#or words will over lap and I misread something

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

HOLY FUCK I CAN PROJECT MY EYE THING ONTO DAZAAAAAAAAAAAI!!!!

Okay: Hi, I’m Robin, my eyes are fucked up! Im almost always seeing double esp when im reading or doing things like that, this causes trouble because obviously. My eyes don’t talk to eachother like they’re supposed to and one eye is better at everything than the other. The solution to this is that I cover one of my eyes while im reading (I always cover my left eye, but technically I’m supposed to cover both eyes interchangeably or smth, I’m actively making the problem worse lol)

WHAT IF THIS IS WHY TEENAGE DAZAI WEARS THE EYE BANDAGES????

[anantaru]

— doing his eyeliner while sitting on his lap

including. xiao, neuvillette, zhongli

genre. fluff, gn! reader, slightly suggestive

— xiao

"hey, you're shaking xiao, i can't focus."

"tzzz, i'm not," xiao rasps— ugh, you're just so pretty, you know? with a faint dusting of light clinging to your eyes, delicate yet indifferent, as if the universe itself had carelessly bestowed it upon you. he believes there was something unsettling in your gentleness, a quiet radiance that seemed to exist beyond the confines of this world— beyond reason, beyond him.

his hands grip around your waist like you might disappear if he ever dared to let go of you as his ears were dusted a telltale red, to be fair, xiao cannot keep his hands of you, and in his opinion it should always be like this, never too far from each other— forever as he snuggles himself a little closer towards you.

you shift slightly, adjusting your position on his lap as he tenses like a tightly wound wire, his thighs firm beneath you, muscles twitching as if resisting the urge to latch onto you with his soft lips.

you bite back a smile, dipping the tip of the pencil against his lower lash line as his breath shudders, yet this wasn't fear, don't misread xiao for his reaction, it was not from discomfort— just something inside of him reacting almost fragile, tenderly beautiful yet he didn't quite know how to name such emotions.

"hah xiao, you're holding onto me like i might fall," you tease him, brushing your thumb under his eye to soften the colored line.

xiao swallows thickly, his gaze flickering, searching yours as his arms tighten around you, a quiet plea, a contradiction? "i wouldn't let you," he responds quietly, his words alone turning your heart aflame.

it was racing so fast to the point that it might rupture through the shape and flesh of your body. it's almost laughable how dearly you two adored each other— how the conqueror of demons, fierce and untouchable alike, was now just a man beneath your firm hands, coming undone over the slightest trace of your body moving atop.

his warmth seeps through his clothes, one by one, through yours, yes, burning into your skin where his hands grip your waist like he's afraid you'll slip away. he needs you, xiao does, and you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers as you press the liner to his other eye, his breath uneven, his body an open book— tense, passionate, but leaning into you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered.

"there," you whisper, pulling back slightly to admire your work.

xiao doesn't let go of you yet, instead he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shuddering breath warm against your heightened skin, his touch a quiet fire, burning through your flesh and sinking deep into your very bones— although not with pain, but with the kind of warmth that made you realize you have always been cold without him.

"…do the other eye, please," xiao's voice was barely a muse, but you knew what he meant by it,

"stay,"

— zhongli

"I feel like you're enjoying this a little too much," zhongli finds it almost comical on how fast you could determine his mood as you accused him of the obvious— and the next smile he returned towards you felt slow as his hands easily rest at your thighs.

he tilts his head ever so slightly, offering himself up like something meant to be worshipped, when in fact, such was the case considering who he truly was.

"how could i not, love?" he exhales, his voice rich like aged wine dripping down the tip of your tongue— or honey, yes, now we got it, the sweetest of them all— spilling, slow and golden, from the corners of your mouth whenever you kissed him. as if even your lips cannot contain such excess, as if the world itself conspires to make you taste too much, feel too much, drown in the deep pleasure of it.

"my love, perched on my lap, so close, so intent, how could any man resist?"

you roll your eyes at him in order to hide your boiling all the more flustered expression, but the way your fingers tremble just slightly as you drag the liner along his lower lash line ultimately betrays you.

zhongli's amber gaze watches you, unreadable, indulgent as you bite down your lower lip, "hold still," and warn, ignoring the heat curling at the base of your spine.

"as you wish," he responds cheekily.

and yet, his voice descends— lower, smoother, as if sinking into the very marrow of the moment, curling like smoke in the hollows of your ribs, "though i wonder—" zhongli continues confidently, unraveling something unseen, something inevitable.

his hand slides up slowly, fingers curling at the nape of your neck, the touch featherlight, barely there, but you feel it like a brand, searing into your very being, leaving a mark of endless pleasure.

"—is it i who needs to stay still," his thumb brushes over your pulse,

"or you?"

your breath hitches as his lips curl at the edges with a slightly amused demeanor— an expression not quite a smile, not quite anything at all.

oh, he knows.

"i should stab you in the eye."

zhongli chuckles as his grip tightens, his chin slightly tilted, just a fraction, just enough that your noses almost brush, "if you must."

he winks, "though, i’d much prefer if you kissed me instead."

you swear the next line you draw on him will be just a little uneven.

— neuvillette

the storm groaned against the windowpanes, a ceaseless murmur like the whisper of some distant, unnameable grief as beneath you, neuvillette sat in stillness, his breath deep and steady— like an anchor against the restless howl of the wind.

his hands, resting with an almost absent-minded lightness upon your hips, betrayed neither urgency nor hesitation, only a quiet inevitability— the controlled rise and fall of his chest beneath your touch was steady, as if the weight of existence itself laid upon him and yet he bore it without complaint.

"you're very patient with me," you hum at him, your voice barely above the hush of the rain as your fingers find his chin, tilting his face with a careful adoration.

his skin was cool beneath your touch, smooth like polished marble— an artifact of restraint, a monument to something vast and unknowable, "and you're very careful," he replies, his voice low, "i find it… comforting."

you smile at him as your fingers trace slow paths along the delicate sweep of his lashes, the elegant lines of his face as the patience in him was almost sorrowful, an acceptance of longing as though he has lived with it for too long to protest.

then, without warning, he moves— a shift, so fluid and inevitable, and before you could catch your breath and register what was happening, neuvillette's face was buried in the curve of your neck, his lips barely parted against your skin.

an immediate warmth spreads through you, a heat that knots itself into the quiet places between your ribs.

although you freeze, your breath catches on something unnamed, something trembling between desire and disbelief;

"n-neuvillette?"

your voice sounded like a question, yet your body revealed an answer— your fingers curled at the nape of his neck, the press of his lips a silent confession.

his arms come around you at last, gathering you in, as though he has finally allowed himself this.

his nose brushes along your pulse, "mh? what were you saying?" as his arms tighten around your waist just slightly, holding— not trapping, just holding.

"you're supposed to sit still," you chide playfully, but your voice came out softer than you originally meant to.

he exhales, lips ghosting against your throat. "forgive me," he murmurs, "you are warm, i find myself comforted by your presence."

"—and you take such care of me."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[comatosebunny09]

quixotic [ headcanon format ] | sylus

— summary: “i’ve never…hadsexbefore.” the words spill from your mouth, jumbled together like jigsaw pieces. regardless, sylus catches on, his expression morphing from surprise to fondness. “oh, sweetheart. where have you been?” — cw: female reader, virgin reader, sexual content, sylus implied to be older than canon, romantic dribble, terms of endearment, lowercase, language, mdni — notes: posting this here so that one, i stop obsessively editing it, and two, someone can bully me into finishing it. contributing to this fandom has become exhausting. also, i stole a line from fifty shades. sue me. as always, thank you so much for taking the time to read. — now playing: jade - monsune

your big brother’s wealthy best friend, sylus, makes love to you for the first time.

◦ it’s an adrenaline rush because no one, not even your brother, knows you two are an item—caleb would murder sylus if he knew his bestie was taking advantage of his little sis.

◦ one evening whilst you’re in sylus’ penthouse kissing, things get a little…intense. more than usual. more than the innocent pecks and fleeting touches you typically share. 

◦ he’s touching you more reverently this time. drawing you into a languid kiss, pouring his desire for you into your mouth in the form of hoarse, pleasured groans. he smoothes his hands over the ridges of your rib cage, kneads your hips, massages your thighs. handles you like glass. like he’ll never see you again. like he’s waited lifetimes to have you like this.

◦ it all feels so very wonderful, and sylus has been nothing short of a gentleman since he started courting you. but you can’t focus on the kiss anymore because you foresee this going somewhere you’ve never been. his arousal slowly awakening, prodding the inner cut of your thigh, doesn’t help matters. 

◦ you reluctantly push him away in the form of sweaty palms on broad shoulders, and he studies you, all smoldering eyes, peach-tinged cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips parted with the effort of panting.

◦ “what’s wrong?” he breathes, painting a hazy triangle between your eyes and mouth. worry hangs between his brows as he tucks some hair behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your cheeks, jaw, neck.

◦ you chew your lip, averting your gaze from the intense, scarlet brew of his irises. the worn pad of his thumb skates over your chin, and he tilts your head back to coax you into looking his way. with his thumb, he tugs your lip free from the clench of your teeth, easing it over the sensitive, raw skin. the sensation sends jolts of electricity sparkling throughout your body.

◦ “don’t bite your lip,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your fevered skin. you have a feeling there’s more to his request than what’s presented at surface level. you nod slowly, your breaths intermingling whilst he ghosts his lips over yours. “talk to me. what’s the matter? did i misread things? push you too far?”

◦ “no, sy, it’s…you’re—you’re perfect, you’re fine, i just…i—fuck.”

◦ his thumb cruises over your chin, wordlessly encouraging you to continue, his arm draped around your waist, drawing you further into his lap until your chests push together.

◦ you resign yourself, releasing a weighted sigh. heat spikes through you, ending its excursion in your cheeks. “i’ve never…” you pause, swallowing as you fiddle with some errant strands of hair at his nape.

◦ “you’ve never—?”

◦ “i’ve never…hadsexbefore.” the words spill from your mouth, jumbled together like jigsaw pieces. regardless, sylus catches on, his expression morphing from surprise to fondness.

◦ he huffs a quiet laugh, cradling your cheek in his palm whilst he beholds you. “oh, sweetheart. where have you been?”

◦ something molten pools in your nether regions at that. his words, however harmless, sound like a challenge. and your body hums pleasantly with the prospect of giving yourself to the man of your dreams.

◦ he doesn’t take you that night, much to your disappointment. instead, he draws out the suspense over the span of a week, slowly killing you with anticipation. 

◦ every touch is purposeful. every steady glide of his fingers over your arm, every brush of his lips against your cheek. you’re rigged to explode when the weekend comes, drawn to wit’s end when he finally invites you out for dinner. 

◦ he’s a paragon of gentlemanliness. punctual when he picks you up from your apartment, holding the passenger door of his luxury car open for you to slip in, that devastatingly boyish smile slung over his lips. that natural charm is there, and if you weren’t already a stuttering mess of nerves, you would’ve been an amorphous blob by now. 

◦ he makes small talk throughout the car ride, occasionally brushing his knuckles over your plush thigh or ghosting his fingers over the hollow of your shoulder under the guise of sweeping your hair back. he just smiles when you cut your eyes to him, knowing full well his intentions are anything but pure.

◦ dinner is wonderful. romantic. a rooftop, highbrow restaurant devoid of people—he values his privacy, and you’re grateful because you’re not much for social settings yourself. 

◦ distant city lights twinkle like spilled bokeh behind him. powdery stars speckle the violet stratosphere overhead. you feel like you’re in a dream as a string quartet plays ambient music behind you, and the candlelight of the table’s centerpiece wavers, highlighting the sharp contours of sylus’ face. 

◦ he makes you feel so comfortable. so cherished as you toy with your necklace, tittering at his dry humor and silly anecdotes.

◦ the waitress ensures your champagne flute stays topped off, and your body hums from the magic of the night and the bubbly, your cheeks burning and aching from laughing so much. 

