#its all deciphered though :

[demadogs]

ok… just noticed something very interesting while rewatching episode 9. when hopper is telling joyce that hes gonna be the bait and he reassures her that he’s not gonna die and they have that unscripted kiss, they play the same track that played when will destroyed castle byers.

i always interpreted will destroying castle byers as him realizing he loves mike and calling himself so stupid for ever thinking anything could happen with him. especially after hearing him say “its not my fault you dont like girls”. ….and now the track that played during that scene is being used in a very romantic context with joyce and hopper???

#the subtitles called it hopeful synth music but it definitely wasnt hopeful the first time they used it #its not even a song that sounds like that one like they do sometimes its the exact same track #really hope that wasnt just a random ‘oh this song would sound nice’ kinda decision bc its fun as hell to try and decipher why theyd do that #all the tracks theyve repeated though usually have similar if not the exact same context #they reused blink once for yes twice for no when the older kids were messing with the lights and they reused the song the played in s1 when- #they were making the deprivation bath while el was getting in the bath in this season #and then a different version of eulogy playing while max read the letter to billy #so it seems like theres an obvious reason for every track theyve repeated #but this is INTERESTING #i was like oh wow that sounds similar and then listened to it and realized its the exact same track #stranger things #byler

[strwbrymlkshake]

the experience hurts, but I think it's so romantic that we both feel like the world is ending whenever we accidentally upset eachother ♡

#mine #🎸 #irl darling #yancore #irl yandere #darlingcore #yandere vent #the word darlingcore seems like the sweetest artificial strawberry dessert in the history of the world. a dessert thats past the due date #like leftover valentines cupcakes no one wanted to eat bc they taste musty. OK ANYWAYS #i do post the unhealthy aspects of myself/my feelings but i never post about the good things as often #seems like all i do is complain on here. rest assured its going well! like we are both insane but with communication its going good! #i am making a lot more progress in being possessive setting boundaries etc! even if its probably a basic thing he changed his pfp #without me going balls to the wall batshit insane<3 plus im learning to take things at face value rather than trying to decipher #the possible hidden meanings. the killing and violence is still prevalent but what can be expected? from me ofc? #he may not be outwardly insane but he is plenty deranged in his heart and thats what counts<3 #i sort of made a threat in his stead today. felt so alive. invigorated dare i say. it wasnt real polite though #and im trying to be nicer instead of violence killing forever. i can still have a little bit of violence killing as a treat though #i may make a tag for a certain guy who annoys me. not sure if its worth it. idk how long he will be in my life #i'll just do a quick complaint. hes fine and all but sometimes i want him to explode. he says the most uncomfortable things and it can be #insufferable to be in a convo w him cause he makes it about his own misery OR makes it nsfw. #he called MY DARLING. MY! DARLING! the special nickname that i call him no one else can fucking call him that #i wanted to tear out his spine tear off his face literally maim his corpse unimaginable violence death death death burn him alive etc #we are 'friends' though :) he is good natured. i guess. whatever i felt white hot rage but its back to my default pink demeanor now #idk if i said this here before but he really is just the small fish id buy so my favorite fish could have friends #keeping him around just because he makes my fish happy. though he does make my fish inconvenienced sometimes and i want to #donate him to blast testing for this. wow i can truly be the most awful manipulative person on here. gay rights and goodnight everybody

[ode-on-a-grecian-butt]

I saw this on quora and thought it was cool and wanted to share it on here.  Its a long read but crazy.  Its from Erik Painter

They did try. And they did capture Navajo men. However, they were unsuccessful in using them to decipher the code. The reason was simple. The Navajo Code was a code that used Navajo. It was not spoken Navajo. To a Navajo speaker, who had not learned the code, a Navajo Code talker sending a message sounds like a string of unconnected Navajo words with no grammar. It was incomprehensible. So, when the Japanese captured a Navajo man named Joe Kieyoomia in the Philippines, he could not really help them even though they tortured him. It was nonsense to him.

The Navajo Code had to be learned and memorized. It was designed to transmit a word by word or letter by letter exact English message. They did not just chat in Navajo. That could have been understood by a Navajo speaker, but more importantly translation is never, ever exact. It would not transmit precise messages. There were about 400 words in the Code.

The first 31 Navajo Marines created the Code with the help of one non-Navajo speaker officer who knew cryptography. The first part of the Code was made to transmit English letters. For each English letter there were three (or sometimes just two) English words that started with that letter and then they were translated into Navajo words. In this way English words could be spelled out with a substitution code. The alternate words were randomly switched around. So, for English B there were the Navajo words for Badger, Bear and Barrel. In Navajo that is: nahashchʼidí, shash, and tóshjeeh. Or the letter A was Red Ant, Axe, or Apple. In Navajo that is: wóláchííʼ, tsénił , or bilasáana. The English letter D was: bįįh=deer, and łééchąąʼí =dog, and chʼįįdii= bad spiritual substance (devil).

For the letter substitution part of the Code the word “bad” could be spelled out a number of ways. To a regular Navajo speaker it would sound like: “Bear, Apple, Dog”. Or other times it could be “ Barrel, Red Ant, Bad Spirit (devil)”. Other times it could be “Badger, Axe, Deer”. As you can see, for just this short English word, “bad” there are many possibilities and to the combination of words used. To a Navajo speaker, all versions are nonsense. It gets worse for a Navajo speaker because normal Navajo conjugates in complex ways (ways an English or Japanese speaker would never dream of). These lists of words have no indicators of how they are connected. It is utterly non-grammatical.

Then to speed it up, and make it even harder to break, they substituted Navajo words for common military words that were often used in short military messages. None were just translations. A few you could figure out. For example, a Lieutenant was “one silver bar” in Navajo. A Major was “Gold Oak Leaf” n Navajo. Other things were less obvious like a Battleship was the word for Whale in Navajo. A Mine Sweeper was the Navajo word for Beaver.

A note here as it seems hard for some people to get this. Navajo is a modern and living language. There are, and were, perfectly useful Navajo words for submarines and battleships and tanks. They did not “make up words because they had no words for modern things”. This is an incorrect story that gets around in the media. There had been Navajo in the military before WWII. The Navajo language is different and perhaps more flexible than English. It is easy to generate new words. They borrow very few words and have words for any modern thing you can imagine. The words for telephone, or train, or nuclear power are all made from Navajo stem roots.

