#it felt like i kept forcing myself to go about it a certain way

[ergowhispers]

so it actually turns out it's time to poke back into bg3.

[autisticlee]

I know it's wrong and bad to say this, but sometimes I really hate when my friends have other friends. (specifically when I can't also be friends with those friends) because every time I want someone to hang out with or talk to, the only couple friends I have are always busy with their other friends. when I want to plan something with them, they will always choose the other friends over me. they will cancel plans *with* me as soon as other friends ask, but won't cancel plans *for* me when i ask. they will use up their social spoons on other friends and leave none for me. always putting things with me off or simply not responding at all.

i'm always told by random people when I say I want mkre friends "it's better to have a couple great friends than many aquantances" or something like that. but honestly it sucks because you can't rely on 1-2 people to always be there for you every day or every week when you want or need someone. if you keep asking, you're seen as annoying and clingy and they will ignore you eventually (or worse)

it's annoying that they get to fill their social needs at all times, but I never get to. because i'm never the one that gets to go first in the social queue. and when it gets to my turn, it refreshes and i'm pushed to the back again.

the only solution I can ever think of is being friends with my friends' friends too....but for some reason!!!!!! that never works out!!!! (if my friends will even share their friends with me to begin with)

[drdemonprince]

I was never really certain about my transition in the way that most gatekeeping hormone prescribers and curious members of the public demand that a trans person be. I didn’t “always know” that I was not cisgender. I haven’t “always known” anything about myself. Very few truths about me have always remained true, my existence is too interpersonal, contextual, and ever-evolving for all of that. (So is most everyone else’s, I think). I don’t think that the fact I’d eventually choose to exercise my body autonomy at age 30 by taking hormones is a decision I could have foreseen when I was a child. All that I knew about being transgender when I was a kid was a fact that most children intuitively know: gender assignment was a violation of my freedom, of everyone’s freedom in fact, and it was wrong. As an infant and then a child and teenager, people kept imposing labels on me; they kept forcing me and my body into prescribed gendered boxes, and while the specific labels and boxes never really felt like the right ones, the most disturbing part about it all was the forcing. No coerced identity would have ever felt right. Children can tell when secrets are being kept from them, and when adults are restricting their choices. They notice that they and the other children are being lined up boy-girl, boy-girl, without ever being told what a girl or a boy even is. They can see their parents frowning when they reach for the doll with the shimmery hair, or climb atop the neighbor kid on the playground. Kids know that they are forbidden from sitting with their legs spread wide or flicking their wrist, and their gender illegibility is shamed in them, long before they get any answers about what gender means or where it comes from or why it’s so important that they make themselves easy to understand.

Like the cloned children in Never Let Me Go who grow up being conditioned for a life of forced organ donation, children in a cissexist society grow up conditioned to fall within certain gendered boundary lines, and by the time they learn that the reason for this is almost completely arbitrary, they can’t imagine any alternative. Not until some of them hear about gender transition and find the prospect very compelling, for some reason. You can say that reason is because some of us are inherently trans, but there’s absolutely nothing in the way of brain science, genetics research, or even sociological data to back that up. Besides, the search for a biological “reason” that people are transgender or queer runs counter to the goal of queer liberation in the long run. Science only needs to explain the existence of transgender people (or queer people more broadly) if our existence is in some way aberrant or a problem. If queerness is accepted as a form of human diversity that simply exists, then there is no need to excuse it by claiming that it is never a choice. It can be a choice, if a person wants to make it, and hopefully it satisfies them, but maybe it won’t. Freedom to choose means freedom to forever be dissatisfied, to search endlessly for more, and yes, to capable of making a mistake. I would say that viewing myself as transgender was a choice. I decided to break away from the straight, female categories to which I had been assigned, and doing so allowed me to view the legal and societal power structures that had restricted me more clearly. It helped me better understand myself. But that does not mean the actual act of breaking away was always the truest reflection of who I am. The version of me that transitioned was a person on the run — and how a person behaves, thinks, and self-conceives when they are fleeing is not a great reflection of whom they might be if they were safe. If we all lived in a world free from mandatory gender assignment, and where our bodies were not mined for meaning about the kinds of sex we liked, the clothing we should wear, the personality qualities we have, the roles we should play in society, and the connections we are allowed to form with others, who knows who each of us might be. But none of us get to live in that world, or ever gets completely free from the frameworks of heterosexuality and the gender binary. These frameworks shape every legal institution we encounter, every school we attend, every item of clothing we put on, every substance we take into our bodies, every piece of paperwork that ever gets printed about us, and every look another person ever gives us. And so we make due with rewriting and recombining those frameworks as best we can. It should come as no surprise that those us who break away from the binary have to experiment and revise how we understand ourselves quite a bit — sometimes getting things “wrong,” sometimes searching forever for the semblance of something “right.” Sometimes reveling in the “wrongness” of all the available options is kind of the point.

I wrote about my detransition, retransition, and the eternal dissatisfaction that is probably the corest truth of my identity. It's free to read or have narrated to you on my Substack.

[byechristopher]

fuck'em all, but us.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST.

Author's note: Hello, little angels. I have been gone for months, but I've been wanting to write something for a while now. Excuse me for the hiatus. However, I still can not promise that I'll be consistent from now on – but i love you still. Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: HELLA LONG. This is almost 3.000 words, sweet Jesus. As usual, if you know me, I like writing about dark, angsty shit. Nothing too bad, but you know, mention of fights, blood, smoking, etc.

I caught Chris staring at me again, that same cold, unreadable expression on his face. He had a cigarette between his fingers, as usual. His eyes were like ice, and whenever they landed on me, I felt a chill run down my spine. He never says anything — just watches, arms crossed, jaw clenched, as if I’ve done something to offend him without even knowing it. I don’t understand what I did to make him look at me that way, like he’s barely holding back some hidden resentment. And yet, every time I catch him watching, I can’t help but wonder what he’s really thinking.

I’ve seen him with a few other people. He’s not exactly warm with them either, but there’s something different when he talks to them, a sort of casual ease. With me, it’s like he’s built up walls — high, thick ones, and I’m just standing outside, banging on the gates. And every now and then, I think I catch a glimpse of something behind them, something vulnerable and unexpected, but it’s gone before I can be sure.

Chris was my older brother's closest friend, and he has been ever since they were little kids. No one ever got as close to him as my brother did. Whereas when it came to me, he was rather cold; I never understood why.

My thoughts were roughly interrupted by my brother's hand, which took a strand of my hair and pulled on it to annoy me.

"Ow, you fucking asshole!"

"Hey, wake the fuck up. I said me and Chris are leaving." I rolled my eyes and looked at Chris one more time, seeing that he still had that same look on his face.

Deciding to ignore it one more time, "yeah, bye. God." I said and grabbed the remote to switch on the TV.

I didn’t want to watch anything in particular; I’d just rather avoid looking at my brother’s best friend once again.

"Where the hell are you?"

A notification popped up and before I read the sender's name, I already knew it was Fred. My ex.

Of course, I ignored it, but deep down, I knew he was losing it. Ever since we broke up, he’s been acting stranger and stranger — showing up at places he knows I’ll be, sending messages that alternate between apologies and accusations. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants me back or wants to make me regret ever knowing him. I kept telling myself he’d get over it eventually, that he just needed time. But lately, his behavior had me on edge, and I began wondering if he’d ever really let go.

I’d never go back to him; that’s something I’m certain of. He crossed too many lines, left too many scars I can’t forget. But now, it’s like he’s everywhere—lurking just out of sight, always one step behind me. I feel his presence even when he’s not there, a constant, heavy reminder that he’s still watching, still obsessing.

I’ve started checking over my shoulder more often, catching myself dreading the sound of my phone vibrating with yet another message from him. I tell myself it’s just paranoia, that he’s all talk and no real threat. But some small part of me can’t shake the fear that this time, he might actually be out of control.

And I was right to be cautious. Because he finally crossed the line I’d been hoping he’d stay behind. When I got home, my stomach twisted as I saw it; my car, with its tires slashed and a deep scratch running along the side. It was unmistakably his work; I’d ignored his messages, blocked his number, and now he was trying to force my attention.

My hands shook as I took in the damage, a mix of anger and dread flooding through me. How could he stoop this low? He knew that car was everything to me, the one thing I’d saved for and bought on my own. The memories of late nights spent driving to clear my head, the freedom it gave me — he’d tainted all of it in a single, desperate act. I wanted to scream, to call him and let him know just how furious I was. But I knew that’s exactly what he wanted.

He wanted a reaction, wanted me to feel trapped and afraid, wanted to pull me back into his twisted little game. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I took a deep breath, locked my jaw, and stared at my car.

"What.. the fuck is that?" My brother's voice echoed in my ears and I turned around to see that he was with Chris.

"Fred. Fucking Fred." I screamed, not able to contain my anger.

"That bastard.. I will fucking kill him." He said and got closer to the car to see the damage, "calm down" was what Chris said to him.

Chris looked shocked and angry, he walked towards me, "this motherfucker lives nearby?"

"Yeah… just a few blocks away." I sat down on the ground, pulling my legs to my chest and hugging them tightly. I looked up at Chris, my voice trembling, "that was my fucking car..." a tear slipped down my cheek, and in that moment, I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sadness.

Chris clenched his jaw, and I felt a rush of warmth as his hand reached down to cup my cheek. His touch was soft, gentle, and completely disarming. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had held me like that, with such tenderness. He looked down at me with a promising expression, his eyes filled with determination. “I’ll see what I can do about your car. I might have a friend who can fix it.”

His thumb brushed softly against my skin, and I felt a flutter in my stomach, a strange mix of comfort and something deeper. The way he touched me sent a shiver down my spine, pulling me out of my anger for just a moment. In such a chaotic moment, I couldn’t help but think it was nice seeing him like this for once. I stayed silent and leaned into his hand, seeking that warmth, desperate for a distraction from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.

I was rather quiet the following days – I didn't want to go out of the house much. Not because this asshole scared me with what he did, but because that car meant a lot to me. Me and my brother lived by ourselves, and that car was the only thing I could call my own. Fred would pay and I'd make sure of that.

I was alone in my room getting ready for work, trying to drown out the chaos of the previous days when I heard the front door slam shut. My heart raced with curiosity and unease. Just as I was about to head downstairs, my brother’s voice boomed through the house, cutting through the silence, “what the hell happened to you?”

I sprang to my feet, instinctively rushing toward the sound of the voices. As I reached the living room, I froze at the sight before me. Chris was leaning against the wall, blood dripping from a cut on his eyebrow and cheek, and staining his shirt. My brother stood in front of him, fists clenched, a mixture of concern and fury etched across his face.

“Chris, what the actual fuck!” my brother exclaimed, his voice a mix of anger and worry. Chris turned his gaze toward me, and in that moment, everything else faded. Despite the blood and bruises, there was a softness in his eyes that held me captive, a silent plea that made my heart race.

“I’m fine,” Chris replied, though his voice was strained. He shifted slightly, not even a single emotion of fear, or pain, nothing. If anything, he had a pleased expression on his face, I could almost make out a smile. My brother continued to glare at him, demanding answers, but Chris seemed unwilling to give them to him.

“What happened?” I asked, stepping closer, my heart pounding. Chris’s gaze flickered back to my brother, and for a brief moment, I felt a wave of unease wash over me. I could sense that whatever had happened involved more than just a simple altercation, and the tension in the air was thick with unspoken words.

"Nothing happened. I just shouldn't have gone to Mike's. There was another fight and I got involved." My brother seemed to know what he was talking about, because his whole body language changed, softened.

"I told you, asshole. You should never go to Mike's. This bar is a shithole." He went off to the kitchen, probably going to grab something to clean the blood.

I walked closer to Chris, my sweaty fingers digging into my leather bag. I reached out hesitantly, my fingers trembling as I brushed against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin contrasted by the coolness of the blood that trickled down from the cut above his eyebrow.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath, my heart racing. “Does it hurt a lot?” My fingertips lingered on his skin, tracing the line of the wound as if I could somehow erase the pain with my touch. His eyes locked onto mine, a storm of emotions swirling within them — vulnerability, frustration, and a glimmer of something deeper that sent shivers down my spine.

He winced slightly at my touch but didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into my hand, a subtle gesture that felt almost intimate in the tense air between us.

“Not much.” he said, his voice low and rough, but it was the way he looked at me that stole my breath. There was a rawness in his gaze, as if he was baring a part of himself that he’d kept hidden, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, my thumb brushing lightly over his jawline, searching his eyes for reassurance. The moment felt suspended in time, a fragile bubble where nothing else mattered but the two of us. His expression softened, and I could see the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the pain.

“I will be,” he replied, his gaze steady and unwavering, filled with a mixture of gratitude and something that felt like longing. It was as if, in that brief exchange, we shared an unspoken promise — a connection that transcended the chaos around us. My heart raced, and for the first time since the chaos began, I felt a sense of calm in the storm.

Having to go to work and leave him like this pained me, but I had to go, "I have to go to work.." I explained.

"Mhm. D'you want me to take you to work?" He said and I sighed.

"No. Of course not. Stay here, with my brother. I'll see you.. later." I nodded my head and said goodbye one last time before leaving.

The night air was cool against my skin as I walked home from work, each step feeling heavier than the last. The streetlights cast a faint glow on the pavement, illuminating the shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly in the darkness. My thoughts were consumed by what had happened — I couldn’t shake the image of him standing there, bloodied yet resilient, leaning into my touch.

My heart raced at the memory, but alongside it was a gnawing concern. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into? It was like him to end up in trouble, but I'd never actually see him like this.

As I approached my apartment, a sudden impulse gripped me. I didn’t want to go home and drown in my thoughts; I wanted to see Chris again. I needed to know he was okay, to check on him in a way that felt more personal than just a casual conversation. With each step toward his place, a mix of anxiety and anticipation bubbled within me.

I turned the corner, the familiar path leading me to his apartment building. The windows were dimly lit, casting a warm glow that made me feel a little lighter despite the weight of everything else. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was overstepping or if he’d even want to see me after everything that had happened. But the thought of him alone, nursing his wounds and possibly replaying the day in his mind, pushed me forward.

I climbed the stairs, my heart pounding louder with each step. When I reached his door, I raised my hand and knocked softly, the sound echoing in the silence of the hallway. What if he wasn’t ready to see me? But as I waited, I couldn’t help but hope that he’d open the door, that he’d let me in — not just to his apartment, but to whatever was going on in his life.

"What.. are you doing here?" He furrowed his eyebrows, a little band-aid covering the wound on his eyebrow now, a cigarette between his lips.

"Sorry, Chris.. I couldn't.. stop thinking about you. I mean.. what happened to you.. today." I was nervous, I couldn't quite understand why.

He cleared his throat and stepped aside to let me in, and of course, I wasted no time. I sat down on his couch and he sat down beside me. So many years of knowing him, and I've never actually been inside his house, so I took a quick look around, trying to take in everything I could.

"I'm fine. I told you." He insisted and sipped from his beer that was on the coffee table, his cigarette nearly done now.

"Your cheek is swollen, you didn't even bother putting some ice on it. Geez." I huffed and got up to go to the kitchen, opening the freezer and wrapping some ice cubes in a towel.

I walked back to him and sat closer to him, cupping his cheek and gently pressing the ice on his other cheek. Only then did I realise how close we were, I could feel his breath fanning over my lips, his dark blue eyes staring into mine.

"My fiend. Zack. He will help you with the car." He whispered and I whispered back, "thank you.. so much."

The sight of him so vulnerable, the blood still seeping from the cut and the way he tried to mask the pain, made something deep within me stir. I forgot about everything else — the fight, the worry, the uncertainty of where we stood. All I could focus on was him and the way he looked at me, those fierce eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and something more that made my pulse quicken.

I could see the way he held back a flinch, how he tried to remain stoic despite the pain. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, a flush of desire that surprised me. I wanted to kiss him, to close the distance between us and erase the hurt with something softer, something intimate.

As I leaned closer, his gaze flickered to mine, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

“Chris,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, as I hesitated just inches from his face. I could sense that he was just as caught up in the moment as I was, his eyes darkening with something that mirrored my own feelings.

Then, before I could overthink it, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips against his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both afraid of what this moment meant. But as I felt him respond, his hand gently cupping my neck, deepening the kiss, I knew I had crossed a line that I never wanted to return from.

The kiss was hungry, needy. I needed to catch my breath. As we pulled away for a breath, my heart raced, and I felt a rush of conflicting emotions, “this is so wrong..” I whispered, my forehead resting against his.

“I know,” Chris replied, his voice thick with desire. He searched my eyes, a mix of guilt and longing swirling between us, "I cant stop now.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” I breathed, feeling the warmth of his body so close. Yet I leaned in again, capturing his lips with mine once more.

He pulled back slightly, looking conflicted, “what if your brother finds out?”

“I don’t.. care right now,” I admitted, my hands threading through his hair as I kissed him again, the heat of the moment overwhelming any reservations I had, “I just want to be here with you.”

“I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured against my lips, his breath mingling with mine, “but I do.”

“Me too,” I confessed, pulling him closer, lost in the moment, “I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered, his eyes darkening with intensity, “don't think about anything else.”

With that, we dove back into the kiss, the world outside fading as we lost ourselves in each other.

As I left Chris's apartment that night, a rush of exhilaration filled me, and I realised that the unexpected had happened; my ex hadn’t reached out at all since the incident with the car. And for the first time in weeks, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

A few days later, while I was passing by my brother's room, I heard him talking on the phone. Curiosity piqued, I paused outside the door, trying to listen in.

“I can’t believe you did that, man,” my brother said, his tone a mix of disbelief and admiration, “how did you even find his place?”

“This bitch peed his pants when he saw me.” Chris replied, his voice low but amused, “it wasn't that hard, just had to ask around.”

Something shifted inside of me, realizing that Chris had taken matters into his own hands.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that, I was planning on destroying his car instead", my brother said.

“But I wanted to,” Chris replied firmly, and I could hear him chuckle at what my brother said next.

I stepped back, my heart racing. So, it was Chris who had put an end to my ex’s harassment. I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. I knew then that my feelings for Chris were deeper than I had allowed myself to acknowledge, and knowing he had my back made me feel safer than ever.

I found myself running back to his apartment again, right then and there, running up the stairs of his building as if someone was chasing me. I knocked on the door, loud enough for him to open it quickly, worry written in his eyes.

"What–"

And this time I didn't let him finish. With tears in my eyes, I pressed my lips against his and lost myself in his arms.

⠀

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[hyperactively-me]

black tie affair (part 2)

“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer.  “I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.” “I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”

hi guys. this is my first time writing smut, therefore 18+ only. 5.4k words. hope you like it. have fun. bye guys.