 ◦ sylus never misses an opportunity to feed you. gentle as he eases an hors d'oeuvre between your lips. 

◦ you swear you’re being innocent when your tongue darts out to lick some sauce from the pad of his thumb. he stiffens, lips parting, eyes sliding into a mysterious shade of garnet whilst he scrutinizes your naughty, naughty little mouth.

◦ he gives you a warning look, the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk. ‘behave,’ he mouths when the waiter returns, and he tilts his head in a way that bleeds sin, eyes quietly challenging you.

◦ you catch him staring at you several times during the main course. when your gazes interlock, he merely chuckles, returning his attention to his plate until he can next steal a glimpse of your pretty face. 

◦ dessert is sweet—raspberry pistachio tartlets drizzled with chocolate ganache that catches on the side of your mouth after sylus feeds one to you. you feign innocence with a shrug, your foot sliding between his legs, rubbing up and down a shin, wordlessly asking for some assistance. 

◦ he doesn’t miss a beat, reaching over the table to swipe the sauce from your cheek. his eyes shine with danger. something predatory as he licks the chocolate clean from his thumb, a bitten-off groan pinched from his throat. all to taunt you as you earlier tempted him. 

◦ you try to ignore how your thighs quake. how your heart works overtime, thrumming behind your ribcage, heat branching into your face. you concede with a sultry smile, and he sits back in an easy slouch, watching you with all the amusement of the world. 

◦ you leave the restaurant after he pays, arms linked, twin smiles donning your faces, and your airy laughter intertwines with his husky chuckling. 

◦ the ride back is tense, rife with your shaking tendons and shifting gaze.

◦ you’re swallowed by his coat in the passenger seat, the scent of his cologne enmeshed with his natural musk, turning your brain to smog. his hand swallows up the bulk of your thigh, searing through the frail material of your dress as it makes several expeditions up and down your quad. 

◦ the music drifting from the speakers does little to assuage your nerves. you watch the streetlights whizz by, your forehead propped against the crisp window. 

◦ you know what comes next—what you want to come next. but now, you’re more worried about underperforming for him than you are about losing your virginity. 

◦ he’s been the epitome of romance. patient, adoring, slowly unwinding the coils of your nerves. you want to repay him for his kindness. 

◦ “sweetie,” he summons, voice soft and disarming, mirroring his hand kneading your kneecap. “where did you run off to?”

◦ you smile sheepishly, glancing at him over the muted, blue glow of the center console. “nowhere.” you tangle your fingers with his in your lap, thumb tracing over the veins protruding in the back of his hand. “still here.”

◦ he spares you an unconvinced look before the iron-wrought gates of his complex slide into frame. 

◦ sylus doesn’t let you touch the door once he’s parked, rounding the car to open it for you. he tucks you into his side, virile arm draped about your waist whilst he ushers you towards the elevator. the parking garage is empty. soundless, contrasting the maelstrom taking place in your mind.

◦ he lends you one of his shirts once you’ve showered, swathed in the expensive mahogany scent of his body wash. the sleeves spill past your fingertips, the shirt’s hem brushing your knees. 

◦ he remarks how good you look in his clothes as he feeds one of the top buttons through its loop, fingers grazing your collarbone before his hand falls listlessly at his side. he’s helping you retain a modicum of modesty despite the ravenous simmer in his eyes as he takes your hand in his, drawing it to his lips to brand your knuckles with the searing glide of his lips.

◦ you spend what remains of the night on his sectional in the living room, your feet in his lap, the t.v. mindlessly flickering over your bodies. his hands are warm and reassuring as they knead through knots of tension in your ankles, the balls of your feet. you bite back a sound, wondering what else those hands are capable of. 

◦ you’re brought back to reality when he flicks your forehead, filling your vision with the scarlet wash of his irises, and a humored, sultry cant to his lips. “what are you thinking about, hmm?” he husks, hovering over you, bracketing your body with his hands on either side of your waist.

◦ you swallow, unconsciously sinking beneath the warm might of his body into the cushions. you curl your fingers around the rigid lines of his forearms, legs instinctively parting, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, fixing him with a harmless smolder. 

◦ sylus smirks, gaze softening. he picks up on your cue, slowly lowering himself until his hips are notched between your thighs. you exhale from the weight of him, fitting so perfectly between your legs like he’s always belonged there, his torso hard and defined as it presses up against your breasts. he leans down on his elbows, face panning in until his breath tickles your skin, and he ghosts his lips over yours, tempting you with the prospect of a kiss.

◦ “are you sure this is what you want?” he searches through your gaze, warring with himself. “are you sure i’m what you want?” the fragility in his voice makes your heart swell. always so considerate despite how his body radiates desire. you nod wordlessly, tangling your fingers in the delicate hairs at his nape. and you pitch yourself forward to conquer the space between your mouths, sealing any further words of protest in his throat. 

◦ he catches himself on his palms before he can barrel into you. but he lets you ravage his mouth, humming something low and appreciative betwixt your lips when your tongue finds his. 

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 ᯓ stupid crush — ᡣ𐭩

she didn't understand why she felt like this, why she felt so... warm. especially when you were around. any time you even came within a 5 feet radius of her, she'd feel like she was going to explode. her cheeks would heat up, and she wouldn't know how to act, what to say—she didn't even know how to breathe when you were around her. which reminded her... you were lying right on her chest, and that only made the struggle to breathe worse. she hopes you didn't notice, but with the way your hand ran across her stomach so often, she was sure you might've caught on earlier than she expected. billie had been the one to invite you over after you got off your shift, and you happily accepted her invitation because she was never really the one to ask.

so, here you were, your bodies laying on her bed as a song from your shared playlist plays at a low volume from the speaker on her nightstand. the rain from outside hit her window, the quiet pitter-patter noises making the whole scene complete. it was something straight out of some classic friends-to-lovers film. her bedside lamp was on, lighting the room up just enough so that you could see her face and she could see yours. she was counting each of the little freckles on your face as you shut your eyes, relaxing into her. she ran a hand through your hair, her fingers scratching your scalp so softly, so carefully as she lulled you even further into a sleepy state of mind. she was praying you didn't hear the fast beating of her heart as she held you, not moving too much because she was scared that she'd do something wrong and you'd leave.

she grabbed her phone from her pocket, careful not to make too much noise as she unlocked her phone and went into her voice notes. she was sure you were asleep by now, your gentle breathing and quiet demeanor, a crystal clear sign. but, as she played the most recent one, titled 'stupid crush,' she regretted not making sure that you were actually asleep. her voice erupted from the speaker on her nightstand, and the first words that were heard were, "this is fucking stupid. i... love y/n. there was that—?" until billie finally came to her senses and paused it, the music resuming almost immediately. if her heart wasn't racing, it sure as hell was now. you stirred in your... sleep?—daze?—she didn't know, but now you were looking directly into her eyes with the... softest expression on your face. your eyes spoke for you, but billie was sure she was misreading the smile that began to creep onto your face. you were going to laugh. make fun of her—

"what's so 'fucking stupid' about that?" you giggle softly, voice slightly raspy and eyes glossed over with multiple emotions. all of which were for billie to decipher because she knew damn well she wasn't gonna get any answers from between your pretty pink lips until she finally admitted her feelings. but she didn't know what to say, and not even the music playing softly in the background calmed her anymore. she shut off her phone, tossing it to the empty side of the bed as she gulped quietly, "tell me, i'm quite interested." you sat up, sitting on her lap as you always did because you could never not be at least somewhat in her personal space. maybe that's part of what helped develop her crush on you. her stupid crush. on you. her best friend, of all people. she cleared her throat of the suffocating feeling as she sat up straighter, body tensing as she hopelessly murmured, "because you're my best friend. we're—y/n, we can't be—"

"who says we can't be together?" you scoff, a half-amused, half-annoyed look on your face. when she blinked, it was like you were a million miles closer to her, your lips inches apart, breath fanning over her face. she gulped again, eyes scurrying over to the empty side of the bed, biting on her lip nervously as she tried to think about what to say. it wasn't like she didn't want you to be her girlfriend, she was just... scared of messing it all up. when you cupped her cheek and turned her head back towards you, her eyes widened, "gimme one reason." you whisper, eyes darting down to her plump lips as you scoot closer to her body, shorts riding up your thighs. she doesn't respond, feeling frozen in the same song that just ended began to play again through the speaker, "billie," you murmur, lips only inches away from hers, almost brushing against each other as your hand travels down and wraps around the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. when your other hand comes up to her shoulder, she only then decides to speak, "because it'll be ten times harder to let you go."

"then you better hold me tight so that won't happen." you whisper before your lips crash softly against hers, pulling her closer by her neck. she doesn't pull away, your words slowly processing in her head as her own hands cautiously grab a hold of your waist, almost pulling you onto her lower abdomen in an attempt to get you closer. she wanted you two to be whole, even after all the doubt she spat out before. your words sunk deep into her heart, and now she didn't have a worry in the world. as long as you were with her, everything would be fine. she'd just have to hold you. close. tight. secure. as long as possible... and maybe even forever. she smirks against your mouth as she feels your tongue run across her lower lip, pulling away only a few inches as she opens her eyes, staring deeply into yours and never looking away, "so... i guess i should rename the voice note 'stupid girlfriend,' now?" she giggles as you roll your eyes, pushing her shoulder softly, "i think you're the stupid one."

𐙚 amiyaps : guys the landing of my flight scared the absolute SHIT out of me... cus tell me why we were dropping so fast bro 🙁

𐙚 tags : @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @cannibalsclass @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @meliciousmel13 @zayluvss @hrtsdollie

[lowdownlolo]

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝓈, 𝓈𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝓈 | ℊℯℴ𝓇ℊℯ 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

𝐬𝐮𝐦: 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚? 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨��𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬/𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞!!

𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬: 𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬! 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲!! 💋💖

You were leaning against the wall in the Gryffindor common room, a half-finished essay on your lap. Across the room, George Weasley was sitting with Fred, laughing over something they were planning. His laugh was loud and infectious, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself smiling.

“You’re staring,” your best friend nudged you, her tone teasing.

“I am not!” you protested, quickly looking back at your parchment.

“Sure,” she said with a smirk. “You’ve only rewritten that same sentence three times while looking at him. It’s fine, though. He’s cute.”

You risked another glance at George and found him already looking at you. Your eyes locked for a split second before he quickly turned back to Fred, but not before you caught the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

Little did you know, George was having a similar conversation with his twin.

“You’ve got it bad, mate,” Fred teased, clapping him on the back.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” George said, though his eyes betrayed him, flicking back to where you sat.

Fred smirked knowingly. “Well, either do something about it or stop acting like a lovesick puppy. It’s getting embarrassing.”

The next few days were filled with more stolen glances and awkward smiles. George would go out of his way to sit near you in the Great Hall, and you started “accidentally” running into him between classes. It was unspoken, but the spark between you two was undeniable.

One sunny Saturday morning, you were sitting by the lake with your best friend, chatting about nothing in particular, when she suddenly said, “You know, George flirts with everyone. It’s just his thing.”

You frowned, her words hitting you harder than you expected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s a charmer. Don’t take it personally if he’s just having fun.”

The thought lingered, casting doubt over every interaction you’d had with George. Had you misread everything?

Meanwhile, in the common room, Fred was stirring up his own chaos.

“You know, she said she thinks you’re immature,” Fred said casually, as George tried to figure out the best way to approach you.

George froze. “What?”

“I overheard her telling her friend. Something about how your pranks are a bit much.”

Fred didn’t think much of it, but to George, it felt like a punch to the gut. All the moments he’d spent trying to impress you suddenly felt foolish.

When you and George crossed paths that evening, the air between you was colder. You smiled tentatively at him, but he barely acknowledged you. Stung, you decided to match his energy.

It started small. You stopped saying hello in the hallways, and he stopped going out of his way to sit near you in the Great Hall. Then, the pranks began.