Because the Navajo Marines had memorized the Code there was no code book to capture. There was no machine to capture either. They could transmit it over open radio waves. They could decode it in a few minutes as opposed to the 30 minutes to two hours that other code systems at the time took. And, no Navajo speaker who had not learned the Code could make any sense out of it.

The Japanese had no published texts on Navajo. There was no internationally available description of the language. The Germans had not studied it at the time. The Japanese did suspect it was Navajo. Linguists thought it was in the Athabaskan language family. That would be pretty clear to a linguist. And Navajo had the biggest group of speakers of any Athabaskan language. That is why they tortured Joe Kieyoomia. But, he could not make sense of it. It was just a list of words with no grammar and no meaning.

For Japanese, even writing the language down from the radio broadcasts would be very hard. It has lots of sounds that are not in Japanese or in English. It is hard to tell where some words end or start because the glottal stop is a common consonant. Frequency analysis would have been hard because they did not use a single word for each letter. And some words stood for words instead of for a letter. The task of breaking it was very hard.

Here is an example of a coded message:

béésh łigai naaki joogii gini dibé tsénił áchį́į́h bee ąą ńdítį́hí joogi béésh łóó’ dóó łóóʼtsoh

When translated directly from Navajo into English it is:

“SILVER TWO BLUE JAY CHICKEN HAWK SHEEP AXE NOSE KEY BLUE JAY IRON FISH AND WHALE. “

You can see why a Navajo who did not know the Code would not be able to do much with that. The message above means: “CAPTAIN, THE DIVE BOMBER SANK THE SUBMARINE AND BATTLESHIP.”

“Two silver bars” =captain. Blue jay= the. Chicken hawk= dive bomber. Iron fish = sub. Whale= battleship. “Sheep, Axe Nose Key”=sank. The only normal use of a Navajo word is the word for “and” which is “dóó ”. For the same message the word “sank” would be spelled out another way on a different day. For example, it could be: “snake, apple, needle, kettle”.

Here, below on the video, is a verbal example of how the code sounded. The code sent below sounded to a Navajo speaker who did not know the Code like this: “sheep eyes nose deer destroy tea mouse turkey onion sick horse 362 bear”. To a trained Code Talker, he would write down: “Send demolition team to hill 362 B”. The Navajo Marine Coder Talker then would give it to someone to take the message to the proper person. It only takes a minute or so to code and decode.

#WW2 #Navajo code talkers #war in the pacific #Native Americans #Joe Kieyoomia #history

[nineinchnailsonchalkboard]

.

#a month for an unofficial list item is crazyyy #got me starting to listen unironically LOL NO JK JAIL STRAIGHT TO JA wait no that's a catastrophic idea hhho boy #houston we have several problems #what are morals even who is anyone really. does any person truly know anyone at all i mean seriously i am so dissociated nothing feels real #it's been a questionable time with questionable thoughts and questionable actions and it is what it is. i do not care how cliche i am #feels like the wild west. being alive #god fucking dammit how does it get to this point. i feel like 2 people #my brain has a seriously evil part and it's really annoying considering i maintain some form of rational thought sometimes and well #im a walking contradiction all the fucking timeeeeeee #if i make it past whatever this era is and i make it to 80 and you ask me about Unlistable Items i will invert my stomach out my mouth #and probably stab myself with the nearest object because WHY #i hate youu i hate youuuuuuu i dooooo #I ONLY MAKE JOKES TO DISTRACT MYSELF FROM THE TRUTH AND I HATE YOUUUUUU HHSWJWJWHWJWW #yeah im going to continue taking every zero 7 song i love and butchering the lyrics because i do not experience love. that much at least #dont worry i experience all the collective pure wrath of my ancestral family tree though #oh you couldnt decipher my blabbering if you tried #this brain belongs in a longterm facility and you think its words can be taken at face value. that is so very funny

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[rafeandonlyrafe]

aphrodisiac

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, stepbro!rafe, stepcest, drugging, noncon/dubcon, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, female receiving oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v sex, pregnancy, somnophilia, male masturbation, bit of voyeurism?, mention of plan b, reader is 19 (rafe is like 20/21 but its not explicitly said)

��hey, sis.” rafe calls from the bottom of the stairs. you peak your head out of your room, curls swaying as you look at him. “i made you dinner.” “oh, you did!” you squeal, bounding down the stairs to fall into rafe arms, giving him a big hug as he spins you. “you’re the best step brother ever!”

rafe loves your reaction. something as simple as him preparing some food for you has you hugging and thanking him incessantly, a big smile on your face, so appreciated of the little act. 

“no problem, sis. you’ll eat with me right?” rafe asks, having already placed the meal in the dining room, his plate at the head of the table, yours right next to him. he didn’t want to mix up whose was whose, for reasons you didn’t know yet.

“of course.” you nod, letting rafe interlace your fingers together as he leads you towards the dining room. you look at your place already set, another grin coming to your face. rafe made you soup and already got a big glass of water for you.

“thank you so much.” you hug rafe before sitting down, not realizing how much having your body pressed against his is affecting him.

“of course, bunny.” rafe says, leaning over the side of the table to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, not missing the way a blush comes to your cheeks.

you stir the soup before bringing the spoon to your mouth, blowing on it before taking a sip. “oh my gosh, rafey!” you smile at your brother. “this is so good!”

“im glad, honey.” rafe says, patting your thigh under the table before he works on his meal as well, letting out a breath of relief when you couldn’t taste what he had slipped in. “so, tell me about your day.”

“ugh, well i got into a fight with tiffy…” you begin to recount the details as you eat, not noticing that one of rafes hands stays underneath the table, just out of view as he grinds his hand down against his crotch, not able to control his cock when he’s around you, even your sweet little voice just explaining the drama of your day has him rock hard.

you don’t notice as rafes hand starts to jack up and down, his shoulder barely moving, his cock now free from his pants, praying he cums before you finish your soup, glad that you’re guzzling it all down. he wasn’t sure how much to put in, the secret ingredient he added just to yours. he wanted to make sure it took effect, but at the same time didn’t want to make you pass out.

“and then i took a shower.” you shrug. “boring, i didn’t do anything special. just shaved my legs and stuff. i did do a hair mask actually.” you touch over your curls, hoping they look a little shinier than normal.

