#sorry if it does not live up to the first!

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - After

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Your wings were gone. The healing process would teach you much about yourself, but it would teach Azriel, too. Does it matter, in the end?

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Angst, injury, symptoms of depression (including difficulty eating)

a/n: This is part of a mini-series and the other parts can be found in the link below. Sorry this is literally so long lol. Debating on adding another chapter to the end because I obviously have a lot to say! Also, I won't be posting an update for about a week because I'll be traveling, so I hope this long chapter holds you over. Thank you :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

You woke as the sun did. Yellow light made an imprint behind your eyelids and the grogginess that immediately followed let you know that this was not the first time you had been awake. Sleeping through the night had become a luxury not afforded to you. 

You clenched the pillow at your cheek between your fingers and tried to pull at the loose threads of sleep that were escaping you. 

Someone was in your room. 

Someone was always in your room these days, but this morning, you knew it was Azriel. You could feel the whisps of his shadows making barely-there strokes along your back, and his scent was unmistakable. If it was Azriel today, they didn’t expect you to talk. When they wanted you to try and speak, they sent Cassian or Mor or even Feyre on the odd occasion. 

They didn’t expect you to talk when it was Azriel. 

You supposed everyone thought you were mad at him. Truthfully, part of you was mad at him. If he had just opened his eyes once over the last hundreds of years, he would have seen that you were right there—that you were more than a responsibility for him to look after. That you were a woman in love with him and he was a fool for taking so long to notice. 

But another part of you felt that you couldn’t blame him. Azriel had never had much luck in the romance department, and you’d always chalked that up to self-sabotage. He seemed to go after women he knew he couldn’t have and only assumed late-night trysts with those he could, so you couldn’t expect much out of him. And how was he to know that you pined after him? It wasn’t as if you’d ever made any kind of move. 

But Elain had so enamored him and you were so angry at that part. Because you had been there and he had never taken the leaps and bounds he had with her. 

He had left you in that camp, so ready to believe your lie to appease her. 

You were the biggest fool of all. 

In actuality, neither of those parts mattered. There wasn’t some internal strife that fought against your sleep and made you question your feelings. You weren’t mad at Azriel. You weren’t mad at anyone or anything. You felt empty. 

You gave up on sleep, breathing heavily through your nose and squinting your eyes into the sun that peaked through your curtains. Your back ached, and even more, the insurmountable pressure on your chest was amplified by the bandages that wrapped around from behind you. They made it difficult to breathe. 

No infection had set in. It had been two and a half weeks since the incident, and Madja cleared you to begin moving around a few days ago and noted that you were “out of the woods, medically.” Everyone looked relieved as if that news had changed anything. To them, you supposed it did. You would live. That was good. 

Azriel knew you were awake, you were sure of it. You heard his chair groan as if he were leaning forward in it, and his shadows had begun to traipse around your head, weaving in and out of your hair and blocking the light from your eyes. 

He would try to get you to eat, look at you with those pitying eyes, and apologize when you could barely sit up and hold out a plate as if you were going to eat it. You hadn’t met his gaze since you woke up and there was more than just resentment behind that. There was shame—you were so ashamed of what you had become. What you had let happen. 

Maybe that was another reason why you felt so empty. How could Azriel even look at you as anything other than broken? When you were whole—when you had your wings—there was an irrational part of you that considered you had a chance with the Shadowsinger if he would just see you. 

There was nothing to see now. 

“Are you awake?” Azriel asked, keeping his voice low in the quiet room. You nodded against the pillow, face still turned from his view. The chair groaned once again. “Are you hungry?” 

No head shake. It was a frequent question that you hated being asked. 

Azriel’s footsteps were soft against your carpet. He kneeled beside your bed and attempted to catch your fleeting gaze, but you found a spot on the floor and kept it there. 

“Can you try?” he prompted. His textured fingers brushed the hair from your eyes. “Not even at the table. I’ll have the House bring you something here.” 

You pressed your lips together and fought off the burning in your nose. 

“Please, y/n.  I know you’re angry with me—I know. But please, just try to eat something.” 

Angry at him—anger wasn’t even in your repertoire at the moment. But he sounded so desperate, as did every other member of your family, and you didn’t want the let them down more than you already had. You shut your eyes and nodded, resigned. 

You built up the strength to prop yourself up on your arms, but that’s where you stopped. Your center of gravity had been completely ripped from you. Anytime you moved without your wings, it felt like free-falling from a mountain. Madja had offered—several times since physically clearing you—to come and get you back on your feet, but the motivation wasn’t there. 

You couldn’t imagine walking without the weight at your back. 

And you had avoided every reflection known to man; seeing yourself would be too much. 

“I have you,” Azriel encouraged, holding you at your waist as he twisted your body up. “Almost. There we go, angel” —he positioned you between pillows that hadn’t been on your bed before— “How’s that? Is it alright?” 

Humiliation felt like a hot knife. You nodded and found a spot on the bed to focus on. You could feel Azriel’s lingering gaze and he hesitated before placing a bowl of broth on a small platter before you. 

“Is that okay?” 

You nodded again, biting the inside of your lip. Your back ached. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

You nodded. 

Azriel hesitated once more, rocking back on his heels before clearing his throat and letting the door softly shut behind him. The tears came then, and you were so tired of crying. 

~~

Azriel’s POV

Outside of your room, Azriel’s forehead was pressed against the wood of your door. The intricate carvings imprinted his right palm as he kept it pressed there as well, and Azriel had to breathe through his nose to calm himself. 

He was at a loss. 

He didn’t blame you for not speaking to him, but you wouldn’t speak to anyone. You wouldn’t get out of bed unless it was Mor or Feyre lifting you for a bath and you wouldn’t leave your room at all. They had all expected this—planned for a long healing process—but you were so… lifeless. 

Gods, he was helpless. You wouldn’t even look at him. 

Azriel clenched his jaw and tried to listen for the clink of the spoon against the bowl when a hand on his back startled him. Because that was another thing—he’d been off his game since you got hurt, completely useless as a spy. 

“How is she?” Cassian. Cassian was just as worried as Azriel, but Azriel was pretty sure you were looking him in the eye at least. “Get her to talk?” 

“No,” Azriel breathed through a constricting throat. He turned to meet his brother’s face. He was sure Cassian still held some resentment towards him, but he’d apologized for his outburst when you arrived at the House. Apologized, but not entirely forgiven. 

Cassian sighed and rubbed at his jaw. “Is she at least eating?” 

“She agreed to eat. I left her with some soup. She wanted me to leave.” 

“She say that?” 

“I asked and she nodded.” 

Cassian kissed his teeth and curled his wings in tighter. “Have you… talked to her?” 

Azriel had to fight the urge to scoff, throwing his brother an incredulous look. “Obviously I talk to her, Cassian. I don’t stand in her room and motion at things.” 

In response, Cassian did not fight the urge to roll his eyes. “I mean actually talk to her, Azriel. About what happened. You finding her. Her lying and you not being there. I know it was one of the only missions at the camps she’s been at without you there. That means something, no?” 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me at all—let alone rehash all of that.” 

“Azriel,” Cassian started, stepping forward to place a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Give her a chance to push you away. Let her be the one to do it. If you play into this fear, it might confirm things for her, and you know her mind isn’t in a good place.” 

Azriel winced. “I think you might be better to—” 

“No, Az, you. Let her eat her breakfast, give her an hour or two, and then go back in there and talk to her. I’ve already been talking to her and she won’t say a word to me. I think you’re the only person who’s been too afraid to.” 

Azriel sighed and then leaned his head back until it knocked against your door. In another life, you might’ve called out and asked who was there. But there was only silence. 

Cassian sent Azriel a look with raised brows and patted his brother twice on the shoulder before backing into the hall. He had taken four steps towards the dining room before Azriel called, “What did you mean then, about me being blind?” 

Cassian paused but didn’t turn. Azriel watched his head tilt to the side and a deep sigh escaped him. 

“Shouldn’t have said that,” Cassian muttered. He started walking once more. “Just—think a little more.”

~~

Original POV

Breakfast was fine; you kept it down and that was the goal. 

Following breakfast, you thumbed through the books Nesta had sent to you. The action was lackadaisical and without purpose. You weren’t going to read them. 

You took breaks from staring at the wall to stare out the window instead, but that only sent waves of something heavy through your chest. The skies looked so open today, with only a few clouds and endless rays of sun. Maybe if it were raining, it wouldn’t hurt so much to look out the window. 

You were being left alone far more than usual today. 

Perhaps they had grown tired of being around a stubborn mute who refused to see the bright side of things, the “well, with your injuries it’s a miracle you’re still alive,” talks not entirely working on you. You were sure that was true, but you didn’t particularly care about the marvel it took to put you back together. 

This miracle felt hollow. 

As you were about to shut your eyes and drown the rest of the day in sleep, a small knock and the creak of your door stopped you. You snapped your gaze forward and quickly averted it when you recognized Azriel stepping in, his shadows preceding him and rushing you in circles. 

You expected him to take up his post in the chair beside your bed with a simple greeting—as he had done every visit to your room in the past weeks—so when he stood at the door and spoke, confusion and anxiety filled you. 

“Um, hello,” he began. You watched his hands fumble around each other before he cleared his throat and brought them behind his back. “I realize I haven’t given you a full opportunity to be angry with me. I’ve only offered pleasantries and… well, moved you around. I wanted to speak to you if that’s alright?” 

You fixed your gaze on the wall behind him and twisted your lips to the side in the show of a grimace. 

“You don’t have to say anything back—unless you’d like to. It would just—Can I just sit and talk?” 

You had no idea why he was asking. Everyone else in the House sat in your room and talked your ear off, asking questions they wouldn’t get an answer to and telling you about the happenings in town. Azriel was the only one who stayed silent and, now, was the only one to ask permission to speak. 

Still, you slowly nodded and shifted on the pillows. 

“Does anything hurt?” he began, stepping forward with a hesitant hand reaching towards you. “I could fix—” 

You shook your head. He sat in the chair.

There was a beat of silence—uncomfortable silence, which was odd because Azriel had always been the one you felt most comfortable being quiet around. 

When he spoke, the torture in his voice had you finally whipping around to look at his face, but his gaze was downturned. 

“This is my fault,” he said, strained and cracked as he clasped his hands tightly between his knees. “I know I’ve apologized to you since you woke up, but it’s never really been for that. You have to know how sorry I am, y/n. How much I wish I had just come with you. I always come with you.” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I—I don’t understand why you’d lie about Lucien going with you. Or Cassian, for that matter. I thought it was always obvious that I’d do anything for you—that you were more important to me than a date.” 

Something twisted and pulled inside of you. You were getting the devotion you so desired from him, but it was cast behind a layer of something ugly. You were more important than a date—then why did it hurt as he spoke the words to you?

“I’m sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise. I’m sorry that you felt you had to lie for my benefit. But, y/n, I thought you were dead. I walked into that camp and I heard you scream, and I thought—I thought you were dead when I held you in my arms. There was so much blood and—” 

Azriel’s words choked and stopped in the air. He pressed his hands in prayer over his mouth and when he looked up, he caught you in your stare. You sat paralyzed, wide-eyed, as he looked at you directly. 

“Why did you lie?” he asked weakly. “I would have been there. And I’m sorry I believed you so easily, but we’ve always been honest with each other. You’ve always had me.” 

Your chin trembled. You were tired of crying, but the irony of his words hit you with full force and your wings were gone. Your wings were gone and nothing would ever be the same again. 

Your trembling jaw quickly morphed into the too-quick intake of breath that made your shoulders tremble as well. And then you were heaving in ugly sobs that hurt to let go of. You clutched at the blankets beneath you until your knuckles turned white. 

Why did you lie? 

Why did you—

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Azriel hushed. He was on the bed now. You hadn’t heard the chair when he got up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. He held you at your shoulders and pressed your face into his chest. This was the most anyone had touched you. Madja only healed with brief skims of her hands and everyone else moved you with panicked touches.

“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” 

When you spoke—for the first time as this new person—your throat made the words unintelligible. Everything was scratchy and hoarse from misuse, but Azriel heard it. He gently pushed you back and found your eyes once more, his gaze wide and encouraging. 

You tried again, and again, each time more coherent but also filled with the tears the Shadowsinger continued to wipe from your cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” finally ripped from your chest. “I only—only—” You hiccuped and Azriel’s face crumpled. “I just wanted you to be happy.” 

Azriel’s eyes were already glassy, but when your voice finally rang in his ears, the tears fell. He pressed your face into his chest once more. This time, you brought your hands up to clench his shirt between your fingers. And, because you were already vulnerable and because this was the first time in weeks you no longer felt numb, you whispered out, “My wings are gone,” and Azriel held you tighter. 

~~

You woke to speaking, a voice seeming to rattle in your head. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, only knowing it must have been a productive sleep because you did not feel weighed down. Your back throbbed, as it typically did after sleep, but there was no heaviness at your chest and you felt rested. 

Another voice in the room sounded off, and you kept your eyes shut as you tried to piece together the words. 

“—to walk. Important for her health—too much time—” 

The voice rumbling your head then said, “She might not be ready. We shouldn’t push her.” 

“She will never be ready, Azriel.” Rhysand, you deduced, the conversation in the room becoming more clear. “But, as Madja has said, if we don’t try to get her at least out of this room, she’ll be stuck in her head. Just try to get her to the balcony. Start with that.” 

“Rhysand—” 

“Don’t Rhysand me. It’s almost been three weeks. Her back is nearly healed. That’s not what we’re worried about now.” 

“And what are we worried about?” Azriel bit back. You were on his chest. Hands were on your waist.

The room lulled into a tense pause, the echo of Azriel’s near growl punctuating the silence. 

The door opened and closed, someone’s footfall departing. 

“You’ve scared off our healer, Azriel,” Rhysand noted with a mock scold. Azriel let out a small scoff. “We are all worried about her, Az. I know it feels… maybe like it’s you against the world, but it’s not. We need to get her up and moving. Her headspace isn’t good.” 

Azriel shifted you in his arms. “Fine.” 

“And Madja needs to come back in to change her dressings.” 

Your hair was moved behind your ear. “Fine.” 

Rhysand let out a tortured sigh. 

~~

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel was going to try today. 

He said that yesterday, but yesterday, you had let him coerce you into sitting by the window instead of in bed, and you had talked to him the entire time, so he forgot to bring it up. 

A large part of Azriel was afraid of pushing you—afraid that you would close up again and refuse to look at him. But he knew Rhys and Madja and everyone else in this House was right. You needed to start making progress. You needed to be able to live some semblance of a normal life without your wings. 

It was strange to see you without them. The pit in his chest grew each time you moved to accommodate them. You would shift in bed or reach around to reposition the fantom limb and realization would come before the dread. Sometimes that was it for the day, you wouldn’t speak anymore. Azriel would read to you when that happened. 

You had started to talk to the rest of the circle, which Azriel was mostly glad for, but the smallest bout of protectiveness had somehow dug its way into his heart. When he would walk into your room to find you chatting with Cassian or listening to Rhys, Azriel would have to pause at the territorial feeling that temporarily consumed him. He figured it was only because you were still hurt. That would fade. 

When he came in today, you were alone, and Azriel felt relieved. For a moment. 

You were already awake and looked well-rested, which was detrimental to his plan of asking you while you were half asleep. You set your book down to stare up at him, and even the fact that you were reading was not lost on him. 

You were making progress. This was part of progress.

“Good morning, y/n,” Azriel greeted, standing at the foot of your bed. 

The action already made you nervous. You eyed the chair beside you and glanced back at him. “Hi, Az.” 

Azriel’s lash fluttered at the sound of your voice, still so fresh after weeks of silence. You were meeker than you once sounded, unsure and small. 

Azriel took in a breath before asking, “How’s today?”

“Today is good,” you replied, words slow. 

Azriel spied the remaining badges peeking out from the top of your shirt. You needed this. “I think we should walk today.” 

Silence consumed the room. Your lips parted as you stared at him, and Azriel immediately wanted to eat his words. Another beat of silence. And then another. He tried desperately not to shift weight between his feet lest he look antsy or unsure. 

You blinked, twice, and then stared down at your fingers as they rested in your lap. 

“I know it will be difficult,” Azriel tried, speaking low. “But I’ll be here. We don’t have to go far. A few steps, that’s all I’m asking.” 

You pressed your thumbnail into your palm, brows furrowed. You hadn’t smiled, Azriel realized, not since before. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you spoke. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Azriel asked, bending down to catch your gaze unsuccessfully. 

You blinked back up at him. “Okay, I’ll try.” And then, in a much lower tone, as Azriel walked to your side, you grumbled, “Not as if I could get any lower than I am now.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” you replied, reaching for his outstretched hands. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

Azriel decided to revisit that later. He wouldn’t pass up this opening you had provided, even though his heart ached at what you’d insinuated. He held your hands in his own and leaned forward as you shifted yourself to the side, your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. 

Already, the disorientation on your face was difficult to stomach. You swayed backward with a pinched expression and your nostrils flared in frustration, but Azriel only held your hands firm and steady. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he comforted, allowing his thumb to brush your knuckle. “Anything hurt?”

You shook your head, your lips pressed in a tight line. Azriel forced himself into your field of vision and nodded, softly counting to three as your eyes darted quickly between both of his. As your legs straightened and Azriel’s hands held you up, you refused to break the connection. Azriel wouldn’t be the one to break it. 

You were shaky on your feet and completely unbalanced, but you were standing, and that was all Azriel could ask for. He gripped your hands tighter as your breathing deepened, the struggle evident on your face. 

“Feel okay?” Azriel asked. 

“No,” you grimaced. “But keep going,” you breathed out. 

“Okay, okay. Start with your right. I won’t let go of you.” 