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: smuttyyy smut

The military ball was in full swing in the grand ballroom of the elegant hotel, the area bedecked with glistening chandeliers and adorned with gold and maroon hues. Soldiers and their partners mingled in the room, their attire resplendent and their medals glistening brilliantly. 

You felt like you were on cloud nine, soaring high in the sky. He remained relatively quiet, but he kept taking “sneaky” glances at you. God, he thought you couldn’t see, but you noticed. You noticed every time. You noticed during training, during meals at the mess hall, during debriefing meetings, during missions. His eyes bored into your being, your soul. 

At one point, a champagne toast was made, the bubbly liquid dripping down your throat as you took little sips here and there. You had handed Simon his glass, clinking the edge of it to yours before everyone took a collective sip, a nod to the reason of the occasion. Simon had swirled the liquid in his flute, eyeing you as you took a small sip from your own glass. He observed the way your painted lips hugged the edge of the glass, wishing nothing more than for your soft lips to be on his own. And maybe on his cock. 

As the night progressed, people had started taking to the dance floor, swinging their partners to the tempo of the music. The dance floor beckoned them in as the orchestra played a steady tune. Simon extended his hand to you, his eyes turning up into what you assumed to be a smile behind his mask. Your eyes lit up as you placed your hand in his, your pulse racing at the thought of dancing with him.

You stepped onto the floor, surrounded by fellow soldiers and their partners. The ambiance of the room fades away as he places a firm hand on your waist, the other taking your hand. His body aligned perfectly with yours, molding together as if they were meant to fit. You could tell he was nervous. His movements were stiff, calculated as he kept his eyes trained to the floor as if to prevent himself from taking a misstep. 

"I know you’re nervous," you smile gently at him, nudging him slightly. 

His eyes flicker to yours, a lighthearted scoff threatening to spill over. He didn’t want to make a fool of you. 

“Just tryin’ to make it seem like I know what I’m doin’,” he admits. 

You squeeze his hand in yours. 

“Just follow me,” you say, pulling him towards you slightly. You led him through the dance, already impressed enough that he had the courage to ask you to dance with him. The melody acts as a guiding force, you pull Simon along with you, slowly, methodically. You can feel the tension leaving his body as you move him, his hand squeezing yours, a silent thank you.  

As the ball came to a close, you took Simon’s arm, laughing and smiling like there was no tomorrow. 

“Simon, there’s absolutely no way that I’m letting you go back to your room right now,” you smile, a giggle escaping your lips. You tug on his arm gently, leading him towards the elevators in the lobby. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on going back, love,” he quips. “Besides, how else am I going to find out what’s under that dress of yours?” A smug expression takes over his face.  

Your face heats as you tug on your dress. Did it just get hotter here? You snuggle closer to his arm, your face rubbing up against the fabric of his tux, leaning your cheek on his muscled bicep. 

The elevator arrives with a quiet ding, making you stand up a bit straighter as you realize what's about to happen. Simon has been wanting you, needing you, since the moment he laid eyes on you all that time ago. He leads you in the elevator, and you let go of his arm, much to his dismay. He looks at you for a moment, but you look up at him with a reassuring smile, bumping your arm against his own. 

“Don’t get frowny on me,” you joke, brushing some stray hair behind your ear. 

“‘M not,” he deadpans, flitting his gaze to you for a moment. 

He quickly presses the button to the fourth floor, rocking side to side, as if the elevator was taking its sweet time going up. 

“Impatient, I see” you giggle, watching him press the button to your floor repeatedly. 

“I’ve been patient for a long, long time,” his voice was gruff and low, a mocking tone solely for you to hear. You nod once, letting this revelation sink in. Oh. Oh. 

As soon as the elevator door opens, you grab his hand tightly, yanking him out into the hallway. He stumbles for a moment, and that's when you turn around, grabbing him by his tie, pulling him down to your eye level. A grunt escapes his lips as you pull him down, his hands come to settle on your waist. You lean over to his ear, hot breath fanning over the shell of his ear. 

“And I’ve been waiting for you the whole time, big man,” you whisper, tightening your grip on his tie.

His cock twitches in his pants. You give him goosebumps, but you can’t see them. God he wishes you could. He wishes you could see how much you affect him. Simon’s mouth is agape under the mask, a small pant coming through the fabric. You step back, letting go of his tie, smoothing it out before turning around on your heel making your way to your room. He stands there, unabashedly staring at your ass before following behind you.

You pull open your door, but his hand reaches above your head to hold the door open for you to enter first. As soon as you step into the room, you toe off your heels, kicking them to the side. You turn to watch him shut the door, his eyes trained on you. You’re brought back to what happened in this very room a few hours ago, and you’re already pressing your thighs together, trying to savor this moment for a little longer.

“What are you waiting for?” you question, batting your eyes at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. 

“I’m just lookin’ at you,” he says as if he’s in a trance. “Jus’, let me look at you.”

He lands a hand on your face, cupping your cheek. You press into it, a small whimper building in your throat. His skin feels rough and calloused, despite how gently he drags his thumb along your cheekbone, savoring the silky texture of your skin. You stare at each other, all silent communication. You turn your face into his hand, bringing up your hand to cup his own, and inhale, taking in his scent. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” he murmurs, watching your every movement. 

“Mhm,” you acknowledge weakly, dragging your lips across his palm. You see him shiver as your lips brush over his skin. Simon handles you with care, dragging his thumb to the corner of your lip, stroking your lip. 

You take his hand in yours, pulling it down as you grab his free hand, squeezing them both in your grasp. You push up onto your toes, pressing a feather light kiss against his mask on the corner of his lips. You pull away, admiring the lipstick mark you left on the skull, a stark contrast of the symbolism behind it. 

He stares at you, shellshocked, pupils blown wide by your tenderness, and in an instant, he’s trying to pry his mask off his face, hands fumbling with the edges as his fine motor skills are knocked down a few pegs as if he was drunk from the kiss.

“Need this thing off,” he murmurs, and you push up on your toes and grasp the hem of the mask. He stills immediately, hands coming up to rest on your hips. You grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, and in one motion, you slip his mask off his face.

His eyes. Oh god, his eyes. His eyes. They’re staring straight into your soul. There's nothing for him to hide behind anymore, his final and strongest wall down. He’s laid bare in front of you. All he wants is you, you, you. You make him feel like he can’t breathe, like he can’t function, like he’ll evaporate from even the slightest acknowledgement from you. You can see a redness dusted over his cheeks and ears, his pupils blown wide, blond eyelashes dancing as he blinks, once, twice. His stubble-covered face and muscular jaw look appetizing, as if it was sculpted by the gods. His dirty blond hair is disheveled, but you don’t care. Frankly, you think it's endearing. You gingerly bring your hands up to his cheeks, running your hands over his skin as if you can’t believe he’s standing in front of you, face bare.

“Simon.”

He blinks, trying to register your words. He feels like he can’t breathe, your face is so close to his. 

“Hm,” he hums, entranced by you. He can’t help himself. The way you’re looking at him, the way you’re dressed, the way you’re able to walk into a room and light the whole place. He can’t help that he wants you, needs you, wants to make you feel like you’re the most special woman in the world. The way his name rolls off your tongue so perfectly makes him want to collapse. 

“You’re beautiful. So handsome,” you coo, beaming up at him with a certain tenderness that he’s only ever seen you use with him. He’s stunned, his eyes widened and jaw ticking. He wants to fuck you so bad. He doesn’t think he can wait a moment longer. 

“I want to rip this dress off your body. ‘S all I was thinkin’ about all night,” he says huskily, murmuring close to your ear. “I could barely control myself when you called me here to zip up this dress.”

“I know,” you whisper, eyes searching his as you lean your face closer and closer. “Simon, I want you. I want you, I want you.”

You leaned closer, your breath mingling with Simon's, your lips slightly parted. Your eyes flicker from his gaze to his lips, then back to his eyes. Simon takes the chance and places a delicate, chaste kiss on your lips. There is no urgency or intensity, only a gentle press, a delicate touch, and a defining moment that cannot be expressed through words. Your lips brush across his, feather-light, the contact lingering only a fleeting moment. Your heart overflows with affection, care, and tenderness as he gently draws away, his gaze fixed on yours. 

The next thing you know, he’s crashing his lips on yours, hard, filled to the brim with passion. You’re grabbing his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulls you flush against you, squeezing the flesh of your hips as he presses into you. More, more, more. He swipes his tongue over your lips, asking for permission. He kisses you like a man starved, your lipstick smearing across his own lips as your teeth clacked and tongues pushed against one other. You didn't bother suppressing the lovely moan that escaped your lips, swallowed by the man in front of you. The two of you pulled away from each other hesitantly, your hand raking through his hair, pulling at it gently. You leaned in and bit his lower lip, placing a brief kiss on his cheek while rolling your hips against him. He walks you backwards until your back slams into the wall behind you, pressing you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth as he paws at your dress, pulling your sleeves off your shoulders, lips not breaking contact from yours. Finally, he pulls away, looking at you for a moment before flipping you around, pressing your face up against the wall. 

“I’ve been waitin’ to do this all night, darlin’,” he says gruffly, his hot breath against your ear, making you shiver in anticipation. “I’m goin’ t’ take my time.”

You clench your thighs together at his words, a throaty, quiet moan escaping your lips. His hand brushes up against your back, his hot touch nearly making you moan. He toys with your zipper, then agonizingly slowly, starts pulling it down. His touch is hot, you swear your skin is melting off your body as he works his way down, his hand unabashedly caressing your skin until the zipper reaches the bottom, stopping with a singular click. Your breathing nearly stops as your dress falls off your body, leaving you in your bra and panties. 

He chuckles slowly, watching your reaction with narrowed eyes. Simon starts to lean your head back, exposing your bare neck to him. He drags his tongue from your ear to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along the delicate skin, lightly biting along the soft flesh of your neck. Simon grinds himself hard against you, pushing you back into being pinned against the wall. His hand begins to graze down your body, his hand slipping under your bra strap, fingertips gliding along your bare shoulder.

You moan lightly as he nips at your neck, you press your back up against him just to get closer, wanting to feel every part of him. He suddenly flips you around, grabbing onto your shoulders like it's his lifeline. Leaning down again, he lightly licks along your collarbone, inching down to lick across the top of your breasts, reaching around behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it drop to the floor. You shiver as your bare skin hits the cool air, clasping your hands on his shoulders as he moves back up to kiss you, hard, for a couple of seconds. Pulling away, he moves lower down to take your nipple into his mouth, sucking it as his tongue flicks against it. 

You gasp, hands squeezing his shoulders hard, shuddering at the warmth of his tongue toying with your nipple. 

“Where can I go?” he asks quietly, so quietly that you don't notice it at first.

"Any- anywhere," you exclaim as his mouth descends, one hand gently caressing between your tits, tongue locating your other nipple and sucking hard. You gasp, unconsciously arching your back higher, and you can feel him tighten even more as he pushes his hips deeper into the space between your legs. 

“Oh– more, more please.”

You gasp, wanting him there forever, and suddenly, he's gone, kissing up your collarbone and to your neck. He latches onto the valley between your neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin hard, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. He hums as he pulls back, admiring the bruise forming against your skin.

“Here?”

He's taking his time with you, exactly as he promised, barely brushing up against you when you want him to fucking ram into you at this very moment. He's relishing you, every inch of you, leaving no stone left unturned, but you want him to devour you, take you as you are now. God, your frantic mind is screaming right now, chest heaving as anticipation threatens to bubble out.

“More everywhere,” you manage, your voice quivering. You can't bear how desperately you want him inside you. “Please—will you– please,” you whimper, nonsensical.

He shoves two of his fingers in your mouth, shutting you up. You think you see stars as he pushes his two digits against your tongue, beckoning you, teasing you to suck. 

“Good girl,” he says simply. “Just be quiet and let me make you feel good, pretty girl.” 

His breathing grows ragged as you suck, moving your tongue between his fingers and circling around the skin. He groans at the pressure, adjusting his dress pants. You whimper slightly as he pulls his fingers from your lips. Strings of your saliva drip as he pulls his fingers from your mouth. He pauses for a moment, looking straight at you before plunging his two wet fingers into his own mouth, sucking them clean. You stand there, mouth agape, your panties becoming significantly wetter as you watch his tongue dart out to lap at your saliva. 

“Hot,” you pant out, eyes half lidded. You run your hands over his chest, the fabric of his tux blocking you out.

“You need this off,” you say, pawing at the fabric, gliding your hands up to start pushing his tux jacket off. He doesn’t move, letting you take it off for him. A shiver runs up his spine as your fingers deftly move to his collarbone, fiddling with his tie. You slowly, agonizingly slowly, start to loosen it, untying the loops you had created it into a few hours ago. Finally, you yank it off, twisting the fabric in your fingers for a moment before letting it fall to the floor. His cock jumps in his pants as he watches you bite your lip, eyeing him with a look of pure lust.

“Darlin’ you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he mutters, bringing his hands up suddenly to help you unbutton his white dress shirt. 

“No, let me do it for you,” you stop him.

He’s letting all of his barriers down, letting you see every inch of himself. He’s wanted this, wanted to feel your fingers grace the bare skin of his chest, his face, his arms. You lean up to his neck, still unbuttoning his shirt as you move. You start to suckle on his neck, your searing hot tongue surging against his skin. He groans, your teeth nipping his skin ever so gently. You shake his shirt off his shoulders, his chest finally bare in front of you. You lightly run your hands over remnants of scars, reminders from his past. He shudders, the urge to pull away, to hide himself again, imminent. But, when you lean down to kiss a scar above his pec, he stills. Warmth. Warmth is all he feels, all he wants, all he craves. The warmth from you, your touch, everything about you. 

“Simon Riley, you are so beautiful,” you mumble against his skin, gingerly tracing over old scars on his back. You press the front of your body against his, just embracing him in a hug. A fucking hug. He flounders for a moment, his heart feels like it's going to explode out his chest. He’s dizzy, chest heaving from the overwhelming urge to take you, to let you know that he fucking craves you, sees you for who you are, remind you that you are a beautiful person, inside and out. His primal desire bursts out, he can't hold back anymore.

“‘M gonna fuck you so hard n’ good, just like you deserve, love.”

Your knees go weak as Simon grabs your upper arms, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed. He takes your back in his arms, slowly laying you down on the bed. He takes a step back, just staring at your body, raking his eyes up and down your form. He brings his eyes right up to yours, gaze unwavering as he opens his mouth

“‘M gonna savor this.” 

You whimper at his words, getting impossibly wetter, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your thighs press together, trying to alleviate the growing pressure low in your abdomen, your clit throbbing for release. 

“Please,” you whimper, eyes flitting to his form.

“Needy, needy,” he tuts, a smirk tugging at his lips. He chuckles slowly, leaning forward, kneeling on the bed over you. His hands ghost over your thighs, coming up to your soaked panties. He reaches forward, palming over your clothed cunt, fingers pressing into your wetness. You moan at his touch, back arching to press him closer. This time, even more encouraged by your moan, Simon reaches for the waistband, and slowly pulls it off your frame, revealing your dripping cunt to him. Unbeknownst to you, he slips your panties into his back pocket. 

A little treat for later he thinks to himself.

He slides off the side of the bed, now kneeling on the floor, eyes trained on you. Simon takes a sharp breath, sinking down to eye-level with your pussy, picking up your ankles and throwing them over his shoulder, yanking your hips down the bed. His hands come under you to rest on your ass, giving you a hard squeeze. You let out a small yelp, hands gripping onto the duvet, nearly shaking from anticipation. You know he’s staring, his gaze locked in between your thighs, then you feel his searing tongue drag up your pussy, a single stripe.

“Si- Simon,” you mewl, hands searching for his hair.

The second you mewled his name, moaning for him, his mouth grows into a blaze against you, his tongue a blazing inferno. It's skilled, and he drags it everywhere you want without saying a single word. You just moan, loudly and haphazardly, as the tip of it grinds up against your clit, scorching. His nose presses against your clit as he dives down, licking and sucking your wetness. He's starving. His groans are muted and blazing with desire against your wet cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning in you. You can feel him drooling against you, worshiping you, and he gasps, heated, against you when your floundering hands manage to tangle in his hair.

“So fucking good for me,” he grunts against your throbbing clit, “such a pretty girl.” 

“Y- you, really good– I’m gonna–” you moan breathlessly, chest heaving as the tight coil of an orgasm builds higher and higher in your abdomen, mere moments away from being released. You clench around nothing, cunt throbbing as he works his mouth on you.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” 

“Such a perfect girl, tasting so good for me,” he moans out, slightly lifting up so you can hear him clearly. You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder, pulling more grunts and sounds from his busy mouth. 

He starts to run a finger through your slick folds, finger gliding along until it stops at your clit. You gasp at the slight pressure he applies, before fully massaging your clit. You nearly scream from the sensation, knees jerking and back arching, bucking your hips into his face as he plays with your clit. 

“Such a beautiful girl you are, y’ taste so good,” he slurs. The vibration of a grunt rumbles against your sensitive skin, causing you to nearly faint, the pressure in your abdomen about to snap.

“‘M gonna cum—” It's half-gasped before tearing through you like a flash of electricity, strong and brilliantly tight, ripping every ounce of strength from your body and every ounce of sanity from your thoughts. You climax forcefully in his mouth and then simply lay there weakly and let him taste you, let him stroke your swollen pussy with his tongue. He groans, lapping up as much as he can before pulling away, eyes boring into yours. His nose, mouth, and chin are glistening, dripping in your slick. 

“S’ perfect,” he groans whilst licking his lips, rubbing his chin slightly. You’re panting, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling, blissed out from your first orgasm. 

“Fuck, Simon, you eat pussy like a champ,” you chuckle breathlessly.

“Look at me, love,” he says, removing your legs from over his shoulders. He starts to crawl over you, and you can see how incredibly hard he is, his cock straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge with interest. First, he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, licking the inside of your mouth fervently. As he pulls away, strings of saliva leak from his mouth, making you clench your thighs together once more.

His hands begin to travel over your body, following the contours of your curves. He rubs the flesh of your ass, eliciting a tiny moan from you. He groans softly in your ear, brutally smacking your ass, your brief moan encouraging him.

“I want it so badly,” you grunt. You were the first to snap, feeling his palms graze the flesh of your thigh, his grasp so tight that he would probably leave some bruises. 

“Go on, then. Take it.”

Your gentle fingers ease his belt free from the hoops of his dress pants, nipping at his neck as you remove it from his waist. You bring your hands to the edge of his pants, quickly pulling them down and off his legs, letting him kick them off the bed from his ankles. He's bent over you, his lips on the shell of your ear.  

