#the author was deeply sleep deprived

[plumsfromyouricebox]

and now for something from the dumpster-fire portion of my imagination:

mike wheeler x max mayfield - 1.3k words

rating: E

tags/warnings: shameless smut, masturbation, mild degradation kink, frenemies, max bullies mike while he jerks off lol

author's note: i don't even know what this is, y'all, it just popped into my head and I literally wrote it on my notes app at 1am. I might post it on AO3 someday, but in the meantime, it's a tumblr exclusive. If you want more madwheeler check me out here!

***

Mike moved quickly as he made his way through Steve’s house, dripping water all over the hardwood floors. He adjusted his towel, clutching it tightly around his waist in an attempt to conceal the situation going on in his swim trunks. 

It was all Max’s fault. Her and that ridiculous new swimsuit she was wearing. 

Every summer since he'd known her she'd always just worn a one-piece. Not even a particularly flattering one, just something sporty in a dark colour with wide straps. 

But now. Now she seemed to have acquired some tiny two-piece thing that was little more than triangles of light blue fabric tied together with string. It barely covered anything. It was absurd. 

He flung open the door of the small, pastel pink basement bathroom and closed himself inside, pleasantly surprised to find that the toilet lid had one of those plush covers that made sitting on it much more comfortable. 

Breathing hard, his fingers tore at the laces of his swim trunks and he inched them down to pull his dick out. He couldn’t believe he had to do this, but this boner was refusing to go away. 

There was some sort of fancy lotion on the counter so he leaned over and pumped a small amount into his hand, spreading it between his palms before wrapping one around his aching hardness. 

For the past hour, she’d been stretched out on a pool float, all freckles and pale skin, sipping Diet Pepsi through a straw as she watched the boys smack each other with pool noodles. 

Thankfully Mike’s sunglasses hid his eyes so she didn’t notice his continuous staring. He had no idea how Lucas and Dustin hadn’t been driven to similar insanity. 

Why, why did the most annoying person in his life also have to be insanely hot? 

It almost felt like she was doing it on purpose today—meticulously massaging sunscreen onto every inch of her skin, diving into the pool and slowly pulling herself out, giving him ample time to get a long look at her ass. 

Closing his eyes, Mike thought of the water droplets running down her body, how he wanted to trace their path with his tongue. 

Then he heard the horrible click of the doorknob turning and his eyes flew open just as Max burst in, her hair wet and skin glistening with moisture.  

“Agh!” He twisted to the side, yanking his trunks up with one hand and covering himself with the other. 

Shit, she’d definitely seen what he was doing. This was so fucking mortifying, he was never going to live this down. 

Then he realized that instead of backing out in horror and leaving him to his humiliation, she was stepping further into the room, closing the door behind her before flipping the lock he’d so foolishly forgotten about earlier. 

Mike watched in total bewilderment as Max leaned back against the door just a few feet across from him, giving him a long once-over. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” 

“What?!” he hissed. “Get out of here, Max! I'm not gonna… do this in front of you.” 

“Why not?” She tilted her head. “You were thinking about me weren’t you?” 

Mike paled. “What? No–” 

“You’re a bad liar.” 

Then, to Mike’s complete disbelief, she casually shifted the triangles of her bikini top to either side, exposing the most perfect breasts he'd ever seen. 

Granted, they were the only breasts he’d ever seen, but he couldn’t see how these ones could possibly be improved upon. 

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his erection surging back to life as his mouth dropped open in shock. What was she doing? 

But she just leaned her head back against the door and nodded at his lap. “Keep going.” 

Mike narrowed his eyes. She wanted to watch him? There was no way. She was totally bullshitting—just teasing him so she could laugh at him later. 

Deciding to call her bluff, he tugged his shorts back down and removed his hands, letting his cock rest against his stomach. 

But Max didn’t shriek and cover her eyes like he’d been expecting. She just raised her eyebrows impatiently, urging him to continue. 

Okay… Well, he wasn’t about to be the first one to back down from this little game of chicken. 

Swallowing hard, he took hold of himself again, squeezing lightly before starting to move his hand up and down his shaft. 

“Were you thinking about touching me?” Max asked, chuckling when he reluctantly nodded after a few seconds. “I would never let you.” 

She arched her back as she ran her hands over herself, squeezing her breasts and playing with her hardened, rosy nipples. “What else?” 

Mike was so confused. Was this turning her on? But then why was she still being so mean? And why did he like it?

“I– I think about you sucking my dick,” he confessed, his gaze dropping to those perfect lips that he’d envisioned wrapped around his cock. One side pulled up into a smirk. 

“As if I’d ever put that tiny thing anywhere near my mouth,” she snorted. 

Mike glared at her, slowly stroking his entire length and making sure she saw. He knew objectively he wasn’t small, but he decided to play along and let her keep talking. This situation was bizarre, but it was also inexplicably hot. 

“Maybe if I was somehow extremely desperate I’d sit on your face.” She grinned, blue eyes sparkling with delight. “Just to get you to shut the fuck up for once.” 

Oh, Jesus. Mike couldn’t stop the groan that came from the back of his throat at her words. 

Usually, he found her voice grating, probably because that sharp tongue of hers was often delivering an insult or a joke at his expense. Now he couldn’t get enough of it. 

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? I’d make you beg for it first, though…” She pulled up the sides of her bikini bottoms so he could see the outline of her between her legs. His dick throbbed against his palm. “…for the privilege of tasting me.” 

Fuck. He’d do it too. He’d probably do anything she asked of him if she kept letting him look at her like this; talking to him like this. 

He tightened his grip on his shaft, moving faster and more purposefully, a familiar coiling pressure building at the base of his spine as liquid beaded at the tip. 

“You know how fucking sad this is, right?” 

Mike nodded. He did know. Fantasizing so hard about a girl who barely tolerated his presence that he had to crank one out in their friend's bathroom. He was such a loser. 

Max crossed her arms, pushing her tits up and together in a way that made him want to stick his face in between them. 

“Hurry up and finish already, I'm getting bored,” she stated flatly, despite the fact that her cheeks were stained pink and her breathing was audibly faster. 

His gaze roved all over her body, lingering on her face when he noticed her staring intently at the hand that was working himself to a climax. 

And then she pulled that full, tempting lower lip between her teeth and that was all it took to send him over the edge. 

Her eyes widened as he came over his stomach and fingers with a shuddering gasp, fighting to keep his own eyes open and locked on her. 

Smiling, she lifted her gaze to his with a slow shake of her head. “Fucking pathetic.” 

Then she straightened up, calmly readjusted her swimsuit, and left without so much as a glance back, closing the door firmly behind her. 

After a few seconds, Mike snapped out of his post-orgasm stupor and reached for the tissue box, head spinning as he cleaned himself off. 

He didn’t know what the hell that had been, but he knew he was definitely getting her back for it. 

[httpsserene]

I have been having SUCH a thought since the Thigh Riding, and I NEED to tell you.

We know reader has been loving Max and Charles’ thighs, but have you seen those silicone thigh toys? They’re basically ridged pads you strap to your thigh and…well you can guess what they do with them.

I just- I feel like it would elevate it, their sweet girl opening up to the world of toys whilst in the comfort of something she loved.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

summary: all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better.  content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. vibrators. thigh riding. sex toys. non-penetrative sex. edging. praise kink. corruption kink. dom/sub undertones. coming untouched. sub!charles. sub!reader. dom!max. pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc x fem!black!reader word count: 2.4k words.

author’s notes: this is from december 2023, jesus christ. about fucking time right, @vetteltea? this has been haunting me in my sleep ever since this hit my inbox, now it’s y’all’s problem too < 333 psss, next post will either be toasty part two (toto) or a smau xxx

(if you’re unsure about what these specific thigh toys are, don’t worry, i would link an example but idk if that would get me put in tblr jail and i’m on thin ice with my mentions, tags, and even dms not working :| look up “grinding pad sex toy” to get an idea of what i’m referencing in this fic. )

prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | track limits | table of contents ↻

You’ve deeply repressed the memory of your orgasm-deprived outburst that kick started your sexual exploration with Max and Charles. Vaguely, you can remember saying that you possibly considered the thought of buying a vibrator to get yourself off since riding your pillow wasn’t enough anymore.

[…you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one)...]

[…you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating…”]

Charles was right. You didn’t have to go streaking or buy a sex toy to get off, your boyfriends took care of you. That night, you were satisfied by riding Max’s thigh. Then a few days later, you learned how to pleasure your men with handjobs. A couple of days after that you were fingerfucked into an altered mental state, then followed up with watching Charles cum untouched as Max ate him out. You had Max’s mouth on you next and weeks later in a Spanish villa, you allowed them to take your virginity.

The five days you three spent in that villa were filled with pleasure, as Max and Charles fulfilled every request of yours without question. In bed, on the sofa, from the kitchen floor to the dining table, from the hot tub to the bathroom shower, horizontally, vertically, parabolically, from dusk to dawn—the two years of relationship you had without sexual intimacy had been put to rest. The understanding, the vulnerability, and the trust rooted within everyone had led to that moment. It was worth it.

So, one would understand your confusion when Max drops the idea of sex toys in conversation with you and Charles on a random morning. With an audible noise of confusion, you tilt your head up at him adorably, and genuinely question, “Why would I use a toy when I have you two?” Your tummy tightened when that sentence caused Charles to look at you with dripping molten eyes and Max’s mumbled grumble about corrupting your innocence goes unheard. Minutes later, you were bent over the kitchen island, the skirt of your sundress shoved up around your waist, and your white panties dangling off of one ankle as they took turns eating you out. Needless to say, you forgot about the subject of conversation the moment they knocked your legs open.

Eventually, they do manage to have a chat about toys without it devolving into sex. 

“Schat,” Max grabbed your attention, the clink of his silverware resting on his plate further interrupted your focus on spinning pasta onto your fork.

“Yes, Maxy?” you responded, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“After this discussion, we will never bring this up again if you are adamantly against the idea,” you brought your fork to your lips, munching away with a look of puzzlement, the Dutchman continued, “But, Charlie and I were talking…and we think, that—with your approval, of course—that there’s a chance you may enjoy experiencing and learning about sex toys, and how good they can make you feel. As long as either one of us is using them on you—and, with your hatred of them—they’re also not vibrators.”

You choked on your pasta, Charles making a noise of surprise as he rushed forward to pat you on the back.

Airways now cleared, you looked at Max with watery eyes, “There was not enough foreshadowing to let me know where the conversation was going. And, fuck vibrators. They are way too strong.”

The Monegasque’s eyes brightened with humor, “Hm. I think vibrators are nice, especially when they’re in Max’s hand.”

“You’re a menace and a freak,” the older man responded, “And she’s chronically sensitive. Don’t tease.”

Charles tugged at one of your curls, chuckling as he saw the brown skin of your cheeks redden.

“I mean,” you paused to play fight with your boyfriend, batting his hand from your hair cutely, “You guys haven’t been wrong with anything you’ve introduced me to. If you think that I might enjoy something…I guess I can try it. And, you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

“Always, mon ange.” “Of course, liefje.”

“Okay, then. I just don’t think there’s a toy that I’ll like?”

A smirk spread across Max’s lips when he glanced over at Charles, like they knew something you didn’t. His blue eyes were alight with humor as they looked back at you, “Let us worry about that.”

You did such a good job of letting your boyfriends “worry about sex toys” that you ended up forgetting the conversation happened. Until tonight, when you walked into your bedroom to see Charles on the bed completely naked, save for—what appears to be, a pink silicone pad strapped around his tanned, muscular thigh.

You freeze in the doorway, mouth parted, struggling to process the sight in front of you. The brunette is ruined. His hair is damp with sweat, strands of curls stuck to his forehead, and green eyes moist with dried tear tracks painting the ruddiness of his cheeks. His lips are bitten red, swollen, and moist with his spit—Max’s too. The bruises start on his collarbone, deep red marks brush along his clavicle and pecs, and there are visible imprints of teeth around his right nipple. Traces of Max’s unforgiving grip are painted on his waist, thumbprints obvious to your eyes. His cock looks painful; burning red, twitching randomly, the vein on his underside raised, and precome has been leaking out of his tip for a while if the puddle by the base is any telling. 

Employing his skill for perfect timing, the en-suite door opens, and Max steps into the room with a bottle of lube in his hand. 

“Charlie?” Max coos, walking over to the delirious man, pouting sympathetically when the brunette’s head falls forward to rest on his hip, ruffling his hair and scratching along his scalp. “Aren’t you going to thank our pretty girl for putting an end to your torture?”

“–rci, merci,” the exhausted man mumbles messily. Max hums in content, dropping the lube on the bed and gesturing for you to come closer. Tripping over your feet in haste to follow his order, you ask softly, “How long have you had him like this?”

