#pour point depressants

[imperialchem]

Oxygen scavenger exporter in India | imperialchem

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[chemtexspecialityltd]

How Pour Point Depressants Improve Oil Production Efficiency and Safty

The petroleum industry plays a pivotal role in our world, supplying energy and fuel for various applications in daily life. In the oil production industry, ensuring the smooth and efficient flow of crude oil is crucial. One of the key challenges faced in cold environments is the solidification of wax within the crude oil, which can lead to blockages and inefficiencies. Pour Point Depressants (PPDs) are vital additives that help overcome this challenge, improving both the efficiency and safety of oil production operations.

[chronicowboy]

the marker of my final piece this year has so spectacularly missed the point of my story that i want to fucking scream

[upperranktwo]

It's 6:30 and I haven't slept at all, from what I recall, I've almost been awake for 24 hours. I can't keep doing this (have been like this for years) I need to see a doctor about my unhealthy sleeping at some point lmao (will not see a doctor)

[gender-euphowrya]

the thing about growing as a person is that it doesn't mean ''becoming a more pleasant person to be around''

[we-re-always-alright]

any time I see people tying minor world events to economics I’m like. that’s not how economics works. I know you want it to be how it works so you can blame someone. but that’s not how it works in any country or global economy.

[quintsmachete]

finally recovering from my bad memories of playing yume nikki and being able to enjoy it and appreciate it again w my friends :’‘‘‘)

[beatrice-otter]

I’ll be honest, when one party’s aiding and abetting the genocide and the other’s outright gonna kill all my friends, I don’t really care if the fascists “win”. They’ve won already.

You know who would be delighted to hear that? Trump and Putin. The US far right and the Russian government have poured lots of time, effort, and money over the last decade+ into convincing US leftists and liberals that things are hopeless, there's no point in even trying to make things better, and the Democrats and Republicans are functionally interchangeable. They do this because one of the easiest ways for them to win is if the left gives up and stops trying. Every person on the left they can convince to give up in despair brings them closer to complete control. Defeatism on the left actively supports victory on the right.

I think your statement is wrong on a number of levels, both factual and emotional. It comes from not understanding what the actual options are for the US government and the President specifically, either at home or abroad. And it will allow actual fascism to flourish and make the world far worse than it is now.

On an emotional level, the way to address this is to stop doomscrolling. Stop focusing on the worst things happening in the world. Don't ignore them! but don't let them consume you. Start looking for the things that are going well. Find places in your community that you can get involved in making things better. Even if it's only on a small scale like volunteering in a soup kitchen or homeless shelter, it will help you realize that you aren't helpless, that there are things that can be done to make the world a better place. Stay informed about things on a local, national, and international level, but limit how much time and attention you give to things that depress you that you can't affect. Instead of sitting there thinking about all the ways the world sucks and how awful things are, look for things you can do that are productive, and then do them. You'll feel better and you will have made your corner of the world a little better. And you will be a lot less likely to unintentionally fall into the despair, nihilism, and passivity that the fascists want you to be consumed by.

Always remember that the worlds problems are not resting solely on your shoulders, or solely on America's shoulders, and neither is the hope of fixing them. Everyone has things that we can do to make the world a better place, but there are also things that are beyond our control. We can control what we do; we cannot control what others do. We can and should try to make the world a better place, but focusing on the things we can't change has no positive benefits. Focusing on things we can't change accomplishes two things: it makes you feel bad, and it stops you from doing the things you actually can do to make things better. Neither of these things is good for you or anyone else. Look for things you can do and do them. Keep informed on the things you can't change, but don't focus on them.

On a factual level, let's look at "aiding and abetting genocide," shall we?

First, it's important to remember that the US President is not the God-Emperor Of The World. The US government has limits to what it can and can't do in other countries, and both legally and practically. If the US wants to intervene in a problem in another country, there are a variety of things we can do that boil down to basically four categories. It's a lot more complex than this in practice, of course, but in general here are the categories of things we can do:

Send in the troops. Invade, either by ourselves or as part of a NATO or UN operation. (Or maybe just send in a CIA wetworks team to assassinate the head of state.) I hope you can see the moral problems with this option, and also, we've done this a shitton of times over the course of the 20th Century and pretty much every time we've done it, we've made an already awful situation worse. On a moral level, it's pretty bad, and on a practical level, it's worse. Sure, we could stop the immediate problem, but what then? Consider Afghanistan and Iraq. We got rid of Saddam Hussein and the Taliban, and everything went to shit, we spent twenty years occupying Afghanistan with pretty much nothing to show for it. (The Taliban is back in control of Afghanistan.) Things were worse when we left than when we arrived. So this option is pretty much off the table (or should be).

Diplomatic pressure. Now, the thing is, they're a sovereign nation, they don't have to listen to us if they don't want to. We have a lot of things we can leverage--including financial aid--but the only way to force them to do what we want is to invade and conquer, and that only works temporarily. Since we can't force, we have to persuade. This requires us to maintain our existing relationship with the country in question, and possibly strengthen it, because that relationship is what we're leveraging to try and influence them to do what we want them to do. If we do not maintain our relationship, they have no reason to listen to us.

Cut ties and go home. Break off any existing relationship and support, loudly proclaim that they're awful and doing awful things and we wash our hands of the whole situation. This keeps our own hands lily-white and pure, but it also means we have zero leverage to work on any kind of a diplomatic solution. They have no reason to listen to us or care about what we think. We can pat ourselves on the back for doing the right thing, but we destroy our own ability to influence anything. Not just now, but also in the future. Let's say the current crisis ends, and then ten years later there's another crisis. If we want to have any effect then, we would have to start from square one to start building a relationship. Cutting ties would be great for making Americans feel better about ourselves, and there are times when it's the only option, but it should be a last resort. If there is any hope of being able to influence things for the better this will destroy it at least temporarily.

Cut ties and impose sanctions. Break off any existing relationship and support, loudly proclaim that they're awful and doing awful things, but also use the might of the American economy to isolate and punish them. We've done this a lot over the 20th Century, too, and it has never actually resulted in the country in question buckling down and toeing the line we want them to. What happens is the sanctioned country has an economic shock (how long it lasts and how bad it gets depends on a lot of factors) and then pulls themselves back together economically, except this time they're more self-sufficient and less reliant on international trade and financial networks. They tell themselves that America is evil and the cause of all their problems, and so not only do they not listen to us, they actively hate us. And they have fewer international relationships, so fewer reasons to care about what the international community thinks about them. So they're most likely to double down on whatever it is they're doing that we don't like. This one is completely counterproductive and utterly stupid. It's great for making Americans feel better about ourselves, but if we actually care about being able to use our influence for good (or, at least, to mitigate evil) this option shoots us in the foot. It encourages other nations to do the very thing we're trying to stop them from doing.

So, with those four options in mind, both option one (invasion/assassination) and option four (sanctions) are off the table for being immoral and counterproductive. That leaves "breaking our relationship and going home" and "using diplomatic pressure" as our only two viable options.

Biden has chosen option two, diplomatic pressure. Yes, he and our government have continued financial support for Israel ... but with strings attached. They have put limits on it that have never been put on any US foreign aid before. They have taken legal steps to lay the groundwork to target Israeli settlers (i.e. Israeli citizens who confiscate Palestinian homes and businesses). We've been hearing reports for months that Benjamin Netanyahu (Israeli Prime Minister, and a far-right-wing demagogue) hates Biden's guts, because Biden is pressuring him to stop the genocide and work towards peace. Biden is maintaining the relationship, and he's using that relationship to try and influence things to curb the violence and pave the way for a just peace settlement of some sort. Biden has also mentioned the possibility of a two state solution where Palestine becomes its own completely separate country. That's huge, because up until this point the US position has always been that Israel is the only possible legitimate nation in that territory. If Biden stopped US support for Israel, it wouldn't force Israel to stop what it's doing ... but it would let them ignore us. It would remove any leverage or influence we might have.

Biden's hands aren't clean. But the only way for them to be clean would be to also give up any chance of influencing the situation or working to protect Palestinians now or in the future. Only time will tell if it works, but I personally would rather have someone who tried and failed than someone who didn't even try. You might disagree about whether this is the right course of action, and there's a lot of room for honest disagreement about the issue (there's a lot of nuances that I'm glossing over or ignoring). But please do acknowledge that Biden isn't supporting Israel because he supports genocide; he's doing it so that he can continue to maintain diplomatic pressure on Israel to stop the violence.

Which brings us back to "aiding and abetting genocide." Trump is not like Biden. Trump is good friends with Netanyahu and backs Israel to the hilt. Trump thinks that all Arabs are terrorists (and all Muslims are terrorists) and genuinely believes the world would be a better place with them dead. Biden is continuing to support Israel, but using that support as influence to get them to stop or slow down. Trump would be using that influence to encourage them.

And those are the two choices. Someone who is trying to curb the genocide, and someone who actively supports it.

I really hope you can see the significant and substantial difference between those two positions.

But let's say that you're right and Biden's policy towards Israel and Palestine is every bit as bad as Trump's would be. If there was nothing to choose between them on foreign policy grounds, there would still be a shitton to choose between them on domestic policy grounds. You admit that the right wants to kill your friends, and yet you don't seem to think that stopping them from killing your friends might be a good thing to do.

"We can't save Palestinians, so we might as well let Republicans destroy the rights, lives, and futures of LGBTQ+ people, women, people of color, people with disabilities, poor people, non-Christians, and anyone else they don't like." "We can't save Palestinians, so why bother to try to save the people we might actually be able to save." "We can't save Palestinians right now, so there's no point in trying to build up a longer-term political bloc that might drag US politics to the left over the long run."