"You're such a tease" he grumbles, his hips shifting to grind against your core.

"So are you," you taunt back, grabbing his massive bulge through his underwear, palming your hand over his length. You finally pull down his boxers, letting his cock spring free from its confines. It's massive. You nearly moan just from the sight itself, the tip leaking precum. You immediately grasp it in your hold, wrapping your hand around it, stroking his length into your hand. You caressed his big cock, prompting him to press his hips into your hand while he groaned, high-pitched and needy. 

“N– need you right now,” he groans, crawling on top of you, pressing his cock up against your stomach, grinding it over your soft skin. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, hand coming up to stroke his cock. 

Although he hasn't made any attempt to put anything inside you yet, his hips thrust into yours, like he’s trying to create a mental image for himself for the task at hand, burying his lips back under your ear, and you can hear how hard he's breathing, and before you can say anything, his lips are back on yours, his hand moving your legs open to give him more room.

“If—I'm too rough,” he growls, his voice resonating in your ear drums, “you need to tell me.”

Your pupils dilate. “You can do whatever you want to me,” you assert, “fucking ruin me— be as rough as you want, if that's what you want—”

“D- don't say that," he says, his lips brushing against yours. You bring your hand between his legs, wrapping it around his cock, pumping him once. He moans so loudly, it sounds like music to your ears, and then he pushes the tip of it against you. “I won't be able to control myself.” The blood rushes into your ears, your heart wants to sprint out of your chest.

“Fuck me, Simon,” you breath, barely audible.

That’s all he needed to hear.

“‘M gonna fuck you senseless.”

In a rush, he’s pushing your back into the bed, lining the tip of his cock up with your sopping entrance before he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to his size. The stretch was a bit painful, but you didn’t let the pain stop you from releasing a deep seated moan. Your back arches as the sensation, a gargled moan erupting from the depths of your body. This only encourages him, as he starts to slide the full length of his cock into.

“Fu– fuck,” he moans, his voice husky and high-pitched, “y- you feel so fucking good, so fucking perfect—.”

He bottoms out, his hips meeting yours as he pants, his thumb coming up to rest on your clit once more. He stays completely still, feeling your tight pussy squeezing his hard cock just right. He growls and thrusts himself into you as far as he can. It's nearly too much, God, it's nothing like you've ever felt before. You can barely even breathe while he's pounding into you, you feel like you’re choking on air, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His body rocks in a steady pace against yours. 

“Too perfect—beautiful," he grunts. "You're so soft, so soft, and so wet—that's my good girl.”

Your face flushes at his praises, you want to shy away, too flattered by his words to even look at him. 

"Keep your eyes on me, love" he demands, pulling at your chin with his hand quickly, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.

You feel giddy, pure bliss at the thought of him holding you in such high regard. He hits something deep inside you, and you moan as you're abruptly pulled into the sensation of him circling your clit as he fucks you into the mattress. A coil of heat builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching. 

His hand comes back down to grip your waist, his hold tightening on you as he continues to thrust into you at a brutal pace. You grasp his neck, weak with the motion because every muscle in your body is fatigued from his unbelievable pace. He slides your hands down to his shoulders, grounding you as he keeps himself upright, continuing to slam his hips onto you. He massages your clit, knowing the way your cunt flutters around his cock, you’re close to another orgasm. You moan loudly, savoring the way the sound bursts out of you. 

“Fuck– fucking me so— so amazing,” you blubber, trying to convey how fucking amazing he’s making you feel right now. And then he's pulling back out, tearing into you again, and you can't even find the proper words in your head, you just listen to Simon absolutely fucking you into oblivion.

“You're squeezing around me— so perfectly, love,” he strangles out, and you feel his hips buck up against yours, and you try to find his collarbone, and you bury your face into it, leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin. You can hear Simon mewling against your ear, guttural and deep, and all you can do is close your eyes and attempt to stay in this moment forever. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum—” you blurt out.

“Good girl, cum for me, sweetheart,” he gasps, death grip on your hips.

The coil inside your core snaps as he hits the perfect spot inside you. You clench your eyes tight only to realize it's because you're in the middle of an orgasm, the rest of the world fading away, until it's just you and him.

“‘M gonna cum,” he blurts out, you feel his cock twitch inside you. You can feel him pulsating and throbbing as he grunts his way through his orgasm, breathing heavily and unloading his cum deep inside you. It was enough for you to see stars as his orgasm ripped through him, a loud moan pressed up against your neck escaping his lips as his cum filled you to the brim. He falls on top of you, sweat glistening on his forehead as he comes to take deep gulps of air. 

Neither of you say a word as you both catch your breath, brains fucked out. He rolls off of you, laying by your side as you both stare up at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” you say first. You're done for. Panting and worn out, you find yourself in the exact position he left you in. You try to move but can't seem to do so. You merely lie on your back and wait for the feeling to return to your body.

Simon turns back towards you, pushing himself to sit up, leaning over to stare at you. You reach a hand up, pressing it into his jaw

“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart. Everything I ever dreamed about and more.”

You hum under him as he comes to lay his upper body on top of you, his fingers tangling into your hair as he stretches his muscles out. You turn your face just in time to feel all the oxygen rush out of your lungs the second he kisses you.

“Says you,” you murmur as he pulls away from the kiss.

Sleep threatens to take over both of you, waves of exhaustion and bliss intermingling. Simon stills on top of you, before flipping over on his back and pulling you on top of him. He takes your hand in his own, eclipsing it, squeezing it once, twice. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum, nearly asleep.

“Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

You press your face into his chest, he feels your smile against his skin.

"For the rest of time."

.

.

.

@neoarchipelago @allaboutirem0 @galagcica @alexia77 @rioluxx @madysato @ghostlythots @broken-kneecaps @poohkie90 @1-fuzzy-squirrels @simpingforfakes @kaysav608 @lieblinqs

[thegirlamongthestars]

stolen glances - c. alcaraz

summary: a journalist’s professional facade crumbles when tennis star Carlos Alcaraz locks eyes with her, igniting an unexpected and thrilling connection

word count: 1.4k

warnings: none (maybe a little of light swearing); english is not my first language so sorry for any posible mistake

notes: feel free to make any Carlitos fic request 😌

The atmosphere at the court was ectic. As a journalist and as a tennis fan, of course, I’ve always loved Wimbledon. The grass, the people, the fashion and London itself were always a delight to witness. Covering the tournament final was definitely the biggest achievement of my career so far. When I was a little girl, I found tennis matches the most boring thing in the world. But when my father took me to a court and I could feel the rush through my veins I realized it would accompany me for life. Journalism has been my vocation since I can remember, so now being able to mix that and tennis was like living my life dream every day.

“Are you ready?” my colleague asked while checking everything. “They are about to come out”

“All set, Lucas”

The speaker started to announce Novak’s entrance and my fingers started playing with the lanyard of my press pass as a way to channel the nerves. It wasn’t my first time doing this but it always felt different when it involved him.

Carlos Alcaraz—the name that had become synonymous with raw talent and unyielding passion in the tennis world. I had followed his career closely (since I was in university), watching him evolve from a promising junior to a formidable force on the court. But it wasn’t just his skill that captivated me; it was the way he played with every ounce of his being, his intensity almost palpable even from the stands.

Did I have the most teenager-like stupid crush on Carlos? Maybe (actually resounding YES, but I would never admit it out loud)

The second his name was called, the stadium erupted. And then, there he was, striding onto the grass with that signature mix of confidence and focus, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the stands. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him wave to the crowd, one of his characteristic smiles playing on his lips.

“Remind me to bring a baby bib next time” Lucas started to mock me.

“Shut up!” I slapped his shoulder with all my force and he laughed looking at me as if he knew my little secret.

“It’s going to be a good one” he referred to the match changing the previous topic.

I nodded, trying to compose myself. “Definitely.”

But as much as I tried to focus on the task at hand, I just couldn’t do it. This wasn’t just another match; this was the final, and Carlos was one step away from his second Wimbledon title. And for some inexplicable reason, that fact made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the excitement of the sport.

As both of them warmed up, I busied myself with checking my notes, adjusting my computer, anything to keep my mind from wandering too far. But it was no use. My gaze kept drifting back to Carlos, to the way he moved with such precision and grace, every muscle in his body flexing and looking irresistible.

There was a certain magnetism to him, something that drew me in despite my intention of keeping professionalism. I had been around athletes before, had interviewed a bunch of them, but Carlos was something else.

For being London it was a quite warm afternoon but what I didn’t know was that the heat won’t be the thing raising my heart rate wildly. As Carlos walked to his position on the baseline, his gaze landed on the press box and his eyes lingered on mine for the briefest of moments.

Electricity.

That’s what went through my body from head to toe. My breath hitched. It was a split second, but in that instant, it felt like the rest of the world faded away.

“What the hell was that”? Lucas whisper-shouted, nudging at me.

“Don’t know what you mean” I answered, trying to play it off, though my pulse was still thudding in my ears.

“He looked right at you,” he said, a knowing smirk on his face.

“It was probably just a coincidence,” I muttered, though even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The match was starting, and I had a job to do. I forced myself to focus on the game, on the back-and-forth of the rally, on the cheers and gasps of the crowd. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about that look, about the way his beautiful eyes had seemed to search for mine in that sea of faces.

The match ended with the result I was so heartedly waiting for. After the trophy ceremony, journalists had to go down the court to make some interviews in front of the whole crowd and Lucas was the one chosen for that task. We tossed a coin before the match and my luck was conspicuous by its absence once again.

When we arrived next to the players, I was a bundle of nerves and I wasn’t even the one interviewing them so I thanked the coin. The cameras were being set and our sound operator was about to put the microphone on Lucas.

“I’m not feeling well at all” he started to pull on his shirt collar trying to fan himself.

“Are you getting dizzy?” I grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him.

He looked at me with something like guilt on his gaze and pull me close to him to say “He’s all yours”

I wasn’t processing anything. I just saw Lucas winking at me and getting accompanied to the dressing room tunnel by a member of the staff.

Next thing I knew is that I was in front of the camera and that the crowd was cheering on Carlos as he approached me.

Electricity again.

He showed me one of his full smiles and grabbed the microphone that someone from my crew was handing him.

“Carlos, congratulations” I exclaimed truly thrilled while offering my hand. “Two-time Wimbledon champion. How does that feel?”

“Thank you” he replied, holding my hand for longer than expected. “It feels… pretty amazing, to be honest. Maybe even sweeter than the first.”

“Because you knew what to expect?”

“Exactly” he said, leaning closer. “The first time, it was all new—adrenaline, excitement, maybe a bit of shock. This time, I could really soak it in, enjoy the moment”

“It looked like you were enjoying it, even during those tense moments in the final set” I was trying to be as professional as the heat I was sensing right from him allowed me to. "How do you keep your cool when the pressure’s on?"

“Honestly? I just remind myself that it’s only a game” he said with a shrug, a relaxed grin playing on his lips. “And sometimes, a little bit of stubbornness helps.”

“Stubbornness?” I raised an eyebrow, totally getting captivated by his proximity.

“Yeah, I hate losing” he admitted and the crowd laughed with him. “But it’s also about enjoying the battle. I love the competition, the challenge. That’s what keeps me going.”

I nodded, noting that he seemed as much at ease as me. “And now that you’ve won here twice, what’s next? A well-deserved break?”

“A little bit, yeah. Maybe a beach somewhere” he said, his eyes lighting up. “But you know how it is—tennis doesn’t stop. And the Olympics are almost around the corner.”

I completely went out script with the following question but as a professional, I was feeling in such a safe environment that I had to let my impulses flow.  

“Ever think about doing something completely different? Outside of tennis, I mean?” I raised my gaze to his face just to find out that he was already looking at me. Quiet intensely.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then flashed me a cheeky grin. My knees trembled a little.

“Well, I was thinking… maybe I should find more excuses to do interviews like this. They’re turning out to be more interesting than I expected.”

I felt a warmth spread through my chest at his words, catching the subtle, playful edge in his tone. And I couldn’t help but blush because of the reaction of the people on the stands, that was a mixture of surprise sounds and cheeky whistles.

“Interesting, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Definitely meant as one”

[thegoldencontracts]

Hey! I love your writing and was wondering if I could please request something myself?

Perhaps something where the reader finds out Azul is ticklish?

No pressure ofc^^ I’ll enjoy anything you write. Thank you!

- 🐙

Of course, thank youu for the request! I love the idea of him getting sooo embarrassed and ofc teasingly "oblivious"!reader bc I'm a sucker for flustered Azul and of course PININGGG

That's Preposterous!

Summary: Azul always seems so- perfect, always calm and in control. So when you find a new way to break his composure, you can't help but tease him about it.

Notes: So lovely to write, tw for tickling in case it's a trigger for you

Azul was always calm. Always in control. There was no denying that. You loved that side of him, all those talents, his voice, his grades - all obtained through hard work.

But you also loved to see the little cracks in his composure. The Azul beneath the mask of a perfect businessman. You'd made a little mental scrapbook of all these occasions, like you he blushed when you called him beautiful, or the way he got pouty whenever someone talked about his mess-ups during flight class. You seriously loved seeing those little slip ups.

...Seven, you were so crushing on him. You could practically hear Ace laughing at you for not just confessing already. But that wouldn't happen, because Azul would probably just reject you on the spot. He always talked about how dumb love was, after all.

For now, you'd just have to be satisfied with continuing to try and break through his composure. And hey, sometimes, it worked!

Like now. You were studying with him in the as, and while trying to reach for a book behind Azul, and you accidentally grazed his midsection.

The yelp you received was priceless.

"Huh?" You asked, though a second later, it was pretty apparent what happened. You could feel the grin stretch across your face. Getting that book wasn't important. Right now, you'd just found a new way to break through Azul's composure.

"Azul."

It was lilting, teasing, even, and Azul pretty quickly began to realize what you'd realized.

Azul Ashengrotto was ticklish? Another weakness to add to your little mental scrapbook.

"Is something wrong, Azul?" You asked in the most innocent-sounding voice you could muster.

Azul's eyes narrowed.

"I'm certain you understand the issue," he said, though no amount of defensiveness could hide the way his cheeks were turning red.

Somehow, you felt even more smug than before. This was going to be fun.

"No, no," you said. "Something has to be wrong! Maybe, you're sick? Let me check your temperature."

And so, you skittered your fingers all over his midsection, making it pretty evident that you did not, in fact, think he was sick, and were simply trying to mess with him, because people usually didn't usually check for a fever on the stomach.

Azul kept his lips stubbornly pressed shut, though he still ended up letting out a yelp right before he pushed your hands away.

"C-Cease this at once," he said, cheeks now bright red.

"Why?" You asked, and just as he was about to retort, you poked at his stomach. "Are you sore here or something? If so, I can always help!"

You sounded so innocent there it was actually impressive. Azul, meanwhile, couldn't hold in his laughter anymore.

"S-Shut it, you a-absolute-" Azul cut himself off with laughter. "Creti- Gah!"

Just as he was about to call you a cretin, you upped your attack, sending him into a full-on giggling fit.

"Really, Azul, tell me, what's happening? Why exactly are you laughing so hard? Did I say something funny?"

Azul glared at you as if to say 'How the fuck do you expect me to reply when I'm laughing too hard to talk', though it was hard to take him seriously when his cheeks were bright red and he had the biggest - forced, but still - smile on his face.

You still slowed down. You didn't want to actually cause him pain, after all. As much as you hated to admit it, you loved him way too much for that.

Finally slowing your assault, you shot Azul what was probably one of the coolest looking impish grins of all time.

"So," you started. "Is something wrong, Azul?"

It seemed like the dots had finally connected in Azul's brain. There was only one way to get out of this.

He'd have to admit he was ticklish.

"I-I'm afraid I'm rather..." He trailed off, ducking his head in embarrassment. You weren't having any of that. You scratched a finger under his chin, making him look up with a yelp. "Ticklish."

His face was bright red, eyes looking anywhere but you, and his hair ruffled. You couldn't help but grin as you finally removed your fingers. He looked so- mesmerizing like this.

"Glad to see you admitted it," you said, because the oblivious act had served it's purpose.

Azul just glared at you, but the pout on his face made it much less intimidating.

"Don't speak a word of this to anyone," he said. "Do you understand- Gah!"

You cut him off with a quick poke, and he looked at you incredulously.

"Aww, is Azul embarrassed that he-"

"Get out!" He said, voice cracking midway. He was really embarrassed about this, wasn't he?

You were going to stop for now, though. Or else you feared he might just explode considering how red his face was getting.

"Fine, fine."

As you left the office, though, you managed to catch a glimpse of Azul's fond smile, his little goodbye wave while he thought no one was looking.

[zeestie]

dearest reader of this diary entry,

I am done suffering in my illusions, I have figured out what living presently actually means, killed my ego, understood the true meaning of manifesting, & stopped worrying about others.

let me explain...

PHASE I: TRIGGER

a while ago I went through something that triggered me A LOT. I don't remember exactly what it was, that's just how insignificant 3d circumstances are but back then I am sure it meant a lot as I was so triggered, angry and frustrated. then I decided to meditate, so I opened a 369 hz pure tone and I just lied down, relaxed, and focused on.. nothing.

that experience has been so simple, yet so profound. I don't feel like the same person before that. when I woke up, the reality I was in didn't feel the same either. everything moved different and felt different. and I was no exception.

I have always prided myself on being an optimist, and yeah I have always been one; however, I have only been the hopeful optimist.

whearas before my optimism has been born out of hope for better, now my optimism is not out of a need but comes from pure love and acceptance for the now cos ik for a fact that I have myself, god, and everything I would ever need to be happy.

I really feel no need to try any more, I just go for what I want, that's it. and that's why I have been very connected to my creative endeavours these past few days. whether being through being active here and on YT or through drawing and writing in my free time, I love creating and I am so glad I realised that instead of indulgence in the material world.

PHASE II: KNOWLEDGE

ever since that incident, I feel like I have started to understand what life is truly about. life is not about desiring and chasing after a goal, it's not about trying so hard, it is not about waiting for better, it is about living it now. becoming okay with what's happening now, not forcing a certain outcome but letting life take its course.

it might sound weird to say that as an loa girlie, but srsly, this is what manifesting is really about. it is about knowing, not desiring. it is about rising above the need for your desires to materialise. ik for a fact that I manifested the perfect life for myself so why would I desire more? doesn't make sense at all.

at first, I approached manifesting from a place of trying and systemised it the way I did with every goal I had in life, "affirm X times a day," "visualise every night," "do X rampages a week." I was too dependent on techniques, but now I understand that techniques are not here to help you manifest, cos it is all done anyway. techniques are here to remind you of the fact that you truly manifested it. it is here to calm you down and remind you of your power.

now, I only use techniques when it feels right, I am not forcing them esp. when my thoughts and feelings are already aligned to what I want. if I am already living as the version of me that has it, why would I do more? I don't need to do more, I just am.

and ofc now that I have changed, I have stopped being so attached to wtv idea I had of me or what other people have of me. I can be whomever I want & me separating myself from my ego helped me really see how I was stuck in narratives that didn't serve me and kept me stuck.

