#nomad would be the best to voice him I think.

[just-a-little-dragon]

King of the Night

Please be aware that I would post how I imagine them but they're all in gacha and Ik some people don't like it, and I don't have money to commission.

The first god of my pantheon we shall talk about is Nolan! He is the God of the Night, maker of Stars. He's known as a king of domain due to the fact he pretty much made it all. With some help of his wife, Aislin.

He's a very calm and rational man, often playing neutral party or just leaving the drama/problem entirely. He prefers quiet or stories, often exchanging them with others.

His opinion on humans is very mixed. Some he likes, some he does not. However he is an incredible husband and father. Think Hades before the media ruined him.

Despite this, he can be terrifying. Dimming the moon's light so that the world is in a lightness night. He actually did do that for a few centuries after the humans attacked a god.

What do you think? Continue or nah?

[velvetsainz]

summary: [ cl16 x fem!reader ] charles is away in baku and you remind him of what he's missing. part two.

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: smut under the cut (minors dni pls!), pwp, use of explicit language, phone sex, masturbation, google-translated french (lmao), a dash of fluff, i like em dashes too much

a/n: baby's first smutlet! i've been writing for like twelve years but i've never posted to tumblr, so here's to first times! there'll def be at least a part ii to this, but i'm also hoping to write for other drivers soon(ish). also giant mega thank you to @multiseb21 + @lecrep for your support—y'all have been so incredibly sweet & i am so thankful for you!! anyways, i hope y'all like this! enjoy, loves! xx

“Chérie,” his voice crooned over the line, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Don’t tease, mon ange—it’s already hard enough being away from you for so long.”

“Weren’t you the one who said he’d be fine just a month ago?,” you retorted, voice low.  The cards were in your hands now, and Charles was desperate.  He was a nomad lost in the desert and you were his oasis on the horizon, just the sound of your voice enough to slake his thirst.

“Yes, but then you sent me that picture and—” You hear him curse again under his breath, his fist acting as a poor substitute for the velvet heat of your walls. He swore he wasn’t going to let you leave that bed once he got his hands on you again.

Charles wasn’t entirely wrong: you were the biggest fucking tease known to mankind.  Earlier that evening you sent him a semi-absentminded photo of you fresh from the shower, steam still obscuring the best parts of the photo with a fresh white towel around your hips and one gathering your hair on top of your head.  He’d always had something about you fresh from the shower—every time he’d nearly pounce as soon as you’d pad back into the bedroom from the steamy confines of the bathroom, hair wrapped on top of your head just as it was now.  (Part of you thought it was something primal in him: you’d washed away his scent on your skin and he needed to make his territory known again, that horn dog.)  Still, he was ever the gentleman and would make the endeavor more than worth your while.

“Yeah, that was pretty bad of me, wasn’t it?,” you ceded with a knowing smirk on your lips as you sat back from your desk, closing your laptop slowly.  You’d wanted to get a little more work done after your shower, but the Monégasque wasn’t keen to let sleeping dogs lie and needed to hear your voice for himself.

“So bad, chérie,” he agreed with tone of exasperation, a heavy sigh passing through the phone, “And you’re not even here to help a–”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help in other ways,” you were quick to remind him, the words coming from your mouth quicker than your shame would force you to bottle them up.  Heat was creeping to your cheeks, and you could feel the familiar coil of desire tightening deep in the pit of your belly.

“Are you—?”

“That’s why you called, isn’t it, baby?,” you asked only to get a stifled groan from the other side. “You wanted me to tell you how I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you continued, “how I miss your hands on my hips, your cock so deep—”

“Fucking hell,” Charles practically whines as you push yourself away from the desk now, allowing yourself to relax into the seat of the chair and your hips to ease apart despite every part of you wanting to grind them together to relieve the dull ache that rested between them.

“What would you do if I was there now, Cha?,” you asked softly, hand splayed out over the plush of your thigh, eyes glazing over as you pictured him there with you.  You wanted his hands everywhere; you couldn’t decide where you truly needed him most. Fingers curling against that hidden spot in your tight cunt, threaded through your hair and pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, gripping your thighs so tight they’d leave bruises that he’d fuss over later—it all sounded like heaven compared to the lonely hell of your shared Monte Carlo flat.

“I want to taste you, mon cœur,” he replied shakily as his breath came faster, the sound of him fisting his cock becoming more and more prominent as time passed; he wasn’t going to last long like this, but you both already knew that—it wasn’t the point of this exercise.  “I’d have you coming on my tongue, let you taste yourself when I kiss you—putain,” the driver cursed once more as his brow furrowed.  He was leaking precum over his ironclad grip and all he wanted was to slide his fingers past your plump lips to feel the wet heat of your tongue take care of the mess.

You let out a tremulous breath over the line, one you hadn’t known you’d been holding onto so tightly until your head started swimming with need.  Your hand had drifted from its origin, rubbing lazy circles over the cotton of the panties you’d slipped into after the inciting picture.  On your top half was a worn, faded shirt of Charles that you’d taken a liking to as a nightshirt—especially when you were missing him as you were so desperately now.

“Need you in me,” you begged, the emptiness you felt so acutely coming to the forefront of your senses, “You always do such a good job filling me—my fingers don’t do you justice.”

You hear a groan on the other side of the line, the man now sitting on the edge of the bed as he tries to keep himself in check.  He wasn’t ready for this to be over so soon; you had him feeling like a teenager again, ready to spill at a moment’s notice. Granted, this wasn't anything new: there's something so intoxicating about you that destroyed whatever semblance of restraint, of control he had over his lust.

“Want you in my mouth, give me something better to do than tease you like this,” to which you received a choked merde, the man hanging on your every word as the hand between your legs abandoned its objective—you could take care of that later.  You were too caught in every little sound that passed his plush lips, listening for every little cue his body so willingly gave you.

“Want your hands in my hair, guiding me up and down your cock,” you keened for him on a whine, his breathing heavy and labored.  He was running at full speed to the cliff's edge, and you were there watching, waiting in the grass. “Want your cum on my tongue, baby,” you whined.

“Promise not to waste any, minette?,” he grunted, gritting his teeth as you hummed your assurances.  “Such a good girl f’me, yes–”

With a strained hiss and a groan he came sloppily over his hand, thankful enough that he wasn’t home in Monaco so he didn’t have to worry about cleaning up the mess he’d made. “Fuck,” he croaked, breathing heavy as he came down from the blinding high your words had catapulted him through.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t been taking care of business when duty called, but something about your voice, the thought of you there…it clutched everything into a higher gear.

“Better?,” you asked, sly smile audible to the Ferrari driver; he didn’t need to see you to know the shit-eating, satisfied smile that took over your lips.

With a tired laugh he nodded, slumping back onto the cool rumpled sheets of the hotel bed as he stared absently at the dark ceiling.  It was three in the morning in Baku, and he couldn’t sleep—the thoughts your cheeky picture had invited wouldn’t let him.

“Get some rest, tiger,” you teased him, knowing he’d have to be awake in a few short hours. You debated sending him another picture in the morning as motivation, tiding him over until you’d join him later that weekend.

“Que ferais-je sans toi, mon amour?,” he asked, sleep heavy in his voice as he rolled the right way onto the bed and running a hand through his hair.  He’d deal with the mess he’d made in the morning along with the flowers he’d send you—he really didn’t know what he’d do without you.

“I guess we’ll never know, hm?,” you replied gently, smile melting into something softer as you fiddled with the gleaming ring on your left hand.

[allfearstofallto]

Always Under Skin, Even When it Gets Removed

Yandere! Childe x Reader

Part of {Mai Playlist}

Childe was a nuisance. Persistent. A vermin. Childe was a pest. Like an infestation of roaches, you could do everything in your power to get rid of him, but he'd still be somewhere nearby. Determination was one of his strongest traits, and he was determined to ruin you.

Being married to him was never in your cards and if you could've never met him at all, you would've been happy. Yet for almost a year, you were forced to be his doting wife. Only managing to steal yourself away after months of planning and a few close calls. The taste of free air, even if it was the air of Snezhnaya, was the best thing on your tongue, better than even your favorite food cooked to perfection.

You didn't think you'd live the life of a nomad, but it seemed easier. Paranoia was second nature to you now, and staying in one place seemed dangerous. He could be anywhere, around any corner, close by, but not showing himself until he knew it would fuck you over. Was living life on the road considered freedom? You didn't know, but anything would be better than another day with Childe.

“How far will this take me?” You held up a good ring to a carriage driver, making sure to keep your face covered beneath your hood. You took a lot when you left, mostly jewelry, things that were small and expensive.

He eyes the ring over before dropping it back into the palm of your hand, “It'll get you pretty far, but where are you even trying to go?”

“Anywhere is fine,” you said quickly.

The man helped you up into the back of his wagon, where he kept his wares. Mostly agricultural things, fresh produce and hay. It wasn't the best place you'd ridden before, but it was far from being the worst.

You understood why people were weary of you. You weren't making much of an effort to not come off as strange, but you weren't out to make friends. The wagon swayed as the sun began to set over the horizon, he didn't tell you how long he'd be driving and quite honestly, you didn't care. At the next port, you'd stow yourself away onto some other vehicle, never stopping, not even for a breath.

You let your head rest back against the hard wooden wall, you let your arms fall to your side, you let the movement of the wagon sway you to sleep. Morning would come and you'd be awoken by the well-known feeling of the carriage lurching to a stop and sunlight beaming through the cracks in the wall. Outside sounded like a bustling city, although you didn't know where, quite honestly it didn't matter.

“It's back here, sir,” you heard the voice of the carriage driver say as you watched shadows fall over the doorway. You can recognize Childe. Recognize his smell, his voice, a strand of his hair if you were to find one, and most importantly, you could recognize his footsteps. Slow, drawn out, and precise. Your blood went cold, noticing that the driver wasn't walking alone.

The door was slammed open and before you could even make a break for it, cold metal was pressed to your neck. Sharp enough to slice your head right off your body if you made any sudden moves, you could already feel the steel biting into your skin.

“Already running away again?” You didn't even want to look at him, but he used the tip of his blade to tilt your head up. Still wearing a smile as he looked down upon you, “I will admit, I'm proud of you. You managed to stay away longer than I expected,” the blade pushed a lot harder into your neck, “I missed you, my angel.”

You could say nothing as he took you by the hand, pulling you from the cart and onto the ground. You weren't treated gently, not when he was angry. His anger was a menace to deal with. The bigger the smile, the words his rage, and he looked practically elated to see you.

“You took everything, but this,” he tossed your wedding band down, it fell onto your body and landed on your thighs. The ring was warm, like he'd been clutching it in his hand. Knowing him, he probably hadn't let it go since he discovered you were gone.

Without much of an argument, you slipped the ring back on your finger. The small band felt more like a shackle, than something meant to adorn your body. With it, your taste of delicious, true freedom was ripped from your mouth almost as quickly as you'd gotten it. But you'd never get to taste it again.

Childe was all smiles and laughter as he helped you into his own carriage. That smile not reaching his dead, hollow eyes. The ride to Snezhnaya would be a long one, you wonder how long he could contain his anger till then?

[ginnysgraffiti]

Paul Atreides x reader? Where the reader does not believe in the prophecy of the Lisan-al-Gaib or in any god or Messiah that they say will come, to which Paul is interested in her but also feels anger because the reader does not show fear or submission, and when inquiring about why she has no faith in anything she reads or gods is because she went through many horrible things and when she prayed for it to be a nightmare but it never happened, and that's why she believes in nothing but herself.

thanks for the request! sorry if i hadn't answered before :(

PAUL ATREIDES x yn.

your people lived on arrakis under one name: the fremen. people who have inhabited arrakis for many millennia, originally arriving after an interplanetary diaspora.

your planet became the center of immense interests of the empire following the discovery of the powerful drug called melange or spice, capable of significantly extending the length of human life and increasing.

you have been trained in guerrilla warfare since childhood, reason why you're considered among the best fighters in the universe, the only ones capable of holding your own against even the emperor's ferocious sardaukar.

people can comfortably call you interstellar nomads who follow a particular philosophy, people who live together in desert tents and who are more like a big big family or army.

therefore, you don't hide the fact that you get along very well, despite the fact that fremen have challenging, ambitious characters, and you often want to prove our superiority by fighting or calling sandworms.

if someone has already heard the famous prophecy "blessed be the creator and his water" well, that's you, these are the fremen. that's your prophecy or the thing people think you believe in. or at least, your people believe in.

you worship shai-hulud, the sand worm, a gigantic and dangerous creature that populates the deserts of arrakis and is the source of the spice cycle. your religion, like almost all those of the primitive worlds of the empire, was profoundly influenced by the bene gesserit missionaria protectiva.

if you ask stilgar, he will answer you by saying he believes in the arrival of the messiah, of the lisan al-gaib. so please, don't ask stilgar.

lisan al-gaib, in your fremen language, "the voice from the outside world".

in later use the name messiah specializes to indicate the "anointed one" par excellence, sent as a savior of the fremen, the chosen people, and to turn the desert into the green paradise it used to be. this is how stilgar would happily explain it to others.

bullshit.

the biggest lie you've ever heard.

you have waited ages for the messiah, and the only conclusion you managed to get was that even foreign people made fun of you all by saying they were the famous messiah you had been waiting for. really funny, right...