“looks good.” rafe says, his voice hoarse, like he’s straining, and you make a weird face for a split second, trying to decipher if something is wrong before you shrug it off, immediately returning to recounting your day. “but i did use this new moisturizer all over, and it smells sooo good. like strawberries mixed with vanilla. just delicious.” you let out a small moan when describing the scent, not even realizing that rafe jolts in his seat, cumming into his hand as he bites his lip hard, barely holding back his noises.

“not as good as this soup though, rafey. thank you sooo much.” you reach over, rubbing your hand over his bicep. rafe quickly tucks himself back into his shorts, letting out an awkward cough.

“its no problem, really.” he shrugs. he feels a little guilty. you're so appreciative, and everything he’s doing has ulterior motives, but then you smile at him, and rafes cock pulses in his pants, and the bit of guilt goes out the window.

--

you sway towards the bed, wondering if you are coming down with something, your body warm, skin sweaty. you have already put on a pair of short pajamas, opting to skip the long set you usually like due to how hot you are.

you flop down on top of the covers, fanning yourself. you close your eyes, trying to sleep, but there's so much heat coming from you, especially between your legs.

“ugh!” you let out a groan, tugging your pajama shirt off to leave you in a sports bra, your shorts the next to go. you toss them off the bed and lay back, feeling like you can see your heartbeat through your skin.

you try turning to the side, hoping switching positions would make you fall asleep, but as your eyes close, so do your thighs, clenching them together as you grind back and forth, a delicious amount of pressure on your privates.

you quickly realize what you are doing and flip onto your back, panting heavily. you reach slowly between your legs. you've never masturbated before, but you've heard from your friends and movies what it is, so you cautiously rub a singular finger over top of your underwear when you suddenly press over a part of you that makes your entire body jolt, a moan forcing its way out of your mouth.

you try rubbing harder, focusing on the spot. you aren't even aware of the noises falling from your lips as your hand quickens, gasping out when you realize that your underwear is wet.

you've never felt the weird slickness between your legs before, but it helps your underwear rub easier over your skin, so you ignore it and continue.

before you realize what is happening, a damn breaks and a high spreads throughout your body. you scream out, limbs shaking as you rub yourself, realizing halfway through that this must be an orgasm.

you physically jolt off the bed when you realize that you just screamed out loud. it was only you and rafe in the house, everyone else gone for a weekend trip, but he must have heard you, his room right across the hall from yours, but you have more pressing issues as the orgasm did nothing to calm you down, immediately beginning to rub between your legs again.

you slide your shaky legs off the bed, knowing this isn't normal, the way your body is working. you must be sick, ill. you stumble out of your room and slam your body into rafes door, not caring that you fell into the wood, not when it's so cool and decreasing your temperature.

“sis?” rafe opens the door, and you quite literally fall into his arms.

“some… somethings wrong, rafe.” you pant, hands gripping at his shoulders as he holds you up.

“come in, come in.” rafe says, pulling you further into the room, kicking his door behind you. rafe maneuvers you to the bed, and the second you're sat down on the edge, your thighs are clenched together.

“i-i feel really weird. somethings wrong with my body i don't know, help me please.” you sob, chest rising and falling quickly.

“okay, okay.” rafe says, somehow not seeming surprised about the state you're in. 

rafe places a hand on your shoulder, and you cry out from the touch, feeling like your body is on fire.

“i must have ate something bad or-” you pause mid sentence, realization sinking in. you look to rafe with wide eyes. “what did you do?”

“come on sissy, let me help you out.” rafes thumb sweeps over your skin, forcing a shiver through your body.

“rafe.” you say cautiously, but it turns into a whine when he tugs on the strap of your sports bra.

“it's okay.” rafe says so softly. “im just taking care of you.” rafe brings his other hand to your torso, grabbing the bottom of your bra and pulling it over your head, your arms too weak to do anything but rise up and let him take it off.

you know you should cover your chest, but it feels so good to have your nipples exposed to the cold air as you let out a low moan. rafe pushes your shoulders back, and you fall against the bed without even trying to hold yourself up.

“such gorgeous tits, sis.” rafe leans over your body, hands coming to grip your chest, palms rubbing against your nipples.

“p-please.” you beg. “you're my brother.”

“just your step brother.” rafe bites back. “and i know you'd want me if your mom hadn't married my dad. i just needed to slip a little something into your soup to help you along.”

rafe isn't wrong, of course you find him attractive, but you did everything in your power to set that aside and truly see him as a brother, even if you didn't meet until well into your teens.

“you drugged me?” you squeal, pushing your chest into his hands as he massages his fingers into your plump chest, putting enough pressure to keep you down, not that you’re truly resisting.

“just a little aphrodisiac.” rafe glances down between your legs, your underwear completely soaked. “clearly it worked.” “just… just make me stop feeling like this.” you say quietly, ashamed of what you are asking for.

“yeah?” rafe smirks, immediately starting to move, pulling his shirt off and tossing it away. “gonna fuck you so good, sis.”

“you can’t tell anyone.” you remind rafe, even as your eyes gloss over at seeing his muscles. you sit up suddenly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you kiss him. you moan against his mouth, pulling him onto the bed before flipping so you’re on top. you make out with rafe, truly not sure if you’re even doing a good job, you’ve never taken anything this far with a guy before.

you grind your hips down over rafes crotch, feeling how hard he is beneath his sweatpants. whatever rafe put in your soup makes it for too easy for you to cum as you already feel your high building again, especially when rafe raises his hands to play with your nipples, pinching and flicking at them while you buck your hips into his.

you pull away from rafes kiss with a squeal as you cum, your knees pressing together around rafes hips.

“holy shit, that was hot.” rafe smiles up at you, a toothy grin that has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“just help me, please.” you beg. rafe nods, flipping you over onto the bed. you shuck your underwear off as he takes off his sweats, frowning when he's still covered by his underwear.

“ive wanted to taste you for so long-” rafe says, shoving your legs open as he lays in between them, his eyes on your soaked cunt.

“rafe, what are you gonna do-ooooh!” you shout as rafe lurches forward, burying his head between your legs. his tongue licks long stripes through your folds, lapping up all of your juices.

“never got head before?” rafe smirks, bringing a finger to your hole, teasing it by simply circling around.

“no, never done anything with a guy before.” you admit shyly.

