#almost doesn't touch the resolution

[headspace-hotel]

It's important to not force your human morals onto non-human nature, like "this creature, since it disgusts me, is bad" or "this creature, since it has behaviors I interpret as sweet and heartwarming, is good"

But if you study nature whether in life or in profession, nature will make you feel disgusted and uncomfortable, it's not necessary to act as if those feelings don't exist within you, because they are part of your encounter with the otherness of nature, and contain sensitivities that can be sharpened into their own ingredient to knowledge and awareness

Coexisting with discomforting parts of the reality of Nature without trying to resolve them into a moral or aesthetic framework you are happy with, reflects maturity

It is no good to "redeem" a hated animal if the redemption is another false idea of the animal as innocent and good. This implies that a creature's "goodness" is a valid reason it deserves existence. It is also no good to treat a beloved animal with hatred to make things fair.

A good example is with dolphins and sharks, dolphins were seen as good and cute and almost human, whereas sharks were seen as bloodthirsty killers, and this has cost the lives of sharks while dolphins are given more sympathy, so some people have tried to turn it around, portraying sharks as gentle and good while pointing out that dolphins can be violent and rape other dolphins.

A lot of dolphin behaviors are certainly upsetting, definitely it makes sense to be upset that an animal can engage in what appears like cruelty, but human morality isn't made to apply to non- humans, and a particular behavior is not the entire reality of what a whole species is like. Dolphins also engage in behaviors that humans judge as friendly, compassionate, altruistic, curious and playful

Think of a particular dog or cat and the variety of complex behaviors they are capable of—an entire species, made of individuals with their own complexity, must be far more complex. All of your emotional responses to dolphins are recognizing the immense complexity of these animals and how they are both like and unlike you, which is important to think about to expand your understanding of the universe

Fitting a creature to a flat framework for your own comfort or internal resolution is a disrespect to the creature. Certainly with sharks, everyone should know the facts about them rather than sensationalistic misinformation—shark attacks are rare, humans are not a preferred food for sharks, and most shark bites are exploratory investigations of a strange object or animal rather than feeding upon a selected prey item, however this doesn't mean sharks are "good" by human standards and it certainly doesn't mean sharks are "safe."

Seeing a video of an enormous Great White swimming placidly I feel that her presence is not just breathtakingly beautiful, but awesome—in the more archaic sense of something that inspires awe, something so great and powerful it could destroy your fragile human life without malicious intent. Likewise with any shark, it is respectful to recognize that they can be dangerous, it is disrespectful to think of them as ocean puppies and try to touch them and grab them.

Fear, disgust, anger—each is an instinct that functions to protect you and is reactive towards potential or perceived threats. Your brain allows you to evaluate things that cause these responses and choose how to act.

All parts of this whole are important because the natural world contains actual threats but knowledge and intentional behavior are important to protecting yourself.

For example, once when I found a tick crawling on my clothing, I felt disgusted and startled, which is appropriate, but my instinctive reaction was to immediately flick the tick off, flinging it onto the floor or furniture nearby where I no longer knew where it was. In this way my response didn't actually protect me but instead increased the level of risk

There are plenty of other examples—if someone sees a venomous snake they might think it is important to kill it, but trying to kill the snake is much more dangerous than leaving it alone, since the snake will try to defend itself. Spraying pesticides to kill bugs can unbalance the ecosystem causing more harmful pests than you started with because the natural predators are also killed. Using poisons to kill mice and rats will also poison their natural predators. Killing coyotes just causes them to disperse and reproduce at a higher rate, and killing wolves causes overpopulation of prey, which causes disease to proliferate and forests to be stripped bare of saplings that could grow up and regenerate the forest...

...And it also works the opposite way with human responses of affection, love and sociability: humans often may feel that they want to make an animal their friend, but often it would be cruel to take that animal into a human house and treat it as a pet. White-tailed deer may seem cute and sympathetic but hunting some of them is important for the health of the ecosystem, and trying to make them tame puts the deer and the humans in danger. Domestic cats are our friends but they are also invasive species in much of the world, destroying populations of birds, mammals and amphibians.

Domestic cats aren't serial killers or murderers either, they are just predatory animals that instinctively hunt and kill prey.

It is hard for facts about animals to be propagated while those facts must be presented as reasons the animal deserves to live or deserves to die. Virginia opossums are important to their ecosystem and deserve to exist. They also don't actually eat ticks, that came from a very flawed and sloppy scientific study that was contradicted by later studies, and sadly the reason this misinformation got so far is that it was "proof" that opossums are valuable and shouldn't be killed for no reason.

Wolves are keystone species and vital to their ecosystems, but it's not true that they never attack humans, there have been a small handful of wolf attacks on humans, it's very few and wolves generally avoid humans but they're not "safe." They shouldn't have to be "safe" to deserve to live.

Fact is, most animals can harm a human if they feel threatened or end up in an unlucky situation! Most animals can spread disease one way or another! We have to live with this, we have to learn and use strategies to keep ourselves safe, we can't just sterilize the world of animals because of a possibility that an animal could hurt someone, any more than we can cut down every tree because trees fall on people sometimes.

No one likes hearing that there's no way to for-sure eliminate all possibility of ticks from your yard, you just have to take precautions against them, but it's true! Just like there's an inherent possibility a wasp could sting you, an inherent possibility a snake could bite you, an inherent possibility a mountain lion could eat your livestock, but you can dramatically lower your risk of these things by knowing how to coexist with these animals.

#nature #thoughts #random

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

#it got very long... i'm sorry! #we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho #i can't DO IT #azriel a big softie in this one... #i mean he always is :) #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in luv <3 #i need a writing tag.....

[grandlinedreams]

|| notes: sike here's another dad!az fluff piece before I go to bed [AS!reader masterlist]

|| warnings: nothing, just you and Az w your newborn daughter

Azriel is awake before the first cry has fully left Aria's throat. He's always been a light sleeper, but even more so now that there's a new addition to his life.

He tries to get out of bed as quickly and quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb you from your own much needed rest. Aria squirms as he approaches, little fists balled near her face.

He picks her up the way you'd shown him, scarred hand cradling her head ㅡ and she quiets as he sways with her. "You're okay," he murmurs, "I've got you."

She blinks at him, and a soft smile quirks at his lips as her little mouth opens wide with a gummy yawn ㅡ but the elation quickly shifts to panic when her face scrunches again, and she returns to uttering that high, raspy cry.

"She's hungry," you murmur from behind him, sitting up as Azriel turns and moves towards you. You reach for her, and it's a moment of careful shuffling before Aria is quietly feeding, hand curling against your skin. Feeling Azriel's gaze on you, you look up. "What is it?"

"You're a natural at this," he murmurs quietly, and you snort.

"Hardly. I almost called for a healer earlier because she had the hiccups." You watch as Azriel sits down next to your folded legs, fingertip grazing Aria's cheek. "I still can't believe we made her, you know?"

Azriel hums, lets his touch sweep to Aria's hair, still baby-fine but resolutely as dark as his. You watch him quietly, the quiet admiration on his face for the baby in your arms.

Neither of you speak for a while after, working in quiet harmony to get get your daughter back to her crib before returning to bed. Azriel lets you lay down first before he follows, curling carefully around you.

Nestled against the warmth of your mate's body, you wait for a moment before you speak. "Hey, Az?" He hums in answer. "You're a wonderful father."

He doesn't answer, but the tightening of the arm around you and lips to the back of your shoulder speak volumes about how much your words mean to him.

#ㅡmine. #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #az x reader

[matryosika]

Attraction, obsession, infatuation

Pairing — Hyunjin and fem!reader Wordcount — 7,680 words Includes — Explicit sexual content. Alcohol consumption, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness. Smut warnings under the cut. Summary — It is easier to hate than to admit loving. Alternatively, where Hyunjin realizes he might be tired of pretending he doesn't want to be more than just your toy. Author's Note — First 2024 full story! One of my New Year's resolutions was to keep on writing, since the last two years have been a bit too rough with my creativity and, overall, life. I hope I can continue posting stuff this year, but I literally can't ignore the fact that I am graduating college this June and that the adult life is, inevitably, catching up to me. Still, writing is something I love so I am determined to take this hobby very seriously, since it's one of the few things I enjoy! I hope you like this, please remember that english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in advanced. If you wish to support my work, please leave a comment, reblog or ask 💌 Post divider by @/cafekitsune

Smut Warnings — Dirty talk, (very) mild humiliation, oral sex (m. receiving), face fucking and deep throating, voyeurism, female (solo) masturbation), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, marking (and mentions of pain), dacryphilia, creampie.

Humiliating.

There is no other way to describe the situation that perfectly.

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: Seems like you got yourself a new toy]

[21:19 p.m., Hyunjin: You don’t want to play with me anymore?]

[21:20 p.m., Hyunjin: I mean, we both know why you agreed to come here in the first place. It's not like you're the best of friends with any of my roommates, anyways.]

You hate how right he always is —how shamelessly he speaks, how pridefully he carries that ego of him. 

People say there is a thin line between hatred and love, but they never talk about how tempting it is to walk on it. Especially because said line doesn't involve any of the former—if anything, that line represents all the carnal pleasures. 

Pure lust.

[21:21 p.m., You: Please]

[21:21 p.m., You: You’re so full of yourself, you know that?]

Hyunjin rolls his eyes right in front of you, tongue poking through his cheek while he reads your messages.

[21:22 p.m., Hyunjin: That never seems to be a problem when you're in my bed]

It's a never ending bickering. A never ending teasing. 

Hyunjin has always loved the thrill of doing things he isn't supposed to —no wonder why he ended up fucking you, out of all the women he knows. 

Attraction, obsession, infatuation. 

No amount of words could describe what happens between the two of you.

[21:23 p.m., You: I’m busy, in case you haven’t tell]

His cheeks grow hotter, killer eyes darting between you and the man you're talking to; appearing all sweet, gentle, collected, and everything you're not when you are with him. Your hand lays peacefully over your companion’s thigh, playfully hitting it when he says something remotely funny. 

Your smile hasn't worn off since you entered the party, and Hyunjin genuinely wonders if you’re that happy and comfortable to be around any other man. Inevitably, he begins to wonder if you'd let him touch you like he does, kiss you like he has. He stares at you two for a little too long, and questions if you'd let that man do everything Hyunjin is entitled to do with you. 

Would you let him treat you like he can? Let him fuck you like he does?

He chugs down the alcohol from his cup and uses that as an excuse to calm his masochistic urges, walking away from the scene he has been staring at for almost 10 minutes now. 

It's like pouring lime over a wound, like pulling out a loose tooth. It hurts, but it makes him feel something.

“If you didn't hate her I would say you're totally drooling over her,” a black-haired man that smiles teasingly with his eyes is quick to ambush Hyunjin as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“What? Did your date get tired of you too early tonight?”

Changbin’s tongue pokes his cheek, and he can’t help but smile at Hyunjin’s moodiness. “She went to the bathroom, I just came here for some drinks”. 

“Well, get to it,” Hyunjin commands, stretching his shoulders in an attempt to release all the build-up tension over them.

“Man, you've been acting so out of your element lately,” Changbin remarks, placing a bottle of vodka and another of pineapple juice aside with two red solo cups. “You’re always in a fucking mood, this is actually the first time I see you outside your bedroom in like... a while”. 

Hyunjin won't admit it, but he is sulking. 

Because of college, because of work, because of things he can't begin to fix and because of you.

“Just busy, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry I can't spend all day sticking my dick in different holes and doing an 8-hour shift at the gym”. 

Changbin scoffs bitterly under his breath, nose flaring at his friend's harshness. “Maybe that's exactly what you need,” he nods, pouring a drink for himself and his date, “a good fuck”.

He rolls his eyes. 

Yeah, maybe he needs that, but he also needs for you to stop touching your date's thigh, laughing amusingly loudly like you want him to hear how much of a great time you're having. Maybe Hyunjin needs to relieve all his anger on you, or he just needs for you to spare him a fucking glance because you haven't even looked at him since you walked in.