“Around forty-five minutes,” Max shrugs, dismissively, “He was getting too excited as we waited for you to join us.”

Swallowing shakily, you inquire, “Excited about what?

“Your new sex toy.” 

You gasp and Max’s eyes flutter across your face as he gages your reaction. Max sees you shift on your feet and casts look downward; your thighs are pressed together for friction—you’re aroused.

“Do you want to try it?”

“Yes, Max.”

The Dutchman smiles at you, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and leans forward to press a multitude of chaste kisses on your lips, laughing lowly when you whine with displeasure as he ignores your attempts to deepen them. “You’re being so brave for me. Take your clothes off, pretty girl.”

Bare in the blink of an eye, you look at your older boyfriend for his next direction.

“Our Charlie,” Max starts, helping the fucked-out man sit up straight, “Has been so kind to volunteer his thigh to you. Strapped around it,” he pauses to slap his hand down beneath the toy, smirking at Charles’ delayed yelp, and squeezing the meat of his muscle warmly, “Is a ridged silicone pad designed to simulate the vulva and clit as you grind. The waves and spikes of silicone are malleable and soft,” Max drags his finger across them demonstratively, “and are smooth and bouncy as you slide across it, allowing for a continuous rubbing sensation—I did my research.”

Giggling nervously as your eyes flicker between Charles’ cock and the daunting pink slab of plastic, “I can tell. Um—I just ride it like it’s his thigh?”

Max nods and offers you his hand for stability as you move to straddle the pad. Charles blinks, raising trembling hands to rest on your hips, staring at you with hazy eyes. You sigh, tangling your hand in the nape of his hair and using it to pull him forward into a kiss. His lips are clumsy but eager as they move against yours, whimpers muffled into your mouth and beard scratching along your chin. He tries to tug you downwards to have you firmly sit on the pad but is halted by Max.

“Greedy, both of you,” Max snorts, picking up the forgotten bottle of lube and uncapping it to lightly drizzle some on the toy's surface, “I know you get wetter than the ocean but, better safe than sorry.”

He pats you on the ass in encouragement, and you shake your head with shame as you lower yourself down on the silicone, draping your arms around Charles’ shoulders and pausing to acquaint yourself with the new feeling. The chill of the lube startles you but aside from that, the toy is…comfortable. The raised hump sits perfectly against the curvature of your cunt and already, you’re anticipating the focused stimulation it will provide. 

Max sits behind Charles and the bed sinks under his weight, barely jostling the Monegasque’s thigh. However, it’s enough of a movement that it causes one of the soft spikes to clip your clit, pushing a quiet noise of surprise from your lips.

“Oh,” you murmur airily.

Trying to hide the quirk of his lips, Max leans forward to whisper directly into Charles’ ear, “This seems awfully familiar to the first time she rode my thigh, no?”

You whimper audibly, knowing that he purposefully spoke loud enough for you to hear his words. Refusing to fixate on Charles’ reply, you circle your hips, breath catching as the various textures set your nerves ablaze. You understand that Max added the lube to prevent any unwanted roughness—it’s rendered unnecessary as your arousal starts to leak. Digging your nails into the younger man’s back, you rock your hips back and forth slowly, moaning freely as the waves are a consistent friction against your labia. 

“It’s–fuck—i-it’s good.”

“Stuttering already,” Max tuts, and you feel the heat in your cheeks radiate down to your bouncing chest. Your rhythm roughens; dragging yourself along the toys in desperation, toes curling at every random press of the spikes against your outer lips and clit. Charles gasps in relief, your quickened pace causing his cock to bounce and rub against his abdomen in his puddle of precome. He gets lucky on every few grinds when you undulate forwards and his cock bounces to glide against your navel. His hands grip firmly around your hips and shove them into a jerkier motion, keeping you close to him so his reddened length can be soothed against your skin constantly. 

The change in angle and position has caused the spikes to form a barrage around your clit and the waves drag over your entrance, teasing you with the feeling of being opened up. Dropping your head to hide your face in Charles’ neck, you muffle your pitchy moans and shrieks by tasting the sweat beading on his skin.

“I’m jealous, schatje,” Max speaks, “I almost want to pull her off of your thigh and have her sit on my face.”

Fresh tears spill from Charles’ eyes as he begs, “N-no-no—mmmph—please, ‘m close.”

Your hips start to rabbit against the toy, and the texture between your legs is overwhelming but too pleasurable to consider slowing. 

Max yanks Charles’ head backward with a fist in his hair, “Do you want to cum, Charlie?”

The man in question babbles incoherently, chest trembling from lack of oxygen as he continues to sob; he tries to nod, but can’t, thanks to Max’s firm grip. The burning of his scalp doesn’t subdue him, it encourages him to keep tugging so the pain floods endorphins through his body. 

“You know what to say,” Max states calmly, the words sending shivers down your spine. Your own body starts to tingle as you taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue; you’re too delighted at the new sensations to let any embarrassment build from reaching the edge quickly.

Charles struggles to get his tongue, lips, and vocal cords to cooperate. You see a frantic look light in his eyes, sure he’s trying to puzzle out what language he’s sane enough to communicate in. He manages to verbalize sounds that could be likened to Max’s name if you brush past his whimpers and cries.

“Plea–,” Charles tries to push the word out pitifully, “—ah, sss'il te pla—” his cock bumps against your navel, and his words cut off, eyes rolling back before he can finish begging.

A humorous laugh leaves Max; this is the easiest way Max has ever made the younger man lose his speech. He softens, and gives into the pillow prince, “You did so good, Charlie. You tried your hardest for me, yeah? You begged so prettily tonight, almost as pretty as you look. Such a good boy, Charles. You can cum.”

Strikingly, the approval works for both you and Charles. Twin cries of pleasure erupt as your orgasms blur your vision and burn through your muscles. The feeling of Charles’s cum splattering against your stomach sends another burst of light through your skin as you continue to grind fitfully on the silicone pad. A lake of wetness puddled on the poor man’s thigh, that squelches as you move. 

Charles is rendered silent as his cock continues to pulse even when the flow of his release ceases. Max brings his hand down to squeeze at his base and Charles releases a choppy scream as it pushes another couple of ribbons out of him. His hips thrust upwards with every string, forcing hisses of over sensitivity to slip from you as it drags the soaked pad against your cunt. You would happily crawl off his thigh, but you haven’t regained feeling in your legs yet. 

Thankfully, Charles deflates back into Max, his cock finally softening and slowly losing some of its flush. Tears start to leak from his eyes again, his chest shuddering through little sobs. You whimper softly at his tears and Max pulls you both to rest comfortably in the bed, as he shushes you two through the comedown. When the tears, shivers, and shakes halt, a pleased tilt of lips rises to Charles's face as his eyes dance between you and Max. 

The Dutchman unclips the toy from Charles’s thigh and smirks at the wet peeling noise that sounds.

“So…I assume this toy has your approval?”

© httpsserene2023

[mrpenguinpants]

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Semi Part 1: Low Battery Warning [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[honeyandberryjuice]

Grinding Gears

collab with @lavenderovercast

summary: when 30 years go by with your husband in another dimension, it's only natural that you both encounter some physical and emotional barriers. luckily for you, you're able to begin squashing the physical ones rather quickly... relationship(s): stanford pines/reader word count: 2,330 warning(s): 18+, MINORS DNI

author's note: give it up for day 2 of our kinktober challenge!!! what do you mean it's the 10th/11th? we weren't procrastinating, the calendar was. by being several days ahead of us. another collab between me & @lavenderovercast!! hope you guys enjoy <333 tags: light sub!ford pines; this man is soft for one woman and one woman only, light dom!reader, thigh riding, plotless porn ftw, thirty years of feelings involved lmao, fluff, smut, pet names, chair sex, grinding, dirty talk; but make it really nerdy and needy, horrible biology joke :)

🍯 prefer to read on ao3? 🍯

 Ford doesn’t know how long he’s been down in his lab with his research, but he does know that when he hears the familiar creak of the elevator coming down that it’s probably been too long. You’ve been a good wife, a dutiful wife— it’s only natural that you would come down to check on him. And it was only natural that Ford would try to protest your presence, tilting his head over his shoulder as you approached him with a frown on your pretty face.

 “I’m sorry, my dear. I’ll head to bed soon.” You both know that his words are a lie, even if he doesn’t mean them to be. Because Ford’s work means everything to him, it also means that there’s no rest for the wicked. With the wicked in this case being a sleep-deprived scientist. That fact doesn’t stop him from turning his chair to face you, outstretching his arms to pull you closer for a gentle peck on the lips— it’s his form of an apology, it’s his way of trying to earn forgiveness for neglecting his sleep. “Don’t wait on me, please. You look tired.”

 He’s exhausted, but he knows that he needs to piece the rest of this project together. It will gnaw at him and leave him restless if he leaves it alone. You smile knowingly as your husband’s hands brush against your skin, warm and calloused as his thumbs rub circles against your wrists as he gently pulls you closer. Your form happily leans into the man, a mischievous thought forming in your head. If he won’t come to bed with the temptation of your presence alone, why not provide further incentive?

 “And you look stressed,” You hum, your hands gliding across his skin to settle onto his shoulders. You lean in closer, your familiar floral scent mixed with baking that always smelled so divine to Ford enveloping him. His head falls into your body and he breathes you in deeply, the man’s hands cupping your back to pull you in closer. He was always so busy tinkering or researching, as he always had done. It was hard to break habits that he’d kept up for almost forty years, but being reunited with his wife made him remember just how many physical sensations he’d let himself forget.

 The perfume that clings to your clothes make his head feel dizzy, and his fingers grip into your soft cardigan wrapping around your frame. He feels a little pathetic as he realises that something as little as just your presence causes arousal to fill him. Ford had missed his wife so dearly, and while the emotional side of things had been difficult to confront and talk about, he knew the two of you had managed to rediscover your comfort around each other… Though the intimacy side of things was a little more strained, and while you both definitely felt the absence of one another, it was hard to just pick up where you left off after thirty years.

 With a sigh, Ford lifts his head to look up at you, eyes slightly pleading. Your breath hitches in your throat as you notice that he wants you just as much as you want him. Your hands move from his shoulders up to his neck, before gently cupping his face and leaning in for a feather-light kiss. The motion was shy, because you felt shy; you had spent most of your life believing you knew this man intricately, but so many decades apart had made you foreign to each other. You knew that you had to make the first move, to know him again.

 As you both separate after the peck, your breaths mingle in the small space between you. You can see a shy smile tugging at the man’s lips as he peers up at you, his brown eyes warm with affection. The sight is enough to make you smile back, your heart warming in your chest as he leans forward. Ford feels a little bolder, if only for a moment, pressing his lips gently against yours.

 It’s longer and deeper than the small kiss that you had just shared. His lips are rough against yours, but you find yourself enjoying the sensation as your fingertips move up, gently digging into the man’s hair. A pleased groan rumbles from his chest, a sound that is muffled but still makes his face flush with embarrassment as his tongue carefully slips past your lips.

 It’s been years since he’s been physical with anyone, of course the action will feel clumsy and awkward— of course his heart is going to thunder in his chest the way that it is now. It doesn’t make him any less embarrassed by how weak in the knees you make him now, though. These facts also don’t let him embrace his desperation with grace, nor do they let him embrace the way that his fingers rub against the fabric of your cardigan and move down without a little bit of shame.

 Not because of you, of course, but because of himself. He doesn’t want to be selfish and needy, but it’s exactly what he is now as his hands trail from your sides to the backs of your legs, silent encouragement for you to rest yourself on his lap. You happily comply, straddling one of his legs as he pulls away from your intoxicating lips for air, only just noticing the burn in his lungs.

 “I missed you.” He mumbles, his voice sincere as he navigates his hands away from the backs of your legs, closer to the hem of your skirt. Ford just wants to take care of you, maybe in his own selfish way, in an attempt to ignore his want. You deserve better than what he wants to provide now. It’s only natural that his hands wander the hem of your skirt, eager to pull down the fabric until your delicate hand wraps around his wrist.

 Your face is flushed red, and the sight of this makes his insides turn to jelly. Your hair, which had been pulled back into a slick bun, had begun to unwind with bits of loose hair falling around the side of your face. Ford always believed you looked beautiful, but there was something radiant about you right now— The usually hard shell of a woman who always strived to remain professional and predominantly focused on your work coming undone made him feel very hot under the collar. Your work ethic is what had made him fall for you, after all.

 His admiration of you flew from his mind as your grip on his wrist grew tighter, the desire on your face evident. The man wanted so badly to please you, and he felt a thrill travel up his spine and groin as you took his hand and pulled it under your skirt, pressing it against your panties.