And you did as he asked, albeit with a small groan and a look up at the ceiling. You abandoned the frustration in favor of staring directly at your feet and white-knuckling the grip on Azriel’s hands as you swayed and brought your right foot forward. The moment you placed it down you wobbled on it and had to right yourself three times, causing one of Azriel’s hands to come around your waist.��

You gritted your teeth but continued with your left foot with some encouragement from Azriel. He stepped back with each step you took forward, his hands glued to your body to correct the mistakes from your core. You made it six steps and Azriel was elated. He let out a small, breathy laugh. 

“You’re incredible,” he deemed. 

And it was so, so small, but the scoff-like laugh you offered was accompanied by a minuscule half-smile, and Azriel was over the moon. You looked up at him, a sarcastic upturn of your eyes lighting them up, and Azriel was struck then. 

Mate. 

Mate. 

It was so obvious, so clear. There was never anything but this. But you. 

You were meant to be his and he yours. Years of this pull to you, and he always thought it to be one of friendship. He’d always loved you, always, but he’d never humored the possibility of anything more. You’d seen him in his teen years. Gods, you’d seen him in his twenties when he was terribly full of himself without the credentials to be so. 

And he’d seen you through the decades of your life as well. 

But everything was so much clearer now. He’d always been protective of you, always been the first to follow you. That was part of why this had been so devastating—he’d let you down, left you alone. For another woman. 

Azriel felt his stomach lurch and then something rotten was left in his mouth. 

His mate—he’d let this happen to his mate. 

And what had he said in the store that day? When you’d asked him what would happen if he’d found his mate?

He’d said it wouldn’t matter, that Elain was bigger than a mating bond. 

Elain.

“Azriel?” Your worried tone snapped him back to the present. To the way your legs shook and your body swayed before him. He quickly scooped you up at your waist and held you close as he walked you back to the bed. 

“That’s enough for today,” he said, tucking you back into the bed. His hands were shaking. “Does anything hurt?”

“Are you okay?” you asked, and when you looked at him with your wide eyes, he was so angry at himself. 

Nothing made sense, but everything did. 

“I’m alright,” he reassured, placing a hand on the top of your head. “We need to take that slow. Your muscles need to be rebuilt along with your balance.” 

He needed to get out of this room. He needed to—

“I promise I’ll be able to do more tomorrow. You’ll… come back tomorrow, right?” 

Something was screaming at him. His shadows. They twisted and struck his ears before coming down to rest gently at your shoulders. 

“Of course I will.” 

~~

Original POV

Azriel did not come back the following day, or the day after that. 

Mor came on the first day, a smile plastered on her concerned face. She held her hands out as Azriel did and got you to walk ten steps before exhaustion made your legs shake. She sat beside your bed and went on and on about some shop in Velaris and you laid back and listened. 

You loved Mor, but it became hard to swallow when she was the one to walk through your door that morning. 

The next day, it was Cassian. 

He grinned and boasted about being the best person on the job, rounding your bed and heaving you up by your hips until you were pressed against his front. Cassian took a different approach to you relearning how to walk, placing your feet on top of his to move as he did. He was joking at first, laughter fresh in his tone, but he got serious as your brow twisted and your body swayed. 

“You got it,” he assured. He stepped back, his hands now just hovering over your hips as you balanced against him. “You’re doing great.” 

You gripped the sleeves of his shirt. “I should know how to walk,” you said through gritted teeth. “I shouldn’t have stayed in bed so long.” 

“You were healing. Resting. No one expected you to hop up and be fine, y/n.” 

“I moped for too long. This wouldn’t be so hard if I had started earlier.” 

“Hey—” 

Frustration had accumulated, building since realizing that you really were only a fraction of yourself, and that was probably why Azriel hadn’t come back. You clenched your teeth once more and pushed from Cassian’s body, finding the ground beneath your feet and ignoring the protest from the Illyrian before you—the one with his wings so tightly pressed to his back that you almost could forget they were there. Almost. 

But the action was short-lived. Cassian grappled for your waist as your body only allowed you two steps forward before you shot backward, an ache permeating down your spine as it tried to accommodate the movement. 

“Cauldron, y/n, warn a guy,” Cassian scolded, stepping you back to sit on the bed. “Did you do this with everyone or am I just special?” 

Frustration burned behind your eyes. You stayed silent as you scrubbed your hand down your face. You couldn’t even fling yourself back against the bed as you wanted, knowing that pain would radiate down your back if you did. 

You couldn’t do anything. The extra time you’d spent with Azriel had created a false sense of… something you needed to let go of. He was pitying you—that was all. You were a broken creature, and he felt responsible. 

“What was that about, huh?” Cassian asked, kneeling before you and looking up below a raised brow. 

“I’m broken,” you admitted, resolute and small. “That’s why Azriel won’t come back, isn’t it? I can’t walk. I’m not how I was. I let this happen to me. I should know how to walk.” 

Cassian’s tongue clicked as his head tilted to the side. “No, y/n, you’re not broken. You didn’t let anything happen to you. This is all—Gods, this is all a fucking mess. But the one thing you can know is that you aren’t broken. And Azriel—he’s dealing with something right now. He’s not avoiding you because you’re broken.” 

You stared back at him, the empty feeling slowly creeping back into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded when Cassian gave you an expectant look. You would act as if you believed him, and the following day, when Azriel stepped through your door, maybe it felt a bit easier to lie. 

“Did you handle what you needed to?” you asked him, your hands cemented against his own as he guided you around your room. The words came out strained as your balance faltered. 

Azriel took a moment before responding, “You could say that.” 

“Was it Elain?” You hadn’t meant to ask the question, and the bitterness in your tone was new to even you, but it came out all the same. You avoided Azriel’s gaze as it snapped to your face. 

“Some of it,” he admitted. His eyes burned into you. You stared at your feet as you stepped. “But only some.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” 

“Y/n.” 

You stepped again. And again. It was easier each day, but that also spelled a more difficult future. The further you walked, the sooner you would have to come to terms with your wings being gone. Staying in bed helped you avoid that truth. 

You ignored Azriel’s call and stepped again. 

“Look at me. Please.” 

You shifted your jaw to the side but glanced up through your lashes and gave in to his request. Azriel’s beseeching expression made you falter. 

“I can never apologize fully for not being there that night. With Elain—“ Azriel paused, wincing. “I’ve been blind to what’s important. You tried to tell me. Everyone tried to tell me. I was so caught up in a chance at happiness. It was never about Elain.” 

You had no reply. Your legs were shaking. 

Azriel seemed to take a different approach. “I meant what I said before—that you’re incredible. You’ve pushed yourself so hard and we’re all proud of you.” 

“Is that why you didn’t come back when you said you would?” you asked. The tinge of bitterness remained. “Because you’re proud of me?” 

“I had to—y/n, there were things—“ 

“Just say you’ve been visiting out of pity, Azriel. That would make this easier.” 

You gripped his hands harder as your wave of frustration made walking more difficult. You grunted slightly and Azriel took that as a sign to shift your weight from your feet, holding you to his body even as you struggled against him, even as you averted your gaze. 

Gods, this was better when you kept your mouth shut. 

“I do not pity you. Y/n—y/n. I don’t, do you hear me?” 

“Why?” you stressed, pushing your hands against his chest in a futile escape attempt. “Why, Azriel? Too busy running after Elain to make room for it?” 

“Don’t say that. I already told you—“

“Just let me go.” 

“No.”

“Oh, so now you listen to me.” 

“Y/n—“ 

“This was already humiliating, Azriel. And then you said you’d be back and you weren’t,” you accused. “You got weird when I finally started walking and I know you only came in here because Cassian told you about yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” he questioned. 

You rolled your eyes. It was so much easier to be angry than hurt. “When I asked about you. I know he can’t keep a secret.” 

Azriel only shook his head. “He hadn’t told me anything. I needed a few days because I’m the weak one. Me. I needed distance because I’m reminded, every time I see you, that I could have prevented this. Im selfish.

“And Elain,” he trailed off, hazel eyes flicking between yours. “I had to tell her that I’ve been a fool. I won’t be pursuing her anymore.” 

Your brows furrowed. You gave up fighting against Azriel, but he kept both of your hands in a grip at his chest, his other arm locked at your lower back. This felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but it wasn’t that easy. None of this was easy. 

“Why?” 

Azriel paused. 

Something flashed across his face, indecipherable to even you, but he covered it just as quickly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be her. I’ve always known that.” 

More silence blanketed the room. Your earlier anger melted into a white-hot embarrassment that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You’d never been one quick to anger. Azriel hadn’t even blinked an eye. 

“Can I help you back to your bed?”

You pressed your lips together. 

“I want to read with you, if that’s alright?” 

Your head turned down. You nodded. 

~~ 

Azriel’s POV 

Azriel couldn’t tell you. 

He couldn’t. 

It was clear that no bond lit up your chest as his did, and that made sense to Azriel. You’d been through a loss few could ever imagine. You were stuck in your head for most of the day, and then angry or numb for the rest of it. The only time you seemed to find reprieve was during conversation that had nothing to do with anything of meaning. 

Azriel would take what he could get. So he read beside you and helped you walk and he didn’t tell you that a bond connected your souls. 

How could he even broach the subject, anyway? When he had so openly pined after another woman? 

This was not the time. 

You needed to focus on yourself. He would focus on you and you would focus on yourself. 

It had been about a month since you began walking again, and two since your injury. He counted each day. On the second week of the third month, Azriel saw you in the hallway. Feyre walked alongside you as you trailed your fingers on the wall, and while it gave the air of a casual stroll, he could see his High Lady’s hand hover behind you. While he took effortful breaths to calm his excitement, his shadows did not. 

“Azriel, what terrible timing!” Feyre scolded, batting away the shadows as they stormed you. “I finally got her out here and you're going to knock her over with air.”

“I apologize,” he spoke, but he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. Despite your unsteady gait, you lit up as his shadows swirled around you, displacing your hair and clothes as you went. And then you laughed; a small sound, but one that Azriel felt in his chest. 

“Call them back,” you giggled. Azriel’s face warmed along with his chest. “I’m going to collapse into this wall if you don’t.” 

“Azriel,” Feyre called, and Azriel hadn’t noticed he was staring. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it and tried to call his shadows back. And then tried again. 

They were stuck to you. 

“I really am trying,” he explained, taking a step closer. “They seem attached.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Feyre groaned. She shot the Shadowsinger a look and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you into her side. “Idiot bats.” 

As the pair walked past him, his shadows still whispering along your arms, you hooked your chin over your shoulder, casting him a lingering gaze. It was odd to see your face with such clarity, no wings clouding his view. Even more odd was the uncomfortable way you walked; the leaning into Feyre’s side was more necessary than for the show. 

The strangest thing, however, was the tug in his chest that left him breathless. Every time you looked at him, that thread in his chest tugged and yanked and begged him to get closer. 

But this wasn’t the time. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be the time for several decades. 

Not after he let you down in such a way. 

He would spend the rest of his life making up for that, even if you were none the wiser to the bond between you. He would protect you for the rest of your life, as he was meant to do from the beginning. That feeling, the urge, only swelled as you turned forward and continued your walk with your High Lady, Azriel still hearing the remnants of your laugh in the hall as you went. 

A shadow broke away from your figure and lopped around his ear, reminding him that he actually did have a destination before he became so enraptured by you. It whispered to him hurriedly and Azriel had to break his gaze from your retreating back as he made his way to Rhysand’s study. Each step had him increasingly irritated; he should have been with you the day you decided to leave your room. 

He bit back his vexation when he felt the tension in the room. 

“Azriel. Good,” Rhysand greeted. The door swung shut. “Sit. We need to talk.” 

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Azriel remarked, shifting his leathers as he took a wide seat on the chair across Rhysand’s desk. 

From the couch beside him, Cassian let out a humorless chuckle. “I think you’ll find this quite promising, brother.” 

“As long as it’s quick. I have other things to attend to today.” 

Cassian sent a wry grin in Rhysand’s direction. “I told you he’d see her in the hall.” He turned back to Azriel. “Packed schedule today, Az?” 

“You know better, Cassian,” Rhysand chided, the lightness in his tone betraying the scolding nature of his words. 

“Is there an actual point to this discussion?” Azriel deadpanned. 

“Bond feeling a little loose?” 

Azriel threw him a dirty look. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the change in Azriel the day the bond snapped, his heightened aggression paired with the scent of you still lingering on his clothes had Cassian immediately clocking the Shadowsinger. He’d looked surprised—gaurded and surprised. Rhysand looked as if he’d been the one waiting for the bond to snap, and Azriel had sent him a myriad of questions. 

Namely: Why the hell wouldn’t he tell him he thought you were his mate? 

“Don’t taunt him, Cass.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Are we getting to the point?” Azriel drawled. The desire to get back to you itched beneath his skin. Maybe you’d made it to the kitchen and he’d sit at the table beside you. 

Rhysand sighed. He tapped his finger against a piece of parchment laid on the desk. “I have correspondence from the northeast camp. From the spies you have placed there.” 

Azriel sat up in his chair. “Why wouldn’t they speak to me directly?” 

“I had them turn all communication over to me. You’re too close to this and I wouldn’t have you acting rashly and putting yourself in unnecessary danger.” 

“They are my spies—” 

“I didn’t do it to undermine you, Azriel,” Rhysand interrupted, raising a hand in surrender. “You can’t tell me that if you got word her attackers were found you wouldn’t immediately rush into that camp without a plan or even a weapon.” 

Azriel breathed hard from his nose and clenched the wooden chair arms between scarred fingers. 

In the silence, Rhysand continued. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, brother. But you understand why that was a risk I couldn’t take.” 

“What did the correspondence say?” Azriel gritted out, his mood depleted of the lightness you had brought. 

Rhysand eyed Cassian on the other side of the room before fixing his gaze on his Spymaster. “The escaped attackers have been identified. They aren’t contained, and no one even knows where they are, but we know who they are.” 

Fiery rage met Azriel’s soured mood.

If only he knew of the terrors that would continue to fall. 

[demonic0angel]

OWO, you take prompts? How about this?

Danny was born a premature and with a heart defect. The Fenton's try to make a clone so they can get his heart transplanted without fear of organ rejection. But they end up making a full on baby and don't have it in them to kill another version of their son just to save their original boy. Danny ends up pulling through and the clone gets filed as a twin that no one noticed was still in when Maddie was in the hospital. So Maddie "had him at home" and went back so he could be medically examined. The new parents feel ashamed of what they initially were going to do and give the child to a cousin who couldn't conceive.

Tim Drake doesn't know he's adopted until a DNA test reveals that the 'Meta' running around Gotham is his 'twin brother'. And the babies he has, that he does babysitting gigs with, are his twin's 'children'.

(I don’t exactly take prompts, but I don’t mind if you send them. Also, I’m going to assume that the twin’s “children” are Dan and Dani, since that seems to be what people prefer.)

“… are you serious?” Tim asked through the phone.

“Yep,” Dick said, sounding like a mixture of amusement and concern, “How do you feel about it?”

Tim thought about it and then responded, “I guess it makes sense why my parents neglected me so much, since I’m adopted.”

“Awww, baby bird…”

“I’m fine, Dick,” Tim said. He picked Dante and set him on a baby chair. Said child stared at him with electric blue eyes, scowling with his pudgy cheeks as if he wanted to tear Tim apart with his nonexistent teeth. Tim rubbed his chubby cheek with a finger before moving away, still holding the phone to his ear as he picked up the other baby.

Dick continued, “Yeah… also, Bruce says that he’s sorry that he checked your blood without telling you.”

Tim snorted, “No, he didn’t.” Bruce was never sorry for that kind of stuff.

Dick sighed. “Yeah, I lied. Sorry. But he did look guilty! He didn’t want to tell you at first, but Jason convinced him so I’m the one telling you right now.”

Tim hummed, picking up little Ella, who was stubbornly holding onto a small cardboard box. Tim let her hold it and placed her onto the baby chair next to her brother, who immediately reached out for her. It was kinda funny seeing how clingy he was compared to his sister.

“We have more information too. We tracked down the new meta and we’ve been looking into his routes. We suspect that he’s living around here, in Bristol,” Dick said. “We think he’s living in an apartment, at XXX on XXXX street, possibly with a roommate named Jazz.”

Tim paused, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was in the same building, babysitting a bunch of kids on the same street, who also lived with another woman named Jazz. “Uhh. What else?”

“We think he lives on the third floor and possibly also works at a pizza delivery place? Or maybe a fast food restaurant? He’s been flying back and forth between two places besides the apartment.”

Tim began to sweat. “Uh… anything else?”

“There’s a high chance that his name is Danny Nightingale, and Jasmine Nightingale is in on the fact that he’s a meta.”

Fuck.

Tim looked at his niece and nephew with a new light, eyes wide. Ella beamed at him, giggling while Dante just glared.

Welp. At least Bruce would be happy to be a grandfather now. Even if it was to Tim’s secret meta twin brother.

[defmaybe]

Pros of Pursuing Photography as Your Career

Red Velvet’s Son Seungwan/Wendy x Male Reader

0.6k words

Prequel to Reticence

“Who’s your mommy, huh?” Seungwan asks, one hand shuffling your hair gently, the other pumping your throbbing length up and down.

“You are my mommy,” you reply with your mouth on one of her pert breasts, a hand kneading the other under that midriff-revealing top. Satisfied hums come out of her closed lips.

She’s sharp in her seduction—so tender, yet so effective. That Grooverhyme campaign sparked the fuse within you—for her, but there’s probably zero chance. You thought she was just being nice from all of those interactions, but one confessional kiss in the bathroom at the company’s party was all it took for you to fall under her spell. She fell for you too—a part-time photographer for SM—after all.