“Yeah,” he finally exhales, stealing the vodka bottle from Changbin’s grip to pour some onto his cup. He chugs it down quickly, and clears his throat when he feels the liquid burning inside, “that’s what I need”. 

Changbin pats his right shoulder and abandons the kitchen when he spots his date closing the bathroom door behind her. And Hyunjin is left alone once again, wondering if it's time to ditch the party and lock himself inside his room or if he should hurt himself a bit more to get a grip on reality.

Inconveniently, he chooses the latter. Resting his hips against the kitchen counter, and turning his back on the full view of the living room, Hyunjin begins to thread a line of questions that may never have a proper answer. 

Had he met you in another context, and in a distinct light, would things be different? Would your dynamic be different?

Maybe he would've apologized when he had time, for all the useless bickering that always took place between the two along the friend group. Had he surrendered to your stubbornness, rather than putting up a fight like it's typical from him, would the anguish be less?

Now that he reflects on it, Hyunjin can't even tell why you two hate each other these days. He never questioned it, the hatred you felt for each other, but he no longer knows why it's still there. Maybe it was a first impression, maybe it was a dumb comment or joke he cracked when you were introduced to the friend group. Maybe it was the fact that you two are so alike, personality wise, that you never seemed to get on.

Maybe you keep on hating each other because that's how it always has been, because there hasn't been a room to question the "what if's". 

Or maybe you hate him just for being him, and the only thing you've come to mend with is the fact that he is nothing more than a good fuck.

His heart aches because of this last thought, and he stares at his phone screen for a bit too long, hoping to get a text from you. But you're busy, you said it yourself, and he is just feeling out of place. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice it's enough for him to lift up his eyes from his phone, encountering a sheepishly grinning, red-eyed Jisung. “Changbin told me you’re in a mood, again”.

“He should put his mouth to good use,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. 

“He is worried about you though,” his friend says. “We all are, you know”. 

Hyunjin sighs, “I’m fine”. 

“Dude, come on,” Jisung drags his words lazily. “It’s about her, right?”

He shoots a killer gaze at him, “about who?”

If Jisung hadn't been higher than the fucking Empire State, he would've considered Hyunjin’s gaze a threat. But his mind is not precisely paying attention to any social cues, so he proceeds to say your name as a response. 

"You should stop smoking that shit ever so often, you know?" he spits in annoyance, "it's making you delusional".

“Yeah, right man,” Jisung nods. “And you can keep being angry with the world just because you can't be angry with her”. 

It disgusts Hyunjin how poetic that sounds, but his friend isn't too far from the truth —he would much rather project his anger and annoyance onto everyone else before you.

Because if you call, if you look for him, if you text him and ask him to see you, he will always be available. Even when he is not. Even when he has a ton shit to do. Even if all you want is his dick and a couple of dirty words. 

Every time you ask, Hyunjin will give you anything you want.

“We don't have to talk about her though. Just wanted to check up on you,” his friend continues after an excruciatingly long silence, patting one of his shoulders like Changbin did before. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, anyways,” Hyunjin says.

“Are you on, like, bad terms?” 

“We’re not on any terms,” again, the urge to deny everything. It's always easier to pretend nothing it's going on than admitting there's a huge fucking elephant in the room. “We fuck, occasionally, and that's it. Not friendship, not intimacy, not trivial conversations about each other's days”. 

“Well, that's some sort of the ideal to a fuck buddy relationship,” Jisung tilts his head. “It’s supposed to work”. 

It should. 

And it did, for a while —when the feelings were minimum and could be repressed, when the anger only translated to hatred and annoyance, and not jealousy and possessiveness.

These days, it's just not enough.

“Yeah well,” Hyunjin scoffs bitterly, holding the almost empty bottle of alcohol to his lips. 

Thank God he isn't a light weight, because he would've been screwed by now. Vodka isn't his greatest match, but neither are you and he knows he has to sacrifice something tonight —whether it’s his rationality or his heart. 

“Alright,” he finally exhales, pushing the empty bottle away from the edge of the counter. “I’m going back to my room”.

"Already?"

“That's the beauty of people using your apartment to host a fucking party, I guess,” Hyunjin says, leaning down to one of the kitchen pantries to grab his favorite bottle of wine. “You can just walk a minute and be in the comfort of your own bed”. 

“Haven’t you drunk too much?” Jisung asks. 

“Definitely not enough,” the dark-haired replies, grabbing both the bottle and a glass with one of his hands. “Tell Jeongin to kick everyone out by 2, I’m not paying for another noise complaint again”. 

And as he makes his way to his room, it's inevitable for Hyunjin not to spare a glance at the couch you were once sitting on. But his eyes meet Changbin and his date instead, without any trace of you or the man you were with. And he doesn't know if he should feel relieved or worried because you're no longer in his eyesight, and as comforting as that thought should be is nothing more than anguish-inducing.

He says goodbye to some of his friends, and also deals with Changbin’s insistence to stay around before he is able to lock himself inside his room. It was, at best, a 3 minute situation from the kitchen to his bed, but it felt like ages. Mostly because his eyes kept on scanning the whole apartment, hoping to find something that could tell him you're still there and you didn't leave the party with that man although you probably did. 

Much to his surprise, when he opens the door to his room, he finds you sitting at the edge of his bed.

You don't say anything, and neither does he. So you two stare at each other for a while before Hyunjin closes the door right behind him, leaving the wine and glass on a small table by the door.

“Wine? At a college party?” You finally interrupt the silence, using that playful, teasing tone you always use when you want to get on his nerves. “You really are something else”. 

Typical Hyunjin would think of a comeback rather quicker than the speed of light —he has always been witty and good with his words, and that's something you find utterly, despicably attractive in him. 

But after 4 shots of vodka and an unamusing mood, all he wants it’s to kick you out and plop down onto his bed. 

“Weren’t you busy?” he asks in a murmur, too lazy to make himself be heard. But it is loud and clear for you to hear, even with the bustling coming from down the hall.

“He bored me,” you admit. “Kept talking about his football team, and how he is going to work at his father's company once he graduates”. 

Hyunjin lets out a bitter and quiet scoff, giving you his back while he pours some wine onto his glass. You can’t fool him, even if you try like right now.

But he attempts to ignore his rapid heartbeats by keeping a nonchalant, even annoyed countenance, albeit a part of him can't ignore the fact that you're in his room. 

Just you and him, finally.

“Are you going back to the party or…”

“I’m tired,” he cuts you short, chugging down the wine like it's a shot of anything else. Can't care less about etiquette when all he wants is to lose his sobriety along with his rationality. “I want to sleep”. 

“It’s 10:30,” you tease him, cocking one of your eyebrows and giving him that look that always makes him feel ridiculous.

On any other day, that would've been fuel to erase that smile off of your face by pushing it onto the pillows while he fucks you from behind.

Tonight, though, it just blatantly stings. 

“So?” The coldness in his voice makes you shudder, and when he doesn't respond like he usually does it's when you realize there's something different going on.

You and Hyunjin don't share that kind of intimacy. You don't tell him your problems, and he doesn't tell you his problems either. You don't comfort each other through words or romantic touches. You don't give words of encouragement and you don't talk things through.

If there's something to say, you do so through sex. 

But right now, that you've interrupted his night, you feel somewhat compromised to ask if he is alright.

“Bad day?”

Bad week, bad month, bad year, a bad fucking life.

“Don’t have to act like you care,” Hyunjin says, resting his hips against the furniture while he pours himself another glass of wine.

The comment catches you off-guard. First and foremost, because you're not quite sure you don't care about him at all. And second, because he is making it seem like you are the reason behind his bad mood.

But if he doesn’t want to talk, you’re not going to force him to. After all, you’re in his room for one reason, and one reason only. 

“Shit, sorry for asking,” you murmur, gripping the edge of the bed sheets with both of your hands. It's a common ground you've walked in, thousands of times. You've been in his bed for far more times than you can remember, and you've fucked a lot more than you can count. So you're not afraid of asking the question: maybe you should release some stress?

Hyunjin knows what you mean. He knows the sexual connotations of it, and knows that’s exactly the reason why you're in his room. 

On any other day, Hyunjin would've taken your word. But right now, when his eyes can only focus on the crimson bruise on your neck, the proposition enrages him.

He walks towards you, completely towering over your figure. One hand holds the glass of wine, while the other cups your face and maneuvers it harshly, leaving the hickey for him to see. 

“He bored you?” The way he spits such a question makes your heart skip a beat. Don’t leave a rough mark, you told the guy, just a faint hickey. Of course he wouldn’t care, and neither did you —otherwise you would’ve checked yourself in the mirror before approaching Hyunjin wearing someone else’s lovebites, “or he just wasn't the one you wanted to fuck tonight?”

You move your head away from his touch with a swift movement, immediately missing the warmth of his skin against yours, "does that even make a difference?"

But it doesn't.

In the end, you only look for him because you want a good fuck and it seemed like your date just couldn't get the job done.

Not because you want him, particularly. 

“No,” Hyunjin replies coldly. “But you should at least have some decency, you know?”

You know he isn't teasing you, like he always does. He is not saying all this to get a reaction from you, and that unsettles you.

He is acting and saying such things because he means them. Because he feels like them.

“Since when do you care about what I do or I don't?” you ask him, the tone in your voice increasing as Hyunjin’s gaze intensifies.

“You can do whoever the fuck you want,” he murmurs, uncrossing his arms to grip at the edge of the furniture behind him.

“Well, I want to do you”. 

“Maybe tonight I don’t,” Hyunjin gulps down the wine, having a way harder time swallowing the euphoric sensation of his ego rather than the alcohol coming down his throat.

 And you stare at him like he just said something controversial. Something weird, something unusual coming from him.

“You’re lying,” you say, darting him a challenging look. “You always want me”. 

“Why would I want something that everyone can have?” 

It’s his anger talking. His rage, his uncertainty, his jealousy. 

You're not wrong. He wants you, he always has and most likely always will. 

But he is too proud to admit it, both to you and himself. Especially after you’ve walked into his room with the ghost of another man’s hands and lips, wearing a mark on your skin that will never compare to how Hyunjin has been allowed to mark you.

“So that’s the issue?” you defy him, standing up from the edge of his bed to walk forward. “You’re acting like this just because I was with someone else?”

Your mocking tone makes it seem like it's something ridiculous and irrational, but you've aced your initial hypothesis.

You are the reason behind his bad mood.

“Just get out,” Hyunjin says, tense jaw and cold eyes locked into yours. “You're getting on my nerves”. 

Your tongue pokes through your cheek and you look at him in disbelief —you feel taken aback because of how he is acting, and you want to blame it on the alcohol he has ingested throughout the night. But he looks sober, and way more serious than his immature facade has ever made him appear.

“If I wanted to be with someone else tonight, I would’ve left your apartment a fucking hour ago,” the boldness in your voice only challenges Hyunjin to this staring contest he didn't know he is playing. Without blinking, without parting his gaze away, all his undivided attention is on you, and the way you're spitting your words like you're truly the one with a reason to be angry. 

Needless to say, your audacity only infuriates him further.

“If you wanted to be with me, you would’ve come into my room the second you step a foot into the apartment,” he shoots back, straightening his body against the furniture and causing it to move an inch closer to you, “I mean, you know the way well, don’t you?” 

He raises one of his eyebrows, and it’s embarrassing. 

Pathetically embarrassing. 

Stupidly idiotic.

“You've crawled on all fours from the door to my room before,” Hyunjin continues, tilting his head while his gaze falls from your eyes to your parted lips, “I'm sure that was enough for you to remember the path fairly well”. 

It was one time, you say to yourself. And you'd rather die than having to admit such a humiliating thing to anyone other than him. 