PHASE III: CHANGE

two weeks ago I created a some sort of character sheet of dream me, the next day I became her. I could have been like, "this is not gonna happen overnight" but why? the reason it can't happen is because i was against it & the only reason I would be against it was cos I am too attached to an idea of who I am. but thankfully, I am not any more.

I embrace the qualities I already liked about myself and as for what I didn't like about myself? I don't reject it, I am just simply not it any more. I don't need to force it, I just select the identity I like and that's it. before, my ego would not let me, cos selecting the dream me means forgiving those who I didn't seem deserve forgiveness or leave some of my "very important" past behind.

it also meant that I can't use my past or who I was as an excuse for how I acted, but when I used to always excuse myself, it somehow felt v punishing, like I have been punishing myself by staying this unfavorable version of me because I am not ready to let go of my history. it felt like I didn't trust me enough to change once and for all.

to become a blank slate was terrifying to my ego. but I am not my ego. I and you both know that. my ego can be scared and I will reassure her a million times over if that's what it takes, but I am not folding. just like a parent who knows what's best for their child. even if the child screams in retaliation, the adult comforts them but doesn't bend the rules cos they know what's best for their child.

PHASE IV: TRUTH

I have been neglecting and neglected by myself every time I chose my ego's or other people's comfort. but I am not doing that again any more.

we all understand that others are just mirrors of what we think of them so that's why I couldn't care less about how I come across any more. others can judge but I have decided that none will. others will see me change over and over and will welcome any change I take on, every single time, I have decided that.

since these realisations, life felt sm simpler to live, the pressure of being a certain person in front of others has subsided. the need to stay my "consistent" (more so predictable) self is non-existent. and the need for life to go a certain way has also faded. a lot of beautiful things came about after this change and I am so glad to live every day with the ability to choose my own joy and peace, not waiting for someone or something to make me happy.

rn I am grateful to have realised all of that, to have transcended this physical plane and to have chosen to live as a soul who chose to live this human life. souls full of love and light, that is our true essence.

✦°·

[sethvzekiel]

what could have been | 141 x cold!reader

a passing admission proceeds to completely take over his mind

141 x cold! reader. callsign azrael. gn! reader. mild angst + pining. multiple POV, no established relationship. flashback central, marked in red + italics.

part 1/same AU as this

Long hc/short fic. 3.6k words.

It was banter — really, just mindless chatter to fill the silence on the way back home. Something to wear off the adrenaline from the previous battle. It spilled from lips like loose threads, mindless ramblings about past experiences and feelings and army stories.

Stories like “LT, what do ye mean I wasn’t first place? That was a solid run I just did, solid!” and “When you were our age, Captain, they didn’t have telly,” between snickers and friendly insults.

You were the contractor, not one of them: a position you were keen on protecting as you kept to the far corner of the army plane, typing up your own report for Laswell. The chatter droned on in the back of your mind as you spared only the barest sliver of attention for emergencies. It was only when someone mentioned your name that you looked up from your laptop.

Gaz tilted his head at you, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He’d been getting bold lately, fully confident that he was your favorite comrade. Gaz did always have a sharp tongue, even for Price.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You scoffed, fully ready to get back to your report.

“What are we, schoolgirls at a sleepover? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Someone closed your laptop. Soap.

“No, no, answer his question!”

“Scotsman. Get your hand off something that’s five times your salary, or I’ll remove it myself.”

You were only half kidding; the laptop was six times his salary. Merc money was a lovely thing.

Soap quickly retreated, muttering something about being on the wrong career path and “five times my fuckin’ salary, get off yer arse,” but nudged you nevertheless.

It felt as if the conversation was finally going to move on when another spoke.

“Answer the question, Azrael.”

This was a joke. You didn’t hide your disdain as you glared at Price.

“Really, Captain?”

Price took a long drag of his cigar.

“Answer it and I’ll tell Kate you’re on good behavior. She’ll be over the moon to hear you’re getting some social interaction.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. Laswell did not hide her hopes of getting you true comrades, not just contracted acquaintances, when she introduced you to the 141 — a hope you’d gone out of your way to quash for a long time. If a false reassurance from Price would get her mind off that ridiculous idea and focus on getting you more kill contracts…

Well, not a bad trade-off for pretending to be friends for one plane ride.

You let out a sigh from deep within your soul, opened your laptop again, and pulled up the report. Almost mindlessly, you spoke whatever came to your mind at that very moment, not knowing how badly it would change the 141.

“Sure.”

God, you could feel the whole plane lean in with anticipation.

“Never had the time to fall in love, but…” 

You mentally shrugged. This was fine to admit, right?

“... I was briefly interested in one of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You popped on your headphones, leaving the boys to dwell with that answer.

The plane couldn’t have gone any faster.

◈ GAZ

Interested? Like, interested-interested?

There was no getting you out of those headphones—he’d tried before, didn’t end well. The entire task force was stunned silent for a minute, each one picking apart your casual admission and grappling with the idea of Oh God, is it me?

It was Soap who broke first, exploding into a shocked yell that boomed throughout the tiny plane. That shook Gaz out of his stunned silence, but he still blinked rapidly as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said.

Interested. In one of them.

There was a one in four chance that it was him. Five, if Laswell counted, but he was certain that you saw her more as a mentor and confidant than a romantic prospect. Besides, she wasn’t even in the plane. It was between him, Soap, LT, and the Captain, and this was a battle royale he was keen on winning.

Gaz wasn’t blind. He was the first to notice the changing opinions of his teammates on you. Bearing the combined advantage of brains and emotional awareness, things the 141 usually lacked one or the other of, he picked up on Price’s constant attention towards you that increasingly felt less like a professional checkup. He knew about Ghost’s rivalry with you that brought a tinge of tenderness to his gruff exterior as he complimented your skill. And who could miss Soap locking onto you like a missile from day one?

But it had to be him, right? He was the only one you spoke to of your own accord, the one whose name you called when arranging for shared night shifts. The one who’s actually been to your room (he happily ignored the fact that he was just there to fetch a report for Laswell). The one who, at a drunken night out where you’d actually gotten tipsy for once, you’d stuck to like glue, no matter how rowdy the pub got.

Gaz was your first defender in the 141. When even Price was wary of your cold nature and mercenary background, Gaz was always up at arms, ready to express the simple truth that you were just a professional, and Price could look at Ghost for an example, couldn’t he? Always jumping the gun, fighting back even Soap’s teases at your expense simply because you weren’t present to defend your attitude and the unfairness of their assumptions felt real to Gaz. They didn’t see the you he saw. They just had to.

You were soft around him. Safe. And Gaz felt the same way, too. As much as you’d listen to his ramblings of whatever’s going on in his life, he looked forward to your own stories, hanging off of every rough-toned word as you shared your wisdom from past fights and your assessment of his skills, which he’d known was your way of caring for him. Making sure that he’d live long to fight good.

“In another world,” he’d said one night as you watched the last hours of your watch tick away. “Would you be back on the field again? If you had a choice to walk away from all this, live a normal life?”

Back then, your moonlit expression was intense, but sorrowful as you considered your answer. Gaz thought that you were only being sincere in answering him when you’d gazed deep into his eyes, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant something else when you replied:

“I don’t know. Where would you be?”

“Dunno either. Always wanted to protect people. Make some real change. Don’t think I’d handle being an artist or bloody stockbroker all my life.”

He was so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he actually listen to what you’d said when he was too busy imagining living some alternate life, when you were right in front of him and so close?

You smelled nice.

“Then I’ll follow you back to the fight, Kyle.”

“Aw mate, I’ll look forward to it, yeah?”

The memory, the regrets, and the what-could’ve-been’s swirled in Gaz’s mind and stung at his eyes.

He wanted to look at you again, but he wasn’t going to risk anyone seeing his face right now with how he’s feeling.

He was a bloody moron, and he lost his chance.

◈ SOAP

“Yer taking the piss!”

Laughter was always Johnny’s first response. Little Johnny-boy giggling nervously as his mother demanded to know where he’d been after playing outside until dark. Freshly-recruited MacTavish snickering as he far surpassed the other recruits in exercises, again, to their dismay. Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish cackling with delight and adrenaline as he fired off the C4, lighting up the battlefield with plumes of orange fire.

Laughter was also a defense mechanism: difficult personalities, hard questions, bad days. Heal it or shrug it off, Soap was never one to make things more complicated than they should be.

This laughter… he wasn’t sure if it was one of joy or nerves.

You were interested. Were, he tried to remind himself, but his mind kept on latching onto the ‘interested’ part. One of them—which could’ve been him. 

He was delusional now, flailing around and being the jokester when it was all just an act to hide his inner turmoil. Fuck, did you know that he had it bad for you? It was his fault for not bothering to hide it and trailing after you, but he thought that you already shrugged it off as a joke. Did… did you take him seriously, after all?

Or worse, what if it wasn’t him? 

His glance went to Gaz, remembering how he’d fallen asleep on the truck that one time and accidentally leaned on your shoulder, how you stiffened, then slowly settled down, even adjusting your shoulder for the entire two-hour drive. How, no matter the situation or your mood, you always called upon Gaz with a decidedly softer tone than the one you used on him.

Surely, he wasn’t that attached to you. You were comrades, a passing fancy wouldn’t hurt anything.

He’d never seen LT smile, ever. Part of it’s the mask, but it was clear in his voice and the lack of crinkling around his eyes that smiling wasn’t his thing. But then Ghost and you had that sniper competition, dragged Soap in to referee, and when you hit dead-center for all moving targets, Soap wrenched his gaze away to catch a shine of something in Ghost’s eyes as he watched you.

Friends and professionals. That was all you were, right?

“Good health makes good men, MacTavish,” you said sharply as he sat up on his bed. Soap was forced into the medbay after a particularly grueling op. Long, sleepless nights, absolute hellfire, and blood loss all culminated in him passing out from shock mid-battle. His memories of the exact moment he collapsed were hazy, but he knew that he heard someone call his name in a choked scream.

Was it Gaz who screamed then? He was always the worrywart. Soap scratched his head, wincing as pain flared up his side at the simple motion. He shot you a shining, albeit weak, grin.

“Don’t lose yer head over me, was just the one time.”

Your glare narrowed.

“One time is all it takes, soldier.” 

Fuck, you were calling him ‘soldier’ now? You were pissed. Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“I give, I give. I’ll take my meds a day and all that shite. No trouble from me.”

For a moment, he was expecting more scolding, admonishments of his recklessness or a possible lack of skill. A “stop dragging the rest of us down with you,” considering your pride in your own battle prowess. But he got no such thing.

You sighed, looking a thousand nights older as you did, and he caught the marks of sleepless nights under your eyes. The roughness of your hands as you held his good shoulder. The miniscule caress of your thumb that he assumed (back then) was purely accidental.

“Make good on that, Johnny,” you whispered, gaze drifting off elsewhere. “You have to.”

Your voice was hoarse—why? When you left and the medic had taken your place, refreshing Soap’s bandages, he asked about how long he was out.

“Three days, sergeant,” the medic replied. “And your scary friend insisted on staying here for all of it. Tended to you like one of our own staff.”

“Psh, LT? Knew he was soft.”

“No, no, not the lieutenant. Your PMC friend.”

Without even thinking about it, Johnny laughed.

◈ GHOST

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the mindless gossip, and anyone who’d say otherwise will have months of latrine duty awaiting them. Gaz calling your name piqued his attention, but only barely, and brought a tickle of amusement when he asked you such a ridiculous question.

He was much less amused at your answer.

It was sarcastic, he tried to reason. Spouting off bullshit to keep the boys off your trail and get back to work as soon as possible. That’s what you’re always like, and that’s what he liked about you.

He also liked your shots. The pride you took in your expertise. The devotion to your warcraft. How you always took his challenges as if your name was on the line. How you’d smirk if you won, or promise comeuppance if you lost.

He liked your loyalty to Laswell — and envied it. You obeyed him and Price, yes, but he would never forget the brief gleam of admiration when the boys asked you about Laswell over lunch. He liked and envied your closeness with Gaz: a sign that you might be a true ally of the 141 after all, but a closeness that he wondered if you could extend to anyone else. He respected your ferocious protectiveness of Soap when he’d (stupidly) collapsed mid-battle, but watching you tend to Soap for nights on end wrenched something awful from within his chest.

You were a shade more casual with Price. According to the captain, you had some snark to you when not in work mode: a privilege Price had gotten purely because you were both friends of Laswell. You bonded with Price like you were fellow leaders, people down similar paths instead of mere colleagues, and when planning missions, you and Price made up a tactical machine to be reckoned with.

It was whenever he’d deliver late night reports to Price’s office, that he’d listen before knocking on the door. Muffled conversation—most of it Price’s, but every so often, there was a quick chuckle that wasn’t his, or a quiet snark followed by Price’s gravelly laughter. The office would be thick with cigar smoke when Ghost was allowed in, but what was harder to swallow was the cigar hanging from your lips that you’d returned to Price, and he’d popped it between his teeth without question.

Ghost was in deep. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but he was. That chilling, anxiety-inducing truth nudged at the back of his head as he silently watched Soap cackle and holler throughout the plane while you intentionally ignored them, eyes trained on your report like your life depended on it.

You and the laptop. A familiar sight when he’d pass by the rec room on late nights, where you’d be tapping away at the laptop with stacks of coffee cups and energy bars littered across the table.

“Bloody hell, that can’t wait until tomorrow?” He’d asked, exasperated, by the fifth night.

You took a moment more to work before responding.

“The mob won’t wait for tomorrow. This mission needs to go down tonight.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t know why he stayed there with you, sharing the couch as he made tea for two and set a cup beside you without a word. He could have actually tucked in for the night, gotten some well-deserved sleep lest he be grouchier than ever for the next day’s training drills. Or popped open a book if he felt like it. Anything more productive than sit beside you all night as you silently blazed through reports and phone calls, arranging operations that he had no business in caring about.

You were exhausted, but you were determined and alert as you ferried reports on the trafficking ring takedown. The calm, effortless strength in your voice as you spoke—sometimes strongly—with operatives much higher up the chain than you, because you knew what you were doing and were going to see this op to the end. A flicker of silent gratitude as Ghost refilled your tea again and tidied up your makeshift workspace.

A call by the first sliver of sunrise made you sag into the couch with relief.

“Mission accomplished?” Ghost asked.

You slid your tired gaze to him, and this close to you, he caught your tiny, sleepy grin.

“G’job, LT,” you murmured, voice thick with lethargy. “Mmh… needta phone Kate…”

“I’ll do it.”

“Not your op.”

“Don’t think Laswell’d understand a word of what you’re saying right now. C’mon, let’s get you some rest.”

He beckoned for you to stand up, only to hear a soft, muffled snore. You… were sleeping, knocked-out dead, with a hint of your grin remaining, probably dreaming about a job well done. Disheveled, snoring, and surrounded in loose notes and coffee stains, you were far from the cold professional that you normally made yourself to be.

The rec room was no place for sleeping. Soap would be here any minute, booming and hollering as him and Gaz would raid the fridge, again. You needed to be anywhere else.

And if Ghost was going to carry you in his arms all the way back to your room and go through the trouble of arranging for your sudden day-off, then he was going to do it silently, and pretend it never happened when you approached him the next day.

◈ PRICE

That… was a surprise.

While Price was the most privy to your story as your commanding officer and, more importantly, Laswell’s friend, much of your life was still a mystery to him. Laswell only gave him a few pointers: “They’ve had a long life, John,” and “Trust is a double-edged sword for them.”

He could guess when you entered Laswell’s life. It was some years ago, when she was busier than ever, to the point that he’d considered staging an intervention alongside her wife when Laswell refused with fire in her eyes. She was fighting for something, he could tell, but he didn’t know what exactly until she told him about you.

Somewhere in the gaps between what little he knew about you, Price hoped you had some normalcy to your life. Enough memories on hand to look back fondly upon, to carry you through the darker days. Yet he had a feeling that you had little of such memories to yourself. Perhaps, that was why he decided to share with you some of his own.

Foolishness in his youth. Summers from his wilder days. Dreams he’d had and lost, but never mourned—the kinds of men he’d wanted to become before making peace with himself. You understood, somehow: you were an old soul, no matter your age, a wealth of experiences and wisdom in you with just as many unanswered questions.

You can be safe with me, his soul all but screamed in your nightly chats. The doubt and fear and sorrow layered on your shoulders like dust was easy for him to see when he could feel the same thing. You weren’t delicate, not by a long shot. You were one of the strongest people he knew, but there was nothing Price could do to stifle the yearning in his chest to hold you, let you rest in his shadow and believe for once that everything was going to be alright.

“Do you have any interest in living long, sir?” You muttered as Price brought out his first cigar of the night. He wouldn’t be smoking this early in the night, but he had to deal with higher-ups and red tape all day just for some damn clearance. You were the only person he’d actually looked forward to speaking with that day.

“Smoking won’t kill me, Azrael—” You scoffed, then. “—it’s the bloody Pentagon that will.”

“And the UN. And the UK.”

“If the boys don’t get to me first. Where’s my lighter?”

“Here you go.” You didn’t have his lighter, but you had your own up and ready.

“Picked up the habit, did you?”

“No. You’ve lost your lighter enough times that I bought one myself.”

He offered you a gruff thanks and sank into his chair, watching the smoke swirl up to the amber light. You leaned back on his desk, your body barely brushing his—something that he was used to by then that he was second-guessing now.

It was beautiful and terrible, how close his hand was to yours.

Stupid stories made you laugh, but not foolish ones. Your concern for the boys was evident even in simple retellings of the past; a fact that burned in his heart when he noticed. So he told you about how Gaz tried to fix a leaky shower only to explode the entire camp’s plumbing system, he clung to your brief chuckle like a lifeline. The mirth lighting up your face was going to be his second addiction.

“Want to try, soldier?” He asked as he held out his cigar, not for the first time.

“Just this once. If it’s ass, you’re not getting another light out of me.”

He was going to offer you a new one, but you’d taken the one he’d been smoking and casually placed it between your lips, as if the very sight hadn’t made the blood roar in Price’s ears. You frowned at the taste—he laughed, ignored the flush of heat across his body.