 Ford could feel your want soaking through them.

 “You’re… You’re so…” His throat felt tight, his skin burning with both need and bashfulness.

 “Wet?” You finished for him, a sly smile plastering your face. “That’s just simple biology not letting me keep any secrets about how much I want you.”

 Oh God, he loved you so much. Ford needs you closer, to kiss your glorious lips and show you how much he wanted you, too. This time wasn’t about him and he would make it his mission to do anything you wanted. His hand rubs along your labia, before pausing to swirl around your swollen clit.

 You gasp loudly, jerking forward and clamping your fingers tightly onto his shoulders. Ford glances up at you through long, dark eyelashes, one side of his mouth quirked up into a little smirk. You had always found that look so infuriating when the two of you had been academic rivals, though now it shot fluttery shockwaves through your body like little electric butterflies.

 A whimper escapes you as you pull yourself closer towards him, the warmth from your drenched panties and body seeping into him. Your breasts pressing against his chest make him lightheaded, despite the fact you were still fully clothed. God, he really needed to get laid.

 He almost feels lamentable, like he’s some teenage virgin in his first relationship. It’s almost like he’s about to melt into the damn chair he’s sitting on now, with the way you pull yourself to him, your fingers digging harshly into the sleeves of his sweater, grasping onto his shoulders as though he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your reactions are encouragement that push past his nerves, allowing him to focus on the task at hand: getting his wife to cum so damn hard that you would see stars.

 His fingers move methodically as he does his best to recall the way that you used to like him touching you; each former whisper of praise and gratitude that slipped your lips all those years ago came back into his mind like muscle memory, encouraging him to continue rubbing your clit in fast little circles. Ford can’t help but think that he could die happy, with you writhing in his lap when you give a breathy gasp, leaning your head into the crook of the man’s neck before bucking your hips into his moving hand.

 “Sweet Moses, you’re divine,” He breathes out softly to you, the praise instinctively slipping from his lips. And then he’s leaning his own head so he can rest it against your shoulder. The sweet smell of vanilla invades his senses in a way that makes his head swim. He can’t see it, but you’re grinning as you rock your hips against his fingers, a slow and deliberate action that earns a soft groan from the man. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

 You giggle at that, the sound of a torturous melody that he wanted to hear forever. Ford isn’t given long to relish in the sound, however, because you continue to rock your hips, beginning to build up a steady pace. He can feel your legs clench around his own, your grip on him tight as you grind your hips on his leg and fingers. It’s filthy, and he craves more of it. He wants to see you come undone, he wants to make you scream with delight.

 So he keeps up his rhythm, not minding the tightness beginning to fill his slacks as he lifts his head to cup your cheek with his free hand. Tilting your head so you’re facing him, Ford presses his lips against your own in another kiss. This time, he’s far less gentle. This time, he allows his yearning to show through his actions in the way that they can’t through his words. Ford revels in the way that you whimper and jerk your hips harder into his fingers and lap, the actions of your excitement only encouraging the man to playfully nip at your lip.

 Between Ford’s expert fingers moving against your clit, pressing against the bud with just enough pressure to make you want to melt in his arms and the stimulation of your pussy rubbing against his leg as you filthily grind on his thigh, you’re certain that this is the closest you’ll ever get to heaven in his arms.

 You’re eager to return the kiss, an excited noise rising from the back of your throat as Ford’s teeth graze against your bottom lip. You know that you aren’t going to last much longer on his lap, grinding your hips like this while Ford dutifully rubs your clit, not letting up with the stimulation that sends shivers across your skin.

 You can feel the pressure rising within you, deep in your pelvis as your legs begin to shake around Ford’s thigh. One hand continues to dig into his skin, your nails embedding deeply into his red sweater as your breathing becomes spasmodic and heavy, the other gripping the back of his hair as your grinding increases in fervour. Your lip is clamped between your teeth and Ford is so enraptured in watching your face, your eyes clouded with desire, that he isn’t prepared for when you come completely undone.

 Your jaw drops open and you throw your head back, a guttural groan coming from deep in your throat as you jerk your hips roughly once more and your weight falls back. Ford catches you by wrapping his arms behind your back and pulling you towards him again, another hot kiss searing your skin as he begins to plant soft smooches along your jaw plastered with praise, “You did so well, dear. So beautiful, so perfect.” The man coos, one hand raising to gently brush your cheek.

 He would curse himself for not letting your reunion happen earlier, what with everything going on with Bill’s plan and endless research, but he was so glad that this had happened the way it had. You seem to think similarly, because you smile sweetly up at him and nuzzle into his neck for a few moments before clambering off his lap.

 Your expression turns playful as you look down at his thigh, your smile sheepish. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Ford could honestly stay in these clothes forever marred as they were, the filthy man he is, but he nods in agreement. With a quiet grunt, he begins to climb onto his feet before he feels your hands push him back into the chair, eyebrow raised. “No, no,” You grin devilishly, “Let me take those off for you.”

 Ford lifts both of his eyebrows as he peers up at you, his face growing warm at the devilish expression on your face. He can’t help but grin and nod his head at the sight. “Whatever you wish, my dearest.”

 While you both may still have some emotional awkwardness to confront in the future, you didn’t think your physical intimacy would be an issue any longer.

[k-daydreams]

The Pursuit of Feeling Alive: III. Bratty Behavior

Pairing: fem!reader x azriel, platonic!innercircle

Synopsis: cousin to Rhysand and Morrigan, y/n was once her family’s golden child. Faced with trials and tribulations her whole life, she needed reprieve— a distraction. Until a surprise homecoming opens Pandora’s box, and gives y/n a reality check. Especially facing her once close friend Azriel. Friends to Enemies to lovers trope.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, trauma, reader being shitty, slow slow burn, mor and Cassian being readers moral sanity, filler chapter, grammatical errors lmao

Authors note: hellooo! So this is kinda a filler since what I was writing for this part was so long. Next part will really be juicy I promise! Thank you guys for so much love on the last part, I hope y’all will like this! Not a lot of Az has been in this part, mainly talking about him in 3rd person, but I promise hold on hope y’all get him in action in the next!! Lmk what you guys think

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

"Rhysand isn't impressed with Azriel," Mor declared, her knife slicing through a piece of meat. "To be honest, Y/n, I could genuinely throttle him." She took a bite of her food before continuing.

It was your first night back in Velaris, and the inner circle, along with the company, was aware of what had happened between Azriel and you. Well, at least what Cassian, Nesta, and Elain had witnessed. Rhys and Feyre hadn't approached you about it yet; Mor mentioned they wanted to spare you any further distress for the time being. Typically when one of the inner circle members had returned home from something, Rhys would have organized a celebratory family dinner, but he had decided against it for now. Instead, you and Mor dined alone in the House of Wind tonight.

Nonchalantly, you shrugged and took a sip from your wine glass. "Just another tantrum from that Illyrian man-child. Nothing new, really." You tried to sound relaxed, not wanting your friends and family to worry about you or the argument. You didn't want Azriel to know his words had cut you deeply or give him any satisfaction. You had already shown him just how much they had affected you. The impact was tangible—you had been restless, tossing and turning in bed for the past few nights, with no appetite to eat. Your homecoming was supposed to mark the beginning of your healing journey, yet here you were, starving and sleep-deprived due to the nonsense uttered by a man who thought he knew you.

Mor nodded knowingly, her napkin dabbing at her lips. "He had no right to speak to you like that," she said, her voice firm. "He knows that, no matter what, you're family. That's why we came back for you when Helion sent word. He knows we would do the same for any member of our family and to disregard you so quickly like that."

Disheartened, you let out a sigh. "I don't know, Mor. I knew we ended things on a sour note, but it's been nearly 60 years since then. I thought he would have moved on."

Her food momentarily forgotten, Mor nearly choked when you made that statement. "Please tell me you didn't just say that," she responded incredulously.

What do you mean?"

She stared at you intensely, her eyes burning into your soul as you went blank. "Seriously?" Perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "I've seen you hold grudges for centuries, and yet you expect him to forgive you for an argument that happened over half a century ago?"

Both of you fell silent, studying each other across the table. Mor's loyalty to Azriel, despite never reciprocating his feelings, was unwavering—just as yours had been in the past. At times, it made you question if her feelings for him were truly nonexistent, like now. A queasiness churned in your stomach, and your head throbbed with a dull ache. Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach hadn't been the best idea, especially when thoughts of Mor and Azriel intertwined.

You cleared your throat, a newfound coldness lacing your tone as you spoke up. "Every grudge I've held has been a result of something more severe than an argument," you stated, fidgeting with the table linen. "An argument, mind you, that happened because he didn't want me to follow Rhys."

Mor retorted sharply, "Look where that got you." Your heart started pounding, your ears heating. Your gaze dropped in her direction, and a familiar flame ignited within you. "What he did was fucked up, but Y/n, you can be a stubborn brat." You opened your mouth to object, but she raised a hand to stop you. "I'm not trying to be rude. I say this because I care about you. But it's time to own up to your mistakes. Only then, maybe, just maybe, you can find peace again."

Mor's tough love never felt good, but you knew it always came from a place of good intentions. Angry and devastated, you found it hard to accept hearing all that. Sure, you could be opinionated and stubborn at times, but reducing yourself to a brat felt unjust.

Draining your wine, you replied, "I had hoped for a civil conversation with him whenever we did talk." Mor looked skeptical, likely not fully believing you. You did have a record for the last century or so with picking arguments, you blamed being around Mor and Amren so much, and maybe a lot of repressed feelings.

Despite her irritation with you, Mor reached out and took your hand in hers, comforting you with gentle circles on the back of it, like a mother would. "When it comes to you, it seems his shadows turn to flames."

There was so much you wanted to say, but you remained silent, allowing her words to echo in your mind. You couldn't quite grasp their cryptic meaning, but you didn’t want to indulge in the topic too much longer. Mor let go of your hand, standing up. "Feel like grabbing a drink at Rita's?" she asked, her tone changing, a small smirk forming. A way to nurse your wounds.

Shaking your head, you replied, "Not tonight. I need to rest. Traveling today drained me. But thank you." You offered a tight-lipped smile.

"Sweet dreams, little star," Mor said, patting your head before walking away.

The once-dull headache now throbbed prominently in your forehead, and you cradled your head in discomfort. Mor’s conversation seemed to reflect the same argument you had a few days prior with Azriel. Though not filled with as malicious intent as his did, it still left you feeling just as scorned. The house cleared the table immaculately as you stood to make your way to your room.

The hallways were quiet and deserted, illuminated by the dim twinkle of faelights illuminating the red stone of the walls. Each light flickered slightly in your presence before dimming again, but you were too weary to care about such peculiarities of your powers. The House of Wind sprawled endlessly, a labyrinth of doors and spiraling stairs within the mountainside. A few new paintings and plants adorned the halls, likely additions from the High Lady and her sister, but it all remained as you remembered.

When you enter your room, a plate with an assortment of delectable cheese and crackers, accompanied by a tall, refreshing glass of water. Along with a small container of headache powder sat patiently on your bedside table. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you witnessed the house meticulously pulling back your sheets, reminiscent of the way it used to prepare your bed during your childhood days. Gently placing your night clothes at the foot of the bed, a smile of gratitude graced your face, silently expressing your appreciation to the house. It seemed that Rhys had been right about something you thought once you were in bed getting pulled into a restless sleep.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You trudged begrudgingly through the halls of the endless mansion. Feyre had roused you from slumber earlier that morning, informing you of a meeting with the inner circle in an hour. Though you harbored little desire to attend, it was the first order by your new High Lady, making it a matter of importance. You hated how far your room was from the war room. Wishing you had wings, even better, you wished you had a room closer to one of the rooms you frequented the most. Finally almost out of breath, you made it to the entrance. You stalked into the room, you found Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Azriel, and Mor already settled in their seats.

"Tsk, tsk, fashionably late to your first meeting?" Cassian playfully jabbed at you. Walking past him, you discreetly flicked the back of his head, eliciting a muttered "brat" as he dramatically nursed the imaginary injury.

Your steps faltered for a moment, as that word—brat—pricked at your annoyance. Not letting it fester too much, you take a seat between Mor and Lucien. Sitting across from Cassian and Amren, with Azriel positioned diagonally next to his brother, you could feel his intense gaze fixed upon you. Determined not to shudder or shift under his scrutiny, you resolved not to let him see how deeply his words affected you. Deep down, however, you couldn't deny the lingering care you held for him, or the way his presence had consumed your thoughts over the past week like a plague.

"I don't see Feyre and Rhysand, so technically I'm not late," you declared, a smug tone coloring your words.