You'd rather die than having everyone know what you allow Hyunjin to do to you. You'd rather disappear into thin air than having to deal with the judgemental gazes from all of your friends.

The Hwang Hyunjin? The one you say you can't stand? The one that gets on your nerves because of how childish he is? The one you tell your friends you'd turn down a thousand times even if he was the last man standing on earth?

“Go fuck yourself, Hwang,” you're so close to him you can practically taste the red wine off of his lips. You're breathing the same air, hearts beating at the same rate.

You want him worse than you wanted him before —you like the feeling of his jealousy and his possessiveness. You like it when his hatred towards you transforms into hatred to anyone who dares to touch you; no one is allowed to have you like he is entitled to, and no one is allowed to hate you the way he does.

So he leaves the empty glass of wine behind, and guides one of his hands to your heated cheeks. He caresses it, pushing away the hairs from your face —the intimate touch might feel out of place and context, but you know damn well it's nothing more than the calm before the storm. 

A calling.

A warning.

You know Hyunjin more than you'd ever want to admit, and you crave him worse than you'd ever allow yourself to think.

"God fucked you up by giving you this shitty ego,” he murmurs, brushing his lips ever so slightly against yours. It seems as if Hyunjin walked right into your trap without knowing, blinded by instincts and completely ignoring the awful show you put up earlier with a man you don't even know his name, “and he fucked me up even more for making me like it”. 

It all happens in a fraction of second, too fast for you to catch some air and too sloppy for you to get the kiss right.

You're tasting the red wine, and his rage, and the longing lust you are always demanding from him whenever your body is against his. He kisses you ardently, teasing your tongue and biting your lower lip trying to fill you up just with him —to get rid of whoever kissed you first that night, and to intoxicate you with all of him for whoever will kiss you next.

One of his hands wraps around your figure, pressing you tighter against him, while the other swims through the roots of your hair, already in position to manhandle you like he knows he can.

The way he knows you want him to.

And you don't stop him when you feel the sting in your scalp, forcing you to break the kiss and down to your knees right in front of him in a careless way that will probably leave bruises.

“Said you wanted to do me?” Hyunjin asks, unzipping his pants with his available hand while the other holds your head still, despite your efforts to wipe away the drool from your lips and the hair sticking to your cheeks with his spit. “I’m right fucking here, do me”. 

You look at him with loathing but it is nothing more than a projection: you hate yourself for how much you needed this. 

For how much you need him.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” he falsely pouts, but the sound gets drowned in a grunt when he wraps his hand around his dick to stroke it a few times before guiding your mouth to the tip of it, “you want this”. 

His gaze finds yours in the midst of the struggle, and the only way you can think of letting him know you're consenting to this is by sticking your tongue out and licking the tip of his cock, collecting all his salty precum and tasting it like you've been starving for it.

At the sight, Hyunjin chuckles lowly. Still as cold, still as enraged.

“Did you suck him off too?” he asks, using the grip on your hair as his favor —with ease, he slams his hips against your mouth, letting the tip of his cock reach parts of your throat that are still tense. “Does he taste as good as I do?”

Hyunjin doesn't need to know that you planned this all along —that you purposely did everything to get him jealous. He doesn't need to know that you like the thrill of it, of watching his possessive and jealous side.

He doesn't need to know that you utterly adore when he fucks you like he actually hates you. Like you mean nothing and everything to him at the same time.

Hyunjin doesn't need to know a lot of things, so you tag along with the fantasy of everything you've yet to deny.

“Relax,” more than a soothing word, it’s an order. He maneuvers your head all along his length, applying more pressure when your nose hits his pubic bone and then forcing you away to let you breathe. “You’ve taken this cock before, you know exactly how to do it”. 

You try to regain control of your body, and your rationality, but it seems a rather useless task —when you're with Hyunjin, he is the one that does the thinking for you. When you're with him, you can't think of anything else but him, his voice, his eyes, the way he touches and kisses you, the way he tastes and the way he feels inside you.

“Too big,” you gasp in between thrusts of his hips against your lips. Your hand flies to reach the base of his cock, but he is quick to force you backwards with the grip on your hair.

“Do not touch me”.

“Hyun-”

“I said, do not touch me,” he repeats when you try to touch him again. “Do you really think you can go around touching other men and I won't do anything about it?”

Hyunjin wishes he wasn’t as prideful as he is —if he could swallow his ego easily, he could have your hands all over his body by now. But he is proud, and vengeful, and stubborn. No matter how much his skin is burning to feel the softness of yours against it, he needs to make his point.

“You’re- you can’t be serious,” you struggle between moans, with a voice so hoarse it's barely audible. 

“There’s the door,” he forces your head towards it, “you can leave if you don’t like it”. 

Your doe eyes, filled with anger and defy, dart between him and the door. Hyunjin is always the one in control, you're not really unfamiliar with that —the fact that he is acting like this, offering you a way out if you’re not willing to do things his way, makes you feel uneasy and curious.

You choose to stay only for the latter. Not because of anything else, right?

Right?

You don’t say anything, but fix your gaze on the man in front of you. 

And Hyunjin gets it, he gets the look you're giving him. That, paired with the fact that you're not doing anything to get away from his grip, tells him that you're more than willing to keep on going, so he continues manhandling you around.

“C’mere,” he mutters when guiding your head along his cock again, making you swallow him full without giving you any kind of warning whatsoever, “just like that”. 

You're gagging, and tearing up, and clearly struggling to take all of his cock. But never have you felt this hungry, and never have you felt this emptiness between your legs that only Hyunjin seems to be able to fill.

Your hands ache for his flesh, and so desperately you want to sink them on his thighs or ass; intertwine them with his, latch your fingers against his and squeeze them while you prove to him that he's the only one that gets to fuck your mouth like this. 

“Please,” you cry out when he gives you a break to catch some air, “I need- let me touch you, please”. 

"Should've thought of it before putting your hands on someone else," he hissed, brushing your hair wet with drool and tears away from your face. “Should’ve thought about me before running to another man”. 

“Hyunjin”.

Oh, how pretty his name sounds falling from your lips —especially when accompanied with sobs and whimpers. You're always so cool and collected, like you control everything and everyone around you. You never cry, never show anyone else a crevice of what you truly are, but he is the only one that gets to see you like this. The only one you really trust, the only one you give control to.

If you hate him that much, why do you always come crawling back to him?

If you hate him that much, why is he the only one that gets to use you like this?

And if you hate him that much, why can't Hyunjin forget what he truly feels about you?

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, cleaning your mouth and chin with the back of your hand. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m sorry”. 

“For what exactly?” He is so close to you, you can feel the tip of his nose brushing against yours and get drunk on the wine that lingers in his breath. He is so close to you, he almost can't resist the urge of crashing his lips against yours again and taste himself off of you. 

“I don’t know,” you look at him with teary eyes. You feel like crying, and Hyunjin can tell. “I don’t know, it’s just- I’m sorry, okay? If that’s what you want to hear, then I’m sorry”. 

His eyebrows furrow.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “Your apologies mean nothing to me”. 

Your heart stings, and it is unusual. He is unusual, painfully real unlike all the times you've pretended to hate each other just for the dynamic.

Blame it on the alcohol, or the stress he has been feeling lately, or the fact that you've been nothing but a brat these days, but Hyunjin is angry. And hurt.

“Your actions, on the other hand,” it's all he tells you with his bright eyes boring into yours. “I want you to show me how sorry you truly are”. 

“Wha-”

He maneuvers you from the floor to his bed, forcing you on your back against the sheets you've grown to know fairly well. Your body writhes under him, and you fight back the urges to wrap your arms around his neck and force his body close to yours. 

“How- am I supposed to show you?” you ask in between the struggle, moving your body to Hyunjin’s will. With your help, he unbuttons your jeans and scatters them along the floor, just like your blouse and underwear.

He lets out a soft scoff, blowing air through his nose, amused. "As if you don't know me that well".

And because you know him well, you can't avoid the eerie feeling of fear that settles up in the deepest pits of your chest when his cold gaze makes contact with yours.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, with your heart ringing loudly in your ears.

“You should be asking what you're going to do for me, instead,” he murmurs, caressing the sides of your body with a creepy delicacy that doesn't match his demeanor at all. "Don't you want to be forgiven?" It's a rhetorical question, you know that much. And you do want to be forgiven, but you're not quite sure what twisted idea Hyunjin has of an apology. 

So you stay quiet, and hope for the best.

“You said you wanted me, right?” He asks yet again, fixing his eyes on yours. You just nod. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Yes,” you rush to say, “yes, I said I want you”. 

“How bad?”

The endless teasing is making you frustrated, but you're used to that. However, you're not used to feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes with each second that passes by.

You need him desperately. You need his kiss, and tongue, and hands on every part of your body that you'd never allow anyone else to touch.

No matter how much you say you dislike Hyunjin.

“So fucking bad,” you cry out, kicking you head back against the pillow.

Hyunjin hums, peppering wet and sloppy kisses over your tummy and inner thighs. You feel his breath so close to your wet center that you can only hope he gives you the attention you need. 

But that is not going to happen any time soon, and you know that.

“Fuck yourself,” he commands you, kneeling between your spread legs on top of his bed, “prove to me that you want me”.

You know the catch, know why Hyunjin is asking you such a thing.

He never does, unless he wants to punish you. And albeit not a rough punishment, there's nothing sweeter than watching you fall apart in frustration, to watch you deny yourself because he said so, to see you squirming in pain because you overstimulated yourself.

But then again, you'd do anything he says, just to be one step closer to him.

So you comply, with your index and middle finger shaking in anticipation as they make contact with your folds. Slowly but surely, you start fulfilling his demand —bitterly, with a look of disdain. 

One of his hands spread your legs further, and he stays kneeling between your thighs as he watches you. 

Impatient, eager, angry.

“I don’t have all day,” he finally snaps after a good 30 seconds of you just timidly teasing yourself. You can’t admit it out loud, but it is embarrassing —to have his eyes all over you but not his hands, to have your legs spread for someone who has no interest in touching you.

It's also embarrassing how wet you are by all of this. By his attitude, his anger and his jealousy.

“Sorry,” you barely mumble, sinking two fingers inside your throbbing pussy. 

You feel nothing. Not pain, nor pleasure. Just nothing.

“One more,” Hyunjin tells you and you comply. But after getting used to him and his size, nothing fills you up anymore. 

“You don’t- you don’t expect me to come just by this, do you?” You ask with a nervous scoff, biting down on your lower lip as you pull your fingers out just to thrust them inside again.

Hyunjin doesn't answer, and that only fuels your anguish even more. Instead, he fixes his eyes on your fingers, and the way they glisten with your wetness. He focuses on the sounds they make, and how warm you must feel after all the teasing.

You let out a whine, but it is not out of pleasure. It's a frustrated whine, a desperate one. You kick your head back, and fuck yourself harder with your fingers.

All your efforts are pointless.

“Don’t you dare,” Hyunjin warns you when your other hand slips to touch your clit. 

“I- I can’t just come with this,” you groan.

“How is that my problem?” 

It is humiliating —the way he is looking down on you, the way he is clearly amused by how stupid you must look right now touching yourself without feeling anything.

“Keep on going,” he tells you, licking his lips, “you won’t stop until you come”.

You shake your head and kick it against his pillow, trying to go impossibly deeper in hopes of finding that spot inside of you that only Hyunjin seems to know well.

Again, pointless.

“Come on,” you whine, now really on the brink of tears, “don’t do this to me”. 

“You did this to yourself,” he simply says, and his digits graze against your naked legs. 

The stimulation on your flesh is enough for you to clench around your fingers, and Hyunjin lets out a twisted smile when he sees the goosebumps flowering.

“Hyunjin”. 

“Can’t come by yourself?” He asks with a fake empathy, “you need me for that, right?”

You know where this is heading, and you’re willingly letting him lead you that way —you nod, swallowing thickly. 

“Yes,” you admit, hoping such a confession is enough to do something. Anything.