Do you get why there's a problem with that line of thought?

[babygirl-riley]

Hi I have a request so it’s like Simon and his wife arguing pretty badly like to the point where she’s shouting bare at him she’s on the verge of tears and while their arguing their new born cries so the reader goes upstairs to the crying baby once their baby is calm she doesn’t even go back downstairs to talk to him she just like stays in the baby room and goes on her social media to distract her self from Simon.

Hii so I have this written in my notes I always do that so I don’t forgot what I’m gonna ask and I hope this is what u meant tho cause im so slow it acc took me bare long to understand 😭

Quiet Home

You and Simon have been back to back arguments. Before you both could finish this one a loud cry interrupted the fight.

A/N: this is exactly what you asked for 😭 So embarrassing truly 💀 However this really tugged the heartstrings

“I want to be close to you, but I don't know what to do.'Cause if we are near to through, it may make it worse.”

Warnings: baby blues, depression, anger, arguments, fighting, yelling, screaming, baby crying, swearing, soft!simon, husband!simon, happy ending

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family

You were exhausted, you would clean, go get groceries, wake up every hour with the newborn, and everything in between. Usually you had Simon right beside you and help you with the smallest things. However, duty calls. Price promised Simon a couple months leave however, it was an emergency.

When Simon first brought it up, you knew he saw the rolling of the eyes but you brushed it off. Simon brought it up later and you just tried to push it away. Eventually it blew up. Things were said and yelled that weren’t meant to come out. Simon slept in a different room and he was gone for a couple of weeks.

You didn’t answer his calls but text him updates. It was petty but it’s a petty time. You were promised to have your husband here with both your child. Yet you are here almost falling asleep anytime it was early in the morning to feed the baby. You sat outside of the room of your baby as she bailed and bailed, being irritated and tired. Eventually you would go in sure but you were so scared that you would yell at her for being a baby.

After the couple of weeks you tried to brush it under the rug as you made Simon’s favorite dinner. Knowing he would be home. He text you stating that he will be home around 7 o clock and he was excited to see both you and the baby. 7 went to 8, 8 went to 9, 9 went to 10, 10 went to 11, and so on. The food went cold and baby was down. Especially you were tired.

You already put the food away and sat in the living room. You watched the clock before you angrily got up and started the bath. You needed to cool down. You heard the heavy footsteps heading down the hall. You rolled your eyes with the clock read 1 AM.

Simon noticed the light beaming through the room you both shared. Inhaling deeply he stepped in and rounding into the bathroom. You stood with a robe on and touching the warm water.

“S’rry ‘m late.” He said watching your movements.

“Okay.” You said not looking at him.

He frowned and shook his head. “I had a ton of paperwork and didn’t notice the time. Thought I had enough time.”

You didn’t say nothing as you went to the cabinet and pulled out your favorite salts for the bath. Simon watched as you poured them in and went back to put it away. “Y/n please.”

“Please what Simon? You were late. You weren’t here. Shit happens right? Emergencies happen. It’s whatever at this point.” You scoffed as you finally looked at him.

Simon noticed the anger in your eyes. He was upset that he left without resolving the last fight. He was upset that when he called you didn’t want to talk. He was upset he wasn’t home when he was supposed to be and not seeing his babygirl. He also noticed you are tired. Exhausted even. The bags. The purple shade underneath your eyes. “It’s my job you knew that when you signed up for it.”

You laughed and shook your head. “You don’t think I know that? Don’t you dare throw that in my face Simon. We were promised a break for our child yet he drags you back and you are willing to without a second glance.”

“Really? It goes back to me not carin’ about our family huh? That’s what you said before I left. You think I care more about my job than us.”

“Yes! Yes I do! I think that you are stuck in a loop without anyone but you! You are fine with just going instead of being here!” You yelled starting to walk out and brushing passed Simon.

“It’s my job! I have to go! I can’t leave my team behind!” He yelled back following you.

You scoffed as you ripped your robe off, ripping open your drawers. “Right but you can do it to us.” You mumbled pulling out sweats and a t-shirt.

“What’s that supp’se to mean?” He basically growled.

You snapped up and looked at him. “Ever since Millie was born it was like you have been gone. You will help yes but how long did that last before you skipped your happy ass to Price,” You yelled pulling the sweats up as you felt a sting of tears coming. You laughed as you heard nothing from him. “I have been doing this by myself with no help! Nothing Simon!”

“That’s not fair! How many times do I have to say it’s my fuckin’ job…”

“You have a job here!” You screamed as tears started to spill and right before anyone could say anything a wail broke through the air.

You both stood there for a minute before you raked your fingers through your hair. You wiped your eyes angrily. “Damn it,” You pulled your shirt on before walking out, grabbing your phone on the dresser. “I am sleeping in the other room.” You slammed the door shut before walking to the baby’s room.

You opened it as Millie screamed louder. You cried as you walked closer that turns to a sob. You didn’t know what to do. How to do it. You don’t know how to keep her asleep and fed and changed without being upset. You gripped the crib hard as you couldn’t move. You were tired and your baby needs you. “I’m sorry,” You cried as you picked her up and shushed her softly. “I know I know.”

You sat in the rocking chair as you let your baby fed. You scrolled on social media seeing all the happy couples. All what they are doing. All your friends looking like they don’t have problems. You missed Simon, not like he changed, just his touch, he soft voice when he whispers I love you. You missed his laugh when you both would have that marriage banter. You missed his tea.

You are afraid that maybe having a kid was a bad idea. That it ruined or tainted everything. You looked at your baby and inhaled. How could you think like that? What has she done to make you feel that way? It seemed like anytime Simon was around you were angry. Small arguments that turned into this. Your lip trembled and you held your baby closer to your chest. Tears prickling your eyes.

You threw your phone on the ground and sobbed. You were a monster. How could a mother think like that? Why would a wife yell at her husband for doing his job? You kept thinking about all the bad things that happened or been thought of that you didn’t notice that your baby was being scooped up.

When the cold air touched your skin, you opened your eyes panicked. You thought you dropped her as you looked down with tears blinding you before you felt a hand on your cheek. You snapped your eyes to see Simon, holding your baby girl close to his chest as she was asleep. “Baby,” He whispered concerned on his face. He was kneeling as he wiped tears after tears. “Come on let me put her to bed and let’s go talk please.”

“No,” You mumbled as you stood up. “I got her.”

Simon stood up and shook his head. “Please, you look tired.”

“I-I no she needs me.” You whispered but made no move to grab her.

“She has me too,” He said quietly. “Go to the kitchen please.”

You stared for a moment and looked at your baby. How small she was compared to him. How secure she looks when he was holding her. You nodded as you wiped more of the tears away. “Okay.”

Guilt pinged your chest as you glanced once to see him bouncing a bit as he slowly put her down. You walked into the kitchen and sat at the island as quiet tears slipped. You are tired you felt your body relax and felt heavy. “Baby,” You snapped your head up and saw Simon holding a kettle. “Do you want tea?”

You nodded once and looked away. It was quiet as he face the kettle waiting for it to go off. “I’m still mad at you.” You mumbled.

Simon nodded as he turned to lean against the counter. “Why is that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Simon you know why.”

Simon walked up and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Y/n I’m not doin’ it to hurt you two.”

You froze for a moment before looking away. Thoughts of how it could be different with him not having the damn job. However, he was right he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. “I told Price to call someone else but…he needed me for what I know.” You slowly looked at him as Simon looked the other direction. “I fought the old man about it for days. I didn’ say nothin’ cause I knew you would be upset. I didn’t notice that I was pushing you and our princess away. Just-just tried to figure out how to get out of it…I’m sorry.”

Now you felt even more bad. He tried to fight not to go and fought for the two of you. You inhaled but don’t exhaled afraid of sobbing once more. The moment Simon looked at you, you sobbed and hid your face with your hands. “I didn’t-I’m so sorry Simon.”

Simon walked around and shook his head as he turned the chair to gently pull you on for a hug. “Baby I should have said something and not fought it alone.”

You sobbed and sobbed as everything came down. “I’m so tired Si. I am tired of being awake so damn early. I am tired of cooking. I am tired of not being able to do anything. I am tired of fighting with you. I am sorry Simon. I should have been m-more understanding. You don’t deserve me. You don’t deserve to marry such a bitch. I have been so ru…”

He gently pushed you off to grab your wrists to show your face. Simon smiled softly before grabbing your chin with his thumb and finger. “I know. I know. You been overwhelmed with so much. We will figure it out yeah? It’s okay, we are fine. I married you for you even when it’s rocky. It won’t always be perfect.”

You calmed down a bit as you leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

The kettle goes off as Simon kissed your forehead to walk over. You sat still as Simon came around. “I will be here right now, try my best to help you my love.”

You looked up and saw him, his eyes glowing with love. You inhaled and nodded as he pulled you back into his chest. You snuggled in and felt warmth throughout your body. God no one deserves Simon Riley.

[tomriddleslove]

I’m here.

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Mattheo is spiralling and he needs a way out. He doesn’t expect to find it right in front of him. Alternatively: He doesn’t realise he is loved, by you.

A/N: Riddles 🤝 Internal Monologues. I’ve postponed a smut to write this because my heart belongs to angst. REQUESTS ARE OPEN 😻

Warning: Mentions of Abuse, Child abuse, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Family environments, Depression. This is quite a heavy read.