"Actually, they had other matters to attend to," Amren replied indifferently. It had been less than an hour since you last saw Feyre, leaving you puzzled as to what could have transpired in such a short span of time. Cassian nudged your foot under the table, a silent reminder of his earlier warning. Narrowing your eyes, you retaliated by kicking his shin, relishing in his sharp intake of breath as he winced. "Relax, Y/n!" he exclaimed, while you concealed your smirk, leaning back in your chair with crossed arms.

"Must you be so childish?" Azriel's voice snapped at you, catching you off guard.

Cassian stared at his brother in shock, attempting to defend your actions. “Brother I had started it-“

Beside him, the spymaster exhaled, regaining his composure. "I don't care who started it; I want to get through this as quickly as possible.” he requested, his tone cold.

"Yes, please," you muttered under your breath. The shadowsinger shot you a look.

Though you sensed he had more to say, Amren began speaking before another argument could erupt, cutting straight to the point. "We haven't visited the Court of Nightmares in quite some time. It's about time we made an appearance; I'm sure they're on the brink of chaos by now."

Mor sucked in her teeth, and you could hear Lucien gulp audibly, clearly apprehensive at the thought. You bit your lip anxiously.

"I won't be able to attend. Rhysand, specifically Feyre, has requested that you, Y/n, take the reins tonight," Amren announced, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of missing out on the formal affair. Uncertainty flickered across the faces of those from the inner circle, unsure of how you would receive the order, except for Azriel, whose expression remained inscrutable.

You fidgeted with your fingers, picking at the hangnails. Before Amarantha, you had taken pleasure in Rhys entrusting you with these meetings, where you handled official business between the Court of Dreams and Nightmares. It had been empowering to witness your family obeying your orders, having spent so long following theirs, only to be shunned upon your return in the aftermath of one of the darkest days of your life. Your parents were ready to condemn you for treason when they first laid eyes on you. That’s when Rhys had appointed you as an emissary. Primarily since you had spent the most time in the court knowing the ins and outs, and as a sick punishment for your family.

Now, anxiety gripped you as memories you had desperately tried to suppress from your childhood. Those memories now attached with the new ones you sought to repress from your encounter with Amarantha. It became increasingly difficult to focus on Amren's words as your gaze wandered blankly through the expansive window behind her, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

"Azriel will be right beside you for protection throughout the night, Cassian will accompany Mor, with Lucien joining them," Amren continued, a hint of wariness in her words.

"Why-why can't Cass be by my side?" you stammered. "He's a general for a reason." You had an inkling to why Azriel had always been at your side when you’d be in charge of this responsibility, but you also wanted him nowhere near you. Didn’t anyone else think that him and you together was an awful idea at the moment?

"Because Azriel has a more intimidating effect on your family," Amren replied, looking knowingly at him. Azriel remained stoic, mirroring your own defensive posture—scarred muscular arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, stil as a statue. "As I said, it's been some time since we made an appearance. Who knows what they might do? We can't risk any harm coming to the Princess on her first days back at court," she added mockingly. Rolling your eyes, you fought the urge to offer her a vulgar gesture. For that remark alone, she could certainly go to hell.

"Cassian will come to fetch you later, so you can all gather at the townhouse and winnow together," Amren concluded nonchalantly. "Now, I need to speak with Mor and Cassian privately. You three are dismissed; I'm sure Azriel and Y/n are just itching to throw themselves off the dining room veranda by now." She said to you, Lucien, and Azriel. She was right about one thing, you thought to yourself, your chair scraping against the floor as you stood, eager to escape the war room as quickly as possible.

You closed the door to your room, and fell into your bed screaming into the mattress. You were frustrated, overwhelmed, and exhausted from lack of sleep. A small commotion on your nightstand made you jump, looking up, a medium box now laid on the stand. An envelope attached to a deep purple ribbon wrapped around the gift. You sat up, and grabbed it, opening the paper.

‘Give them hell tonight, you've earned it little star. -R&F’

Inside the box was a diadem of silver, stars of different shapes hung all adorning the chain encrusted in emeralds, diamonds of different hues, and sapphires for you to wear tonight. You sighed, a new feeling slithering through your veins. Maybe this was Rhysand’s way of giving you therapy. You all played a game and made a show down in the court of nightmares that the inner circle all got a kick out of at one point or another. Maybe playing the act was what you needed? You had let your mental shield down, letting your thoughts empty to nothing, hoping Rhys would be paying attention.

You planned this intentionally? You thought once your mind was blank.

Me? What would make you think so? Rhys purred in your mind.

You rolled your eyes. Mhm, you two just had to conveniently leave all of a sudden?

That’s a matter for tomorrow, just try not to torture someone to death tonight, especially not our spymaster. He taunted.

Your spymaster, no promises. You clarified.

Have fun, little star. You could feel him poking at your mind to signal he was no longer there.

You threw your shield up, and laid back on your bed. Tonight was going to be interesting.

･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

You fixed your lip shine in the mirror, finishing the final touches to your look before a rhythmic knock on your ajar door sounded.

“You ready?” Cassian peaked before walking into the room.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He let out a low whistle as he examined you. “Your family’s not gonna like that.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” You smirked despite a brief heat rising to your cheeks.

The gown you chose was something you had saved for a trip specifically for the court of nightmares before you had been trapped under the mountain. The bodice had long sleeves and was skin tight, black crystal branches wrapping up your arms, and up your waist with thicker branches covering your chest. The skirt billowed with several layers of gossamer, much like the gown you wore in the day court just several days prior, but had slits dangerously high risking a reveal of your hip bones unlike the other gown. You wore the highest heels you had in your closet that were sure to make you grumpy just by standing in them for more than a couple minutes— exactly why you chose them. Then the diadem that Rhys and Feyre gifted you graced the top of your head and shimmered in the faelight of your room that flickered in your wake, when you felt the satisfaction from Cass’s comment.

He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. “I don’t think I even like that.” Then he noticed the slits in the fabric. Rubbing a hand over his face in disbelief. “Mother of the cauldron Y/n, are you even wearing anything under that dress?” He made a face which made you laugh out loud.

“Pig, no need to worry about that!” You slapped his arm lightly before looping yours through it.

“You’re right I don’t want to know.” He shook his head. Cassian was always your comedic relief from your worries, and you were thankful that hadn’t changed. “Could you let Nesta borrow it?” He suggested cheekily.

You groaned disgustedly, “then I would have to burn it afterwards.”

“Good, I don’t want to see you in this gown again after tonight.”

“You’re not my father.” You teased as you two walked out to the balcony.

“Yeah but in my head you’ll always be like my little sister, no matter how much of a brat you are.” He nudged you.

“I hate that word,” you admitted, preparing yourself for flight.

He picked you up bridal style as if you weighed nothing in his arms. You adjusted the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up mid flight. “You know it’s true.” He said, his wings rustling, preparing himself.

You gave him a pointed look, “I’m considering it’s true.” Providing a pinch to his bicep. Without warning he took off into the night sky of Velaris, teasingly loosening his grip on you like he was going to drop you.

“If you keep hurting me, I’ll have to sic my mate on you.” A mischievous glint in his eyes.

“She probably knows you deserve it.” You watched the city below light up under the starry sky.

“Touché,” he smiled. He looked in thought as a silence fell over you two letting you admire Velaris below. You hadn’t had a chance to explore the city since your return, today would’ve been the day if it weren’t for the meeting in the court of nightmares. You could see the rainbow quarters perfectly from above and hear the music in the distance. The stars and moon were close to you as well, the music and being so close the light brought solace to any nerves you may have had. It prickled softly at your skin, seeping into your skin.

“I could guess one person who’ll be excited to see you.” Cassian broke the momentary silence.

“Don’t say his name,” you begged, seeing the angle he was trying to pull.

“Who, Azriel?” He grinned broadly.

“My peace is ruined,” you deadpanned, him chuckling at your disdain.

“Don’t let him being an asshole deter you. He’s been all bent out of shape since your absence. I think he’s just hurt deep down, and those little shadows that are always in his ear when you're around doesn’t help.”

You listened to Cassian ramble, confusion filling you. “You haven’t heard everything he's said to me.”

He relaxed a bit, soaring lower, the familiar townhouse now in your view. “I haven’t heard everything you've said to him either, and I don’t think it’s my business or my right to say anything on the matter given my record. Sometimes you say shit in the heat of the moment, sometimes you say shit to hide what��s actually going on underneath it all. One thing I know whenever it comes to you he’s always all up in arms. Not even Elain can do that to him. I didn’t even see him like that with Mor besides that one time.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, getting ready to land. You gripped his neck tighter, bracing yourself.

“When you’re not annoying, you’re actually wise y’know that?” You were in awe at his words. You weren’t sure how true his interpretation was, but for now it brought you slight comfort and ease about the Azriel situation. He landed with his wings slightly fluttering about, shaking off the wind of the night. He gently set you down, and you tried adjusting yourself now that you were standing. You went to fix the diadem, but Cass pushed your hand away lightly, doing it for you.

“I would hope so, year 600 is creeping up on me fast.”

You laughed softly, “you're about to be an old man.”

“Yeah let’s not talk about that, we’re talking about you remember?” He fixed a loose piece of hair that was out of place. “Try not to let him get to you too much tonight or at least channel it into you being all scary and brooding. I’ve missed you in court, it hasn't been the same.”

“Thank you Cass, and I’m sorry for not visiting.” You said sincerely.

Pulling you into his arms for an embrace, he sighed. “I figured you needed space. There’s nothing wrong with that. Rhys went to the cabin after he came out from under there. You just went to the day court for almost a decade long sabbatical.” He shrugged casually. “You can repay me by training again once you’re settled.” You nodded, pulling away. He wrapped his arm around you, “C’mon we have a party to get to.”

Lucien, Morrigan, and Azriel waited for you two. Azriel was the first to look up at the sound of your heels clicking on floor into the foyer of the townhouse. His hazel eyes darkened, eyebrows slightly narrowing, and jaw clenched at the sight of you. Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes traced your body, lingering at the top of the slits of the gown that could expose your hip bones at any sudden movement, before taking in your bare legs that were accentuated by the uncomfortable heels. You felt a warmth in your core that betrayed any ill feelings towards the spymaster, and you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You never knew a look would be able to enthrall you so much and ignite such feelings.

He was in his more formal fighting leathers, muscles at full display even underneath the leather, his hair neatly styled back, sciphons glowing under the light of the common room. He was god-like, you couldn’t deny that. Not rugged looking like Cassian or as regal as Rhys, but he was beautiful. You wanted to be sick at thinking these thoughts. His shadows whispered in his ears as he stared at you. You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes as Mor approached you.

“Oh my, my fathers gonna croak, I love it!” She squealed looking at the patterns on your dress. “But we do have to get going, Y/n winnow Cass?” She looked at the male beside you.

You were about to agree, but Azriel spoke up. “I think I should be with her. Just in case. Amren said they’re possibly at a brink of chaos.” His voice was gravelly, and your heart pounded erratically at the huskiness in his tone.

“O-okay? Cassian, let’s come on then.” She looked at you, your eyes were wide in surprise.

Azriel approached you, and his scent of cedar and mist filled your senses making you want to melt even more. You only cleared your throat, straightening your back as his scarred arm reached around you pulling you closer to him as you got ready to winnow. You could feel the rough pad of his thumb near the top of the slit of your dress making your mind blank. His shadows swirled around your wrists in greeting for the first time since you’ve seen him, and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

Mor and Cassian disappeared along with Lucien right behind them. Azriel’s body heat and movement of his hand on your hip was making you flushed, unable to concentrate. Then his lips were close to your ear and you could feel his cool breath on your neck.

“Whatever happens tonight, don’t take it to heart.” The grip on your hip had tightened, and you could feel the sheath of truth-teller in your lower back.

You looked up to him, even wearing your tallest heels he had towered over you, observing the deadly calm on his face. Your gaze lingered on his lips for a second before flirting back to his intense hazel orbs.

You said barely above a whisper, scared your voice would betray your words. “You forget I’m great at this game, shadowsinger.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

[x] previous chapter [x] next chapter

Aaaaand we’re off to the races besties!! I had so much fun writing this part! I hope you’re excited as I am for the next one!!

Taglist: @tcris2020 @rachelnicolee @thelov3lybookworm @bubybubsters @mich0731 @t0uch-starved-h0e @penguins-are-the-best @justagingerliving @brekkershadowsinger @jiinmii

If I missed any of you just lmk!