“Am I the only one who can make you come?”

“Yes, Hyunjin,” there's an inner conflict between your lust and your ego —you wish to fight back, but your mind is already surrendering. Your answer isn't far from the truth anyways, so why is it so difficult to admit it out loud? “Yes, you’re the only one”. 

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers quietly, dragging the tip of his digits along your spread thighs.

You’re aroused and whriting in anticipation, You’re aroused and trembling in anticipation, your whole body is ready for him, anything he wants to give you, and he can tell.

That's probably the worst part of it all —your mouth can always voice how much you hate him, but your body will keep on betraying you every time.

“I can’t,” you murmur, relentlessly trying to get yourself to your high, “I can't do this on my own anymore, you're the only one who can”. 

It's embarrassing to admit such a thing, both to him and yourself —it's not like you're saying so just to get what you want.

You're saying so because it's the truth, because not even you nor your toys can get you to come like Hyunjin does. 

“Remember that every time you even think about being with someone else,” Hyunjin’s body hovers over you, fitting perfectly between your open legs. “No one is going to make you feel like I can”. 

You drown a moan when you feel his clothed erection pressing against your folds. The fabric of his pants is rough, but your body unconsciously grinds on it.

“Just fuck me, Hyunjin,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his hips and feeling his warmth spreading from your chest to your limbs, “please, please, please”.

He needs you just as much.

And his intention was never to deny you, but to remind you that you belong to him. Whether you want to admit it or not, whether you even know it —your body responds to Hyunjin, and Hyunjin only. 

“Patience is a virtue, you know?” He scoffs, sneaking a hand between your bodies to slide the tip of his dick against your folds, “I spent all night looking how someone else got his hands all over you”.

You tremble underneath him, begging for anything he might want to give you. 

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, you know?” Hyunjin continues, “it kills me that no one knows you're mine”. 

Your heart skips a beat at his rageful words, as you breathe the same oxygen that leaves his lungs. 

“Hyunjin”. 

“I hate the fact that I just can’t kiss you when I feel like it,” he presses his forehead against yours, taunting your lips with his. “Can’t even fuck you when I want, without caring if someone hears or not”. 

There's a pinch of frustration and despair in his voice. Like he is asking you to read between the lines, to give some sense to his words.

“We hate each other, don’t we?” You remind him, digging your nails in the flesh of the sides of his body.

“Do you really think this is hate?” He asks, and presses his hips against yours. You feel his hardened length getting coated with your wetness, and you can’t help but moan. 

“Everybody thinks we can’t stand each other,” you wrap your legs around his hips, forcing him to make a move. And as if on cue, he gets what you’re demanding —he slides the tip of his dick in, so easily that it's hard to believe your body wasn't perfectly made for him.

“But no one knows what we do behind their backs, do they?” He asks, grunting quietly when he finally bottoms out, “they don’t know how good we fuck each other, how good we make us feel”. 

It's not the time to pause and reflect about the dynamic you've shared with Hyunjin over the past year. It's also not the time to think about what could happen if you were to reveal to your closest friends what you and Hyunjin have. 

It's exciting to keep things a secret, but you're not quite sure how long you can go without one of you getting tired of it.

It's not the time, and you don't dwell on it because you soon feel Hyunjin's hips slowly pulling and then bottoming out again. The sudden hit of his pubic bone against your swollen clit sends shivers down your spine, and you hug him tightly against you.

“Because you make me feel so good,” he murmurs, leaving a wet trail of kisses from your lips, to your chin and jaw, “so fucking good”. 

You clench around him at his words, and he lets out a raw moan. 

“You too,” you swallow thickly, “you too- make me feel so good”. 

“Just me?”

“Just you Hyunjin- fuck,” you bite down the flesh on his shoulders when his hips snap against yours, making your whole body jolt, “like that, fuck me like that”. 

With painfully slow but hard strokes, Hyunjin pounds his dick inside your wet pussy.

The lewd noises it makes, paired with his skin hitting yours, drowns his bedroom. They also drown the bustle behind the door, the faint voices of those who are still outside partying and drinking.

Those who don't know how much you love fucking Hyunjin, and how much he loves fucking you.

“I have to make sure it's only me who gets to have you like this,” and with that being said, he sinks his teeth and nibbles at the flesh where burgundy and purple bruises rest. 

You arch your back in pain, feeling your neck burning. He holds you in place as you writhe beneath him, placing all his weight over you to prevent you from squirming away from him.

“It’s just a little pain,” his soft voice coos, grabbing the sides of your neck with one of his hands while his lips attack the love bites made by someone else, “nothing compared to what you made me feel tonight”.

Your heart starts beating faster at his words.

“I’m sorry,” tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you still let Hyunjin mark you. 

You want him to, anyway. No matter how painful it can be.

“I know you are,” he hums, satisfied with the way you’re clenching around him. 

He kisses your flesh softly, trying to soothe the pain away, and you move your hips, desperate to have him moving inside of you again.

He loses no time into it, holding his weight back off of you to continue on fucking you.

“You look so pretty now,” he twistedly smiles, with a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead and nose, “my lips and teeth look so good on you”. 

The minute he bites down his lower lip and his eyes go blank, you start feeling the tension building up inside your abdomen. You’re close, and you’re desperate to come.

“Hyunjin,” one of your hands holds his bicep, while the other makes a mess of the bed sheets beneath you.

“Not yet,” he warns you, and at that you let out a frustrated sound, “hold it a bit longer, come with me”. 

You close your eyes shut and kick your head back, hoping that if you don't look at him, you can prolong the time before you come. But he is fucking you so good, and his dick is hitting all the right spots inside of you, that you really don't think you can hold it as long as he wants you to.

“Please,” you cry out, this time tearing up. You can’t help it —the tears fall from your closed eyes without a warning. They stain your cheeks, and get lost in the crook of your neck that is still burning with Hyunjin’s love bites. 

“Open your eyes,” his hand cups your face, and you snap them open as a reflex, “let me see you crying”.

His words ignite a fire inside you, just as much as your tears do to him. His cock twitches at the sight of your clouded eyes and the way they beg for his release.

It’s the first time he sees you cry, 

and it shouldn't arouse him as much as it does. He knows what's behind those tears, and maybe that's the reason why he is enjoying them.

Frustration, rage, despair, attraction, obsession, infatuation.

He buries his nose on the flesh of your cheek and kisses your tears, one by one, as he continues pounding himself inside of you. 

“Can’t-” you murmur, digging your nails on his shoulders. Hyunjin hisses at that. “I can’t hold it”. 

“Give it to me,” he finally exhales, increasing the movements of his hips. And you comply —you give your orgasm to him, squeezing his cock almost aggressively. Your body trembles and he hugs it tightly, fucking you through your high as he comes with you.

“Fuck, Hyunjin,” at one point, your body goes limp —the pleasure becomes too strong that you melt into his arms. 

He moans your name, over and over again, until his voice becomes a whisper, and his hips relax into yours. His body rests on top of you, hugging you, pressing kisses to your forehead and temples while you wrap your arms around him. He doesn't pull out, and you don't want him to —at least not yet.

Sex with Hyunjin always goes a little bit like this, but it never feels as intimate as it does right now.

Your sweating bodies are pressed against each other, and your hearts are beating at the same rate. Your mouth tastes like red wine, despite you not having drunk any, and Hyunjin’s chest smells like your perfume. 

The crescent moon-like imprints from your nails are still pulsing on his shoulders and back with desire, and your neck still burns with his possessiveness.

It seems as though you two are one, and it is impossible to deny it.

If hate is another synonym for infatuation, you might as well be willing to hate each other until death.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #kpop smut #hwang hyunjin smut

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Thinking about roleplaying with mean mommy Wanda where she’d be an evil Queen and R her favorite maid and/or prisoner 🤭

Evil Queen Wanda and maid reader omg!!!! What a good idea ◡̈ I took this wayyyyy more literal... in this little blurb its not a roleplay🤭

This got kinda long... oops.

You're Wanda's personal servant, she'd taken one look at you on your first day and declared you hers.

Of course, you're happy to serve your queen, and you don't mind the extra protection that comes along with it. Her protective manner and watchful eyes draw you in, even as a small part of your mind reminds you that she is an evil queen.

One day, she comes in covered in blood, having dealt with some traiters in the dungeons. Not that you're aware of that little fact. You freak out, as expected, nervously fluttering around her as you draw her a bath. The frantic words coming out of your mouth are nothing short of endearing, and Wanda simply watches you with warm, green eyes as you collect yourself.

When you finally calm down, your mind returning back to your body, you realize that you're in the middle of undressing Wan- your queen. You go rigid, mouth agape as you blink rapidly, your fingers freezing from where you've been unbuttoning the front of her corset.

"Don't stop talking now, darling," Wanda's low voice wraps around your head, drawing you in. "I was quite enjoying the spew of nonsense from those pretty lips."

You barely register the slight insult, focused entirely on the fact that she had called your lips... pretty. Your queen, Wanda Maximoff, had called you pretty.

The worried energy surrounding you quickly becomes meek and nervous, and Wanda smirks at you while you finish unbuttoning her corset. You pull her hair free of its many pins, the silky auburn waves resting delicately over her bare shoulders as she...

Bare shoulders?

You blink again, taking in the sight of a completely nude Wanda. Your queen, standing in front of you with her perfect hair and knowing green eyes and that tantalizing curve of her hips...

She brushes past you, the barest touch of her skin against your hand sending shivers down your whole spine as you stare at her. Wanda sinks into her bath, raising an expectant eyebrow at you as the water turns slightly pink.

You snap to attention, grabbing a washcloth as you begin to wash the blood off of her. You pay special attention to her hands, wiping away the blood underneath her fingernails, your ears burning under the weight of her stare.

Resuming your duty, you ignore the growing arousal pooling at your gut. You resolutely ignore the swell of her breasts, or the way her nipples harden when you quickly wash her torso. Wanda doesn't say a word, simply observing you under the light of the candles littering the bathroom.

Eventually, you finish. Kneeling next to the tub, you wring the washcloth out. As you begin to stand, Wanda's hand snaps out and grips your wrist.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Wanda asks, and you finally let yourself meet her green eyes. She spreads her thighs, knees touching the sides of the tub as she tilts her head at you.

"Part of your duties as my personal maid include cleaning your queen." Wanda states, her eyes burning. "Every part of your queen."

You hold back a whimper, feeling your arousal begin to leak down your thighs. Nodding, you maintain eye contact as your hand slowly moves towards the apex of her thighs, the washcloth gently brushing her skin. You can't seem to look away, something in her gaze holding you there, holding you captive as she gently pries the washcloth away from your loose grip and guides your hand down further, and further, and...

The fear you normally feel around your queen evaporates, twisting into a burning arousal as you begin to move your fingers. Her gaze is almost predatory, and you know she'll never let you leave after this.

Not that you'd want to leave.

After that night, your queen treats you differently, even if it is only behind closed doors. When in the presence of others, her cold, hard mask is firmly in place, the glances she sends your way nothing short of distaste.

But, the moment she gets you alone in her private chambers, her hands are all over your body, ripping your clothes off and lifting her skirts while shoving you down onto your knees.

Her favorite activity is punishing you, especially whenever she catches one of her knights looking in your direction. Wanda will fuck you roughly, your backside aching from the blows she rains down using a riding crop, her strap buried deep inside you while she whispers "All mine," into your ear.

It's almost as if she turns into something else. Something different, something fierce and hungry and all yours.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

#charsgaythoughts #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x you #dom!wanda #marvel #mcu #wanda marvel #wanda mcu #wlw #wlw smut #lesbian #writing #bottom reader #x reader

[immortalbutterflycos]

@jegulus-microfic ~~ (707 words)

This is based on a thought that went a bit like, "What if even though Regulus became a Death Eater, James chose him as his secret keeper." Enjoy~

"How did you find me?" Regulus demands. His eyes are sharp and made of ice, and his wand is at James's throat; the tip of it digging harshly into the skin there. More than familiar with this particular position, James can't hold back the smirk that finds its way to his lips.