A knock on the door: Simon, turning in his papers. He froze when he saw you and Price, and though obscured by his mask, Price knew the lieutenant well enough to recognize the hesitation in his steps.

Why did he do it?—Price wondered now as he recalled that night, how you’d returned the cigar and he, without thinking, popped it right back to his mouth in front of Simon. And why did he feel proud?

But Price had to hold himself in check. As captain, he had boundaries that he mustn’t cross. The team’s well-being was his top priority, that was always the truth of it, and as he watched the boys dwell in the fallout of your shocking admission, he had no place in making this rivalry worse, no matter how he felt about you.

[darlingsblackbook]

Start of something new

Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary : After admiring the blonde from afar for a long time, you two have finally been assigned a mission together. What happens when trying to impress him goes wrong?

Warnings : Ugly curse, Nanami getting hurt, reader getting hurt. Not a lot of angst ( for the first time )

AN : This was not what I had in mind, I wanted angst but my hands had other plans and wrote this instead.

°•♡○° Masterlist °○♡○°

Being a jujutsu sorcerer wasn’t a job anyone took lightly. It wasn’t like the flashy, glorified superhero stories you’d see in movies. It was brutal, unforgiving, and most of all, lonely. We lived with death breathing down our necks every day, knowing that one wrong step could mean the end. But somehow, despite the constant danger, I found myself thinking about something—or rather, someone—far more distracting than any curse I’d faced.

Nanami Kento.

He wasn’t like the others at Jujutsu High. He wasn’t playful or reckless like Gojo, nor was he filled with the raw energy that fueled some of the younger sorcerers. Nanami was calm, composed, and, in many ways, distant. He treated sorcery like a job—nothing more, nothing less. He showed up, did his duty, and left. Simple. Efficient.

And yet, there was something about him that drew me in.

Maybe it was his strength. Or maybe it was his quiet sense of integrity, the way he carried himself like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders but never letting it break him. I’d watched him from a distance for months, admiring how he handled every mission with precision and control. There was a certain allure to his predictability, his steadfastness in a world that often felt like it was crumbling around us.

But I’d never spoken to him beyond a few short exchanges. Nanami wasn’t the type to engage in small talk or idle chatter, and frankly, I wasn’t either. Still, I couldn’t help the flutter in my chest whenever he walked past me in the hallways, his sharp gaze always focused ahead, never lingering on anyone or anything that wasn’t important to the task at hand.

That’s why, when I was assigned to a mission with him, my heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with the danger we were about to face.

The mission itself was standard enough on paper: locate and exorcise a curse that had been terrorizing the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary, just another day of risking our lives to maintain the fragile balance between the human world and the malevolent forces lurking in the shadows.

But there was something about working with Nanami that made the air feel heavier, like every step I took had more weight than it should.

“You’re unusually quiet today.”

His voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I realized I’d been staring at the ground as we walked through the city streets. I glanced up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but as always, his face was unreadable, his eyes hidden behind the thin frames of his glasses.

“I guess I’m just thinking,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. I wasn’t lying, though—thinking was pretty much all I’d been doing since the moment I found out we were going to be working together.

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He rarely did. Instead, he kept his gaze forward, scanning our surroundings with the same meticulous attention he gave to every mission.

“There’s no need to overthink,” he said after a moment. “Focus on the task at hand.”

Of course. That was Nanami for you—always focused, always prepared. He probably thought I was nervous about the mission itself, which was partially true. But there was a different kind of tension bubbling under my skin, one I wasn’t sure how to handle.

We continued walking in silence, the city around us gradually thinning out as we approached the more desolate outskirts. The buildings here were older, crumbling in some places, and the air felt heavier, like it was saturated with negative energy. It wasn’t hard to see why a curse had taken root here—this place felt like it had been forgotten by the world, a perfect breeding ground for malevolent spirits.

“Stay close,” Nanami instructed as we neared the warehouse where the curse had been spotted.

I nodded, gripping the handle of my weapon tightly. I wasn’t a rookie—I’d been through plenty of missions before, but something about this one felt different. It wasn’t just the ominous aura surrounding the area or the fact that the curse we were hunting was stronger than usual. No, what made this different was the weight of Nanami’s presence beside me, his calm demeanor both reassuring and intimidating at the same time.

The warehouse loomed ahead of us, its rusted doors hanging loosely on their hinges. A thick, oppressive energy seeped from the cracks in the walls, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Nanami stopped just outside the entrance, his gaze fixed on the dark interior.

“This curse is stronger than the ones you’re used to,” he said, his tone as even as ever. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Stay behind me and follow my lead.”

I bristled slightly at his words. I knew he meant well—Nanami wasn’t the type to put others in danger carelessly—but it still stung to be treated like I couldn’t hold my own.

“I can handle myself,” I said, a little sharper than I intended.

Nanami glanced at me, his expression unreadable as always. He didn’t argue, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t convinced. Without another word, he pushed open the door, and we stepped into the dim, musty interior of the warehouse.

The air inside was thick with cursed energy, so heavy it felt like it was pressing down on my chest. Every breath I took felt like it was dragging through tar, and my pulse quickened as we ventured deeper into the building. Shadows danced along the walls, shifting unnaturally, and the faint sound of something wet and slimy echoed through the space.

Nanami moved with the same steady precision he always did, his cursed energy barely rippling the air around him. Meanwhile, I could feel my own nerves starting to fray. This place was wrong—every instinct I had was screaming at me to leave, to get out before it was too late. But I couldn’t back down now. Not with Nanami here. I couldn’t let him think I was weak.

“Over there,” he said, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.

I followed his gaze to the far corner of the warehouse, where a figure was slowly emerging from the shadows. The curse was massive, its body shifting and writhing as though it was made of a thousand different parts stitched together. Its eyes—if you could call them that—glowed a sickly red, and its gaping maw was lined with rows of jagged, uneven teeth.

It let out a low, guttural growl, the sound vibrating through the floor beneath our feet. I tightened my grip on my weapon, steeling myself for the fight ahead.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. With a single fluid motion, he unleashed his cursed energy, his blade slicing through the air with precision and force. The curse let out a roar of pain as the attack connected, its body writhing in agony.

For a moment, it seemed like we had the upper hand. Nanami’s attacks were sharp, calculated, and I moved in sync with him, following his lead just as he’d instructed. We were making progress, slowly chipping away at the curse’s grotesque form.

But then, something shifted.

The curse’s body began to regenerate, faster than I’d ever seen before. The wounds Nanami inflicted sealed up almost instantly, and the creature’s energy surged, filling the space with a suffocating pressure. I felt it latch onto me, a cold, suffocating weight that wrapped around my chest like chains, making it impossible to breathe.

Before I could react, the curse lunged. Its massive form crashed into me, slamming me against the cold, hard concrete of the warehouse floor. Pain exploded through my side, and I gasped, struggling to regain my footing.

“Y/N!” Nanami’s voice cut through the haze of pain like a lifeline, but I could barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. My vision swam as I tried to push myself up, but my limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. The curse had pinned me down with a force that knocked the air from my lungs. I could feel the weight of its energy pressing into my skin, suffocating, burning.

This wasn’t just an attack—it was feeding off my fear.

I tried to summon my cursed energy, to push back against the overwhelming force, but nothing happened. My body wouldn’t cooperate. Panic clawed at my throat as the reality of the situation sank in—I was helpless.

No. I couldn’t let it end like this. Not like this.

I forced myself to focus, to pull what little strength I had left to fight back, but the curse was relentless. It loomed over me, its grotesque form shifting and writhing, as if it was made of pure darkness. Its red eyes burned into mine, mocking my weakness. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

Was this how it would end? Was this how I would die—trapped beneath a monster, unable to fight back, while Nanami was forced to watch?

Nanami.

I turned my head, searching for him through the haze of pain. He was still fighting, his cursed energy flaring as he slashed at the creature with precision, but the curse wasn’t giving him an opening. It regenerated faster than he could inflict damage, its body reforming almost instantly after every attack.

I knew he was strong. Nanami was one of the most skilled sorcerers I’d ever seen, but even he couldn’t fight something like this alone—not with me dragging him down.

“Stay behind me.” His words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder that he’d known this would happen. He’d known the curse was stronger than anything I’d faced before, and yet I’d been too stubborn, too desperate to prove myself.

I should have listened. I should have stayed out of his way. Instead, I’d made things worse. Now, I was nothing more than dead weight, lying here useless while Nanami risked his life to save me.

The curse moved again, its massive body shifting as it turned its attention back to me. I could feel its energy surging, growing stronger as it prepared to strike. Fear twisted in my gut, paralyzing me.

I was going to die.

“No.” The word slipped from my lips, barely a whisper, but it felt like a scream in my head. I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Not like this.

But my body refused to move. Pain radiated through my chest with every shallow breath, and my vision blurred as the edges of my consciousness began to fade.

Suddenly, a blur of movement crossed my field of vision, and before I could process what was happening, Nanami was there. He stood between me and the curse, his back to me, his body tense with determination.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice as calm and controlled as ever, but there was something different this time. Something that almost sounded like urgency.

I wanted to argue, to tell him I could still fight, but I couldn’t get the words out. The weight of my injuries held me down, and all I could do was watch as he faced the curse head-on.

Nanami’s cursed energy flared brighter than I’d ever seen it, golden and fierce, as he raised his blade. He moved with a precision that took my breath away, every strike calculated, every movement exact. There was no hesitation, no doubt—only the sheer force of his will.

But even as he fought, I could see the strain in his posture. The curse was relentless, its energy growing more erratic with every second. And Nanami, despite his strength, was starting to falter.

I tried to push myself up again, my hands shaking as I braced against the cold, hard floor, but the pain in my ribs flared, sharp and unforgiving. My breath caught in my throat, and I collapsed back down, gasping for air.

Nanami didn’t turn to look at me. His focus was entirely on the curse, but I could sense the urgency in his movements. He was running out of time—we were running out of time.

The curse lunged at him, its massive form crashing down with a force that shook the entire warehouse. Nanami blocked the attack with his blade, but the impact sent him stumbling back, his feet skidding against the concrete.

I could see the curse’s grotesque form shifting again, its body warping as it prepared for another strike. This one would be stronger, more devastating. I knew, deep down, that if Nanami didn’t find a way to end this soon, he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

Desperation clawed at my chest, mixing with the pain that had already taken root there. I couldn’t just lie here and watch him die. I couldn’t let this happen.

With a surge of adrenaline, I forced my body to move. I didn’t care about the pain, didn’t care that every breath felt like knives in my lungs. All I cared about was reaching Nanami before it was too late.

“Nanami!” I screamed his name, the sound raw and desperate, as I pushed myself to my feet. My vision swam, the warehouse tilting dangerously, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

The curse struck again, its claws swiping through the air with deadly precision. Nanami dodged, but I could see the exhaustion in his movements, the way his breath came in short, sharp bursts. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

And then it happened—so fast I barely registered it.

The curse’s clawed hand lashed out, and Nanami wasn’t quick enough to avoid it completely. The blow connected with his side, sending him flying across the warehouse. He crashed into a stack of old crates, the impact shaking the ground beneath my feet.

“Nanami!” I screamed again, panic surging through me as I stumbled toward him.

He didn’t move.

The curse let out a low, rumbling growl, its red eyes glowing brighter as it turned its attention back to me. I froze, my heart slamming against my ribs as I watched it move, slow and deliberate, toward where Nanami lay.

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Not Nanami. Not like this.

I forced my legs to move, pushing through the pain as I ran toward him. My body screamed in protest, every muscle burning, but I didn’t care. I had to get to him. I had to—

A blast of cursed energy rippled through the air, and suddenly, the curse was thrown back, its massive form crashing into the far wall of the warehouse. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat as I stared in disbelief.

Nanami was on his feet again, his cursed energy flaring like I’d never seen before. It surrounded him, lighting up the dim warehouse like a beacon.

He stood tall, his shoulders squared, his grip on his blade steady, despite the blood that dripped from the wound on his side. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was a fire in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice low and commanding. There was no room for argument.

The curse let out a guttural roar, its body shifting and writhing as it prepared for another attack. But Nanami didn’t give it the chance.

With a single, swift motion, he surged forward, his blade cutting through the air with lethal precision. The curse barely had time to react before he was on it, his attacks landing one after the other, each strike more devastating than the last.

The curse screeched, its body writhing in agony as it tried to regenerate, but this time, Nanami didn’t stop. He pressed forward, his cursed energy crackling through the air, overwhelming the creature with sheer force.

And then, with one final, devastating blow, Nanami brought his blade down, slicing clean through the curse’s core.

For a moment, everything was still. The curse let out one last, pitiful wail before its body dissolved into a cloud of dark, inky smoke.

It was over.

The warehouse was silent, the oppressive energy that had filled the space dissipating like a bad dream. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. The pain in my side was almost unbearable now, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the man standing in front of me, his form silhouetted against the dim light.

Nanami stood there for a moment, his shoulders heaving with the effort of the fight. Then, slowly, he turned to face me.

His eyes met mine, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I saw something in them that I hadn’t expected.

Relief.

Without a word, he crossed the distance between us, kneeling down beside me. His hands were gentle as they carefully checked the wound on my side, his expression focused, but there was a softness in his gaze that made my heart ache.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low and steady.

I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “So are you.”

Nanami’s lips twitched, just barely, before his expression returned to its usual stoic calm.

“Can you move?” he asked, his hand hovering over my shoulder as though he wasn’t sure whether to help me up or not.

I nodded, though the truth was, every part of me screamed in protest at the idea of moving. The pain was sharp and constant, radiating from my ribs and making it hard to breathe. But I refused to show weakness. Not in front of Nanami.

“I’ll manage,” I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to sit up. My vision swam for a moment, and I bit back a groan, determined not to let him see just how bad it was. I didn’t want him to think I was a liability—not after everything.

Nanami watched me carefully, his eyes scanning my face as though he could see through the lie. “You need medical attention,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

I shook my head. “I’m fine.” The words tasted like a lie even to me, but I wasn’t ready to admit just how broken I felt. There was a deep sense of guilt gnawing at me. I’d nearly cost us the mission. If Nanami hadn’t been there, I might have been dead.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, his eyes softening just enough to make my chest tighten with something that wasn’t pain. Without a word, he extended his hand to help me up. I hesitated for a split second before placing my hand in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet. His grip was firm, steady—everything about him radiated strength and control.

But underneath it all, I could sense his exhaustion. His breath came in quiet, measured paces, but the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly didn’t escape me. He was hurting too, no matter how composed he seemed.

“Nanami, I—" I started, but the words caught in my throat. What could I even say? I’d nearly gotten us both killed. “I’m sorry.”

Nanami’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he glanced at the ground, then back at me. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet understanding that seemed to weigh heavier than any scolding ever could.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “Right now, we need to get you to safety.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Despite the lingering pain, I nodded and fell into step beside him as we made our way out of the cursed warehouse. Every step felt like fire lancing through my side, but I pushed through it, focusing on Nanami’s steady presence beside me.

The cold night air hit us as we exited the building, and I sucked in a deep breath, wincing as my ribs protested the movement. My body felt like it was going to collapse any second, but I kept walking. Nanami didn’t speak as we left the area, but he stayed close, his gaze flickering toward me every few steps as if to make sure I was still standing.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached a quiet, secluded area where the oppressive energy of the curse couldn’t reach us anymore. Nanami finally stopped, turning to face me.

“You need to rest,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

I opened my mouth to protest, to insist that I was fine, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was a weariness there, something deep and unspoken that made my chest ache. He wasn’t just talking about me—he was talking about both of us.

I nodded silently, sinking down onto the ground with a sigh of relief. The pain in my side flared as I sat, but at least now I wasn’t on my feet anymore. I leaned back against a nearby wall, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to steady my breathing.

Nanami stood in front of me, his arms crossed as he looked out into the distance. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching between us like an invisible barrier. I wanted to say something—anything—to break it, but the words felt stuck in my throat.

Finally, Nanami turned his head slightly, glancing down at me. “You’re not weak, Y/N.”

The words caught me off guard, and I looked up at him, my eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“You’re not weak,” he repeated, his voice as steady as ever. “Today was difficult. But you didn’t back down.”

I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “I almost got us killed.”

Nanami shook his head, his expression softening just enough to let me see the truth behind his words. “You did what you could under the circumstances. That’s all anyone can ask.”

The weight of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d been so focused on my own failure, on the guilt that had been eating away at me, that I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Nanami didn’t see it that way. He didn’t blame me. He hadn’t written me off as weak or useless.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. “I just didn’t want to let you down.”

Nanami’s gaze softened further, and for the first time since we’d started the mission, I saw something like warmth flicker in his eyes. “You didn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with understanding, with a shared experience that didn’t need to be explained with words. Nanami wasn’t someone who gave praise lightly, but when he did, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest.

I took a deep breath, the pain in my side still present but more bearable now that the worst was over. “Thank you,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Nanami nodded, his expression unreadable once more, but I could feel the sincerity in his silence. He didn’t need to say more—his presence was enough. In that moment, I knew that despite the horrors of the mission, we’d made it through. Together.

And that, somehow, was enough.

All Rights Reserved © 2024 DarlingsBlackBook

[autistic-ben-tennyson]

A rant about Jedi Stans from an ex-Jedi fangirl

After some time I've had to reflect on my own behavior as well as my time in the pro Jedi fandom, I decided it's time to call this shit out. Some people take it really personal if someone criticized your favorite characters or their beliefs. Ironically, you all act more like the Sith than the Jedi with how obsessive you can be and insisting any criticism is equal to wanting genocide.

I'm going to start by saying I was in the pro jedi fandom for a few months. Truth be told, I was using it as an outlet for some of my anger issues with my hate towards Anakin, seeing him as similar to a lot of people I've had to deal with. Some of it was wanting more followers and fear of being disliked by the majority. I would pick fights with Anakin fans and was a bit of an asshole and I apologize for that. I still don't like him but no longer HATE him. Seeing how fandoms treat abuse victims who aren't perfect angels like Shinji Ikari or Lapis Lazuli has caused me to loosen up a bit. Many Jedi stans would probably hate those characters for not being “perfect” victims. In retrospect, this wasn't a good community for me. It was very puritanical and I often felt like I was wrong for enjoying media that went against the beliefs Jedi Stans put on a pedestal. Three of my favorite ships (Madohomu, Reishin and Hodaka x Hina) involve "burning the world for one person" and I felt like I couldn't talk about them without being a hypocrite. That and me agreeing less and less with Luca's beliefs pushed me to leave.