Mattheo liked to think of himself as an independent person. It wasn't of his own volition, of course. He didn't exactly have the most supportive home environment. From the day he turned up to Hogwarts after the summer holidays, with scuff marks on his shoes, ragged clothing, hunger gnawing at his insides like a ravenous beast and a bruise spattering the left side of his face, he learnt that the world would not show mercy on him. No, Mattheo had to do it on his own.

He did indeed feel grateful for his friends, who didn't need to utter a word in their support. It wasn't hums of sympathy or pitying looks. It was them brushing off his back when he fell, it was saving the work for him when he had rough evenings, it was pouring him a coffee when he sat down for breakfast without saying a word. Their friendship was not reflected in their words, no, for words were futile. It was in their actions. And Mattheo would be eternally grateful for them.

But even then, it was he who was surrounded by so many, who felt the most alone.

He couldn't ever speak of his issues, he didn't think he ever could. His friends loved him, but not in the way unconditional love came. It need not be romantic, no, Mattheo was not a fool. He didn't care for that when he could barely get himself together. But his deepest secret was not his family's past, nor was it the hidden bruises under his uniform.

Rather, it was that Mattheo simply, had the most terrible, incredibly human need, for love.

For the sort of love that would let you look at the most broken down, raw parts of a person, and still speak of them with reverence.

It tears at your skin. It digs its claws into your feeble skin, and it pulls, It tugs, and it screams. It bares its teeth, it etches its name into your soul. It feeds on you, it consumes you, it hurts you. It bleeds in front of you.

It bleeds, yet it does not cower under the weight of its own vulnerability, because it knows you love it. You lean down, and you cradle it as though it was the most delicate thing on earth. It shrieks in your arms, it continues clawing at you.

You hold it. You are not afraid.

It bleeds, and it makes you bleed with it.

It’s ok.

You'll clean it. You are not afraid.

It was, in its purest form, an ugly thing. Ugly, yet so undeniably beautiful. His heart could only ache, and clench at the thought of such an unconditional love. The idea that someone could see him for him, see Mattheo for Mattheo and not for his father, or for his friends, or for his loud, raucous persona that he put on, or his unhealthy habits.

But how could someone see Mattheo for himself, when he himself didn't know who he was?

He wondered what the rest of his life held for him, often. Sprawled out on his bed, a near-empty bottle of Odgens’ fire whiskey loosely clutched in his hands. His hands are cold; they never warmed.

He always had this feeling in his throat. A sort of suffocating weight, a pain that restricted him. It made it hard to swallow, and even harder to speak.

People would think he'd be out partying. Maybe getting with a girl. With his friends.

It's not that he didn't do that. He did. But it got to a point where the face of one girl blurred into another, he couldn't tell his mornings from evenings. Floating on a high that would sink into an undistinguishable low, one and the same.

He never slept. Whilst they didn't outwardly question it, his friends would jibe and jeer at him, assuming the bags under his eyes were due to his late-night rendezvous with another girl.

Would they look at him differently if they knew it came from nightmares?

He couldn't sleep, because every time he closes his eyes the depths of his mind torment him with images from his past.

His father’s hand comes down, cruel and unforgiving. The bruises mar his skin, but it became the norm. The purples and greens became akin to home more than anything else he had.

In his dreams, his legs do not reach as far as they do now. His calloused hands are smooth once more, and his eyes are wide and honest.

He is young once more, and it does not bring him ease.

He seeks out his mother, he yearns for comfort. She does not give it to him. He is met with the harsh sound of a slap resounding, and his cheek starts hurting. He's confused, and then-

Oh.

Right.

His eyes close, and they open again. He is now looking in the mirror, and he is back to the way he is now. He is standing there, and he cannot tell why he is. He looks the same, yet somehow unrecognisable. Mattheo knows himself well, but right now he feels as though there is a stranger in front of him. That can't be him, he thinks, but he has the same faded scar on his right eyebrow, and his jaw is clenched in the same way. His nose is slightly crooked from when he tried to mend his broken nose at the age of 8.

He meets his eyes in the mirror, and they stare back at him. There isn't that familiar gleam of exhaustion. There isn’t sadness, yet he isn't relieved to see it. He looks in the mirror, and he sees himself. He sees his father reflected in him.

He is watching, and a child approaches him. He is young, as Mattheo was. He barely manages to walk over without stumbling. He looks up at Mattheo - the one in the mirror. Mattheo looks down, but he does not see the kid next to him. He stares back at Mattheo in the mirror, and his reflection is looking down at the child. His stomach starts to hurt. His insides churn, and the reflection raises a hand. The child looks up at him, the same way Mattheo looked up at his mother. The hand comes down, and the harsh sound of a slap resounds throughout the room. The child cries. Mattheo's cheek hurts.

He wakes.

Gasping, sweat clinging to his forehead. His body is freezing, and his mind is reeling. His heart is pounding frantically, and he throws the blanket off him, rubbing a hand over his face as he groans.

He couldn't sleep, He was terrified of trying to do so. His eyes flicker over to the clock on his wall.

2:00 am.

Every time he shuts his eyes, he sees the child looking up at his reflection in the mirror. He sees his reflection raising its hand. In the silence, he hears the sound of the slap, he hears the cries of the child. It mingles with his own, he cannot not tell whose is whose.

He gets up, slipping his hoodie on. His movements are groggy because even if his mind couldn't sleep, his body still needed it.

Then again, one more night of resorting to drinking himself to sleep and he wouldn't be sure if he would wake again. His feet lead him to your room before his mind registers it. He doesn't know why he's standing outside your door, but you were his friend. Perhaps, a closer friend than the rest of them. He knew you'd be up, and he needed to not be alone right now.

Mattheo was a very independent person most of the time, but now was not one of those times.

That terrible, incredibly human need comes back again.

His hand rests on the doorknob, the cool metal still warmer than his own skin. He hesitates, but he pushes the door open.

Your door was always open for him.

As he expected, you were awake. Stretched out on your bed, propped up on a few cushions as you read a book. Your eyes flicker up as you look over at Mattheo, the confusion on your face very quickly fading as you see the state he's in.

You do not say anything, and he is grateful. You put your book to the side. You do not slide over to the side and offer Mattheo a spot next to you like you always do. You instead, continue looking over at him. Instead, you open your arms. You do not say anything, and you beckon him over.

He does not move immediately. He gazes at you for a second and once again, his feet move, and he gravitates towards you before his mind can even compute what he’s doing. The mattress squeaks slightly under your combined weight, as he comes over. He lowers down onto you, his head resting on your chest as he wraps his arms around your midsection. You cradle him as though he was the most delicate thing on earth. His cold skin meets yours, and its intransigence wavers.

He warms, and it is the most beautiful feeling.

He clings to you, as though trying to merge his existence with yours, afraid you'll slip away.

You hold him.

“I'm here,” You whisper.

It doesn't take long after that.

His head is hidden in your chest. Your fingers card through his brown curls.

You hold him.

He weeps.

You hold him.

You do not let go. He cries, and he cries till his throat is dry, and your shirt is soaked. He cries, and not once does your hold on him waver.

You are not disgusted by him. You do not look at him differently. It is amidst those tears that he comes to the realisation that he did not have to search very far. He is not just seeking comfort; he's holding onto the love and acceptance he's always craved. The raw, unfiltered emotion takes him by surprise, and he lets it wash over him. He did not cower under his own vulnerability any more, no, for his vulnerability is both liberating and overwhelming.

His sobs gradually subside, and your hold only loosens slightly when his body no longer shakes with the weight of his emotions. The feeling in his throat is gone.

He doesn't look up at you, but it's okay. You still look at him the same way. Your lips press a tender kiss against his messy hair lightly. His arms wrap around you tighter. You both remain silent. You don’t need to speak the words, because Mattheo knows.

Everything would be okay, if only for tonight.

[fairysongs]

౨ৎ coming home too late﹕spencer reid .ᐟ

summary: based entirely on the song, coming home by beabadoobee. pure fluff.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: soooo much fluff, spencer’s pov, spencer is in love with reader, reader is just as in love with him, very small mention of depression, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader loves to clean, established relationship, derek morgan is spencer and reader's #1 fan, did i mention spencer is in love?

word count: 1.7k

a/n: eeeek my second fic!! i got so happy writing this. maybe the most sickening sweet thing i ever did do. i love beabadoobee's music so much i kinda wanna write a million different things based on her songs. Anyways..!!! as always likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated :3

spencer reid had never felt more relieved to be sitting inside this jet than he was right now.

sure, he’s happy every single time his team is able to wrap up a case. he’s happy every single time they catch the bad guy. he’s happy every single time justice is brought to victims and their families. he’s happy every single time he gets to come home and see you. he’s happy every single time he notices the way your eyes light up when you see him walk through the door. he’s happy every single time you throw your arms around his neck and he gets to pick you up, inhaling your sweet scent as if he’d never be able to embrace you again.

but this time it was a little different. it was currently 6:54pm in california where the latest case was. meaning it was 9:54pm back home. it would take approximately five hours to fly home and another thirty minutes to drive to his apartment. meaning he wouldn’t step through his door until way after three in the morning and he knew you’d be sound asleep by then. and it was saturday, a day that never held much weight to him until he started living with you.

he found out that you grew up with a rather strict routine in your home. your parents deemed every saturday ‘cleaning day’. every saturday you did your weekly chores and that habit stuck with you as you moved on to live with college roommates, on your own and eventually with spencer.

he remembers when he first asked you to move in with him. you’d been dating for about a year and a half at that point. he brought it up in a rather nonchalant way and he was so thankful you were not a profiler and couldn’t tell how hard his heart was beating inside his chest as he started to ask.