One morning, you woke up to find your bag filled with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. By the time you fished everything out, you were late for class and covered in soot.

That evening, George opened his Charms textbook to find all the pages enchanted to sing “God Save the Queen” whenever he tried to read them. Fred was doubled over with laughter as George glared at the book.

“Oh, this is war,” he muttered.

The pranks escalated. You hexed his broomstick so it would turn upside down mid-air during Quidditch practice, and he charmed your quill to write nothing but embarrassing poems about him during class. Everyone in Gryffindor was talking about the rivalry, and Fred was thoroughly over it.

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with excitement after a Quidditch victory when Fred decided enough was enough. He dragged you and George into an empty broom cupboard and locked the door.

“What the—Fred!” you yelled, pounding on the door.

“Sort it out, you two!” Fred’s voice called from the other side. “And don’t come out until you’ve stopped being idiots!”

You turned to find George standing stiffly on the other side of the small space, arms crossed.

“Well, this is just perfect,” he muttered.

“You think I want to be stuck in here with you?” you snapped.

The tension was thick, but after a few moments of silence, George sighed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with me, but—”

“My problem?” you interrupted, glaring at him. “You’re the one who started ignoring me out of nowhere!”

He stared at you, confused. “You’re the one who thinks I’m immature.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Fred told me you said—”

“Wait.” You cut him off, realization dawning. “My friend told me you flirt with everyone and that I shouldn’t take you seriously.”

There was a long pause as the pieces fell into place. Then, George let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fred. Of course.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, though it was tinged with frustration. “And my friend. Unbelievable.”

“So…” George rubbed the back of his neck, looking suddenly shy. “You don’t think I’m immature?”

“And you’re not just toying with me?”

“No,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “I’ve liked you for ages. And I was too much of a coward to say anything.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Me too. I mean, I like you too.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Oh.”

When Fred finally unlocked the door, you and George emerged with matching grins. The tension was completely gone, replaced by something warmer and lighter.

Fred took one look at you both and groaned. “Finally!”

George threw an arm around your shoulders, his touch casual but protective. “Well, thanks for the help, mate.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Help? I locked you in a cupboard!”

“And it worked,” George said, grinning.

From that day on, the pranks stopped—or rather, they turned into a collaboration. You and George were inseparable, your playful banter taking on a softer edge. And every so often, when Fred saw you two stealing a kiss behind the shelves in the library, he’d shake his head and mutter, “About time..”

taglist: @wingyattium @georgeplease @kisses4fred

[merakiui]

risky rascality (tsum sex).

azutsum x (female) reader x azul ashengrotto cw: nsfw, non-con, tsum sex, tsum has a dick, ntr, shameless smut, loss of virginity, cumflation, characters written as 18+ note - don't underestimate the importance of body language. (or: azul's tsum misreads your intentions and fucks you.)

You’ve found yourself in Azul’s VIP room plenty of times in the past, so it’s impossible to explain the anxiety that washes over you. Sudden like a devastating tidal wave, it rocks you to your core the moment Azul offers you a casual smile. He’s so charming. You almost forget you’re here for your usual tutoring session and not a study date. One can dream.

“Before we begin, I’ll have to step out for a moment. There’s something that requires my immediate attention. I shouldn’t be too long. In the meantime, would you mind getting your notes out and turning to the chapter we last left off at?”

Having been so caught up in admiring the way he stands in the doorway, you startle at the sound of his smooth voice. “Next chapter… R-Right! Yes, of course! I’ll do that. You do your thing. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, he shuts the door behind him. The stiffness in your shoulders ebbs away then, and you slouch back against the sofa. With an embarrassed groan, you drag your hands down your face.

Be normal for one minute, (Name). This isn’t anything special.

Something nudges your thigh and you lower your arms to find Azul’s tsum pushing your textbook towards you. He struggles more than he makes any apparent success, and it’s a cute sight that has a smile sprouting on your lips.

“Thanks, little guy.” You lift the book up to spare him of the burden and set it on the table. A cup of tea rests inches away, steam curling from the liquid in fragrant tendrils. The tsum blinks up at you, wordless like always. “You don’t have to stay for this, you know. I’m sure you’d much rather explore campus.”

The tsum stares and then, as if your words have somehow offended him, he rears forward to knock his head into your thigh again. His fedora falls off in the process, but he pays it no mind and continues to bump into your leg.

“Okay, okay! You can stay.” You laugh and hold your hands up in surrender. “I never said you had to leave.”

Lifting the tiny fedora from the sofa, you place it atop the tsum’s head. It’s uncanny how much of Azul you see in him. Even the beauty mark is in the right place… How peculiar.

Seeming pleased with this, the tsum scrambles to get into your lap. You place your hand under him and help him up. Even though he doesn’t have a mouth, he looks very happy here, bouncing up and down with what you think is a show of enthusiasm.

“You’re adorable, Azutsum. I wish I could say that to your counterpart. He’s great, you know? The most amazing guy I’ve ever met.” You squish Azutsum between your hands and sigh dreamily. “I’m actually not that bad at magic history. I just pretended so I could spend more time with Azul outside of class.”

Azutsum narrows his eyes at you.

“You disapprove?”

He squirms out of your grasp and jumps up towards your chest. You catch him before he can fall back onto your lap. It doesn’t look like open disapproval. Maybe the tsum just doesn’t understand your feelings. You don’t expect him to. If he’s anything like Azul, he’s probably more focused on the lounge or money. Azul did mention he spent a good half of the morning testing the tsum’s affinity for business.

You glance at your textbook. One day you’ll confess. It won’t be today, though. With a sigh, you resign yourself to your reality and place the tsum on the table. You manage to open the book and flick through a few pages before Azutsum pounces on top. He glowers at you, demanding attention. In a way, when he isn’t being expressive like this, he reminds you of a turtle. That thought prompts a chuckle from you and you nudge him away gently.

“I’d love to play more, but I’ve gotta start reviewing. It’ll look odd if Azul walks in and I haven’t made any progress.”

Despite this, Azutsum persists. He prods at your hand, squeaking at you in what sounds like annoyance. A needy thing, this tsum. You’ve never known Azul to be so shamelessly direct, so it takes you by surprise when his tsum rolls around to wrinkle the pages. You gasp just as it tears.

“Don’t be so careless!” You grab hold of the tsum before he can cause further damage to your precious book. Pinching his cheek in light admonishment, you hold him close to your face. “All right, you have my attention. Please don’t destroy my books.”

The tsum beams.

“Aren’t you proud? Seriously… I’m only forgiving you because you look like my crush,” you mutter, your cheeks warming.

If only Azul was this hungry for my attention…

Azutsum wriggles happily in your hands. It’s a challenge to stay angry at such a cute plush. A prisoner to his charms, you pet him affectionately. He seems to bask in your touch, turning over on his back so that you can give his belly the same amount of love.

“Maybe not a turtle. You’re more like a puppy.”

Smiling to yourself, you rub the tsum’s belly. He seems to appreciate the gesture, for he squeaks in excitement. If he wasn’t sentient, you’d probably mistake him for a pillow. He’s soft like one, squishy like a plush. You knead him every now and then, pressing your fingers into his abdomen. You’re sure there’s nothing but stuffing inside, but a morbidly curious part of you wonders if he has organs and blood. Unlikely. But it’s still fun to fantasize over the wildly impossible.

“Do you like that?” You watch gleefully as the tsum squeezes his eyes shut and squirms. His squeaks are loud. “Seems like it. After this, though, I need to get back to work.”

You’re so swept up in toying with the tsum that it shocks you out of your skin when he jumps out of your arms abruptly. You assume he’s gotten tired of the teasing, but then he’s launching himself at you to tackle you onto the sofa. The force knocks you down, and you gasp as the leather cushions cradle you in the aftermath of your fall.

“Hey! What was that for?” You lift your head up to look at him. A familiar weight settles on top of you. “You’re stronger than you look…”

You gaze at Azutsum and the laughter sticks in your throat. There’s a distinctly human cock curving up along the length of your stomach, grotesquely thick and leaking pre-cum, maddeningly disproportionate. Your eyes widen, and a shard of horror lodges itself in your heart.

“W-Wait… Hold on!” You scramble to get away, but the tsum shifts so that the head of his cock presses against your skirt. You yelp when he moves again to prod at your clothed pussy. “Don’t touch there—you can’t!”

He presses inwards, blocked only by your panties, and squeaks sadly. You claw at the sofa, desperate to escape. Azutsum isn’t listening. He continues to rut uselessly between your thighs. Much to your disbelief, the pressure of his cock straining to find its home inside your tight hole leaves you soaking through your panties. If you aren’t thinking about it—about the fact that this insane cock belongs to this little tsum—you almost trick yourself into picturing Azul leaning over you on the sofa. He’d grab your hips, yank you to meet him halfway, slot himself inside slowly… He’d praise you for taking him so well, whisper the sweetest of filth, kiss you dizzy!

That sugar-encrusted delusion shatters the moment his fleshy head catches on your panties. Somehow they’re pushed aside as he bullies his way closer to your cunt. Your eyes snap open just as he pushes inside.

“No, no, no! A-Azutsum, don’t do—ooh!”

Your pleas taper off into a low groan just as he slides in. It feels strange, a foreign fit. Is this really going to be your first time? With withering resolve, you reach for the tsum in hopes of tugging him away from your pussy. He draws back, searching for the right rhythm, and sinks further into wet walls. The breath is punched out of your lungs once he’s managed to fit half of his absurd length inside you.

Tears gather in your eyes. “Take it out… Please… It feels weird and—” he bucks forwards and you suck in a breath through your teeth— “h-hurts!”

Azutsum squeaks softly at you. Consolation? Maybe. Or perhaps it’s a parody of a sweet nothing. How is this possible? He shouldn’t be this big. He shouldn’t even have this anatomy to begin with! Where was he even hiding such a monstrous size?

Your arm falls over your face. Despite everything, the fit is snug. You’re not sure you can take another inch. Azutsum disagrees with this unvoiced sentiment, instead choosing to fuck in and out of you until you’re properly slick. It leaves you shuddering with a strange desire—whether that’s to get away or stay, you can’t determine.

Submitting to your fate—though your hips flinch with every thrust—you allow your mind to wander. You envision Azul and wish he was here in place of this devious tsum. Maybe then you’d be more receptive. Maybe then you wouldn’t be crying. Maybe then the drag of his cock along your walls would actually feel satisfying.

Azutsum’s squeaks join the obscene squelch of skin on skin. It’s noisy and gross. You smell yourself on the air—the unmistakable odor of salt and sin. He fucks like he’s running late, driving his cock as deep as it can possibly go. Your back arches up towards the invisible body that ought to be hovering over you right now. If it was Azul, you’d loop your arms around his neck and pull him down to taste him.

It’s not Azul. It will never be Azul.

All you can do is lie there and take it. At some point, the stretch is less of a pain and more of a unique fullness. It’s not unpleasant, weirdly. Rather, you find yourself grinding down to meet each of his sporadic thrusts, chasing a high that’s so conflicting.

What am I doing? This is so wrong! you think, writhing like a fish out of water. And yet you can’t stop.

“Azutsum, please—” You gasp sharply when he hits a particular spot deep within you, your eyes rolling back into your skull. That’s…not your cervix, is it? There’s no way… Surely he didn’t do that. But then the tip of his cock prods at it again, this time with more insistence, and you throw your head back and howl. “Wait, slow down! Hurts—that hurts!”

Tears trail down your cheeks. You wipe them away to no avail. They just keep pouring, made plentiful by the cock ramming against a place that’s never been reached before. You cry out again when he eases out partially and slams back in with forceful determination. His motions are sloppy now, a stuttering, jerky movement that fills you with more cock than you’ve ever taken in your life before. Your fingers and dildo can’t compare to this—nothing can.