“aww, baby.” rafe pouts up at you. “i didn’t know you were a virgin. that almost makes me feel bad about this.” rafes feeling doesn’t last long as his tongue is quickly back on your cunt, this time flicking directly over your clit.

you bring your hands to his hair, holding his face into your pussy as you grind your hips. rafe sucks your bud into his mouth the same time his finger plunges into you, forcing out yet another orgasm that has you screaming so loud you’re concerned the neighbors would hear.

“so, so good.” you whine, your clit feeling oversensitive but still filled with need as rafe continues licking and sucking, his finger now thrusting in and out of you.

“can make you feel like this all the time, sis. gonna let me fuck you after tonight right?” rafe asks, barely pulling away from you to speak, feeling the vibrations from his mouth on your pussy.

you don’t answer right away. you feel like you can’t truly give an answer, not when you are so turned on that you feel like you could explode, not as his finger keeps pumping inside of you.

“baby sis?” rafe looks up at you, waiting for an answer. you pull your lip between your teeth, trying to formulate thoughts. “or i can stop right now. if you don’t want to keep fucking me then you don’t need me tonight.”

“no, no, no!” you cry out as rafes finger stops moving. “i’ll keep sleeping with you just-just fucking move! make me cum again!”

rafe sucks your clit into his mouth as he forces another finger in, your walls tight around him but so slick he can move easily. rafe has to press his hips into the mattress as you cum again, giving some relief to his cock.

“fuck, how long until it wears off?” you cry out as your clit pulses.

rafe sits back, wiping his mouth against your thigh to clean his chin. “probably will feel better once i fuck you.” rafe says, in truth he’s not sure.

“fuck me then.” you beg, body squirming against the mattress, sweat leaking from your skin.

rafe nods, pulling his fingers out and kneeling between your legs. he pauses briefly before pulling his underwear off and tossing them away. “i can put a condom on but it probably won’t feel as good.” “just… just buy me a plan b tomorrow, okay? need you to cum in me, i think it’ll help.” you swallow nervously, knowing it’s a mistake, not just letting a guy fuck you raw, but your step brother.

rafe nods, draping his body over yours, knowing you are far too weak for any other position, your limbs jelly from the drugs and the orgasms. rafe reaches down, lining his cock up with your entrance. he pushes in slowly, watching your face contort in pleasure.

once he’s all the way seated inside of you, rafe feels your cunt squeeze around him rapidly, another orgasm being drawn out. you pant heavily, worried this will never end as rafe swings his hips out and then back in.

“is it-is it always this easy to cum?” you ask. they’ve all felt so good so far, but you are beyond overwhelmed.

“you’ve never cum before?” rafe asks, grunting as you raise your hips slightly, letting him sink in even deeper.

“not before tonight.” you admit, glancing down your body to see rafes cock entering you repeatedly, making another orgasm rise to the surface as you reach between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit as you cum hard.

“not always, baby. but i promise i’ll make you feel real good, even when you don’t have any aphrodisiacs.” rafe presses his lips against yours, but it’s not really a kiss, not when you can’t stop panting, your jaw slack and unable to close.

“did you take anything?” you question, realizing how hard rafes cock is, how easily he’s pounding into you.

“no, you are just that sexy, sis. i’ve wanted to get inside you for so long.” rafe grunts, making sure he thrusts as deep as possible every time.

“i-i think i’m gonna cum again!” you warn rafe, rubbing yourself to another orgasm, letting out a squeal as rafe struggles not to cum with you tightening around him, needing to get at least one more out of you before he bursts himself.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” rafe groans.

“cum in me rafe, please. i need your cum.” you whine, back sliding up and down the mattress as he fucks into you.

“yeah?” rafe smirks. “need your brothers cum, huh?” you know his dirty words are meant to tease you, but you can’t help agreeing. “yes, brother, please, please.”

rafe shifts his weight to one elbow, reaching down with his free hand to swat your fingers away from your clit, rubbing himself harshly, trying to get you to cum at the same time, hoping that will satisfy you.

“close.” rafe warns.

you let out a scream, back arching off the mattress as you cum, triggering rafes orgasm as he shoots his load inside of you, filling you up completely, rubbing you gently throughout your high before pulling away. rafes cock softens as he pulls out, flopping on his back onto the bed next to you.

you don’t even give him a second to breath, straddling rafes hips and trying to get his cock back inside of you, but rafe winces as his cum drips out of your cunt. “sis, stop. too sensitive.” he warns.

“i-i still need you though!” you argue. “you drugged me rafe, you have to help!” “here, come sit on my face.” rafe tugs at your hips until you are hovering over his mouth. rafe makes sure to only work his tongue against your clit, not wanting to taste his own cum, even as he feels it falling onto his chin and sliding down his neck.

rafe eats you out through five more orgasms until you can’t kneel above him any longer, flopping to the side.

“fuck me again, please.” you beg as rafe takes the blanket at wipes away his chin and chest.

“i can’t, i’m so fucking tired.” rafe wishes he could get it up, but its late, his body is exhausted, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“you can’t fall asleep and leave me like this!” you scream at rafe, tears falling down your cheeks.

“shh, here.” rafe reaches his hand out, sticking two fingers inside of your pussy, squelching in your wetness. he fingers you until he can’t move any longer, passing out. you continue to hump yourself on his fingers and rub your clit until the need lessens, the drugs begin to wear off, and you manage to pass out next to rafe just before sunset.

you wake up with a groan, muscles sore as you blink your eyes open, bed still covered in wetness.

“hey sis.” rafe says, sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, now dressed in his underwear.

“rafe.” you growl out. “you drugged me, you piece of shit!”

“hey, you certainly enjoyed yourself.” rafe argues back, locking his phone screen and tossing it away.

“fuck you!” you shout, launching yourself at your brother. rafe expects you to slap him, or scratch him, but not your lips as you press them against his.

“fuck me.” you ask. “i-i want to feel you when not drugged. you owe it to me. please, rafe.”

“oh baby.” rafe coos, not realizing what he just woke up inside of you. “you don’t have to beg me.”

--

“who did this to you?” your mother screams, ward looking just as concerned. “you’re still a teenager!” “i’m an adult!” you argue back.

“you’re nineteen! you still live at home, you have no job, no money! and now you’re pregnant?” 