“Do you like being jerked off by mommy like this?” Seungwan asks another question, hands unbuttoning your shirt. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, mommy. I love being jerked off by you like this.” It’s a rhetorical question, really. You don’t expect yourself to answer anything else when you’re lying down on the couch with one of her nipples in your mouth like this.

“Hmm, what a lovely mouth you have, baby boy.” She draws shapes and patterns on your scalp atop of the handjob, making you groan in pleasure.

Her chest feels so soft in your mouth and your hand—brown nipples, small size. You’re ecstatic that she lets you do this. You fucking love her tits. Fuck, you just love everything that’s hers.

With a few swift movements, your shirt comes undone, revealing your abdomen. Seungwan can’t stop herself, of course. She draws her hand from playing with your hair to your chest. Your moans grow louder under her lively touches.

“Your hands feel so good, mommy,” you say, so lost in the throes of delight she’s giving you. You wish you can just stay like this forever, being jerked off and sucking her tits like this.

Seungwan giggles. “Thanks, baby boy.”

Her hand plays with your cock so adeptly, taking swipes off your leaking slit when she’s at the top and tightly grip you when she’s at the bottom. Your orgasm cannot come sooner.

Every good thing must come to an end, though, as Seungwan looks at the clock on the wall.

“Baby boy, I’m so sorry. I’ll have to finish this quicker than I thought.”

You whimper in disappointment, but you understand the busy nature of her job. “Okay, mommy.” You prepare to get up, but Seungwan presses you down, not wanting you to leave yet.

“I’m gonna make you cum first, baby boy. On three, alright?”

“Y–Yes, mommy.”

She quickens the pumps, determined to make you reach the precipice. You can feel it in your loins—that feeling.

“One.”

It’s there, the wave is coming. Seungwan goes even quicker with her hand. Your breath comes out in shallow pants onto the firmness of her chest.

“Two.”

She grips you like a vice. She’s so eager, yet so gentle in making you cum. You pant even more quickly as she smiles brightly. It’s sincere. She wants to make you cum. She wants her baby boy.

“Three, cum for me, baby boy, cum for me.”

Your dam breaks. White spurts land everywhere—on your firm chest, on Seungwan’s face, on her hand, even some can be found on her tits. You moan in satisfaction, over and over. Your eyes flutter in ecstasy.

Your orgasm then subsides. You finally look up again to see Seungwan beaming at you, cum-smeared on her angelic face. She laughs softly.

“You did so well, baby boy, you did great for mommy,” she says.

“Thanks, mommy. Are we doing this again?”

“Definitely, baby boy, definitely, well, maybe.”

—

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 6

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 4.7k

c/w - language, tiny bit of angst (this is only the beginning i fear.)

a/n - is it cringe of me to ask for live reactions? bc i want live reactions sb. anyway, sorry ik i said this chap would be long and juicy but i decided to hold off on the juicy part, i needed a lil more plot development! also ty to everyone who sends me asks, even if it’s just things like “when’s the next part😫” i love it sm lol. hope yall like this one!!

The next two days are—at least compared to the first two—almost peaceful. The weather is nice, just warm enough and not too humid, which Azzi’s hair appreciates. She got goddess braids done just before the trip and even in protective styles, her hair gets frizzy at the very notion of moisture.

The peacefulness largely comes from the fact that Paige is avoiding her parents like the plague, instead spending all her time with Azzi and her siblings. The third day they spend almost entirely at the local park, shooting around at the court there under the hot sun. Lauren even reluctantly joins for a few games, and she may be adamant about not wanting to play basketball but the talent for it must be genetic because she’s a natural. And if Paige and Azzi spend the whole ‘competition’ brushing hands and flirting, nobody says anything. (Though Ryan does wrinkle his nose at them a few times.)

The fourth day starts out warm, and so Paige and Azzi sneak the kids out bright and early (Azzi, of course, ends up with the job of waking all three siblings up—not one of them is a morning person whatsoever) and go to an ice cream shop, where they eat their cold, sweet breakfasts on the curb while they chat. Both Ryan and Lauren may have argued that they were too old to be excited about ice cream for breakfast anymore, but they both end up with matching, chocolate-covered grins when they’re done.

The weather turns for the worst before noon, though, and the kids want to go home but Paige insists they go to the arcade instead. When she says she’ll pay for as many games as they want, they’re easily swayed. Of course, Paige and Azzi make a competition out of the day, deciding to keep a tally of all their points so that whoever has the most wins by the end has to buy the whole group prizes.

Azzi gives it a fighting go but Paige plays way more video games than she does so she very nearly beats her—but then, when they’re almost out of game tickets, Azzi pouts at her about the whole situation, and suspiciously, she ends up making an incredible recovery, easily beating Paige at almost every game after that.

Lauren picks a koala plushie, Ryan picks some new shoes, and Azzi gets this shiny plastic tiara.

“You didn’t have to get the cheapest prize,” Paige says as Azzi adjusts the tiara on her head. “I got money.”

“I know,” Azzi replies, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “But I had to. As the princess.”

Paige gives her that stupid fucking look again—the one Azzi still can’t figure out even though she knows Paige like the back of her hand, which is just driving her crazy—and that look shows up so often Azzi should really just start referring to it as The Look at this point.

But then Paige smiles, previous odd expression gone, and the way she does that,—slips out of it like she doesn’t even realize it was there in the first place—drives Azzi even more crazy than The Look itself.

Now, it is the fifth day. And Azzi reminisces on these past two blissful days to try and distract herself from the fact that Paige and her parents are having a heated argument right in front of her and her scrambled eggs.

“No, Paige,” Amy is saying. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t do that!” Paige replies, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m an adult, I make my own money, I can do—“

“It’s stupid.”

“It’ll be fun!”

“It won’t, because it’s not happening.” Amy is unpacking a load of groceries, and Dean is lingering in the corner of the kitchen being absolutely useless. That seems to be his brand.

“Yes it will, Mom,” Paige replies, voice lower now but still obviously frustrated. “I wasn’t asking for your permission. I was just seeing if you wanted to come with us. I was tryna be nice!”

“Well it won’t be nice when you crash and we all drown, Paige.”

“Jesus, Mom! I ain’t gonna go around crashing!”

Azzi feels very uncomfortable, wishing she were literally anywhere else, but at the same time this is sort of amusing and she has to hide a smile in a bite of eggs.

This argument is, out of all things, about a boat. Paige wants to rent one and have a lake day, and though she didn’t want to, Azzi convinced her to invite her parents—she figured they’d decline but that they’d be offended if they weren’t at least invited.

She wasn’t really expecting a lecture to come out of it, though. But by the tired look on Paige’s face, she knew exactly what was coming their way.

“You don’t even have a boating license,” Amy continues, placing a new jug of milk and some apples in the fridge. “This is illegal. If you won’t listen to your mother, at least listen to the law.”

That very nearly gets a giggle out of Azzi. She chokes it down.

“This is a private lake, I’on need my license.”

“Well that doesn’t sound shady at all.”

“It’s not, it’s super legit!” Paige makes for her phone in her back pocket. “It has its own website and everything, I looked way into it.”

Amy stares her daughter down for a few seconds, hands on her hips, before she lets out a resigned sigh. “Like you said, Paige, I can’t tell you what to do. You’re an adult, do what you want. But you will not be taking your siblings on that death trap.”

“Wha…” Paige flounders, eyebrows furrowed, and her voice raises again, “that was the whole point of this entire thing!”

“Well, that’s too bad. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll make them wear life jackets!”

“They’re teenagers,” Dean points out rather unhelpfully, and it’s the first time he’s spoken around her in days but Azzi is already sick of him again. “Neither of them are gonna wear life jackets.”

“I’ll force them, I swear.”

“Paige Madison,” Amy snaps, and Paige may be an independent adult now but she still straightens her back subconsciously at her mother’s warning tone, “no means no. They are my kids.”

“They’re my siblings!” Paige replies—rather boldly, Azzi thinks, because if Azzi were in her place she would’ve given up by now.

But Paige, as most daughters do, knows exactly how far to push her mother to get what she wants—apparent in the way Amy massages her temples with her fingers before saying, “You know what, Paige? Fine.”

Dean is jumping in immediately. “What? No, she can’t take my kids out on a boat.”

“She’s right, Dean,” Amy says, though she looks a little pained to be siding with her daughter for once. “They’re her siblings. She wants to do something fun for them.”

“It’s dangerous!” Dean motions sporadically at where Paige and Azzi are sitting at the island. Azzi’s eggs are gone now and so she has nothing to put her awkward energy into. “Neither of them owns a boat, and they are practically strangers—“

“She is my daughter,” Amy says, and it’s so quiet Azzi almost doesn’t hear it, but she does, and it sends shivers through her. Because there’s something dangerous, something protective in her tone, something only a mother who loves their child could convey. And it sends a flicker of hope through her. “She is my daughter and I trust her with her siblings.”

Dean flounders for something but comes up empty, instead storming off all red-faced like a child. Amy doesn’t look either of them in the eye when she says, “Let me know if you kids need anything today,” before leaving the two best friends alone in the kitchen.

Slowly, Paige turns to look at Azzi, something like disbelief in her expression. “Did that—actually go well?”

“Yeah,” Azzi responds. “I think it did.”

Things may just be looking up.

———————————————

Dean may be an asshole, but it turns out he was right about one thing: Ryan and Lauren will not wear life jackets.

“C’mon, guys, it’s the law,” Paige insists, thrusting a pink life jacket at her sister, who scrunches her nose in disgust.

“No way! That’s so ugly, Paige.”

“The color wont matter when you’re drowning.”

“You sound just like Mom!” Lauren sighs, and Paige’s mouth falls open.

“You did not just say that.”

Lauren gives Paige a smug smile, which amuses Azzi because it’s the same smile Paige gives her whenever she wins an argument. “And I meant it too.”

If Lauren were not much smaller than Paige, she would be tackling her right now, based off the look on her face. But instead she composes herself and turns to Ryan, who is sitting at the front of the speedboat on his phone. He feels his older sister’s gaze and looks up at her, then at the life jacket in her hands. “You’re funny.”

“I’m being so for real.”

“There’s gonna be hot girls in bikinis on the lake,” Ryan replies, as if this is the most obvious thing ever. “No way I’m wearing a life jacket.”

Paige sighs and rubs her temple with her fingers, and Azzi would never say it out loud (for fear of being pushed into the lake) but she does kind of look like her mom in this moment.

When Paige turns on her with a warning look, Azzi startles, wondering if she’s somehow read her mind. But instead, Paige picks up another life jacket and says, “Will you at least wear one?”

Azzi smiles, a little puzzled. “Paige, I don’t need a life jacket. I can swim.” Which is obvious considering she and Paige have spent various lake days at her family’s cabin.

“Yeah, but for my peace of mind, though!” Paige shakes the life jacket in Azzi’s direction.

The truth is, Azzi wouldn’t mind wearing the life jacket. But ever since she put on this bikini—pastel purple in color—Paige has been swallowing thickly and averting her eyes constantly. So Azzi thinks she has other reasons for wanting her to cover up.

And Azzi can’t let her get away with that, can she?

“I don’t need it.” Azzi steps forward and takes the life jacket out of Paige’s grasp, tossing it aside before reaching to trail her hand down Paige’s bicep, squeezing the hard muscle a little bit. “And besides, won’t you save me if I’m drowning?” she asks, smiling coyly.

Paige’s throat bobs, eyes landing respectfully on a spot past Azzi’s shoulder. “Well, that’s not really how that works.”

Azzi blinks, and she knows just how big and brown her eyes are when she looks up at Paige through her lashes. “No? Thought you’ve been in the gym?”

“I have,” Paige says defensively.

“Hm.” Azzi lets her hand trail off Paige’s arm, resting it on Paige’s side before dancing her fingers dangerously over Paige’s exposed abs. “You wanna prove that to me, baby?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and Azzi loves the way she can not only see but feel her stomach tense under her fingers. But the moment is broken by a gagging sound nearby.

Lauren—who has sat beside her brother and pulled out her own phone—is now looking at them with disgust. “You guys are so gross.”

“You shouldn’t be making sexual innuendos in front of Lauren,” Ryan adds on, though his eyes don’t leave his screen.

“Yeah!” Lauren agrees, then furrows her eyebrows and starts tapping at her phone. Azzi guesses she’s probably searching what sexual innuendo means.

“Hey, yo, don’t blame me,” Paige says, putting her hands up and taking two big steps away from Azzi. “She started it.”

“Azzi’s a freak,” Ryan says.

“Whoa, chill!”

“Hey, that’s actually offensive,” Lauren says. She has picked up a habit of defending Azzi with her life these last few days they’ve spent together, and Azzi has decided she would do the same. “That’s like calling her a monster or something.”

Ryan smirks, finally looking up at them. “I didn’t mean that kinda freak.”

“Okayyy!” Paige jumps in before Lauren can do any more Googling. “Let’s get this show on the road. Imma go untie us real quick, then we’ll head out.”

For the first time, nerves bubble in Azzi’s tummy. “Paige, you sure you’ll be able to drive this thing?”

Paige looks almost offended at the question. “Yeah, duh.”

“It’s just, you’ve never driven a speed boat before…”

“Trust me, mama,” Paige says, nodding cockily to herself. “I got driving skills like you’ve never seen.”

Fifteen minutes later, Azzi realizes Paige was telling the truth. She has certainly never seen these driving skills before.

Paige is an—erratic driver, to put it mildly. This lake is private, huge, and though there are plenty of other boaters out Paige drives as if they’re the only ones on the water. At one point, she gets to such a high speed that even Ryan grasps onto Azzi a little bit.

When Paige very nearly runs into a cruising party boat, Azzi finally gets up from her place between the kids and marches over to Paige, who glances up at her with a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

“Lemme drive,” Azzi demands, beckoning for Paige to get up.

“No!” Paige says stubbornly. “I’m doin’ good!”

“I thought I was going to die!” Lauren pipes up angrily.

Azzi motions to her. “See? You’re scaring your brother and sister.”

“Whoa, who said I was scared?” Ryan says.

Azzi decides against bringing up the fact that he kept clinging to her arm. “This is scary, I wanna drive.”

“But babeee,” Paige groans, bringing the boat to a stop so she can properly argue, “you drive like a grandma.”

“I drive like a sane person, is what I think you mean to say.”

“It’ll be boring.”

“Paige.”

Paige stares her down for a moment before sighing like a stubborn little kid. “Fine. You can drive.”

Azzi nods, pleased, and shoves at Paige’s shoulder when she doesn’t move. “Get up.”

A slow smile creeps over Paige’s face and Azzi doesn’t like the look of that at all. “I gotta show you the ropes.”

“I don’t need you to teach me how to drive this thing,” Azzi says as if it’s obvious, because really, it is. The thought of Paige trying to teach anyone her…unique ways is downright scary. “I got it.”

“Nah, I think you’ll need some help.”

“P, for real, stop being difficult and move.”

“I’m not about to—“

“Can we go?” Lauren says loudly, getting both girls’ attention.

“Yeah, I’m getting hot as hell just sitting here,” Ryan agrees.

“I wanna get to that diving cliff Paige was talking about!”

Before Azzi can turn back to Paige to continue arguing with her, Paige has her hands on her hips and is pulling her firmly into her lap. Azzi squeaks, grabbing onto the wheel for leverage.

“Paige!” she exclaims, turning to glare at the smug-looking girl underneath her.

“You heard them,” Paige says simply, shrugging her shoulders as if her hands are tied. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t—“ Azzi starts to argue once again, but then Lauren is sighing dramatically in that teenage-girl way of her’s and saying, “Seriously, come on!”

So, almost in a daze, Azzi turns back to the front and moves her hand to the shift, getting the boat moving slowly again. She tries desperately to ignore it when Paige leans up close to her ear and murmurs, “Atta girl,” but she can’t help the goosebumps that erupt over her neck and Paige must spot them because she chuckles lightly before leaning back, letting Azzi do her thing.

Trying to shake off the feeling of Paige’s hot breath fanning over her skin, Azzi amps up the speed a little bit, determined to show Paige that she can be fun and safe, as promised.

After a few minutes of skimming over the water, Azzi calls over the wind, “Thought you were gonna ‘show me the ropes’?”

“Looks like you got it,” Paige says, sitting straight so she’s pressed up against Azzi’s back again, and her hands find their place on Azzi’s waist.

“Why’d you make me sit on your lap, then, P?” Azzi asks, and her tone lilts teasingly but she is sort of freaking out on the inside because moments like these—moments where Azzi hardly bothers to hide her feelings for Paige and Paige, instead of shying away, responds—are becoming a little too common for comfort.

Paige rests her chin on Azzi’s shoulder, lips brushing her cheek when she says, “Think you know why, hm?”

Yeah. Definitely far too common for comfort.

Ramping up the speedboat a little bit—enough that Ryan whoops and Lauren leans over the side to touch the water—Azzi shifts her hips. She moves out of discomfort, almost subconsciously trying to get away from this buzzing energy between her and her best friend, but Paige lets out a huff of air at the motion and, curious, Azzi does it again.

A full-on gasp this time.

A flush creeps up over Azzi’s cheeks all the way down her chest, and she’s not sure if it’s from pleasure or shyness, though likely it’s both. But she can’t let Paige have the upper hand, because Azzi can’t even imagine how quickly she’d fold if that happened. So instead, she turns her head to the side and says, “All good, Paige?”

The problem with this is Paige’s face is still turned toward her when she says it. And when Azzi moves to reciprocate the angle, their lips are so close that they brush on the last word. On the utterance of Paige’s name.

Azzi jerks back as soon as it happens, putting a couple inches of distance between their faces, and she’s sure the flush is noticeable by now. She tries for a lighthearted laugh, “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize you were so close—“

She doesn’t see it coming when Paige kisses her.