It's fine to enjoy a fictional character and defend them if you feel that they're being unfairly criticized. I've done it myself and have written essays defending my faves. The problem is that Jedi stans don't know when to stop. So many are quick to compare the Jedi to minority religions or marginalized groups as a shield against criticism, not recognizing how insulting that can be. Jewish, asian and aroace people are the ones normally used due to the Jedi beliefs being based off Eastern religions as well as Judaism as well as some aroace people identifying with the Jedi.

One thing I noticed about Jedi stans is their similarities to Jumblr which is full of religious chauvinism reworded to sound progressive. Many of them talk about how the Jedi shouldn't have to change their traditions with the times or to accommodate a few individuals like Anakin or Ahsoka. This can be similar to how a lot of people are quick to defend minority religions from outside criticism based on how they were treated by Christian colonists or missionaries. The problem is that this can veer right into ableist or queerphobic territory. You know who else believe that their religion shouldn't have to change with the times to accommodate people? Conservative Christians who hate being told to be affirming of LGBTQ people. Also, schools and parents/guardians do have a responsibility to accommodate kids with disabilities, mental health issues or trauma, even if it may be inconvenient or force you to bend the rules. Claiming they need to just suck it up is honestly disgusting.

This was all a big reason for why I left this garbage pit of a fandom. While there are some who hate the Jedi because they stan the empire or think people need 50s nuclear families to live fulfilling lives, not everyone does that. Believe it or not, some people have faced abuse and bigotry under Judaism and Buddhism. People can also criticize how Lucas presented their beliefs as some Buddhists think he didn't do a good job. Libsoftiktok is a vile transphobe, an Orthodox Jew and her beliefs are said to be fairly common in her community. Many people of color identify with the clones and dislike how even the nicer Jedi treated them. When Obi Wan told Anakin, "It's okay to have romantic feelings, but you must let them pass," that hits different for queer people who have been told similar things from "polite" homophobes. Some queer people do choose celibacy like Side B christians which is fine as long as they don't treat it as a moral failure to want a relationship. There are many neurodivergent people who don't like the Jedi beliefs as they hit close to home. Lucas may have not intended to come off as ableist but the Jedi did with their beliefs about negative emotions. To some people, platitudes like "just let go" aren't helpful and treating it as bad for not living up to those principles is gross.

I deleted the post, but a while back I made a post asking a popular pro jedi blogger their views on adoption since they claimed Anakin not viewing the Jedi as his "found family" was a moral failure. I found their response to be tone deaf and insulting. I responded in a decent way of course, but felt a bit judged and unhappy for wanting to know my birth mother. Adoptees are another set of people this fandom is insensitive and gross to. The Kenobi series I find insulting for that reason too, having Leia be a foil for Anakin and Obi Wan romanticize his recruitment as a child.

Jedi fans are also shitty to those with religious trauma and who faced abuse. Accusing anyone who criticizes the Jedi of projecting their issues with Christianity while simultaneously talking like conservatives as shown above. Tumblr in general has a weird habit of treating religion as if it’s either conservative evangelicalism, liberal reform Judaism and some vague pagan or eastern spirituality with little nuance. Some Jedi stans really come from a place of privilege. Claiming "they can just leave" is insulting to real religious abuse survivors who were raised with harmful beliefs like creationism or homophobia. I'm no antitheist but treating non christian religion as inherently progressive dismisses a lot of people's experiences.

Let's be real, the writing in this franchise was always a bit sloppy. Lucas's issue was wanting to simultaneously create both a black-and-white morality tale for kids based on the fairy tales and serials he grew up and a deep socio-political commentary about the Vietnam and Iraq wars which required some morally grey themes. Thus, along with his terrible dialogue that made the characters seem unlikable, is why the fandom is so divided over whether he intended people to agree with the prequel Jedi.

To wrap this up, I found the pro jedi fandom to be a terrible experience. It was a mix of faux progressivism mixed with fear of judgement for disagreeing. I ended up editing a post I made, and eventually deleted, comparing Yoda with Garnet from SU because I included a tiny bit of criticism and didn't want to get backlash. As long as it’s not gross or bigoted criticism of your favorite characters isn't the end of the world. People don't have to like George Lucas or his beliefs and put them on a pedestal. I feel like the fandom's worship of George comes in response to OT purists who claimed he "raped their childhoods" but there's fair criticism to be made. Just like how not everyone who criticizes Disney SW or any Disney media in general is an "anti woke" grifter. To the pro jedi fans reading this, here's a suggestion. Just block and ignore people, write an essay if you feel it's important, but don't act like an entitled bully if a blog or even a SW writer disagrees with the Jedi, interprets the story differently or criticizes your favorite characters.

[yourejinx]

Undeniable Bonds.

Azriel x F. Reader

Warnings: angst, sad, ugly thoughts. 

word count: 3583.

Author’s note: I’m so sorry I’m so late with this. I still don’t know if I like it, but hopefully it isn’t that bad. I know it still is a lot of context, but I promise I’m getting somewhere. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

“CASSIAN!” — Nesta’s warning roar reached my ears and everything seemed to stop. I turned around dragging my sword with me and gutting the Hybern soldier in one go. 

I scanned the area where Cassian’s party was fighting in the skies, then towards the older Archeron sister on the ground next to Amren. Something throbbed inside my veins in warning, as if something hideous had come to life. It took me a heartbeat to understand. The Cauldron. It was going to blast, and Nesta had known where it was aimed at. 

 The Ilyrians had their shields up, Rhys had blasted his magic across the field and Cassian —gods above— Cassian was already racing towards Nesta, and out of the Cauldrons range. Still, something kept pushing, urging me to move. Danger, Danger, Danger it chanted. It hit me a moment later, and all my alarms went off. Where was Azriel? 

Amidst the blinding light and unbearably heat of the blast that followed, I almost missed the faint blue glow trying and failing to contain the blow. There, just behind the ranks, Azriel’s focus was solely in holding that shield up, trying to spare someone, anyone. I could only watch in horror as one of those abhorred gray-skinned creatures approached him fast, claws ready to cut through skin and bone. It was going to behead him. 

I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream like Nesta had to let him know. But my voice failed me, my throat so sore that only a pathetic strangled whisper managed to escape my trembling lips; “No.”

I cursed the mother, the gods and fate itself for not making me a winged creature. 

It was impossible for him to have heard it through this distance, and yet —somehow— as if it had slapped him across the face, he turned towards me. His eyes found mine through ash and gore and despair, and I couldn’t let myself think twice before winnowing right at his back, atop the damned beast aiming for his head. I couldn’t bother with strategy at this point, I just angled my blade against that misshaped chest and pushed to get it through its heart. The creature thrashed and fought fangs and claws to get me off, turning us around in the sky as we plummeted down towards certain death. It was enough, I told myself as the ground inched closer to us. It was enough to get it away from Azriel. 

I braced myself for the impact, my eyes closed shut and my arms gave up as the creature finally stopped moving. But my body never touched the ground. 

Rough, desperate hands were gripping my legs and under my arms, snatching me from the Attor’s grip and up to the skies again. I dared a look at his face, he was forcing his still healing wings far too much but he didn’t seem to care. Hazel orbs were already staring at me. Gaping at me. And I felt it too, the golden string stretching between our souls. Mates, Azriel was my mate. 

“You…” Azriel choked on his words. Eyes wide.

“Later.” I promised, still shaken by the feeling of him. Of his very essence entwining with mine. 

But the war was still raging under our feet. Later never came. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

It had been terrible timing for the bond to snap then. With all that was going on, Amren turning into a living raging flame then vanishing, the Cauldron and the world falling apart…Rhys dying —fucking dying on us — only to come back later. 

We didn't speak about it, Azriel and I. Didn't bother to acknowledge it as time passed and we fell back into routine. The adrenaline of the war worn out. 

It didn't matter anyways, I realized coming back to present time, for he had hated it even then. So I shut it down, and never dared to talk it into existence. 

My mate, the person destined for me, despised me in every way he could. It had to be the saddest joke of them all. 

But he had a right, after all, who would love an unworthy monstrous thing like myself? 

I pushed the little bakery's door open, walking straight to Rhysand's favorite sweets and buying an entire box of them. 

"You're not his fucking sister!", Azriel's words still rang loudly in my head. I had to think carefully how to bring the subject up to Rhys, my decision  to leave this court. Because even if I wanted to deny it, some part of what the Shadowsinger had said resonated with me. I didn't deserve Rhys, didn't deserve any of them. 

It was getting late already, the sun starting its descent behind the mountains casting Velaris in a warm orange glow. Feyre spotted me first through the open window of their shared home and waved at me to come in. Rhys was just a few feet behind her, holding baby Nyx close to his chest. They looked so happy, if not albeit a bit tired due to the still new parenting dynamic. A smile cut its way through my lips at the scene. 

"Y/N, back already?" The High Lady smiled warmly at me. I returned the gesture. 

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to Rhys about something." I said approaching them and placing a kiss atop Nyx's raven hair. I waved the box of sweets in front of Rhysand's nose. "Has Azriel showed up?" 

"No, why?" He asked, snatching the box from my hands with a childish grin and handling the babe to his mate. 

I waved a hand in dismissal. He motioned for me to follow him into his office and out to the open balcony overviewing the river. 

"What 's going on?" 

"Well, we— I didn't found anything that could track back to the missing fae," 

"I sense there's a but somewhere in there.." He said, cocking an eyebrow. 

"But…it felt wrong. There was something strange going on. I'm sorry I don't have any proof to offer you, it was a waste of time." 

He frowned. "It could happen, we weren't certain about it. We'll keep looking, you’re going to catch them." Rhys opened the box, throwing some sweets into his mouth and then offered me some. “You’re not here just for the mission, are you? I’m guessing either this is some kind of bribe or you’re trying to soften the blow.” 

I gave him a half smile, bracing my hands on the railing. His own smile faltered for a moment and concern latched onto his features. “I should brace myself for the blow then,” he commented, resting his back on the railing next to me and searching for my face.

“It’s not that…” I murmured, still not looking directly at him. “You know I love you, right?”

“If you’re going to confess now, please remember my mate is next door” he joked. 

“Ass.” I nudged in the ribs with an elbow. Rhys chuckled to himself. 

“I love you too, idiot. What 's going on?”

I let out a small sigh. How was I supposed to approach the subject? I have never been good with words and there was so much to tell. 

“I mean it, Rhys. You’re my family, you and Feyre, Mor, Cass, Amren…all of you. I’ve never had that, you know? a true family” I glanced at him at last. “I’m sorry if in my excitement I crossed a boundary that I shouldn’t have crossed. I know I’m not your sister, and I will never be her, nor do I intend to occupy her place in your heart. I just… never knew how much I wanted to belong somewhere until I met you guys.”

He frowned deeply. His whole demeanor was serious now. 

“Where is this coming from Y/N? Of course you’re not my sister, she’s been gone for a long time. But you still are my family, you’re my sister in every way that counts except for blood. I don’t understand what my dead sister has to do with anything.”

I shook my head, already regretting my choice of words. 

“You give me way more than what I deserve… I think it’s time for me to really earn my living.”

“Let me see if I understand correctly. You think you don’t deserve your life here, your home, your job, your friends. Because that should’ve belonged to my sister? Who told you that?”

My eyes shut and I breathed deeply through my nose. I didn’t mean to offend him. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but I can't help feeling like I'm living off of you, of your money.” 

“You’re not using my money, you’re using your money. The one you’ve earned by putting your life on the line every single time for us, whenever I asked. You’re not my charity project, you’re my family, and I owe you just as much. So let me ask you again, who put such ideas in your head?” 

“No one Rhys. I had that thought in the back of my mind for a while now and when an opportunity had presented itself I just…I don’t want to be a burden.”

Rhys relaxed his shoulders a bit, and put a hand atop my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“A couple of months ago Hellion offered me a position in his court and told me to think about it, it is mine if I want it. I could finally have my own place, and I would still visit you here”

“I can’t tell you not to take it if that’s what you really want, what would make you happy. But don’t do it for the wrong reasons. Everything you have here, you’ve earned it. The only thing I’m offering you for free is my friendship, I don’t think you’re a replacement for my sister, you are your own person and we all love you for you. So please, get that ridiculous idea that you’re a burden out of your thick skull.” He pinched my cheek affectionately, my throat felt tight. “ And as for Hellion… think about it thoroughly, at least stay until Solstice, would you do that for me?” 

I nodded, not trusting my voice. His eyes were always so gentle on me, so understanding. 

“Alright.” I mused. 

Soft knocks sounded from behind us and Feyre poked her head through the half-open door. “Sorry to interrupt you guys but Azriel is here, says it's urgent.” 

Rhys cut a glance at me as if to make sure I was fine before he let the Shadowsinger in. I knew that Rhys suspected about us, about the mating bond, but I never told him and he never asked. My relationship with Azriel has always been strained and Rhysand could absolutely tell it was hurting me, but as long as I wouldn’t bring it up he’d stay out of it. And I appreciated that.

Feyre nodded behind her and fully opened the door to let the Shadowsinger inside. His posture was rigid, wings tucked tight as his eyes fell upon me. “You were right.” He uttered. “I found something back in Spring.”    

I willed my face into neutrality, there was no way in Hell I would let him see how much his words had affected me. “What is it?”

"I found a caravan of females of different ages set to be transported through the river. I broke them free but there was no sign of their captors, however I think there’s something you should see.” Azriel’s face was stoic as ever, revealing nothing about the mission nor our previous conflict. 

I turned to Rhysand once more, “We should go check on them, but Rhys we can’t leave them there. They will strike again, I’m sure of it, and we can’t count on Tamlin either. No one has heard a word of him in months.” 

“We can’t exactly bring an entire court to The Shelter Y/N, those females, they have families. Despite Tamlin being missing, there are still rules and accords with the other courts. It won’t look good. The other High Lords won’t look the other way if we just trespass the borders and start to bring people into our court or if we leave sentinels in there, they will take it as an act of defiance, of me trying to expand these lands and my rule on them.” He had an apologetic look on his face, ever the wise High Lord considering every possible outcome. 

I knew he was right and I would not get mad at him. Still, it frustrated me to no end. 

I chewed on my bottom lip trying to come up with a solution, at least until we found the slavers. 

“What if I talked to Eris?” I offered. “Maybe we could station a small patrol near the border with Autumn under his discretion, maybe he could put some of his own sentinels on guard duty.” 

Azriel snorted. “You trust Eris?”

“It is better than nothing Azriel, what do you propose?” I asked, eyebrows high and tone bitter. 

The Shadowsinger opened his mouth to reply but Rhys's voice cut him off before we got engaged in another fight yet again. "Let me deal with Eris. You go talk to them, learn whatever you can about what happened to them and report back. You two are stuck there until I sort it out with Eris. Lay low, no one can know of your presence other than the survivors. Be extremely careful." 

We both nodded our agreement, not daring another word.  I moved past Azriel to the door and he followed closely behind. I could feel his body heat almost enveloping me, he was way too close to be casual. 

"If you're worried about what I told Rhysand, I left your name out of it. I took full responsibility for it.” 

“Why?” He side-glanced at me. I shrugged. 

“Because I’m tired of explaining myself. If you want to get into an argument with me then go ahead, I won’t bother with it. You can go tell him whatever you please.”

I couldn’t be bothered to try and hide the tiredness of my body and mind out of my face. Two whole centuries of this, insulting each other, hurting each other, it was enough. I’ll handle anything he decides to throw at me but I’m done fighting back. 

Azriel, to my surprise, didn’t say anything as we walked into the open night. 

The night sky had already settled around the city, covering it with its black and dark blue mantle of flickering stars. In my two hundred years of life I had never encountered a more beautiful sight than the one Velaris offered. The Day Court surely will be a huge change, away from everything, from my family and friends, from my favorite cafés and galleries, from the whisper of the quiet darkness that had accompanied me my whole life. 

I tore my eyes away from it, ready to winnow; I could feel Azriel’s stare fixed on my face.

“I’ll fly us there.” He offered so low it could have been dragged away with the wind. 

“There’s no need for that.” 

“You’re tired. Better save some energy, just in case.”    

I turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed, and could have mistaken the look on his eyes for concern if I didn’t know him any better. “What did you find there, Azriel?”

Hazel orbs moved to my left wrist, swift, smooth; I wrapped my hand around it almost unconsciously, and brought my arm to my chest, hiding it from his view. 

“The females in the caravan, they have the same mark you have on your skin.” 

The small crow that had been burned and scarred onto my wrist, branded. My back went rigid. It couldn’t be who I was thinking, that monster died that horrible night two centuries ago. It had to be an imitator, some kind of joke. 

The shadowsinger placed a tentative hand on my elbow and brought me out of my own head. I yanked it back from his touch. “Let's go, I want to see it.” Was my only reply. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Azriel. 

Your whole demeanor had changed the moment he brought up that hideous mark, a reminder of the haunting past. He didn’t have the full story but given your reaction, and the looks on those fae he had freed, it hadn’t been a personal choice. 

Azriel felt bad for being an asshole to you earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter an apology. He hadn’t always been like this, but it was already too late to take it back. You irritated him to no end, the way your scent would flow up his nose and never leave him, day and night it would invade his senses, clouding his mind with that unique water lilies and lemon zest smell of yours. And that big full mouth? always ready to retort to him. Nobody had ever possessed such an innate ability to get under his skin as easily as you did. It made him so mad he could tear at his own hair in frustration. 

Still, deep down, Azriel knew that most of his anger wasn't of your doing, not on purpose at least. He would find the tiniest of excuses to keep you out and away from him, not being ready to face the full truth as to why you affected him so much. You always did. It was easier to just dislike you. 

But in those extremely rare moments when you would let a sliver of a true emotion show around him, his resolve trembled. And the tightness he felt in his chest was much harder to ignore. 

You were silent the whole flight to the Spring Court, something akin to pain haunted your eyes. He didn’t dare speak about it, but something in his stomach twisted at that look. 

For the past hour or so he watched you silently as you talked to the females, inspecting them for injuries aside from the branding, asking them about their captors and being extremely patient with them. A little girl even came up to you, eyelashes wet with tears and begged you to find her mother. Azriel caught the way your face twisted into a grim, even if to the little girl you looked confident enough that you were gonna reunite her with her mother. She had clung to you for the rest of the night until she felt asleep. 

You had a heart, and a kind soul beyond his comprehension, even if he wanted to convince himself that you didn't. It was a lie. He used to tell himself that you were nothing but Hewn City filth, that no one good could ever come out of that place and you would betray them all eventually. Yet there was Mor. And yet, you were here. 

Mor, he hadn't thought about her in a while, not like he used to. He'd like to think the lovely doe-eyed female back home was somehow responsible for it...but he wouldn't dare dig into it much deeper. Somehow his mind always found a way to trick him, bringing thoughts about that other person he couldn't stand. It was not alright to compare. 