"the walker of the golden path" they say, just they don't know how much you have suffered or how different you feel about your people's adamant beliefs.

you know paul since a few weeks, and you hated every second of it, and you knew he did too.

at first you avoided him, dodged him or threatened him with your eyes as if he were an harkonnen. or, if you were in a bad mood, you ignored him completely, especially when he entertained stilgar with inappropriate and absolutely not funny jokes but that made the whole for-dinner-tent laugh.

you knew that everyone was at his feet, that they would even lick the sand he walked on.

you often heard your fremen friends talking or chatting about him, and you could have sworn some of them even wondered out loud of it would be to have sex with him.

you had never thought of paul as someone to have sex with, mostly because you hated him on principle.

for the first week you loved showing off your fighting moves when he looked, or throwing barbs at him to shut him up.

you knew that he was intimidated but also angry towards you, that he was curious about your people, and therefore you could show yourself superior anyway. you wanted to crush it like a desert fly and rejoice while it dies under your sole.

then, everything changed.

it was afternoon, and the wind was gently blowing, but not enough to make the sand rise.

he was a little too snuggled up next to you, on the highest dune you could reach from the fremen camp.

at first, you didn't even like the idea of starting a conversation, but paul was the one who talked first.

he told you about his visions first, about his nightmare correlated, about the mental torture he had to kneel upon when he used to live on caladan, because everyone thought he was the kwisatz haderach.

he told you about his training, his father's death and how he felt so alone, abandoned by the little people he loved and betrayed by the ones he barely knew.

something about it woke up a new feeling inside your chest. you felt understood.

and he was not there forcing you to go on your knees and pray the messiah and his rise to power.

he was simply chatting, his eyes almost tearing, playing with some sand in his right hand.

he wanted to understand you, to understand why you were the only one who refused to believe the prophecy and yet the only one who captured your attention.

your mind returned to the morning where a few of your friends wished to have sex with him, but right in that moment, when the sun was melting under the dunes, far away, you could only wonder how plump and soft his lips could become against yours.

that same evening, you got confirmed paul atreides was the best kisser you had ever known.

in your tent, with a slight scent of spice and body

skin and sweat, he held you close as if you were

his only lifeline, as if you were about to become

small microscopic grains of sand, and he would no longer be able to hold the right ones in his hands.

you stood there, under his slim and perfect body, stroking his curls in a slow and sleepy gesture, until he closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against your breasts.

messiah or not, you believe he was the love of your life.

[thefrogdalorian]

Downpour

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.

Word Count: 1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, Din having nightmares mentioned ✯ Author's Note: I miss the Razor Crest but daydreaming about domestic fluff in the cabin on Nevarro scratches an itch in my brain in all the best ways. I really want to cuddle with Din Djarin during a rainstorm. Is it too much to ask?! Thanks to @decembermidnight for betaing this one for me!! 🩷

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The roof of the cabin on Nevarro has never felt like the most sturdy part of the modest-sized dwelling you share with your riduur. Especially not in the middle of an unseasonably fierce rainstorm, the severity of which has you groggily blinking awake in the pitch blackness. 

Your immediate concern is for the mischievous child you tucked in just across the hallway shortly after sunset. You hope that the rain has not disturbed him and that he remains bundled in blankets, surrounded in his crib by the mountain of plushies which have been either bought for him by you and Din or gifted to him by the various people throughout the galaxy who cannot resist how charming he is. 

Mercifully, your sensitive ears do not detect any wails. So, with Grogu seemingly still sleeping soundly, you turn your attention to his father. When you do not hear Din’s soft snores beside you, you vocalise your concern.

“Din, are you awake?” you mumble without turning around to face him.

Din shuffles towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. With a wordless response, he squeezes you tightly. You realise that Din is drawing comfort from your presence. Your heart grows heavy as you realise he must be alarmed by the rainstorm.

“Are you scared of the rain, my big scary Mandalorian?” you question. It is an attempt to lighten the mood, without fussing over him too much. You know how much such playful teasing gets underneath his skin.

“I’m not scared,” Din huffs.

You turn over, raising your eyebrows at him questioningly.

In the darkness, you can barely make out his handsome features. There is a soft light from the hallway, and you can faintly see his brown eyes sparkling slightly, even in the low light.

The lack of light is not an issue. You have mapped every inch of Din's face with your fingers and lips well enough to know that he will be furrowing his brow at you, exposing the wrinkle above the bridge of his nose that you love to gently trace with your fingertips whenever it becomes pronounced in times of stress. 

You reach up to touch the lines of his face, as though you can ease all of his worries with just your touch, “What would all those bounties you once collected think if they could see you now?” you muse.

Din guffaws.

“Imagine if everyone you struck fear into the hearts of with merely your presence could see you now? Maybe they would feel silly for ever being so scared of a man who is scared of a little rainstorm…”

“Riduur…” Din warns, voice deep and firm.

He can excuse the teasing about the past. You have held him through enough bouts of sobbing in this very bunk after the visions which haunt him in slumber have torn him from sleep to earn the privilege of lightly teasing him. When nightmarish sights of his past sins overwhelmed him, you were always there, dutifully picking up his pieces. 

But Din Djarin will never accept a charge of cowardice. 

You know he is not seriously scared. Din is no coward. And he knows that you would never seriously lay such a charge at his door. 

“You know I’m only teasing you, handsome,” you say with a wink you hope he can see.

You realise that Din has never lived somewhere for long enough to hear the rain pattering on the roof. His covert cloistered in the caves of Concordia. The Razor Crest was home but never docked in one place long enough for it to truly function as such. 

The fact that until now, Din has been denied the simple pleasure of listening to a rainstorm in the arms of one you love is yet another detail of his life which brings you anguish. 

“I think it’s very sweet, actually," you whisper, hoping he knows you meant no malice, "It's our first proper rainstorm in this cabin," you add, ensuring that he knows you understand this is new for him.

Despite how much Din's past makes your heart ache, you will not wallow in pity for him. Instead, it strengthens your resolve to make sure Din is loved every moment of the eternity he has vowed to spend with you. 

You lean in for a gentle kiss, “Roll over and let me hold you, my love,” you whisper against his plush lips.

Din sighs and then leans in to kiss you again before he complies. A touch so slow and sweet, so different to the frenzied way his lips claimed yours hours before. Satisfied, he agrees to your proposal, flipping over with a grunt.

You position yourself so your chest is flush with his firm back, placing a kiss on the centre of his back, between his broad shoulders. Din sighs in contentment. You smile, relieved you can comfort him like this. It is a privilege unique to you out of everyone in the galaxy.

You slip your hands underneath the soft cotton shirt he wears to bed and absentmindedly trace circles onto the warm expanse of his stomach. His body is firm beneath your fingers thanks to his muscular physique; but there is a hint of softness there, which increases each year as he ages. 

You do not mind one bit. It only makes his body better suited to cuddles.

This warrior who once terrified everyone is now a little softer at the edges, his toughness gradually eroded by the love he feels for his son and you, his riduur.

"Thank you," Din sleepily mumbles before he drifts off again, no longer disturbed by the thudding of the rain against the roof.

Fierce independence borne out of trauma had meant that Din had never previously known the simple pleasure of listening to rainfall pattering against the roof. It was a new reverberation, one initially alien and alarming to his highly attuned senses. 

Fortunately, Din was not afraid for long. Now, he has you to hold him through the storm. There is no more fear or anxiety as he cuddles with you, his riduur, while the sound continues outside.

You whisper, "I love you, Din," before sleep's comforting embrace takes you too and you join Din somewhere peaceful. Far away from the downpour.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

This one's a bit longer than the intro.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your first shift at the store goes well enough. Aziz, the manager, shows you where everything is and goes over the policies. The till is behind a window, a slot just big enough to get products and money through. It’s close to your apartment so not the best part of town. The next day, you’ll be alone.

You head home with a dented can of ginger ale in your bag. Aziz said you could have it for free since half the paint was scraped off during shipping. You don’t drink much soda but it would be a nice treat.

You find yourself dragging your feet as you come onto your street. You’re still getting your bearings but you recognize the boarded up white brick building across from the converted two-storey house. You stare at the faded brown facade of your abode, fumbling with your keys nervously. You still feel so out of place.

You cross the road and climb the steep iron staircase that leads up the side of the house to the second floor. The heavy metal grate that shields the thick wooden door rattles as you open it and clanks behind you loudly despite your efforts to keep quiet. The place feels desolate as you enter. Aside from last night, you haven’t encountered anyone else.

You creep into the kitchen and go to the fridge. On it, there’s a yellow paper with blue ink on it; numbered bullets that you read slowly. ‘House Rules’, the jagged capitals spell out the title above at least a dozen lines. ‘Clean up after yourself; mark your food; no stealing.’ That paper feels very apathetic, suggesting that no one really talks to each other here. Maybe it’s better that way.

You open the fridge and search your bag for your can of ginger ale. You hesitate to put it inside. You have no way of marking it. You consider the remnants of the logo on the side. You could just have it warm.

“There’s a sharpie in the top drawer,” a voice breaks the rigid silence like cracking ice.

You glance over at the man standing in the doorway, the same that leads to your bedroom. You quickly peel away your eyes and nod. You can’t manage a thank you as your surprise has your adrenaline pulsing.

You close the fridge and put the can on the counter. You open a drawer, not much inside besides electric tape and the promised sharpie. You write your initials on the top of the can as the man enters and stops a few feet from you, popping open a cupboard with a harsh click.

You think it must be the same man as the night before. He’s about the same size as the ominous shadow, at least from your periphery glance. You sidle over and pull the fridge open once more, setting your can in the door before you close it gently.

Tension roils around you as the man takes out a large container. It’s unmarked except for the sharpie emblazoned on the white plastic; ‘S’. Just a single letter.

You back away and fix your bag on your shoulder, shuffling around him in the small kitchen. He doesn’t say anything but you can hear his long exhale. It sticks with you how easily he’s snuck up on you twice. You shrug it off as paranoia from the shelter.

You’ll be okay. You have a lock on the door here. You have your own space. A tiny haven in an immense world.

🚪

Your first shift alone isn’t as intimidating as you thought. Most people come in and grab what they need then go. You ring them through with as much friendliness as you can muster. Most don’t respond, some chatter a bit, rambling about a thousand different things, and others even glare at you as they point to the small earbud in their ears. The flow of customers is ebbs and flows, busier around lunchtime and dull after two.

You’re almost done with your hours there. You take the time to bring out the bag of chips Aziz marked for stocking. You sit on the step stool as you set to find the palace for each brand. You put the Cheetos on the shelf as the door chimes and signals the entry of a customer.

You stand and peek over the shelf. You see only a man’s shoulders and the back of his head as he turns his back to you, perusing the wall of magazines. His hair pokes out in shaggy shanks from a ball cap. You grab the folding foot stool and the box and quickly scurry back behind the counter.

You put them down clumsily, a loud clap as the stool falls against the back of the counter. You pull shut the divider behind you and go to the till. You brace the counter as you peer over at the man again but try not to stalk him.

He strides slowly through the store, just along the back wall as he peruses the bottles and cans of cold drinks. He opens a door and takes something out. You look down and review the checklist for your shift. The last thing you need to do is balance the till before the evening shift gets here.

You listen to the man’s steps, flicking your eyes up now and again to keep track of him. You can also see him on the security screen through the black and white lens. You don’t even get a good look at him then as he keeps his chin straight, the beak of his cap effectively hiding his features.

He approaches the counter and you pop your head up. You’re stunned to recognise him. The same man from your flat. Your neighbour. Nameless and mysterious.

“Hey,” he says as he puts his fare on the other side of the plastic barrier.

“Hello,” you eke out. You’re getting used to your own voice again. In this job, you don’t have a choice. “This everything?”

“Mhmm,” the hum is rocky in his throat. 

You grab the two bottles, part of a two for three deal, and scan the premade protein milkshakes one at a time, then the magazine, Time, and a bag of pretzels. Nothing too unusual. His fingertips scratch the coarse hair along his jaw as he clears his throat.

You read out his total and he reaches into his jacket. He pulls out several bills and counts them out before handing them over. You take them and tally his change from the drawer.

“Shouldn’t be working alone,” he comments as he holds his hand out for the change.

You drop the coins into his cupped palm and recoil at his remark.

“Not to scare you,” he tucks the change away.

You shake your head. No, you thought it before but a job’s a job. You scrunch your lips and look around evasively.

“Do you want a bag?” You offer, not knowing how else to respond.

“Please,” he accepts, “and thank you.”

You nod and pull out a bag. You take his items and shove them inside as he watches quietly. You push them through the slot and he takes the handles, pausing as you feel him looking at you.