It pulls a gasp out of her, lips now pressed against Paige parting slightly in surprise, and her eyes don’t even close until she feels Paige’s tongue dip inside her mouth.

It’s a quick swipe, her tongue against the space between Azzi’s teeth and upper lip before she’s pulling away—only enough to make the kiss much more chaste.

Her hands slide from Azzi’s waist to her stomach, and Azzi grips onto the steering wheel for dear life when Paige moans ever so quietly into her mouth, the sound barely heard over the wind whipping around them. And then the wind is whipping Paige’s hair into their faces, a few strands getting in Azzi’s mouth, which she takes as her opportunity to pull away. Paige stares at her—The Look again—for only a split second this time (Azzi much prefers that over the lingering one) before her face is breaking into a smile, not cocky or smug or teasing but just bright, and Azzi can’t help but laugh with her as they pull Paige’s hair out of her mouth.

“Keep your eyes on the lake!” Lauren yells at them, and when they look at her she’s got her nose wrinkled. “What is it with you guys and PDA today?”

“Maybe someone put viagra in their coffees this morning,” Ryan suggests, looking equally as disgusted as his little sister but also twice as amused.

“What’s viagra?” Lauren asks.

“Yo, Ryan!” Paige snaps, her hands moving tantalizingly from Azzi’s tummy to rest low on her hips instead, and Azzi forces herself to look back where she’s driving. “Keep it PG, dawg!”

“I could say the same thing to you,” he replies, and Azzi isn’t looking at him but she can picture the smirk on his face—she knows the look all too well by now.

The three of them bicker for a few more minutes, and Azzi tries really hard to focus on where they’re going rather than the implications of that kiss and all the questions that follow it.

Paige is the bad driver, but when she leans forward and mimics her—“All good, baby?”—Azzi worries she may be the one to crash this boat.

———————————————

“Sunscreen time!”

“No, what?”

“We just put some on!”

“Az, I’m never gonna tan at this point!”

Shaking the sunscreen into her hands, Azzi motions the three siblings towards her. “C’mon, you need it.”

“I don’t burn,” Lauren insists as she steps up in front of Azzi, lifting her arms dutifully anyway.

“You’re already getting a little red,” Azzi points out, applying an extra-thick layer onto Lauren’s rosy nose.

“This is lame,” Lauren groans, though she still lets Azzi work in silence and mumbles a thank you before she turns back to the lake.

Ryan is next, and he doesn’t complain about it but he does stare down at his phone the entire time, his head only falling back down when Azzi tries to push it up. “Ryan,” she sighs.

He tears his eyes away from his phone, only to look around subconsciously. Azzi knows he’s trying to see if the gaggle of teenage girls along the rocky beach have noticed him getting his sunscreen done.

“Hurry up,” Paige complains, nudging her younger brother in the back, and he turns around to shove her.

Azzi fights back a smile. “You can put it on yourself if that’s better.”

“It’s good,” he says nonchalantly, but he hasn’t quite mastered acting like he doesn’t care.

Azzi finishes up quickly, ending the torture with an encouraging smile, watching him run up to join his sister where she stands on the ledge above the lake, sneaking up on her. He pushes her in and Azzi laughs at the way Lauren screeches before her eyes drift to Paige, who is now standing right in front of her, looking awfully petulant.

“You really don’t want me to tan, huh?” she says, wincing as Azzi rubs the cold lotion over Paige’s sun-kissed shoulders.

“Your white ass is gonna burn if we don’t do this every thirty minutes,” Azzi says, reiterating what she said the past five times Paige complained about the sunscreen.

“I got a little melanin in me.”

Azzi looks at the way Paige’s blue eyes are squinting against the summer sun, the way her pale skin is already tinted pink, and raises her brows.

Paige holds her hand up. “Just gimme the sunscreen.”

Chuckling, Azzi squirts some into her hand before giving the bottle to Paige, who turns around and starts doing her front while Azzi does her back. They’ve done this maybe a hundred times, before countless sunny fair days and hot boat rides, but today it just feels a little…off. Everything feels a little off about them recently.

Azzi worries it may be her fault. She has always been good at hiding her feelings for Paige, good at making sure her attraction doesn’t show on her face just like she knows all her other emotions do. But recently, ever since they began this facade—and more so ever since they arrived in Montana—she knows she’s been slipping up. She thought she’d be okay but she wasn’t prepared for the way Paige would look at her like she wasn’t pretending, the way Paige calls her pet names even when they’re alone, the way Paige told her she liked kissing her and wants to do it again.

The way Paige did do it again.

And there lies the burning question: why?

Azzi knows Paige doesn’t have feelings for her. Azzi knows that she’s the only one who lies awake thinking about having Paige in every sense of the word, the only one who wakes up in the middle of the night thinking of Paige with an uncomfortable stickiness between her legs. She is the only one, of course, who is in love.

Then why do Paige’s eyes and hands wander nowadays? Why does she call her baby in quiet moments? Why did she kiss her when she really didn’t have to?

Could she be—attracted to Azzi? Maybe through playing this role, she’s seen Azzi in a new light, and realized her best friend is no longer dorky and fourteen but rather a tall, pretty twenty year old with a great ass. (And yes, Azzi knows she has a great ass.)

She could be attracted to her and not be in love. She could be attracted to her and have no other attachment whatsoever. The two things can be true at once, can’t they?

The thought flatters her but it mostly scares her, because she’s barely surviving this unrequited love as it is. But with her best friend having any level of attraction back? How is she supposed to continue on like that?

“Azzi?” Paige asks, and the tone of her voice implies she’s already said it a few times.

Azzi hums, blinking. “Sorry, yeah?”

“Uh,” Paige says, and it’s then that Azzi realizes her hands have stopped rubbing lotion into Paige’s back and have sort of just come to rest on her waist—like it’s instinctive. Like it’s natural. “You done back there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Azzi says, but for some unknown reason she can’t find it in herself to let go.

Paige glances over her shoulder. “Azzi?” she repeats.

Azzi can’t really take it any longer.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Paige’s sides tense up under Azzi’s hands, and then she’s stepping away, out of her grasp, and turning to face her.

The look on her face is guarded, almost closed off completely. This is dangerous territory and Azzi has barely dipped her toes in the water yet.

When Azzi’s hands fall helplessly to her sides, Paige says, “I was pretending.”

As much as Azzi doesn’t buy it, the words—and the flat, cold intonation of them—sting. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why’re you being weird about it?” Paige asks, eyes dancing nervously away from Azzi’s face.

“I’m not, Paige. I just—I wanna know. For real.”

“You agreed to do this for me,” Paige reminds her, as if that has anything to do with this. But, of course, it has everything to do with this, and Azzi hates how easy it makes it for the both of them to hide under a facade, a lie.

“I know,” Azzi says carefully, also taking a step back if only to get away from Paige’s chilly stare. “But you didn’t have to kiss me this time. There wasn’t a reason.”

Paige shrugs, and Azzi hates to admit it but she is much better than her younger brother at acting nonchalant. “We’re s’posed to be a couple. I don’t want my siblings getting suspicious. They know I’m a touchy person.”

Getting the sinking feeling that Azzi won’t get anything out of this conversation other than a fight, she nods slowly, looking down at the ground. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paige, as usual, thaws at the slightest hint of weakness, taking a tiny step forward. “Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Azzi is a little too quick to say. The kiss caught her by surprise, but they’ve only done it two times and Azzi is quickly coming to find that kissing Paige is the most comfortable thing in the world—it’s natural, and right, and like curling up in bed with a book and a warm cup of tea—and Azzi also knows they should never do it again.

Despite the earnest answer, Paige looks at her suspiciously. “You sure, ma? Don’t ever wanna make you uncomfortable.”

Azzi does her best to fix her face, which she worries may be showing a little too much. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.”

“Aight,” Paige says, but she still doesn’t sound very convinced. Azzi’s just glad she’s letting it go.

“Sorry for bringing it up,” Azzi says. She’s not.

At this, Paige sighs, reaching out to bridge the gap between them, running a gentle hand up and down Azzi’s arm. “Nah, don’t be, I get it. Sorry for getting a lil defensive.”

A little? Despite the fact she doesn’t believe Paige one bit, and that she doesn’t like anything about the interaction they just had, Azzi manages a smile. “You’re good.”

Paige nods, and her smile at least seems to be sincere. But as they jump into the lake, and as Paige talks Azzi’s ear off while Azzi floats around lazily in a donut floatie, things feel even more off than before.

Azzi can’t quite place what it is until late that night, when they’re both going to sleep and Paige is, for the first time in ages, strangely quiet. She glances over to find Paige lying on her stomach, face turned away, breathing too quickly to be asleep.

And that’s when Azzi notices it. The gap between them, the sheer amount of space from Azzi on her side all the way to Paige, who is almost on the edge of the bed.

Paige always sleeps close to Azzi.

And she always sleeps with her head turned towards her.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

lmk if u wanna be on my tag list btw!!

[soaps-mohawk]

Good Boy

Summary: He’s been such a good puppy. You want nothing more than to reward him on his special day. 

Pairing: Johnny x reader

Word Count: 5,527 words

Warnings: Pet play, mommy kink, puppy!Soap, sex toys, breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, spanking (it’s like one), anal fingering, vaginal fingering, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, lingerie, 

A/N: This is the first kinktober fic I wrote for this year, but I ultimately decided not to do a version for Kyle. It just fits Johnny perfectly and I’m honestly proud of it. Posted it on Patreon back in early October but decided to post it here for everyone to enjoy

MASTERLIST

You can hear the slight rattle of the kennel before you even have the front door closed. You take your time, kicking off your heels, placing your keys in the drawer, going to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Quiet, pathetic whining reaches your ears, the quiet scuff of movement on the plastic crate pan. He must have bunched his bed up again. 

Silly dog. 

You flip through the mail casually, tossing junk in the recycling and setting aside what you can only assume is a birthday card from your parents. The whining gets louder and more consistent. You let out a quiet sigh, tempted to open the card now and make him wait, but you'll be a good owner and give him the attention he's so desperate for. 

Poor thing has been locked up all day. 

Your feet pad quietly towards the living room, dress pants dragging quietly on the wood. You'll have to get these dry cleaned later. The whining gets louder as you approach, the metal exterior of the kennel rattling as he moves around in anticipation. 

You round the corner, pausing in the archway separating the living room from the hallway. Your dog, your sweet boy, is kneeling in his kennel, pressed up against the door in excitement. Tufts of hair stick through the top as he waits for you to scratch him through the bars like you always do. You can imagine his tail wagging happily, if he had one. 

“Did you miss me?” You ask, not moving towards the kennel. 

“Yes, mommy.” He whines, pressing harder against the cage, so hard his skin begins to push out between the gaps in the metal. 

You let out a sigh, finally approaching. “Stop it. You'll leave marks on your skin. You know mommy hates that.”

He lets out a whine, but does as he's told, moving away from the side of the cage, but he keeps his head pressed against the top. 

“Good boy.” You praise him, bending down to scratch his head through the bars. 

His hair is soft between your fingers. He'd had a mohawk when you picked him out and brought him home. You let him keep it, finding it endearing. It gives him character. Fits him perfectly. 

“Were you a good boy today?” You ask, pulling your hand away, bending down further, placing your hands on your knees. Your breasts push up, visible thanks to the few buttons you'd undone on your work shirt as you drove home from your after work errands. There's even a sliver of your bra showing. Blue, his favorite color. 

His eyes are trained on your breasts, licking his lips. His whole body is wiggling excitedly, his cock swinging between his legs, back and forth almost like a tail might. He's distracted, drool starting to drip out of his mouth just from the sight of your cleavage. 

To be fair, you had been denying him all week in preparation for today. 

You reach through the top of the cage again, fingers gripping his hair and tugging until his head is forced against the top of the kennel. “Mommy asked you a question.”

He lets out a pathetic whine, thick fingers curling between the thin metal bars at the top of the kennel. “Sorry mommy.” He pouts, giving you puppy eyes as he apologizes. You can't help but soften as those big blue eyes begin to glisten with tears. “I was the best boy today.” 

You hum, releasing his hair. You scratch his scalp as you eye the bed pushed against the back of the crate. “You messed your bed up.” His water and snack bowls are empty, shoved to the back of the crate with his bed. 

“Too excited.” He whines. 

You hum again, standing up straight. His eyes follow you, head shifting against the top of the cage. “Is my little pup excited about today?”

He nods, his fingers flexing on the metal bars. “Yes, mommy.”

“I got you a surprise.” You say, turning to the side table across from his kennel, digging the key from the drawer. “To celebrate.” 

“What is it?” He asks, getting excited again. 

“Well, that wouldn't make it much of a surprise, would it?” You tease, turning back to the kennel. 

He lets out an eager whine, leaning against the front of the cage. 

“Do you need to go potty?” You ask, bending down in front of the cage again. 

“Please mommy. Real bad.” He begs. 

You do feel bad. He has been locked up all day, and you had taken the time to run some errands after work. You've tried letting him have free reign of the house. It lasted a day. You'd come home from work to find him desperately humping your pillow, a pair of dirty panties he'd pulled from your laundry basket pressed against his nose. He'd made quite a mess, and so you had to go back to putting him in the crate every time you left. 

“Can you be a big boy and use the bathroom, or do we need to go outside?” You ask.

He whines as he thinks for a moment. “Bathroom, please.”

You hum, putting the key in the padlock that keeps him from opening the cage. It's more to keep him from escaping to romp around the house and make another mess. He wouldn't leave the house, though. He has no reason to. He can get out in the case of an emergency, but he's a good boy. He does as he's told...most of the time. 

You open the door to the crate, letting him crawl out. You turn the TV off as he takes a moment to stretch, joints creaking from being shut in the confined space. It's no small crate, the biggest you could find. Still, it doesn't leave him much room for moving around. 

You'll have to book him a massage this weekend. Get those muscles loosened up again. 

“Come on, pup.” You say, nudging him with your foot in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. “Let's go potty.”

He crawls on all fours towards the bathroom, slow going after being cooped up all day. You don't rush him, walking slowly behind him. The tags on his collar clink with every waddling shuffle on his hands and knees. 

He crawls into the bathroom and you turn on the light. He shifts up onto his knees, using the edge of the sink to pull himself onto his feet. You watch him as he stands, joints cracking again. He stretches, arms up over his head, the muscles in his back moving as he does. 

Sometimes you forget just how big he is. 

It's easy when he's crawling around on all fours to make him small in your mind. It's not until he's standing that you remember just how broad he is. 

5'11, roughly 200 pounds. That's what his profile said when you were searching for a new puppy. Your previous one had decided to leave, a mutual agreement. He had only been in training, and decided the lifestyle wasn't for him after all. 

You don't mind training pups. It can be quite fun, but you were ready for a more experienced puppy after him. 

That's when you came across Johnny. Soap, as his profile had said. A nickname given by a previous owner. You can only imagine what he'd done that earned him that nickname. 

His bio was thorough, and he'd even provided the reference of his previous owner. You were intrigued so you had messaged him, and agreed to meet. 

You liked him immediately. 

Friendly, excitable, already eager to please during your first conversation. You're sure he'd have gotten down on all fours and crawled across the coffee shop if you'd asked him to. 

His separation with his last owner had been rather traumatic and he needed someone to take control, someone who could handle him, his neediness, his clinginess, his intense libido and stamina. 

It had only taken three meetings and a test run for him to move into your house. 

He learned quickly, adapting to your rules very fast. It had been a pleasant surprise, finding such an eager pup in a Scottish bloke who looked more like he should be tossing logs at the Highland Games and not crawling around on your floor with a collar around his neck.

Your last pup had been more of a Greyhound, while Johnny, he’s more of a Rottweiler. Large and intimidating, but sweet and cuddly and so eager to please. 

Johnny lets out a sigh as he finally gets to relieve himself after a long day. You stand, leaning in the doorway, watching him as he shakes and then grabs toilet paper to wipe his tip. A proud smile tugs at your lips as he washes his hands thoroughly with soap and hot water. 

“Good boy.” You praise him as he drops back onto all fours. You run your fingers through his mohawk, letting the soft strands slip through your fingers. It’s getting long, you’ll have to trim it soon. “Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you.” 

He crawls behind you into the kitchen, watching as you move to the bag on the counter. He crawls closer, sitting back on his knees, watching you eagerly. You rip the tags off the toy in your hands, before turning to face him. 

“I got you an extra special toy for your birthday.” You hold out the stuffed squirrel to him. 

His eyes widen as he stares at it, sitting back fully on his knees as he reaches for it. It’s soft and fluffy and squeaks when you squeeze the middle. You’d spent almost half an hour at the pet store debating which you should get. You’d spent so long there a worker had approached, asking if you needed help and what kind of dog the toy was for. 

Great Dane, you’d told her, your go-to answer when buying things for your pup. 

She’d recommended the squirrel, and you could hardly say no. It was perfect, and judging by the way Johnny is clutching it to his chest, he thinks so too. 

“I also got you a meat stick.” You say, pulling the long beef stick from the grocery bag. “So you can have something to chew on.” You say, pulling off the wrapper. 

“Thank you, mommy.” He says, taking the beef stick between his teeth. 

You watch him crawl to the corner of the dining room where his bed sits. He makes himself comfortable, stretched out on the soft, plush bed, his new squirrel tucked under his arm as he chews on his meat stick. 

You jump into making one of his favorite dinners while he’s occupied. While you’ve never been quite brave enough to try your hand at haggis, Johnny never complains about scotch pies. You turn on some quiet music while you work, eyes flickering to Johnny every so often. He’s content in the corner, making quick work of the meat stick. 

You take your time cooking, Johnny lazing with his squirrel in his arms. You stare at his cock as you mix ingredients, more thick than it is long as it drapes between his legs. There’s a heat growing between your own legs as you stare at him. He’s spread out on the bed, legs stretching straight out after being cooped up in the kennel all day. You make a quick note on the calendar. He needs a spa day this weekend. So will you after tonight. 