“when i find who did this to you.” ward pipes up, an angry expression on your face, completing the rest of the sentence without even having to use words.

“just… go to your room while your stepdad and i talk. i don’t want to see your face right now.” your mother shoos you away.

any other time you would cry at her harsh words, and at disappointing your mom and step dad, but you know what is waiting for you in your room.

“they're pissed.” you pout, falling into rafes arms once your door is closed and locked behind you.

“a little bit longer, sissy. and then i’m getting us out of here. i know it sucks, but i need a couple more weeks to get the money, and then we are gone. anywhere in the world you want.” “tell me again.” you sigh, leaning your head against rafes chest, placing a hand on your stomach, your bump haven gotten to big to hide it anymore.

“just you. me. our baby. no one who knows we are step siblings. i steal the money to get us away, and then we make it legit. find jobs. get married. have more babies.”

you smile up at rafe, pressing a kiss to his neck. 

“i…” you whisper, knowing how dangerous of a time this is for you two getting caught. “i want you again.” rafe smiles. “that baby inside of you has you acting like you’re on that aphrodisiac again.”

“shut up.” you groan, rolling your eyes as you fall back into the bed, lifting your dress up to reveal you aren’t wearing any underwear. “we wouldn’t be going through this if you would have just bought me a plan b that next day like you were supposed to.”

“baby-” rafe shucks off his pants and underwear. “you spent all day riding my cock or begging for my mouth, even when the drugs wore off. i didn’t have any time!” “yeah, yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes. “just get inside of me.”

rafe smiles at you as he lines up with your entrance, sinking in with a quiet groan before leaning forward, feeling your baby bump press against his abs. “i love you, sis.”

“i love you too, brother.”

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[azullumi]

“i wanna be yours” ; aventurine

premise — but this is what friends do, right? they slow dance together in the living room while saying sweet nothings ; inspired by this ask (though i never really followed the entire idea, my hands has minds of its own)

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (with a little bit of angst at the end), friends but wanting more type of relationship, all written in reader’s pov, not proofread, 1.2k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs (hi boo)

note — i keep on comparing aventurine to the sun i dont even know why i do it. 9 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER

“care to dance?” the languid, lazy silence draws itself away as the honey-haired man spoke, offering you his hand as he did. the light humming of the music in the background keeps the night awake and alive, the softness of the notes intertwined in the air that settles in your home.

you stare at his hand for a moment, admiring the glistening bracelet on his wrist before you answer, tone meek and hesitant: “i don’t know how to dance.” you expected him to laugh at you for not knowing a simple and common concept; dancing was a form of art known to many and yet, you are unfamiliar with it.

but aventurine simply smiles at you and takes your hand to hold on his own, gently pulling you up from your seat and making you stumble on your feet—however, he catches you and doesn’t let you fall to the ground. you are only met with the warmth of his body and the feeling of his unoccupied hand resting on the small of your back.

“you could have warned me before you did that.” you huffed, although you weren’t exactly reprimanding him.

“i still caught you, didn’t i?” the man answers in a gentle tone as he begins to sway you to the rhythm of the song (the melody wraps itself around your form like the cradle of a warm blanket), a familiar tune that plays in your living room and now you are listening to it as you—no, as he dances and guides your movements. you try to follow him albeit like a clumsy child and silence trailed behind your steps as none of you spoke, only wallowing in this moment between you and him.

(his hand is warm against yours, fingers lacing with each other like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. you have never known how gentle he can be, have never known the warmth of his hands and the softness of his palms up until this moment. maybe it’s the feeling of his touch that’s making you drunk and aeons, you’ve never thought of yourself as a selfish person but something in the way he’s holding you makes you crave for more.)

“focus,” he whispers to your ear, catching you completely off-guard when his breath tickles your skin, “you’re supposed to look at me, not at the ground.”

you compose yourself, bringing your gaze to his face instead of the marble floors that seem to spin as you move, “i was watching my feet so i won’t accidentally step on you.”

“i don’t mind if you do, all i wish is for you to look at me and me only.” he speaks so gently, so delicately as if something akin to despair hangs on the tangled threads of his words. you study his face, looking at the lines on his features and trying to look for the gap of his expression—you could never tell what he was thinking, could never decipher the meaning he skillfully weaves to the words that he utters (you wish you had the ability to look into minds, perhaps you would have known him).

he notices your silence and smiles, “can’t a poor man have their own wishes?”

you take a moment once more to answer, “i didn’t say that.” well, in fact, you weren’t saying anything. the sound of laughter slips past his lips and perhaps, if you didn’t see the way his eyes formed into a crescent and his expression contorts one into amusement, you would have mistook the sound as part of the song.

“you should see the way you look right now.” 

you raised your eyebrow at him, confusion evident in your face, “what do you mean? is there dirt on my face?”

aventurine pulled you closer to him, movements coming to a stop as you two stood still. his face is leaning down to yours, lips merely inches away from each other, and your thoughts are in a jumble as if your mind was a library of cluttered and disorganized bookshelves.

“no, i’m saying you look lovely tonight.” he whispers—and you swear, you see his eyes look down to your lips for a moment—, his voice low as if you’re the only one who’s supposed to hear and not the moon that casts its curious glow on his skin, not the stars that watched your every move, but you and just you.

(you’re left with nothing but silence and warmth in your cheeks, not knowing where to focus or even think about—the strong scent of his perfume or his words that repeatedly echoed inside your head.)

the golden-haired man doesn’t speak any further, continuing his slow dance with you in the comfort of your living room as he hums along to the melody. the night is heavy against your shoulders as the silver moonlight laid on the ground like spilled milk.

“it is quite simple, isn’t it? look, you’re able to follow.”

“aven, you’re doing all of the work.”

he slowly spins you around—the world looks slow and messy for you for a moment—before he answers, “barely.” he comes face to face with you and you don’t fail to notice the affection in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you wished he wouldn’t look at you in that way; something tugs at your heart and suffocates you.

“like what?”

“i don’t know.” hesitation follows your tone, broken and unsure, seemingly lost in an empty field full of directions. “like…” like you wanted me like a lover, you keep the words at your throat knowing you’ll choke on it one day. you don’t know how to say it, you don’t even know if you can say it. it was as if the ability to speak has been taken away from you.

the song came to its end and so was the dance.