"You should know it better than anyone, love. One way or another, I'll always come find you." The wand is urged forward even deeper and James swallows around it.

"Because of our past together, I will give you one chance to run before I'll be given no choice but to come after you. And rest assured that when I do, I will not hesitate."

"Sure, Reg," James says, smiling like he doesn't actually believe it. "Say, we're going into hiding soon. Did you know?" Regulus squints at him as though his intelligence is only slightly higher than that of a sea slug.

"Well, I'd certainly hope so. Though I must say that you won't be able to hide for long before He finds you. A talent I suppose you and The Dark Lord have in common."

"Oh you'd "hope so" would you? Why Reggie, it's almost like you still care for me." Regulus faulters for only a split second, the wand loosening a bit in his grasp. He recovers quickly though, with a sneer, poking the wand back harder into his neck until James lets out a small, involuntary choking sound at the intrusion.

"Potter, I swear I will kill you right where you stand if you-"

"What do you know about the Fidelius Charm?" He asks, his voice a tad strained. This time when Regulus falters a bit, surprise colors his face.

James was truly enjoying throwing him off with every other phrase. It reminds him of a time when their arguments didn't have such high stakes and their hearts were still intact and not shattered callously on the ground at their feet.

"You're going to be hidden under the Fidelius Charm..? That's..." He meets James's eyes again and this time there is no ice. No confusion. Only pure, white-hot anger, mixed with something else unnamed.

"Why would you tell me that?" He asks, "I can't- If He asks me if I know anything about where you're hiding, He will be able to look into my mind and see this moment. Do you understand? By only saying this much, you've already endangered everyone you love and care about."

James pushes the wand to the side with two fingers, surprisingly with no resistance.

"I want you to be my Secret Keeper."

Regulus shakes his head in disbelief.

"You are a fool, James Potter, if you think for a single second that this is a good idea. In case you've forgotten, I'm a Death Eater. I've hurt people James. I've hurt you! I've never once given you any indication that I wouldn't fully hand over that information to Voldemort as soon as I make that oath."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Risk?" Regulus says, his eyes seeming to burn in stark contrast to the ice-cold they'd held only moments ago, "What risk? James, this is suicide."

James reaches out to cup Regulus's cheek, the Death Eater flinching at the touch but not pulling away. Which tells James everything he needs to know.

He smiles.

And it's not that cocky sort of smile or the flirtatious one he's worn for a lot of this interaction. No, this one is full of warmth and love and... trust.

"It's not."

"You're going to die. Each and every one of you and your precious Order are going to be hunted down and killed before you can even lift your wands." Regulus's voice is quiet and resolute but something else trembles beneath the surface. James swipes his thumb over his cheekbone; over light, familiar freckles on pale skin.

"Then I die knowing that you're the one who pulled the trigger. But you won't."

"Who says?"

"Me."

"Why?"

"Because, love," Regulus flinches again at the pet name, "I've said it before, and it's no less true now than it was back then, I would trust you with my life."

"Then that's how you're going to lose it."

"So be it."

#jegulus #regulus black #james potter #the marauders #marauders era #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic

[brownsugarwrites]

Love drought.-

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Black!wife!reader

Synopsis/warnings: Angst. Bruce is a asshole because he doesnt know how to express his feelings to his wife. Mentions of cheating/infidelity. General hurt and confusion. Based off of beyonce's love drought. Angst with no resolution.

Notes: Literally wrote this in like fifteen minutes because I have love drought playing on repeat cause im insane. Anyways I almost shed a tear writing this but I hope yall enjoy!

You, you, you, you and me could stop this love drought.

Sitting against the window watching the rain fall over the city. You took another sip out of your wine glass wondering what you did wrong. Well, where did everything go wrong.

You loved bruce. Despite him being the towns vigliante and also being the wealthiest person in all of gotham. You hated when the two of you were like this. Sleeping in separate rooms. Him drowning himself in work and sometimes not even sparing a glance at you.

It hurt your feelings a lot. You wondered if he was having an affair on you. Finding pleasure in another woman that wasn't you. Your insecurites also came back. Thinking if you were being a good enough wife for him. If it was something about you that he didnt like. It messed with your head.

You hated feeling like this. You wanted this to work. For you, the boys and overall the marriage.

Placing the cup down on the ledge of the window you snuggled against the chair that had his scent on it.

You couldn't lie and say you didn't miss his touch on you. Feeling his warm embrace wrap around you. Giving you soft and gentle kisses on your temple every morning which he doesn't do anymore.

You tried talking to him about it. But being the person he is. He dismissed it making you even more upset.

"Are you cheating on me." you asked feeling your eyes water

"What-"

"Just answer the fucking question." You hissed at him.

"No. No absolutely not" He said getting out his seat coming towards you.

Seeing his wide stature you tried not to fold under his presence

"You've been distant lately." You said before wiping your eyes.

"I have a big project to present. The meeting is today you know this."

"Ok but that doesn't excuse you for pushing me away. It seems like you care more about work than me and the boys." you said pointing a finger at his chest

"We're not having this conversation." He bit back at you

Feeling a sharp pain in your heart you scoffed and walked out of the office.

Which lead you in the library staring out the window watching the rain as Bruce got into his car leaving the manor.

Feeling more tears slide down your face you quickly wiped them.

Maybe this relationship ran its course. Maybe it was time for you to let him go.

Not wanting to think about divorce being an option your sniffles became greater before you started sobbing into the chair.

Where did you go wrong?

#bruce wayne x black batmom #bruce wayne x black reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman x black!reader #batman x reader #sugars stories

[thesoftboiledegg]

I wasn't sure what to make of "That's Amorte" before it aired. When signs pointed toward "the spaghetti comes from aliens," I wondered if we had a rehash of Futurama's "The Problem with Poppers," where the crew finds a delicious treat on a planet only to learn that the "popplers" are underdeveloped alien offspring.

Rick and Morty's take on Soylent Green also seemed likely. Everyone knows the twist: Soylent Green is people! A dark sci-fi concept like that could be a ripe parody for this series.

However, "That's Amorte" adapted a concept that other shows have referenced a thousand times and took a right turn. No one's angry at the humans for eating their suicide victims: in fact, they love the spaghetti and turn it into a corporate product.

This is an obvious shot at capitalism and how companies will destroy the environment, brutally slaughter animals and turn cities into concrete wastelands just to make a buck. And I mean--chowing down on this spaghetti isn't that different from eating meat. I'm an omnivore, but I kept thinking that at least these pasta producers chose to die.

The suicide element gave this episode a poignant touch instead of turning it into an edgelord slog where the humanoids kill people and throw them in a meat grinder. Admittedly, the clones leaned in that direction, and that scene also shows how Rick struggles to understand the world outside himself. He doesn't react when the clones kill each other, but one of his daughters is a clone, and he'd be horrified if anything happened to her.

On its own, "That's Amorte" is a great episode. However, when you take the whole series into account, the plot retreads the same old Morty narrative: Morty tries to do the right thing, it backfires, Rick dodges responsibility while antagonizing Morty to be petty, Rick gets stuck fixing everything and Morty tries to pretend it never happened.

I keep waiting for something good to happen to Morty. Rick has plenty of episodes where he makes positive changes: going to therapy ("Analyze Piss," "Air Force Wong"), improving his relationship with Jerry ("Final DeSmithation," "The Jerrick Trap"), trying to do right by Beth ("Bethic Twinstinct"), being kinder to Morty ("Full Meta Jackrick"), etc.

Season five doesn't emphasize his character development as much, but plenty of scenes show how much he's changing. Even season four has moments where he's gentler.

Rick's being his petty season-two self in "That's Amorte," but even here, he does the right thing by showing the world exactly what--and who--they're eating. In earlier seasons, he would've done that just to be an asshole. Here, I don't think that he was trying to torment people as much as he just knew that this spaghetti shitshow had to end.

Same with the spaghetti itself. He didn't feed it to the Smiths, then show them the dead body just to torture them. I think he genuinely wanted to share the spaghetti because it was delicious, but he also figured that they don't want to know where it comes from.

On a similar note, I enjoyed Rick's moments of physical gentleness. Great animation detail.

So Rick gets a little character development and saves the day again, and Morty gets...nothing. Just a rehash of old storylines. "Mortynight Run" in particular has almost the same plot, beat-for-beat.

"That's Amorte" touched on Morty's depression and his family's coldness toward him but didn't go further than that. Morty keeps cycling through the same issues with no resolution. He blows up in one episode, then shuts down the next. His attempts to do the right thing go astray. When's this kid going to catch a break?

Again, this episode isn't bad. It's funny, original and well-written and has a lot to say about ethics and capitalism. Still, I don't understand why reviews on other sites keep emphasizing Morty's character development because I didn't see much.

I will say that everyone's horror at where the spaghetti comes from was a great takedown of the meat industry. Everyone loves sausage, but nobody wants to see how it's made!

Still, next time we get a Morty episode, I hope that it says more about him and less about the world outside his cartoon.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #that's amorte #season seven #review

[kentoberry]

types of nudes that they send you !

including ⭒ geto suguru, gojo satoru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, naoya zen'in.

content ⭒ [ 18+ content ; minors dni ] ⭒ gender neutral reader ⭒ m-sturbation ⭒ toys ⭒ cybers3x.

GETO SUGURU

there’s usually two types of nudes geto sends you. both tend to be dark and poorly lit, which weirdly compliments his brooding aura.

occasionally, whenever geto finds himself with a stiff cock, he’s sure to snap a quick pic and send it to you. you have a small museum worth of images of his stiff cock straining against his sweatpants whilst he’s just relaxing, of the bulge in his gym shorts after an intense workout, and so many more. some were mirror selfies of him flexing in god knows whose bathroom; those were some of your favourites because you could typically see his toned abs peeking out from underneath his shirt.

the second type of nudes that geto sends are much more salacious than the first. he’s not one to bother snapping a picture of his large cock in his hand, but will instead go all out and send you a video of him jacking off, complete with full audio of him groaning and detailing all of the filthy things that he wished to do with you when the pair of you were reunited. he always put on a show for his angel, swiping a thumb over the tip of his leaking cock and eliciting the nastiest of sounds in response. these videos weren’t remotely haphazard, each movement was sensual and teasing. he wanted to get you just as riled up as he was, and it certainly worked.

the latter kinds of nudes are considerably more rare. geto usually reserved them for when he was tied up on a longer mission, and maybe the shorter ones if he was feeling particularly horny. they’re usually accompanied by a short and simple text, something along the lines of “thinking about you” or “miss you”.

GOJO SATORU

gojo sends a lot of nudes, but it would take him a while to be comfortable enough to do so. once you’re in an established relationship with him, you’ll find dirty pictures, videos, and audios a regular occurrence. he has quite the libido, who can blame him?

being the satoru gojo, his nudes carry the same bravado that he does. each image is well lit, almost enough to make you question whether or not his dick pics are professionally shot. they range from photos of his thick cock in all its glory, resolution high enough that you can identify each vein and detail.

the nudes that make your thighs quiver, however, are usually the ones where he's not fully naked. gojo likes to take pictures of himself tugging down the waistband of his sweats so that you can see his toned v-line. there's one in particular where the hem of his shirt is between his teeth that shows off his happy trail, and you want nothing more than to have that image ingrained in your brain for all eternity.

additionally, gojo does send a lot of audio messages. he has quite the exhibitionist tendencies every now and again, so sometimes, when he's jacking off, he'll grab his phone and start a voice recording. usually they're just rambles of him begging for you and making the most heavenly noises — you can often hear the grunts he makes when he cums too. if he's in a bit of a teasing mood, which he is most of the time, and you decide to send him anything of a lewd nature (be it messages or photos), gojo will sometimes send instructions for how you should touch yourself, claiming that he knows how to pleasure you better than you do yourself.