Azriel snapped back to reality as you moved to approach him, leaving the little girl under the care of an elderly villager. Even in her slumber, she made grabby hands at your receding figure.

"She seemed kinda reluctant in letting you go." He observed. The barely there ghost of a smile tugged at your lips but it was short lived and maybe, just maybe, he could have imagined it. "I didn't know you had a soft spot for children." 

You sighed softly, tiredly, as you walked beside him to your guarding spot for the night. He did notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you tried and failed to keep your shoulders from sagging, and was about to offer to just take the guard himself when you spoke. 

"Children are very rare, and precious. It is a blessing to be able to connect with them." Your voice, albeit quiet, was charged with emotion. He thought that was as far as the conversation would go, but you swallowed and after a couple of heartbeats in silence, you spoke again. "I had a little sister once. She reminded me of her."

Maybe it was the rawness and vulnerability of the current situation at hand that had you sharing a little bit with him. Maybe you were so exhausted that you couldn't stop the thoughts from spilling from your lips. Whatever it was, it also compelled him to listen. 

"What happened?" He asked, barely above a whisper. 

You gave him the saddest, tight lip smile he ever saw you wear and something tugged at his very core. "We were born at the wrong place." 

He had judged you wrong, took you up for a cruel, dark creature, never once stopping to think about what you may have endured while you still lived at the Court of Nightmares. Azriel knew it was only a reflection of what he thought of himself. 

He didn’t dare ask about the mark on your wrist, not yet. It felt too personal, and he doubted you would have shared it with him anyways. 

"Listen about earlier..." He started an apology. Voice a little gruff. 

But you cut him out, pinning him with an icy stare, took up the spot on the nearby tree, and didn't talk to him again. 

Tag list: 

@valeridarkness   @hannzoaks   @fall-myriad   @goradgirl   @cmay25 

@feiwelinchen   @katherine-2007  @anniebannanie0315  @cosmic-whispers  @acotarxx

Hope I didn’t forget anyone. Thank you for reading :)

[holdmytesseract]

Hey bestiee, How are you doing?

It been soo long I know 😅, how about loki taking care of the reader while she is struggling with studying for exams?

No pressure!

Lots of love❤

Professor Laufeyson

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: Loki makes sure you take a break during studying. Being the supportive boyfriend he is, he even helps you study - kinda.

Warnings: studying? some stress, slight panic, fluff and a lot of sexy stuff/steamy hot times/suggestive smut

Word Count: 1,9k

a/n: I have now two weeks off! Yaaay! 🥳 And to celebrate that, I'm gonna give you this... And this turned out smuttier than I thought, but well... 👀 I'm not complaining - and I'm certain you guys are not complaining as well. 👀 Enjoy! Especially you, my friend @simping-for-marvel !

P.s. I hope you all's 'muscle memory' is working, 'cause there's a scene in there who is even better when you're able to connect the dots. 😏

Tagging: @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @lulubelle814 @muddyorbsblr @loz-3 @vbecker10 @jennyggggrrr @lokisninerealms @mochie85 @chantsdemarins @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @theaudacitytowrite @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @vanilla-daydreaming @lou12346789 @kimanne723 @linaax @coldnique @lady-rose-moon @acefeather2002 @aagn360 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @kikster606 @somewiseguy @huntress-artemiss @lunarnights95 @fire-treasure-iii @zippythewondersquirrel @alexakeyloveloki @goblingirlsarah @lokiforever @bunny24sstuff @anukulee @valencia-rou @itsybitchylittlewitchy @meowmeow-motherfucker @chokeanddagger @smolvenger

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

"Ugh..." You groaned; rubbing your temples with both hands. Why was studying such a pain in the ass? Why am I even doing this to myself? You asked yourself; on the verge of despair. Right... Because my stupid ass wanted to become a teacher...

Reminding the words of your best friend - no pain, no gain - you took a deep breath and kept on going. You tried so hard to get the information of the various texts and formulas inside your head - but you couldn't. Your brain was already so stuffed full and fogged up, you couldn't do that anymore. It was like trying to squeeze your foot in a way too small shoe.

Impossible.

And hence, the stuff you had to learn for the exam wasn't even difficult! 'Just' some basic knowledge! You should know that already! But right now, you felt like you couldn't even calculate what was one plus one...

Another desperate groan left your lips. It didn't help. You needed to keep going. You had to.

Unbeknownst to you - yet, summoned the groan which left your lips your boyfriend, who was just down the hall in the living room; casually sitting on the sofa, reading. His ears literally perked up at the sound of his lover seemingly falling into despair. Closing his book shut, he stood up and made his way towards your little study.

Knocking gently on the door, "Darling?" Loki stepped cautiously inside - only to find you hunched over your desk; almost tearing your hair out. The god's eyebrows slanted. Seeing you like this caused his heart to ache - and he knew exactly what the problem was... "Darling..." He said once more; approaching you. "Y/N..." The moment his gentle hands touched your back; you flinched. You were so zoned out and lost inside the impossible task ahead, that you didn't even notice Loki.

"Shhh, my love, it's just me." You turned around in your chair to face him; forcing a smile on your face. "Hey..." You saw the look on his face, and before he could say something, you lunged forward to kiss him.

Then you quickly turned in your chair again and focused on the notes in front of you. Loki said nothing, just watched you 'work' for a few minutes. His gaze was critical. Something you didn't notice.

Suddenly you felt his hands on your back again, but this time, they were sliding lower; coming to rest on your hips. He leaned in closer; causing you to feel his warm, minty breath against the shell of your ear. "You need a break, darling. I can see that."

You immediately shook your head. "I can't, Lokes. I have to keep on studying. Unless, I won't pass the exam." Your boyfriend's eyebrow lifted - also something you weren't able to see, before he started to smile mischievously.

He leaned even closer; pressing his lean, but strong chest against your shoulder blades. He started to kiss and gently nip on the skin of your neck. You knew what he was trying now - and you tried with all your willpower to resist, but when Loki started to softly bite you, only to soothe the stinging pain with his cool tongue, your walls were crumbling down. You closed your eyes; fighting the urge to moan. "L-Loki, s-stop, I-" "Oh, no, no..." He interrupted you; grip tightening on your hips. "You're taking a break, darling. Now. I don't want you to have a breakdown. Come on." His words were stern, yet filled with love. He only wanted the best for you - and you knew it. So, you gave in. You would've given in anyway, if he'd have continued to kiss you like that...

Sighing with a nod, you turned around in the chair once more and let your boyfriend scoop you up into his arms.

Loki carried you out of the study and into the living room, where he let you down gently on the sofa. "I'll make you some tea, alright? You need to stay hydrated. That's very important - and like I know you, you haven't drunk enough water today." Your cheeks reddened softly. You gave him an apologetic smile; subtly telling him that he was right. The god just shook his head, "Oh my love..." before he disappeared into the kitchen.

About ten minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup of tea and a big glass of water. "Water to stay hydrated; tea for relaxation." He handed you the water first - which you gulped down within seconds. You definitely needed that. Placing the tea on the little table beside the sofa, Loki joined you. It was an invitation for you to immediately cuddle close against him. The god welcomed you with opened arms and a soft chuckle. "And you said you didn't want to take a break..." "Well... You never said that the break included cuddling with you..." You answered; while burying your face in his shoulder. "Study breaks always include cuddles." Loki argued; pulling you closer and pressing a kiss on your head. "Rest now, my love." And you did.

Just when you were on the verge of dozing off, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it." Loki immediately said; gently shoving you off of him and standing up. No five minutes later, he returned with two white boxes, causing your eyes to widen. "You ordered pizza?" Your boyfriend smiled; joining you once again. "Of course, I did, my love. You haven't eaten much today - and your body needs food to keep the energy up. Means in conclusion. No food, no concentration, and without concentration no studying." You dug immediately in the pizza; smiling brightly. "You're the best, baby. Thank you so much." "Anything for you, darling."

The cuddling resumed after the delicious meal you and Loki had - and it came how it had to come... You dozed off; slept in on Loki's comfortable chest - which caused you to wake up in a bit of panic, since you wanted to use way more of this day to study...

"Ohh fuck..." You cursed, as you looked on your watch. Your shifting and moving woke up the god as well, of course. "Darling, what-" "I wanted to take more time to learn and now we dozed off... It's almost 8 p.m!" You wanted to stand up, but Loki stopped. "Y/N... Don't panic, alright? We got this. I'll help you."

You frowned at his words. Help me? How? With a snap of his fingers appeared your notes in his lap. "Lay back down, my love. Get comfortable. Relax and just listen."

Loki knew how much you loved his voice. That was one reason why he always read to you. Now, he'd make use of this to help you study - and oh boy, nothing - absolutely nothing could've prepared you for this...

Your boyfriend cleared his throat and started to read your notes to you. "Einstein's theory of relativity is E equals mc squared." You blinked as soon as the formula had slipped past his lips. "This means that energy equals mass, times the speed of light... squared." Loki lowered his voice into an almost rough, husky tone, causing your whole body to sizzle. Never before had someone made math sound so sexy. It was obscenely erotic... And it was just the beginning...

"The Pythagorean equation is a squared plus b squared equals c squared. This means that for all right-angled triangles, the square on the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides." The god continued; watching from the corner of his eyes, how you shifted almost uncomfortably beside him. The way you squeezed your legs together didn't slip his notice either. He smirked. Just how he wanted.

You were positively a hot, aroused mess at the end of his 'reading session'. How could you not? The way he accentuated the words literally caused your ovaries (and various other things) to explode...

"PI is the circumference divided by the diameter of any circle. It's impossible to know the exact value, but PI is approximately 3,1-" Before Loki could finish to read the last note, you interrupted him. You just couldn't take it anymore. He definitely helped you to anchor the formulas inside your brain, but maths was the last thing you could think about now.

You turned around and quickly snatched your notes out of the god's hands.

"Darling, what...?" Your boyfriend feigned innocence, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes betrayed him. Literally throwing the paper sheets away on the other side of the sofa, you bit your lip. "We need to test my knowledge, baby, and not just 'read through it'." You said, placing both your palms on his thick, muscular, grey sweatpants clad thighs; rubbing them up and down. Loki got the hint, of course and smiled smugly. "Ahh, I see. You are absolutely right, darling. We should definitely test your knowledge." "Mhh, we should. Ask me a question and I tell you the answer." "Glady," Loki purred; enjoying your touch so close to where he wished your hands to be.

"What's the formula for Einstein's theory of relativity?" You smiled; not stopping your hands from caressing his clothed thighs. "Easy. E equals mc squared." Loki nodded, before he had to suppress as small groan as your hands almost hit home. "Mhm...V-Very good, darling. N-Next question."

"What is the meaning of the Pythagorean equation?" You bit your lip again. "It means that for all right-angled triangles, the square on the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides - almost like this triangle here," you whispered seductively and smiled; while the tip of your pointer finger traced the obvious tent in Loki's sweatpants. It caused the god to shiver; breath hitching in his throat. He definitely needed a moment to recover from that sudden, delicious move - but then, he smirked. "Indeed. Although I believe that it's going to be an even more perfect triangle in just a few minutes." You couldn't help the small giggle which escaped your lips. "Oh, I absolutely believe that. What's next, professor Laufeyson?"

The term you just used send Loki's arousal almost skyrocketing. His jaw clenched; hands turning to fists. He needed more. More friction. More contact. More you. So, he reached out his arms; hands landing on your sides - and before you could do or say something against it, Loki had pulled you in to sit on his lap. You moaned; feeling more now as well.

"The last question is," your boyfriend started; tightening his grip on your hips. "For what do you need PI?" "C-Circles," you gasped; palms landing on his strong chest to steady yourself. "Circles?" Loki asked further. You nodded half-heartedly and started to move your hips - in a circle, making the both of you groan. "Mhhh, yesss..." Loki hissed; throwing his head back and exposing his neck to you. His veins pulsated; raven curls spilling over the back rest of the sofa. "Exactly, darling. You did perfectly - but I'd like to... deepen our studying a bit. Preferably without our clothes on." You smiled and leaned in to place a sloppy kiss on his lips. "Ohh, what a tempting offer, professor... I'd love that."

Now you were (still) laying on the sofa, but on your side, with Loki's naked chest pressed against your bare back. He had his arm protectively slung around your middle and was fast asleep. You could tell by his deep and even breathing.

You pulled the blanket Loki's seidr had manifested around the both of you closer; bathing in the warmth Loki and the cosy blanket offered. Your notes were still laying abandoned on the other side of the sofa and they would probably stay there until tomorrow morning. Well... That wasn't exactly how you planned this, but yeah... You didn't complain either. Maths could be indeed sexy.

[vickyvicarious]

Poor Lucy seemed much upset. She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing: she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself.

This line is so interesting to me, because it's part of the pre-Dracula sleepwalking, and yet already we are seeing this element of Lucy not knowing what is going on with herself. Not simply with regards to her not knowing that she's sleepwalking - but something deeper, a possible failure to understand that there may be any reason for restlessness at all. In other words, she might not even realize that she is stressed (enough to affect her mood/health).

Of course, the other option is that she knows it full well but isn't willing to admit to it. And that certainly fits with the themes explored in her story! I do think to a certain degree it has to be true that Lucy knows things are wrong but doesn't want to admit to that. In fact, we get confirmation of her doing this at various points. But those are more about physical issues. This line suggests Lucy might be in denial or unable to recognize her own emotions when they are not positive or do not correspond with what is expected for her. For example, she should be happy about getting married to Arthur, so anything outside happiness is repressed. I want to make it very clear that I'm not suggesting she doesn't feel this happiness. She loves him, she's excited to marry him. Period. However, she may also be stressed about other things in conjunction with this. Later on in this same entry, Mina describes Lucy's reaction to the abuse of the pet dog:

Lucy is so sweet and sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people do. [...] I greatly fear that she is of too super-sensitive a nature to go through the world without trouble. She will be dreaming of this to-night, I am sure. The whole agglomeration of things—the ship steered into port by a dead man; his attitude, tied to the wheel with a crucifix and beads; the touching funeral; the dog, now furious and now in terror—will all afford material for her dreams.

These lines about Lucy feeling influences and being super-sensitive... Mina means them here in the sense that she will be very upset and affected by all of these distressing experiences, more than other people would. But the story itself certainly seems to suggest that Lucy is more susceptible to magical influences as well, what with the fallout being Lucy delivering herself to Dracula. There's ambiguity whether she was simply returning to her favored seat, or whether Lucy, much like the dog, felt Dracula's presence during the funeral. The reader is free to interpret what they like here, and I've waffled on it myself in the past. But there's a couple things that make me think 'both' might be the answer, and one of them is the link between Lucy and the dog.

During the funeral, the dog behaves uncharacteristically in a couple of ways. Initially, its reaction to Dracula is noise and protective behaviors. This is consistent with other dogs who have been in his presence, but isn't typical for this dog in particular (and thus is definitely due to him). But once it is forced onto the gravestone above him, it cannot try to alarm or fight anymore. Instead, it sinks into a state of terror and seems unable to flee. At the same time, Lucy is clearly also very distressed, but makes no move to help the dog.

They are both quiet persons, and I never saw the man angry, nor heard the dog bark. During the service the dog would not come to its master, who was on the seat with us, but kept a few yards off, barking and howling. Its master spoke to it gently, and then harshly, and then angrily; but it would neither come nor cease to make a noise. It was in a sort of fury, with its eyes savage, and all its hairs bristling out like a cat's tail when puss is on the war-path. Finally the man, too, got angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog, and then took it by the scruff of the neck and half dragged and half threw it on the tombstone on which the seat is fixed. The moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and fell all into a tremble. It did not try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering, and was in such a pitiable state of terror that I tried, though without effect, to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not attempt to touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way.

In the past, dogs have raised the alarm against Dracula, but we've never actually seen them meet him on the page so much as heard about it afterwards. It's possible that they always cower once he gets too close. But it's also possible that the dog's close proximity to him here allowed him to influence it in some way, perhaps similar to the way he used his paralyzing gaze on Jonathan during the shovel attack (though obviously not relying on line of sight in this case). Regardless if it was an automatic aura or a more deliberate action on his part, it seems clear that the dog was affected by being so close to Dracula. And I wonder if Lucy's "super-sensitive nature" allowed her to sort of... pick up on that influence. Her behavior matches the dog's in the moment. She too is deeply distressed but seems unable to move, only to look on. She's also atop the grave Dracula is in at the time. And perhaps that influence lingers, affecting her in her sleep even as Mina fears the other events of that day might. Perhaps it draws her back to the place she first felt it, a place that her sleepwalking self is naturally already inclined to head towards. Something she feels, but cannot verbalize, and does not even necessarily understand she is feeling.

Perhaps her sleepwalking was influenced by others in the first place, without her even realizing it. I do think Lucy is more observant than she's given credit for, and she could very well be noticing Mina's distress and her mother's illness. But she could also, with this theory, be affected by them in a subconscious way, enough to influence her own health and sleep.

Basically, what I'm hinting at is some kind of unaware empath(ish) Lucy. I think it could work really well with established themes and details. It would tie in so well with details like her looking in her mirror and trying to read herself, or her sleepwalking in her youth, her father sleepwalking, her father being dead. (Perhaps he too had this ability. Perhaps he was ill when she was sleepwalking as a child.) It also could be such an interesting piece of everything surrounded the theme of keeping up appearances, putting on a happy face, not voicing distress. Her mother has taught her to be this way - and sure, it's a function of her societal role, but also... maybe it's related to her knowing Lucy is different in some way even if she can't verbalize how. The people-pleasing tendencies, her distress at turning down the suitors: sure, she's a very sweet person, but also what if she feels their distress too in a much more literal way than most people?

Perhaps Lucy has always been this way. Perhaps she has shared in the distress others feel to the point that it has made her sickly in the past... this could be a contributing factor to the way her mother tends to infantilize her and want her to be 'cared for', to the way Mina observes her health so closely from the start. Maybe Mrs. Westenra is trying to hide her illness because she thinks Lucy couldn't handle knowing about it, without being aware that Lucy is already affected by it even without the knowledge. The only difference that is made is that Lucy know doesn't know why she is affected, or even the full extent of how she is affected at all.

It works so well with everything happening with Lucy, both now and later! Of course you don't have to read her as any form of psychic (she could still be picking up on things just through observation, or just be stressed about the big life change of becoming a married woman), but it is really fun to do so. And it fits all the themes.

[shelbgrey]

Hello, I love your fics, could you do one with James Aubrey smut? please

Unspoken desire(James Aubrey)

Paring: James Aubrey x Booth!Reader

Summary: James Aubrey and y/n booth always gets on each other's nerves, but it's everything but hate. When they are forced to go undercover together some piped up feeling are finally released.