“you know… you sleepover here a lot. i mean, you have your own drawer in my dresser, your own space in my closet…” he started one morning, sipping from his mug of sugary sweet coffee. “your skincare stuff in my bathroom, your special shampoos in my shower… your little treats stocked in my fridge…” his lips started twitching, trying to fight the stupid large smile that wanted to show on his face.

you hummed in response, your fingers tapping against your own mug that was full of tea. you hated coffee. when he learned that he bought a box of your favorite tea and kept it stocked in his kitchen. “are you… complaining?” you asked, voice sort of quiet with uncertainty.

he shook his head immediately, realizing he wasn’t being as straightforward as he assumed. “no!” his voice squeaked slightly, causing you to raise your eyebrows. “no… no, i was just… i mean, you spend so much time here and i really love it. i love you being here with me and i… if you wanted to move in i would… i mean, i want you to move in. if you want to. please.”

thankfully your heart was just as pretty as you were and you didn’t let him nervously ramble for too long. instead you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “relax. i’d love to, spencer. but i have to warn you, i’m quite a lot to deal with twenty-four seven…” he would just stare back at you, with nothing but love and admiration pouring from brown hues. he always thought you were so silly when you’d say things like that and he’d spend the rest of the morning telling you that while peppering sweet kisses to every inch of your skin.

he did learn very quickly just how serious you were about your routine. you woke up at six in the morning every saturday. you’d start in the bathroom, then make your way to the kitchen, then collect the dirty laundry from the week, then focus on organizing every little desk and shelf he had in his home. at first you wouldn’t let him help you, explaining that you didn’t want him to feel obligated in helping you with your own crazy little habit. he’d shake his head and just ask you what kind of laundry detergent you liked as he piled clothes into a basket.

“if you keep up with it weekly, then it won’t get out of hand and too big to fix.” you mumbled one time while scrubbing the dishes. “sometimes when the scaries got really bad, i used to forget to keep up with my cleaning. all the mess just made things more unbearable. keeping on top of it makes me feel more in control. even if the ‘cleaning’ one week is just refilling the toilet paper and doing one single load of laundry.”

he nodded his head in response, emptying the trash beneath the sink. spencer was nothing but soft with you, but even more so whenever you mentioned your struggles with depression or ‘the scaries’ as you called it. the two of you quickly fell into a habit every single saturday. you split the work load. you’d do the dishes, he’d carry the trash out, you’d fold the laundry, he’d vacuum the rug. he didn’t have to say it, you’d already know, but he enjoyed the structure of routine just as much as you did. the rest of your saturdays were spent on the sofa, your head in his lap while you forced him to watch your favorite childhood show. takeout food spread across the coffee table in front of you. there was so much comfort the two of you found in the domesticity of it all.

so, yes, he was a little bit upset he missed this saturday and was so ready to get home and pull you into his arms and never let go. he hadn’t noticed him spacing out, eyes focused on the same page of a book he was reading for five minutes, until he heard derek morgan’s voice.

“hey, loverboy!” spencer’s head snapped up, brows furrowing at the man giving him a cheeky smile. “you’ve been staring at that page for an eternity. what’s on your mind, huh?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

you met the whole team ages ago and every one of them adored you but derek especially admired the way you loved spencer. he’d never say it out loud, unless it was in a teasing way to get spencer to blush, but he genuinely believed you were an angel sent to the boy genius. derek noticed how blissful you made him, how gentle you were and how safe he felt with you. how could his heart not swell in appreciation for the love you gave to his brother?

“i missed cleaning day…” spencer spoke, brows pulling together slightly. there was a soft sigh that fell from his lips as he pulled his phone from his pocket. your last text saying you were gonna stay up and wait for him even though you both knew that you’d fall asleep the moment you got comfortable.

“okay… and is that a bad thing?” derek responded, leaning back into his seat with a slightly confused expression.

“well, yeah. she likes cleaning every saturday and we normally split the work between us. that way we have more time to spend together.” spencer huffed and tucked his phone away again. he closed the book he was reading. “it’s more than just the cleaning, derek. i hate being away from her, you know? we never know when we’re gonna get called away on a case like this and i like spending as much time as i can with her. and i hate coming home late. it makes me feel like i’ve missed so much.”

derek breathed out a laugh but nodded, understanding all too well what he meant. emily prentiss came around the corner, one hand holding a cup of coffee and the other resting gently on spencer’s shoulder. “spencer reid, you have become the most smitten, lovestruck man since you met that girl. and it’s the most adorable thing in the world.” everyone on the jet chuckled softly at that, even aaron hotchner, while he blushed and adverted his eye contact towards the shaded window. he knew they weren’t laughing at him, more so showing an expression of how happy they were that he was happy.

he stepped into the dimly lit living room of his apartment at exactly 3:26am. the tv glowed over your sleeping body on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around a stuffed red panda he gifted you a few birthdays ago. the netflix screen asking ‘are you still watching avatar: the last airbender?’ shined in his face as he leaned in to shut the machine off. he walked over to your sleepy state, a tiny smile growing on his lips as he leaned in to brush some of your hair from your face. he tucked one arm beneath your knees and held the other one to your arm as he carried you to the bedroom.

you stirred, humming softly as he quietly shushed you. “shh, hi baby. i’m home now. go back to bed, yeah?”

“how was the flight?” you asked in a soft whisper, ignoring his requests. he chuckled, shaking his head and he set you gently on the cushion of his mattress.

“it was fine. too long. i’m sorry i’m home late.” he was just as quiet as you, pulling the duvet over your body and tucking it at your shoulders. he picked up the stuffed animal that had fallen beside the bed and tucked it next to you as well.

“it’s okay. we always have tomorrow.” with your eyes still closed, you smiled as he kissed your forehead.

“yes, my love. we do, don’t we? i’m gonna get changed okay? go back to bed.”

“i’ll wait for you.”

when he was changed out of his work clothes and into his pajamas, he turned back and found you soundly asleep again. he let out a quiet laugh, got into bed and pulled you right to his chest. he played with your hair until he fell asleep too, no longer upset about the day he missed with you because you were right.

he always had tomorrow.

[imperialchem]

Finding the Best Oilfield Chemicals Manufacturer and Exporter in India: A Comprehensive Guide

If you're in the oil and gas industry, you know how crucial it is to use high-quality oilfield chemicals.  These chemicals help enhance the productivity and efficiency of your operations, ensuring that your business remains profitable.  However, finding the right Oilfield chemicals manufacturer and exporter in India can be a challenging task.  With so many companies to choose from, it's tough to know where to start.

In this blog, we'll provide you with a comprehensive guide to finding the best oilfield chemicals company in Vadodara, Gujarat.  We'll cover everything from the qualities to look for in a manufacturer to the benefits of working with a local supplier.

Qualities to Look for in an Oilfield Chemicals Manufacturer in India:

When searching for an oilfield chemicals manufacturer in India, there are several factors you should consider.  Here are a few qualities to look for in a reputable supplier:

Experience – Choose a company with extensive experience in the oil and gas industry.  This way, you can be confident that they have the knowledge and expertise to create high-quality chemicals that meet your specific needs.

Quality Assurance – The best oilfield chemicals companies in India have a robust quality assurance process in place to ensure that their products meet the highest standards.  Look for a company that follows strict quality control procedures, adheres to industry regulations, and has relevant certifications.

Product Range – Select a manufacturer with a broad range of oilfield chemicals to choose from.  This way, you can find all the chemicals you need in one place, saving you time and money.

Why Choose a Local Oilfield Chemicals Manufacturer in Vadodara, Gujarat.  While there are many oilfield chemicals manufacturers in India, working with a local company has several advantages, including:

Better Communication – When you work with a local oilfield chemicals manufacturer, you can communicate more effectively.  You can easily visit their facility, meet with their team, and discuss your requirements face-to-face.

Cost Savings – Local manufacturers can offer competitive prices because they don't have to factor in shipping costs or import taxes.  Additionally, they may offer discounts for bulk orders.

Faster Delivery – When you choose a local manufacturer, you can expect faster delivery times.  This way, you can receive your chemicals quickly, reducing downtime and increasing efficiency.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, finding the best oilfield chemicals manufacturer and exporter in India requires careful research and consideration.  Look for a company with extensive experience, a robust quality assurance process, and a broad product range.  Additionally, consider working with a local supplier in Vadodara, Gujarat, to benefit from better communication, cost savings, and faster delivery times.  By following these guidelines, you can find a reliable supplier that can help enhance the productivity and efficiency of your oil and gas operations.