NANAMI KENTO

nanami doesn't really see the point in sending nudes; he'd much rather be there in person. if you so much as make an offhand comment about being needy, he'll promise you that he'll be out of work as soon as the clock strikes 6:00 p.m.

that being said, perhaps he gets sent on a mission for an elongated period. nanami still isn't one to snap a picture of his cock and send it to you without any prior warning (no matter your relationship status), but he could be persuaded to get off with you over facetime. he's never one to make demands, because the one thing that nanami enjoys more than anything is being able to hear your moans and whimpers. his name on your tongue is music to his ears.

it's rare that nanami will masturbate without you — a large portion of his enjoyment comes from pleasuring his partner. he actually has an encrypted folder for his more lustful moments, compiled of any suggestive images or videos that you may have sent him and a few others that he's snapped of your escapades when together.

nanami's stoic and unbothered facade always falters when he gets himself off. it's almost as though he's putty in your hands, wanting to please you and putting your needs far above your own. the man absolutely melts, and doesn't bother holding back grunts and groans while his fist is pumping around his heavy cock. the sight of his eyes fluttering shut in ecstacy, hips jutting upwards as he fucks his hand, and strangled cries as he releases all over his wrist is truly angelic.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

toji isn't a man of grandeur to any degree, nor is he particularly tech-savvy. the first time that the discussion of nudes pops up, he doesn't understand the appeal. however, as soon as he gets to see your cute self flashing up on his screen in a rather suggestive position, it clicks.

the man has no shame. if he's horny and about to jack off, he'll openly ask you to send him nudes and will send some back in return. he's also happy to send them if you imply a desire for them, but will definitely tease you a little and get you to ask outright. toji often sends a surplus of what you ask for, i.e. pictures of him stroking his cock from multiple angles. he'll even send you a picture of the cum he shot out covering the watch on his wrist, or the glistening precum coating the bush at the base of his cock.

the messages that follow toji's nudes are just plain nasty. he's somehow a god at sexting without any added effort and his ability to make your thighs tremble with his words is insane — you're wrapped around his little finger.

his nudes are usually just pictures or short videos. toji loves to compare you to his fleshlight, often sending you a quick message about how much he prefers you to the toy. every now and then he'll use the toy to edge himself and document it through his text messages to you, being sure to promise you that he's saving a nice, heavy load of his cum for you whenever he sees you later that night.

NAOYA ZEN’IN

naoya will unashamedly send you a “wyd” and attach the grainiest dick pic you’ve ever seen. there’s no grandeur whatsoever; it’s as though he’s just pulled down his underwear and snapped a photo. it's gross and disgusting, but you can't help but be intrigued. perhaps it's the filthy messages that follow, telling you all of the positions that he wishes to take you in and how much he desires you pinned below him with tears running down your pretty cheeks.

because of his status, naoya is perhaps one of the most entitled men in the country. he's not afraid to ask (no, demand) you send him some material of your own. if it's not up to his standards, say he wants a closer view of your body or a shot from a different angle, he'll ask outright. it's almost as though he has you bewitched, because you obey his every whim.

#kentoberryposts #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk headcanons #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #geto smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #naoya smut #naoya zenin smut #naoya zen'in x reader #naoya x reader

[accio-victuuri]

i pulled some early reviews of FPU, related to yibo and his character yang zhen. 👮‍♂️

i chose the ones on the top of the FPU page on weibo to share. credit weibo accounts/bloggers/media etc who watched the premiere and reviewed.

beware or spoilers!!!!

二火山:

The most outstanding thing about the whole film is the sniper Yang Zhen played by Wang Yibo. He has a complete character arc. After watching it, you will not feel that the sentence "I want to maintain world peace" in the trailer is half-hearted. The resolute look in his eyes as soon as he appears makes people have a deep impression. Only later did I learn that Yang Zhen chose to become a peacekeeping policeman in order to complete the unfinished business of his father who died in the line of duty. This is also a kind of inheritance.

This character is full of passion, not afraid of danger, and always regards the lives of civilian children as more important than his own. Looking at the previous roles of Lei Yu and Wei Ruolai, Wang Yibo's characters have a firm sense of mission and belief. I think this is why the director took a fancy to him. In the movie, Yang Zhen encountered danger many times without fear, and was even willing to sacrifice himself for a just cause. He created this righteous, brave and witty image in a very three-dimensional way, making people feel immersed in it. It is difficult not to feel deep respect for the peacekeeping police.

Among them are several scenes that left a deep impression: due to punishment, Yang Zhen got up immediately after doing push-ups and ran to catch up with the team's car, even if he was panting at the extreme state; He mistook him for a child and did not fire, causing his teammates to be injured and feeling guilty; especially when he was shooting at the enemy sniper, the rain kept making his eyes wet, but he was still able to aim hard and consider the wind before finally hitting the target with one shot.

水片

Wang Yibo's casting is particularly successful and outstanding, and according to the chronological sequence, this film is Wang Yibo's first film to enter the film industry. The performance is sincere and not sloppy, and the clues of his growth trajectory are particularly touching, especially in the setting of his deceased father. And with the support of producer Liu Weiqiang, the screen narrative is compact and intense, and the film is full of texture.

啵塞東東

In fact, rather than saying that Yang Zhen is an "impulsive" player, I think he is too upright and kind. (Slight spoiler warning for the next sentence) (It's harmless, don't call the police). He doesn't defend himself when the captain scolds him. It's not like he doesn't shoot. He just didn't want to hurt the child (so when he entered the house and found it was not a child, he said nonchalantly, "It turns out it's not a child").

Wang Yibo was responsible for almost 80% of the action scenes. The parkour rainy night sniper scene was frightening to watch, but they were all very beautiful action scenes, and Yang Zhen's brave young character was something that only he could play. He also looks particularly good in the peacekeeping uniform. He is very tall and handsome.

轻抚油箱85_杨震版

The plot and rhythm are very tight, basically one scene after another, like the last heavy rain, the loss of life, the sacrifice of comrades, the hard-won peace that can only be temporary, are all It happened in this hour and a half. The scenes actually focus more on the portrayal of group portraits. In addition to the peacekeeping team, more focus is placed on the refugees who have lost the envelope of peace.

Action scenes still account for a large proportion. Jumping from high buildings, falling into water, and gunfight scenes are all enough to satisfy the action movie audience. The few literary scenes and daily scenes have a little bit of the flavor of the training camp in the sky, very humorous, and overall ups and downs. there is urgency and slowness. I really like the cooperation and tacit understanding when the team fights.

Next, let’s talk about Yang Zhen. He appeared twice, once for an arm-wrestling event in the early stage and once when he walked into the dormitory on the phone. At that time, a sentence came to my mind: The show is coming. On the big screen, Yang Zhen is wild, occasionally confused, and young enough. Compared with Major Lei Yu, Lei Yu is more mature, more confident, and has clearer goals. It is also because he is young enough that he has the appearance of a newborn calf (I'm sorry, Teacher Wang Yibo didn't mean to scold me by saying you are a calf). He is not afraid of the fierceness of a tiger, and Yang Zhen's "wildness" also comes from this fierceness, which transcends bravery and is a kind of justice that is more inclined to life.

In terms of acting, it can be said that Wang Yibo's performance is still at a high level. Those who go to the cinema for Wang Yibo can rest assured that his eye movements and micro-expressions are still smooth, but the scary thing is that this smooth flow happens. Three years ago, when you went to watch this movie, you would know where Mr. Ye, who was nominated for the Golden Rooster, and Wei Ruolai, who was in the CCTV came from. Every role he played in the past was involved in it, and he became every role in the future with it. flesh and blood.

The lines are as good as ever, whether it's in English or a dialogue in a literary drama, my ears are always happy when I watch his works.

Revisiting the movie three years ago, I have the illusion of peeking into Wang Yibo during the Yang Zhen period, but it is also very romantic and I have not missed Yang Zhen. From this movie, I can conclude that you can always trust Wang Yibo when it comes to acting.

陆支羽

In my opinion, Wang Yibo is very suitable for the role of sniper Yang Zhen. There were two life-and-death collective battle scenes. The first time he risked his life to chase the murderer, and the latter time he didn't fire for fear of accidentally injuring a child, both of which almost resulted in serious consequences. At the same time, the dedication and sincerity of the character Yang Zhen is very three-dimensionally portrayed. From this, he gradually becomes more and more aware of the importance of team spirit and grows into a better peacekeeping policeman.

#wang yibo #formed police unit #accio victuuri translation

[sprout-fics]

But could you imagine sweet sweet sweet Gaz with ❝  you don’t have to pretend to be fine,  if you need me to stay i will.  ❝🥹

Oh no this got angsty 🙃 (Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Comfort, Mentions of war crimes against civilians)

The smoke from the fire still feels caught in your lungs.

Stifling, acrid, charred with ash, it clings to the back of your throat, rasps in a gritty sigh as you toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep. Your sheets feel too warm, the silence too loud, and in it you can hear the screams of the refugees you failed to rescue in time. A shudder rolls down your spine at the memory of the carnage, and even as you scrunch your eyes shut you’re unable to escape it. 

Please. You think desperately, hating yourself for even asking. Please go away.

It doesn’t take much longer before you’re rising from bed, shrugging on a hoodie and pacing restlessly down to the taskforce rec room in search of reprieve. You curl up on the couch, flicking through channels on the TV. Insomnia remains a bitter ally by your side, and as the hour passes you feel sleep drift farther out of your reach.

You don’t expect the door to open at this ungodly hour, and you tilt your head to see Gaz shouldering it open drowsily, stopping in his tracks when he spots you. An amicable, almost shy grin forms on his lips, and doesn't reach his tired eyes. 

“Hi.” He offers quietly. 

“Hi yourself.” You offer back, hushed as well, nearly inaudible beside the TV. 

Gaz rounds the couch, flops beside you and rakes his hands over his face a few times with a groan. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, muffled by his palms. 

You shrug noncommittally. It isn’t the first time you’ve all had a rough mission. Not every campaign can be a success. There’s no victory without some amount of failure in the first place. 

Gaz regards you with a sidelong glance, silent but appraising. 

“Thinking about it?” He murmurs in question, and you fail to hide the grimace that flashes across your features. 

How can’t you? You failed. It wasn’t just the team, but the people you were supposed to be protecting. You’d tried to get everyone onto the trucks on time, had barked at kids to leave their toys with your voice shaking in dread of the oncoming attack. The team had tried their best with what limited interpretation skills they had, but the refugees had been scared, skittish, and in the end no amount of effort on your part would have delayed the firestorm that ensued. 

Gaz takes in your silence, and you try not to buckle under his stare. You’re a soldier, you’re part of Taskforce 141. The things you’ve seen press heavy on your soul, but you keep them sheltered away lest they come in the way of duty. This should be no exception, no matter how much the screams of the damned rattle ceaselessly inside your memories.

“It’s okay to be…not okay.” Gaz offers gently, and the crease of your frown only deepens as you stare resolutely away from him. “I couldn’t sleep either. Keep thinking about those kids.”

You don’t say anything. You think if you do, your throat might crack with a sob. 

Yet Gaz sees the pain and regret in your eyes, sees the way you fold into yourself protectively, trying to block out the memory. His hand closes the distance between you, reaches over to your thigh and gently winds his fingers through yours.

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine.” He murmurs sweetly, a soft touch against the gale of your thoughts. You lean into it helplessly, bask in the comfort of his presence, seeing the things in you left unsaid. “If you need me to stay, I will.”

Pain cracks your features then, and you blink up at the ceiling to keep tears from spilling down your face, lip quivering in a desperate attempt to not let the sob in your throat loose. You grasp at his fingers, use them as an anchor from the tidal wave of your emotions, and when you look at him you see your grief reflected by his own. 