In just a few more riotous strokes, the tsum burrows his cock all the way to the hilt and releases inside with a strangled squeak. Thick, warm cum floods your womb at once, so copious it leaves your stomach with a slight bloat. Dazed, just managing to collect yourself, you press down against your belly to feel the bulge of his cock.

“Please…” you whisper, panting, “pull out already…”

Azutsum starts to do that, only to thrust back in. His cock keeps all of his cum effectively plugged.

“No more… I can’t take anymore. Please…”

But he’s already moving, intent on going at it until his balls are drained and you’re properly filled. In the meantime, you shut your eyes and welcome the chimera of an absentee Azul.

You’re not sure how long it’s been or how many rounds you’ve gone, but by the end of it you’re stuffed. Azutsum finally eases out after so much time spent thrust up inside. Shivering, you peer over the deceptive dome that is your stomach. If anyone were to see you, they’d certainly think you were pregnant and not just packed full of cum. You don’t want to know where such a little tsum gets so much virility. Best not to question it, otherwise you’ll drive yourself mad trying to figure it out.

Azutsum climbs up onto your rounded belly, gazing down at you with newfound fondness in his blue eyes. You’re not sure where his cock’s retreated to now. At least it’s over. Defeated, you reach up and pat his head.

The door to the VIP room creaks open then. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, (Name). Some nuisances—ah, I mean customers—don’t know when to—” Azul chokes on the rest of his sentence, his wide-eyed gaze drawn to you splayed out on the leather sofa. Cum dribbles from your abused cunt, pooling below on the cushion.

You can’t bear to look at him, so you bury your face in your hands. “S-Sorry. I’m sorry! I’ll clean it. Just please… Please don’t look.” Shyly, you squeeze your legs shut in hopes of preserving what’s left of your dignity. You’ve never felt humiliation as hot and heavy as this before.

Azutsum squeaks a joyful greeting.

You can’t see him, but his face has exploded with a fiery embarrassment. He’s doing everything he can to avoid staring at you. No matter how hard he tries, his eyes are drawn to your stomach, to your pussy clenched around nothing and leaking cum, to the devilishly proud tsum perched on top… Most importantly, you miss the way his slacks tighten in the crotch and the way he swallows thickly.

Clearing his throat, his words awkward, Azul says, “P-Perhaps we ought to postpone today’s session…”

It’s for the best. He’s not sure he’d be able to explain his reaction if you were to catch it.

[celestisdivinitusinsaniavero]

That one time you thought Charles wasn't interested

young!Charles Xavier (Wheelchair) x f!Reader

TW: very dirty smutty telepathy? [18+ MDNI]

You lie in bed, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, wishing desperately for sleep. It’s impossible. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours, the sheets tangled around you like an accusation. Why can’t you let this go? But you know why. It’s because you can’t stop replaying the evening over and over in your head, trying to decide if it was a date with Charles or not.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, the kind of place with candlelit tables and red velvet booths. You remember how he looked across the table, his blue eyes catching the light and making your heart do somersaults. Everything about the evening felt like a date—the way he touched your hand on the table, the way he complimented your outfit, the way his smile made you feel like the only person in the room. And yet...

And yet, there was something maddeningly friendly about it all. You think of the way he talked, his voice warm and engaging, making you laugh with stories from his university days. How he managed to weave intellectual debates with flirtatious undertones. But he never crossed that line, never gave you any real indication that it was more than just a friendly dinner.

You think about the end of the evening, on your way back to your room in the mansion, his wheelchair gliding silently over the polished floors. He paused, smiled that devastating smile, and said goodnight. And that was it. No kiss, no hint of something more. Just goodnight. It left you baffled, standing there like an idiot in the hallway.

Maybe you misread everything. Maybe you wanted it to be a date so badly that you imagined the connection. You were so sure he liked you, the way he always seemed to find reasons to spend time together, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long. But now you’re not so sure. You might have built it all up in your head.

You roll over, punching the pillow in frustration. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. Why can’t he just be clear about what he wants? You felt so certain tonight, convinced that he’d make a move, that he’d finally show you that this was more than just friendship. But as the dinner stretched on, you started to realize that maybe he doesn’t see you that way at all. The thought gnaws at you.

And now here you are, alone in the dark, feeling foolish and sad. The mansion is quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets as you shift. You sigh, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling.

You’re wrong. The words echo in your mind, startling you so much that you bolt upright in bed. There’s no mistaking that voice, its familiar warmth and playful tone. 

Charles. You glance around the room, half expecting to see him there, but of course, he’s not. He’s speaking to you telepathically, and you feel a rush of emotions—surprise, hope, and then a sharp flare of anger. How long has he been listening?

Get out of my head, Charles. You practically shout in your head, accusing him of listening in. There’s a pause, and you can almost picture his amused expression before he responds, apologizing for the intrusion. 

Apologies, darling. I didn’t want to pry. You don’t buy it for a second, and he chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind.

You see in your mind how he leans back in his chair, folding his hands nervously in his lap. I haven't dated in years, he admits, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and sincerity. 

Not since before … the accident. He lets out a small, awkward chuckle. 

I'm out of practice. I wanted to do it right, you know? Without relying on my telepathy to read your mind. He sounds so vulnerable. 

But I never did that before, and I felt… insecure. You cross your arms.

You? insecure? you retort in your mind, skepticism lacing your words.

You felt him shifting nervously. 

When I was younger, he confesses, I used my telepathy to figure out the perfect moment to make a move. His voice was tinged with regret and he pauses waiting for your reaction but continues when you stay silent. I realize now that was wrong, and I didn't want to repeat that mistake with you. I wanted everything to be perfect, he continued, but it just made me so self-conscious that I froze and didn't make a move at all. His earnest tone hung in your head, but despite his sincerity, a prickle of irritation remained, tightening your chest.

His words are earnest, and you want to believe him.

"Why are you in my head now?" you demand out lout, your voice tinged with frustration. "If you know it’s wrong." 

There's a pause.

You’re about to repeat the question, thinking he’s ignoring you, when you sense something else, a shift in his demeanor. 

You feel it then, a ghostly sensation brushing against your arm. It’s soft at first, like the lightest touch of a hand, and it travels slowly up to your neck. You shiver and it makes your skin tingle and your heart race. You know it’s him, using his telepathy in a way you’ve never experienced before, trying to avoid to answer your question, and it’s working. 

The feeling is so real, so immediate, that you can’t help the goosebumps that rise along your skin. You lie back on the bed, letting the sensation wash over you, every nerve alive with excitement. Charles’s voice is in your mind again, amused and tender, You like that. You can barely think straight, but you manage to send back a breathless Yes.

He admits, I've been doing this for weeks now, listening to your dreams before I go to sleep. It's become my nightly ritual, I couldn’t stop myself.

The confession makes you blush furiously, and you respond, I don’t know if I like that. 

He chuckles softly, I know.

You gather the courage and ask, Did you listen even when I… you know? There's a moment of silence. Then his voice returns, warm and unashamed. 

I did, he admits, always wishing I could be there to touch you myself.

His honesty takes your breath away, and you’re caught between feeling exposed and incredibly turned on. You didn’t expect this, this boldness from him after the way he acted tonight. 

The telepathic touch grows more insistent, more daring, and you arch into it, craving more. You feel him trail down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in its wake. You can hardly stand it, the delicious tension building inside you, the intimacy of knowing it’s Charles, that he’s finally showing you how much he wants you.

Can you feel it? Charles's voice echoe in your mind, his telepathic presence growing stronger and more insistent. If I were there, if I weren't … like this, I'd show you exactly what I want. I'd start with your lips, he continues, tasting you until you couldn't think of anything else but me. The sensations accompany his words and your lips tingle, making you gasp. 

You feel the ghost of his kisses trailing down your neck, and you arch into the sensation. I've never felt anything like this, you whisper telepathically, losing yourself in him. I didn’t know you could do this.

Charles's telepathic touch shifts to your breasts, and you moan. 

Feel that? Those are bites on your beautiful breasts, he teases, his voice low and intimate. I'd suck and tease those pretty peaks, leave you breathless and begging for more. 

Beneath your nightshirt, you feel a surge of sensation as your nipples harden with an intensity that almost stings, straining against the fabric, demanding attention. You can’t help but touch them with your fingertips.

You pant. "Charles, please,” you murmur, but he wasn't finished.

Maybe I'll ask Hank for the serum again and when I have my body back I can fuck you like you want me to, he told you, his words bold and raw. 

Your face turns red as he throws your own fantasies back at you. "Charles," you breathed, overwhelmed but craving more.

The sensations grow more intense, more consuming, and you feel telepathically compelled to raise your arms above your head. You let him, let the invisible restraints hold you in place, trusting him completely. You feel pressure on your throat then, as if a hand is wrapped around it, and the thrill of it nearly sends you over the edge.

He’s dominating you with his mind, with his power, and he asks if you still think he doesn’t want you. 

Do you still think I don't want you? The question was playful, yet carried an edge of challenge. 

Phantom sensations grip your core, switching between relentless, tantalizing strokes on your clit and bold lashes that circled with purpose. You feel something tighting inside you, each touch igniting a fire of need and desire, leaving you breathless and craving more with every ghostly caress.

Well? He asks again.

But you can’t answer, can’t form words, only moan as the pleasure built and built, bringing you ever closer to that exquisite peak.

When you finally climax, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You see stars, bright and dazzling, and Charles’s smirking face in your mind, as if he’s right there with you. You’re breathless, floating.

As you calm down, your thoughts are a mixture of orgasmic bliss and irritation. It takes awhile but when you trust your voice again, you need to say it.

You know, you say gently, we could talk about how you feel about the wheelchair. I bet we could have fun without the serum, withouth mindblowing telepathic sex. Your voice is sincere, filled with genuine care. I just want you to know that I like you, just the way you are.

He pauses, and for a moment, you worry that your words have pushed him away. But then he speaks, his voice soft. I hope that one day I'll find the courage, he admits, but until then, let’s try to perfect this method, huh?

His promise makes you tingle again, and you can't help but smile.

[prettyykarmaa]

Reckless

GN!Reader x Naib Subedar

Summary - Naib gets chaired during a match. You don't want to leave him behind.

WC - 1,053 (that's actually surprising to me)

Author's Note(s) - This was inspired by @turbulentscrawl's 'Steamy Rescues' post! Please give it a read :]

https://www.tumblr.com/turbulentscrawl/740237408536231936/steamy-rescues?source=share

There is really minor violence in this, but please keep that in mind if that’s something you’re sensitive to. Also, I hc that survivors can communicate via a two-way earpiece!

"The cipher machine is primed. It's up to you now!" Luca's voice exclaims through your earpiece as you make your way to where Naib was chaired. Countless times have you attempted and succeeded in going ahead with risky plans. Still, all that prior experience was not doing much to stop your palms from sweating nor slow down your quickened heartbeat. You had ideas on why that was the case.

For one, the survivors of Oletus Manor have been on an awful losing streak recently, and it's been affecting everyone's morale. Even the survivors with relatively positive outlooks aren't doing so great. If you failed to turn this guaranteed tie into a win, you could practically imagine disappointed sighs and glares of disapproval (directed your way).

There was another idea floating around your mind as you ran, though.

You were nervous about failing him. The ironic part was that you knew he wouldn't hold any true ill-will against you. You're sure he'll call you an idiot, but he's not the type to hold a grudge over something like that. Even the best rescuers fail sometimes. So why were you so worried this time around?

Unfortunately, there wasn't any more time to linger on that question. Not when the chair was in your sight, and Naib's gaze was locked onto yours. He realized what you were trying to do the second he saw you rushing towards him. "Forget about saving me," You heard him say through your earpiece. "Just go for the tie."

"It's too late to do that." You huffed back as you looked away. You hear him let out an amused sigh before he speaks again. "Don't fuck up, then." As you got closer, your eyes scanned around his chair. Nothing. Ominous red light from the hunter? Missing. That was weird, but you convinced yourself to shake it off. Wanting to reach him in time, you forced yourself to run faster, resulting in you almost crashing into him. Almost. Using your hands, you stop yourself by planting them on either side of his head, practically pinning him against the chair.