“you should go to sleep, don’t stay up too much.” aventurine says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss on your forehead. he lets you go as soon as he parts his lips, stepping back to the distance the both of you once had before all of this happened, as if nothing occurred between you two, as if the words whispered against each other, the closeness, the intimacy were all just some silly imagination.

“are you leaving already?” you ask, your hand reaching out to tug at his sleeve as if you didn’t want him to go. you don’t even know what made you hold on to him, what made you want him to not want to leave.

the man who had the universe in his wake answers with warmth in his tone, “i can’t stay any longer.” he holds your hand and ushers you to remove your grasp on his sleeve. everything felt so different now, your thoughts were all so loud but you couldn’t dare to speak nor say something as you watched him turn away and leave—the sound of the door closing echoed throughout the corners of your home and you were left alone, in silence and in the cold.

but the comfort and warmth of his touch lingered on your skin—and you’ll remember it all; it will haunt you, follow your shadow everywhere you go, pulling on the hem of your shirt with the desperation of a dying man and you don’t know how to live knowing the way he held you on this night. how are you supposed to deal with the fact that his hands were as soft and warm as summer?

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#honkai aventurine #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai fluff #honkai imagines #honkai #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #hsr #azul.writes

[itsswritten]

Threads of Hazel

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.

Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.

No one was coming.

Why had you dared to hope? 

It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.

But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 

No one was coming. No one ever would.

Maybe it was time to give up.

Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.

You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 

Night-chilled mist and cedar. 

It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.

Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.

No one was coming.

It was time to let go.

***

This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 

Finally.

Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.

Azriel was utterly exhausted.

Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 

He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.

But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 

The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.

For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 

But that is all that would linger.

A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 

It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.

So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.

And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.

Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.

Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.

They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 

"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.

"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.

Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 

Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.

He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.

Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.

“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 

Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 

They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 

The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.

Blood.

They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.

Faebane. 

Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.

As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.

He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 

A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.

Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.

Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.

Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.

He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.

Alive.

They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.

Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 

Alive, alive, alive.

They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.

Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.

How? How were you still alive?

He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.

But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.

He remembered. 

The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 

It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.

Begging him to come save you.

How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.

A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.

That thread.

That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.

It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.

The mating bond.

You were his mate.

Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.

He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.

He had a mate, finally.

And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.

Maybe he was too late.

***

A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.

It was time. You were ready.

But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.

Not now, not yet. It spoke.

You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.

Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.

The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.

I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 

You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.

I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.

Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.

You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.

You would hold onto it one last time.

***

Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.

They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 

Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.

Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.

Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 

Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.

“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 

He remembered it all now.

Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.

Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.

“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.

Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.

Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 

It was then they had all realised.

He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.

Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.

Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.

Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.

You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.

“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.

“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 

Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.

Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”

With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.

You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 

“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 

“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.

"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.

Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.

You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.

"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.

Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.

"You came for me..."

"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.

With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.

A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.

Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.

"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."

a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel angst #azriel x y/n #azriel series #azriel fic rec

[lovelettersfromluna]

⋆ ★ Once again, for the first time ⋆ ★

{Ellie Williams x Reader}

Summary: Being in love with your best friend has got to be one of the most emotionally exhausting things someone can experience, so it’s time you put your foot down and moved on….at least, try to move on

an: God it almost feels wrong to just come back after so long without a continuing chapter to what I’ve been working on, pls don’t be mad at me 😵‍💫. I’ve been really busy you guys! I just got home yesterday and while I know you’ve all be asking for other things, I just haven’t been feeling super inspired to continue them RIGHT NOW, and I feel that’s why I’ve been MIA for so long. While I say I’m not inspired to continue them right now, that doesn’t mean I’m abandoning them! I will be coming back to them don’t worry! For now, I hope this little angsty fic is enough for you all, and I hope you’ve stuck around to read it, and if you haven’t, that’s okay too. Anyways, I’ve missed you all so much, and I hope you like this one 🖤🖤🖤.

Warnings: ANGST!!! Eventual smut in future chapters, Ellie is an oblivious idiot, Quiet!reader, momentary alternative love interest (it’s just for the story I promise 😉), jealous!Ellie, possessive!Ellie, Please let me know if I missed anything!

Part 2 can be read, here!

The warm glow of your tv screen became blurry with each passing second. You could barely make out the erratic movements of the video game characters beating each other to a pulp as Ellie’s fingers tapped away at the buttons on the game controller, soft huffs leaving here lips ever so often. “Fucking dick..” She mumbled under her breath, eyebrows knit in deep concentration, eyes almost growing watery from her lack of blinking.

You on the other hand, you were nearly fast asleep. Cuddled into your sofa, resting your head against a pillow that was propped up against the arm of the couch, a plush blanket draped over your body as you watched your best friend control a scantily clad character to violently fight the opposite person.

This was tradition for you and Ellie. She’d come over, you would force her to study with you because she was often too stubborn to do it without you, you’d order shitty take out, watch her play video games, and then you’d fall asleep. It always ended with her dragging you to your bedroom, staying with you for a bit before she left, and then in the morning, she’d be waiting for you outside your apartment to go to school together.

And that was life, life with your best friend that is. It had been that way since you were practically babies, your routines changing and adapting to whatever phase of life you were both in within that moment, but it was always more or less the same. And you couldn’t complain, you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Not even if you were given the chance to have her as something more.

Ellie had always been a charmer, and unfortunately, the extent of her charming demeanor had made its way to you. It was something you noticed early on, as soon as you were able to decipher feelings of love, you were able to link those with Ellie. When people would explain love to you, or you’d see it in others, you thought of Ellie. You realized quickly after that though, that Ellie was your best friend, and feelings would greatly complicate the long history that you two had together.

And so, you swallowed them down.

It wasn’t like it was painful or anything. Sure, seeing Ellie with other girls wasn’t great, but you coped. Life went on, and you promised yourself you’d never let your feelings get in the way of Ellie’s life, your life, or your friendship.

“Man…I’d let Mileena rip my head off any day…” Ellie sighed out, the girl never a stranger to gawking at the make believe video game characters in her favorite games. You let out a sleepy hum, giving her a nod as you cuddled further into the couch, not fully able to comprehend your friends words due to your sleepy state.

The sounds you made caught Ellie’s attention, causing her to sit forward a bit so she could catch a glimpse of your nearly sleeping face. She chuckled softly, shaking her head a bit as she reached forward for the controller, turning off the console followed by the tv before she stood up, taking your hand in hers and pulling you slightly.