“When you walk home, avoid Mason Street. Go one up to Doxtator. Safer,” he advises.

You dip your chin, embarrassed. You know you don’t look like much but you can take care of yourself. You have so far.

He leans back on his heel before twisting on his soles. It squeaks with his slow hesitation and he marches to the door. You look up as the chime goes off and he disappears into the street. Only forty minutes to go.

[hl-obsessed]

✨ FIC REC ✨ | 10-30k

•°•°•°•°•°•

Snowed In by @germericangirl

(E, 15k) Harry wants to fly back home to London after visiting his family for the holidays but a snow storm causes his flight to get cancelled. What happens if the hotel only has one room left for him and the beautiful blue eyed stranger?

✨ Running Home To You by sincewewereeighteen

(E, 18k) Harry can’t help but look at his iTunes library. What he did not expect was to see his name there: Harry Styles, and a half-played album. He has to ask.

“What’s that you were listening to?”

“Oh, it’s this guy, uh- Harry Styles?”

“Hm. Is he any good? I’ve heard a lot about him.”

“He’s proper famous, isn’t he?” Louis smirks. “He’s good, believe it or not. Many people don’t give credit to teenage girls, but I don’t regret listening to him.”

“D’you have a favorite?”

“You’ve probably heard Sign of the Times, because everyone’s heard this song…” Louis checks his screen. “Don’t know. This is the best one musically speaking. But there’s something about this one,” he points at his screen, “From the Dining Table. It’s just so sad. Makes one wonder what this guy went through.”

“That tough?”

“Sad.” Louis replies. “Anyways. Don’t be prejudiced and give the pop star a listen. He’s really talented.”

OR: the one in which Harry and Louis take the same plane, and even though they're both sort of nomads, they end up finding a home in each other.

give you my fever by @thelovejandles

(E, 10k) x-factor era. harry's never had an orgasm before, louis gives him his first

If Tomorrow Never Comes (We Had Last Night) by @fallinglikethis @all-these-larrythings

(M, 15k) Louis accepts the call without bothering to look at the caller ID. Only Zayn would be a big enough asshole to call him at two in the morning. This fucking better be important.

“This fucking better be important,” Louis greets.

On the other end of the line comes a soft giggle. “Li, you don’t usually curse. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”

 Yeah, that’s not Zayn. Louis sighs, his anger melting into resignation when he realizes that it’s some poor bastard probably drunk dialing his ex or something. “Sorry, mate. Think you’ve got the wrong number."

Based on this Tumblr prompt: "Accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came au"

sweet, where you lay by @infinitelymint

(E, 27k) Louis Tomlinson is a twenty-eight year old succesful actor living in New York. Harry Styles is a twenty year old up and coming model and coincidentally also the one who turns Louis’ world completely upside down.

or, Louis is Zachary Quinto and Harry is Miles McMillan. Falling in love was always in the cards for them.

stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you) by @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 12k) Five times Louis and Harry get walked in on at the worst time, and one time Louis makes sure they don't.

✨ i'm a captain on a jealous sea by @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 15k) It’s not that Louis doesn’t like Nick. He is, if he’s being honest, kind of indifferent. Louis gets that Nick is just doing his job most of the time, being loud and prying, not having boundaries. But it’s just a little too much for Louis’ taste. Louis, who has learned over the years, when to be loud and when to know that coy is the game. But, it doesn’t matter really. He’s not required to like everyone, doesn’t have to make nice with them outside of having a camera shoved in his face. He can let Nick be Nick and it shouldn’t affect Louis at all.

Except.

What Louis actually has a problem with is the way Nick Grimshaw looks at Harry.

✨ some things fade (some never do) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 25k) Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or magical ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

*

Three years after their break up, Harry calls.

In a sky full of stars, be my Northern lights by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 13k) It's one of those nights there's nothing on the telly that Louis absently scrolls through Tinder. After swiping left on a bunch of profiles he comes face to face with a picture that stops him in his tracks. The picture is..almost sweet. It’s a boy with brown curly hair, wearing a very low cut yellow blouse, paired with a black jacket. He’s got a smile on his face and his tongue sticking out, but it’s not in any way lewd or suggestive. He just looks like he’s having a good time, and something about the innocence of it has him swiping right rather than left.

He’s barely checked the other pictures on the boy's profile before Tinder confirms that he’s got a match. The shots are so different from the pictures Louis is used to on Tinder - half naked boys who are smoldering at the camera - that he can’t help but smile.

It quickly turns into a frown when he opens up the message he’s just received.

Harry: Hello!

Harry: Thank you for swiping right

Harry: I have a proposition for you

Treat You Like A Gentleman by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 12k) 5 times that Harry Styles was unsatisfied by his dates, and one time Louis Tomlinson helped him find what he had been missing.

Sweet as Honey by TeamLouis

(E, 21k) Louis has always been shit at cooking. When he discovers Sweet as Honey on Instagram, owned by chef Harry Styles, he intends to mock him by recreating his recipes with his awful skills, posting photos on his own Instagram account, Nailed It. It's all fun until Harry asks to meet him.

✨💎 To Have Touched the Sun by @ireallysawanangel

(E, 12k) Louis has been taking suppressants ever since he first presented as an omega, and because of that, he has his heats dwindled down to just once a year. When he suddenly goes into heat in the middle of a supermarket only two months after just having one, he immediately knows something is wrong. It takes the act of a very kind stranger in that supermarket to change Louis' life forever.

Losing Focus Every Time You Speak by @causticsunshine

(E, 19k) “Harry,” he starts, his tone cautious, “what’s this I’m seeing?”

A roll of Harry’s shoulder and the thing catches the light again. “Hm? I dunno what you’re talking about, Lou,” he replies, voice suddenly strained.

Oh. So that’s how it’s going to be.

“This,” Louis reiterates as clearly as he can—by abruptly spreading Harry’s cheeks as much as he can through the confines of his knickers, in turn causing Harry to grunt and Louis to reveal a, fuck, a small bubblegum-pink gem in the shape of a heart, rimmed by a sliver of silver, “you remember now?”

“Oh.” All faux innocence. Louis removes his hands as Harry slowly pulls himself back up, a little red-faced and with a chunky throw in hand. “That? It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Louis repeats, trying for gentle surprise.

Louis returns from an impromptu work trip and enjoys some long-awaited alone time with his favorite person. Lace knickers and a princess plug might have a role to play in things.

✨💎 Eyes on the Horizon by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 12k) Freshly dumped, recently fired, and about to turn 40, Harry's friends insist on taking him skydiving to cheer him up. His younger and extremely fit instructor Louis makes him even more nervous than the idea of jumping out of a plane, but both may be exactly what he needs to turn his life around.

Waste the Night by @wicked-archer

(E, 12k) Harry is excited to finally see his favourite band in concert and his favourite person, the guitarist of the band, Louis Tomlinson. Little does he know what the night has in store for him.

✨ Prelude to Forever by @always-aqua

(M, 13k) @StylinHarry: So I kinda fell for a boy yesterday at #ChiPride. Kissed & fireworks went off. Literally. He’s a drama teacher. Goes by “Louis” but I prefer Sunshine. Very pretty. The prettiest. Got separated & I’m a fucking idiot who forgot to get his number. Anyone know him? #helpfindsunshine

Or, Louis and Harry meet at Pride in Chicago and spend the day falling for each other before getting accidentally separated.

Be Mine? by @softfonds

(E, 11k) Getting dumped the week before Valentine's Day wasn't in Harry's plans, and neither was being dragged to a concert to forget about it. But a sign Zayn brings manages to turn his night around in more ways than he hoped for.

Blinded by the Colors by @fallinglikethis

(M, 20k) After a heated fight with Harry, a maudlin, inebriated Louis Tomlinson questions his presence in his boyfriend's life. In fact, maybe all of One Direction would be better off if Louis had never been put in the band to begin with.

He never expected to wake up in a world where that's exactly what happened.

Or an It's A Wonderful Life Au where Louis Tomlinson realizes just how important he really is.

✨ Keep Me Closer by @zanniscaramouche

(T, 18k) Louis expects Harry to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck ass but Louis won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Harry’s even turned around.

What he doesn’t expect is Harry to fucking drop.

Moonlight Minx by @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 15k) The one where an unexpected storm strands Harry on an island, Louis gets an unexpected house guest for the night, and love might just be the most unexpected thing of all.

Love On Air by @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 19k) The one where Louis doesn't have a type, no matter what Niall says, but if he did, it'd probably be the guy currently trapped in his radio studio and grinning back at him from across the desk.

✨ Every heart but mine by @rainblou

(E, 17k) In the years leading up to his presentation, Harry hoped that his soulmark would appear, that his soulmate would present first and Harry would have irrevocable proof that his other half was out there, waiting for him.

Years later, he's given up on waiting and with a heat coming up, his eyes are set on Louis Tomlinson to help him through it.

redamancy by @yu-taeil

(G, 10k) dystopian au.

Harry lives in a world where, at the age of 18, everyone gets paired up with a life mate, a perfectly compatible partner. When Harry gets Liam Payne as his soul mate, he thinks nothing of it. It must be true love, right?

But then he meets Louis Tomlinson, a 19 year old who is already partnered up. Harry starts to fall for Louis, and it is not unrequited, but it is against the law.

Harry had always known he’d end up breaking some rules, he just hadn’t quite imagined the magnitude of them.

Sooner or Later by orphan_account

(T, 12k) Louis suspected he might have a little crush. It was harmless enough. It wasn't as if he were any sort of threat to his sister's relationship with Harry, was it?

✨💎 I Just Wanna Give You Love by @lululawrence

(NR, 18k) Graham Norton appeared on the screen introducing his guests and out of nowhere, everything in Louis’ world was turned upside down.

Louis gasped as he intently took in the man on the screen, smiling and waving from his seat beside Sir Ian McKellen.

“Oh my God,” Louis said before it all sank in as to what it meant. “Holy fucking shit!”

“Louis William, you watch your mouth,” Jay said. “What has got into you?”

Feeling like a madman, his palms to his cheeks, Louis couldn’t help the tears of surprise, relief, and fear as he turned to his mum. “What colour are his eyes? What do you call that colour?”

“Louis, are you telling me that the man on the screen, Harry Styles, is your soulmate?”

Or the one where the world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate, but Harry is world famous and Louis is...well...not.

Where Life Changed Us by ExiledQueenCatalog

(E, 22k) Omega Harry has a rare genetic disorder where he has no sense of smell. This has lots of odd effects such as him not being able to smell his own scent but most brutally, not being able to scent the way his inner omega desires. It also leaves him as a sort of odd-ball to the community, leaving him becoming touch starved as no one wants the omega who can’t scent. Until finally, he meets the right alpha.

Hint: I want to be yours by @greenblueish

(M, 11k) or, the one where Harry unconsciously starts acting like Louis' alpha after they spend his rut together and Louis finds ways to make sure Harry's affection doesn't end.

'cause I want you (for the worse and for the better) by @absoloutenonsense

(NR, 26k) When Louis gets invited along to Anne's wedding, Harry is prepared to let people think whatever they want about their relationship. That's what Louis said -- let people think whatever they want. That changes when Louis sees his ex, who turns out to be Anne's future husband's son. Now, Louis wants to prove that he's an omega that an alpha could want, and Harry wants to get through this weekend without letting his best friend figure out he's in love with him.

We Don't Need No Piece of Paper (From the City Clerk) by @2tiedships2

(M, 26k) Harry sat on his bed and stared at the pile of luggage by the door. This was really happening. He was being shipped off to America to get married.

In a matter of months, he would be bonded to an alpha his father had chosen for him. Someone that Harry knew nothing about. Not even his name.

Party Lines by @absoloutenonsense

(E, 25k) Louis works for a phone-sex operating company, collecting credit card information and transferring calls to different operators. On a particularly busy night, everyone is booked up, and one caller has been patiently waiting for more than a few minutes. In a split second decision –one he’s probably going to regret– Louis picks up the call himself.

*

Or Louis accidentally becomes a phone sex operator.

Losing That Reactive Spark by @crazyupsetter

(E, 11k) Prompt 73: ABO fic where Louis is cursed. He can’t touch anyone without a spark of electricity going through his body, causing him to blackout. He meets Harry, the only one the curse doesn’t work on for some reason.

(Gimme a Solution and) Watch Me Run With It by @lululawrence

(NR, 21k) This second, this minute, this hour, this day... hell, this week the trend was for Harry to feel overwhelmed. He was having a hard time not drowning in all of the responsibilities he had heaped upon himself and it had exhausted him. Beyond that, really. He had gotten to the point where he didn't even remember why he used to be so focused on getting back on stage every night.

Fine. Maybe this trend had been going on for even longer than a week. It might have even been months.

Harry is getting dangerously close to his breaking point, and that is when things start to change, starting with a favorite childhood sweet a member of the touring crew leaves for him in his dressing room.