Warrings: SMUT! Female reader, fingering, counter sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex.

MasterList

“undercover, seriously?” I asked, as I sat down in front of my brother and Temperance.

“Well it's likely that the suspects are the participants” Seeley responded as he handed me the file for the victim and old western joint I was supposed to be undercover at.

“and 85% if the competitors are repeat guests” Temperance added.

“why aren't you guys doing it? Undercover is your thing” I said as the waitress brought our food.

“Hank has a doctor's appointment and Booth is going to Christine's field trip” Temperance said as I popped a fry in my mouth.

I sighed, I belonged in the Lab not undercover. “Who's going with me?”

“Aubrey” Booth said as he lifted his coffee mug.

“No” I said quickly and pointed at my older brother. “your not doing this to me”

Me and Aubrey never got along. I hated everything about him, his voice, the fact his appetite is bigger than scooby-doo, his adorable smile…

Wait…

“why? What's wrong with Aubrey” Booth asked.

“he annoying and we don't get along”

“By the way you refuse to make eye contact and the blood rushing to your cheeks, I find it hard to believe you dislike Aubrey,” Temperance said matter of factly. I rolled my eyes playfully.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” I mumbled to myself as I put on a cowboy hat. I kept a low profile as I walked through what looked like the set for Tombstone or young guns. I walked around trying to find Aubrey.

I walked into the tavern full of western people. It was jam packed with cowboys and beer. I looked around silently till my eyes landed on Aubrey, he was sporting cowboy boots and a hat. I hated how my eyes traveled down his body. The Wranglers he had on framed his body in the best way possible, leaving no room for the imagination. Then the button up he wore, framed his chest showing the muscles on his chest. Speaking of muscles, sleeves of his button up were rolled up to his elbows, showing his arm muscles.

I tried to shake the dirty thoughts out of my mind and walked into the tavern with my head held up high. I looked around the tavern, trying to find something out of the ordinary. I hated it, it smelled like beer and it felt stuffy from all the shouting and laughing wanna be cowboys.

“What are you doing here?” a voice said firmly, Aubrey stood behind me. I shivered at how low his voice got, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

“undercover, same as you” I stated and pulled myself together before turning around to face him. Damn, he looked better up close.

What was that saying? Save the horse ride the Cowboy

“We need to solve a murder, remember?” I said, crossing my arms. I definitely didn't miss the way his eyes traveled down my body. I would have pointed it out, but it wouldn't be fair. No one likes a hypocrite.

Aubrey rolled his eyes and grabbed my bicep, I felt a certain way when he grabbed me like that. He had frustration and fire in his eyes as he led me out of the building. He didn't say anything as he dragged me to the back of the tavern and pushed me up against the side of the building. My breath hitched as he left very little room between us. He pressed his palms against the building, caging me in.

“I don't need this, we're solving a murder not playing dress up”

I smirked and grabbed the massive western theme buckle that was attached to his belt, I pulled him closer by it. “trust me, your enjoying this a lot more than you should”

“don't patronize me” he pushed himself off the building, breaking the little space we had between us.

“and don't get yourself into trouble” he said and walked away, leaving me behind the building with my pounding heart.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“what are you doing?” I jogged up to Aubrey, he had a determined look on his face and he looked like he wasn't gonna slow down anytime soon. “the lab identified the murder weapon and the who bought”

“Good, let's go get ‘em” I said, Aubrey immediately stopped in front of me, pointing his finger at me. “no. Your gonna stay back and watch out for anything else the seems suspicious”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Come on!”

“I'm serious” he said sternly, his gray eyes staring me down intently.

“Stop him!” a voice shouted in the distance, making the both of us whip around. The guy Angela IDed came running out of the tavern. Aubrey ran after him and instead of listening to him and ran behind the tavern so we could corner the guy. I ran around the comer and jumped onto the guy, talking him to the ground. We rolled around a dusty mess until I got him flat on his stomach and his hands pinned behind his back.

“Damit y/n! I told you to stay put” Aubrey snapped and quickly put the handcuffs on the guy before tugging him onto his feet.

“yeah and guess what, I got to him before you did!”

Aubrey gave me a hard stare before taking the suspect into a isolated room to stay in until Booth came and got him.

Booth came in record time and stared his interrogation with the suspect. Me and Aubrey watched Booth walk into the room with the guy and as soon as the door was closed, Aubrey grabbed my bicep, forcing me to follow him into an empty building that looked like a smaller version of the tavern we were in this morning. He locked the door and turned to me with fire in his eyes.

“You sit here and listen to me!” James huffed, I moved off the counter only to get picked up and put on the counter again. “You're the most obstinate, stubborn, ornery, impossible girl I ever met! You just won't admit there's another side, my side! You know why?” the more he ranted the closer his face got to mine, my breath hitched when I felt his breath fan against my skin.

“Because you're unreasonable!” he said, I rolled my eyes and tried to move again “Sit still!” he huffed and pushed me against the counter, this time he pressed his palms on either side of me, caging me in. He leaned in closer, his chest heaving and his blue eye staring into my soul. “You're argumentative, mulish, uncooperative - unbelievable”

He stopped his nose barley brushing against mine. My heart pounds at how close we were. If I wasn't so stubborn I would have pulled him closer so there was no space between us. If I wasn't so stubborn I would have ran my fingers through his dark hair.

James huffed, keeping his intense gaze. “And You don’t know how beautiful you are.” he breathed, his lips barely touching mine, The words were soft but firm, leaving no room for doubt. His free hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer against his hard length.

My breath hitched at how hard he was against my thigh and my eyes widened when he called me beautiful.

“You know it's true.” His hand slid up my arms, tracing along your neck and into your hair. "I've been trying so hard not to notice, but you're just... everything”

Feeling bold, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to me. I smashed my lips against his for a heated rough kiss. James groaned into the kiss, his body melting up against mine. I shivered as I felt one of his hands slide up my spine, gripping my hair tightly as he deepened the kiss. The other hand moved lower, squeezing my hip possessively.

I started unbuttoning his shirt as I kissed down his jaw line. He moaned in pleasure and I ran fingers down his chest. He brought my lips to his again, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. He kissed my neck and led down to my shoulder, where he lightly bit. I moaned in pleasure.

“God, you're beautiful.” He pushed some hair out of my face, staring into my eyes before pulling my shirt over my head. His head dipped and he started to kiss the tops of my breasts and down my stomach. My breath hitched as he pushed me down so I was lying flat on the counter and started to unbutton my pants. We locked eyes and I laid there in anticipation.

He took off my cowgirl boots at a rushed pace and practically ripped my jeans off of my body and started kissing up my legs. He trailed himself over my panties, thick with arousal. Then, he started up my stomach again, causing me to bite my lip.

He holsted himself up on the counter and slowly crawled up my body to meet my lips again, this time more urgent. I got goosebumps as his hands roamed over my skin, his touch possessive and hungry. The kiss deepened as our bodies grinding together in an erotic dance. He broke the kiss only to whisper, "You're so damn irresistible.”

“I can't help it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my Neck. “You drive me wild.” His hands slid down my hips, my breath hitched as his hand slipped under my panties, teasing my sensitive flesh. "You make me lose control.”

I let out a moan, bucking my hips against his hand. “Oh fuck…” He muttered before his mouth claimed mine in a searing kiss. His hand slid between my thighs, finding my entrance. "So wet for me..." he growled against my lips.

I let out a soft moan, running my fingers through his hair “j-james…”

James groaned, his fingers tracing circles around my entrance. My eyes fluttered closed as the pleasure and his teasing invaded all my senses. His other hand moved to my breast, massaging it gently as he continued to tease my whole body.

“S-stop teasing”

I felt him smirking against my skin. “I won't promise that, but I'll give you what you want” His fingers finally penetrated me, making a loud moan escape my lips as he pushed inside slowly. I groaned, feeling myself tighten around his large fingers. “You feel so good,” he whispered, starting to thrust deeper.

I moaned as I leaked onto his palm, stroking his fingers back and forth to coat his hand in my wetness. I twitched as he circled my oozing entrance with one thick digit. His thumb sought out my nub, putting pressure on the aching knot of nerves. I cried out softly, pushing my hips into his hand as he toyed with my most sensitive area.

James's breath hitched. “You're so fucking amazing,” he murmured, I moaned as his fingers moving faster. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a fiery kiss while his thumb continued to tease my sensitive nub.

I clenched around his finger, making James groan into the kiss, his other hand moving to grip my waist. He kept thrusting his finger deeper, feeling the incredible heat surrounding him. His thumb pressed harder against my sensitive nub, as I felt my release approaching.

I hid my face in his neck as I made uncontrollable noises. He entered with a second finger, making me hiss. My tight hole swallowed his fingers like it was starving. He dragged his digits in and out of me, the tips of his fingers scraping the delicate spot residing inside me. I moaned, tilting my head back against the counter. His fingers found a rhythm, his pace increasing as he continued to torment and pleasure my sensitive nub. "So fucking tight,”

my legs shook with the pace he set, the thrusting of his fingers in rhythm with his pummeling fingers. A groan left my lips, my eyes rolling back. As I began to lose control, James took it as a sign. He picked up the pace even more, his fingers now moving in and out like a lover possessed. His thumb finally found release for my sensitive nub, rubbing it hard and fast as I reached the peak of pleasure.

“'m c-close” I shuttered and dug my nails into his back.

“Cum for me,” he groaned, his fingers finding a new rhythm inside me as I felt myself nearing the edge. His thumb continued to work my sensitive nub, his free hand reached above my head, gripping the counter tightly to maintain balance.

I let out a loud moan, cumming hard over his fingers and palm. James groaned, feeling my tight walls squeeze around his fingers. I shuttered as his thumb continued to work on my sensitive nub, his other hand tightening its grip on the counter. “Fuck... you feel so good,” he breathed, his fingers still buried deep inside me.

my heart pounded against my chest as I tried to catch my breath. I swallowed hard as my eyes fluttered shut with a satisfied smirk. James slowly pulled his fingers out, I felt the mix of my cum and his pre-cum dripped onto the inside of my thighs. “I'll have to remember this position,” he teased, his voice low and rough with desire.

I smirked up at him and blindly reached for his hips, I pulled his body against mine in a needy way. “I n-need you inside me” I whispered, my voice rough from the moans he forced out of me.

“You really think you're ready for that?” He asked, his eyes flashing with desire.

I quickly nodded, pulling his body closer to mine “please…”

James chuckled, the sound vibrating against my skin made a shiver run down my spine. “Alright, but remember, I warned you.” With that, his hands grabbed my thighs and lifted them up, a moan fell from my lips as I felt him position his thick length at my aching entrance. I Instinctively pushed my hips up. This gave him a perfect angle to plunge into me as he teased his tip against my aching clit. I whined as he groaned deeply, still hazy from my climax but I never forgot I needed him inside me.

"Fuck..." James growled, my mouth dropped open as I felt every inch of him push deep inside me feeling as I tighten around his head. He pushed forward, slowly at first, as I stretched around his size. A strangled gasp escaped my throat. It felt like the air was stolen from my lungs. He rendered me breathless as he sank deeper inside you. “You're so damn tight,”

"I know," James groaned, pulling back slightly before thrusting forward again, I moaned and dug my nails into his back as he buried himself even deeper inside me. His hands had a death grip on my hips, possibly making marks that would show up the next morning. He held on tightly as he began to move faster, taking us both closer to the edge. “You feel so good,”

my lips separated as a loud moan forced its way from my chest. Finally, I got what I had been wanting since the day I met him. The euphoria was so strong, it was borderline painful.

“Oh fuck…” James panted, as I tighten around him with every thrust. He leaned down, his lips meeting mine in a rough, demanding kiss as he picked up the pace even more. “You're mine,” He growled against my lips. “Say it.”

“I-I'm yours!” I moaned, tugging at his hair. “I've always b-beem yours” I admitted without realizing.

James's thrusts grew harder and faster, his hips slamming against mine in a rhythm that threatened to send me over the edge a little too early. His free hand moved up to grip the side of the counter above my head, holding on tight as he lost himself in the sensation. “Fuck, yes... Cum for me”

I let out a loud moan, heat washing over me as his words pushed me over the edge. Growling, James groaned as my walls clenched around him. His hips stuttered in response, pushing as deep as he could go. He panted hard, feeling his own release drawing closer. With a final, powerful thrust, I felt my orgasm hit me like a truck. I came hard, making James's eyes roll back in his head triggering his own orgasam. His head fell against my chest, filling me up with his seed. His muscles tensed and shook against me, panting hard. "Fuck...,”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, painting as he painted my cervix white. I shuddered in sync with him, his seed hot inside my walls.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed out, his forehead resting against yours. “I've wanted this for so long.”

“M-me too” my breath hitched, pressing my forehead to his and nuzzling my nose against his.

He pulled out slowly, making me moan softly. “But you're mine now,” he growled, smirking down at me. “And we both know how much I love possessing what I can't have.”

I smirked. “Who says you can't have me?”

He chuckled, his chest still heaving from the intense release. “Oh, I could've,” he admitted, his fingers tracing soft patterns on my skin. “But the chase... the anticipation... that's what made it so damn irresistible.”

I chuckled, reaching up and placing my hand on his jaw, rubbing his cheek with my thumb. He chuckled and pecked me on the lips before standing up, he pulled his boxers back up and slowly sat me up from the counter. “let's get you cleaned up”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“where did you two doofuses go?” Seeley asked. My cheeks turned red at my brother's question.

“Just covering more ground, making sure we didn't miss anything” James said quickly.

Temperance looked at the both of us with a knowing smile. The woman truly knew everything. “well…You look way more relaxed than you did this morning Y/n” Temperance said, making my cheeks go reader.

[lavendersugarplum]

Why Ben’s Death Was Important.

These two TUA characters could've died earlier, and I would not care.

Now that The Umbrella Academy has come to an end with Season 4, I feel like it's the perfect time to share some of my thoughts on the characters, and one in particular—Jennifer. If Jennifer had been killed off at any point during the season, it honestly wouldn't have affected me in the slightest. I just couldn't bring myself to care about her character. Jennifer's presence throughout the series has been minimal at best; she's barely had any screen time or development, making it hard to connect with or invest in her story. In many ways, she felt like a character who was simply there to serve the needs of the plot, rather than someone we were meant to root for or even understand on a deeper level.

The show could have handled her just as they did with Harlan—abruptly writing her out without much of a send-off. Harlan, who was once an important character, was discarded with little fanfare when his role no longer fit into the narrative. But because Jennifer is more closely tied to the central plot and Sparrow Ben's storyline, the writers clearly felt she was too important to be cut off so easily. Despite her being integral to certain plot points, it felt like her character never truly got the attention or development needed to make her compelling. So, while her survival made sense for the overall narrative, it didn't do much to make her any more memorable or likable to me as a viewer. If they had killed her off from the start, then the show would basically be over. Happy Ending for everyone....except her.

Another character I would have had zero qualms about losing is Sparrow Ben. Especially him. I HATE this character with a passion. No one can ever replace Umbrella Ben in my eyes; he will always be the best Ben, the only valid Ben, and the one who truly mattered. Sparrow Ben, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. I wouldn't give two flying fucks if something terrible happened to him. 😭 From the moment he appeared on screen, it was clear that his character was meant to be unlikable—arrogant, self-centered, and constantly at odds with everyone around him. And while it seemed like the writers tried to soften him up in late end of Season 3, hoping to make him more sympathetic or relatable, it just didn't work for me. Any attempts to redeem Sparrow Ben fell flat, and he remained just as obnoxious as ever.

Frankly, I'm convinced that the only reason the Umbrellas kept him around was because he looked like their beloved Umbrella Ben. If it were up to me, I'd have left his ass somewhere along the way, probably "accidentally" letting him get swallowed up by the Kugelblitz or one of the many other apocalyptic threats they faced. The Umbrellas' insistence on keeping him around felt misguided; he's not their Ben, and he's made it painfully clear he doesn't want to be part of their found family. I kept thinking, "Just let him go! He's not your brother!" The whole dynamic was forced and uncomfortable, and it's hard not to blame him for a lot of what went wrong this season. The group's willingness to cling to this hollow version of their lost sibling only made things worse.

Because let's be real, most of the things in Season 4 can be traced back to Sparrow Ben's actions or his selfish decisions. If they had just left him behind earlier on, half the disasters they faced might never have happened. The Umbrellas should have cut their losses instead of trying to see something redeemable in a character who had no interest in being part of their story. To me, the only decent Sparrows were Sloane and Marcus—characters who, unlike Sparrow Ben, showed some sense of loyalty, vulnerability, and a willingness to grow. Sparrow Ben was just dead weight, a constant reminder of what the Umbrellas lost, without offering anything meaningful in return. He is a prime example to show how none of the Umbrella's are willing to just let go of some things and move on.

The entire series of The Umbrella Academy revolves around one central theme: the siblings' refusal to let go of the past and accept things as they are. They're constantly clinging to old traumas, memories, and regrets, unable to move forward. This is why Sparrow Ben's antagonistic personality is in a way important to the storyline. If he had been as loving, kind, and brotherly as Umbrella Ben, his role as the catalyst for the Umbrellas' downfall would have made no sense. Sparrow Ben's cold and selfish nature was a direct contrast to what the Umbrellas once had, highlighting just how much they were still trapped in the past, desperately trying to hold onto something that was long gone. So even though a lot of us might absolutely loathe this character, he role was a reminder that you can't recreate what you've lost, no matter how hard you try, and this refusal to accept that truth is what ultimately led the siblings down a destructive path.

Rewatching the series with this context makes Umbrella Ben's death feel even more important. On its own, his death is a heartbreaking and tragic moment, a sudden loss of a beloved character. But when viewed within the entire narrative arc of the series, it transforms from a purely sad event into something more complex—almost a bittersweet relief. I believe now that Ben's death was a subtle foreshadowing of how the story would ultimately end. It was a powerful hint at the series' overarching message about the necessity of letting go. Ben's journey was a microcosm of what every character needed to learn but often resisted—the painful but necessary act of moving on.

Ben was the first sibling to accept his fate, to realize that holding onto people, memories, and pain when it's time to let go is not only unhealthy but self-destructive. His decision to let go wasn't just about moving on from his own death; it was about ending his cycle of self-inflicted suffering. He recognized that by clinging to the past, he was only perpetuating his own misery. His final act of release allowed him to find peace, breaking the cycle and allowing his spirit to finally move forward. This stands in sharp contrast to the rest of the siblings, who repeatedly fall into the same patterns, unable to break free from their own personal demons.

To break the cycle, you must be willing to let go, just as Ben ultimately did.