You jump as a hand grips your leg, weight settling against you. Johnny is leaning against your hip, big hand wrapped around your thigh. It’s slowly creeping higher, as if you wouldn’t notice it snaking up your inner thigh. 

You tsk at him, shifting out of his hold. “That’s not good boy behavior.” 

He lets out a whine, trying to move closer to you. “Sorry mommy. Need you bad.” 

“You need your strength, baby boy. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” You run your hand over his head. You do leave him plenty of snacks to tide him over on days you have to go into the office. It’s always a big dinner night on those days to make up for his lack of lunch. 

He lets out a disappointed whine but he knows your right. He’s always a good boy, always so eager to please you and behave. He crawls back to his bed, cock swinging between his legs. Your teeth sink into your lip as you watch him go, rubbing your thighs together as you shift on your feet. It’s going to be a long evening for you too. 

You plate up dinner for him, gently easing him back into his human brain for the moment as you remove his collar. Usually you make him eat on the floor out of his bowl, but this is a special occasion. You grab the card from the counter as you carry the plates to the table. 

“Smells good.” He says, his voice lower and rougher than it is when he’s in his puppy mindset. His accent is thicker too, almost like he becomes an entirely new person. Well...he does. The whiny, needy puppy is gone, hidden well beneath the surface of a normal human man. 

“My parents sent a card.” You say, sliding it across the table to him as you take a seat. 

“That was nice of them.” He says, picking it up and opening it. 

He reads it to you, full of well wishes and congratulations. Your parents have met him a few times, though they only know him as your boyfriend. They’ll never know about the other side of your relationship, the side where your giant Scottish boyfriend crawls around on all fours wearing a collar and occasionally a butt plug with a silicone tail attached. 

To your parents he’s just a normal man. To you, he’s your good little puppy. 

The two of you chat as you eat, talking about work and your coworkers and the annoying woman at the shop that was arguing with the cashier. It’s all so domestic, all so...normal. 

You almost prefer him on the floor on his knees begging for scraps. 

He sneaks up behind you while you’re doing dishes, his arms wrapping around you. You can feel the bulge of his quickly hardening cock against your ass, his hands sliding up your stomach towards your breasts. 

“This isn’t good boy behavior.” You say, but you don’t stop him as his hands cup your breasts through your shirt. 

You’ve fucked a few times like this, both of you in your normal mindsets. You let him be more dominant, let him get that energy out before he submits to you again. He’s a good fuck, knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly how to work you up. 

“You’re going to ruin your surprise.” You say, yet you can’t stop yourself from pushing back against him as his thumbs brush over your nipples through your shirt. The skimpy bra you’re wearing doesn’t offer much coverage or protection from his fingers. 

“Sorry mommy.” He growls in your ear, grinding against your ass. 

The deep growl in his voice has a shiver running down your spine. You should stop this before it gets much further, but part of you is tempted to let him have this moment, let him celebrate his birthday in both mindsets. 

“Easy, puppy boy.” You say, pushing his hands away from your breasts. You turn around, dragging a wet finger over his lips. “Be a good boy and behave yourself and you can have your surprise after I’m done.” 

The change happens instantly, his eyes lighting up as he shifts back into his puppy mindset. He drops to his knees in front of you, eye to eye with your pussy but he behaves himself, holding still as you move to grab his collar. You stare down at the fabric one with the plastic clip, the one he wears while you’re gone in case he needs to get out of it fast. You want his leather one tonight. 

You clip the collar around his neck for now before going back to the dishes. He crawls back to his bed, laying himself down on his stomach. You watch him carefully out of the corner of your eye to make sure he’s not rutting against the bed like a bad dog. 

Dishes go by quickly as you set them in the drying rack, catching movement out of the corner of your eye. Unsurprisingly Johnny is in the corner, humping his bed, trying to relieve some of the ache that probably has his cock pulsing. You let out a sigh before approaching, bringing your hand down against his ass, the perky cheek bouncing. He lets out a yowl, his hips bucking into the bed. 

“You’re being a bad boy.” You say as he turns around, cock weeping with precum. There’s a damp spot on the fabric of his bed, but you know he hasn’t cum. Not yet. He knows better. 

“Sorry Mommy.” He pouts, but he can’t cute his way out of this one. 

You slip your fingers under the front of his collar, tugging him forward gently. “Bad boys get punished.” 

He lets out a whine, trying to give you big puppy eyes but they don’t work. You’ve long grown immune to that stare. 

“Come on.” You say, moving to the drawer to pull out a leash. He crawls towards you, sitting back on his knees to allow you to clip the leash onto his collar. He is a good boy, he just can’t control himself sometimes. 

Not with his insane libido. 

You walk him to the stairs, taking them slow as you lead him up to the second floor. He picks up his pace on the carpet, following you eagerly into the bedroom. He dutifully sits on his knees next to the bed, watching you as you unclip his collar. You pull the leather one from the drawer, the one you made specially for him, the one with his name stamped on the side. 

Johnny. 

He tilts his head back as you put it on him, slipping two fingers under to make sure it’s not too tight. You turn back to the drawer, pulling out the box. He shifts on his knees, already knowing what’s coming. 

“Bend over.” You say, pulling out the lube. He shifts himself onto the bed immediately, bending himself over the side. You squirt some lube over his ass, letting it run down over his hole. “Get yourself ready.” 

“Yes mommy.” He doesn’t hesitate as he reaches a hand back, gathering lube on his finger before pressing it into his hole. He groans, pushing his face against the bed as he works his finger in, opening himself up. You watch him fuck himself with his finger, adding a second one to open himself up. The plug isn’t huge, but you want him to be prepared. 

You spread lube on the plug before you pat his ass gently and he pulls his fingers from his hole. You squirt more lube over his hole before you press the tip of the plug against his ass. He clenches as you begin to push it in, a whiny moan leaving his lips. He’s staining the comforter with precum, but that’s what washing machines are for. 

It won’t be the only stain on the bed by the time you’re done with him. 

You slide the plug into place, the silicone tail perky in the air. He wiggles his hips, the tail wagging back and forth. 

You hum, pleased by the sight. “My cute little puppy.” You praise him before grabbing the fluffy ears from the box. You’ve always preferred them over the more traditional mask. You want to see his cute face as you make him beg to cum. 

He slides off the edge of the bed, sitting back on his knees. A breathy moan leaves his lips as the plug shifts inside him, the tail moving as he clenches around it. His cock is bright red and hard, and you’re sure you could see it pulsing with need if you looked close enough. You put the ears on him, stepping back to stare at him. 

What a beautiful sight he makes. 

“You were a bad boy.” You say as you close the box, moving it off the bed. “Humping your bed like a needy little pup.” 

“Am a needy pup.” He whines, hips bucking the air in desperation. 

“Naughty pups deserve punishment.” You ignore his words, moving to stand in front of him at the end of the bed. “You only get to watch.” 

His eyes widen as you begin to unbutton your shirt, revealing the lacy bra underneath. Your nipples pebble in the cool air as you untuck your shirt, undoing the last buttons before slipping it off your shoulders. You toss it on the floor before undoing your pants, sliding them down your legs. He lets out a whine as your lacy panties are revealed, blue just like your bra. He shifts on his knees again as you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, spreading your legs. 

The lace is damp from your arousal, darkening the fabric. He licks his lips as you rub your damp slit over the lace. He loves lace, the sight of it enough to make his cock leak. He can cum untouched like a needy teenager if you get him worked up enough. You're tempted to do it, make him cum all over himself before he gets to touch you. 

That feels like too much of a reward. 

“You don't cum until mommy does.” You command, moving the lace to the side to drag a finger through your slit. 

He licks his lips, watching your shiny juices smear all over your skin as you rub your hand over your pussy. He’s enraptured, forgetting himself as he stares at your fingers and the way you spread yourself open for him to see. You’re doing it on purpose, goading him and distracting him to make him forget himself. All the more sweet torture for him. 

You stop your hand, covering your pussy from his sight. “I gave you an order.” You say, your voice stern. 

“Yes, mommy.” He stutters out, eyes still glued between your legs. “Don’t cum until ye do.” 

“Good boy.” You praise him, opening your legs wider. 

You circle your clit with a finger as you stare at him, those big blue eyes locked in on your hand between your legs. He’s picturing himself doing it, his fingers dragging through your folds, smearing your slick everywhere. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch where they rest on his thighs. He wants to taste you so badly he might start drooling soon. 

You won’t let him have it yet, sliding your hand down to press a finger into your pussy. You moan softly as you work your finger in, knowing you’ll need to prepare yourself regardless to take his thick cock. You can take it without preparation, but he’s far too eager to be gentle tonight, to take his time. 

You slip a second finger into your pussy, your head falling back as you fuck yourself with your fingers. Johnny shifts on his knees, hands curling into fists where they rest on his thighs. The wet sound fills the air as you thrust your fingers in and out, toes curling. You’ve been waiting for this as much as he has, your pussy throbbing for the last hour now. Still you pull your fingers from your pussy before you can cum, resting them against your inner thigh, spreading juices on your skin. Johnny is drooling now, his chin wet as his mouth hangs open just slightly. You can’t help but chuckle as you stare at him. 

Needy thing. 

You push yourself back up, staring at his cock for a moment. It looks painful, the nice side of you wanting to take pity on him, have mercy. This night is about him after all. It is his birthday. 

“Come here and make me cum.” You say, holding the lace out of the way. 

He doesn't hesitate as he crawls forward, immediately pressing his face against your folds. His tongue darts out, licking at your damp lips like the eager pup he is. He flicks his tongue over your clit, your stomach clenching at the warm sensation. He holds your gaze as he licks and sucks at your clit, slurping sloppily at the sensitive numb. Your lips are parted as you pant and moan, your hand lifting to grip his mohawk, pressing him harder against your pussy. He doesn’t complain, slick wetting his skin as he suckles at your clit, the sensations almost too much. 

“Gonna cum...” You moan. “Make mommy cum!”

He sucks harder at your clit, flicking it with his tongue over and over. You cum quickly, thighs squeezing around his head. Your hips grind against his face, your hand tightening in his mohawk, holding him in place. 

“Fuck....” You moan, his tongue still working at your clit, pushing you towards overstimulation. 

You have to tug him away from your pussy, your body shaking from the near overstimulation. His face is shiny, his mouth still parted as he stares up at you. You press your fingers against his tongue, his lips closing around them, licking the remnants of your juices off them. 

“Stand up.” You say, pulling your fingers free. 

He does as he’s told, standing over you. His cock is right in front of you, hard and throbbing. You spit on your hand before you wrap your fingers around him, smearing your spit all over his length. He groans, his hips thrusting as you begin to move your hand, jerking him off. 

“Gonna cum for mommy?” You ask, precum dripping around his foreskin. 

“Gonnae cum.” He moans, hips thrusting in time with your hand. “Don’t stop, please!” 

You don’t have any plans to, picking up the pace of your hand as you stare up at him. His cum is hot as it splatters against your chest, painting your skin as he moans low and deep. You pump him through his orgasm, milking every last drop out of him. He’s nowhere near done for the night, cock still hard in your hand. 

You release him, leaning back on the bed again. “You made quite the mess, pup. Clean it up.” 

He drops to his knees in front of you, leaning forward over you. His arms wrap around you as he begins to lick his cum from your skin. His tongue is warm as it trails over your skin, lapping at the streaks of cum across your chest, making sure to get every last drop of it. He follows the trail of it down to your stomach, stopping to suck at one of your nipples through the lace. You let him do it, moaning softly at the sensation. He trails his lips down your body to your thighs, licking up his cum as he goes. 

He tries to push your thighs apart but you tsk at him, nudging him gently with your foot. “I’ve got something better for you.” You sit up straight on the edge of the bed, putting you nearly face to face with him. You grip him by the collar, pulling him up so you can stare into his eyes, your breath mixing with his. “I want you to breed me.” 

“What?” He breathes, the puppy brain slipping just for a moment. 

He goes still, his eyes widening. He searches your face for a moment, looking for any sign of hesitation or even a sign of mirth as you tell him you’re joking. You’re not. You rarely let him cum inside you, usually making him finish on your stomach before making him clean you up. He likes it too much, stuffing you full of his cum. You usually save it for special occasions like this one. 

You pull away as you shift on the bed, kneeling on the edge before bending down, arching your back to push your ass into his face. “You heard me. Be a good boy and breed me.” 

“Screaming Jesus.” He curses before rising to his feet, his hand falling to your hip. 

He slips his cock under your panties, thrusting it through the lace and your damp folds for a moment. You moan softly as his head catches on your clit, your hips pushing back against him. You've been thinking about this all day. It had been a rough day at work as your mind was only filled with thoughts of his cock inside of you. The temptation to slip into the bathroom and rub one out had been strong, but you didn't want to make things harder for you or him. 

You arch your back more as he pulls his cock back, pressing his tip against your hole. The comforter bunches as your hands sink into the fabric, holding on for dear life as his thick cock presses into you. You moan as he stretches you, rocking his hips to sink deeper and deeper. The stretch is always delicious, his cock like a bonus reward for choosing him as your puppy. Not just that, he knows how to use it. 

He folds himself over your back as soon as he’s seated inside you, beginning to rut his hips against your ass. His hands come to rest by your head, pushing himself deeper inside of you. 

“Fuck...that’s it puppy.” You moan, squeezing around him as he continues to rut into you like an eager pup. 

He is an eager pup. 

Your hands grip his wrists for support as his cock drags against that spot inside of you with every movement of his hips. He picks up the pace, his hips slapping against your ass. You’re the one almost drooling now as he rocks your body with his thrusts. He shifts, his knees coming to rest beside yours on the bed, pushing himself deeper into you. 

“God, fucking yes!” You moan, squeezing around his cock. 

He’s close, grunting in your ear as he ruts against you. You can picture his tail flopping back and forth, wagging excitedly as he finally fucks you after weeks of denying him your pussy. 

“Mommy. Mommy.” He moans desperately. “Please, can I cum? Please let me cum.” 

“Cum for me puppy.” You moan as his thrusts become sloppy and desperate. “Be a good boy and cum in me.” 

His cum is warm as it spurts into you, his hips jerking before stilling as he spills into you with a whine. His cock is twitching inside of you, spilling the last of his cum before he pulls out. He moves off of your back, gripping your waist before he flips you over onto your back. You can’t find it in you to reprimand him for manhandling you, one of the rare moments he’ll take control while still in his puppy brain. 

“Gonnae breed ye mommy.” He grunts, slotting his body between your thighs. You haven’t cum yet and he knows that. “Gonnae fill ye right up till ye burst.” 

Fuck. 

You can’t do anything but moan as he shoves your panties to the side again, thrusting right into you before very much of his cum slips out of you. He fucks it back into you, his pace fast and hard. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down against you. You can see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth from the force of his thrusts, your legs shaking as you grip his collar. 

“Such a good boy.” You moan, thighs squeezing around his hips. “Such a good puppy for mommy.” 

“‘M yer good boy.” He moans, pressing his face into your neck. “Good puppy for mommy.” 

“Gonna make me cum?” You whine, getting closer and closer to the edge with every slap of his hips against your clit. He’s close again, whining as you squeeze around him. 

“Please,” He whines, his pace stuttering. “Please cum mommy.” 

You can hardly deny him as your back arches, body shaking as you cum around him. Your limbs coil around him like a snake, holding him in you as your fluttering walls force another orgasm from him. He spills into you again, spurting more cum into your pussy. You moan at the feeling, reaching up to pet his damp mohawk. He’s shaking over you, tail vibrating in the air. The night is far from over, his cock already growing hard inside of you again. 

You’re going to call in the morning and book those spa days. 

You continue to pet his hair as he grinds against you, humping you like a needy puppy. You press your face against the side of his, lips brushing his ear as you pant against his sweaty skin. 

“Good boy.” 

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[dissapointu]

Could you please write “How Arcane character and reader argue”. Who is the first to apologize?

Of course!

Jinx

• How the argument goes:

Jinx’s arguments are chaotic, loud, and emotional. She struggles to articulate her feelings clearly, so it often spirals into sharp words or exaggerated gestures. Her frustrations may not even be entirely directed at you—it could be other stressors she’s projecting onto the situation.

• Who apologizes first:

You might have to take the lead in calming her down, but she’ll eventually mumble an apology, her voice shaky. She doesn’t want to lose you and will make an effort, but you’ll need patience as she works through her emotions.

Vi

• How the argument goes:

Vi’s arguments are fiery but surprisingly short-lived. She’s direct, saying what’s on her mind without sugarcoating it, which can sting. However, she doesn’t hold grudges and prefers resolving things quickly.

• Who apologizes first:

Vi. She hates dragging things out, and even if she thinks she’s in the right, she’ll be the first to say, “Alright, I was out of line. I’m sorry.” She values your relationship too much to let an argument fester.

Sevika

• How the argument goes:

Sevika’s arguments are calm but cutting. She’s not one to shout or lose control, but her words can be harsh, and she has a tendency to shut down the conversation if it gets too emotional. She’ll lean into cold, sarcastic remarks if she’s hurt.

• Who apologizes first:

Sevika struggles to apologize first. She’s prideful and might avoid the topic until you approach her. However, once she sees you’re genuinely upset, she’ll soften and apologize in her gruff way: “I was being an ass. My bad.”

Silco

• How the argument goes:

Silco’s arguments are calculated and composed. He uses logic and carefully chosen words, which can sometimes come off as condescending. If he feels cornered, he might lash out emotionally, but he rarely lets it show.

• Who apologizes first:

It’s rare for Silco to apologize outright unless he realizes he’s truly hurt you. If he sees the argument has pushed you away, he’ll approach you with a quiet, sincere apology, though it may take time for him to get there.