If you had the time, you would've taken it to admire the sight in front of you. Battle-scarred hands gripped the armrests, and your eyes only traveled upwards, noticing the flex of Naib's biceps through his black long sleeve. Naib's hood had fallen, presumably during the struggle to the chair, revealing his pretty brown hair tied in its usual ponytail. It was disheveled, yes, but you that only made you want to run your hands through it to fix it for him. Yet, that all paled compared to how he was looking at you.

His dull blue eyes were trained on your appearance before reuniting with your gaze. They were filled with something you couldn't put into words, but you'd be lying if you said your heart didn't flutter. Realizing you could've completely misread his expression and he was actually silently judging, you try to save face. "I know I look breathtaking right now; you can tell me about it later, yeah?" You mumbled as you placed both hands on the safety bar and pried it off his lap before carefully taking his hands and pulling him out of the chair.

You were about to finally relax when you felt a shiver down your spine, immediately followed by a butterfly coming from overhead and landing directly in front of Naib. Without a second thought, you go between them and braced yourself. The familiar sting of Michiko's fan blade slashing you made itself known. However, it disappeared as quickly as it came, thanks to Luca popping the last cipher.

With a newfound sense of determination and the pain from injuries you both sustained becoming tolerable, Naib grabbed you by the hand and started sprinting toward the exit gate. "We're almost out. Just hold on a bit longer." He panted as he continued to pull you along. You subconsciously squeeze his hand, and surprisingly, he does it back. Another butterfly whizzes past, this time behind you. He notices and uses the hand holding yours, swinging you in front of him. Michiko barely misses her attack, giving both of you enough time to follow Luca through the exit.

Once you were back at the manor, you beelined to your room. You would've loved to have celebrated the win with everyone, but you were more than ready to sleep. When you were getting ready to turn off your lamp, you heard a knock on the door. You wanted to ignore it, but when there was a second knock, you sighed and opened the it.

It was Naib.

He appeared much more relaxed than he looked during the game, his right hand gently resting on your doorway. It was a good look on him. "Your recklessness never fails to amaze me," he says, shaking his head, which earns him a lighthearted eye-roll from you. "But nonetheless, I'm glad you rescued me despite knowing the risks." Usually, you'd tease him relentlessly for not being upfront with a "thank you," but you decided to play nice. Oh, how you regret not taking that chance.

"You know my conscience wouldn't let me leave people behind. Especially you." You say with a small smile. That second part was an understatement, as you'd drop everything and come running if he asked you to. For the sake of your pride, you didn't tell him that. He lightly scoffs when he realizes you are choosing to be passive tonight.

"It looks like you're getting ready to sleep, so I'll leave you be." He retracts his hand from the doorway, ready to head back down the hallway. Then, remembrance flickers across his face, leading Naib to turn his head back to you. Before you can ask what he was thinking, he suddenly says, "I agree."

"What?"

"You said you looked breathtaking during the game. I think you are all the time, so I agree.

With that, Naib turns around and walks down the hallway, disappearing behind the corner. Quietly closing the door to your room and shutting off the lamp, you crawl under the blankets on your bed. His words continually replayed in your head. Sleeping was going to be a struggle tonight. You would've brushed off what Naib said as him being oblivious (somehow) to how his words could be taken…

If it wasn't for the fact you caught Naib leaving with what looked to be a knowing smile.

He definitely knows.

And much to your dismay, that makes you all the more smitten over him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So fun fact, this is the first time I've ever written a fanfic but I hope it was enjoyable anyways!! Because I'm a minor, I strayed away from making this suggestive and leaned more towards romantic tension. I also had Haunted by Beyoncé on loop for quite a bit of this fic, so I wonder if y'all you can tell LMAO

Tags: @thekeeperofdreams

[somefanficrecomendations]

November Monthly Recap

So, how are we all feeling about the ending of Arcane? Have some fics to help you cope!

ARCANE

Like It’s the First Time by egg_thief (Jayce/Viktor), 5k, Episode: s02e07, AU-Canon Divergence “What were we?” Viktor asks, the question catching Jayce off guard. “Back in your universe?” He stumbles as he tries to put it into words- are there even words to describe what Viktor was to him? He opens his mouth, intent to say he doesn’t know- but the words flow out on their own accord. “We were… everything. ” or: in which jayce crashes into another universe, one where viktor was too late to stop his jump

High Hawk Season by JeanLuciferGohard (Jayce/Viktor), 9k, Oh my god they were roomates Three weeks, and the south-facing side of his apartment is still missing, and they won’t even let him sleep there with a tarp tacked over it, because the ‘structure of the building was compromised’ and it’s ‘not fit for habitation’, as if student housing, even student housing on the Kiramann’s dime, ever had any claim on habitability in the fucking first place. “I've been sleeping at the lab, Viktor.” (which he probably would’ve done anyway, but it’s matter of principle–it’s–okay, it’s fundamental question of free will and fair housing practices and not having to live with his mother, who publicly called him a lunatic) Sometimes, you are a genius, and a sizable explosion knocks out most of your living space, and you end up living with your research partner, and it's only weird if you make it weird

Absence by iksvolforb (Jayce/Viktor), 5k, Fluff and Angst “So sensitive,” Viktor ponders, his expression steeled with a layer of confidence and intrigue Jayce has only ever seen in the lab. An expression shown only when he was concentrating. Exposed only when he was invested. Available only when he was ready to do anything it took to find the solution. Jayce has to stop his head from lulling back when Viktor suddenly drags his hand slowly down his chest. --- or, Viktor doesn't show up to the lab and Jayce goes to check that he's ok.

Festering Affections by egg_thief (Jayce/Viktor), 3k, Fluff, Season 1 Ever so carefully- as if his hair were made of glass instead of silk and daydreams- Viktor reaches his hand out, his fingers stretching toward Jayce’s hair. He wavers for a moment, hesitating only a second- what if Jayce pulls away? What if he is misreading this whole scenario? What if he crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed- He is laying with his head in your lap, Viktor chides himself. If anyone crossed a line, it was him. This is merely retaliation- the consequences of his actions. Something Jayce needs exposure to anyway. And with that, Viktor slips his fingers into Jayce’s hair.

Fortuitous by SarcastCity (Caitlyn/Vi), 75k, AU-Royalty, AU-Arranged Marriage "It is time to fulfill your duties as princess.” “Yes, Mother. You know I take my duties very seriously," Caitlyn said, hesitantly. “I am so pleased to hear you say that. As you know, tensions between Piltover and Zaun have been…high…and, while there is a peace treaty between us, nothing is assured.” Oh no. Oh no, no, no. “So, due to the potential for instability, and your commendable commitment to your kingdom, your father and I have decided that the fact that you are both unmarried and eligible is quite fortuitous.” Caitlyn’s eyes widened a fraction farther, and she could not contain her whispered, “No” as her stomach dropped to her toes and her chest constricted like she had just been thrown from her horse. “Three days hence, you will marry the eldest child of the Hound of the Underground, and your union will fully secure the peace between our two nations.”

RRR

Falter and Flame by LivingProof (gen), 53k, Post-Canon, Action & Adventure In the Gond Village, Ram arrives with several goals. To see Bheem for the first time in months. To secure more supplies for his struggling revolution. And maybe, just maybe, to get a decent night’s sleep. In New Delhi, Special Officer Callum Rand arrives with his own goal. To hunt down the traitor, A. Rama Raju, and put an end to these new rebellions. One way or another. Or: Ram goes to great lengths to advance his cause. Bheem, against his better judgement, goes along with him.

How Will This Bullet Earn Its Value? By Silver (Flying_Blackbird) (Alluri Sitarama Raju/Komaram Bheem), 23k, Hurt/Comfort Dimly, while the last of the crowd slowly dispersed around him, Special Officer Alluri Rama Raju wondered if he would ever stop shaking. He had stumbled away from the scaffold at the first opportunity, bright red in the blur of khaki, dust, and barbed wire, weaving through the chaos like a droplet of blood trickling through the sand. A river of blood.

[film-in-my-soul]

To Mend a Butterfly | 32,731 | allcapsbee

Summary: Jayce wakes up in an alternate universe. Viktor doesn't.

a million little reasons | 2,054 | ameizing_me3 / @ameizingme

Summary: Normally, Jayce's handwriting is heavy. But these sketches are feather-light, careful, tentative, as if Jayce is afraid of scaring the image of Viktor off, or making him less real by committing him to the page. If Viktor didn't know better, he'd almost call Jayce's secret drawings...loving. If he dared to let himself hope for something more, he might even say that Jayce has feelings for him. or: Viktor finds sketches of himself in Jayce's notebook.

total organ failure | 3,071 | optimusprime33 (engineering)

Summary: In the end it is a smile, a pair of hands, a trick of the light and the heart.

celestial | 1,879 | aevallare / @aevallare

Summary: Viktor gets it. The hype makes sense now. The fact that he’s good-looking helps, but Jayce Talis is nothing short of magnetic, and Viktor isn’t immune to the pull.

Your Biggest Fan | 2,177 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: “Vik-tor,” Jayce sing-songs, swivelling around on his chair to get up, striding across the small distance between them to lean over Viktor’s shoulder. “Did you get fan mail?” Viktor starts getting anonymous letters from a secret admirer. Who could it be?

Festering Affections | 3,289 | egg_thief / @thief-of-eggs

Summary: Ever so carefully- as if his hair were made of glass instead of silk and daydreams- Viktor reaches his hand out, his fingers stretching toward Jayce’s hair. He wavers for a moment, hesitating only a second- what if Jayce pulls away? What if he is misreading this whole scenario? What if he crosses a line that cannot be uncrossed- He is laying with his head in your lap, Viktor chides himself. If anyone crossed a line, it was him. This is merely retaliation- the consequences of his actions. Something Jayce needs exposure to anyway. And with that, Viktor slips his fingers into Jayce’s hair.

(see more recommendations below!)

Improvements | 883 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Viktor hasn't seen his former roommate/research partner/secret love of his life in seven years. Turns out there have been some improvements in his absence.

low grade affection | 1,636 | weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw

Summary: I’ve given him medicine,” Viktor says quickly, hearing the concern in her voice. “It’s my fault he’s sick. He took care of me last week, but he shouldn’t have done so much—” “Viktor.” He shuts up. Jayce’s mother and his own share a terrifying knack for being able to silence their sons using names alone. “Jayce loves you. He would do it again, I know it.”

Hair Care | 2,429 | Runch_28

Summary: “Hey, Vik? You’re looking kind of intense over there,” Jayce chuckled from his end of the table. “Everything okay?” Viktor went to retract his hand from his hair and– Oh. One finger was stuck.

out in a distant universe | 3,214 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Viktor wakes with a start at a heavy thump in the dark of his bedroom, groping for a light. As soon as he turns it on, he freezes. Feral!Jayce is dumped on past!Viktor's bedroom floor in the middle of the night. Viktor doesn't hesitate to comfort him.

Contingency Planning | 3,820 | thirty2flavors / @oodlyenough

Summary: “I’m not planning your funeral.” “Someone has to.” Viktor isn’t even looking to see the way Jayce glares at him. “Either we do it together now, or we wait, and you can do it… later. On your own.”

placating, loving, adoring | 4,279 | fakeyouthscoobydoo

Summary: ‘Stay.’ Viktor's voice is scratchy, rough with fever, putting all his remaining conviction into the words. He clutches onto the fabric covering Jayce’s back and tugs with the meagre strength he has left. ‘Okay.’ Jayce's tone is soft, so soft. Placating, loving, adoring. It carves a hole in Viktor's chest.

In the Eleventh Hour | 1,226 | A Devil Like You (ShootToWin)

Summary: Viktor's worked behind the chemist's counter for years, wiling away his days. But there's this man that starts coming around at night, threatening to make him happy.

