious. Just… stacked, in a little bundle tied together with a piece of red thread, tucked inside a half-closed notebook.

Letters.

Poems.

Some folded into quarters, worn at the creases like they’d been opened a thousand times. Others clean and smooth, untouched. A few had his name scribbled right on top. Izzy.

At first he just stared at them, fingers hovering like they might burn him if he touched them.

He untied the thread slowly. Like reverence.

The first one was dated months ago.

“I saw you tuning your guitar today, and you were biting your lip like you were angry at the strings. I wanted to tell you they didn’t do anything wrong. But I didn’t. You’d laugh, probably. Or maybe you’d ask me what the hell I meant, and I’d have to explain the whole dumb metaphor.

I think you look like cigarette smoke in sunlight—something temporary that feels permanent.”

Izzy sat back on the edge of the bed, heart doing something strange in his chest. Like skipping, like catching on something too big to swallow.

He read the next one.

And the next.

“You don’t know it, but when you leave your boots by the door and throw your jacket on the chair, it makes me feel like I live with you. Even if it’s just for the night. Even if you’re gone by morning.”

He swallowed hard. A tightness curled in his throat like smoke.

He hadn’t known. He’d had no idea.

All those nights you listened to him rant about studio bullshit. The mornings you made coffee and let him steal your last cigarette. The way you always wrote when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

You’d been bleeding all over the page for him, and he never saw it.

Not until now.

When you came home, he was still sitting there, the thread wrapped back around the pages—but loose, like he didn’t want to trap them anymore.

You stopped in the doorway, froze when you saw his face. Quiet. Serious.

You opened your mouth, panic starting to creep in. “Izzy—”

He stood.

Crossed the room in three steps.

Pressed his forehead to yours like he needed to feel your thoughts firsthand.

“You should’ve told me,” he murmured.

“I didn’t know how.”

He smiled then—small, crooked. That rare, real one.

“Then write it down. I’ll read every fuckin’ word.”

And he meant it.

[splish--splash--avertedeyes]

hi guys i am Thinking Thoughts

Vex Scar going into rut. He'd been a bit clinger before, but neither he nor Grian had really thought much of it. He gets clingy sometimes, it's not anything unusual.

He and Grian have been dating for quite a few months now, and have definitely fucked in that time. But Scar's yet to go into a rut since they got together. Grian's never really seen him during one - Scar always hides out in his base as he waits for it to pass. But now he's got Grian, who is tucked right into his side.

They're cuddling in bed when it first hits Scar. He pulls Grian closer, face buried in his hair. He tries to ignore the urges for as long as he can, but that ends up not being very long. Soon, before he knows it, he's rocking his hips against Grian's thigh, desperate for any bit of friction he can get.

At first, Grian doesn't think anything is really different from normal. Scar's horny, that's common for him. he's perfectly happy to let Scar fuck him, and starts working on taking the lead as he normally does. He moves his thigh out of the way, intent on teasing Scar (one of his favorite things to do) but Scar growls at him, and oh. That's…new. As is the way he pulls him closer, his thigh back between Scar's legs as he goes back to rutting against him. He pulls Grian close and doesn't let him leave his grasp.

He's so desperate for Grian that he doesn't even bother to take their clothes off at first. He comes like that, grinding against Grian's thigh before shuddering to a halt, arms still wrapped around Grian and holding him close.

Grian tries to move slightly, to pull back and get a proper look at Scar, but Scar growls and pulls him closer, head moving so he can look down at Grian with a pout, and oh. His eyes are glowing white and his ears look...pointier. Curious, he leans over and runs his finger along the edge of one of them.

Scar reacts instantly, a low thrumbling noise coming from his throat as he leans further into Grian. Grian chuckles. "Hey, buddy," he says. "You feeling alright?"

"Need you," Scar mumbles, his hips going back to their rocking. Alarmingly, Grian doesn't think he went soft for even a second. He tries to pull away again, just to look properly at him, but Scar quickly grabs his arm.

He bares his teeth, likely as some kind of threat, and they also look a lot sharper than normal. Grian swallows. He wants those teeth everywhere.

"You'll have me," he tries to soothe. "I'm not going anywhere, I just - at least let me get your clothes off?" Scar watches him closely. Scowls, but lets him mostly out of his grip, enough that Grian can start working on pulling Scar's clothes off. It isn't long before Scar's clawing at Grian's own clothes, and Grian yelps as he tears right through them with his sharper-than-normal claws.

He opens his mouth to complain, but he doesn't get the chance to before Scar's kissing him. He nicks his lip with his teeth and immediately licks it to soothe the sting.

This is so different from how things normally go with them. Usually Grian's in charge, Scar eagerly following his every order. But as Scar pushes him down and hungrily stares at him, Grian can't find it within him to mind too much.

His cock drags against Grian's cunt, a heavy weight. A quick glance down shows that even that's increased in size, and Grian gulps. He grinds against his folds a few times, and Grian quickly speaks up.

"Hey, hey, wait," he says, voice a little panicked. Scar growls, but luckily listens, hips stuttering to a stop. Grian lets out a breath. "You're gonna split me in two if you go in without prep. Just - give me a moment."

Scar sits back and waits as Grian grabs the lube and quickly stretches himself. He can tell Scar is getting impatient, and honestly he is too - he needs that dick in him - so he goes a little quicker than he probably should. Oh well, he's sure it'll be fine.

He settles back into place, and even reaches down to help guide Scar's cock into him. If it's just an excuse to touch him, well...can you blame him? Scar's hot like this. He soon realizes his hand doesn't even fit all the way around him anymore and he starts to question if he really did stretch himself enough.

He doesn't have time to second guess himself as Scar starts to press into his cunt. Even from the start, it's so much. He definitely didn't stretch himself enough, but he relishes in the feeling, in the burn as every inch is pressed inside. Scar's claws leave angry red lines in his hips, and he relishes in the sting of those, too.

When Scar bottoms out, finally, he stays there for a bit, much to Grian's relief. He needs a moment to get used to the way Scar stretches his cunt so much more than normal.

While he does that, Scar leans over and kisses him for a moment before pulling back and mouthing at his neck. Grian moans as he finally bites down and he can feel those teeth against his skin. He shifts against Scar who growls, the sound reverberating through him, and then he moves his hips back before thrusting back in.

Each thrust rocks through him, so deep in him as he's left unable to do anything but take the overwhelming pleasure. Scar holds onto his hips, frantically thrusting into him, desperate to come and fill him up. Grian has a bit of drool leaking out of his mouth, head thrown back, hands fisting the sheets.

He startles when he feels it. The base of Scar's cock is getting bigger and catching against his hole. He gasps as it tries to squeeze its way in, and Grian clenches against the cock in him, so very close to coming. He needs the knot. Needs his cunt ruined by Scar, stretched around the knot.

He grinds back against Scar, and comes immediately when the knot pops in. Scar growls, grinds against him a few times, and then he's coming too. Fills Grian up with his cum, painting his insides white. Grian's cunt greedily sucks it in, still working around his cock. When Scar's done, he collapses against his side and pulls him close.

His knot is still trapped in Grian, and he whines a little as it jostles inside of him. But he's content to curl into Scar's side. He's sure they're not done, but maybe for now he can take a nap, until Scar's knot goes down...