[aingeal98]

Something I can't quite explain, but in a novel full of higher powers and different levels of gods, a novel about breaking through each and every barrier and power that demands to control your fate, a novel about choosing to seek answers about why you exist no matter how hard it gets... Somehow the glimpses we get into Han Sooyoung's pysche, the moments where we can relate to either her or one of her clones who are all really her in some way... it's the closest a story's ever come to making me understand what it would truly be like to be a capital G god. A higher power. Something more than human and yet deeply, purely human at the same time. I can't even put it down into words and neither can the novel fully because it's almost to big to comprehend but it's there. Yoo Joonghyuk has lived thousands of lifetimes. Dokja essentially does become the ultimate God of the universe in the end. In comparison she's just a normal person with a talent for writing. But that ability, of being an author in a work so focused on meta narratives, of being the author of the entire story we read AND the story these characters live in...

There's layers on layers on layers and maybe I'm just sleep deprived but I don't think the human mind was made to contemplate them all, or maybe it's just that the story can't function if it tried to do so. And the story knows it which is why we don't get the same level of backstory for her as for the other characters. We get enough to define her as a character and define her role in the narrative, but in the same way you can't put YJH's trans journey on the page because that needs to happen outside of the confines of HSY's writing, you also can't put HSY the writer on the page, as anything other than the love she has for her creations. Otherwise the whole story would implode.

Anyway to sum up these midnight rambles if you put Plato, Aristotle and Han Sooyoung in a room together, those two old men would end the night curled up and crying.

[vampirecatprince]

Sometimes I sit back and I think about the fact that Mr Stanford I am a man of math and science Pines would sit back and make all those lovingly rendered drawings in his journals

I mean the journals are somewhere between research journal and personal diary, despite what Ford might insist otherwise, and it's just cute to think of him being like- I must doodle this tiny dinosaur in my notes.... And draw a bag of jelly beans.... Entirely for science purposes of course.....

Or him making a silly little diagram of the portal test, even though his text description would've been enough (he genuinely did not need to draw a figure throwing a mannequin into the portal like this and it is very adorable to me okay)

Or, when he's sleep deprived and terrified of Bill, taking comfort in doodling some silly little coffee pots (and you can see just how much messier his linework and hatching is here and oof)

Just- I genuinely do not think it's much of a coincidence that Bill called himself a muse.

There is a very very deeply repressed romantic artist streak to Ford. He draws a lot, he gets wrapped up in grand ideas and grand gestures, he even gets really poetic in his "scientific" ramblings. I think he would've been happier in some timelines as a published author or an illustrator, but he got pushed into the sciences more aggressively by his family because it was more lucrative than being an artist.

[loveisonlyforthebrave8]

i was gonna ask for some fic recs for hyunchan fanfics :'(. but ao3 is down.

AO3 IS BACK, BABY! And boy do I have some fic rec's for you:

Starting off with my absolute FAVE (it's currently a 91k word WIP, the author is SO GOOD and I'm having so much fun with this fic- but just bare in mind its *very dark.* Please please please read the tags.

But if the tags don't scare you, then you're in for a real treat.

Nothing But An Echo by sshhad0w (WIP)

“Getting rusty, hyung.” Hyunjin smirked as he flicked the knife between his fingers, tilting his head with a pout. He couldn’t snap the switchblade back to its open position before Chan had his hand around his neck. Hyunjin’s head slammed into the door and Chan’s fingers tightened as he stepped into the space, his chest rising and falling with calculated calm. Hyunjin just laughed, rolling his shoulders against the restraint. Finally. OR: SKZ are mercs-for-hire and Hyunjin loves the fact he dances so intimately with death for his day job.

we hide the fact that we want to touch by totoroism

Hwang Hyunjin was unshakable. He knew that some friendships were meant to stay as friendships, no matter how badly one party wanted to grab the other and kiss him and confess his love of several years. He was fine. He'd come to terms with it a long time ago that him and Bang Chan were never going to be the couple he wanted them to be, and he was fine. Until he wasn't. - OR: The one where Hyunjin has been pining over Chan This Entire Time, but maybe it's not as hopeless as he's thought. (This is one of my absolute faves)

a song of salt and goldwater (the series) by pacw0man

Hyunjin, the son of a noble, escapes from his home in order to fulfill his dream and promise to his late mother: to draw a map of all the seas. In his haste, however, he lands on the Levanter, the ship for the famous pirate crew the Strays, whose captain, Chan Bang "Silver Eye" he undeniably feels an attraction to, and who deeply intrigues him. (I fucking *adore* this pirates!au, holy shit.)

invisible by endlesswaltz8

Chan has been on alpha hormonal suppressants since he was twelve. None of the members had ever caught so much as a whiff of his alpha scent until a global medication shortage occurs. Hyunjin's reaction isn't quite what he had expected. (This omegaverse!hyunchan slaps.)

bluebird, bluebird by straycty

Hyunjin is a courier from Meridia, the wealthiest city in the RES. His mission is simple: deliver classified documents to the Medical Institute of Concord, then return for new orders. Shit doesn't exactly go as planned. (fucking loved this fic)

i can't cast shadows like you by sshhad0w (same author as the top fic)

Hyunjin tapped his ash onto the patio and tilted his head as he squinted. “Do I know you?” “Not yet,” Chan said, and this time his smile dropped on one side into a smirk. “Are you hitting on me?” Chan let out a huge laugh, the type that made his eyes crinkle in on themselves and almost split his face in two with how wide his grin was, and he threw his head back so that the chains around his neck moved and rippled across his throat. Hyunjin squinted even harder. “Not yet,” he repeated. OR: Hyunjin is an artist fuelled by self-hatred who can't pick up on social cues, and Chan is obsessed with his voice. (this fic is sooooo fucking good)

I Want You To, I Want you Too by sevenbyseven

But of all the scenarios that had plagued him for hours, nothing prepared him for the words that come out of Hyujin's mouth. Chan slowly swivels around in his chair to blink at him. The sleep deprivation must be getting to him; he couldn't have possibly heard right. "What?" Hyunjin licks his lips and repeats, "I want you to choke me."

with mercy you cradle my throat by littleredchain

It’s not the first time Hyunjin has gotten a bit of an erection while being choked. It’s not even the first time it’s happened while being choked by Channi-hyung specifically. It is the first time that the other boy has gotten a bit of one as well. OR The author's obligatory Red Lights fic

red looks like love on you by raethye

Hyunjin’s sexual appetites wax and wane with the lunar cycle, and Chan knows—these days around the full moon? Hyunjin is practically in heat, desperate for dick. According to him, he always wants sex. It’s simply his nature. But on these days, Hyunjin needs it.

make me feel your love by frostednapkin

Hyunjin has been holding a candle for Chan since Red Lights. And then, they start writing Taste.

tear the petals off of you by hynchns

“Am I?” Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the darkness, something much more fragile than the teasing tone he had before. “What?” Chan feels him leave his space just enough to prop himself up on one hand, staring right down at him. He can’t make out much in the darkness besides Hyunjin’s silhouette and the faint lines of his face; even that much he finds stunning. “Am I yours?” (i think about this ficlet a lot.)

drip feed by sentimental_halos

Hyunjin. Bang Chan. Figuring out each other, themselves, and everything else along the way. (this fic is a WIP, but i'm fucking obsessed with it)

run the table by orphan acount

Contrary to Chan’s belief, his thing for Hyunjin doesn’t go unnoticed. Non-famous AU.

until the moon falls asleep by inkin_brushes

“Everything okay?” Changbin asked, voice rough with sleep but still concerned, rather than angry. “Uhm, I— yeah? I uh.” Chan licked his lips, nervous and feeling silly, stupid. “There’s a vampire in my closet.” There were a few beats of silence, on the other end of the line, nothing but the faint staticky crackle of the connection. “There’s a what in your where?” Changbin finally asked. vampire/werewolf au.

a night at your belonging by mecala

Hyunjin should be used to it at this point. It’s been almost a week of looking through his window and finding the guy there, in his apartment, naked. Always naked. Okay, not always, but enough times that Hyunjin should be used to it already. He isn’t. And he knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he doesn’t even feel guilty about any of it. It’s just such a nice distraction to fantasize about the hot guy during work, then look at him–just for a bit–when he’s home.

the creation of bang chan by seathehorizon

Hyunjin is an art student who is holding an exhibition of dick paintings dedicated to his hook-ups, but as he's preparing for it, there's one painting that just doesn't look right. So, for the first time, he asks a hook-up out for a second time so he can fix it - and doesn't exactly regret it in the end.

focus on me by stray_lilly

Chan is Minho's regular client. But when Minho isn't there, Hyunjin takes full advantage of the situation and sets out to replace him. stripper!au

addicted to your touch by goopeculiar

As flattered as Chan is to be propositioned like this, there are just two major problems: one, having sex with Hyunjin in front of a live audience seems kind of daunting. Two, having sex with Hyunjin at all seems kind of daunting on account of the planet-sized fucking crush Chan has on him.

[greta-van-chaos]

I Will Possess Your Heart // Part 4

Oliver Reed x Reader

Part 3 < > Part 5 (wip)

Warnings |  Explicit sexual content, oral (m recieving), cursing

Word Count | 3.6k

Authors Note | I take a lot of breaks, I think you guys have caught onto that by now. I don't want to sit here and be like i'm really busy guys, sorry but truly i'm just so busy and my heart hasn't been in writing at all. I want that to change but I can't make any promises. For now, as a peace offering, here is the next part to I Will Possess Your Heart and hopefully the fifth and final part will be releasing very soon after.

The morning slides into the afternoon and the afternoon slides into the night and before you know it, once again you are beneath the covers of Oliver's bed, ear pressed to his chest as you listen to the slow, content beating of his heart. Although he denied his tiredness he has fallen into an easy sleep with you beside him and though anxiety pools in your stomach you refuse to deprive him of the sleep he seems to need so desperately.

You know you should leave, you can't stop thinking about it. Who in their right mind seeks a stranger out in the dead of night due to car troubles and then let's him entertain them for a weekend with sex and booze? It wasn't a normal situation and the guilt was truly getting to you.

For now, you decided, you'd sleep. At this point in the evening there wasn't much for you to do in terms of relieving Oliver of your presence and you weren't even sure he'd want you to go when the time came. So, sleep. It was a problem for future you to sort out.

~

And so, morning came, much faster than you'd have preferred but seeing Oliver still sound asleep, face beautifully calm in the morning light you knew it was time to go.

Reasonably, there is no way, no way at all that you have fallen so deeply for a stranger. You've known him for two days and already you felt an attachment that makes you shiver when you begin to even think of severing it.

Finally, you rise, peeling yourself carefully away from the bed and assuring that Oliver says sound asleep. Before leaving the room though, you move to stand on his side of the bed so you can brush a kiss to his hairline. You feel bad about what you're going to do but you know that if he woke and asked you to stay again, you may not be able to bring yourself to say no.

Once down the stairs, stepping as carefully as you can so as not to make much noise, you begin searching for your phone. You expect not to find it without a fight but there it is, perched on top of your now cleaned and dried clothes that lay folded on Oliver's desk in the living room. Miraculously it still has a charge to it and in an even greater leap of luck you now have cell reception.

Without thinking to hard on the money you're able to set up a tow truck and a ride back into the city where you reside, all things able to be neatly wrapped up before dinner time this evening.

You'd really feel unforgivable if you didn't leave something for Oliver, some sign of life, maybe an apology letter. After a small bit of deliberation you decide to scrawl your number on the legal pad you find at his desk and a short note. You don't feel the need to say much as you really aren't certain of your feelings yet but still, you make sure it's something substantial enough not to leave him with hard feelings.

With that, you gather your belongings, opting to keep the clothes he's lent you and call a car. Not a single sound alerts you that Oliver has stirred awake and for that you are grateful. You'd rather be out and gone without a word, like some specter or ghost, unseen.

The car pulls up within a timeframe you're certain is impossible considering how far out and into the woods you are. Once situated you take one more look at the manor house before your driver pulls away. You swear that in one of the windows on the top floor you can feel Oliver's form, standing, stoic. It takes all of your willpower to turn your cheek and leave without a single whisper of a goodbye.

You're doing what needs to be done. You can't live in a fantasy with a man you barely know. You hope he calls, of course you do but you know it's better for both of you if you're rid of the house now rather than later.

~

Days went by, days and days and days until the days faded to weeks and now, it's been almost three months since you left Oliver's glamourous home. Almost three months since you scrawled your phone number on a notepad atop his desk. Almost three months without a single call. Almost three months since you were forced into the realization that you won't ever be seeing him again.

Huffing you curl your body sideways, allowing your forehead to rest on the chilly glass of the train car you're sitting in. The world moves by in a blur and as you watch you wish the endless slew of city lights would swallow you whole. Ever since you left his house that night, you'd felt empty which almost made you laugh considering you had nothing to build upon apart from the strange situation you had found yourselves in and incredible sex.

An automated bell dings and your stop is called out by a voice that is equally as artificial. Gathering your bag and pulling your coat on a bit tighter you stand to leave. As you approach the doors, which are very slowly hauling themselves open you're robbed of all breathe.