Give and Take | 2,069 | JunimoKarter

Summary: Jayce still has a lot to learn about Viktor's life. Upon meeting Sky he realises that Viktor has carried more into Piltover than just his intelligence.

bruising gentleness | 2,391 | Lorrens

Summary: Jayce is physically strong; he - sometimes - forgets about that and hurts Viktor. Not today, though.

One Night | 3,168 | janehaza

Summary: After the events of the show, Jayce is brought to a different timeline where Viktor is still a student at the Academy. Perhaps they can help each other.

frigid | 3,405 | aevallare / @aevallare

Summary: The lights sputter out again, and Jayce waits patiently for a full five seconds for them to switch back on. And they don’t. And Jayce is skeptical. He doesn’t make mistakes, and if the power is out, that means that his generator isn’t working, and since everything Jayce builds is perfection– Someone tampered with it.

Ship of Theseus | 3,476 | RedNightingale

Summary: So, either it was a trap, or it wasn’t. Either he went, or he didn’t go. A two-by-two decision matrix. If it was a trap, and he went, he’d have to fight. Probably at a disadvantage, given that Viktor would seize the opportunity to ambush him. If it was a trap, and he didn’t go, he’d get to spend a beautiful Sunday morning holed up in his office, tinkering with a project. If it wasn’t a trap, and he went, he would very likely save a life. And if it wasn’t a trap, and he didn’t go, he’d have to live with the fact that he’d killed his old friend by inaction. Risk assessment was so damn hard when it was Viktor on the line.

Forget Me [Not] | 4,264 | Caspercryptid (FaiaHae) / @caspercryptid

Summary: Jayce makes what he thinks is the easiest decision he's ever faced, when the flower petals appear. All he has to do is cut out the feeling. No downsides. He hadn't accounted for Viktor disagreeing.

Help | 913 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Jayce gets overwhelmed at a party being held in his and Viktor's honour. Viktor helps.

Object of [Affection] | 1,706 | spicedrobot / @spicedrobot

Summary: Jayce had to believe it wasn’t him. Just like he had to believe killing Viktor had been the right choice. The only choice. Viktor had wanted him to do it. He'd smiled when Jayce took aim and let the cannon blast hit him dead on—right in the heart. But now this construct, this thing, with all the hallmarks of their research—the Hexcore’s delicate plated metal and whirling patterns of white and gold, the bifurcated flashes of rot and un-life that could be their future—approached.

Warm Heart | 2,027 | spicedrobot / @spicedrobot

Summary: Viktor's cold. Viktor's distracted. Jayce is more than happy to help.

i spill right out | 2,591 | Anonymous

Summary: The sudden force of his want nearly took his breath away, pulling on him like a leash around his neck, helpless to resist. Shamefully, Jayce felt his cock stiffen against his thigh. Hot water was still beating on his back and shoulders as he closed his eyes, resting the back of his skull against the wall, and let the delusions that had kept him company all those rotten months wash over him.

Senses working overtime | 3,928 | MGCraig

Summary: Yes, he’s calling it. Even though three times isn’t exactly an appropriate sample size, Viktor is calling this definitively. Jayce gets turned on by sweetmilk.

Time Is Running Out | 5,115 | KirkApologist

Summary: Jayce looks around Viktor's apartment, all warm and cozy and inviting, and thinks: I do not belong here.

i put a spell on you (brought your fantasies to life) | 8,305 | sandpapersnowman / @sandpapersnowman

Summary: The first time Viktor asks Jayce for help with adjusting his brace, it’s fine. The first time Jayce’s eyes catch on the corseted figure on the cover of a magazine is approximately six hours later.

but we're so okay here, we're doing fine | 9,176 | maxapple / @beetle444

Summary: The doctor had said, above all, what Viktor needs to extend his timeline is rest. Not to push himself. Viktor’s very existence riots against that particular treatment, so Jayce resolves not to give him a choice. Jayce calls in every favor he’s got at his disposal, appeals to Heimerdinger and the Kiramman matriarch, and manages to figure something out. Viktor will be furious. jayce and viktor go to the coast. set during season one, pre-shimmer injection, post-viktor's stint in the hospital. title from white ferrari - frank ocean

The Face That Launched A Thousand Ads | 13,240 | BlueTwo

Summary: As the so-called "Man of Progress," Jayce is the ideal brand partner for every marketing specialist in Piltover. He does not realize what this entails, or exactly just how embarrassing it will be— especially when Viktor finds out.

Cup Rune Over | 52,379 | surveycorpsjean / @zanimez

Summary: After a gruesome war finally comes to treaty, it is decided that the King of Piltover will take a bride from Zaun. Viktor isn't expecting to be a candidate.

Take it slow but don’t warn me by MGCraig

5 Part Series | Rated E | Total Words: 28,540

Part 1 Summary: And there it is. Sent just an hour ago and unfortunately tagged read, a selfie from Viktor with some other guy’s cock in his mouth and a corresponding text of wish this was you instead. It might be the hottest thing Jayce has ever seen in his life. But it's also sort of tugging at Jayce’s worst impulses alongside the never-ending four-fucking-year-long hard-on he’s had for Viktor. Because if Viktor wanted to give Jayce a blowjob so bad…why the Hell didn’t he just ask?

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[bi-focal12]

@probabydeadbynow i saw your user (though im now realizing i misread it, lol) and it sparked this short fic idea so i wanted to share it with you before i post to ao3 (bnha, no quirk AU)

There was a piece of graffiti Izuku always saw around town. Sometimes it’d be done in white, other times blue, but most of the time it was purple- each letter looped and sprawling and bleeding into the next. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Izuku didn’t know why he liked it so much. It felt odd to smile at those words when he saw them spray painted underneath the Musutafu bridge but, then again, he remembered seeing those same exact words when he was being driven home from the hospital after breaking his arm for the first time, a lollipop between his lips and a new All Might plush under his arm. And then again the morning his Dad came home for Christmas, surprising Izuku at the door. And then again the day of Kacchan’s 10th birthday party. The one with the All Might impersonator that had carried them both around on his shoulders for a while, their sweaty hands linked behind his head for no other reason except that they were happy. 

White then blue then white again. Purple today. 

Probably dead by now, it always said. 

Probably not, Izuku thought back, peering out of the passenger window with a growing smile. 

Izuku had never seen the artist. Never even caught a glimpse, but their handwriting was paint-splattered over so many of Izuku’s brightest memories. 

“What’s got you so smiley, huh?” Kacchan asked. 

Izuku turned away from the window, watching the way Kacchan’s sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel like his life depended on it. He’d only had his license for a few weeks now. 

“I think something good’s going to happen today,” Izuku replied.

Privately, he was pretty sure it already had. 

Kacchan hadn’t invited Izuku anywhere since that 10th birthday party at the arcade and now they were on their way to tour a newly built school together. 

Kacchan scoffed lightly. “What’s so good about college?” he shot back. 

“I don’t know,” Izuku replied honestly, idly flicking through the UA pamphlet resting on his lap. “Maybe…” Izuku glanced towards Kacchan. Quieter, he said, “Maybe we’ll end up going there together. You know, like old times?” 

Really old times, anyway. When Izuku would trade his apple slices for Kacchan’s potato chips at lunchtime and they’d walk home together in their baby blue smocks, hands clasped firmly together.

Not like the way they’d make passing eye contact in the halls of their high school, always in opposite motion even if Izuku’s eyes would sometimes trail after Kacchan's back. 

Even if sometimes he caught Kacchan looking, too. 

Kacchan was quiet for a few moments, the careful tick of the turn signal a feeble echo of Izuku’s hammering pulse.  

Izuku was pretty sure he remembered seeing that same graffiti- purple, and nearly washed out by a recent rainstorm- the day Kacchan threw Izuku’s notebook from a third story window in junior high. 

“Just don’t expect me to fucking hold your hand,” Kacchan eventually bit out, eyes averted- his focus too intense on the empty road for it mean anything other than embarrassment. 

His tone too light for it to even feel like a denial. 

Izuku quickly turned his gaze to his knees, smothering a smile. The UA pamphlet creased beneath his fingers. 

Probably dead by now.  

Purple. Scribbled across the window of an empty storefront. 

Kacchan had grabbed Izuku’s hand two blocks later and shoved that same pamphlet at him, holding on for a beat too long. 

“You dropped that,” he’d lied. 

His hand had been warm. 

“My dad and I were gonna tour it this weekend but he’s got a work thing.”

Izuku’s eyes had been wide and curious. He’d held his breath while Kacchan scratched the back of his neck and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the ground, casting around for the right words to say. 

“I guess you could take his spot or whatever,” he’d continued with a shrug. “If you pay for gas. ‘Cause I’m going whether you catch a ride or not.”

Izuku had thought that Kacchan would probably leave him in the dust by the time it came to go to college. Or not go, he supposed, but…

Izuku lifted his head again, listening to the way Kacchan hummed softly along with the radio. His sunglasses were All Might themed- a custom release with a subtle design that Izuku hadn’t been able to afford. 

There was a second pair, just like it, shoved towards Izuku’s chest when he first climbed into Kacchan’s car, along with a muttered comment about how Kacchan didn’t want to hear any crybaby complaints about the sun. 

They rested comfortably on Izuku’s head now. 

Probably dead by now, it always said.  

Izuku pulled them down until everything in his field of vision was tinged a soft yellow. 

Life was funny that way, he thought.

[p1oscar]

Maxoscar where Max teaches Oscar new things. Maybe he and his girlfriend like trying new things in sex so their sex life is rich and they are experienced but then it’s just not the case with Oscar. He knows so little about sex apart for the basics and he never even had an orgasm when he tried with men before so when Max gives him orgasm after orgasm he’s so shocked and he never wants to stop (innocent!Oscar to slut!Oscar kind of thing)

okay but imagine.

max and his girlfriend wanna have a threesome so they ask him one night. can see them getting close to him first, inviting him out to celebrate or out to dinner. subtly flirting with him to test the waters, see how he reacts. if there’s any interest. oscar doesn’t know why the world champion and his girlfriend keep asking to hang out with him, but he’s not gonna say no. especially when he’s pretty sure they’re flirting with him and even if he’s completely wrong about it he likes the attention, he likes the way they make him feel generally speaking, like he fits in there, like he’s not just a rookie. he’s one of them!!

then they pop that question one night and he’s so shocked, he goes silent and they panic thinking they’ve misread signals or something. immediately are like, “sorry never mind, forget we asked! didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” and oscar suddenly remembers to use his words and he’s stupidly like, “um, why me?” his face is so sweet, wide eyes and pink cheeks. she thinks its the cutest thing ever, leans in and says, “why don’t you let us show you sometime yeah? actions speak louder than words anyways, don’t they?” he nods and max tells him to use his words and he stutters out an okay. they wanna talk about it right then apparently because as soon as he says okay, max is asking what he’s into, does he like guys and girls or just guys? what is he okay with? oscar’s heart is racing as he answers all of their questions and they give him their answers back, his mind swimming with all the ideas of what they’ll be doing; majority of which are things he hasn’t ever done before. i feel like he wouldn’t have been w a guy in years, since he was a teenager fooling around and so they agree to ease back into that which he’s grateful for. but also, when they say they’ll ease into it it makes him think this isn’t a one time thing like he thought it was going to be.

the first time they fuck, he doesn’t know what to expect, but even his barest expectations are shattered when he arrives to their place and she’s in lingerie and tells him she bought it just for him. they take him to the guest room and get straight down to business, both of them too excited to wait any longer. she guides him to sit on the bed and crawls onto his lap and asks if she can kiss him, and as soon as they’re kissing all bets are off and oscar’s all in. it’s all a blur in his mind when he looks back on it. max made her ride his thigh and then told oscar to go down on her, and the entire time, max is telling him what to do, what she likes, and she’s praising him for being so good. he’s never experienced anything like that, never had someone tell him what to do, or had praise him the way she is, whimpering his name and telling him how good his mouth feels, begging him for more while she pulls his hair and rocks her hips into his face. he’s gone down on men and woman but it’s a different experience going down on her.

they’d jerk him off and suck him off together, teasing him until he’s begging to cum like she had been when he was going down on her, and then max is taking over and makes him cum twice more, and he can’t think straight anymore. he watches them fuck after he’s came three times, and somehow gets hard again. she rides him after max is finished and she’s full of max’s cum, definitely not on his threesome bingo card but it should have been. he’s so sensitive all he can do is lay there and take it as she works both of them towards one last orgasm. max’s lips find his neck and he starts kissing him and telling him how good he is, and oscar’s just fucking gone.

oscar expects them to kick him out once she climbs off of him and flops down next to him, but max fetches a washcloth and begins cleaning both of them up, then fetches water and then carries her out of the room, mumbling something. he returns a moment to ask oscar why he’s still laying there, asks if he needs to be carried too and holds out a hand for support. he asks what max is talking about, and he’s like, “well i said c’mon didn’t i? we aren’t sleeping in here, obviously.” and oscar just blinks at him before taking the outstretched hand and following him to their actual bedroom and she’s already cuddled up in the middle of the bed and just pats the bed on either side of her for them to join her.