[anakirui]

hot take ??

the only reason people say that "mafuyu and tsukasa have nothing in common" when presented with mafukasa parallels is because they equate mafuyu and tsukasa being similar to "tsukasa has depression" because the fandom equates mafuyu's personality to being depressed and nothing else.

it doesn't help that people (primarily younger people in the fandom) who DO believe in mafukasa parallels end up making the mistake of portraying tsukasa as depressed because as of right now he is not (although it's possible he was in past because of his Very Unclear Middle School Backstory but that's irrelevant)

anyways, mafuyu and tsukasa are narrative foils because their core personalities are built off of the concept of wanting to make the people around them— especially their families— happy.

they both developed personalities at a young age based on someone they looked up to. for tsukasa, it was seiichi amami's performance that inspired him to be a star— a hero that could cheer anyone up. for mafuyu, it was her mother taking care of her that inspired her to be a nurse— and you can see the similarities from there.

for mafuyu, her identity would first come into conflict when her mother expressed her want for mafuyu to be a doctor— suddenly, "everyone's" happiness didn't match what she wanted to do, leaving her in a state of disorder and eventual depression.

for tsukasa, his identity was something he nearly forgot in its entirety at the start of the main story— becoming arrogant and fully absorbed in a hero persona, forgetting the kind person he truly is. furthermore, his current character arc seems to be foreshadowing that what "being a star" to him is going to be called into question— maybe it is something more than just being the main character that saves everyone.

their insecurities are incredibly similar.

in mafuyu's first mixed, mafuyu feels insecure towards ichika because unlike ichika, she feels as if her lyrics have no genuine meaning to be expressed to other people— despite them being her very real feelings. this is brought up again in her second mixed as well.

in tsukasa's third focus event, something similar happens. when watching seiichi's performance, he thinks that his acting is "real" and feels inferior towards him, which is ironic because tsukasa has been method acting this whole time. when tsukasa is acting out rio or bartlett or really anyone at this point in the story, it's not just those characters— it's a reflection of his traumas.

just like mafuyu, tsukasa undermines his passions he's poured his feelings into because someone else's work is more genuine in his eyes.

now, then, foils have many similarities and parallels (and i could honestly list a lot more), but how i define them is that they usually have some kind of major branching difference that MAKES them foils.

for mafuyu and tsukasa it's pretty straightforward.

mafuyu's people pleasing behavior comes from external expectations and pressures— her mother's demands.

tsukasa's people pleasing behavior comes internally, from himself— if he can't meet his own standards, if he can't be the perfect big brother or the perfect star, then he is nothing.

and even then, there's some overlap.

tsukasa's behavior was indirectly encouraged by his mother praising him for being a "good big brother" over the phone instead of asking him if he was okay while home alone.

mafuyu's terrified to be herself around other people because she doesn't want to worry or bother them— she doesn't want to be a burden— and projects her mother's expectations onto them, not realizing that they would prefer the real mafuyu if they knew the truth.

and the concept of mafukasa being foils is most perfectly and blatantly portrayed in these two cards.

mafuyu, the marionette, sitting limp on the floor— puppeteered by her mother's demands and donning a mask to hide her true self.

tsukasa, the jester, standing above everything else— puppeteering silenced plushies— his feelings. he's not being completely honest with himself, and he doesn't even realize it.

mafuyu has cut her strings and ripped her mask in half. she has acknowledged her true feelings and expressed them to her mother, even if she had to run away in the end.

tsukasa has not yet cut his.

[chlmtsdoll]

I’VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF…

౨ৎ Pairing: Art Donaldson/Tashi Duncan x female reader, Art Donaldson x reader, Art x Tashi

౨ৎ Summary: after being dismissed from your ballet academy and your dreams of being a dancer come crashing down, you decide to take on a new accomplishment — becoming a tennis protege to Tashi and Art.

౨ৎ Word count: 2.4k

౨ৎ Warnings: no use of y/n, inexperienced!reader, age gap (reader in early 20’s) dilf/milf age Art & Tashi, talk of oral (F reviving), fingering, size kink ? corruption (ish), mention of masterbation, brief mention of ED, pinning Art, needy reader, I have literally 0 knowledge of sports//tennis so if everything is inaccurate I’m sorry. I’m simply just a romantic smut addict who loves these characters 🤍

౨ৎ part two | three | four

You wouldn’t have wished that full body shock sensation of that day on your worst enemy. Never in a million years would you think all that discipline, bloody feet and overextension on your body to the point of black outs and collapse would have lead to that moment — the day you got dismissed from your ballet academy.

It had been your dream since a little girl to form a stable career as a traveling ballerina. To dance on European stages and tour around different countries doing what you loved. What set your heart on fire. But when you started to grow out of your bodies potential form, now in your early twenties, the instructors had to make the final decision to cut you from your class. You could no longer dance.

No one told you that after you turned around seventeen you’d no longer be the ‘correct’ body shape to be a ballerina. Not any doctors, not your parents — it was all fine up until your twenty first birthday. But even after you got the news that you were entering a red zone, you starved, and you looked into surgeons that would make you look like the ideal ballerina, but nothing was up to the terms of the academies you had qualified for.

The depression of your once life long dream had taken a complete toll over you for a year until you had to pick yourself up again.

Somewhere at least

You tried out other hobbies that took just your hands, baking, sewing, painting. But none of it made your soul feel like it had a real purpose. You needed to compete — you needed to move, your feet needed to glide quickly but delicately all at once. You needed that power and center of stage. You wanted all eyes on you while you made your body flex with determination and a fire light in your eyes.

And that’s when you started searching for tennis coaches.

You figured with your years worth of forming around good discipline and structure in ballet, tennis was a close second to the kind of agility you needed as an athlete of some sort, you knew you were no pro. Nor maybe ever going to be. But you had to do this, it was now tennis or nothing — and you were too young and too ambitious to give up just yet.

So you found them. Her first. Tashi Donaldson.

You knew of her, being in this Industry especially with being around so many wealthier kinds of sports enthusiasts, her name was gonna come around sometimes — and her husband of course plenty, Art Donaldson.

With some friends of friends, and many emails and more emails you were able to officially meet them after a couple days of searching and applying for tennis coaching nonstop. And when that day finally came, If it weren’t for their outshining talent at what they do for the tennis world, you would of figured they were models or at least assumed they should be.

They were both beautiful in an otherworldly sense — jaws that to you could cut like knives and bodies of literal gods.

You were shorter, and more petite as most ballerinas were, so when Tashi towered over you your first meet, all the confidence and sophistication you had previously practiced for this exact moment before hand, dissolved almost immediately — you were so intimidated by the powerful essence that poured off of her, the way her short waves flowed when she turned and her shirt dresses were left unbuttoned at just the perfect degree. Not too much on display, but just the right amount of cleavage and skin showing to leave her inferior curious for more, yearning for that bit of softness to Tashi that was merely her skin.

Speaking of softness, Art on the other hand had total power to his presence, with his name in grand letters everywhere. A full Olympic gold medalist tennis superstar. You’d think it all would go to his head, but that day you first shook hands with the mesmerizing man, you felt only warmth as he took your delicate into his bigger yet soft hands. You were left to find nothing but gentle kindness behind his eyes — you even noticed a bit of brown in his perfect blue irises.

And from that moment you had already known you’d become completely and utterly obsessed with him.

Yet that was six months ago now. Quickly you moved from your once apartment in New York City that you referred to as your ‘struggling ballerina habitat’ to the Donaldson estate — it was best you’d be as hands on with your tennis as possible, according to Tashi. But nothing could of prepared you for as hands on as it would get.

It had been two weeks into your training that the couple had come to you with a proposal. Art and Tashi would make a deal, that you’d be their play thing. But mainly for Art. His wife stated it would help up his game if he had something young, girlish and sweet to distract him in the meanwhile when he got too caught up in 40 loves, and wanting to do justice to Tashi’s failed tennis career. Sometimes it got all too much, and by that, most of the time. He needed you.

And how did you need him.

Within the first month you and Art had gotten feverishly close. With all the admiring you did of him and how he came to have the sports world in the palm of his hand, his rise to fame and all the while having a wife and daughter. Your smiles and soft blushes when he caressed your cheek — how you poked fun at him for not understanding your pop culture references or slang. It all gave him a nolstagia for his youth that made his heart pump a little faster and his racket hit a little harder on the court.

He was so so beyond sweet with you, helping you with your back hands, his fingers drifting your frame from behind as he positioned your body to his liking, and his grins when your mini tennis skirts (that Tashi ordered you to wear) would rise against his clothed thigh to only reveal the bit of lace panties you had on underneath.

With all the overwhelming feelings you didn’t deny the pleasure of touching yourself at night to the thought of his short strawberry blonde waves between your fingers as his lips made out with your pussy for hours. His tongue making you let out unimaginable noises to then kiss the taste of yourself off his lips.

So you couldn’t have been more down when Tashi made you sign for your little agreement.

You didn’t care if you were nothing but a fuck to get Art’s name permanently on the forums of different Tennis courts across the country. You’d do anything for just a glimpse of him. It was all you had really. Anything for Tashi to say you did well.

Anything for them.

It all had been in return of a place for you to stay as well. With your background coming from being a young ballerina from a big city — you hardly got paid anything manageable in the slightest. So it was nothing for Tashi and Art to shower you in their riches — the best maids, cooks, dietary plans, luxury hotels with new designer sports attire waiting for your arrival on top of your own beautifully decorated room in their home and a promised bright career ahead of you.

You’d just never bother to complain for also getting to receive the kind of affection and intimacy from the two who just needed a little bit of something. You, to make them feel alive again.

Now, you were settled into your silk pajama set that was personally picked out for you by Tashi, in a dusty pink rose color — the color she kept her nails because she mentioned it drove Art crazy. Giggles and soft laughter could be heard from the grand living room as you sat across from Art before bed. Watching his grin behind folded knuckles to his face, you bit your lip softly. “I haven’t been able to do it again since.”

“You can. And you will, you just need a little motivation.” you tittered softly with a smile. Taking in the sight of the man sitting so close yet too far from you.

You two had been watching highlights of some of Arts best matches from over the years.

You loved this. Sitting and listening to him talk about his career for however long he wanted, asking questions about how it felt to be so good at a craft — it made him feel assured telling you, teaching you. His confidence raised by the easy flow of conversation you had to offer. Because that’s what you were for, keeping him in that space of authority to at least something in his life and an escape from the tough business world that had broken down a man like him too many times before. So if you were keeping him up, Tashi was keeping you in.