With a dull thud your purse hits the floor, "Oliver?"

His eyes are tired and dim but when he hears your voice they seem to open wider and brighten. "Y/n?"

None other than Oliver Reed is standing at the very end of the train car, following a short line of people to exit the vehicle. The world stops around you and the overwhelming rush of emotions that grasps you keeps you glued to the spot. Hardly aware of people pushing past you to get off the train you take in Oliver's appearance and your heart aches. He's wearing a vest similar to the one he shrugged off after inviting you into his house on that fateful night and a pair of slacks. His hair is neatly brushed unlike the tangled tresses you were so used to. Even as the sky donned the night like a silky, starlit nightgown he wore a pair of oddly cut sunglasses that somehow looked perfect on him but would make anyone else look ridiculous.

Finally your brain catches up and before you realize you're doing it you rush towards him, belongings forgotten on the floor. You stop right in front of him, mere inches away from touching, your hands folded together at your chest, "I never thought I'd see you again."

He huffs out a breath and reaches for you, placing a hand on your cheek. "Neither did I."

As though you've been forced back into your body and made to see out of your eyes you blink away the haze of excitement just enough to remember that you're supposed to be exiting the train. He makes a noise of affirmation when you turn to get your bag and grab his hand, pulling him off the train and into a tight embrace once you're steady on your feet. Both of your hearts are beating fast and hard, as if to escape their confines and meld together, two halves finally whole. Oliver holds you against him and now that you're back in his arms you never want to leave. The cold outside does it's best to chill your exposed skin but the warmth of the man in front of you helps quell the bite.

When he pulls away you step back, blurting out the one thing you couldn't stop thinking about, "You never called."

"I didn't know what to say but--" He sighs and looks at you, forlorn "--please believe me when I tell you that I wanted to. I think I was just... confused."

"I do, I swear. I just wish that you did. I--" You pull yourself into his chest again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck to bite back your words, not ready to fully realize how deep your feelings run. "God, I missed you."

He smells the same as before, warm, sweet and slightly alcoholic. "I've missed you too, love."

You break away for a moment and just stare into each others eyes, the train leaving the station a blurry background noise to your occupied brain. The entire world around you has dimmed and all you know is Oliver, all you feel is Oliver, all you want is Oliver. Without really thinking you thread your fingers through his hair and pull his lips to yours, smiling at the softness of his mouth moving in sync with your own.

When his hands move to your hips and pull you flush against him you smile against his mouth and he hums. It feels perfect.

All of the questions, the worry, the unanswered want, they're all melting away and making room for this moment. You never thought you'd be reunited and now that you are it's sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

"Let me buy you dinner," He mumbles, words muffled against your lips.

"Please."

~

You both walk in silence, the streetlights illuminating the rain speckled road. Apparently Oliver is in town for a movie audition and plans to be around for a few days, the thought that you'll have him nearby for the weekend puts an immovable smile on your lips.

Hand in hand you make your way to a small pub and as soon as you enter you're warmed from the crown of your head to your toes. The lighting is dim and the bar is crowded with people but somehow you're able to find a little booth tucked away in the back. Everything is falling into place as if this moment is destiny. You truly believe that to be so.

Once you've ordered drinks, Oliver places his chin in his hand and gazes upon you with nothing but pure bliss and adoration in his eyes. "It's so fucking good to see you, love. I never thought I'd be able to again."

You look up at him through your lashes and smile bashfully, "I never thought I would either." You still can't shake the hurt of knowing that he was fully capable of contacting you the whole time but chose not to. Clearing your throat you lock eyes with him and press again, "I still don't really understand why you didn't call."

He sighs and looks to the side, avoiding the almost accusatory expression on your face. "I just... I was upset and confused and I really thought that your number may have just been a courtesy. I didn't know if you actually felt the same." The pained look on his face makes you reach out for his hands. You take them in your own and rub circles into the backs of them with your thumbs. His instinct at first is to pull away but quickly he melts into it and lets out a deep breath through his nose.

"I'm sorry."

Completely shattering in the moment the waiter walks over and places your drinks down. Oliver nods his head at the boy and then looks back to you. "So, do you come here often?"

A dumb grin pulls on your lips and you laugh. "I do, in fact. I live just down the street." You cock an eyebrow at him "What brings Oliver Reed to this neck of the woods?"

He looks surprised for a moment before you can see on his face that he realizes he hasn't explained his presence in your city. "I've got brunch with a director tomorrow, I was coming in tonight to stay and get my bearings before we met."

"Funny coincidence that you end up so close to me," you laugh, truly just so happy to be in his presence.

"You've got that right, love. What a surprise to see you on the same train as me, I thought I was hallucinating until you came right up and I could touch you."

"Well, I'm real and I'm right here and I am just as surprised as you."

You both sit in silence for a moment, just staring, taking each other in. What a situation you have found yourselves in, to being on the same train and now to knowing that Oliver will be staying a night in the place you've lived your whole life.

"What do you say we head back to mine after dinner?" You ask without thinking "You could even stay with me for the night if you want. Though I'm sure if you've booked a hotel you'd better stay there..." You trail off, slowly getting quieter and mumbling throughout the sentence but he shakes his head.

"How could I ever say no to you, darling. Let me worry about the hotel and I'll let you worry about leading the way." Letting go of one of your hands that you didn't realize he'd been holding he reaches to sip his drink. Taking the opportunity you run the toe of your shoe up his leg, you hope the gesture is sexy and not awkward. Guessing by the way his eyes darken and how he sets down his glass, you had the effect you were going for. Something about him makes you so much more playful and daring than usual. "I think I might take you up on that sooner than I had anticipated."

"Patience, Oliver, patience." You send him a flirty wink and he just smirks, a million plans of what he could do to you seemingly flashing behind his eyes.

"I'll show you fucking patience doll, just you wait." The look in his eyes has your pressing your thighs together.

You spend the rest of the night drinking and laughing and shamelessly flirting. It feels so natural and now that you've fallen into a rhythm with him you don't want it to stop.

You cash out and leave quicker than you'd anticipated, dragging him down the street. You truly do only live a couple blocks away and in this situation that is more than perfect. You're both itching to get inside.

The whole walk you're both giggling like teenagers and Oliver can't keep his hands off of you, the entire time his arm is firmly planted around your waist, effectively keeping you pressed into his side.

"This is my building, right here" You say, fishing out your keys as you walk up the steps and approach the door. Once unlocked you lead Oliver by the hand to the elevator.

Almost immediately the doors open and as soon as you step in Oliver is on you, pinning you to the wall and kissing your neck. He presses his leg between yours and grips your chin so he can give himself all the room he needs to suck and lick and kiss at your throat. You giggle and pull him off of you just enough to haphazardly throw your hand to the panel of buttons on the wall and hit your floor, all the while his hands are trailing down your top until he can slip them under your shirt and cup your breasts.

"So impatient" You breathe, the words holding the same cadence as a soft moan. Despite your words you thread your hands into his hair to pull him back and grind down on his thigh.

"Seems like you're the impatient one, you and your needy little pussy" He practically growls.

You can feel your cheeks get hot and when he looks down at you you almost melt. Every time your eyes meet it feels like an electric shock.

"I think you like it." You whisper, guiding his mouth to yours by a soft hand under his chin. He releases a content sigh when your lips meet, almost melting completely at having you this close again.

"Oh yeah? and what makes you think that?" His voices is taunting and his breath is warm against you cheek as he breaks the kiss to speak.

Instead of using words you slide the hand that isn't holding his face between your bodies, palming him through his pants. Usually it's him that does the smirking but right now you have the most smug look on your face and he does nothing to challenge it and regain control. A whimper-like sound shakes out of him and he leans into your touch, starting to press his hips harder into your hand as you rub your hand against him faster.

The elevator doors opening makes you both freeze, your bodies eerily still. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs. You're reluctant to break apart but force yourself to in favor of being able to indulge in the privacy of your apartment.

Once again, Oliver's hands refuse to leave your body and when you get to your door he presses himself against your ass, letting you know just how hard he is... as if you weren't already aware. "When that door opens... I'm going to ruin you" He murmurs into your hair.

"Oh I'm counting on it" You throw back, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Instantly following through on his threat he slams the door closed and spins you around, starting to unbutton your blouse. You might have assumed that he'd already been in your apartment by the way he walks you back to the couch without hesitation but you have a feeling that if there was no couch to run into he would've kept walking you back until you ran into something else. He just got lucky, apparently.

When the backs of your knees hit the arm you're almost forced to sit down which brings you level to his belt. You slide back so you can kneel on the couch and then pull him closer by said belt. He abandons any attempt at removing your shirt when he sees you unbuckle it and claw his pants down. You've waited for too long for this, you're not gonna waste any time with pleasantries.

As soon as he is no longer confined to the sleek black boxers beneath his slacks you put your mouth on him. First by flattening your tongue and dragging it along the underside of his cock, then by taking him fully into your mouth. He throws his hips forward at the feeling and hits the back of your throat. You recover quickly and hum around him, bringing one hand up to rest on his stomach.

"My god, you look so fucking hot like this" He mumbles, starting to guide your movements with the hands he's anchored in your hair.

Even after the short amount of time you spent with him you're relishing in everything that is Oliver. You missed it so... the feel of him, the weight of him on your tongue, his moans and breaths and the way his fingers feel dancing over your cheekbones to coax himself further down your throat. He's got you in a trance and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You tenderly rub your thumb over his hipbone, a far more gentle and loving action compared to the way you're lavishing him with your mouth. His hips stutter and you can assume he's already close by how desperate his thrusts have become. At this point he's controlling everything, holding your head in place and guiding himself in and out of your mouth at whatever speed he pleases. You don't mind one bit.

He lets up briefly, pulling away from you and stroking his hand over himself. Spit has managed to smear all over your lips and cheeks and you can feel that your makeup has fallen into a state of disarray. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and slide your eyes up his body "I've thought about this every single night since I left. I just can't get you off my mind."

That does something for him, maybe the geuninity in the admission or the soft look on your face, you'll never know but he pulls you up by your arms and kisses you deeply. His hands are back in your hair but this time, the way he's holding you feels so different, almost loving, like you'll break if he isn't gentle.

After a beat he pulls back and searches your face. The entire mood has shifted and the air has grown thick with unspoken words. You'd never guess what he says and when it passes his lips you feel so incredibly full of affection, "You're the only thing I've been able to think about. I spent so many nights just staring at that note. I really and truly am so sorry I kept you waiting."

"We're here now," You whisper and then you pause, thinking. "Do you think you would have called if we didn't run into each other today?"

Your arms are around his neck and you're still close enough that if you leaned forward your lips would touch. "I honestly... I don't know. I want to say yes but to be truthful, love, I was fucking terrified."

"Don't be... there's nothing to be afraid of." And that's that, any other words that could've slipped into the sliver of space between your mouths dies in the air as you pull him back in.

Slowly but surely you slide a hand behind you and lower yourself back onto the couch, bringing him with you. You're vaguely aware of him kicking off his shoes as he climbs on top of you, eventually making himself comfortable as your legs fall into place around his hips.

~

One more part left and then these lovebirds will have a complete story. Give me all your thoughts!!! Do we want part 5 and soon?

If you want to be tagged in upcoming posts you can join my taglist!

Taglist | @sarakaygvf @jakeyboiiiiiii @celestialfauna @gretavanfleas @gretavanlace @koifishkoifish @ageofnyahh @gvfrry @doodle417 @fleetsonfire @joshkiszkas @brokenbellz @thefleetofdreams @angelbabyivy @weightofdreams-gvf @eearevee @dakotadovato @sam-gvf-9 7  @letswalktogether  @alisonwonderland29  @llightmyllovee @hayley1623 @erin-rose-hackl @jakekiszkalovebot  @jakeslovehandles  @theweightofjake  @janelikemaryyy  @jakekiszkasleftnutsack  @hippiestardust  @myownparadise96 

@gretavanflowerpower  @groggyvanfleet  @gvfslayallday  @kayleea122  @kdarling1  @heatmyfleet  @ascendingtothestarsasone  @tripthelightjaketastic @prophetoft  @keighoe @seventieswhore @highwayhunch @weightofdreamz @vader-kai  @irrevocably24 @sammyslappers @mintysammykiszka @angelqueen99 @sammiejane22 @gretasmokerising  @troublegetssoloud71  @jordiesworld @samkiszkalover @alexxavicry @jordierama

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

Jealous Desires

by JadeVeil

She knew things were over the second that fight happened.

How both of them had stormed out of each other’s lives.

How deeply her words—and her actions—had hurt her.

She knew there was no going back. So why did her blood boil at the sight of Vi flirting with another woman?