[stolasdearest]

𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜

Synopsis. Gale talks first and thinks later, Same seems to go for the way his hands move around you

Gn!Tav x Gale, Pre-established Relationship, Confession !not proofread

563 words

Every so often whenever Gale gets excited his hands seem to wander though this does not apply to everyone in camp, not to even mention the time Karlach was on the recieving end of this treatment— at least you got practice in healing magic that day despite Gale's protests that it's fine.

But his hands always wander to you. Holding your hands whenever you're out and about as he scans the Forrest or the streets of Baldurs gate his hand never leaves yours. You lead the team wherever you deem needed with such confidence it baffles him how easily and quickly you adapt to, anything. You're keenly aware of what everyone wants or needs to hear, you talk potential enemies into corners and the spirit you fight with to protect the people around you truly amazes the Wizard.

A night is usually spent by you two sitting in each other's tents while talking about your day as you debrief, you reluctantly sit back when he agrees to cook dinner for everyone and you sit together while you eat. The camp is honestly starting to get agitated with the knowing glances and wandering eyes the both of you share, Wyll has to physically hold Astorian back on occasion so no vulgar language is used.

As you sit in his Tent, hands in your lap when you sit almost too close to Gale you barely look over his shoulder while you read from the book he has sitting in his hands— disrupting him when you groan while leaning back "Gale this position really hurts my back" and when his eyes scan you he realizes not everyone can just sit hunched over for hours so he racks his brain to find a solution for your dilemma not at all wanting you to leave "How about we, lay down?" You snort as you fall onto the bedroll behind you "you're gonna hold the book while we lay here" with a quick and easy Yup he makes his place beside you but before he can even pick up his book you nearly shout for his full attention as you suddenly lose the words your brain had thought of for this exact conversation, clearing your throat when you try and save this horrible attempt at a love confession

"we've spent alot of time together and I love being around you—"

Your eyes fixed on the top of the tent as you continue with a shaky sigh

"and I don't know if I misread us but I think you feel the same way I do"

Gobsmacked is the best word to use for Gale at the moment, His eyes wide and his lips slightly parted as his breath hitches while he looks at you. You're absolutely terrified and your brain floods with doubt and shame as you don't break your gaze from him, on cue he noticed the glossy film that shone your beautiful eyes as he sits up almost giving himself whiplash as he stumbles on his words for once

"no! No— you haven't. it's very much reciprocated, I just didn't think we'd ever talk about"

The smile that dawns your face after your confession was received well could rival the beauty of the finest diamonds. He grins like an idiot as he once again makes his place next to you, pulling you into his embrace,he rests his chin on the top of your head. One hand cradling your head the other holding the esteemed book

"you don't mind if I read to you like this right?"

"please go ahead"

YIPPIE FIRST FIC EVERRR (it's 5am lord help) lol this might be absolutely dookie but I wanted to write something for once 🤺

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: fem reader; incest [reader is doflamingo + rosinante's adult sister]; implications of coercion/extremely dubious consent. dead dove, etc. just working out some ideas.

In just a few short days, Rosinante, to his revulsion, quickly learns what goes on between you and your eldest brother, just how close you've grown in his years of absence.

At first, he tells himself he must be misreading things: the way Doflamingo pulls you into his lap and holds you there, the way he seems to keep a hand on you at all times, the way he kisses you too long and too deeply--it must just be tricks of the mind from too long a time away from the both of you. You’d been close before, all three of you, as close as you could be clinging to each other through the horrors that befell you. And Doflamingo was always protective of you, claiming that you were his and his alone in the way that children sometimes do before they understand the weight of their words.

But Doflamingo, it seemed, never outgrew the sentiment.

Rosinante chokes on his tongue one night as he lays in bed, and Doflamingo flicks the light on and parades you into the room. You're dressed in a robe that seems to be made of some approximation of silk, something that at once hangs stiffly on your body and moves over you like water.

Rosinante fumbles for his notepad on the nightstand. He never should have left. He never should have stayed away. He should have found his way back to you sooner. Maybe then he wouldn't have to snap his fingers and surround himself in silence every night just to keep from hearing you moaning your eldest brother's name through the thin walls that separated your rooms.

What the fuck are you doing? He holds the paper up in a shaking hand, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming, so hard he wonders if he'll be spitting blood soon. Rosinante sits back against the wall, his limbs numb, heart aching--he already knows there is no refusal of anything Doflamingo insists upon. And maybe, he thinks, acid roiling in his stomach as he begins to talk himself down--maybe he could at least show you softness.

"Well, go on sweet sister," Doflamingo coos as he tugs at the tie of your robe, "why don't you show our dear brother just how much you've missed him, hm? Just like I taught you."

[nalgenewhore]

so sick of myself

elide x lorcan, modern au/estbalished relationship + they r still smitten kittens + jealousy/fight, word count: 2514

The atmosphere inside the car is suffocating. 

He could say something to cut the tension, he should say something to put her out of her misery, but he won’t. 

Elide’s squeezing her hands over and over, and he can feel the weight of her stare on him the way he felt it the whole drive home. He won’t look at her. He can’t right now.

Lorcan slowly pulls his keys out of the ignition. Then, he just looks out his windshield at nothing. 

“Lor…”

“What?”

Elide closes her mouth, almost deflating.

He can barely stand this. To sit beside her right now makes his skin crawl, and his mind keeps wrapping around their last fight, the blowup they had after Aelin accidentally disclosed what really happened to Elide during that one shift. That ended with her telling him to get the fuck away from her and not call her till she was ready. 

And he knows he deserved that, deserved the days spent in self-inflicted agony.

What he’s doing right now isn’t revenge. Lorcan wants to tell her it isn’t to hurt her, but he can’t bring himself to even look at her. He doesn’t really trust himself to speak either. There’s a nagging feeling that he could say something really fucked up, that would cut into her bones, and he can’t do that, hurt her on purpose.

So, he stays silent.

Elide stares at his profile. 

She finds her tongue again by unsticking it from the roof of her mouth. “Should I go home?”

“-fuck you sayin?” His voice is flat and still manages to cut her. He still hasn’t looked at her, not once since they left the party.

“Do you want me to go home? I’ll call a cab.”

Lorcan sighs through his nose, his full lips pressed thin. “Stop.” He rubs his eyes. “Obliviously fuckin not, why’re you askin dumbass shit?”

She sinks back into the passenger seat. “It’s a valid question.”

“And what you think the answer was gonna be?” He mumbles, toneless. His hand falls from his face.

“You won’t even look at me.”

“‘lide, I want you with me, always. I just…” he shakes his head, “can’t really look at you right now, bro.”

Elide fiddles with the hem of her skirt. Now, her eyes have dropped to her lap, and she finds she can’t look at him either. “I really wasn’t-“

He cuts her off with a little huff. “Nah, you know I don’t wanna hear it.”

Silence stretches between them; it’s so heavy as it bores onto her shoulders, and she strains under its weight.

“What do you want me to do?”

From somewhere, either on his person or in his car, Lorcan procures a thick blunt and wedges it between his lips. “Take my bed an’ get some sleep.” He thinks about telling her that he wants to fuck the anger out, or at least wants her mouth on him, but she’ll let him. At that point, he’d be using her and that doesn’t sit well with him. “I’ll come when I’m good.”

The words clog in her throat, too many wanting to escape all at once like it wasn’t a big deal, you misread the situation, stay with me even if you’re not good, get angry - yell at me, use me, do whatever you want. “You won’t come with me now?”

“Nah, I just, like,” he says, “rather not do that.”

She swallows.

Lorcan gets out of his side, like the absence of her response ratchets the tension just that much more to where he can’t stand her proximity. The car shakes when he slams the door shut, and Elide flinches even though he always closes his door that way. She carefully dries her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. 

When he opens her door, she tries to make it seem like she isn’t crying, but he still sees the traces of it. “Lee, c’mon, Imma get you some clothes and-”

“No, I’m fine,” she lies, shaking her head with a wet, phlegmy laugh. “It’s fine.” Elide stands up and sidles past him. “Um, don’t worry about it, I’ll get settled and everything.”

He looks at her solemnly before letting her go. As he settles against his beater, bringing a lighter to his blunt, she forces herself to walk into his house without looking back.

✵✵✵✵✵

Tonight, his bed feels cold and stiff. The whole house does. 

She’s choking on the wrongness of it all.

And, deeply, she’s confused.

Because Elide doesn’t know what to do when he’s mad at her. He never really shows that. It’s never gotten to the point where he explicitly does not want to be around her. 

She feels untethered, like she’s floating in a great big sea.

She thought she could psych herself into thinking it was just like any other night. That he’d come to her when he finished smoking.

But she already heard him come inside two hours ago. The walls shook (she imagined) when he let himself in. His presence, never mind it was past a shut door and down the hall, sucked all her oxygen up.

So, Elide rolls onto her side, and she can’t shake the feeling that she doesn’t belong here without him, staring at his spot.

Her phone lies on the mattress by his pillow, and she snatches it closer, blinking at the bright screen.

Once she works up the nerve to text him, she doesn’t hesitate to press send, then quickly toss her phone down.

EL: Are you still awake?

There’s a buzz half a minute later (she counted the seconds).

LS: why u still up

EL: You’re not here, I can’t sleep

Her breathing slows like her lungs are being squeezed by the hand of his avoidance. Elide watches the little read notification pop up but no further acknowledgement. It weirdly crushes her, makes her sink into the mattress.

There was a small relief when he told her he didn’t want her going home. By now, that spark of warmth has faded. She might beg him to join her.

LS: try ill come in later

EL: I don’t want to wait. Be “not good” with me.

LS: alr told u i can’t

LS: do u need sum

EL: You

LS: b serious lee if u dnt need sum lemme b

EL: Then I guess nothing.

She turns onto her back as pits of tears grow and well in her throat.

Elide feels like a kicked puppy, so needy and wanting for his attention. She’s never felt like this before. She hates knowing it’s her own doing.

EL: I love you.

EL: I want you to sleep with me even if you’re not good.

EL: We don’t have to talk.

She waits for his reply, knows that he’s still up from the muffled sound of the television.

When it doesn’t come, a childish kind of anger bursts in her stomach.

“Fucking asshole,” she speaks aloud to herself when the read receipt pops up.

Elide curls back into a ball and banishes her phone to his side.

She hears her phone vibrate a few minutes later, and she’s quick to grab it, the bright screen making her squint.

It takes a couple blinks for her to be able to read the messages.

LS: yo u kno the doors thin

LS: was brushing my teeth

LS: if ur talking abt me say it to my face

Her stomach drops like a stone but her pulse jumps with anger.

EL: Thought you didn’t want to talk.