Motivation

You could practically hear Art murmur the word to himself in his head and he looked at you with a sly grin on his face to which you only blushed and inched closer to his presence just a few pillows away from you.

“Yeah ? You gonna serve just like I showed you on the court tomorrow, ballerina ?”

Your lips immediately perked into a silly wide smile and you giggled like a school girl at the former accusation that was now Arts little nickname for you. Your chin resting in the crease of your elbow shyly as you nodded.

“It’ll be perfect. I promise.”

Art leaned in to leave a soft and delicately placed kiss to your neck. You shivered at the sweet somberness between the two of you, eyes almost fluttering closed as time stopped for a moment — but it was all cut short when Tashi came in from tucking Lily to bed. A demeanor on her face and body language like something had been not so lovely with her at that moment.

In her pajama slip, she had grabbed the remote from the table in front of the two of you and turned the tv off.

“Say goodnight.” She spoke with a soft assertiveness and Art had stood, he left a quick kiss to your cheek that didn’t leave you satisfied but wanting to whine his name to stay. Just for a little longer. But instead you let out a quite “night” as he made his way to Tashi.

Their lips pressed in a deep and slower smooch, you watched as some saliva collected in your mouth and you swallowed almost a little too loudly.

The way Art had softened into her made your stomach churn with want. Tashi had a gentle hand to his cheek as he pecked her one last time before disappearing through the hallway and you stood as well. Tashi’s eyes were locked on yours, and something gave you the notion that you weren’t allowed to leave just yet.

It had gone quite for a second as she focused on you, and you wanted to start picking your nails right there.

“I don’t like to end the night unsure, so do you want to tell me why you were slacking off on the court today ?”

Her words were crisp and landed on you like a paper cut you hadn’t seen coming. Your throat already tightening. You knew the chances of this night ending with her giving you that same kind of kiss she gave Art, was now looking too slim. And you feared for everything.

“I-I just haven’t been feeling too good on my feet lately,” your words already weakening under the woman’s gaze. “I’ve been trying to keep my lounges quick, steady, but the arch is hard to get rid of after-“

“Look. And listen to me.” Your eyes shot up from your feet as Tashi cut you and she began, “You’re not dancing in a recital and you’re not a fucking ballerina.”

She scorned you cold and straight forward. You immediately felt merely pushed back by force at her words.

“I don’t care if you’ll need to spend extra time with your physical therapist, I want you on your feet completely and ready to go tomorrow. This is tennis. That’s your life now, so start playing it because I don’t care for wasting my time, Understood ?”

Tashi knew how the ballerina facade went — the presenting as sweet, innocent, as fragile as a tea cup to the world, yet being built up to be an absolute machine. Being able to withstand even the harshest of hits to the ground or the lashing out of choreographers and instructors till gods end. It’s why she was never soft with you when it came to tennis, just like she wasn’t with Art.

You had nodded rather quickly and you were not going to let the readied tears resting on your ducts fall. You were gonna take the taunt like a big girl and get it together — because the truth is, you had been distracted during practice today.

But not by your poor aching feet, but by the way Art watched your perfectly toned legs as you leaped and glided across that court like some well, ballerina.

How when just the sight of your hair braided in two knots with ribbons on the end just became all too much for him to bare. He pulled you aside, the chill down your spine was maddening as he whispered in your ear the kinds of things you did to him. The way you made him feel. The things you made him want to do to with your little body.

His tender and wondrous fingers had ended up clean beneath your skirt without hesitation. Brushing against the lining of your panties and you were up against Gatorade bottles and protein mix before you could form a real thought. He leaned into you, standing tall there above you. Having to raise to the tips of your toes for him to tuck his fingers were you needed him most. You could see the rare excitement of dominance take over a darker tone in his eyes as his fingers sold into your sweet aching cunt, too tight for more than a finger.

The pulse of your heat and the beat of your heart racing at an embarrassing rate. His strawberry blonde locks brushed your desperate expression with eas that you’d fall apart in his arms at any moment knowing how fragile a young thing like you had been when it was just the two of you and your defenses were at their weakest. “Mmh, Art.” You breathed out in a whine, grabbing his muscular arm rather quickly as you nearly lost balance.

“Say it. Tell me you weren’t thinking about anything other than my hand up your skirt on that court.” He slowed into your ear and you whimpered softly as another finger, long and coated with your wetness entered you at once. “I see right through you. The thoughts that wind up in that innocent little head. So desperate. So willing to give up your cunt to me…. Or Tashi.”

Playing shy and dumb up front, though he had been right.

You would bend over and take the moment they said — You had to fight back strangled moans as you felt yourself being stretched by just his two fingers. It was known to both him and Tashi that you were untouched. With strict ballet schedules, school, and endless nights staying up till two am doing chassé after chassé till your toes were sore, you hardly ever had the time for pleasure. It had been anything if kept hidden and burried deep for a ballerina of your training to be caught up exploring her sexual desires — so as of current Art still hadn’t taken you there fully. But warming you up easily with his glorious mouth and apposing fingers inside of you would start you off heavenly.

“Need it… n-need you.” you huffed as Arts hand slipped under your sports bra to squeeze your breast, quick to rub your sensitive bud under his touch as his lips passed yours. His fingers working at a rough pace at this point that you felt your stomach tighten and he reached a spot you didn’t even know had existed. A high pitched groan had left your lips and he locked with yours to keep you fairly quiet. Then just as you would feel that gracious rush of relief soon to be yours, hitting you like a flow off a mountain — that sly smile of mischief had grown on Arts lips, before pulling his hand out from your skirt, and pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“Alright.. good to know.” Is all he uttered before walking away. Walking back out on that court and leaving you there, practically soaked and needing more.

Fuck

You’ve never found yourself so sexually frustrated that it was a different kind of rush you weren’t exactly prepared for. You knew Tashi was the one who loved a good game, and Art came off so easy going to the get up, not needing much for the win — till it was time to touch you or Tashi. Then it had just been all game. All teasing. All begging for more. He craved it, lived for it.

“I asked if you understood.” Tashi’s voice had you coming back to your senses and into the present. Standing in front of the woman already bored of the entire conversation.

You did know that her taking you in at all even with your background being in a completely different kind of wave from her world, was a huge risk to her career and her name. You really were almost too fucking lucky enough to be standing in the home of star athletes like she and Art. To be more intertwined with them than anyone out there. Skin to skin and an intimacy that was almost spiritual.

So with that knowledge, you truly didn’t see it being beneath Tashi to send you back right where you came from. To which that made a burn in your chest.

You couldn’t lose what you had worked so hard for, you couldn’t lose her attention and so much care even if seemed distant. You couldn’t lose Art, not when you were this close to being finally one with him this time. They believed in you enough, and they’d know when you were ready. It’s not like you had any direction before you were chosen by them anyways.

Tashi was completely right, you were no longer just some ballerina trying to make it. You were gonna be theirs to keep — they were gonna love you, and everything you did, every step and hit on that court till it hurt. You were gonna make them proud. You were going to play some good fucking tennis.

You had looked up at Tashi, doe eyed yet tired with a nod, “I understand. Completely.”

A/N: this is the first time I haven’t done full on p in v smut since I wanted to keep it short and sweet bc I plan on turning this fic into a series hopefully :) I rly loved this idea and thought it was a unique spin on the challengers uv — also want to bring in some Patrick action asp so lmk what you think or where it can go from here !! I love feedback it’s sooo appreciated <3 xoxo

[tetsuskei]

belonging - portgas d. ace [nsfw]

synopsis: it’s never the best time when it’s his birthday, but luckily he has you to show him differently

notes: two days late, but this is the bday fic dedicated to my soul, my luvr boy. poured so much into this that it kinda doesn’t make sense but we will roll with it <3 kicking off the year with him and wouldn’t have it any other way !

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, self doubt, depression (ace has some dark thoughts), anxiety, praise, nipple biting and sucking, body worship, barely edited so probably lots of typos, reader has fem body parts

ace always assumed that ‘falling in love’ was something that happened to other people, not to him.

his entire life had been a series of doubts and questions to himself. doubts about if he deserved the good things that came to him and the people who entered his life.

but gone were the days where ace let out all his anger towards anyone and everyone in the world. if you could ask anyone about him now, they would have only amazing things to say about him. many see him as a brilliant leader, one not to be meddled with. his brothers admire his never ending strength and courage. his spirit was always there to uplift others.

so who would be there to lift him up?

only you have seen who he is once broken down. once he’s out of the public eye, and behind closed doors, he’s a much more sombre person. he’s clingy, and soft. sad, and vulnerable.

it’s not a surprise to you that he struggles with his mind sometimes. that there are days where he may spend too much time in his head, fighting off demons.