“Can I hold you?” He breathes, as if daring himself to ask, and you know he needs it just as much as you do. “Please?”

You nod, lean over at an awkward angle to fall into his arms, tremble with the effort it takes not to cry, but buckling before him anyways. Gaz holds you, and you feel his hands shake at your back, haunted by the same ghosts that plague your mind. 

“We did what we could.” He whispers as if to remind himself, and you. “That’s all we could do.”

You don’t know how long you both stay like that, folded into each other’s arms like two small children looking up at a world that feels too large for your small souls. Yet when the light of morning washes over you both, you feel the weight of your grief lifted just enough to nestle further into his embrace

#Kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x y/n #stay the night writing prompts #drabble #drabbles

[moondirti]

Ok but like… catch Simon smoking one day and you just, sit on his lap, and kiss the smoke out of his mouth and it tastes like smoke and bourbon😍😍😍 mans would go feral I think

all i do is turn cute thoughts angsty. no i will not apologise i would recommend you read 'cigarettes out the window' before this. not entirely necessary, i just make references to it you might not understand otherwise. ghost x scout (reader) warnings: smoking, nicotine addiction, shotgun kisses

You find him on the roof, reeking of singed leaf and tobacco. Your lungs battle the frigid cold that pours through a sharp inhale; you desperately cling to the traces you can catch. It's a smell you're well accustomed with - an old friend that's quick to curl it's relentless grip around you. Even now, you lean into it.

Just when you'd gotten good at battling the urge.

He hates it when you smoke. Though it never stops him from frequenting the bad habit himself.

The thought filters, flares, then sinks to a faint nothing at the base of your skull. It's hard to focus on your shortcomings when he's this close - you digest the sight of him; imposing, a spill of ink against the backdrop of snow. In the never ending cover, you're barely able to make out the tendrils of grey that stream from a thin cigarette, clutched between thick fingers.

(Comical, almost. It looks like a toothpick in his clutch).

"So, you took my lighter."

His shoulders tense for a small moment - barely perceptible, you'd be the only one to notice.

But they do, of course. You have an odd habit of sneaking up on people.

"I told you I'd confiscate it." He doesn't turn to face you. Instead, he pulls another puff. You think you can feel it flood you. Head rush, buzzing adrenaline.

Or, maybe that's him. Almost eight months since Sudbury now, and you're still dizzy over the situation you've happened upon.

"I've been good, though." You whisper, almost whine, and come up behind him. He's sat on a ledge, his legs hanging off the edge. You wrap your arms around his shoulders both for the sake of it and the smallest fear that he fall off.

But Simon's a figure forged of resolute steel, tempered in some planet's core that far supersedes the burn of this world. Gunpowder. Nuclear fallout. Butane, swishing liquid inside the all-black lighter Soap had gifted you for Christmas.

It's all ye ever wear, Scout. Didnae know whit else ye'd like.

Nothing tips him over.

Almost.

(You graze your lips on the cut of his jaw - bared, now, with the balaclava rucked to his nose - and feel as his muscles flex underneath several layers of cotton.)

"We both know you're not up here for me, pet." He growls, the depth of it registering tenfold in your new proximity. His voice, thick with a cockney diction, seeps like molasses and hardens on the gummy lining of your lungs.

Your pocket heaves with the weight of a new pack. He's right.

"Hm. No, not originally. Bummed a lighter from Price."

"Then?"

You kiss his jaw again, a week old stubble chafing over your lips.

"Then, God had other plans."

A gale moves in from the North, biting at your cheeks. You can't see it, but you imagine Simon's nose is red, blushed in that way only you got to see on a regular basis. You bury your face into his neck to hide the fond smile that threatens to crack your face.

Timbre. Wet rain on a campfire. That sandalwood shampoo he still insists on using no matter how many alternatives you buy him.

From the shift of his body underneath yours, you assume he takes another drag. But he doesn't shrink with an exhale, not for a while.

When you look up quizzically, his lips touch yours. Just barely, a soft graze of chapped flesh, cold and split at the corner from where he was punched just last night.

Your nose ignites, smouldering acridity, tarnished herbs doused in the aftertaste of bourbon. You don't know why you stumble - whether it's the kiss, the shotgun, or the terrifying relief of an old vice. All there is are the gentle cradle of snowfall on your lashes, half-lidded, and the behemoth that breathes temptation to your gut.

"Hope you're not too disappointed, pet."

(Never.)

#simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost #ghost x reader #f!reader #female reader #mwii #mw2 2022 #ghost mw2 #cod mw22 #cod mwii #༄dee answers #cod #call of duty #call of duty: modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #mw2 #fanfiction #drabble

[nemo-me-impune]

Listening to Larry talk about Friends explains why they ended it the way they did but I do think the issue that's occurred is that the reason Friends ended the way it did is because Friends was about people who were inevitably going to get older and get married and have kids and that was always the stated goal

Whereas the whole point of Ghosts is they can't change. They never will change. There is no progression for any of them, including Alison and Mike.

I think it speaks to the class thing I was thinking about before (it's almost impossible to stop being poor after all) but also the difference between the 90 and the 2020s is that none of us are able to progress the way we were told we were supposed to. We can't afford to get married, we can't afford to have children, we can't afford to buy a house and move out of the city.

And Alison and Mik as representatives of our generation get those things, but they don't really do it the way they're supposed to. They're married, but they're very young for a married couple who met when they were still in school. They've got a house in the country, but it's a ridiculous crumbling thing that is never going to be sustainable.

So when they have the baby, the ultimate mark of being an Adult, it feels off to us that they get that without there being talk of finances, about childcare, about support. Anyone who has kids these days only manage it with the help of extended family, and Alison's family can't physically help her (which hits so close to me as the child of disabled parents you don't even know lol) so of course Mike's mum steps in and steps over.

But the resolution should have been leaving the house for the good of the child, for the financial security, the tangible reality of the situation. Not because the Ghosts were lesser in some way than the nuclear family model, which is how it came across to many.

It's like when you put a family member into a care home. Of course you want to be able to care for them and be there for them but reality means they need more help than you can give them, and you need to be able to live your own life outside of being a caretaker.

Alison should not be expected to be a caretaker for eight people and a massive house at the cost of her life and her own desires of a family with Mike. That doesn't mean she doesn't love them, but given the choice she had to prioritise herself. That should have been where the emotional focus was.

I hate to say it's a little out of touch but I honestly think that might be a bit of what's going on here.

Ironically it seems like the ending comes from a place in the past, like pre 2016. Not the distant past but distant enough for us to notice.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #negativity #although more critical than negative #I agree with the story beats but the framing was off

[jess-the-vampire]

I loved the finale but kinda wished hunter got to stomp belos too then sobs from happiness knowing it’s finally over or belos stuck in the between realm forever or reliving his worse nightmare as a fate worse than death

Honestly the finale felt so odd to me because we felt like were were getting setups that just were not given resolution in the finale.

And these are setups post cut, so these are things the writers had to have planned while knowing their time, which makes it more odd to me.

like at that point the focus should be to only set up things you are going to touch on and that come back into play, not add things you don't.

I personally don't think hunter needed to watch belos die, but when the show gave him new powers last episode i kinda expected them to like....come back in the finale?

like hunter's dash has no role in the finale at all, it was useful for the one scene he got regarding willow and gus and figuring out flapjack is with him and everything.....but it's one episode before the finale and it is completely forgotten after the fact outside of a couple dashes in the archive that are relatively minor.

and he ends up getting a new palsiman anyway so it just feels....off to me. I mean i was expecting him to get a new palisman but it now almost makes his dash a bit more irrelevant to even have.

kinda like how they kill glyphs, but we get glyphs at the end anyway so why the loss at all if it's not really going to stick?

honestly, let's ignore the fact the way belos died really should not have killed him for a second, Eda, Raine, and King are the characters with some of the least interactions with belos at all in the show.

Like his rule had affects on these characters and their loved ones and he did try to have eda killed, but when you think of belos' victims.....these three tend not to not be the first 3 you think of.

i kinda think the death would of been a little better if none of them jumped in and the rain just did it.

There was some minor set up for camilia or the other kids to help finish him off so i almost think it would've been more fitting if they were the ones to do it if we HAD to have that.

i dunno man, i've heard all the arguments for why belos's death works, and a lot of it seems to be rooted in the fact that "Belos is not complicated, he's evil, he doesn't need a big death and yada yada"

but it's like, it's not that belos isn't complicated, it's that the show seemed too afraid of making him complicated. I mentioned this in my last belos post but there's lots of evidence to suggest he's a more 3d character, because of how his story ties into the stories of other characters, because he symbolically represents what people who grow up in these oppressive systems can turn into. There's a lot of real potential for belos to stand out as a villian that comes from sympathetic origins but can't be forgiven or redeemed.

Which is a good lesson for kids, that people can come from bad spots but that doesn't mean you can forgive their actions.

Something that would be far more revolutionary and interesting and tie into the themes of this show much better.....then implying his depth, not committing to it and making him generic, and everyone praising this as if generic big bads who get killed aren't extremely common in most shows.

Su was a rare exception of redeeming a big bad, not the norm, and everyone seems to be under the weird vast impression it's the other way around. Unless you're a lacky, you die as a villain in pretty much every show.

But instead that gets replaced with "Well he did it cause he's inherently a bad person", even tho the show directly told us the audience that he was in indoctrinated child when it came to witch hunting, that this wasn't something he got into because he wanted to but because he NEEDED to survive in the town.

The show has plenty of set up and evidence that he does have something deeper to him but backed out of it for one reason or another.

And remember here, they were cut at ER, so they added this whole caleb backstory AFTER the cut, so even if were were to say they wanted belos to be deeper and changed their mind.....they added all the bits that implied depth AFTER the cut.

like frankly, in retrospect, if you want belos to just be an ozai metaphor esq character and not have any depth to his villainy at all, caleb should of been entirely cut.

Do something different with hunter, because having this half finished thing with caleb that is not relevant to belos's end at all feels like baiting the audience with complexity they never get.

You could of easily just reduced philip's backstory as just being this witch hunter who went missing years ago and that would be more fitting of making belos one note as they want him to be during the finale.

having all this drama with his brother leaving him for a witch and philip acting out in response feels strange to even implement if it's not even going to be touched on that much.

the show draws so much attention to it too, which makes it extra odd.

'They wanted to tell a story in the bg for the audience to figure out", ok, so that implied they want us to care about belos's origin....right??? So why not pay that off and reward those you got invested?

Having a little story to figure out is neat but not when its the basis for the plot and not when it's existence is gonna be boiled down to "Well none of this is relevant to why he became evil. He was just like that".

like having his backstory told like this could of been great, but the show ends saying belos is not complex and that none of this matters to why he's evil despite caleb clearly being important in why belos hates witches to begin with.

i might be less bothered if i knew the crew wanted to showcase the brother's story someday but they don't even seem to be high on the list of toh spinoff ideas.

it all feels like teasing a really compelling story that tied into the themes and then dropping it last minute. And now people are rewarding that because apparently now making villains just evil is revolutionary despite the fact this has been done to hell and back since the dawn of time.

Belos went from potentially being one of the most standout modern day antagonists, to being just like everyone else, and i'm not sure why everyone thinks that's supposed to be a good thing when we had the potential to look back at toh and reward them for diving into what can make people into a belos and the cautionary tale behind it.

and now instead of being memorable in that category for doing something interesting, he's just gonna be looped in with every other generic modern day big bad who represents this specific kind of evil.

If belos is not going to actually be allowed to be complex, don't bait the audience into thinking he is.

#the owl house #toh #emperor belos #philip wittebane #toh criticism

[transparentbeardmentality]

BKDK drabble - battle reunion

Katsuki sees Izuku across the battlefield. Izuku is already moving, half stumbling and half running as much as his overworn body will allow him to. He's ripped and bloodied, but nothing appears life-threatening. A flooding relief washes over him.