LS: that was before i heard u

LS: come here bro

He does this thing when he’s annoyed where he’ll call her ‘bro’ to create emotional distance between them.

EL: Why?

In the hallway, she hears him groaning in annoyance.

LS: get out here

LS: obvi u wanna talk

EL: And if I don’t?

LS: r u fr

LS: then dont im not forcing u

LS: r u trying to piss me off??

Elide doesn’t answer. A minute passes, and his footsteps fade into the living room.

✵✵✵✵✵

The couch is too small for him even when he’s on his side. He turns onto his back, guilt eating him up for ignoring her messages before.

LS: sweet dreams

LS: baby

LS: i love you

He waits for her to see them, his chest twisted until she answers. The bubble in his gut stays inflated the longer he waits, and Lorcan knows soon enough that she’s probably asleep, or at the very least, she’s leaving him alone like he wanted. Yet, that feeling of being ignored that he hates so deeply remains.

When he gets up, he can’t say whether he’s going to her out of his desires or hers. Lorcan scrubs his eyes as he walks to his room, floorboards creaking beneath his feet.

He can tell she isn’t asleep the moment he steps inside his room. 

Lorcan crosses the room and sees her phone laying down on the nightstand. He picks it up, just to see if she saw his text, only to sigh as he puts it back. She hasn’t.

“Gimme some room, ‘lide,” he says softly, tapping her back.

She moves without a word.

As he lies down, he’s cautious of her unbidden hair. 

It’s familiar, the slide of his arm around her waist, the way it feels to pull her back into him. 

Lorcan can feel the tension in her body like she wants more but fears his denial.

Which will never come, because it hurts too much to deny her.

She eases when he presses his mouth to her bare shoulder. “Baby, turn over.”

Elide slowly turns to face him. Even in the dark, he can see how her eyes worriedly search him. 

They lay in that timid silence for a while. He traces each notch of her spine with his knuckles, coaxing her closer. 

It feels like salt on an open wound, lemon juice dripping over split knuckles.

She nuzzles her face into his neck, and something about that graze of her lips over his skin unleashes them.

“I always thought you’d be the jealous type.”

Lorcan holds her tighter, his arms locked across her back. “‘m sorry. Not tryna be a dick.”

“I know.”

“Did I make you cry?” His thumb is on her cheek as if to check for wet rawness. It’s still hard to look at her.

“Not really.” Elide slides her hand around his, turning her chin to kiss the base of his palm. She pulls back to look at him. “I know you’re not good, but I still want you here. It’s selfish-”

“Nah, s’not, never selfish.” Lorcan sighs deeply, feels guilty. He slides his fingers down her neck. He finds it easier to focus on the gooseflesh that erupts in the wake of his touch. “Can’t even stay mad when all I wanna do is be ‘round you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to sort through her words. “I never know what to do when you’re mad. You just shut me out.”

“I know.” He hates being angry around her. Anger makes him unbearable, he thinks. It always has. “I- don’t wanna be mean to you or say some fucked up shit. You never make me, like, for real mad. I just didn’t know how to act around you.”

Elide twists her fingers in his shirt. “I wasn’t- nothing happened. It was a misunderstanding.”

His jaw clenches. “s’not bout that.” He should be calm, he should tell her he believes her (since he does). Yet he’s not done being pissed at her, he wants her to take some of his anger even if that isn’t nice or fair. “Lee, you didn’t say shit to her.”

“I didn’t even realise she was saying something in that way, I could barely hear her.”

“Like I get that, but it’s still some girl in your space and touching on you, and you just lettin her be there? How’s that supposed to look to me?”

“That’s why I was pushing her back, she grabbed my hand and, like, held it on her. I didn’t want that.”

Lorcan chews on his lip. He’s not sure he has the heart to really go in on this conversation. 

“I wasn’t going to kiss her, Lor.”

“I… yeah.”

Elide lets out a breathy, anxious laugh. “Like, I wouldn’t ever do that to you, you get that, right?”

“I feel you.” He brushes his mouth over her forehead. “Just looked bad.”

Silence, unresolved, settles over them like a storm cloud waiting to break. 

Lorcan slides his hands beneath her (his) t-shirt as he weighs his next words. “What fucked me up is that you- I had to tell her you got someone. Felt like… you didn’t want her knowing that?”

Elide shakes her head. “I don’t want anyone who isn’t you. Everyone that matters knows that.”

He closes his mouth and lets the quiet of nothing creep back in for a second.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why are you worried? Have I done something to make you this worried?”

He can’t answer her immediately. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he eventually says. “s’not anything you done or whatever, I’m scared bout how easily you could hurt me.”

It makes her heart sink a bit. “I wouldn’t ever want to.”

“I know. I know that, Lee.” Lorcan breathes in deeply and finds it a little easier to speak. “You got me thinkin bout my future and, like, real shit. ‘m not used to that.”

Elide’s almost scared to ask. “Am I in your future?”

He gives her a look that’s slightly irritated like she should know better than to ask that. “You are it.”

The declaration, as soft as it’s spoken, makes her surge forward and kiss him. A second later, Elide realises it’s probably not what he wants right now. She backs away; Lorcan’s hand slopes around her nape and holds her to him. He kisses her back slowly like he wants to savour her. 

She leans into his body, letting her lips part when he licks over the seam of her mouth. Elide wants to feel him fully, to fuse them together so she never has to feel so untethered again, though she knows that’s probably not the most healthy thing to think. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.” Her hand wraps in his t-shirt. “I want you forever.”

“You got me forever,” he promises.

Elide swears it back to him. He nods – he believes her. Just like that, the tension in her chest unhooks, and she can breathe, she can feel her heart pumping again, her mind calms.

He’s not in the mood to push past the kisses that act like a lifeline between them. So, Lorcan settles against her, and the draped weight of him over her becomes this shroud of exhaustion - she’s so tired suddenly with her eyes begging to be shut.

She thinks, briefly, fleetingly, the moment that his breaths even out, that lying against one another is what they’re meant to do.

✵✵✵✵✵

an: another installation of my new mini series thing! next i hope to either finish their first meeting OR first kiss we shall see <3 here is part one

tags: @sassyhobbits @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialams @the-regal-warrior @shyvioletcat @icecream52 @elentiyawhitethorn @goddess-aelin @julemmaes @sunshinebingo

[dawneternal]

Take the World in Your Hands | Eris x Elain | Alternate Ending

Summary: if things had gotten a little differently that last night together.

Notes: okay this is actually actually the last chapter lol I couldn't help it 💛 there's so much more I think they could and would say, but this is it for now.

Warnings: a whole lotta angst

Word Count: 1.2k

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Elain slept as the sunrise fell through the skylights and painted her skin lovely colors. Her cheek rested on Eris’s chest, brown curls falling across her bare shoulders, one hand curled into a fist and tucked tight against her body.

Eris was wide awake, thinking dangerous thoughts as he watched Elain’s eyelashes twitch in her sleep. He was exhausted, his body heavy and sore. But he could not bear to let sleep take any of their time together. He must make every second count. Even as she slept, he could study the planes of her face and make a shrine to them in his memory.

Every few moments he would circle back to that thought of how little time they had left, every cycle escalating the frenzy in his mind. The loop shrank and shrank until there were no other thoughts in between the roar of it’s almost over.

His heart beat harder with every passing minute. That was probably what woke her, the thumping rhythm under her ear.

“Eris?” Elain mumbled, eyes fluttering open. One look at his panicked face, his fingers running through his hair over and over, and she was sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“I cannot tell you,” He said, the tone in his voice one Elain had not heard yet. Unmasked, unveiled entirely. Even with a bleeding stab wound, he had not sounded so small and vulnerable.

“Please?” She whispered, grabbing hold of his trembling fingers and pressing them to her lips. “So I can help you.”

Eris was quiet for a long time. Elain sat over him, cross legged, one knee resting on his ribs. She held that hand to her lips and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. It hurt to watch the tears gather in the corners of his eyes and drip down his temple. His bottom lip trembled, chest rising and falling at an erratic pace as he tried to quiet his crying.

She sat in the silence with him, waiting for him to release whatever it was that weighed on him so heavily. An image came to her, of golden eyes filled with something precarious, and she wondered if she already knew what the answer might be.

“I am a wretch,” He croaked, finally, “I am wicked.”

“For what, love?” She asked, and watched his eyes shut tight. The tenderness, the sweet name, broke him. It destroyed whatever resolve he had left.

“I want you all to myself,” He buried his face in her lap so she would not see it crumple. His next words were muffled by the sheets. “I want you to stay with me. As horrible as I am for it, that’s what I want.”

“Eris,” Elain breathed. She had predicted correctly. Maybe she should be shaken by this confession, but she was focused on his quiet sobs, his shoulders shaking. Because after was a wretch, too, by Eris's standards.

Something settled in her, then. Something that had never felt solid before, always shifting and changing. But now, it clicked into place and a sense of calm washed through her. And a part of her knew it could not be undone. She could not pull those pieces apart, no matter what happened.

“Eris,” She said again, trying to pull him up to face her. He relented, meeting her gaze with red and watery eyes. A sweet and aching feeling filled her chest. Eris watched her eyes glow with pain, and misread it. Before Elain could speak and say the words that would break him, he had to let her know the rest.

“Elain,” He said, swallowing hard, breathing deep to calm himself.

Elain wondered if he had ever said her name out loud before. He couldn’t have. She would have remembered and engraved it in the back of her mind for how lovely it sounded.

“You are the sweetest, softest thing I have ever encountered,” Eris began, hands reaching towards her face with a mind of their own, “You are my most equal opponent. I had not laughed in so long I thought I may have forgotten how to. But then I laughed so much with you. And I cannot do it. I cannot face a world where you are someone else’s and I just go on alone. I will do it, because I have to. But you must know, at least, that I have fallen in love with you in only four days.”

Elain’s eyes welled with tears, and she smiled. Grinned. Eris tried not to let his heart leap with hope. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and melted into his touch.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Elain whispered, choking on a laugh, “Because I want to go with you.”

“What?” Eris said, so softly she could barely hear it, teary eyes searching hers.

“I will stay. I will stay with you.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Eris protested, shaking his head, causing a tear to drop from the tip of his nose, “We’ll be hated. We’ll be villains. Our love will be stained. They will think us cruel.”

“Then we will be a fairy tale after all,” Elain’s lips twitched up into a smile. Eris stared for a long moment.

“You’ll marry me?” His hands trembled and voice shook.

“I will marry you.”

Eris wrapped his arms around her and hauled her body toward him. One arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his other hand cradling the back of her head. It was so different from all of the other times he had held her. There was no bittersweet longing, only reverence, only deep relief. Like he was finally letting himself touch her the way he wanted to. He cried into her shoulder and held her tight.

“Lucien,” Elain whispered, muffled against his skin.

“I know,” Eris let out a sob, terrified that one word meant she was reconsidering. “I know. I’ll apologize to him every day for the rest of my life. I’ll let him fight me, if he wants. I’ll get him the best healers in Prythian and I’ll explain everything myself so you don’t have to. If you will please, please let me have you.”

“You have me,” Elain pulled away, brushing her fingertips across his freckled face. She pulled him in and kissed him. In a way that would hopefully make him believe her. “You have me, my love. Take me home.”

***

A little while later, with their things gathered, a calmer Eris winnowed them back to the Safe House. Morning light filled the cabin and painted everything in a layer of gold. Like the little gilded house was a gift from the sun. The first one to know their news.

Here, it would all begin. For better or for worse, Elain would make him a vow and allow it to paint her skin. Then they would decide how to face the world together. Lucien, her family, Beron, they would all know tomorrow. Today was theirs. Just one more day in solitary bliss before life began again.

Elain had never thought she would feel less weary about the idea of her immortal life. But with Eris at her side, she had never felt more capable. She breathed deep, the sweet smell of the cabin, the scent of her lover, and contentment filled every part of her. This was home.