“You have the energy of a seventy year old woman…come on, let’s get you to bed grandma” she teased, and it only causes you to whine softly. The couch is so comfortable, and you’re more than happy with sleeping there for the night just so you didn’t have to move and lose the blissful drowsy feeling that came with the sounds of Ellie playing Mortal Kombat lulling you to sleep.

“I’m fine here…” You tried, knowing that she wouldn’t settle for you sleeping there on the couch all night. And she didn’t need to be told twice, she let out a soft hum, one that almost sounded like she’d leave you there, but suddenly you’re being lifted off of the couch, into Ellie’s strong chest, even stronger arms wrapping around your body, which once again caused you to whine.

No matter how tired you were, how close to sleep, you can’t ignore the burning fire in your chest when she holds you like this. Even though being Ellie’s friend was the furthest thing from painful, it was times like this that it got a little too hard. Ellie was always a very affectionate person, especially with people she was close to, and you happened to be at the top on that list.

So, when she’d do things like this, pull you up into her arms and carry you to bed, or slip her arms around your waist and spoon you from behind when you were watching movies together, or when she’d pull you close to her when you were in a crowded room, it was easy to imagine how things would be if it were different, if you were able to have her in the way you wanted.

Only for a moment though.

Ellie hummed softly as she gently rested you on your bed, making sure to pull your socks off because she knew you’d kick them off in your sleep anyways, and pull the blanket, not the duvet, over your body because it was how you preferred to sleep. She knew exactly what to do with you, and it always made your heart tug.

She smiled softly down at you, watching as your heavy eyes grew even heavier once your head hit your soft pillows. She gave your elbow a gentle nudge before she turned off the lights in your room, closed the door, and left your apartment.

And even though you were already falling asleep, you couldn’t ignore the urge you had to ask her to stay. The urge you always had to ask her to stay with you.

You let out a soft yawn, rubbing your eyes a bit before you began writing down in your notebook again. Your headphones played soft music into your ears, the blessing of a noise cancelling headset always making it easy to study in your college library, for a moment, pretending as if you were the only one there.

Until Ellie showed up.

She gently pulled one side of your headset up, her lips close to your ear as she approached you. “Hey stranger” she giggled softly, causing you to whine as you pulled the headset down to rest against your neck. You gave your friend a soft smile as you set your pen down, watching as she promptly took the seat next to you and tossed her bag onto the table.

“Hey yourself…came all the way to the library to see me?” You teased her, propping your elbows onto the table and resting your head against your hands as you watched her slump down into her chair, oversized hoodie hanging on her broad shoulders, light washed denim jeans hanging loose on her hips, short hair lazily tugged up into her signature half up half down ponytail, pretty strands falling down and framing her face perfectly.

God she was a fucking dream.

Ellie groaned softly, her head falling back as she blew air past her lips, staring up at the ceiling of the library. “I have time between classes…so I came to bother my favorite little scholar” She hummed out, giving you a lazy grin as she turned her head back towards you, causing you to roll your eyes at her words.

“You know, you could use this time to study” you try, narrowing your eyes at her playfully, which causes her to roll her eyes right back at you. “Ahhh, please. You’re probably the only one here that actually does that shit” she hummed out, which causes you to shrug, closing your books and stacking them upon one another. “True, but I have the grades to show for it” you nod to herself before you push your things to the side, turning back to your friend and giving her your attention.

“So? What’s happening. You look like you’re just itching to tell me something” you smirked softly, knowing your friend all too well. Whenever became fidgety, or absolutely needed to find you, there was something on her mind.

Ellie smirked softly, staring down at her ring clad fingers before she let out a soft hum, purposefully keeping you waiting with anticipation before she began speaking.

“Do you think Sofia is into girls?”

For a moment, the twinkle in your eye, and the soft smile on your lips as you watch your best friend drops completely. You’re glad she isn’t looking, because you’re sure anyone would be able to see the visible disappointment written on your face as soon as she says it. You only let it fall for a moment though, because you’re immediately collecting yourself, picking yourself up off the ground and giving your friend a soft, reassuring nod.

“Has being straight ever stopped a girl from being into you Ellie?” You tease her, recalling the frequent times girls claimed they were straight, yet somehow always ended up chasing after Ellie after they’ve had one too many drinks.

Ellie groans softly, shaking her head as she sits forward a bit. “No man…I don’t wanna just hook up with her..or..or be her fantasy or something. I wanna…ask her out or something” she mumbled out, cheeks burning red as she toyed with the shiny rings on her fingers. You blink a few times, trying to find the right words to encourage your friend to do it, to pursue whoever it was that she wanted.

No matter how much the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

“Well…ask her, or you can ask around? A close friend of hers would definitely know if she was interested in girls or not” you tried again, watching as your friend frowned in concentration, eyebrows furrowed, green eyes narrowed.

Whoever this girl was, Ellie was doing her head in over her….

It almost bothered you that this was your first time hearing about her.

“You think? I’ve just…I’ve had my eye on her for a while and I think I’m ready to finally make a move, you know?” She sighed out, and you nod slowly, giving her a soft smile paired with a reassuring nod.

“Then go for it, Els. The worst she can say is no, and even then, there are plenty of other fish in the sea” you assure her. Because it’s true, Ellie never stayed single for long. There were always girls interested in her, or her them, and it wasn’t long until she was introducing you to a new, pretty girl that she’d have on her arm for the next however many months.

She smiled softly as she nodded, your words clearly getting through to her, as they always did. She gives a determined nod, moving to stand up from the chair she was sat at. “You’re damn right there is…hey, I’m gonna try to find someone to talk to, but I’ll catch you later, yeah?” She nods, slinging her bag over one of her shoulders, already walking away from the table as her eyes never left yours.

You give her a soft nod, eyes lingering on her form as you let out a low hum. “Always” you confirm, knowing that it was true. You’d always be there when Ellie needed you.

She beamed back at you, giving you a nod. You could practically see the excitement shining off of her body, seeping through her pores. “And I’ll catch you this weekend! Your place!” She shouted, causing your eyes to widen at her volume, the other students instantly shushing her. You give her a quick nod, your hands fanning away as you shoo her out of the library, a soft giggle leaving your lips.