Vander

• How the argument goes:

Vander argues with patience but a hint of exasperation. He doesn’t raise his voice often, but when he does, it’s usually because he feels deeply about the issue at hand. He might pull the “I’m just trying to protect you” card, which can be frustrating.

• Who apologizes first:

Vander is quick to apologize. He values keeping the peace and will sit you down to talk things out properly, often over tea or a drink at the Last Drop.

Ekko

• How the argument goes:

Ekko’s arguments are heated but full of heart. He speaks with passion and frustration, especially if he feels like he’s not being heard. He may pace around or throw his hands in the air when he’s upset, needing to burn off his energy.

• Who apologizes first:

Ekko is quick to apologize. He hates seeing you upset and will approach you soon after to make things right. “I didn’t mean half of what I said. Let’s talk, Firebug.”

Jayce

• How the argument goes:

Jayce’s arguments are emotional and impulsive. He speaks before thinking, which can lead to hurtful or defensive comments. He may raise his voice unintentionally, especially if he feels misunderstood.

• Who apologizes first:

Jayce. He feels bad almost immediately and will apologize once he cools down. He’s the type to come back with a heartfelt apology and maybe even flowers to make it up to you.

Viktor

• How the argument goes:

Viktor’s arguments are calm but distant. He doesn’t like conflict and will try to rationalize his point of view. If he feels attacked, he might retreat emotionally, leaving things unresolved until you approach him.

• Who apologizes first:

You might have to initiate the reconciliation, but Viktor will apologize for his part once you talk things out. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your feelings. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

Caitlyn

• How the argument goes:

Caitlyn’s arguments are composed and thoughtful. She listens before speaking, but her points are sharp and difficult to refute. If she feels hurt, she’ll withdraw rather than lash out.

• Who apologizes first:

Caitlyn is quick to apologize, especially if she realizes she’s hurt you. She’ll approach you calmly and make sure the issue is fully resolved before moving on.

Mel Medarda

• How the argument goes:

Mel’s arguments are strategic and emotionally restrained. She doesn’t raise her voice or argue out of anger but will use her sharp intellect to point out flaws in your reasoning. If she’s deeply hurt, she might retreat behind a wall of cool indifference.

• Who apologizes first:

Mel. She values connection and doesn’t like letting things fester. Her apologies are thoughtful and sincere, often accompanied by a gesture to show her commitment to making things right.

Ambessa Medarda

• How the argument goes:

Ambessa’s arguments are intense and unyielding. She’s used to being in charge, so she can come off as domineering or dismissive if you push back too hard. However, she respects strength and will listen if you stand your ground.

• Who apologizes first:

Ambessa rarely apologizes first, but if she knows she’s truly wrong, she’ll admit it in her own way: “You’re right. I was out of line.” It’s blunt but meaningful.

Maddie Nolen

• How the argument goes:

Maddie’s arguments are fiery but brief. She’s passionate and speaks her mind, but she doesn’t hold onto grudges for long. She may storm off in the heat of the moment but regrets it almost immediately.

• Who apologizes first:

Maddie. She doesn’t like staying mad and will come back quickly with an apology, often accompanied by an attempt to make you laugh.

Lest

• How the argument goes:

Lest’s arguments are quiet but firm. She’s not one to shout or make a scene, but her words can sting if she feels deeply about the issue. She prefers to resolve things quickly and hates lingering tension.

• Who apologizes first:

Lest will be the first to apologize, often with a soft touch or a quiet “I’m sorry” as she leans into you. She hates seeing you upset and wants to make things right as soon as possible.

[katiascraft]

“26” | CL16 ᡣ𐭩.ᐟ

Parings: charles leclerc x ex!singer!reader

Summary: the world didn’t know you and Charles broke up a few months ago. it was until you haven’t been to any gp people started speculating. he finds some one new. Makes his dream com true. And you write an album about him reveling how you broke up and why.

“If it doesn’t go away by the time I’m 30 then I made a mistake and I’ll tell you I’m sorry”

Now playing: “21” by Gracie Abrams.

warnings: smau and that’s it tbh :)

author’s note: idk if this makes sense but I hope it does lol. Don’t forget to like, comment or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

── .✦

yourusername made a post

liked by yourbff, taylorswift, shawnmendes, and 1,345,789 others

yourusername: guess it’s just me, myself and music 🐰 (new tunes coming soon)

view more comments

user89: queeennnn can’t wait!!!

charlesmylove: why isn’t charles liking y/n stuff anymore 😭

↳ user976: RIGHT that’s what I’ve noticed

↳ user435: girl don’t start being delusional prob Charles doesn’t use social media

↳ user21: I have the feeling they broke up

sabrinacarpenter: they are not ready for what’s coming 🤓

↳ yourusername: 🤫

shawnmendes: gonna be album of the year

lilyhme: prettiest girl in town now can be mine 💍

↳ yourusername: yours forever my love 💍

↳ charlesstan: WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOW WHAT

↳ user0923: guess she knows things we don’t

↳ y/nxtaylor: spill the tea sis 😭

↳ alexalbon: why you always wanna date your friends???

↳ lilymhe: they’re pretty

↳ alexalbon: and I’m not??? I AM YOUR BOYFRIEND

↳ georgerussel: love watching drama 🍿

↳ y/nstan: WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!

── .✦

#charles and #y/n are trending on twitter

── .✦

f1gossipofficial made a post

liked by user57, user1, y/nstan, charlesiloveu and others.

f1gossipofficial: rumors has it that our fave couple on the grid isn’t couple anymore! 💔 Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc was seen out and about with a mistery girl. The source confirmed it wasn’t y/n. Y/n was seen arriving to New York last Monday. The fan that met her told us she said in a conversation she’s been living there since last year! Guess they broken up late last year and kept it a secret! What do we thing about all of this????

view more comments

user34: WHAT THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE THEY LOOKED LIKE END GAME 😭😭😭

charlesstan: I’m dead

user975: tbh I didn’t like her for him

y/nstan: I liked Charles sm this is so sad

user0863: now I need y/n new music I NEED TO KNOW

user87: new music coming >>>> new break up song about Charles 😭

usrr12: who is that mistery girl? We need a further investigation

↳ f1gossipofficial: on it baby 🕵️

── .✦

yourusername uploaded a story

── .✦

charlesleclerc uploaded a story

── .✦

charlesleclerc made a post

liked by user572, yourusername, carlossainz55 and others.

charlesleclerc: WE FINALLY MADE IT! I won my home gp for the first time, wow! Thank you everyone, ferrari, the fans. Everyone. This was my dream and I can’t believe this is actually reality. So thrilled! This is for you dad, wish you were here to see it. Let’s celebrate and then focus on the next race! 💪🏻

view more comments

user86: he is so proud of you I promise 😭😭😭

charstan: congrats prince!! ✨

y/nstan: why is my woman on the likes ????

↳ user32: THATS WHAT I THOUGHT FIRST INTERACTION IN QLMOST A YEAR

carlossainz55: congrats hermano !!!!

landonorris: what a race mate!

lewishamilton: finally!! 👑

user678: so happy for you charlieeeee

arthurleclerc: ❤️❤️❤️

── .✦

you text your producer and best friend

── .✦

yourusername made a post

liked by user679, yourbff, sabrinacarpenter, charlesleclerc and 1,432,568 others

yourusername: here to finally tell you that my first single “26” for my next album is out!!! Made this album from the deep end of my heart. Hope you like it as much as I love it (and help me get through). link in bio 🧸

view more comments

yourbff: the most beautiful and saddest song I’ve ever heard 😭

lilymhe: GIRL I’m sobbing wtf

user256: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

User998: she really said let’s spill the tea

↳ user895: but i never thought it would be LIKE THIS 😭

landonorris: congrats @/yourusername !! On repeat for the rest of the month at least

↳ georgerussel: babygirl

georgerussel: thanks for the tea y/n! Beautiful song from a beautiful soul ❤️ we miss you

↳ yourusername: I miss you too 💔

↳ carlossainz55: wish you could come back some time again :(

shawnmendes: I cried I sobbed I screamed I died

sabrinacarpenter: the best artist of all time iloveu bestie ❤️‍🩹

User673: CHARLES LIKED 😭😭😭😭

── .✦

── .✦ FIN

Hope you liked it guys 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader

2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread

a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul

Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 

“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”

Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”

“But Jeonghan—”

“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”

You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?

The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?

Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 

It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 

“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”

“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”

He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 

“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 

He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”

Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”

“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”

“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”

“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 

“Don't fail.”

He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”

Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 

He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 

With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 

(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)

There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 

His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 

Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 

He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 

In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 

There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 

He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 

Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”

“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”

“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”

As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 

A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 

There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 

“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 

Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”

“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”

“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.

You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”

“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”

“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”

“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 

You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”

Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 

Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 

When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 

You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 

“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”

“You're not leaving?” 

Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”

“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 

He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 

The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 

Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 

You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”

“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”

He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”

“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”

You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  

It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.

Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 

He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 

Him, his thoughts, and you. 

But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @floatingpluto @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @bless-311 @leaz-kpop-life @fluorescentloves @thesunsfullmoon @haechansbbg @kpopjackie @jundundun @http-gyu @mars101 @moonyswolf @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @thecarnivaloflies @p-d1ddy @thatonedemigodfromseoul @foivetimesthecharm

[3rachaslut]

https://www.tumblr.com/3rachaslut/729194123843731456/i-saw-the-virgin-partner-post-and-i-just-want-to?source=share

We need maknae line too of this please

you got it!

a/n: it’s late and my eyes are stinging but i’m desperate to post this. i’ve proof read once but the writing could still be trashy who knows?🤷🏻‍♀️

——————————

virgin!skz x female reader MAKNAE LINE

cw: SMUT MINORS DNI !! pet names, a lot of fluff, boyfriend & girlfriend skzxreader

— hanji

“y/n…” han would say and you’d look at him with doe eyes as you always do that makes him melt. “yes baby?” you say, looking up from your phone. “um…”

he would run his hand up your thigh whilst you wait patiently for him to speak. his eyes would be flitting between you and his hand SO nervously. (it’s so cute!)

“i think im uhh.. i’m.. ready” he would say so hesitantly whilst refusing to even look at you from embarrassment. your eyes would actually light up from anticipation, questioning yourself if you even heard him correctly. the silence in the air whist you process what he just said would have him dying inside from embarrassment.

“really hannie? are your sure?” you try your best not to sound elated just in case he felt pressured but omg how you’ve been waiting for him to say that.

the way he would look into your eyes looking so nervous as you smile back at him trying to make him feel more at ease is so adorable!! “i think so. i’ve been thinking about you a lot.. like.. sexually” he would say and you’d chuckle adoringly at him “yeah i gathered that baby”

he would lowkey be so scared to touch all over your body but hearing your blissful moans encourages him to do so. (imagine his hands all over you OMG) soon he’s kissing up and down your thighs getting closer and closer to your pussy and your breath would be jagged which he smirks at.

“can i baby?” “PLEASE hannie please!” you. have. been. waiting. for. this. moment. your eyes would roll back into your head when you feel his tongue lick a strip up your cunt, shockwaves being sent to your clit omfggg. you would come so fucking hard and han is absolutely amazed at the sight.

“do you wanna.. no pressure!” you would assure him that you were MORE than happy to do whatever he’s comfortable with as it is his first time. lots and lots of whines from hanji like omfg he won’t be quiet (and we love that for us!)

he would try so so hard not to come too fast for you but oh how euphoric you feel he just can’t help it. the way you would both cuddle after you come back down is absolutely adorable omg you are both so cute AHH

(sorry for the ramble, the man’s my bias i can’t stop thinking about lovely, cute, nervous hannie)

— felix

felix is definitely the type to get a boner when you’re both play fighting in the living room during the adverts of the series you’re both watching. (sns) but how you’d usually both just laugh it off, this time he’s like “you can.. touch it if you want..” and you’d be so taken aback.

of course you want to JUMP at the opportunity but you’re still cautious. “are you sure lix? i don’t wanna rush anyth-“ “im ready y/n” he would say and the look in his eyes of nervousness and desperation warm your heart. you wanna give your all to him.

slowly you would slide your hand under the band of his sweatpants, gently running your finger under the length of his cock and the slight stimulation has he whimpering. he’s NEVER felt any sensation like this before and he’s literally ascending. you’d run kisses all over his neck, only adding to the pleasure he would be feeling omg. (he is so desperate for you rn)

you’d look into his eyes for approval before removing his sweats and boxers and holy- he looks gorgeous! (i’m actually dead) he’d be shivering in anticipation. “please y/n i need you baby” and you would be more than happy to oblige. sooo slowly you would start riding him and his mouth would drop open letting out strings of moans and groans ahh.

you’d lean down to plant kisses all over his neck and cheeks, you just wanna worship him. (i’m gonna cry)

when he comes, he would grip both your cheeks, staring into your beautiful eyes and strings of curses would leave his mouth as you smile down at him.

“i’m so proud of you lixie”

“i love you y/n”

— seungmin

allll minnie wants to do is make you feel like the most adored girl in the world by him. you’d come home from such a shit day at work and find him on the sofa, tuck yourself in next to him and he’d plant a kiss on your head. “bad day baby?” he says. “very” you’d lift your head up for a kiss in which he would reciprocate but would then obviously turn into a make out session.

what you wouldn’t expect though is the fact that he would be grabbing your hand and placing it on top of the rock hard tent in his jeans. clearly he wants you to take it slightly further? right? you would put a slight bit of pressure on top and start to rub your hand up and down which would elicit a BEAUTIFUL moan from him. “is this okay min?” “yes.. p- please”

he would undo his jeans (still making out with you duh) and you try your best to stop yourself from kicking your feet in happiness from the whole situation. “are you sure?” you say worried. “i’m 100% sure” he assures and you smile into the kiss.

lotsss of foreplay whilst seungmin is working up the confidence to do this properly with you. you really didn’t mind how this went, you were just so happy to finally be intimate with your favourite man.

you’d straddle his lap, his cock directly underneath your pussy and you give him a quick glance which he nods in response to. slowly, youd lower yourself onto him and he throws his head back in bliss against the couch. his hands would be roaming all over your thighs, torso, hips, ass (he CANNOT get enough of your body!)

“fuck baby- i’m sorry- i’m gonna cum” he would grunt out, lowkey embarrassed afff but you wouldn’t mind. it’s understandable. “gonna cu- ah”.

“omg that’s so embarrassing” he would say covering his face. you’d move his hands away to see his gorgeous face “i really don’t mind minnie”

“we will have to try again later…”

— jeongin

picture this: you and innie in your pjs watching a film after all the boys have left the apartment. (aww so cute BUT-) he leans over to place kisses on your collar bone whilst running his fingertips up your thigh. instantly you begin to feel yourself getting worked up…

“innie..” you’d say as your breath catches. “i wanna make you feel good babygirl” he would say in reply. where has this suddenly come from? what does he mean by that? your eyes would widen in shock. does he mean what you think he means? “lift up baby” and you do, he pulls your shorts and panties from underneath you soon finding your pussy and slowly sliding his fingertips inside your folds.

you would gasp and throw a hand over your mouth. innie has NEVER touched you like this before and you felt absolutely over the moon, the new sensations beginning to make you feel animalistic. “innie are you sure you’re okay to-“ he would disregard your worries with a kiss on your lips (omfg he’s so hot).

the way he would rub his fingertips around your clit has you writhing underneath him and you desperately try and get his cock out of his pj pants. he would moan down your ear at the feeling of your hands on him and that would only turn you on tenfold.

he would lean you to lay on your back on the couch and spread your legs slowly. “you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” (& that’s facts, reader!) “please innie i want you so bad” (also facts) and he would push into you slowly, his body shaking at the new incredible sensation.

whimpery. jeongin. !!!!

the way he would make out with you whilst he’s coming is so cute i could cry. (he loves you sm ahh)

“i love you innie” “i love you too baby”

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Cat Gets It

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tim finally meets your cat, Maverick, and it does not go as planned. Maverick hates Tim until he sees something special.

Warnings: just an angry cat and a lot of fluff

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“This is my least favorite part,” you tell Tim as he walks you to your car. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You have to go home sometime,” he reminds you.

“Would you consider… Do you want to come to my place this weekend? We can watch a movie, just have a quiet night in,” you propose. “Not that I don’t love our usual dates, but…”

Tim smiles as you shrug and answer, “I’d like that. I’ll meet you there?”

You nod and assure him you’ll send the address before you kiss him goodnight. As you walk into your home, you look around and make a mental list of things you must do to prepare for Tim’s first visit to your home. You have been dating for a while, but he’s yet to come here. Or meet your cat, you remember as he meows from the back of the couch.

“Hi, Mav, buddy,” you greet, rubbing his soft fur. “We need to make this place extra welcoming for Tim, okay?”

He grumbles beneath you, but when you move your hand to scratch beneath his chin, he purrs and pushes against you. You’re excited to have Tim over, but you have no idea how Maverick, who is used to being the only guy in the house and your life, will respond.

“Hi!” you exclaim, wrapping Tim in an awkward hug before you invite him in. “What’s in the bag?”

“Just some snacks I remember you saying you liked,” Tim answers, passing the bag to you. “And cat treats.”

“You’re such a softie, Tim Bradford.”

Tim rolls his eyes and follows you inside, closing and locking the door behind him. You invite him to make himself at home as you walk toward the kitchen to prepare the snacks. A loud hiss pulls your attention back to the living room, and Tim lifts his hand in a show of good faith as Maverick arches his back and hisses again.

“Mav, stop,” you call. “Sorry, Tim, he’s never like that.”