Catching a Partner by berzerkshires

(M, 25k) This documentary follows the story of two people who fell in love in the last place you'd expect. Louis is a detective at the Boston Police Department investigating a trail of recent murders. Harry is the latest victim who survived an attempted murder and is sent to live at a safe house with Detective Tomlinson as the killer is still at large.

This is their story.

No Place I'd Rather Be by @iamasphodelknox

(E, 29k) Harry's had a crush on his stepfather's friend for six years. A small crush. A tiny crush.

Honestly, if you don't look at Harry's dozens of poems about Louis Tomlinson, the crush is practically infinitesimal. They haven't even had a conversation.

But then a car wreck prompts them to finally have a conversation.

Christmas works its magic, Harry pines, Louis fonds, and they just might make it.

baby shut your mouth and turn me inside out by ballsdeepinjesus

(E, 10k) Harry and Louis meet in a mcdonalds. louis is everything harry needs.

The Joke's Always On The Joker, Baby by @greenfeelings

(M, 16k) It’s all about an anonymous one-night stand that turns Harry and Louis’ lives into a rom-com cliché, provides Liam with the perfect opportunity to finally approach the man of his dreams, and confirms Niall that he’s always right.

Hold You With My Hands Tied by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 12k) "There’s a club in town called Habit, and they’re looking for a bartender to cover evenings and weekends. No previous experience required."

Harry furrows his brows. He’s never been to Habit, but he certainly knows what type of club it is. BDSM.

It’s not the ideal position for an Omega surely, but beggars can’t be choosers he supposes. He tilts his head to the side. “And they would be ok with an Omega filling that role?”

Janet scans her eyes over the job description before nodding. “Yes, actually it says here Omegas are preferred but not required.”

Harry sighs.

“When do I start?”

(Or the one where Omega Harry loses his bakery job and is forced to take a temporary position bartending at a local BDSM club. It turns out to be not so bad. Especially when he catches the eye of the owner Louis, who also happens to be a gorgeous Alpha).

if you show up there then you know I will too by @harrybirthdaytoya

(M, 11k) Everyone in Louis' life keeps getting married, but he's almost 30 and single. (He's also grumpy about it). Harry sings in a wedding band, and Louis may have a bit of a crush.

I've Always Liked the Fireworks by QuickedWeen

(T, 12k) When alphas and omegas reach the age of twenty-one they are required to attend a Proving Day ceremony. Omegas watch as alphas do their best to compete in events, show off their skills, and prove how good a mate they can really be.

The whole thing is a bit ridiculous, but Louis Tomlinson has always dreamed of finding his mate. He's got two unsuccessful Sheffield Proving Days under his belt and decides to go for the much more competitive one in Manchester. His goal is to play his best, leave it all out on the pitch, and hope that one of the omegas watching just happens to be his mate.

Hold My Heart by Awriterwrites, phdmama

(E, 14k) Or, the one where famous Louis Tomlinson offers his hand and a lot more to his seat mate on a transatlantic flight.

Torn On The Platform by conscious-ramblings

AU where harry and louis are strangers but they always get the same train to work in the morning and one day harry falls asleep on louis’ shoulder. louis wants to be annoyed because harry just broke a least seven rules of tube conduct but he looks so soft and peaceful that he just lets him sleep and wakes him ever so carefully when it’s his stop. it happens again and again until it becomes a regular thing where louis will let harry snooze and then gently nudge him awake, hand him the cup of coffee he took from him so it wouldn’t slip and spill everywhere and send him off with a “have fun at work, love” and after the tenth time harry isn’t even embarrassed anymore.

Cue changing work schedules, missing each other for the first time in weeks, panicking because “i don’t even know his name, why didn’t i ask for his name”, dramatic waiting on platforms and finally bumping into each other again when they least expect it

✨💎 Tell Me Your Secrets, Teach Me Your Ways by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 23k) The day after turning eighteen, Omega Prince Harry is expected to meet with eligible Alpha suitors. It's a day he's been looking forward to all his life, desperate for romance and yearning to find his mate.

What he doesn't expect to find, however, is that he's one half of a historic soul-tied union: a phenomenon last seen over a century ago. Luckily, his future mate is everything he ever dreamed of finding.

But... that's just the problem. Louis makes Harry feel things he's never felt before and has no way to describe. He knows that once they're married, he and Louis are meant to mate, but what that actually entails is a mystery…

Who better to ask about these feelings than his mate-to-be?

AKA: A regency-ish royalty AU featuring overeager soulmates who maybe give into temptation a little too much on their secret journey of sexual discovery.

The way you move for me baby (lights me up like nobody else) by @thechavier

(M, 12k) Those green eyes found him again and he struggled thinking of what to say.

"You look beautiful in that dress" It's what he landed on. (...) "You know I wrote a song back in the day called little black dress?"

He didn't imagine the little spark in his eyes, nor the pleased smirk on his lips, nor the tongue peeking out to wet them.

"Why do you think I chose it for tonight?"

or the rolling stones awards au

Talk Dirty To Me by BriaMaria

(E, 13k) Or the one where Harry is absolutely terrible at dirty talk so he asks his best friend to teach him. And the one where Louis knows it's a catastrophically bad idea but agrees anyway.

Because Sparrows Mate For Life by @builtyouahousefromabrokenhome

(E, 24k) Harry’s tattoo gets done all wrong, and he needs someone to fix it.

Bend Like a Hairpin by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 26k) Or the one where FBI agent Harry Styles screws up in a mission and he has one more chance to save his career. He’s going undercover as a stripper to investigate a strip club suspected of money laundering. There’s just 2 problems: 1) Harry can’t dance, and 2) he might be falling for the club’s owner Louis, who just happens to be the prime suspect.

Celebrity Discount by @loaded-gunn

(T, 27k) Louis fell for Prince Harry when he was ten and Harry was eight and peeked behind the Queen’s elegant gown for his first public appearance—a shy smile and a mess of curls. He fell for him when he caught Lottie putting up a magazine cover of Harry on her wall and all she had to say for herself was, “He’s such a good person, yeah?” and, yeah. He fell for him when Harry gracefully accepted his demotion. He fell for him when Harry came out and stayed out.

tonight's not over (come over and stay) by @adoredontour

(E, 17k) Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?”

Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.

“No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?”

“Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis.

“Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?”

or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel

where sirens fear to tread by @stylinsoncity

(M, 28k) in the royal line, there are only a select few sirens with the ability to transform into humans once a month. harry is one of those sirens. he mostly sticks to the rules. when he's on land, he reads his books. he buys copious amounts of ice cream. he keeps to himself. that is until he meets a lifeguard named louis working at one of the luxury resorts on St Barts. and unfortunately, harry doesn't know the rules about falling in love at all.

✨💎 When The Stars Come Out by @briannamarguerite

(E, 30k) Louis was about to reassure Harry further when Gemma bounded back over to him, slipping a hand around Louis' waist. Harry’s eyes followed the movement. And then that lip gnaw again. Christ. How was he supposed to survive this weekend?

He turned his attention to Gemma as her palm came to rest right above his heart. Laying it on a bit thick, dear. Or at least that’s what he hoped he’d conveyed with the simple tilt of an eyebrow.

In response, she went up on tiptoes and laid a noisy kiss on the hollow beneath his cheekbone. Louis didn’t take his eyes off Harry, who watched the scene play out with a blank expression. Once Gemma dropped back to the ground, Harry shifted away from them, his gaze dropping to his feet.

[Or the one where Louis pretends to be Gemma's boyfriend for her horrid cousin's wedding but fate is a nasty jerk and throws Harry in his way.]

•°•°•°•°•°•

part 1 (+50k) | part 2 (30-50k) | part 4 (<10k)

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Sorry I wasn’t trying to deflect from the real issue or anything , I just didn’t know if that point was factual or addressed in the Roku book.

That's the thing though: it doesn't have to be adressed, because what we already know about the Fire Nation just from watching the show - hell, just from watching the introduction of every episode - already makes it quite clear which nation, and which leader(s), is the obvious bad guy that is disturbingly comfortable using violence towards vulnerable people to get what it wants.

Even if the Fire Nation was this "utopia" zutarians pretend it was, where everyone who was born there gets a great life and women are totally treated as equals to men - that doesn't erase the fact that they commited genocide against the air-nomads, that they've been conquering places all over the Earth Kingdom and killing millions of innocents, or that they commited genocide against Katara's tribe.

The Fire Nation wants well over half the world dead for the simple "crime" of not being the same race as them, and Sozin was the one to make it that way - yet Zutarians are acting like because that fucking book acknowledged "Oh yeah, and the Fire Nation also sucks if you were NOT a foreigner because it was a deeply unfair society from day one" they're being retconned to be the evil, violent and intolerant.

Every time these people throw a fit over how "the Fire Nation doesn't get enough recognition for being fair to women" (because it WASN'T), they casually ignore the fact that they commited genocide - and act like all the women and little girls that were killed somehow don't "count" as victims of the Fire Nation because they were of a different race.

As if it makes a difference to these women if they're being abused, imprisoned and killed for their race instead of their gender. As if a queer woman who saw the love of her life be killed by the Fire Nation would give a fuck that at least her lover wasn't killed for having the "wrong" sexuality, just for being born in the "wrong" nation.

As if it made a difference to Kya that a man invaded her home with the intention of kidnaping/killing her daughter because she was a waterbender but not because she was girl.

As if it would make any difference to Katara if the man that killed her mother would never think to hit or so much as raise his voice to his own mother or wife or daughter.

As if, in the middle of becoming a child soldier because she has no choice but to fight for her life, she'd think the Fire Nation is so "egalitarian" because Azula gets the "privilege" of being a child soldier too.

As if she'll think oh so highly of Zuko for hiting her so hard she lost consciousness, and he then kidnapped her best friend to either be killed or kept barely alive in a cell for decades - after all, at least he didn't refuse to fight her like Pakku did! How considerate of him!

As if all the airbender girls that were burned alive gave a fuck if the soldiers that were murdering them were all men, all women, or if it was a 50/50 split.

As if droping a nuke on a bunch of civilians is only a human rights violation if some insane ruler does it to his own country instead of someone else's.

These people are literally saying that systematic violence towards women somehow only "counts" if the woman is of the "right" race - and that's a DEEPLY racist belief that they just spew out casually and we HAVE to focus on that, not because "Hahaha, more things to mock zutarians for" but because that is a very dangerous belief to have.

[noforkingclue]

That one Hobbit/LOTR anon, back again. If you're still up for it, can I have a dark!Thranduil x human reader? (I'm not sure it's mentioned in the movies, but just in case please AU him as unmarried or widowed.)

The reader trespassed in Mirkwood and was imprisoned by Thranduil. He doesn't believe her story so he keeps her locked up, or maybe just because he's petty. Thranduil has her brought out and questioned semi-regularly, it's possible he just bored. The details aren't super important.

Reader is pissed obviously, but treads the line and avoids being overtly disrespectful. She doesn't say much, but is passive-aggressive to a level that allows for plausible deniability. She doesn't seem cowed by him, doesn't kneel or bow, and never directly address him or use any honorifics.

Thranduil outwardly seems aloof and disinterested in all their interactions, acting like dealing with some common human was beneath him and an inconvenience. But, internally maybe he finds himself craving your subjugation and frustrated at your lack of proper deference.

Reader says something to the effects of "You may be a King, but you're not my King" and that makes him snap. That's the first time you see a break in his countenance and suddenly his hands are on you and he's right in your face. He's only ever had his guards escort you, he's never touched you before then.

Now, you're scared. Maybe he threatens you, maybe he makes you beg or prostrate yourself. There's a lot of options here.

In this prompt I don't know that he'd make it sexual immediately, I imagine he'd be in denial about being attracted so someone so much lower than himself. However, I'd leave it up to your discretion.

Thank you in advance!

So this is my first time writing another LotR/Hobbit related so I hope I've done a good job!

Also, I anyone wants any other fics from LotR/Hobbit please feel free to request them! I love both of these so I'm happy to write for them :D

Anyway, hope you like the fic :)

Title: Submission

Warnings: dark fic

You gasped as a strong hand curled around your neck and lifted you high off the ground. Thranduil was a lot stronger than he appeared. He easily lifted you into the air as the tip of your toes just brushed the ground. He brought you closer to him, your nose brushing against his.

“Would you care to repeat what you just said.”

His voice was calm and level but this close to him you could see the boiling rage in his eyes. You swallowed thickly and refused to answer. He tightened his grip slightly and you knew that it was going to leave bruises. That is, if you survived.

“I would advise you not to disobey my orders.”

“You may be a King,” you croaked out, “but you’re not my King.”

Thranduil sneered and dropped you harshly. You gasped at the sudden impact on the cold floor and he turned on his heel and marched back up towards his throne. Really it had been an honest mistake. You were a nomad and you had ventured into Mirkwood by mistake. As soon as you realised where you were you tried to leave but it was too late. You had swiftly taken prisoner and had been locked up ever since. You had lost track of the days you had been kept here and longed to be back on the road.