Words: 5859, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Ambessa Medarda, Jayce (League of Legends), Miss Sarah Fortune

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Party, Caitlyn Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Vi Needs a Break (League of Legends), Lesbian Yearning, They want each other really bad, Jealous Caitlyn (League of Legends), Pitfighter Vi, One Shot, Fluff and Smut, vi has nipple piercings, Author Is Sleep Deprived, How Do I Tag, Angst, Shameless Smut

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[hoesluvjude]

A Quiet Evening at home || Joao Felix

Word count: 1k words

Genre: fluff

Author's note :I used a Google translate for a few words, idk if it's right tho, so I apologize in advance 😭hope you enjoy! (requested)

Masterlist

The warm glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains. Joao shifted carefully on the couch, his every movement deliberate as he cradled his newborn son in his arms. His brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the baby blanket around the tiny form, ensuring that not even a stray draft could disturb his peaceful sleep.

You were in the bedroom, finally taking the rest Joao had practically begged you to allow yourself. It had been a crazy few weeks since your little boy had arrived. Sleepless nights and the constant demands of caring for a newborn had taken their toll on you, though you had handled it with an incredible grace that left Joao in awe. Even so, he could see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your shoulders drooped as you tried to keep going.

He had made you promise that tonight, at least, you would let him take care of everything while you slept.

"Just rest, meu amor," he had whispered, kissing your forehead and nudging you toward the bed. "I’ve got this."

You had resisted at first, worried about leaving him alone with the baby. But Joao had been steadfast, reassuring you with that confident grin of his.

"I can handle a football pitch; I can handle a baby," he teased, his soft laugh making you smile despite your tiredness.

Now, as he sat quietly with his son, he felt the weight of that promise. He didn’t want to wake you—not after you had finally managed to fall asleep.

The baby stirred slightly in his arms, a tiny fist brushing against Joao’s chest. He froze, holding his breath. His dark eyes flicked to the bedroom door, half-expecting you to appear, worried and sleep-deprived. But there was no sound, no movement. Joao exhaled silently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at the little boy who had already stolen his heart.

"Hey, little man," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Let’s not wake up your mãe, okay? She needs her rest."

The baby’s lips twitched in his sleep, as though he understood. Joao chuckled softly, his chest swelling with love. He had never imagined a love like this—so raw, so overwhelming. It was the kind of love that made every sleepless night and every dirty diaper worth it.

Joao stood slowly, his movements almost comically exaggerated as he tried to avoid making any noise. He rocked the baby gently as he walked toward the kitchen, where he had set up everything he might need for the evening: bottles, pacifiers, diapers, wipes.

He placed the baby down in the bassinet nearby, keeping a watchful eye on him as he prepared a bottle. Joao’s movements were smooth and practiced, a far cry from the fumbling nerves he had felt the first few days after the baby was born. He remembered those moments vividly—how he had been afraid to hold him too tightly, afraid of doing something wrong. But now, there was a confidence in his touch, a natural rhythm to the way he cared for his son.

"Look at us, buddy," he murmured as he tested the bottle’s temperature on his wrist. "We’re a team now."

The baby’s eyes fluttered open, big and curious, and Joao’s heart melted all over again.

"There you are," he said, smiling down at him. "Hungry?"

Joao picked him up gently, settling into a chair by the window as he fed him. The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of the baby suckling and the occasional creak of the chair. Outside, the world seemed to pause, as if granting this moment just for the two of them.

As he watched his son, Joao’s thoughts drifted to you. He hoped you were sleeping deeply, finally getting the rest you deserved. He thought about how strong you had been throughout everything—the pregnancy, the birth, the sleepless nights. He thought about how you had made their house a home, how you had become the anchor of his life.

"You’re amazing, you know that?" he whispered, though the words weren’t for the baby. "We’re so lucky to have you."

The baby finished his bottle, letting out a small, contented sigh that made Joao grin. He held him upright, patting his back gently until a soft burp escaped.

"There we go," he said, laughing quietly. "Good job, champ."

He stood and walked back to the living room, swaying gently as he rocked the baby. The little boy’s eyes grew heavy, his tiny body relaxing against Joao’s chest.

Joao glanced at the bedroom door again. He was tempted to peek in, to check on you, but he resisted. He didn’t want to risk disturbing your sleep. Instead, he sat down on the couch, settling the baby against him.

For a while, he just sat there, holding his son and watching the shadows dance across the walls. He thought about the future—the first steps, the first words, the countless memories they would make as a family.

"You’re going to do amazing things," he whispered to his son. "But for now, let’s just take it slow, okay?"

The baby stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to Joao’s chest. He felt a surge of protectiveness, a fierce determination to give this little boy the best life possible.

Time passed in a blur, and soon the baby was fast asleep again. Joao leaned back, resting his head against the couch. His own eyes felt heavy, but he stayed awake, keeping watch over his son and listening for any sound from the bedroom.

When you finally emerged, hours later, your hair slightly tousled and your face softened with sleep, Joao looked up with a warm smile.

"How’s my sleepyhead?" he asked softly, careful not to wake the baby.

You walked over, your gaze immediately landing on the tiny bundle in his arms. "Did he behave?" you asked, your voice still groggy.

"He was perfect," Joao said, shifting slightly so you could sit beside him. "Just like his mãe."

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder as you looked down at your son. For a moment, the three of you sat there in silence, the love between you filling the room.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Joao kissed the top of your head, his free hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers. "Anything for you, meu amor."

And in that quiet, golden hour, surrounded by love and the soft sounds of your baby’s breathing, the world felt perfect.

[nevermeyers]

Falling into your arms (i jumped so you could catch me)

General Audiences - 4.3k words - ItaFushi

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Soulmates, Established Relationship, unckuna, Itadori Yuuji-centric, There's something deeply wrong with Megumi but let's ignore that, Itadori Yuuji is a Ray of Sunshine, Fluff, Never beating the spider-yuuji allegations huh, College | University Student Fushiguro Megumi, Author Is Sleep Deprived, ItaFushi Week 2024 (Jujutsu Kaisen), Sukuna is the black sheep of the family but his advice is really good, Touch-Starved

Summary:

Yuuji is involved in a relationship with someone who doesn't know his face.

He loves him. He really loves Megumi even if he doesn't stop putting himself in danger so that he comes to save him, he loves him every time he heals his wounds and covers him with kisses; he loves him even though he knows he cannot take off his mask when he's with him because it would be a breach of duty.

Yuuji has already broken many rules and he's not sure if he can continue with his relationship under these circumstances. Every time he flies over the city to end up on the twenty-fifth floor of his favorite building, his hands burn with desire and his lips tingle. He doesn't know how much longer he can endure being this touch starved.

Fortunately, Sukuna is there to give him the push he needs to be brave.

Read on ao3

[always-lou-28]

Kinktober Collection Guide // JessHallvol6

Hi! I'm really not on tumblr much just because it's...not a platform I ever learned how to use - but I know a lot of people get fic recs from here and I see so many other authors making fic posts to reblog so...

Here's a comprehensive guide to my Kinktober 2023 Collection for your browsing pleasure

Note: All pairings are featured. I am a multishipper, and I wanted to make sure each 1D pairing got at least an equal amount of love. No hate please!

Entire Collection

Don't Take It Easy - Day One: Pegging (Zayn x girl!Harry) 3,305 words, Bottom Zayn, Top Harry

She Knows The Way Her Body Moves - Day Two: Bondage (girl!Zayn x girl!Niall) 2,496 words, Top Zayn, Bottom Niall

What A Mess I Made Upon Your Innocence - Day Three: Bukkake (Zayn x Louis x Liam) 1,721 words, Submissive Liam

Dripping Thick Like Honey - Day Four: Rimming/Feminization (Liam x Niall) 2,534 words, Top Liam, Bottom Niall

Baby You're Mine, You're Fine - Day Five: Collaring/Leashing (Louis x Harry) 3,415 words, Top Louis, Bottom Harry (tw for anxiety attacks)

Locked In A Cage - Day Six: Chastity (Zayn x Liam) 2,837 words, Zayn in chastity

Grinning Like A Devil - Day Seven: Virginity (Harry x Niall) 2,373 words, Top Harry, Bottom Niall (tw for underage - xfactor era)

Breed - Day Eight: Breeding/Belly bulging (Louis x Liam) 1,891 words, Top Louis, Bottom Liam (tw for a/b/o)

Leave My Heart Open - Day Nine: Body Worship (Louis x Zayn) 1,587 words, Submissive Zayn (tw for implied/referenced past self harm)

Good For You - Day Ten: Praise Kink (Louis x Niall) 2,293 words, Top Louis, Bottom Niall

Eyes Open For The Fall - Day Eleven: Sensory Deprivation (Zayn x Liam) 3,342 words, Top Zayn, Bottom Liam

Fuck Me Back To Sleep - Day Twelve: Somnophilia (Liam x Niall) 1,623 words, Top Liam, Bottom Niall

Your Hands, Your Body - Day Thirteen: Size Difference (Harry x Niall) 2,836 words, Top Harry, Bottom Niall

Massage - Day Fourteen: Prostate Massage (Louis x Harry) 2,458 words, Submissive Harry

Havin' A Good Time - Day Fifteen: Shotgunning (Zayn x Liam x Harry x Niall) 2,020 words, group sex

A Little Less - Day Sixteen: Double Penetration (Harry x girl!Niall x girl!Louis) 3,451 words, Top Harry, Top Louis, Bottom Niall

Happy Birthday Babe - Day Seventeen: Gangbang (Liam x Niall x Zayn x Louis x Harry) 2,062 words, Bottom Liam Centric

Secrets I Have - Day Eighteen: Body Modification - Piercings (Liam x Niall) 2,631 words, Top Liam, Bottom Niall

Show You Off - Day Nineteen: Exhibitionism (Louis x Zayn) 2,180 words, Top Louis, Bottom Zayn

One Touch Is All It Takes - Day Twenty: Fucking Machine (Louis x Harry) 3,449 words, Top Louis, Bottom Harry (I'm so deeply sorry for this depravity)

I'll Bet, You'll Say - Day Twenty One: Lingerie (Louis x Liam) 3,854 words, Top Louis, Bottom Liam

Something Divine - Day Twenty Two: Thigh Fucking (Harry x Zayn) 1,665 words, Submissive Harry

I Get Down On My Knees For You - Day Twenty Three: Deepthroating (Zayn x Liam) 2,617 words, Dominant Zayn, Submissive Liam

You Take Me To The Edge - Day Twenty Four: Edging/Sex Toys (Harry x Liam) 3,189 words, Top Harry, Bottom Liam (tw for underage - 2012 era)

Taste On My Tongue - Day Twenty Five: Pregnancy/Lactation Kink (girl!Harry x girl!Niall) 2,206 words, Pregnant Harry

Keeping Tallies - Day Twenty Six: Overstimulation (Louis x Zayn) 3,640 words, Top Louis, Bottom Zayn

Someone's Calling My Name - Day Twenty Seven: Painplay/Spanking (Louis x Liam) 3,516 words, Dominant Louis, Submissive Liam

Sweet Baby - Day Twenty Eight: Daddy Kink/Cockwarming (Zayn x Niall) 3,050 words, Top Zayn, Bottom Niall

Hiccups - Day Twenty Nine: Breathplay (Harry x Liam) 3,099 words, Top Harry, Bottom Liam

First Date - Day Thirty: Sounding (Zayn x Niall) 3,248 words, Dominant Zayn, Submissive Niall

Ghost Fuckery - Day Thirty One: Ghost Fuckery (Louis x Niall) 5,472 words, Top Louis, Bottom Niall, Ghost Louis

[justsome-stars]

Haikaveh - Coffee

Author’s notes: heyyo! Its been a bit since I’ve posted some of my writing, but I’ve been playing genshin a lot lately. And since Cyno’s second story quest came out, with all the silly 4ggravate interactions, it’s reignited my haikaveh brainrot. So I decided to write what had happened with them while Cyno and Co were out in the desert!

Not proof read or spell checked, sorry ;-;

Just some basic fluff! Story below the cut

“I am. Kaveh, I’ll be ok. You stay behind to help Master Naphis and Alhaitham.”

Kaveh grimaced at Tighnari’s decision, but knew full well that there was little chance he could change his friend’s mind when it was made up.

“Well, if you’re sure… Okay, but be careful” Please.. He wanted to add, brows knitting together with concern.

He could feel Alhaitham’s hand brush against his reassuringly at his side, just out of sight. Kaveh sighs, nodding dejectedly.

“You better get moving.” Alhaitham spoke up from beside him, “Don’t forget to ask for help when you need it.”

Kaveh nodded in agreement, placing his hands firmly on his hips. The Traveler would be there with Tighnari, and Cyno, so why should he be so worried? His friend will be in good hands.