“what am i doing here?” he asked one time. it wasn’t a question directed towards you, and from the empty look in his dark brown eyes, you could tell he was having trouble answering himself.

having the blood of a devil circulating in his veins is a double edged sword. he always told himself to not let where he came from hold him back. that mentality had gotten him this far, after all. it became a driving point for him.

but after quickly rising up in ranks and making a name for himself just like so, his mindset started to change. he began to not really know what he was after. yes, he wants to be more famous than his father, but so what? what would come next?

he focused on a much simpler task. he wanted to live each day without regrets.

many considered ace like the sun. he shined so brightly on his own (literally and figuratively), but in a way, it was a curse. he shined so brightly that if anyone came too close to him, he would burn them. they’d scorch up in flames within an instant.

but you were different. despite how brightly he shone, you didn’t let that stop you. it scared him, to say the least. the only people who he was comfortable being vulnerable with in his feelings were his brothers, and yamato being another person. now you were the fourth.

you had picked and pried at him in a way no one ever had before. getting scorched (literally and figuratively) in the process. you showed him kindness and affection that he only saw in the pages of fairytales.

he knew very little about gentleness. but it didn’t mean it was impossible. the feeling of your finger tips running over his bare skin is enough to soothe him. it makes him feel like he is at home and belongs. and in return, he wanted to give you that same feeling.

he wanted to live, and always come back to you.

ace always seemed more tense around this time of year. a little more gruff, and on edge. but not in a way that makes him dangerous. or, at least to you. he just seemed a lot quieter, and more consumed in his thoughts.

his birthday, as it turned out, had always been a sore subject amongst the whitebeard pirates. no one ever pried too much into his past. even after he told you and several others of his father, of his mother, no one wanted to push him to speak more about it.

you don’t make the most grand gesture out of his birthday, only requesting help from thatch to make a grand spread of all his favorite foods, and small decorated cake.

“i’m not going to ask anything of you, but only for you to have a good time. no sulking, kay?” you told him that morning.

when finally getting time alone with your boyfriend that evening, you sat with him, holding him in your arms as the two of you watched the stars.

ace loved when you talked about the stars to him. you told him once that the constellations that sit in the sky are the same ones projected onto his face in the form of freckles. he thought it was the most ridiculous thing ever, until you said one thing.

“the stories written up in the stars are no different from the ones that live in your eyes.”

his eyes always told you what he was thinking. after all, you read him so well. you long since noticed the troubled look on his face, but remained impassive as you know he’ll come to you when he’s ready to talk. for right now, having you as his support is the best thing you could give him.

eventually, he told you that he ‘just wanted to forget about things’ and while you understood what he meant without a full explanation, you wanted to make it known how thankful you are that he’s here. that he was born. that he’s a gifted presence in your life—and so many other people’s.

one thing led to another—shared kisses and words of declarations as you shedded each others clothes off.

right now ace lays under you, a complete mess as you ride his cock. his hat was on your head at first, but now it lays somewhere on the ground.

“ahh~ fuck!” a pretty gasp leaves his rose colored lips, his eyes glazed over with tears. his adrenaline has his blood pumping like crazy, and his cock is of course no expectation to that rule. he’s twitching erratically inside of you, more than likely leaking heavily as he holds back his orgasm. his chest feels tight from how much your cunt is gripping him. it’s like you’re sucking the life out of him.

funnily enough, he’s already cum once, but his stamina, is unlimited. he’d be able to go for hours on end. that doesn’t deter you from your goal of completely fucking him stupid.

ace thinks you look beautiful above him the way that you do. like an angel that descended from the heavens. he doesn’t think he believes in any gods, but he knows surely you were sent by some celestial being to be the best gift he’s ever had in his life.

“you’re doing so good for me, ace.” you hum, leaning over his muscular form to kiss the shell of his ear. he keens when your lips then meet the sensitive juncture of his jaw and neck. your tongue swipes up any access sweat and you hum, cheekily biting him. “taste so good, too.”

his whole body is boiling to the touch, to say the least. black, greasy hair matted to his forehead. his brown eyes are blown out in pleasure, and he thinks he’s dying.

it shouldn’t be possible that he feels this good.

“don’t say that.” he grumbles shyly, hiding his face behind his hand. you pin it down to the bed, eyes glaring down at him.

“it’s true, though.” you argue, “and you feel so good too. always fill me up so well.” you moan, letting your head fall back as you grind down on him, pleasure crawling up your spine as his cock rides up against your cervix, kissing your gummy walls lovely.

“if you keep talkin’ like that i’m gonna cum again…” he warns, whining slightly.

you grin, “that’s the plan.”

ace groans, letting his head fall back on the pillows, “jesus christ, woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

you laugh, “i would say death do us part, but i’d like to think we’d follow each other into the afterlife. i feel like that’s the true meaning of a soulmate.”

ace can’t help the tears that permeate at his ducts when he feels overwhelmed with love by you and for you.

“well, i hope that if we’re reborn, we find each other in the next life.” he says breathlessly.

you hum, smiling, “of course we will.”

he’s silent before his hands guide your hips, helping you bounce on him. there’s a deafening squelching sound from the combined slick and it drives both of you crazy.

“you’re so pretty, ace.” you say, kissing the freckles on his face.

he frowns, glaring at you, “the correct term is handsome or sexy. men aren’t ‘posed to be ‘cute’.” there’s a pout on his face and it only adds on to your statement.

you laugh, “sure, baby. whatever you want.”

“‘whatever’ my ass,” he says crudely, “why don’t you make yourself useful and cum on me?” he isn’t asking though, and brings his thumb to your clit.

a sharp breath of air escapes you as you realize how much your impending orgasm is creeping up on you.

“wait…” you start, hand reaching out to stop his own.

he swats its away. “you said to make sure i’m having a good time, and this is helping.” he smirks, “no ‘sulking’, remember?”

you don’t have time to answer when your boyfriend leans over you, taking one of your breasts in his mouth to suck.

a loud moan escapes you once a euphoric pleasure washes over you. you quickly seize up before you realize your cumming hard on him.

ace grunts, closing his eyes once he feels you milking him. you’re a walking sin, and the grievance between your legs would be his downfall.

he hooks his hands under your legs before flipping you over to lay you on your back.

“a-ace…” you stutter, looking up in shock at how much his energy has suddenly changed.

“my pretty girl.” he smiles, kissing your nose, cheeks, and finally your lips. “just relax.”

his hips began to steadily rock into you as he takes over the pace, his hefty balls slapping loudly against your ass.

still sensitive, you twitch and jerk under his grasp, feeling helpless and near limp as he rails you.

“nothing ‘cute’ about the way i’m fuckin’ you, now is there?” he grins, hand titling your jaw to the side before proceeding to suck marks into your delicate skin.

a keen slips from your mouth and you try to catch your breath, “o-okay, you proved a point.”

“damn straight.” he moves both of his hands downwards, holding onto your thighs before moving your legs over his shoulders.

the new angle feels as if the wind is knocked out of you. with the way he’s looking at you adoringly, and damn near shattering your pelvis you might as well be conflicted on if he loves or loathes you.

“always feel so fucking good. wish i could stay in you forever.” he moans, biting his lip. “so perfect like this. i’m so lucky.”

you gasp, your toes curling at the way his tip drags itself seamless over your insides. your eyes threaten to roll back but you fight it, seeing how ethereal your boyfriend looks when he’s feral.

he’s never been the best with words, but with the way he takes care of you, especially in the moment you share right now, you can feel the essence of his love. the way his hand reaches grips yours to kiss your knuckles.

“thank you…for always loving me.” he pants, “and for showing me things in life i never thought i’d be able to see.”

“thought i told you to stop thanking me.” you hit him on the head. you pull on his hair but he only groans, cock twitching.

ace pulls back from your neck, “i’m serious, i…i’ve never been this happy before.”

you only smile at him before grabbing his face with both of your hands, kissing him long and passionately.

he ruts into you, chasing his release. his vision is nearly spotting with how sensitive his nerves are, but his body has a mind of its own as it craves endless pleasure.

“s-shit! i’m gonna cum!”

shamelessly, you lock your legs around him, pulling him in closer wordlessly.

he laughs, sweat trickling down his brow, “ah~ you want it again, yeah? can’t get enough of my cum, can you?”

“always need to be filled by you, ace.” you moan, nails clawing helplessly at his back.

you lean forward before your teeth gently sink into a pert nipple, making him shout and swear as his orgasm is triggered.

and as he spills into you again for the second time that evening, you find yourself following him in suspension of death.

ace lays his weight on you, not crushing you, but knowing him and his narcolepsy, he just damn near will in a second.

you use all your strength to turn both of you over, and he grunts. if it was wet before between the two of you, it’s soaking now as his cum trickles down your legs.

“you’re wastin’ it…” he grumbles, holding your hips tight.

“not my fault you’re a human cum geyser.” you retort. “now let me get up.”

he pouts, “just…stay like this for awhile?”

“fine, but you’re cleaning me up.” you warn. “happy birthday, you animal.”

a sleepy grin appears on his face as he kisses the top of your head. “yeah, i love you too.”

and so maybe after all, he could learn a lot more about what life has to offer, especially if that means you’d be by his side. there’s nothing he truly wouldn’t fear anymore. not in life or in death.

[utterlyotterlyx]

Darkest Hour

For the ones who dream of being the only choice x

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Even if hating him is the answer to your problems, your Shadowsinger will always love you.

Warnings - mentions of torture, wing loss, angst, self hatred, depression, heart breaking fluff

The chill of the Night Court breeze drifted across your face, swirls of it scuttering across you bare, scarred back, soothing that roaring hot ache that rippled through your shoulderblades.

It was strange, to feel everything but nothing at all.

Chapped lips and a raw throat encased your rage, the rage that made you shake, the rage that made you tremble and turn cold and sour.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

Your wings. Your beautiful midnight blue wings with trunks of black membrane had been carved from your body, the last test to see if you'd break, to see if you'd give in to Beron's demands of information about Nyx, about Feyre, about the Made Archeron sisters. You gave them nothing, but it had cost you too much.

Only Rhys knew what had happened to you in that chamber after diving into your unconscious mind, even then the flashes of memory were too sickening to share, to the point that even he had gone pale, had gone so far to empty the contents of his stomach in the nearest empty vase.