It wasn’t as though you had been kept in solitary confinement. You were regularly brought up for questioning by the Elven King. You had answered his questions as best as you could but he was beginning to test your limits. Today you finally lost it and, well, it hadn’t ended up well for you. You rubbed your neck, wincing when you accidentally pressed too hard against it.

Thranduil sat back down on his throne and looked down at you. He crossed one leg over the other and propped his chin up on his hand. You were a stubborn one and really he was beginning to think that you weren’t a spy. That you really were just a harmless traveller who stumbled in here by mistake. But he wanted to see you crumble. He wanted to see you on your knees, begging for mercy. This had been the first time he touched you and he curled his fingers, wanting the feeling of your soft flesh under his hands once again. He drummed his fingers of his other hand on the arm on his throne as he looked down at you.

Yes, you looked good like this.

On your knees and fear in your eyes.

“You are a traveller.” he said, his voice shattering the silence

“I,” you coughed, before continuing weakly, “I am.”

“Hmm.”

“I am glad that you are listening to me.”

You glanced up at Thranduil and the look on his face told you that you were on thin ice. For a human you were not unpleasant looking and your defiance was an interesting streak. He was too used to people doing immediately what he wanted. While that was nice, and expected, your stubbornness was a refreshing change of pace.

Now he wanted your submission.

“You would like,” he said eventually, “to be out of the cells.”

Your gaze sharpened but the fear remained. Thranduil wanted that to stay.

“That’s correct.” you said

He raised his head and looked down at you.

“Then maybe,” he said, “you can do something about that. For your King.”

Those last three words made your blood turn cold and you didn’t like the look on his face.

“Unless you’d rather go back to the cells,” his voice remained level, “but I can assure you that you'll have a far more comfortable time if you do as I say. And pleasant, if you behave.”

“And what do you want?” you asked weakly

“Come here,” he beckoned you towards him, spreading his legs, “and I’ll let you know what to do.”

You made to stand up but Thranduil held up a hand.

“On your knees,” he said, “where you belong.”

Crawling towards him was humiliating but maybe, just maybe, this was providing you with a way to escape. Little did you know that as you crawled towards him, Thranduil was already making plans. You might be a mere human but he was never going to let you go.

You were his.

[quillthrillswriting]

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︵‿presenting...quill's kataang week!‿︵

︵day one: cultural exchange/ culture sharing/ revival of traditions‿

︵‿︵︵︵‿︵︵‿‿hosted by @kataang-week︵‿︵︵︵‿︵︵‿‿

summary:

after an upsetting council meeting in which aang is painfully reminded of how little the other nations understand of air nomad culture, katara is there to remind him that he isn't as alone as he thinks OR: aang & katara friends to lovers post-war 👀

:D the following are excerpts from "and i promise, that one day i'll feel fine":

Aang typically prided himself on standing strong when it came to upholding the beliefs of his people. It was his responsibility, his burden of loss to carry and his gift.

But if he was being entirely honest with himself, moments such as the one he found himself in now, surrounded by a council of nations in which he was the only Airbending representative, it was difficult to remain pretending as if nothing was bothering him. He’d accepted a seat on the council of nations before fully understanding what it would mean to him, how it would feel . Every other representative was flanked with another member or two of their tribe.

Aang stood alone. 

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He’d been so sure that he’d kissed her, in the Cave of Two Lovers, and again before he’d entered the Fire Nation. Both times, he’d waited for her to say something, anything, to confirm that those kisses had been just as earthshaking for her as they had been for him, but both times, she hadn’t. He’d pressed her about it only once, and the moment she told him that she felt confused, Aang had felt like an absolute and utter idiot . The idea that he’d made Katara uncomfortable… It was enough for him to do his best to suppress his feelings as much as he could. 

That had left them where they were now- on opposite sides of a council room. Two teenagers who could end a war but couldn’t manage to communicate. Aang supposed that there was a bit of comedic irony present there, but truth be told, nothing felt funny to him at the moment. 

Not with how the other council members were speaking about his people. 

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“How can you say that?” Katara ran her hands through her hair incredulously, his jaw set. “Each nation standing on their own and neglecting the balance between our peoples is how the war started. The blood of the Air Nomads is just as much on the other nations for neglecting to remember that, for failing to come to the defence of the remaining Air temples after the first of the Fire Nation raids.” Aang flinched at the visceral reminder, the images it stirred, but regardless, Katara was right. She continued on, her voice dropping in volume but only gaining intensity.

“It’s "every nation on their own" until it was your nation, the one that this “nation of one” defended only months ago.” She spat the last of the words out as if they were laced with venom, her disgust evident as she reminded Hanh of the water spirit form Aang had taken to ward off the invasion of the Southern tribes.

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“Aang. There's no precedent for any of this. The scenario you’ve found yourself in… unique feels too simple of a way to put it. None of the monks would judge you for succumbing to moments of grief and anger.” 

“ I would judge me. I would not forgive myself.” 

“You should.” She smiled softly, shaking her head. “Even the great Avatar, saviour of the world, is not without moments of imperfection.”

Aang chuckled through his tears, his smile turning cocky. “You’d be surprised. I think you’ll find that I’m about as close to perfection as can be.”

“I know,” she said simply, and the genuine quality of her voice was enough to send a blush blooming across Aang’s face. She pushed on, internally berating herself for letting that slip. “And I understand why you feel alone, I really do, but I’m right here, in your corner. Please don’t forget that. You’ll always have me there." She smiled softly, shaking her head as she did. "If you’d escalated the situation back there, if you had snapped completely, I would’ve been right behind you, following your lead.”

Aang’s nose wrinkled as he laughed at the idea of the pair of them fighting the entire council.  Katara shook her head, her eyes fixed on his, her tone dead serious. “Let Sokka, or Zuko, or Toph pull us back to reality. I’m right there with you, in everything .” In life too, if you’d let me, she added silently, her hands itching to pull his hands back to hers. 

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♥ feel free to check out the entirety of this fic & my ao3 here! ->

to see the rest of the kataang week submissions from the other extremely talented and lovely members of this community, head over to @kataang-week :)<3 thank u so much to the wonderful mods for making all of this possible!

[casteliacityramen]

((He's missing a rubber ducklett))

When Rio came back to Unova six months ago, she nearly said nothing to Ray when she found him. After a week, she had one word responses to questions while she made the left-most seat her most designated spot at the ramen stand. The voice she used to speak, even telepathically, sounded raw and shuddered.

After a month, she reluctantly took his offer to move in with him. Ray inherited Tai's high-rise apartment, which had already come with amenities for a Greninja. It was a place with four walls, a roof, and a balcony to freely enter and leave under the cover of optical camouflage. It'd be foolish to turn down the offer.

"Quaint." Rio muttered, her tone flat and her expression blank as they stood at the doorway. The place was so methodically clean and tidy that it seemed picturesque and surreal. Given the size of her disguise, the place appeared spacious, even.

When she stepped into the apartment, she felt her objective outlook get invaded with melancholy. Rio did her best to keep that feeling from taking over, trying to think 'having an apartment makes a better cover story' and not 'I haven't had a place to call home in centuries.'

For most of the time she's been alive and in service as an Oathkeeper, she'd often end her days at a literal, empty nest. Even if she was native to Unova, she stopped trying to make her home nothing more than the bare-minimum, staying true to a Lati's nomadic nature.

Before, there would be times when she would end her days to the sound of a calm domestic life. Some lifetimes, a friend would be there to greet her. Other lifetimes, a lover would be there to welcome her back.

The warmth of those domestic moments were nice, but they were fleeting, making it all the more cold when she ended her nights by herself. Over the past couple hundreds of years, she got comfortable with quiet. She got comfortable being alone-

"Welcome home."

--

Rio flinched. Ray watched quizzically as she turned and stared at him. In a brief second, he felt a sudden and overwhelming wave of turmoil emanating from the small rockruff in front of him. Even if it was her surface level thoughts, it would've made the weakest psychic type shudder.

She looked at him with wide eyes, experiencing a cocktail of strong emotions and not knowing what to do with it. As quickly as it came, she returned to a tired, stoic expression, and nodded slightly.

Ray couldn't help himself from making a comparison between Rio and his stand's counter--seemingly spotless until the light hit it at the right angle to reveal the countless scuffs and scratches on the surface. Countless people coming and going over time, some to return, some to never come back, and most leaving a mark whether they knew it or not.

He could feel her discomfort when she caught him staring, so he sought out a handful of sheets and blankets when the door closed quietly behind them. When he returned, she looked at him with a small, sheepish look of gratitude as he gently set the linens in front of her.

"Thanks," she muttered. Ray took it as a wordless dismissal, knowing from the look on her face that she didn't want anyone to see how vulnerable she was at that moment. Not even him.

That night, he kept his door ajar just in case. A part of him wanted to reach out and bring her into his room, closed away from the rest of the world, but he figured he'd give her space.

As he was falling asleep that night, he breathlessly sighed as he slowly realized how fitting Rio's rockruff disguise was: a small dog that had no one left to call her pack, and until now, nowhere to lay her head in peace.

He heard Rio toss and turn on the couch, followed by a frustrated sigh and the shuffling of fabric work their way away towards the kitchen. The sounds of kitchenware lightly bumping against one another followed. It took him a moment to realize that she wasn't fixing herself something to eat.

'She's going to sleep in the cabinet.' Sure enough, he heard the blanket getting shoved unceremoniously into the built-in cabinet before she let the door close softly afterwards. It was small and cramped, but she probably felt safer. God, he hoped she felt safer.

At least she's home, he thought to himself, doing his best to ignore the ache in his chest before he fell asleep.

[thedeviltohisangel]

All The Things I Did (Princess Era): I Would Be Your Only Dream

a/n: knight!john x princess!cass au is here my loves! i hope you all enjoy this little glimpse because i think there are so many beautiful possibilities for scenes in this universe. i will write more if you guys think you would want to read it! this is their first meeting in this universe and i hope you fall in love with this version of them just like you have in canon and in the modern au. let me know all your thoughts (dirty or otherwise) xoxo

John was barely paying attention as Gale was walking him through the center of the village, pointing out the stalls where he could find the best fruit or vegetables or trinkets to send back to his family if they were curious about his new life at the castle. 

“Princess Cassandra is not allowed in the village anymore after the last incident.” The mention of the Princess got his attention. 

“Incident?” 

“The head of the watch found her attempting to sneak into…” his voice dropped to a whisper, “a house of the night.”

“Most would call it a brothel, Gale. The Princess isn’t allowed to explore herself?” He was positive that the exploits of her older brothers, on and off the field of battle, were legendary across the realms. 

“Not when her betrothed is coming to retrieve her at the end of the next moon cycle.” John rolled his eyes. He had learned quite a few valuable and useful things about himself during his encounters at a brothel or two. Who was a knight of the realm to begrudge the Princess the same opportunity? Especially if she had a loveless marriage ahead of her. 

“Good thing protecting the Princess is your calling and not mine. I’m merely here to win some coin in the tourney and be on my way.” 

“You’ve been a nomad for too long, my friend. Why not try resting your head here for a little while?”

“Staying still invites trouble. I’m not in the business of trouble anymore.” When he and Gale had first met, offering their swords for the glory of the King many years ago, they had both been bloodthirsty young men. Gale had outgrown that desire, met a nice girl on his travels and fallen in love and married her. John had taken his sword on the road, offering it in service of whoever paid the most and for whatever purpose they deemed fit. He was known for being the best and that was exactly why Gale had written him and asked for him to participate in the upcoming tournament. The prize was substantial, the possibility of land and titles, and he knew his friend could only benefit from the stability something like that could offer. 

“Trouble still always has a way of finding you, my friend. Whether you are looking for it or not.” As if to illustrate his exact point, the sound of a child crying reached their ears. Both men stepped towards the child at the ready to offer their services when a green cloak appeared out of nowhere and crouched down to the height of the child.

“Hello there, little one. There is no need for tears.” John watched as her delicate hands reached to touch the child’s face, his tears dissipating at the caress of her fingertips. 

“I’m going to grab a watchmen. I’ll be right back,” Gale offered with a clap to John’s shoulder. He jogged off in a separate direction and John took a few steps closer to the woman and child.

“Would you like me to help you locate your mother?” she asked, presenting the young boy with her hand. He nodded and placed his smaller hand within hers. 

“A lady such as yourself certainly should not be wandering the village without a sword to accompany her.” The woman turned to face him quickly, the hood of her cloak falling from her head to reveal a scarf covering all but a few tendrils of her hair. All his confidence dissipated as her eyes rested on his. There was a tightness to his chest he would never be able to explain and his heart was racing at a sheer glimpse of her beauty. 

“And who are you?” she asked in her own breathless voice. She couldn’t look away from the blue of his eyes. As if the spring sky itself was nestled in the orbs. 

“A man offering you his sword as you seek to reunite this child with its mother.” Cass assumed he must be new here. Otherwise, he would have dragged her off to face the wrath of her father or, worse yet, her mother for breaking the rules and sneaking beyond the castle walls again. This man, this indescribably handsome man, was offering anonymity for a little bit of time. And with that came freedom. 