Tim raises his brows like he doesn’t quite believe you. You pour the snacks into a large bowl with divided sections and carry it to the coffee table. You step toward Tim, and Maverick’s tail curls around him as he crouches. His ears flatten against his head as his pupils dilate.

“He does not like me,” Tim says quietly.

“I’ll put him in the other room,” you offer. “Sorry again.”

“It’s fine,” Tim assures.

You reach for Maverick, and he swats at you before running under the couch. With furrowed brows, you place your hands on your hips and sigh.

“He’s touchy,” you explain weakly. “He’ll probably hide under the couch until you leave, or I can receive permanent scarring by pulling him out.”

“I’m attached to your pretty skin, so I’d prefer the first option,” he responds.

“He- hopefully he’ll warm up to you.”

“This will get awkward if he doesn’t.”

You’re prepared to agree, then see the gentle smile on Tim’s face. As you sit beside him for movie night, only hearing hints of Maverick’s continued hissing, you silently plead with your cat to stop hating Tim because, even if you haven’t told him yet, you truly love Tim Bradford.

Throughout the next week, Tim comes by twice more, and Maverick reacts the same as before. He lunged toward Tim once because he touched your waist, and since then, Tim has kept at least a foot between you during visits. He sits on the floor, offers treats under the couch, and has private conversations with Maverick. Yet, Maverick continues to hate your boyfriend for some unknown reason.

“I don’t understand why he’s like this,” you say against Tim’s shoulder, content in a warm hug outside your front door.

“He’ll warm up to me, or he won’t, and we’ll deal with that,” Tim assures you, rubbing your back. “Maybe a few days in lockup would make him see how good I am.”

You chuckle, and after you wave goodbye to Tim, you turn and see Maverick watching you from the window.

“Work with me, Mav,” you ask through the window.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” Tim says as you open the door. “I just… can I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, pulling the door open so he can enter. “Are you okay?”

Tim sighs as you close the door, and when you see his face, you notice the crease between his brows. He’s tired and stressed, and though you’re ecstatic that he came to you, your heart squeezes at the idea of Tim having a hard time.

“Come here,” you whisper, welcoming Tim into your arms.

He wraps his arms around your waist as yours circle his shoulders. With his face pressed against your shoulder, you rub his back and let him find comfort in silence for as long as he needs.

“Thank you,” Tim says as he straightens and steps back. “I went by the store on my way over here. Let me make you dinner?”

“After the week you’ve had? How about I make you dinner?” you counter.

“Meet in the middle and make dinner together?” Tim asks.

You smile and nod, offering your hand to make the deal official. Tim shakes it once, then kisses your knuckle and spins you quickly. The move makes you laugh before you catch yourself against his chest.

You stand together and feel Maverick’s tail swipe across your shin. You look down, surprised to see him circling your legs contently, especially while standing close to Tim. After a few laps around you, Maverick moves in a figure eight to walk around Tim, too.

“I think that’s progress,” you whisper.

“Maybe he finally saw that I care about you, and I’m not trying to take his place,” Tim adds. “Right, Mav?” Maverick freezes at the mention of his name, and Tim murmurs, “Too soon? I get it.”

Three days after the first successful visit, you invite Tim over again. You prepare a light dinner and set the table, only moving Maverick away from the place settings twice before Tim lets himself in. Maverick jumps from the barstool at your island and runs toward Tim, circling his legs and purring happily. Tim bends over and pulls Maverick to his chest, offering a small treat from his palm.

“Well,” you say as you take a picture. “It seems like my boys are finally getting along.”

“Maybe we finally bonded over our shared love for you,” Tim replies, gently rubbing Maverick’s ears.

“Tim,” you say, setting your phone down. “Put Maverick on the couch.”

“Why?” Tim asks defensively. “If it was too soon-“

“Please?”

Tim sighs as he moves Maverick to a couch cushion, and you smile as you rush toward him. Tim catches you effortlessly after you jump, holding you around the waist as your arms and legs circle him in a tight hug.

“I love you,” you say against his shoulder. His strong arms flex around your waist as you pull back to look at him. “I love you, Tim.”

He smiles and moves a hand to your face. “I love you, too. More than you know.”

“You dealt with Mav plotting your death, I have an idea.”

“No, you don’t,” Tim argues with a smile. Maverick meows loudly from the couch, and he adds, “See? Mav gets it.”

[yelenasdiary]

hi! i have a nat x fem!reader non smut request cuz i see they’re open! i female reader x nat (preferably platonic but either works). the averages break up. they are done. Officially. nat and r were friends on the avengers and worked together a lot. when the avengers broke up, everyone tried to move on or settle down. nat doesn't. nat, missing the action, reverts back to her time as a for-hire assassin. With the connections from her time as an assassin pre-SHIELD she builds a name for herself. She becomes the most feared assassin yet again and a ruthless criminal. no one can stop her and she’s very dangerous. Finally, reader, working for the govt now, and faces Nat for the first time in years… as enemies with r trying to take Nat down. But does Nat really hurt her? She has the ability to with her skill and network of assassins. But something tells me she still has a soft spot for reader in her cold heart. ANYWAYS so sorry this is long and kinda specific; but thank you so much! Love all your writing! You’ve written my requests before and LOVEDDD what u did w them

Long Time, No See

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Your new mission? Track down the famous Black Widow. 

Angst

Warnings: Mentions of guns, weapons & murder | 1.2K

AC: Thank you for sending this!! I loved the idea a lot, even better I got to keep it platonic as well! I hope you enjoy! x 

The Avengers Tower stood tall and dark, a reminder of a time when hope thrived. Now, however, it was a husk of memories, its former occupants scattered to follow their own paths.

You leaned against the brick wall of a narrow alley, a file folder clutched tightly in your hands. Your current assignment was a highly confidential one: to track down the infamous Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. The former Black Widow, once an Avenger, was now rumored to be at the head of an underground organization that traded in fear and murder.

Old memories flooded your mind as you recalled the countless missions you and Natasha had shared. You wondered how her file got so dark, countless cases building against the former superhero making you wish you had tried harder to keep in contact with her. You saw the signs of her slipping away but hoped she’d come to you when she was desperate. She was a fierce partner, her skills nearly unmatched, she could slip into a building without being detected better than anybody.

Your heart ached for her, wondering how she must have felt when things didn’t work out. She was never truly one to talk about her feelings. She had her softer moments, but you never truly felt confident to say you knew her well enough to know what she was thinking about. As you read through her file, nothing seemed to make much sense to you. She was living a life she fought so hard to leave behind, ultimately ruining the good name she had built for the Black Widow.

The hunt led you to a deserted warehouse on the outskirts of the city, one you suspected Nat was owned. The atmosphere felt charged with tension as you entered, your instincts on high alert, your gun pointed directly in front of you with your flashlight attached. You knew better than to bring back up and it took a lot of convincing to your boss to let you do this on your own, of course you had to allow them to know your location at all times while working this case but you were sure if you were to come face-to-face with Natasha again, you could talk her down. 

“Long time, no see” you heard a familiar voice come out of the darkness. 

You turned sharply in the direction of the voice, your gaze landing on Natasha, who was in all black tactical gear that complimented her athletic build. “Natasha” you said softly as she stepped more into the light.  

“Still playing the hero, I see.” She grinned, her presence dangerous. “Did you come to save me?” She sarcastically asked. 

“Is that what you need? A saviour?” You shot back, keeping your gun pointed at her. She took a few more steps before coming to a complete stop, not breaking the burning eye contact you could feel from her, even with the flashlight pointed directly at her.  “You know I can’t let you keep doing this, Nat. This isn’t who you are” you added. 

Her grin turned to a smirk, “is that what you think this is? Good versus evil? That you could come here and remind me of the good old times?” She chuckled coldly, “This is who I am, who I was always meant to be” she added. 

You shook your heard lightly at her, “No, this is the Black Widow, not Natasha Romanoff who fought so hard to not let her past define her. The woman who gave so many young girls hope that they could be just like you”

Natasha chuckled once more, “you always thought you had me figured out, didn’t you? What if I told you that all of that super-hero crap was for nothing in the end? Look at it all now! Where is Steve huh? Or Tony? Nick? Thor? Has anybody bothered to even check on Wanda?” She asked, “oh wait, you and your little friends are trying to save that little town now, aren’t you?” She added, taking a step to the right. “You can stand there with your little government issued weapons and tell me how much of a bad little spider I’ve been, or you can end it all right now” 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Natasha” you replied, keeping your finger away from the trigger. Your comment making Natasha laugh, “Open your eyes Y/n! Don’t you see? I’m doing your job, just better. Look at the people I’ve killed, eventually they would be on your radar, I’m just 10 steps ahead of you and your team” the redhead explained. 

“You can’t just go around murdering people, Natasha, you know this! There is a system for a reason” you argued. 

“What? The Justice system? Or the S.H.I.E.L.D system? The same people who let the Avengers fall!” Natasha snapped, her voice firm. Her simple comment made you realize what all this was truly about for her. It wasn’t about cleaning the table for your future cases, it was about what she missed. 

“You know we had no choice” you said softly, lowering your gun, showing her you weren’t here to hurt her. 

“I don’t think that’s right. I think we did, and I think everybody else just wanted to give up. We had a good thing going! There were things we could’ve changed but we weren’t given a chance. The world needed us, they wanted us and one day they were against us. We made the world safe while the government sat back and bitched about how much damage was caused instead of thanking us for saving their lives!” She explained, raising her voice. 

“And now look at you” she added, “you’re working for the same people who put me in this position” 

You watched as she wandered around you in a circle, she wasn’t wrong, and you hated that the fall of the Avengers had this effect on your friend. “Let me help you, Natasha. I won’t give up on you” you said softly, stopping her in her tracks. “You think putting me in a prison cell is going to help me? I thought you knew me better than that” she spat. 

“No, I don’t think it’ll help you. But I know that deep down you know this isn’t you. I know you don’t want to do all these horrible things. Remember all those nights we stayed up talking about what we wanted for our future? Do you remember the life you wanted? I want to help you get to that because the Natasha Romanoff I know, isn’t this dark and dangerous person” 

Natasha’s eyes dropped as she sighed heavily, “it’s too late for me” 

“It’s never too late, I can help you. You just have to let me” You said before the rushing sound of other figures coming to Natasha’s aid. She looked up at you once more. “It’s been nice seeing you, really. I wondered just how different you were now since I found out who you were working for. Next, we meet, I won’t make it this easy, so you better ready for a fight” she smirked before turning on her heels and walking back into the darkness with her fellow assassins, leaving you behind as you watched her go, the darkness swallowing her figure as the echoes of her boots faded into silence.

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[eugenedebs1920]

You know!? It ticks me off this perception that Donald Trump, J.D. (Jerkin Dicks)Vance, even Musk, is somehow manly. I mean, Trump and Ol Jerkin D wear more makeup than my wife! You can’t say that’s all just for television. Musk looks like if Smeagal had only kept the ring for 250 years as opposed to 500. His Prrreeeccciooouussss. None of those guys project masculinity. It’s the varsity cricket team and their weird gangly friend.

Does anyone remember when Trump tried to act like he knew how to use a shovel 🤣🤣🤣 That sh*t cracked me up!! Like ‘MFer, where have you seen someone attempt to shovel like that!?’

Then J. Dick Vance projects uncertainty in his sexual identity. It cool if your gay, but don’t fight being gay so much that you are viscous to women and marginalize those who’ve figured out who they are and are not overcompensating for it. it’s coo Jerkin D! We’ll still hate you either way.

I’m pretty sure Musk is a supervillain. But like if Dollar General had a comic book action figure series.. He’d be the main villain in that. Corneal Creepy McBillions, somethin like that.

These guys definitely got picked on in grade school and vowed to get revenge by making everyone else miserable. Thanks bullies! 😑

Speaking of. If you haven’t constantly put people down, talk sh*t on people, (I realize the irony as I’m sh*t talking these f*cks but, physically I don’t think any of them could take me, but power wise, what they could have done to me!! They’d ruin my world..) pinpoint and pick on a vulnerable individual or group, pretty much, if you get hard by making people laugh at or join in on teasing or bullying someone, that itself reeks of insecurity. It shows the flaws in yourself, you’re hiding by putting those flaws onto others before someone sees them in you. Trump is the master of that! If he accuses someone of something, he’s definitely guilty of it.

It doesn’t make you any less of a man to be kind. It’s isn’t a feminine to treat women with respect. It doesn’t make you macho to be a prick. Being racist and ostracizing immigrants doesn’t protrude masculine traits.

You know what women find sexy. Confidence. Knowing who you are, what your values are, compassion, knowing the difference between proper and improper, and sticking to those principles regardless what others would say or entice you to do. Being a good person, because that the good thing to do, proud of oneself, but knowing there’s always room to grow and learn.

I certainly don’t see what’s would constitute being attractive when you are borderline in a cult, infatuate with a 80 year old politician who bankrupted casinos, been accused by 23 women and adjudicated for sexual assault, shameless grifter, hateful, cruel, racist, bully f*ck. It’s just, sorry to say it, weird.

I have a heart and care for people, I build houses for a living. I believe in equality and the rights for EVERYONE, I can rebuild an engine. I think women are people (who knew!?) and should be in control of their own destiny, I am pro 2nd amendment and love to go shooting.

I’ve been in bar brawls, climbed mountains, go hunting, chop wood, ride atv’s, snowboard, go 4wheelin, camping, have a big beard, drink beer, and I think everyone is entitled to dignity, despite their sexual preference, race, religion, gender, what their hair looks like, whatever. Why? Because it’s basic human respect.

The last 2 times America actually won a war it was Democratic (BIG D 😉) administrations. The only 2 presidential administrations to not add to the deficit in the last, nearly 60 years, were both big D Democratic administrations. Democrats passed the Civil Rights Act, all the racist Dixiecrats jumped ship and became Republican. Democrats nominated and elected the first African American president. We have TWICE nominated a woman at the top of the ticket.

While Republicans are whining about having to wear a mask LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE DID, Democrats passed legislation to address the problem of unemployment, of vaccinations, of shipping logistics, while they were at it passed a HUGE infrastructure package, invested billions in green energy (our future) and ensured national security by manufacturing the technology materials needed to be the best in the world. Simultaneously creating a ton of well paying, respectable middle class jobs.

The right is too busy talking about Jewish space lasers, and checking out Hunter Biden’s junk, and keeping weed illegal, and worrying about bathrooms and sh*t.

How is that manly at all?! Acting like a bunch of whiny immature kids! They even whine when they win!! It’s stupid! It’s a waste of time, money and energy. Just grow up and do the job you’re elected to do!

So yea… I would say the right isn’t the vision of manhood they pretend they are. It’s overgrown children, spoiled to the core, acting out because they want it their way 😤

What shows manliness is doing your job, and doing it to the best of your ability. Being a kindhearted person and willing to help someone in need. Being true to yourself, and in turn others. Being knowledgeable yet willing to learn. Being brave, but admitting when you’re scared.

[rin-solo]

I love. LOVE. Get In the Water

It's one of the objectively best songs in the musical; I will die on this hill.

Poseidon was always, despite being pretty much the main antagonist of EPIC, a really underdeveloped character in my opinion. He just needed a little more nuance and the fact that one (+ kind of one more) song managed to add so much to his characterization pretty much exclusively through subtext and implications is incredibly impressive writing. Because it did!

At the start he's yet again playing games with Odysseus, the way he did in Ruthlessness. In both songs he could kill him easily at any point, yet he chooses not to for the sake of playing games. In Ruthlessness, this becomes his own hubris as it leads to Odysseus escaping.

If you listen closely, at the start of GITW he already sounds slightly different. He's still trying to keep up this "God of Ruthlessness" front that he's so proud of, but he's no longer more or less carefree the way he was in Ruthlessness. He's been obsessing over this feud for ten years, and even if he would never admit it, it's actually clear just from his voice that he really is tired of it too. Not in the sense of it emotionally draining him the way it probably does Odysseus, but in the sense that it's a bother, a loose end in his life, a book that he finally wants to slam shut.

But he still has a reputation to uphold, and he still cannot close this book until Odysseus is dead, so he keeps up the game. Instead of just killing him, he's taunting him to kill himself. He might associate the idea of just striking him down with a sort of loss, like then he'd have to his hands dirty. Then he's rambling about killing his people, his family. He's provoking Odysseus on purpose, likely trying to get him to snap back, to hate him and fear him the way that Poseidon would think any mortal who has consumed this much of his time should. In his eyes, Odysseus deserves nothing less than to curse him with his last breath as his "darkest moment", the god who became the bane of his life.

And Odysseus replies, of all things, with ... sympathy.

Honestly, I don't blame Poseidon for being speechless for three full seconds. He literally just threatened to gauge Telemachus' eyes out the way Odysseus did with Polyphemus, and this absolute madlad of a man replies with an acknowledgement that he (might have) caused Poseidon pain too.

Now, I don't really think Poseidon was particularly hurt over Polyphemus' loss or hurting in any way in that moment. But just the fact that Odysseus acknowledges that he might be hurting too is probably something Poseidon hasn't heard in ... who knows how long? His family is the Olympians. I don't think I have to say more.

It's actually more of a genuine apology than Odysseus' explanation in Ruthlessness ... Now he doesn't say "sorry" because he's still not sorry for hurting Polyphemus, since he still needed to do that in order to escape. But he expresses regret over the pain he caused in a more genuine way than ever.

I am convinced that Poseidon is utterly unfamiliar with sympathy or mercy. He's lived by his "Ruthlessness is mercy" motto for centuries, and he doesn't know anything else. No one would try to teach him something different. The other gods all live by this logic, even if he's the most vocal about it considering he seems to have made it his whole personality. Mortals wouldn't dare to question Poseidon in the first place. And barely anyone would be willing to treat someone with kindness who is in turn treating everyone around them with ruthlessness.