He adored you. They all did. A little sister of the Inner Circle, so pure and full of light, a never-ending smile, a kindness no one would dare to taint. You were like a breath of balanced air, full of life and teeming with outspoken serenity. You were the safe place, the shoulder to cry on, the daybreak at the end of the storm.

Now, now you were nothing but an empty vessel.

It broke them to see you so pale, so lifeless, staring out of the window with bleak colourless eyes whilst you lay on you front to avoid irritating the still healing scars on your back. They shouldn't have sent you, they shouldn't let you go alone. They knew that Beron thought you were a monstrosity, they knew it and they let you walk into the Autumn Court unaccompanied regardless of their knowledge.

They had failed you.

Words hadn't left your lips. No food had been eaten, even those cakes you loved so much from the bakery went stale on your bedside table. All you did was stare out of that slightly ajar window, whimpering softly when someone tried to close it to keep any form of warmth within you.

Azriel was beside himself. Mirroring you, he hadn't eaten, he didn't sleep; all he did was drown himself in the deserved self loathing that came with the guilt of not being able to find you sooner, to save you from what you were feeling. Large bags of purple and onyx clung to the sunken skin beneath his eyes, he wasn't sure if you felt his presence in the room with you, but all he could do was watch as you slowly stretched your fingertips toward the window with a flash of longing in your eyes.

Then the monster within you had prowled out of its cage, and you turned cold and distant, only allowing Mor and Mor alone to tend to you, but even then you said little if anything at all and barely left the ice cold confinements of your room.

Everything hurt.

Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Thinking hurt.

You didn't want to do it anymore.

Then, you broke.

The floor was freezing beneath your feet as you placed them onto the wood for what felt like the first time in months, you shakily stood, using one of the pillars of your bed to help you. It was so dark in there bar the slits of moonlight that kissed the ground at your feet, the stars shone brighter as you shuffled along the ground, you loose nightgown swaying with every step.

You had lost weight, you'd felt it drop from your body, and that wasn't just the weight of your former wings. It was you, slowly decaying before your own eyes with no willingness to stop it.

Warmth whooshed into the room once you opened the door, warm light pouring in from the hallway, and the sound of faint laughter drifted up the stairs. Silently, you moved further toward it, not making a single sound as you descended the winding staircase, halting a few steps from the bottom and watching their warm smiles and gentle laugher pool at the centre of their collective consciousness.

They looked happy. Happy.

Azriel felt you first, his head snapping to the right so abruptly that everyone else's followed. The room turned cold and you shuddered and the sudden change, and Azriel wanted nothing more than to go to you. Pale skin and lips greeted them, black-grey veins of exhaustion tugged at your eyes and cheeks, your chest struggled to heave in a breath, and you looked at them with such despair, such hatred, that he had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling.

You huffed out an incredulous breath, almost a scoff, "Enjoying yourselves?"

Rhys tentatively rose to his feet, sensing the conflicting emotions within you, sensing the kettle boiling over into searing hot anger, "Y/N," you saw his flattened hand in the air, he used it when he wanted to calm down a hostile situation, he was using it on you.

"Don't say that name," you had snarled, "I stopped being her the moment I lost them," you felt unworthy, you felt ashamed, "I protected you," your eyes darted to Rhys, then to Feyre, to Nesta and Elain, "I didn't give them a single thing and I'm the one who lost everything. For you. I wish I had given one of you over to him, I wish that I didn't have to give the only thing I had to protect people who wouldn't protect me," you were panting, you hands reaching over your shoulder and ghosting at the tips of the gruesome crescent shaped scars embedded into your shoulders.

A gentle tug pulled your attention away from them, they had all risen to their feet, looking at you with alarm and eyes laced with pity, and guilt. So much guilt. You attention shifted to your feet, to the little winged child that stood there, his bright eyes staring up at you with a tsunami of love, his tiny hand grabbing for you, and you indulged him, letting him take your finger in his hand and send warmth flowing up your arm.

Azriel swore he could see some of the colour return to your skin.

Azriel watched as that one touch broke you, you screwed your eyes shut and tears escaped from them, flowing down your cheeks as sobs stung at your chest, he wasn't sure if you could handle the pressure of them.

The night you were due to return was the supposed to be the night that Azriel told you that he was your mate, after 400 years of loving you and 60 years after the bond had snapped for him. He'd been so nervous to the point he'd enlisted Cassian and Elain to help him plan some elaborate evening for you. A hot bath with the lavender soak you loved so much, brand new books he had convinced the author to release early for you, your favourite chocolates, a bottle of your favourite wine, and a letter from him confessing his love for you. He knew how much you cherished letters. You'd kept every letter from all of them in the 400 years they had known you and loved you, they lay sleeping in boxes under your bed.

It hadn't snapped for you yet but you had unleashed all of your pain down the bond, not even searching for him, but feeling too much of the all-consuming pain that your soul was screaming for a moment of light. Just a minute of something else other than pain.

It nearly suffocated him.

Nesta moved to you, almost knocking her chair over in the process and wrapped her arms around you, shielding you by pushing your head into the crook of her neck. She ran her fingers through your limp hair, finding more knots than perfect glossy strands and felt herself breaking at how thin you had become.

"It's okay to be angry, Y/N. It's okay to hate us. It's okay," she whispered to you, turning her head to the side and pleading to Azriel to come to you.

He did without a moments hesitation.

Nesta passed you into his awaiting arms, night kissed mountains and cedar engulfed you, and you felt yourself relaxing into him as he rubbed soft circles into your back, relieving some of that aching tension that had become unbearable, "Hate me as much as you need to, I can take it. I can take all of your anger and darkness, let me take it."

"I'm so tired," you loosely wrapped your arms around him and sobbed, Azriel knew how exhausted you were, he could feel it in your trembling bones how close you were to passing out from the feeling.

"Okay," he moved to scoop you up into his arms, holding you so gently like he was afraid you'd snap in two in his hands, "That's something we can fix. One day at a time. We can do this."

Since that night, you felt lighter.

Months had passed, and thanks to Rhys and Cassian, you found your strength again. Thanks to Nesta, you found joy again. Thanks to Feyre and Nyx, you found passion again. Thanks to Mor and Elain, you'd gotten that innocent wonder back.

And Azriel, you had him to thank for it all.

He had been so gentle with you, coaxing you into physical therapy with promises of warm baths and healing creams, and making sure you ate and drank and found reasons to be happy again. The first laugh from your lips almost made him faint, it was accompanied by that sparkle in your eyes that he had missed too much.

Colour had returned to your skin, your hair had returned to its glossy hue, your smile was wide and bright, and even without your wings that he knew you missed, you were by far the most beautifully resilient creature he had ever seen.

You had closed the bedroom window, allowing him to light a fire and settle into his embrace whilst you both read your books. He had given you the one he was supposed gift to you and could have swooned at the smile you gave him.

"What do you think about mates?" It startled him, it made his heart physically halt in his chest and he moved his chin from the top of your head to look down at you. "Do you believe that there is a perfect half of your soul out there?"

"I do. I know it actually," he told you and you craned your neck upward to look at him properly, flushed cheeks and all.

"Yeah," you eyes twinkled, "How?"

"Because I know who it is I hope to see every morning for the rest of my life."

Your smile faltered, "Do I know her?" You shuffled onto your side, your book forgotten on the floor and arm tucked beneath your head.

Azriel mirrored you, settling into the space beside you, "Very well actually. She is bold and beautiful. Her laugh is the symphony of my dreams and memories. Her being herself is always going to be enough for me. It was inevitable really, to fall for her, it was beyond the scope of my control, the first time I saw her I just knew that she was the person my heart had been craving my entire life. She makes me laugh when all I want to do is hide away from the world. She makes it so easy to see the beauty in everything."

"She sounds perfect, Az," he noticed your sad eyes and the way you had curled up into yourself, but still holding on to every single word he said.

"And even when she lost everything, in a way I think it made me love her more, because even in the darkest hour of her life, she still managed to pull herself out of it, to feel and shine again," he turned to you, your brows furrowed and a small gasp floating from you, "I am completely, utterly, totally, in love with you, Y/N. You are the one my soul sings for," his shadows moved to you, curling around your face and torso, the inky tendrils kissing your exposed skin, "And I promise to love you no matter what life throws at us."

Tears pooled at your eyes and he grasped for you, rolling you onto you back so that his face was hovering above your own.

It happened then, that fairy tale snap you had never thought you'd own, the one you'd never thought you deserved. A split soul merging into one, singing in golden light as tendrils of thread sewed your hearts together, "I was so horrible to you."

Azriel shushed you, "I have loved you for 400 years, Y/N. You have been my light for so long, even when I didn't want one, you were there to pull me out," you cupped his face in your hands, "You have no idea how many lives you have impacted by just existing, I can't imagine a moment without you. I'll never tire of hearing what's going on in that strange little mind of yours. To put it in simple terms, there's not one part of you that I don't want, not a single part of you that I don't adore."

Tears fell from your eyes and he wiped them away, his body entangled with yours, "I don't know what to say."

"Just tell me that you love me. Tell me you're mine," Azriel pleaded, his hazel eyes glistening with a love you'd never seen before, not even between Feyre and Rhys, your soul pulsated with that freshly bound power and you sighed, pulling him closer to you.

Pressing your forehead to his you muttered the words, "I love you Azriel, and I am yours forever, in my darkest of hours and most beautiful of days. I love you."

brb sobbing x