“Very well. We will start at the bottom of the hill where his cottage is.” She held the hand of the little boy and was off in the direction he was pointing, John following after them dutifully. He watched with a smile as she conversed with the young creature and nodded along with all of his musing and remarked with appropriate ease as he recounted the tale of losing his mother. They reached the bottom of the hill and turned towards the row of stone houses and thatched roofs.

“Does he belong to the crying woman?” John pointed in her direction, the little one dragging the cloaked beauty in her direction. She threw him a smile over her shoulder and he smiled back despite his best intentions.

“Oh, my child!” The woman welcomed the boy into her arms as he called to her with glee. “How can I ever repay you?” Cass shook her head.

“The unbridled joy in reuniting you both is enough to fulfill me. Nothing further is necessary.” The mother looked to john.

“I only accompanied to ensure they reached you in one piece, ma’am.” Up close, the cloak of the enchanting young woman was made of velvet. If he was going to shae anything loose from anyone, it was going to be her.

“You must at least take some food for your troubles.” The woman disappeared for a few moments before appearing with two braided pastries and handing them one each. 

“Thank you, ma’am. Now I best be going. Keep an eye on that one,” he  nodded towards the little boy, “seems to enjoy finding trouble.” He meant it from one troublemaker to the other. Speaking of which, John thinks he recognized a bit of a kindred spirit in the beautiful girl as well. 

“I appreciate your offer but now your services are not needed, Sir…”

“No title. Just John. Humbled to serve at your pleasure, my lady.” She offered her hand when he reached for, his lips softer than her goose feather pillows in the castle. He rose and she offered him her pastry.

“I don’t eat anything given to me by a stranger. Just a precaution.” Her sister had been poisoned while walking the market of her husband’s kingdom just last year. Ever since then, she had been under strict orders to only eat things tested by the King’s Guard but even without the order, her own paranoia would have created that rule herself. 

“You must have not gone hungry during the famine of our childhood.” Velvet cloak and no food insecurity paired with her clear attempt to hide her hair and inability to hide a face that he had swears looked carved from marble. Who was this woman?

“I did not. I was very lucky.” Nothing about her life in the castle had changed even as famine rang throughout the realm. Her father has always ensured she and her siblings wanted for nothing no matter the circumstances and no matter the price. 

“My lady, I insist you let me accompany you home. At this hour, you should not be alone in the town center.” The sun was setting it’s last few rays and the local people were boarding up for the night. Only those with unsavory thoughts would remain.

“Oh, but that is exactly when this place comes to life. When one can truly explore and learn and expand the capacity of their mind.” She spun with glee as they began the trek back up the hill. “Is this your first visit to our land?”

“Nay. I have stopped here briefly before but my friend is a member of the King’s Guard. Asked if I would participate in the tourney and I accepted.” She hummed her acknowledgement and thought through all the Knight’s and who might have a friend as handsome as this.

“Is your friend Sir Gale?” 

“It is.”

“In my mind you two would make such a pair,” she teased as she gathered her skirts in her hands and began to increase her pace. “I hear the princess will be in attendance tomorrow. Plans to give her favor to a deserving knight.” Something about the way she said it piqued his interest. He couldn’t put his finger on it but knew there was something akin to a riddle in her tone.

“Is the princess not often in attendance?” He was walking slower to keep pace with her, the setting sun casting her face in an ethereally golden glow.

“Not since her betrothal was announced, no.” She grew sullen at the topic and he wished to put her smile back on her face. 

“The princess’ beauty is legendary throughout the realms. I am anxious to see if she could even hold a candle to you, my lady.” Cass blushed and smiled just as he had intended.

“You’re quite charming, John.”

“Not charming enough to have earned your name it seems.” She opened her mouth, poised to offer it to him and accept whatever consequences came with it, when she recognized Sir Gale walking the cobblestones towards them with a squadron of watchmen right behind him. “You’re a little late, Gale. We’ve already managed to save the day without you.” John smiled but it slowly fell from his face as his friend and the other knights stopped in front of them, dropping into bows. 

“Your Highness,” Gale spoke, “we must escort you home.” Cass held her breath as she felt John’s eyes burn holes into the side of her face. It had only been a couple hours of knowing him. Had only been in his presence for a short amount of time but she knew she wanted more of it. Knew that wandering the village with him had been more freeing and more inviting and felt more like she could do it forever than anything else ever had. 

“That’s why you wouldn’t tell me your name,” he whispered. There were tears behind her eyes as their gazes locked. A fleeting moment of something raw and pure flitted between them. Something that if nurtured, could light the entire world on fire.

“Please, John, do not hold this against me.” 

“Your Highness,” Gale urged. 

“I hope you enjoy the spectacle of the tournament, Princess.” John bowed his head to her respectfully before he was off in the opposite direction of the imposing castle in the distance. Desperate to be away from her and the intoxicating way she seemed to take up all the air. 

Cass pulled her cloak around her body tightly and began to trudge in the direction of her home. Alone and cold and a sense of emptiness swirling within her. A gilded cage awaited her. Meant to keep her inside, beautiful and stoic and pristine. Meant to keep anyone out who wasn’t deemed the same status of her or her family. She knew in her heart that someone like John was meant to be kept out. She knew in her heart she was meant to be kept in. she knew in her heart that one afternoon with him was not going to be enough. 

Cass knew some walls were meant to be crumbled. Some traditions meant to have fire set to them. And she had plenty of fire in her soul to go around.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Shamura meeting a spider s.o who isn't really apart of the cult and lives the life of a traveler but visits from time to time and members consider her to be a 'big sister' and people love to come to her for advice...

like she'll be pulling pieces of debris, leaves, twigs, pieces of mushroom, etc. from the lambs wool (which she had lectured him about a few minutes prior like "Lamb, you got this in your wool AGAIN?? I will not allow you to continue to talk to people when you basically have a FOREST in your wool, sit down and let me help you.") and Shamura is there and I feel like they have real deep conversations, maybe s.o telling him their story after a while, how they think that they might be from the Silk Cradle but aren't sure because they were taken when they were young and raised in the mountains ... just a little thing i thought abt haha

"I-I can assure you, [y/n]..I don't need-"

"Oh no, you absolutely do need this." You tutted as you made Lamb sit down on a tree stump, picking bits of mushrooms and leaves out of their wool.

They winced as you harshly tugged on a twig that was especially embedded in it, casting it aside once it was plucked free. "I need to do my morning sermon," they grumbled. "Can this wait until-?"

"There's still a few more hours till noon. I will not have you walk up to that podium with your wool being a literal Anurian forest! How do you keep letting it get this bad anyways?"

"I-"

"Actually..don't answer that."

"But...!!! Ugh, fine." With a pout, the Lamb sat with their cheeks puffed out, remembering that they couldn't order you around...as you weren't one of their followers. So you didn't have to abide by any of their rules.

You were a nomadic spider who traveled all across the Old Faith. Your heart desired adventure, but every once in a while it would lead you back to these temple grounds, and you'd witness Lamb's cult growing steadily with each visit.

When they weren't around, their followers would flock to you, having grown accustomed to your frequent appearances. You carried a lot of knowledge during your travels, so you'd share stories of your recent journeys and offer advice to those who asked for it.

Whether it's about something personal or just how to navigate through a domain safely, you had plenty of answers for most of them. Some followers even looked up to you as a sister, which made you happy.

The most important part of your visit, however, was ensuring Lamb looked their best before they went to preach in the temple. You always caught them after they return from crusades, finding them covered in earthly debris without a care in the world.

If this new "god" of the lands wanted to be taken more seriously...they had to look presentable to their followers.

But even so, they were quite the fussy one; stubborn like a child: Bleating constantly, kicking their hooves, and sometimes even demonically hissing if you suggest they removed their crown for a moment.

They only acted that way because Narinder saw you preening their wool once and mocked his former vessel until your glare shooed him away.

Fortunately, Lamb chose not to argue with you any further, making your job easier to finish.

It took a few more minutes, but their wool finally looked a lot better, so you sent them on their way to preach the Red Crown's gospel after bidding them farewell.

Whatever debris you plucked out of them went into a bag of silk you've crafted for yourself. Surely you can do something with the twigs, leaves, mushroom stems, and pumpkin seeds they carried back to the cult grounds--you couldn't let any of that go to waste.

"Greetings, traveler. Back so soon?"

The familiar voice made you perk up, looking to see Shamura standing there with a book in their hands. It seemed to be one from Silk Cradle, detailing trap layouts and designs.

You smiled. "Hello, Lord Shamura. And yes. I like to come and go as I please."

".....forgive me, but your name slips past me.."

"It's [y/n]."

"..ah yes, yes...Sister [Y/n]. Welcome back." They bowed their head politely. "I do have a question, if you have the time."

"Of course." You nodded, before frowning as you noticed the somewhat troubled look on their face. "What ails you?"

"...hm?" They blinked. "Do I look sick?"

"Oh, no. I mean..your expression. I've seen it on other followers, and it's usually because something's weighing heavily on their mind-"

"Why call me "lord" if you have not served under me?" Shamura abruptly interrupted, confused as their gaze went to the open book in their hands. "I have seen many spiders in Silk Cradle...but none quite like yourself. If only I could remember..were you a servant? A warrior? A merchant...?"

The more they struggled to recall, the more ichor began leaking through their bandages. And you could see it was physically paining them, too.

It made you wonder how they ever survived losing the Purple Crown, but then again it probably took a miracle from the Lamb to give them a fighting chance--a second chance.

Even so, you felt bad for Shamura. Their memory gaps kept widening despite their desperation to remember things and continue reading.

"Oh dear..allow me to hold that for you." You gently took the book away from them before the liquid could splatter all over the cover, closing it up. "I didn't grow up in Silk Cradle, but I'm sure I was born there. I only remember being taken up to the mountains..perhaps my family became deserters who disliked the violence."

"Hm...under my ruling, deserters would have been swiftly found and jailed."

"I see-"

"No, no..that's not it...they...would have been swiftly found, tried in my court, and publicly executed." They corrected themselves, huffing. "My apologies."

"...oh. Then I guess I'm glad we weren't ever found out." You awkwardly chuckled, having much preferred what they said before. "It seems your memory has been improving since the last time we met."

"Yes, indeed...indeed it is.." Shamura nodded, before you both heard the tolls of the temple bell, signaling that it was time for the sermon. "The Lamb calls..they are speaking now." They looked to you. "Shall we go together, [y/n]?"

"Sure." With a smile, you linked arms with them. "But as a fair warning, I tend to hang around the back and just listen."

"As do I, my friend...as do I." A tiny smile formed between their fangs. "I hope Lamb's wool isn't covered in earthly vermin anymore."

"It's clean as a whistle." You reassured, smiling back at them, before you two headed towards the temple.

Perhaps you'll stay here in the cult for the rest of the day. Just to spend a little more time with Shamura.

You enjoyed the company of a fellow arachnid.

[megamindsecretlair]

Sit Still (Look Pretty), Part 3

Pairing: Nomad Steve x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is some making out, porn without plot, PIV unprotected (wrap it up!), fingering (fem receiving), cum play, breeding kink, possession kink, cursing. Mild age gap. Reader is late 20s and Steve is mid 30s. Part 3 of 3, final chapter babayyy!

Summary: AU where Steve was born in modern times but still received a serum in the army to make him a super soldier. He's moved in next door and has noticed you watching him. He's come back from a business trip and the only place he wants to be is with you.

Word Count: 3,528k

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2

A/N: Listen...I know. I got zooted and just kept writing. I have no excuses for myself. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @namsey1987 @dayjlovesromance

Steve had been gone nearly three weeks and you were not taking it well. After he effectively made you his fuck doll, he disappeared. Well, that wasn’t fair. You texted all the time and called each other when he was done for the day.

You didn’t know what he did and he wasn’t allowed to tell you. You knew it was dangerous and you knew that the military valued him. As much as the military could value anyone.

You were going stir crazy. He made you feel alive. He had pinpointed something you held close to the vest for so long. He not only sniffed you out, he was able to deliver. And deliver more. And then he just left. Vanished. Poofed.

If you didn’t have such vivid memories, you’d think it was all a dream. Hell, it was starting to feel like one. Which was insane. You knew you sounded insane. But you were bordering on obsession at this point. 

You needed to feel his lips on yours. His hands on your body. You needed to hear his filthy words. You needed to see that perfect face lost in your body. You needed to know that you affected him just as much as he affected you.

You didn’t know when he would be back. So there you were. On a Tuesday afternoon staring at your ceiling because nothing mattered anymore. You weren’t depressed. You weren’t that delusional. You just missed him so damn much. 

Your parents had noticed a change in you. They often asked what was wrong with you and why you were so sullen all the time. You put on a fake smile every time they come near. It wasn’t like you could admit that you were in desperate need of being bent over and fucked out of your mind. 

Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your strange musings. You wanted to ignore it. But some divine intuition made you reach for it. Steve’s name flashed across the screen. Your heart flipped as you swiped to answer it.

“How’s my best girl?” Steve’s suave voice was like music to your ears. You grinned like an idiot and flipped over in bed.

“Good. Been busy, you?” 

“Missing you.”

You giggled. “Steve…” 

“Tell me you miss me,” he said.

“You know I do,” you said. You couldn’t stop grinning. You knew that he couldn’t see you and you were silently thankful for it. You looked like an idiot.

“I want to hear the words,” he said. There was shuffling on his end and then the sound of a door closing. He must have made it back to his hotel room early. 

“I miss you, Steve.” You added extra sugar to your voice and Steve chuckled.

“Brat. What are you doing?” He asked.

“Getting ready to hang with friends,” you lied. You couldn’t very well tell him that you didn’t want to do anything at the moment but sulk. Sulk and remember the feeling of him all over your body.

“Look out of your window.” 

You froze. Surely…surely not. You scrambled out of your bed and threw back your curtains. Across the way, Steve stood in his bedroom window and waved to you. You shrieked. 

“When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked. You placed your hand on your window as if you could reach out and touch him. You couldn’t believe that he was there, just a short distance away.

The persistent ache in your chest eased up at the sight of him. It was unnatural to miss someone this much, but you did. You missed him desperately.

“Wanted to surprise you. Get your ass over here,” Steve’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper. 

You loosed a breath and grinned. He did not have to tell you twice. You turned and threw on a pair of shorts and a shirt. You realized too late that you stood at the window in your bra and panties. Well hell. He saw more than that weeks ago. 

“Don’t you dare change that sexy outfit either.” Steve hung up the phone and it only excited you more. 

You ran downstairs and slipped on your sandals. “Where are you rushing off to?” Your mom caught you by the front door. She emerged from the kitchen with glasses around her neck. She looked you up and down and you thanked your lucky stars that she couldn’t see you blush.

“Friends. We’re probably going to head to the mall or something. I’ll text if I catch something with them,” you said.

Two for two on lying. You wished that you felt guilty but you just didn’t. You were bouncing as you stood there. Heat and desire suffused you. You knew you were in for a naughty treat and you didn’t need your mom knowing that the neighbor was ruining her baby girl. 

Your mom tilted her head as she looked at you. “I’m glad you seem a bit happier. For real this time. You know I’m here if you ever want to talk,” she said.

“I know, mom. I’m fine. Swear.” You gave her your best smile. She still side eyed you but waved you away. What harm could you get into in Bumfuck, Suburbia? It was a major reason why they moved here in the first place. They didn’t want to worry about you hanging out with friends or being gone all night in less than savory neighborhoods.

You waved as well and headed out of the front door. You quickly skipped past the porch, across the lawn, and over to Steve’s house. Before you could knock, Steve opened the door and smiled at you. He yanked you into the house.

No sooner had the door closed, did he push you against it and crash his lips against you. His hands gripped your waist and pulled you flush against his hard dick. You gasped and the sensation. That allowed him to sweep his tongue inside and deepen the kiss.

Your hands came up to play with the hair at his nape. His hair had grown out a bit making him look wilder, more unkempt. His beard was thicker and it tickled your cheeks but you were too busy being kissed out of your mind. 

His kisses grew desperate. He pushed until your back hit the door. His hands wrapped around you and squeezed your ass. He growled low in his throat. He trailed his lips across your jaw, your cheek, your eye, and then dipped to your neck. 

“I really missed you, sweetheart,” he murmured against your neck. 

“I really fuckin’ missed you, too.” 

He rested his forehead against yours and huffed. You rubbed your hands along his massive arms, back, and thin waist. It was criminal how slutty his waist was. You needed to remember him all over again. Every plane and dip of his body. You needed to re-learn all of his looks and smiles.

“Upstairs. Now.” He leaned back far enough for you to scoot from under him. You scurried to the stairs and a swift smack to your ass made you cry out. “Not fast enough.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him as you nearly ran up the stairs. Steve thundered behind you, taking the stairs two at a time for your every one step. Your heart pounded in your chest. Pretty soon, it would burst through and run down the street. 

Your head felt light. You were equal parts dizzy and free. He spun your head around and you only wanted more. 

You didn’t know where he wanted you to go. So far, he’d only fucked you in his office. You hesitated at the top of the stairs. Steve grabbed you by the waist once more and picked you up.

You yelped. You slapped at his arms as he threw you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. “Steve! Put me down!” 

You bounced a little as he carried you to a room. You had a perfect view of his ass as it moved in his tight jeans. You were too busy holding on to his belt to properly smack him back. He, however, smacked yours. His big hands caressed your thighs and you clenched painfully. Your thighs tingled. He hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Are you scared?” He asked.

“Yes! This is…”

Steve flipped you and threw you onto a bed. You bounced and steadied yourself with your hands. You looked at him as he grinned at you. 

“I will pick you up whenever…” He leaned down and kissed your calf. “Wherever…” He kissed your knee. “However…” He kissed your thigh. “I damn well please.” He used his nose to lift your shirt and kissed your belly, right on your stretch marks.

You sighed and played with his hair. “Don’t tease me, Steve. Not today,” you said.

He smirked at you and placed more kisses on your tummy. “Afraid not, sweetheart. I have been dreaming of getting back in between your thighs, so I’m going to take my time.”

Your mouth dropped open and your hands stopped their searching. “Steve…”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve been gone a long time. I need to enjoy this. Just like I know you need to enjoy this. So let me,” he said. He trained  those deep blue eyes on you. A faint smile curved his lips.

“Okay,” you said and smiled.

His grin was like the first ray of dawn. It lit up his whole face. Your answering smile made his eyes dip slowly. “You can say no at any time. Only say it and I will,” he said.

You nodded. “I know. I want this,” you said.

If possible, his smile only grew. He stood up and looked down at you. You were able to see more of the room. His room was still in progress but it already felt so much like him. There weren’t a lot of frivolous things on his dresser or bookshelf. 

His cover was soft but practical. It was a deep blue and incredible to the tough. The mattress was a little stiff but not horrible. You rubbed your hands over it as you looked back at Steve. You had one leg down and one leg up on the bed. He grabbed your ankle of the leg that was up and pulled. 

“I gotta inspect you first,” he said.

“What?” That caught you so off guard that you cricked your neck glancing at him.

“I’ve been gone a long time, sweetheart. I gotta make sure you followed my directions,” he said.

Oh god. He was serious about that. When he left without saying a word, you woke up to a text saying that you weren’t allowed to get yourself off or let any other man near you. You had laughed. He couldn’t be serious. Sure, you liked the way he manhandled you, but that rubbed against the grain.

But no, he was serious. So serious, that he called immediately and demanded that you not touch yourself. Like…at all. And baby. You were so frustrated. You felt like you’d die if you didn’t get filled up with something.

Steve began to trail his fingers up and down your legs. When he rubbed the underside of your thighs, you whimpered. You bit your lip. Steve’s eyes seemed to grow edgier. He narrowed them as he continued to glide his fingers on your bare legs. 

It was so quiet in the room, that you heard how loud and desperate you were getting. You probably looked pathetic. You gripped your shorts. It was a mixture of wanting to cry and wanting to laugh from the sensation. 

“Please, don’t. Don’t tease me. I followed your directions,” you said.

“How do I know that for certain? You could’ve been a bad girl,” he said. He reached for your shorts and unbuttoned them. He pulled them roughly over your thick thighs.

You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Steve opened your legs as far as they would go. He looked at your lacy white panties. No garters this time. You couldn’t stand anything more than a simple set for the past few weeks. 

Between the heat and lack of sex, you were stuck in the middle of uncomfortable and turned on. 

You shook your head. “I swear. I listened,” you said. 

“You still have to prove it, sweetheart,” he said. 

There was nothing you could say to change his mind. You were at his whim and it didn’t frighten you. It should. It definitely should but it didn’t. 

Still holding your knees open, he leaned down and sniffed your pussy. You gasped at finally getting some stimulation. You were incredibly sensitive. He pressed his nose in, rubbing you up and down through your panties. You sighed and moaned. You tossed your head back and forth and dug your nails into his covers.

“I need more,” you whined.

“I know what you need.” He kissed your pussy and you moaned again. He kissed his way up your center. He kissed your tummy. He licked certain areas and bit in other places. The alternating pain and tickles drove you insane. 

He skirted his fingers down your side before he moved it down to your aching cunt. You whined as he rubbed you outside of your panties. It felt good, sure, but you needed more. You needed direct contact.

You tapped pathetically at his arm. “I need more,” you said. 

“It’s my inspection, sweetheart. You’ll get what I want you to get,” he said.

You cried again and writhed under his excellent fingers. He increased his pressure and you started mumbling and making noises. You got so, so close.

Steve stalled his fingers and pressed into your clit. “No, no, no no,” you cried. Fuck, you were so close. Just a little more.

“Shhh,” Steve said. He moved his hand up and pushed on your lower tummy. It flipped and you breathed through it. Steve breathed with you and you stared into his eyes as you came down. 

Steve leaned back when you had calmed down and looked at you. “You’ve made a mess in your panties,  sweetheart,” his voice rumbled in his chest. 

Your aching pussy clenched and you cried a bit. “Please, Steve. I was good. I swear,” you pleaded.

You needed to cum right this second. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

He sat up and tugged on your panties until they were past your feet. He gripped your thighs in his big hands and spread you. He looked his fill at your wet pussy. You were leaking down your ass cheek. 

He just sat there, looking at the way you clenched around nothing. Your body was electric. Heat suffused you. Your desire continued a slow trail out of you. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

Steve ran his index finger through your damp curls. He moved his finger until he spread you and swiped at your pussy. You bucked off of the bed. You were not prepared for that simple little motion. 

Your nub was hard as he slid his finger through your folds. You cried out and bit your lip. The painful bite paled in comparison to the magic Steve was working with his fingers. Pressure built in your lower belly as your legs began to shake.

“Have you touched yourself since I’ve been gone, sweetheart?” 

“Whaa?” You couldn’t concentrate on his voice and concentrate on getting off. You didn’t know how much longer you could last through this torture. You’d give up the nuclear codes if it meant that he would just let you cum.

“Did you touch what was mine?” He asked.

“No, I swear.” Your throat burned from how hard you were panting. Your fingers twisted in his covers. 

He slid his finger inside of you with no warning. He hummed as if he was satisfied with how you squeezed his fingers. He slid another one in and you dropped your mouth open. “You can take more than that,” he said. He pushed a third finger into you and you grinded on his fingers. He stretched you so well. 

“That’s it,” he said. He coached you through taking his fingers. He told you when to slow down and when to speed up. He encouraged you to fuck his fingers and prove how good you were for him. 

“Ohhh,” you repeated over and over. Desire pooled in your tummy. You squeezed his fingers. “That’s my girl. Just like that, sweetheart.”

It was the ‘sweetheart’ that did you in. You came with a fierce moan and clamped down on his fingers. Your eyes crossed as you shook and jerked. Steve continued to move his fingers into you.

“That’s my girl. You’re so fucking pretty when you cum,” he said. He stared at you and the pretty faces you were making for him. 

You panted as you came down. Sweat clung to your body. Your harsh breath blew across your damp stomach. When he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers out of you and licked his fingers. You cried at this sight. His hand glistened with your slick and you cried again.

“I want to keep going, but I need to cum in that pussy.”

“Fuck, yes, Steve.” You whined and turned doe eyes on him. 

Steve yanked at his sweatpants and pulled them off in one go. His tank top went next. He snapped it on the floor. He climbed onto the bed and used his big thighs to push your legs back.

You had a proper ache beginning in your back but you didn’t care. You were about to have the ride of your life.

Steve grabbed his thick cock and glided it through your wet arousal. He circled your clit with it and you licked your lips. Fuck, why did that feel so good? 

No more games. You hiked your legs onto his waist and he pushed at your entrance. He kept going, pushing into you. You brought your hand up to push against him. He felt too good. You dug your nails into his chest and he grunted.

“Steve…oh god,” you said. You didn’t know what you were trying to say but pleasure robbed you of speech. It robbed you of thinking clearly. 

He kept pushing in until he bottomed out and you both groaned out. He collapsed on top of you as if he couldn’t support himself anymore. He groaned and bit your titty through your shirt. 

“Fuck, I missed this sweet pussy,” he groaned into your ear. “Oh fuck,” he continued.

You bit at his shoulder as he twitched inside of you. You squeezed his dick and made him groan again. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said.

He pushed himself up and off to the side. He lifted your shirt and palmed your breasts through your bra. He lowered each cup and began to lick on your left nipple. He moaned as he laved at it with the flat of his tongue. With each swipe, you felt more desire in your belly. You clenched his dick and he groaned. 

He started to move. You were so wet, he almost had a hard time staying in. He began to stroke you deep and hard and slow. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuuck,” you moaned. 

He switched to your other nipple and paid it the same attention he did the other one. He nipped at your nipple and you jerked beneath him. 