Katsuki is shakey on his feet but resolute, one hand clutching protectively over his heart. He waits.

It's like a dream to see Izuku pushing through the rubble towards him with that look on his face -like getting to him meant everything. Katsuki almost stops breathing at the wonder of it, the thrumming anticipation of having Izuku in front of him.

Though it's happening quickly, time feels like mud. And yet all too soon, he's there.

"Kacchan.." he gasps breathlessly, suddenly stopping just shy of his reach. Izuku reaches his hand out slightly as if to touch him, but then drops it to his side, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Frustrated. Controlling himself. Even after all this.

"Are.. Are you okay?.." he says instead.

Katsuki's eyes water despite himself. He sees everything about Izuku, about *them*, with so much more clarity now. How badly Izuku wants to touch him right now, and how scared he is that he will cross their unspoken boundaries if he does, and lose him. It blows his mind. Makes his feelings twist and writhe erratically between agony and bliss.

So Katsuki crosses the divide, hooking one heavy arm around Izuku's neck and dragging him forward against him. He presses his face down into the warm skin between collarbone and neck, protective arm still in place and awkwardly pressed between them. He still can't find his voice to answer, throat clenching painfully. It's overwhelming. So instead he nods against his neck.

Izuku's shock lasts a half-second before he's pushing his chin against Katsuki's forehead in an embrace, hand delving into sweaty hair to pull him gently in, securing him in place. He curls his other arm around Katsuki's back, shifting and fisting against material, pressing him a little closer whilst trying to hold himself back from harming Katsuki in his enthusiasm. He can't stay still, positioning and repositioning his hand all over Kacchan's back, arm, shoulder.. Checking, re-checking, reassuring himself that Katsuki was okay for now, feeling the intoxicating warmth between them.

Izuku smells like burned ash, blood.. and love. He can feel it washing over him like the afternoon sun in a cloudless summersky.

He feels Izuku still as Katsuki begins to pull back. He doesn't resist as he unwinds his arm from behind his neck to brace his hand there instead, drawing back to look at him. He finds himself lost in the wide green eyes searching his. They are questioning,

Did I overstep? Are we okay? Can I touch you? I'm sorry.

He feels his lips quirk in a shakey half-smile. Whatever he thought he was doing is gone now. He's too rattled to think straight. Internally he laughs a little at himself for how gone he is. It's all too much to even look at Izuku right now.

So he closes his eyes instead, pressing his forehead to Izuku's to give his heart a break from that gaze -only to find the intimacy of this new embrace just as thrilling. It's no reprieve. Damnit.

Still, it seems to have quieted Izuku's concern about touching him. At least Izuku stays, so he stays, and tries to calm himself -it's still just just the dweeb, he reminds himself. Somehow that makes it worse.

Wryly he considers that whatever Izuku has him feeling, can't be good for a recovering heart. (Or maybe it was? What else were hearts made for if not this?)

Rationally, he knows he should probably be making his way to the medics, or calling them in. Fuck.

"We need to get you to recovery girl..." Izuku murmurs, as if reading his thoughts. Forehead still pressed to his.

Katsuki knows that like him, Izuku has his eyes closed as he says it. He feels Izuku bring a trembling hand across his jaw to cup the space below his ear. Katsuki can tell the gesture costs Izuku in already frayed nerves. Though he's trying to hide it, his breath is too quick not to give himself away.

The sweetness of it catches him offguard, and suddenly has him furrowing his eyebrows tightly against the onslaught of feeling. He's an overtensioned wire close to breaking. He breathes in through his nose sharply. It doesn't help. Longing is a painful, unquenchable thing.

Sensing the change, Izuku stills in response. He's worried. Again. Always so damn worried about "Kacchan" blowing up in his face, or leaving him. It's no surprise. He's created that expectaction through countless years of his own bullshit.

Izuku's touch lightens as though he's made his mind to back off immediately. His hand starts to drop from his face, and all Katsuki can think is, "No.. No! Stay!"

His self-control snaps and he's surging forward, unable to stop. Reaching Izuku's warm lips and kissing them again and again, as though he has to, or die. Izuku stumbles backwards half a step and Katsuki just follows. Kissing him desperately, unable to let go or do anything else. He feels possessed.

Somewhere in his mind he worries that Izuku is stunned and unmoving under his insistent mouth. His touch is still too light against him, but he can't bring himself to stop. Not while Izuku's fingers are still delicately resting against his jaw. "Please.", he thinks. "Please.. Izuku..."

Then he hears the most heartrending whimper, the sound of agony and relief against his lips. And then Izuku is moving into action, reclaming lost space, and kissing him back in shared urgency, like his self restraint is just as broken as Katsuki's. He darts a tongue out, meeting Izuku's as he opens his mouth instantly. It sends warmth pooling down his spine. Nothing ever felt better in his whole life than this.

Izuku is crying.

He can feel the wet grip where their skin moves against each other. Taste the salt. He feels everything Izuku is trying to tell him in those kisses. But Izuku needs more than kisses to really believe anything, he knows that. "Izuku." he whsipers between kisses, voice hoarse from battle, emotion.. "I love you."

He hears the inhaled breath through Izuku's wet nose. Feels the smile against his lips. This feels like dying, or flying, he's not sure which. And he never wants it to end.

But he's losing the strength to stand and less oxygen isn't helping, so he breaks the kiss. Pulling away, and grasping Izuku by the hand. Izuku intuitively eases him down with his counterweighted grasp. Katsuki sits gingerly, Izuku taking place beside him and wiping his wet face with his inner-elbow. They're exhausted.

Katauki can't look at him, he needs to calm down. Izuku seems to understand and shuffles closer. Supportive.

He puts his head on Izuku's shoulder, his hand clasped with Izuku's in his lap. Katsuki watches him intertwining their fingers. Even a simple hold like this feels equal parts comforting and electric.

He wishes he could crawl inside Izuku's soul and live there. Izuku rests his head against his. It's definitely mutual.

In the distance they can see a recovery crew coming through the wreckage. Izuku raises his other hand straight in the air to signal them, and Katsuki knows everything is going to be okay. He squeezes the hand in his, and feels Izuku's answering grip.

Better than okay.

..And for fun..

It occurs to Katsuki that the sound of helicopters in the near distance -that he'd somehow filtered out of existence with the all-consuming need of Izuku- are why the recovery crew knows they're here. Which raises the likely possibility that millions of people just saw all *that* between them as a live broadcast.

He smirks. "Whatever", he thinks.

"He's mine. It doesn't get clearer than *that!*"

Katsuki had grown a lot, but he would always be more than a bit too competitive and possessive. He's so in love he doesn't have room left to be embarassed about any of it. And as far as he's concerned, he's just fucking WON at life.

Izuku glances over to him suddenly, as though also realising the same thing about the helicopters.. He takes in Katsuki's smug look.

Katsuki is briefly shaken out of his thoughts of triumph in his concern for Izuku. His ears are scarlet. Shit!..

And then he's beaming at Katsuki almost ferally, lifting their hands and kissing Katsuki's bloodied knuckles. Staring at him in challenge to say anything about it.

He muses that Izuku feeling more secure did not take long once Katsuki's feelings were spelled out for him.. He's also reminded once again, that however cute the package, Izuku is every bit as possessive and competitive as he is in some things.

He raises a cool eyebrow back at Izuku's wolfish grin. And though he won't say it, is delighted.

This is gonna be good.

#bkdk #drabble #bakudeku #battle reunion

[optiwashere]

Hello, I love your work!! 🥹

If you’re still taking prompts: E3 for Shadowheart/Isobel. May or may not be romantically inclined (but if throuples are your thing please sprinkle some Aylin in there too)

Heya, that's so sweet of you to say! I took a bit of a break from writing these ficlets, but there's only two left in my inbox so I figured why not finish these out (I'm not taking any more at the moment!)

Thanks for asking for this one 💜

---

E3. A clash over differences in deities

The discovery of a shrine underneath the Last Light Inn wasn't quite a surprise to Isobel, she knew there was something about the place that had an almost tranquil enchantment threaded into it. When she was within the inn, she could weave her magic with a more precise touch than even she expected.

Learning of the shrine wasn't a surprise. No, the surprise was who she found there the evening after the fall of Moonrise.

The unexpected attendant did not sit in prayer. She didn't kneel, she didn't look in wonder at the meager offerings to the Lady of Silver. Shadowheart stood in front of the forgotten holy site, and she stared as if she were inspecting dirt underneath her fingernails.

There was another look in Shadowheart's eyes that Isobel couldn't quite place. She didn't know Shadowheart, but the spiteful invective she spewed towards Isobel and Selûne were lost in that hollow stare.

Isobel's footing slid as she tried to approach, sending a tumble of rocks out in a loud clatter that alerted Shadowheart to her presence.

"I knew that Selûnites were unsubtle," Shadowheart said just loud enough for Isobel to hear, "but I didn't expect them to be so noisy."

Not quite eager to approach yet, unsure where Shadowheart's mind lay after a single night had done so much to uproot what she thought she knew, Isobel remained on the edge of the wooden platform. "As subtle as a Sharran praying at a Selûnite shrine?"

"I am not praying."

"If you insist. Though, I must ask — why are you here of all places?"

"My... the Dark Lady demands silent reflection when faced with moments of uncertainty." Shadowheart sighed, never once taking her eyes from the mostly worn-away visage of Selûne. "I was always told the Moonwitch didn't care for disobedience, and that she let every disciple seek out their own penance when faith is uncertain."

"I doubt you Sharrans worded it so politely," said Isobel.

Shadowheart turned away at last to glare at her. The mask was flimsily constructed, and Isobel saw the frightened girl underneath immediately.

"Is it true?" asked Shadowheart, ignoring Isobel's remark.

"Is what true?"

"That Selûnites are given that freedom? They aren't punished, tortured for a lapse in faith?"

Isobel nodded. "The Lady of Silver only cares that we search for the path, not necessarily how we find it. There's a reason you've not lost your magic. It's fitting."

"It's a fitting way to find a knife in your back wielded by a Sharran that claims her goddess has betrayed her, isn't it?"

Isobel waited a moment. She let what Shadowheart said hang in the air, though not to consider it. They were empty, pointless words. The dying gasps of whatever rotten darkness Shadowheart believed to be her former Lady's trust, love, and affections. Someday, she might even realize just how little of her sharp tongue was in those words. Isobel wasn't certain it would be soon.

As they stood in silence, Shadowheart turned back to Selûne's statue.

A Sharran doesn't stare enraptured, curious, expectant like this, Isobel realized.

"I think I'd like to be left alone now. To be with my thoughts," Shadowheart said simply in a resolute, quite voice.

And so, Isobel left her to face a struggle that she needn't face alone. Isobel knew that to dig in her heels then would only draw out a bitter response from Shadowheart.

Later that night in sweat-coated sheets on a too-small bed, after Isobel and Aylin both needed a moment's respite, Isobel turned to her angel she thought she'd lost. They breathed and sighed and drank in one another and became lost in the sight of the other's contented face.

And still, Isobel could not help but think of the lost look in Shadowheart's eyes. She wanted to be lost in Aylin's, but the thought of that poor woman sitting alone in the dark kept nagging at her. A sharp ankle-biter for the Dark Lady turned to wonder and worry without another soul to help her.

"You are thinking of the once-Sharran?" Aylin whispered, propping herself up on her elbow.

"I—"

"It is all right, I sense her sorrows. She is lost. She requires a light in the darkness, and I dare say she refuses to allow Selûne into her heart just yet." Aylin stood and began dressing herself. "It is our duty to guide her."

And when Isobel saw the determined look etched across Aylin's face, she knew that there would be no denying her. Once set on a path of action, none could stand in the way of Dame Aylin and her quarry.

#bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart #isobel thorm #dame aylin #read this as romantic or platonic or whatever you wish because I'm honestly here for any of it lol #but it does have #aylin x isobel #my fic #anotheropti prompt fics