It's very likely that Poseidon hasn't encountered anyone like this until Odysseus. Ruthlessness is simply how he treats people, and also how he expects to be treated back. The fact that Odysseus doesn't, the fact that instead of hating or fearing or cursing him he acknowledges that they have both hurt each other and that it doesn't lead anywhere to still pursue vengeance must have triggered Poseidon in an unprecedented way.

To him, this was probably the most outrageous thing Odysseus could have said in that moment. And it throws him off so much that he is genuinely speechless, and then simply replies, "I can't." ... his most genuine-sounding line in the whole musical.

I cannot stress enough how much it threw me off to hear this line; in the best way imaginable, it doesn't sound like Poseidon. It sounds almost vulnerable. Almost human. Because he is genuinely at a loss so much that he forgets to put up his "wrathful god" facade for just one second. Standing ovation to Steven Rodriguez for his whole performance, but especially this part.

And then Odysseus goes all out, to say something even more outrageous: "Maybe you could learn to forgive?"

... Which is when Poseidon snaps.

Kind of understandable, honestly. There's this mortal whom he has likely fantasized about seeing pleading, hate-filled, and terrified, cowering before him, for ten years now ... telling him that he ought to learn something. Even hijacking his own motif and his instrument in order to turn it on its head, "defile" it if you will.

This f*cking mortal pr*ck took his own "Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" catchphrase and turned it into forgiveness ... Of course, Poseidon is no longer hesitating, of course he is no longer concerned with getting his hands dirty or not. He yells "DIE!" and unleashes his ultimate move (which is really overkill for simply killing a mortal if you think about it) ... But he does it anyway because this time he genuinely means it.

This simple exchange (my favorite moment in the whole musical, actually) tells us so much about both of these characters that it makes me want to skitter and squeal in excitement.

Here is Odysseus—the very same one whom Poseidon specifically tried to teach ruthlessness—becoming the first person in a long time to offer him sympathy despite how Poseidon himself showed him nothing but ruthlessness. And then one song later, here is Odysseus showing him the consequences of not accepting said sympathy.

Six Hundred Strike and what Odysseus does to Poseidon would've not hit the same, in my opinion, if he hadn't made this offer, if he hadn't given Poseidon this way out, even if no one watching genuinely expected it to work (probably not even Odysseus himself.)

Six Hundred Strike is not Odysseus exacting vengeance. If GITW proved anything about Odysseus it's that he does not want vengeance. He wants all of the hatred and pain to be over, to the point where he is willing to let go of, and I am inclined to say forgive, Poseidon for what he's done to him. Six Hundred Strike is simply Odysseus teaching him this lesson that Poseidon couldn't have learned in any other way, because he has proven in GITW that he genuinely does not speak any language besides that of ruthlessness.

It's just the perfect representation of how Odysseus has now finally learned the balance between mercy and ruthlessness, which seems to be the core theme of the musical: Both have their time and place, one simply has to be willing to act in both ways and know when to use either. No one extreme is the solution. I am genuinely exhilarated that Odysseus finally seemed to have figured out that it's been both all along.

[eerna]

i was one of the people who saw the early leaks post and i remember trying not to read too much of it but i had a moment of being like wow this cant be real but also it definitely could be. i remember reading about the damn caitvi sex scene and i thought to myself thats so ass why would they do it in a prison and then i realized the writers probably thought it was some meaningful parallel or something about vi being able to transform being imprisoned with something good

then the act dropped and i saw the damn parallels with cait finding her in the cell and i was like ok yeah. they basically had that as an idea. amanda overton was talking about it in a watch party and said they love their parallels and it was meant to symbolize vi addressing her trauma and im like. i see what they were going for and i get it I GUESS narratively but i really feel like this is such monkeys paw shit like we got this scene at what cost. and like the scene ITSELF was very good and sweet and lovely but like could it not have happened ANYWHERE ELSE?

i feel like the biggest problem with arcane s2 was that the creators rlly wanted to push the bar with animation storytelling. amanda talked about this too and like i feel like it kind of highlights the problem. where bc this show is so amazing graphically the animators wanna highlight that with as much action as possible instead of focusing on smaller scenes and more intimate quiet moments. i watched arcane s1 all at once after it came out and there were def parts that felt a little rushed in certain acts but it was nothing like s2. it just feels like they had all these story beats they wanted to hit but didnt give it the time it deserved and it sucks bc they said they always meant it to be 2 seasons so like why does it feel like this. they wrote them back to back around the same time what happened between s1 and s2. i just feel like the caitvi sex scene is a microcosm of the larger problem. they had these emotional beats and story moments that in isolation are really powerful but its almost like we didnt get a proper A to B transition. its like we skipped several steps for sooo many story beats.

such complex characters with real ass lives causing real ass problems. cait's privilege being an issue, how gratifying that could be to have explored. viktor's experience being explored more in depth. just so much more about zaun. like all of it was there in tiny slivers but it was never given the depth to GROW or properly BREATHE bc five million action scenes and plot points had to be squeezed in.

ultimately i love arcane overall. i think it has broken boundaries and done some amazing things. but its blemishes are really... painful at the same time. and knowing how the writers did such a good job in s1 makes me just like. cmon guys. you had it. YOU HAD IT

anyways sorry for blowing up your ask with so much rambling i just... idk. what are your thoughts on this stuff do you agree with my assessment or do you think the culprit is something else

No prob, welcome to the symposium~ Yeah, I totally get what the writers were going for with Vi. Which is why I am so shocked they thought it was a good idea. Like, okay, she is addressing her trauma in the sex scene... But why should her trauma get addressed by being locked in a jail cell by her sister, who just spent days being wrongfully imprisoned in there by the girl she's about to have sex with, and who then told her she was gonna off herself. If anything, the thing I was feeling was pain because it happened again, a Zaunite was thrown in jail by the Enforcers after she helped and saved them without any rights, and she was reminded she was less than them and her life is worth nothing... Mmmmm, the perfect memory to overwrite prison abuse!

I too felt s1 had some strange pacing choices, Vi and Jayce teamup comes to mind first, and that was, surprise surprise, a fight scene. But those were pretty minor, and still left time for other scenes to develop properly. It only becomes a real problem when it happens scene after scene, character after character, until no one is acting in character and you constantly feel like you have skipped a scene or two. I too remmeber them saying they wrote the seasons back to back, but. Dare I say it. I think s2 was so majorly rewritten by the time it went to recording that only the bare bones remained. In fact, that might be why we feel this way - maybe they DID have a frame they wanted to follow, but the rewrites warped and twisted the characters so intensely they ended up making no sense in the context of that frame. That's right, I'm talking about the way they decided to more closely follow and collaborate with LoL in s2. Jayce's final speech to Viktor only makes sense for game Viktor, and goes completely against s1 Viktor. Vi deciding police brutality doesn't really matter all that much makes sense for game Vi, and foes completely against s1 Vi. Jinx giving up on ever being loved or accepted by others makes sense for game Jinx, and goes completely against s1 Jinx.

So yeah my thesis is: Arcane knows it looks good, and sometimes it prevents it from being well written. It also decided to throw in its lot with LoL in s2, and no amount of good intentions from the writers could have saved it from crashing and burning.

[runraerun]

Heard a random 90s rock song & it legit got me thinking about Steve & Billy meeting again in their twenties... Like what if s3 never happened? After the fight at the Byers, Billy kept his head down & avoided Steve? I see him as being consumed by a sense of guilt/shame & yet still not being able to apologise until, that is, the day of their graduation when he's suddenly overcome with a need to just get it off his chest. He's been crushing on this guy since he got to Hawkins & he blew whatever chance he had of even just a friendship with him, but it doesn't matter now cos he's getting out of this shithole as quickly as possible, but he can't have this guilt gnawing at him any longer...So maybe he deliberately makes sure he bumps into steve at some point and mutters out a: "Harrington. We need to talk." And sucking on a cigarette like his life depends on it, hands shaking, barely making eye contact, Billy gives the world's shittiest apology. And it feels like his heart's gonna beat out of his chest & Steve's just standing there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before saying something like: "yeah, man. I'm sorry for that night too." (In my mind either Max let drop something about Billy's homelife or Steve has deduced something's not right). Anyway. Billy finally feels like he's able to breathe again for the first time in months UNTIL steve unknowingly utters the world's most devastating sentence: "I think we could've been friends if, y'know, shit hadn't gone down the way it did...oh well." And steve gives a sort of little grin and a laugh as if what he said wasn't a major deal. "Heard you're headed back to California?" Steve asks, and Billy's barely able to nod, still struck dumb by Steve's previous offhand comment. And maybe someone calls Steve's name and suddenly that's it. The moment is broken & Steve's leaving with a "Guess I'll see you around, Hargrove... or not" and a goofy little salute. And Billy thought he'd feel better. But in fact he feels worse. Because holy shit. Steve just said they could have been friends. And that's gonna haunt him for years....

Cue a few years later and they run into each other in Chicago (listen, the idea of Billy returning to California only to realise it no longer feels like home and maybe it never did consumes me), but yeah. They bump into each other accidentally and holy shit. Steve Harrington. He looks almost exactly the same. Other than the fact he's grown out the mullet and holy shit, are those highlights in his hair??? And billy's stunned by what looks like a genuine grin of delight that crosses Steve's face once he recognises who he's walked into. And maybe they chat for a little while; Billy doesn't even know what he's saying he's so in shock at meeting his highschool crush again. But just like the last time someone calls steve's name and of course steve has a girlfriend, of course he does (joke's on billy, cos it's just robin) and suddenly the moment's broken again and steve's walking away with a casual "it was good to see you again, billy" and billy is gripped with the thought that he can't let steve slip through his fingers again. how many people get a second chance like this? he can feel his old highschool crush flickering back to life where it's buried deep in his chest and maybe steve will never like billy like that but holy shit. billy still remembers the day steve said that maybe they could have been friends if things had been different and things are different now so why not take a chance??? and billy has never felt so brave or so fucking scared in his life as he does when he steps forward and calls after steve: "Hey Harrington! Wanna meet up and catch up properly some time?" and Steve's attention is back on him and goddamn. Billy didn't even realise how much he missed those eyes until now. ANyway!! This got away from me!! But 90s Harringrove pls and thank. Also the song i heard was lightning crashes by live. like the lyrics aren't even that appropriate but there's such a nostalgic feel to it.

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

Anon, this whole message has got me in a chokehold. Like, it’s such a direct hit. 🎯🎯🎯Billy choking on an apology because he’s so painfully unfamiliar with the very concept, the absolute devastation of hearing the potential of being friends with Steve was there, but he blew it, the PINING… urgh. How Steve can unknowingly fatally wound Billy just like that.

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

I hope that things get away from you many many more times, because this was incredible.

Okay okay. Now, if I may, I will now attempt to match your freak.

ahem

—

By some serendipitous fuckin’ miracle, Steve agrees to exchange digits with him. They couldn’t find a napkin or any other god forsaken scrap of paper to write on, so they just scribbled their numbers down onto each other's arm. Billy was so fucking on edge that when he was peering down at the pale expanse of Steve’s mole-speckled forearm he damn near forgot his own phone number. Jesus, he’s a wreck…

At least whenever it comes to Harrington, anyway. Dude has like, Billy’s own personal strain of kryptonite woven in through his DNA or some shit. It would explain why his hands always get clammy and his knees feel like they’re made of fucking jello every time Steve flashed those pearly whites his way.

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

Billy had spent the rest of the week running a finger along the wobbly looking numbers, fading more and more every day. Before they fade completely through, he finally finds his balls and dials Steve’s number.

A girl picks up, which… well, Billy knows Steve has a girlfriend. He didn’t know they’re living together though… but whatever, it don’t change shit.

“Steve around?” He asks, clenching the receiver in his fist so tightly that he can hear the plastic creak.

“Who’s asking?” The girl says, sounding pleasant despite her words. Sandy-haired, freckles. Cute, Billy remembers. Harrington always did go for the cute ones.

“Billy,” he answers, “Billy Hargrove. He’ll know who I am.”

“Oh, Billy,” The girl’s voice draws out his name like it’s an answer to a question that she’d been stuck on. “It’s about time you called.”

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

While Billy’s puzzling it out, she hears the girl holler for Steve, telling him Billy is on the line. His name is said with a weird amount of familiarity.

Billy switches ears and shakes out the stiffness in his hand. Focuses on breathing evenly instead of the steady flow of questions suddenly piling up in his head.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice, clear as a bell, asks from the other line.

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Steve says, doing that thing where he so casually drops bombs onto Billy’s world, leveling his cities with a passing word.

“Beat you to it.” Billy grins, and hears the little huff of a laugh on the other line.

“Always so competitive,” Steve teases, and Billy can just hear the smile. It makes his chest ache. It’s the sweet kind of ache, though. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s not winning that matters, it’s taking part?”

Billy shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him and sneers, “sounds like some shit losers say to each other.”

That gets a genuine laugh from Steve, all breathy and sharp, and Billy feels himself laughing along from the sheer thrill of getting Steve going.

“Jesus, I forgot how much of an asshole you are.” Steve sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. Just shit talk. It’s fine. What guys do.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t change my spots, or whatever.” Billy mumbles as he scuffs his boot along the floor. Fucking antsy. Jonesing for a cigarette. Just get on with it you piece of shit. He takes a breath and then takes the plunge. “So listen, we should hang out this weekend. I know a few good bars where we could catch up. Maybe get into some trouble.”

Steve makes a scoffing sound, “what kind of trouble are we talking here, Hargrove?”

His heart jackrabbits in his chest. He loves this part. Billy brings the receiver just a little closer to his lips. “The fun kind, Harrington.” He murmurs, voice pitched low.

There’s a brief, unbearably tense couple of seconds where Steve doesn’t speak. He just lets Billy dangle like a hooked fish. Static from the line. He doesn’t breathe. Then.

“Friday at 8?” Steve tosses the offer out, real casual-like. And with it, Billy feels the muscles around his neck and shoulders relax, like he got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Steve continues, “You wanna meet at the same coffee shop from before? I live in the apartment building just across the street from it.”

Fancy, Billy thinks. Of fuckin’ course. All the buildings on that block are the high end kind; with door men and balconies and working elevators. Billy only ever finds himself in that leg of the city when a pipe bursts or a sink gets clogged and Billy gets called in to fix it. Of course Steve’s living in the lap of luxury here in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy’s only child. Not that it’s his fault, Billy supposed. Some people are just born luckier than others.

“Sure, rich boy,” Billy grins, “bring your appetite though, I’m buying nachos.”

Steve heartily agrees. Because obviously. Who the hell could say no to that? Rich or poor, nachos are nachos.

It ain’t a date. It ain’t. It’s just two guys hanging out, y’know, catching up. For old times sake. Getting into some trouble, like Billy said. It ain’t date.

So what if he calls and asks Heather to pre-approve his outfit when everything he owns suddenly looks stupid on him? And who cares that he dabs double the amount of cologne onto his chest and triple down his pants—Billy likes to smell good, it ain’t a big deal. He wears a silver chain around his neck, the one that matches his earring, and undoes a few more buttons than usual to show it off. It’s cold this time of year but he figures they’ll be inside for most of the night anyway. Drinking, shooting pool, tossing darts. Shit like that.

Billy chain smokes as he waits outside of the coffee shop, sucking back one cigarette after the other, trying not to think about how he’s about to see Steve fucking Harrington again; the one who got away. Or, one one Billy never even fucking had a chance with in the first place, more like. He keeps wondering if he’s making a mistake. If he should just go home, forget he ever ran into that long legged, poofy haired, Bambi-eyed—

But then Steve’s there, handing Billy some froo-froo drink from inside (somehow they’d missed each other???) before he starts giving Billy a hard time for still not having a proper winter coat. Steve’s got highlights in his hair and eyeliner on his lower lashline and a spot of foam from his drink on the tip of his nose and Jesus fuck.

Billy’s in trouble.

[ysaona]

— Spoilers. Season 2, act 3 arcane. ⟡ ݁₊ .

First of all, Jinx is alive, and nobody can tell me different—end of story. I’ll post why after this (or before). Second, I CHEERED when Maddie, you know, because who does she think she is for real? Like, she actually had me heated.

Next up, I’m so happy Caitlyn and Vi are happy and safe and are living a sweet little life. It actually makes me so happy I could CRY. I can’t even explain it, but getting FREAKY in a jail cell? Oh, y’all are SLUTS—. Like, I had to click off to understand what I had just watched. I was literally in fricking shock, bro.

I’m also so sorry this is like thrown everywhere, but guys, I just am feeling so many emotions. I literally just finished this, so it’s raw emotions, like oh my god, the way Viktor and Jayce went out. They are literally so FRICKING GAY; like holy HECK! You homosexuals are so dramatic. Mel was so COOL this season; like I’m glad we got to see more of her being a Badass other than her just being a warrior's daughter. I think she deserved that title.

Arcane, the animation, to the art palettes, to the fricking characters, to the top and fricking bottom, holy heck, it was beautifully written. It was illustrated amazingly; it was gorgeous, it was heartbreaking, it was everything. This show deserves every award they could possibly earn. It was so beautiful, and I am just so honored to have even watched it.

Also, at the end, Caitlyn says something that gives off the vibe that’s like, “Our story is not over; this is just the beginning.” I have hope that they will continue Arcane, even if it’s a spinoff or a movie. I just think it’s not finished, and there are so many questions left unanswered, and they did that on purpose for only one reason, which is to somehow continue it. I pray they do because the storyline, the characters—it’s all so beautiful.

So I have HOPE! That we will somehow get a continuation very, very later lol okay ily thank you all for almost 1000 you guys are my babes. ALSO, COMMENT I WANNA HEARRRR ALL THE THEORIES AND ALL THE THOUGHTS!

— @juptology !! <3