“Will do!” Paimon declared, “Lets go, Tighnari. Hopefully we can catch up with Cyno before it’s too late.”

With that, the Traveler, Paimon, and Tighnari departed from The House of Dena, and the Akademiya all together. Even if he knew they would be careful, Kaveh couldn’t quite untie that knot in his chest.

“Kaveh.” Alhaitham called to him, sensing his bubbling anxiety.

“Hmm?” Kaveh hummed, beginning to turn, but keeping his eyes on the door for a moment before looking to Alhaitham.

“He’ll be ok. Don’t you trust a word he says?” Alhaitham teased, trying to lighten his mood.

“I do, I do…just—“

“Kaveh.” Alhaitham repeated, grasping his senior’s hand and pulling him closer.

Kaveh sighs, thankful for the gentle gesture. Alhaitham leans into him, free hand wandered up to cup the side of Kaveh’s face. They stay like that for a moment, close, looking at one another. There wasn’t many people within the House of Dena at this hour, being so late, that they didn’t mind the proximity even in a public space. Kaveh swore he felt Alhaitham move even closer, tilting his head just a little.

“We have some work to do, Senior.” He whispered, that annoying smirk on his lips as he pulled away quickly. He still kept Kaveh’s hand tightly wrapped in his.

“Oh, you tease!”

-

Book after book, pages of writing seemed to blur all into one and Kaveh could barely take it anymore. How the hell does Alhaitham do this every day? Blueprints and sketches are one thing, but this? This was enough to make him want to claw out his eyes.

His back ached from being slouched over the table for two days, surviving off of coffee and takeout from Lambads’s tavern. Alhaitham sat across the table from him, lamp illuminating his features as he sat in the chair, deeply invested in scouring the book he had taken from the pile. Even when he was sleep deprived, doing whatever research he could to help their friends, he still looked handsome. Kaveh doubts he ever looked anything less than handsome, and that wasn’t just flattery.

Back in their Akademiya days, when they spent any waking hour studying, Kaveh always found Alhaitham to be quite the sight, easy on the eyes, just not the brain. Kaveh never seemed to be able to handle his bluntness, despite them being so close. He really didn’t see any point in trying to understand him fully, anyways.

“Kaveh, you’re staring.” Alhaitham said pointedly, not even looking away from the book he was nose deep in.

The blonde startled, looking down quickly to the book that sat discarded on the table. Heat creeps up his neck, settling on his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to be looking at Alhaitham for so long.

“Take a break then,” The younger man suggested, looking up and across the dark wooden table. “We both can, if you’d like.”

Kaveh’s aching neck practically begged him to agree to the idea of a break, but he knew they needed to keep going on their search for any speck of information on the Temple of Silence. Anything at all would give them some sort of relief, that they really did try to help. Having to wake up their friends in the middle of the night over this was worrying at it is, but the added pressure of it being such a mysterious phenomenon, even mingling with danger was enough for worry to boil in the pits of his stomach.

Alhaitham took his lack of answer as a yes either way, standing from his seat to reach for the book Kaveh had spread open in front of him. He closed it, knowing all that they had to do to find the page Kaveh had been on was to utilize it’s table of contents, the sliding it into the middle of the table. The one he had been reading is placed on top of it, closed as well.

He rounds the table, pulling out the chair next to Kaveh, sitting down and picking up Kaveh’s coffee cup. He takes a drink from it, which makes Kaveh groan.

“That was the last of my coffee, you know!” Kaveh looked over to Alhaitham, only to be answered with a smirk.

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” He says, words seeped in playful sarcasm.

“Don’t get smart with me, Haitham!” Kaveh glared at him, nose crinkling and brows furrowed.

“I don’t have any either. Looks like we’ll have to go take a walk to get more.” Alhaitham replied, an irritatingly prideful smile on his lips. He stands, pulling out Kaveh’s chair and offering his hand.

Kaveh rolls his eyes, but takes Alhaitham’s hand nonetheless. “Don’t act like you are some gentleman. You stole the last of my coffee!”

“Relax. I’ll make you more when we get home, Senior.” Alhaitham laughs, rolling his eyes at Kaveh’s behavior.

“You better.”

[lucienarcheron]

Around the World - Epilogue [ Elucien ]

Prompt: Prostitute/Client Modern AU with a twist. |

PART ONE |  PART TWO

Genre: Humor/Romance/Fluff Rating: SFW

Author’s Note: A little bonus scene. Morning afters are always fun. Enjoy ;D

It was long into the night when Elain and Lucien finally succumbed to sleep. They had discovered more in each other that night than anyone else had before. It had been a night filled with fervent kisses, tangled limbs, and a lot more laughs than either of them expected. They spent it wrapped in each other’s arms.

So wrapped in each other that they slept very late into the next day.

It wasn’t until a shrill ringing had Elain fumbling blindly for her cell phone, not even glancing at who was calling.

“Hmm?” she mumbled, the phone barely held up as Lucien’s sleeping figure wrapped an arm around her naked body, pulling her closer.

“Elain! I can see your boobs!” Feyre’s voice rang out and Elain’s eyes flew open, blinking rapidly.

“What?”

“I’m facetiming you to make sure you’re alive and Lucien hasn’t murdered you in retaliation for Rhys annoying him at work. I was more concerned with seeing your face but I guess your boobs will do.” Feyre continued.

Elain shot up, a slight panic at her surroundings then winced, her body protesting at the movement. She glanced to her side, Lucien still sleeping on his stomach, his arm still around her, and her lips turned up at the sight.

“Still only seeing boobs, Elain.”

Elain scowled now, pulling the sheets up and then holding the phone to her face. “Here. My face. I am alive.” she replied curtly to see Feyre giggling and Nesta rolling her eyes behind her.

“I can’t believe you slept with Lucien.” Feyre exclaimed with another giggle. “Look at those hickeys.”

“I personally can’t believe you’re still there.” Nesta said with a snort. “Guess he truly was the male entertainment you needed last night.”

“You two literally couldn’t wait until I came home to do this?” Elain whispered furiously, slowly sliding out from under the sheets and darting quickly around the room in search of her underwear, making sure the phone stayed on her face.

“It’s noon. You wake up at 8am daily. Something was clearly off.” Nesta replied and Elain resisted the urge to groan, and winced again, feeling sore everywhere. “Are you okay?”

“I was tired. I had a late night. I’m fine, Nesta.” she replied, hopping on one leg to slip said underwear on. Late night and early morning. But they didn’t need to know that.

“Exhausted from late-night shenanigans, huh big sis?” Feyre teased.

“Is that Elain?” Rhys’ voice called out and it was then she let out the groan, facepalming.

“I’m not having this discussion with Rhys there.”

“Tell Vanserra he’s not getting a promotion just because he gave you a good lay.” Rhys called out again and she rolled her eyes when his face popped up on the screen next to her sisters. “Was he a good lay? If he wasn’t, I’ll cut from his next paycheck.”

She saw Lucien stir out of the corner of her eye and her eyes narrowed back on the screen.

“You three are impossible. I’ll see you later.” she said quietly. “I’m going to go.”

“Going for another round? Elain, you sly minx.” Rhys sniggered and she scowled at him. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Do you even have enough condoms for that? Jesus.” Feyre questioned.

“If he turns out to be an actual prostitute on the side, I’m going to be vetting all your future dating choices.” came Nesta’s addition.

“Had we known you’d been this deprived, Elain, we would’ve intervened earlier.” Rhys’ teasing came again.

Elain flushed deeply but before she could answer, Lucien’s voice rang out. “Tell Rhys to mind his own fucken business. He can’t annoy me on my days off too.”

Elain bit back a grin as she watched him slowly stretch, the deep rumble of his sleepy voice going straight to her core and she squeezed her legs together. Lucien gave her a lazy smile as he sat up, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

“Ohhhh, she looks ready to pounce. It’s always the quiet ones.” Rhys said causing Feyre to start laughing and Nesta to snort loudly.

“I hope Lucien knows we’ll be getting all the details from you and using that as ammunition at work.” Feyre said with a grin.

“You should be more concerned of her showing up at your workplace to meet him there now.” Nesta said, the corner of her lips turned up at Elain’s scowl.

“I hate all three of you.” Elain mumbled, her eyes still locked on Lucien who gestured for her to come back to bed with two fingers. The two fingers that had known exactly what to do with her. The two fingers she had licked clean. Without looking at the phone, she added a quick, “Bye.” and ended the call, tossing the phone on the table next to her and made her way back to him.

Elain crawled on the bed and settled over him, straddling his waist. Lucien wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss, one much more gentle than his previous ones had been.

When the two finally pulled away moments later, they could only sit in silence, glancing at each other.

“Can I take you out on a date?” he asked quietly.

“I thought this was supposed to be a one-night stand?” she asked in the same quiet tone and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Elain. I knew the moment I started talking to you, you weren’t going to be a one-night stand.” Lucien replied, running his hands through her hair and she gave him a small smile. “You’re far too interesting for me not to at least try asking you out.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so.” he said with a chuckle. “I’d like to get to know you better. If you’ll let me.”

Elain smiled fully then. “I’d like that. We can start by getting some breakfast and then see where this goes.”

“What kind of breakfast are we talking about?” he asked with a smirk and she rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing.

“I am actually hungry but I’m willing to be your dessert later if you’ll be mine?”

“That is a proposition I can definitely work with.”

[bandofchimeras]

"our sins belong together"

on Catholicism, Yom Kippur and excoriation/expiation.

Lately it's been apparent, you know I really do struggle to be nice to people. Non judgemental, endlessly patient, etc etc. maybe it's not for me. I would rather fight for basic human dignity and rights for all of us and be a bitter cunt than try to make everyone feel niceies while drowning in the rotting weight of unacknowledged cultural festering, glut, the untreated pain of the narcissistic empire.

Or so my brain frames it.

That is to say, I don't actually respect most people around me beyond basic respect due to any being, and grew up deeply Not Respecting adults despite being forced to perform respect rituals.

I ended up believing most people do Not know what they're doing and are even less likely to be doing a great job at it. It's not my place to show them that all the time but it's why I get extremely critical in conflict, after holding back so much criticism to keep a stiff peace, it begs to be released. Reading people feels heavenly, like taking a shit you've been holding in while your mom takes too long at the grocery store. There is SO MUCH bullshit in the world too, giving oneself permission to destroy is an angelic emotion. The world would benefit, I believe from the creative impulse below this but there is necessary destruction to get through first. All creation is destruction anyways .

At some point in early life I learned that criticism + adaptation is better for survival, and an inability to tolerate criticism is a terrifying sign of weakness, and an assurance that you are Going to Hell.

I could not understand why my parents defended and protected their fragile egos, while we learned constantly in Catechism to humble ourselves before God. The extremism of my religious beliefs became a further marker of my apparent ridiculousness, and when my parents mocked me or tried to get me to chill out a little, it only drove me deeper into scorn, fury and disgust. How can one have any respect for people who enforce the strictest standard on those with less power, while failing to live up to their standard? Their authority I deemed a sacrilege, a disgrace to the commandments of the saints.

At the same time this harshness tore me apart inside. To empty myself of all personal content and become like Jesus, like St. Therese, to let go every aspect of personality in favor of become the perfect Loving Savior, an extension of His Body on Earth....well I fucking hated that shit the whole time. I cried about it. I wanted to be normal and think about boys and be a disgusting gluttonous mess and not have to be held to this iron standard.

But I held out, as long as I could. I abused myself so heavily, starved, hurt, sleep deprived, emotionally lambasted my self trying to expunge the deep horror I felt about my own existence. Catholicism became a knife in my hand, one I could easily plunge into myself over and over and pretend no one's blood had been spilled. In some way with the operating assumptions I willed myself into non-existence, isolating myself into a rigid, hidden life of abnegation and pain.

It's a far far cry from the repentance expressed in the service of Yom Kippur. The way our missing the mark, our 'sins' belong to each other in the family of Judaism, the way you are asked to carry others failings and understand they carry yours. This has softened my heart in a way that ...well it hurts.

I wonder how much life could change if I could not only forgive people their shortcomings, but agree to carry their shortcomings with me, as a measure of our belonging together.

This is so antithetical to the perfectionism that feels inherent to my nature by now. It's ironic how often the biggest sacrifice of all can be your wounds. How we hold onto the things that hurt us most, when the universe only asks we lay our pain on the altar, stop wielding it as a weapon even against ourselves.

So I wonder what it could look like, to not merely excuse and soften up on others, but to see their flaws, my own flaws, as part of our shared collective body. To praise them even, as what keeps us from thinking we are God. I wonder if I have the strength to do this. I pray to find it.

Shana Tova.