“Let me hear it, sweetheart. Give me one more,” he said. He twitched his hips and reached a spot hidden deep within you.

You cried out soundlessly and stared agape at him. You grabbed at his chest leaving thin red streaks in his skin.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breath for me,” he said. He hit that deep spot over and over. You stared into his eyes as he smiled patiently and adoringly at you. 

“You feel so good. And you’ve been such a good girl for me. Taking all of me. I’m so proud of you,” he said.

“Fuuuuck,” you screamed as you came. The way your thighs locked Steve to you, made him tense as he came deep within you. Hot jets of his come squirted inside of you. You felt it all. You felt so full and blissed out. You closed your eyes and rode your orgasm silently. He had fucked all of the breath out of you.

“I missed you, sweetheart. I missed this pussy too. Stay with me tonight,” he said.

“What?” You croaked out.

“Stay with me. I’m gonna need to reassert my place right here,” he said and stroked you again. 

“Steve, please. I can’t. No more,” you pleaded. 

“Say you’ll stay. I’ve got three weeks worth of load to fill you up with.” He pushed in and out of you with a slow glide so that you felt every inch of him. Every ridge and vein. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, I’ll stay.” 

Your eyes were turning watery. You blinked up at him and his cocky smile. “That’s my girl,” he said. And he took you again until you were dizzy with pleasure and making sure the whole neighborhood heard how Steve was tearing you apart.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2

There's more Steve! The Secret Nomad Steve Files

[woodlaflababab]

Saw your request for Zukkang prompts and idk for some reason what's popping into my head is "pillow case". So... do with that what you will?

Okay so, I ended up more going with bed than pillowcase, that's just what the word pillowcase inspired in my head, and it turned into aangst. So, oops. But also, I really liked writing this so, good prompt, 10/10

-<>-

“So,” Aang started with a stretch, “where am I sleeping tonight?” 

Zuko, having been entirely absorbed in reading a new potential bill despite Aang's best efforts, perked up. “Oh, yes, follow me. I have something to show you.”

As Zuko stood, Aang followed him, hoping whatever it was would be quick. As happy as he was to arrive in the Fire Nation again, he was tired and a little sick of being shown around. “Is it a bed?” He joked.

“Yes.” Zuko answered bluntly, leading Aang down familiar halls.

“Oh.” Was all Aang could really think to say, remaining silent for the rest of the walk. He spent the time trying to figure out why Zuko was treating this differently than usual. His best guess was Zuko had recently replaced some of the palace beds and wanted to show off.

When Zuko stopped in front of a door, Aang immediately noticed the air symbol carved into it before Zuko opened it to show Aang the inside.

As Aang walked in, he looked around, finding the room pretty simple. It was definitely different from the usual palace guest rooms, with significantly less fire nation decor, or decor at all, and the covers of the bed were yellow and orange instead of the usual red. 

Aang made an interested sound. “Very Air Nomad, I like it. It's a great idea.”

“What?” Zuko said from behind him, sounding genuinely confused.

Aang turned to him. “You're redesigning the guest rooms to be more friendly to foreign visitors, right? Have you done any Water Tribe or Earth Kingdom ones yet?”

Zuko blinked at him a few times, still seeming confused. “Well, no. I hadn't really thought of that. Do you think I should?”

Aang laughed, the sound a bit questioning. “What do you mean? Are you going to make all the guest rooms like this? There's only one Air Nomad in the world, Zuko.”

Zuko just stared at Aang like he was trying to figure out if Aang was kidding.

Aang stared awkwardly back, unsure where the joke was supposed to be.

Eventually, Zuko snapped out of it, shaking his head, “No. Aang. This isn't a guest room. It's your room.”

The pieces suddenly clicked and Aang let out a soft, “Oohhhh.” Apon the realization, he looked back at the bed. For a few moments, his head just felt quiet, a gaping place where he felt a reaction should be, before it belatedly hit him and he started tearing up before he could really process the rush of emotions.

“Agni.” He heard Zuko curse, sounding vaguely panicked. “Is something wrong with it? I tried to find information on what Air Temple rooms were like but there wasn't much. I thought maybe just the colors- That was a bad assumption. I'm sorry. What is it supposed to-”

“Zuko.” Aang cut him off, voice scratchy. “Shut up.” Aang started wiping away the wetness but more kept gathering every time he tried, the yellow bed swimming in his mind even when he closed his eyes. Every time he tried to douse the burning in his chest on instinct, it just came back and the building frustration with himself really wasn't helping.

After another few moments, Zuko spoke up again, unsure. “Aang? I don't know what to do here. Please just tell me how to fix it.”

Aang shook his head. “I'm not upset.” He tried to explain.

In the ensuing silence, he could practically hear Zuko's doubt. “Right. Okay.” The next time Aang opened his eyes he could see Zuko had come around to the other side of the bed. “So then, what are you?”

Aang covered his eyes. “I don't know.”

“Okay, well, what,” Zuko hesitated, “are you thinking?” 

Hearing Zuko use the voice he did when he was trying to emulate someone else allowed some amusement to break through the mess in Aang's head and he managed to piece a little bit together. “I haven't had my own bed since before the ice.” His voice came out weak. With the words, the rest of it fell together in his head.

It was true. He'd had a room at the air temple, a place he could return to when he came back from his travels. It was reliable, and as much as he had enjoyed traveling and as happy as he was to sleep on Appa's tail, coming back to the familiarity of the temple and the comfort of his own bed felt like relief.

Then the ice happened, and he woke up to destroyed temples and his people gone, and he spent the better part of a year on the run, and even after that, he was still expected to be The Avatar, to help rebuild the world. Staying in any one place for too long carried the risk of people worrying he was picking favorites, or that he'd miss some disaster going on somewhere else. 

Everywhere he went he was hosted by leaders and delegates or his friends but there was never justification for his own space. Not when he'd only use it for a few weeks at most. As the thoughts kept tumbling through his head he realized, even though the war was over, he felt like he was still on the run, displaced with danger constantly on his heels. The feeling had become so intimately familiar, it felt like normalcy.

Something about seeing the yellow bed, a place made for him to come back to again, made it all come crashing down. It was like he could finally acknowledge that it was over, that things could be safe again, that settling down wouldn't mean everything around him would burn.

For so long, sleeping in a bed was associated with duty. People housed him because they needed him. Beds came with obligations, like an exchange. His services for a place to sleep. They weren't places for him to just be or rest. Technically, there shouldn't have been anything different about this one. He was still there because the fire nation needed him. Zuko calling the room his shouldn't have changed anything. It was such a small thing, he couldn't figure out why it felt like his chest had suddenly been carved open.

As the thoughts tumbled through his head, he'd lost track of Zuko, and so startled when he felt arms wrap around him. Even though he was pretty sure that was supposed to make him feel better, it just seemed to make it worse and he couldn't get his eyes to stop leaking. Yet there was still a comfort to it. The warmth of Zuko allowing the thoughts to die down like dying waves, leaving just the spill of emotion and pain. He lost track of time standing there, face ending up tucked against Zuko as the silent crying continued, but thankfully, eventually, it slowed, like he'd run out of emotion and tears and in its place he was just empty and exhausted.

He looked over at the bed and wanted nothing more than to just lay down and sleep. Zuko must have picked up on something because he pulled back and guided Aang toward it, taking a moment to pull down the covers.

“Go to sleep, Aang.” He coaxed quietly. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Already feeling half asleep, Aang collapsed into the bed, sinking into it like melting. The last thing he registered was the covers coming up before he finally laid to rest.

[yourmidnightlover]

wash my hair?

pairing: xavier thorpe x gn!reader

summary: reader risks their life for xavier and now needs his help with a trivial everyday task.

warnings: readers hair is in a bun and is inferred to be a bit longer, shower/implied nudity at one point, brief descriptions of fainting/blacking out, readers a bit messed up

a/n: this is very much based on the fact that i just want someone to wash my hair for me :) this is super duper short but i wanted to write something simply because i felt like it so i did. enjoy <3

“can you wash my hair?” your voice rang out to xavier while he was painting as you peaked out from the bathroom door.

you see, you weren’t needy. well, you are but that’s not why you needed him to wash your hair.

“yea,” he nodded as he set his brush down. “of course i will.”

a few days ago you had the genius idea of trying to protect xavier, your best friend of seven years, against that ancient zombie mummy guy whose name you can’t even be bothered to remember.

after stepping in front of the arrow, the one you thought would merely pierce your right shoulder, you were shocked to feel a stabbing pain in your gut, and not like the ones you were used to feeling every month. your hand went to grab at the arrow, still in shock and out of breath before you not-so-gracefully fell to the ground.

xavier ran to your side, cradling your head as his hand went to snap the arrow. you could see his mouth moving, but, truth be told, you couldn’t hear a thing. all you could hear was your heart beating and pumping your blood. the rhythm filled your ears as you simply felt your chest get heavier and heavier until you couldn’t even see his mouth moving anymore.

all you saw was darkness.

“thanks,” you backed into the bathroom and stepped into the shower once more.

your parents were practically nomads. they were never home and never wanted to be home. while they cared about you, they cared about their project going on in tokyo even more.

you didn’t want to be alone. you couldn’t really be alone, either, because of your injuries. so, xavier invited you to his house for the abrupt break. of course, his dad was reluctant to invite the girl who saved his own son because he was “too cowardly to save himself.”

eventually, he came to terms with the fact that he would likely never see you around the house, given that he wouldn’t be around much if at all.

luckily for you, you didn’t have to wash your hair. you assume one of the nurses who washed you did that for you. thinking about that happening was embarrassing. but, it needed to happen.

xavier was a frequent visitor before you were discharged due to an influx of patients from a flu breakout, but you never talked about why you did it. why you risked your life for him. granted, you would give him the usual “you’re my best friend” bullshit if he did ask, but it left a tension in the air that seemed thicker than the terrible chowder that the school has offered.

regardless, the time has come for you to wash it once more. your stupid stitches and sore abdomen rendered the typically simple task, rather difficult. washing your body was easy with the handy loofah on a stick that xavier had provided, but you couldn’t manage to massage your own scalp for long enough to truly clean it.

you hated that you needed help. you hated that you could stand in front of an arrow days ago but now you’re so useless you can’t even properly clean yourself.

“you ready?” his voice was soft, almost a whisper over the sound of water hitting your ears and blocking your senses.

at first you nodded before sounding off, “ye-yea,” you wrapped your arms tighter around your torso that was only covered by a small, soaking wet towel.

you heard him pull back the curtain and step inside the shower. you didn’t want to turn and face him. you didn’t want him to see you so pathetic.

you’d always been a proud person. you loved the fact that you could take care of yourself and others without the blink of an eye. whether it be helping someone study or getting them out of trouble with a teacher, everyone could count on you. you liked it that way. you didn’t like it as much when you had to become almost belittled by everyday tasks like bathing.

you felt his hand touch your shoulder first, probably to assure you that he was there, even though you already knew. just like he knew you hadn’t slept in the days after the incident. he worked at the hair-tie that had been holding your bun together surprisingly well.

once finishing working it out, messing with the tangles and trying not to hurt your scalp, he whispered: “you uhh- you need to turn around. to get your hair wet.” you were silent. “i can turn around, if that makes it-“

“no,” you took a deep breath. “it’s fine i can-i can turn around,” you nodded to reassure yourself before slowly turning around in the water, your eyes fixed shut.

you could feel his gaze on you for what felt like hours before he began to lather your head with the soapy suds. the way his fingers massaged your scalp so tenderly nearly brought tears to your eyes. you didn’t even notice when your ended up resting your head on his chest as he continued to massage your scalp.

he stepped back with you underneath the stem of the water, allowing you to stay connected to his bare chest as he worked the suds from your hair. you wrapped your arms around him suddenly, disregarding the towel that was once covering your body. at first, you could feel his body tense before reacting to your hug. his arms wrapped around your shoulders firmly as he sighed into the top of your head.

“i thought you were gonna die, y/n,” you could hear the waver in his voice before you realized the tears that were in your eyes were threatening to spill over. “it was gonna be my fault, too. i never-i never left your side once they let me. i just… i can’t imagine my life without you. ever.”

“i’m-im sorry,” you sniffled as you nuzzled into his body once more, letting yourself freely cry in his arms as sobs overtook your body. “i’m so, so sorry, xavier.”

he let you cry and whine and whimper to your hearts content as he applied the conditioner to your hair. once he felt you settle down, he pulled back from your arms, his eyes not leaving your own.

“you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he shook his head as his hands went to cradle your face. “you saved my life, risked your own. i-i owe you everything.”

“no,” you shook your head as your hands grasped his own. “i made you worry. i didn’t think about what i was doing! i should’ve been more careful or… i don’t know! i just couldn’t let you die.”

“but you’d let yourself die?” you nodded. “why?”

“why do you think?” you sniffled once more as you finally looked up into his eyes.

“say it… please?” you could see his adams apple moving with the hard gulp he swallowed.

“i love you.”