You ignore the little cracks in your heart, because the smile on her face makes up for it. You know it’ll pass, you know this is merely a phase of your life that you’ll look back on and laugh at once you’ve found the person that was right for you, one that filled up the little holes that Ellie left in your heart.

And oh how you couldn’t wait for that day to come.

You don’t see Ellie that following weekend.

In fact, the last time you actually saw her was that day in the library, with the few times you saw her in and out of classes that the two of you shared.

Ellie ended up talking to Sofia that same day, and it turns out she was interested in girls. From the texts that she sent you that night, she was raving about the day that they had set up after hours of talking out in the courtyard. She tells you she’s sorry, that she can’t make it out to your place for your routine weekend together, and you tell her it’s fine, to have fun and tell you all about the date the next morning.

And suddenly, you can’t remember the last time you spent more than five minutes with your best friend.

You text here and there, and she catches you outside of class when you happen to make it there at the same time sometimes, but you don’t really have lunch together anymore like you always do, you don’t sit outside in the courtyard to kill time between classes together, she doesn’t visit you in the library, all of those things just suddenly stop.

And then she tells you, she’s dating Sofia.

She tells you they made it official after the first four dates, and at first you feel it’s a bit fast, but you realize they spend all of the time that you and Ellie used to spend together, with each other instead, and it suddenly makes sense. Ellie had a girlfriend now, and it was the explanation for the sudden lack of her presence, the absence of your best friend on weekends. While you stared at your tv screen alone, she was with Sofia.

And you were happy for her, of course you were happy, why wouldn’t you be? She was your best friend and she had gotten the girl she wanted for so long, just as you expected she would…

But the happiness you felt for her lived alongside the sadness that you felt. The two emotions becoming tenants in the home that was your heart, sitting across one another, glaring at each other as they battled for control of you, controlling how you dealt with the situation, how you coped with the sudden disappearance of your best friend.

So, you didn’t give either one control, you ignored them both after a while, and you simply carried on as if nothing had ever happened.

Ellie really was the only person you occupied any free time with, opting to be with her rather than anyone else, because it felt good. You liked it when it was just you and Ellie, it was easy, and it was easy to not overthink things and simply be, rather than worry about how you were behaving.

So without her, you simply did all the things you did with her, just on your own.

Ellie tried to make time for you, while juggling the escapades that come with the early stages of a relationship, you couldn’t take that away from her, but you saw how hard it was. You didn’t want her to feel bad, or feel like she was neglecting you, or her friendship, even if she sort of was. You convinced her it was fine, that she deserved to enjoy her new relationship, and that it needed more attention than your friendship ever would, not right now at least.

And Sofia was great. She was beautiful, and kind, and sweet, and after meeting her a few times, you considered her to be somewhat of a big sister figure. Seeing her made it clear to understand just why Ellie was so keen on taking her off the market as soon as she could.

But that seemed to make it even harder to deal with.

It was on days like this one where it hit you a bit harder, Ellie’s absence. You didn’t mind being alone, but walking to and from classes without her constant banter and jokes definitely wasn’t the best, and heading out to the cafes for lunch was far too quiet on your own, but, you prevailed.

You were making your way out of your third and last class for the day, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. The week was finally closing in, and you couldn’t be happier. You yearned for the warmth of your home, your cozy little bed, your favorite mug filled with your favorite hot chocolate, it called to you as you pushed past the large doors of your college building, making your way out to the brisk outdoors of your campus.

The sound of quickening footsteps behind you was almost drowned out as you took your headphones from behind your neck, and began setting them onto your head. A hand suddenly pulled them down, forcing them back around your neck, which caused your eyebrows to furrow as you turned around to see who in their right mind would try to fuck with a girl and her music.

You almost passed out when you were met face to face with your best friend.

Seeing her made you realize just how long it had been since you saw her. You tried convincing herself it had only been a few weeks, but you found it hard to remember the last time you were staring up into those big green eyes, and not imagining them instead.

Your frown was quickly replaced with a soft smile, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you stared up at Ellie. “Ellie…god…I was ready to start throwing punches” you joked, pulling your headset from around your neck and pushing them down into your beg before you looked back up at her.

Ellie chuckled softly, watching as you went about putting your things away. Her smile was so bright, eyes twinkling, cheeks red, all signs that pointed towards the same thing.

Ellie Williams was properly smitten.

“I’ve been looking for you, dork…you’re always hiding these days” she groaned out, which caused you to hum softly, giving her a slight shrug. “Been busy studying Els…I’m sorry” you tried, giving her a half smile.

Knowing that your studying was not the cause of the divide in your friendship, and neither was it you hiding.

She pouted softly, stepping forward so that you two could walk together. “I miss you…” She hummed out, staring down at the Nikes on her feet, nearly swallowed up by her baggy jeans. Her words make your heart tug as you stare up towards the large trees, swaying with the autumn wind, sun peeking in between the thick foliage of the leaves.

“How are you And Sof? Things going well?” You questioned, opting to ignore the way you heart beat faster when she said she missed you. You were also genuinely curious, you wanted to hear more about Ellie’s relationship, you wanted her to confide in you and trust you as anyone else would trust their best friend with their relationship.

Ellie instantly smiled bashfully at the mention of the girl, a soft hum leaving her lips as she nodded. “Fuck…she’s amazing, man. She’s like a fucking dream, I swear, I’m honestly not sure what I’ve done to deserve her” she sighed out, voice sounding so dreamy and love sick, you can’t help but smile.

“You like her…don’t you? I mean…you’re my best friend, your approval is one that’s pretty fucking important to me” she chuckled out as she looked over at you, head dipping down a bit to try and her a glimpse of your down casted face, her hands shoved into her pocket.

Her words make you hum, and you’re giving her a soft smile as you look up at her. Her expression is written with one that is concerned, concerned that you approve of her relationship, that you think she’s making the right move with Sofia.

And you know in that moment, you have the power to break it all. You have the power to rip things to shreds, just by telling Ellie you think Sofia isn’t the right girl for her, because you know she’ll listen to you. You know she’ll take your feelings into consideration, because she trusts you.

“I think she’s perfect for you, Ellie” you breath out, giving her a reassuring smile.

Because just as much as you know you have the power to be horrible, and rip everything away from them both, Ellie doesn’t deserve that, and neither does Sofia. They don’t deserve to hurt for the sake of your feelings, at the expense of what you feel for Ellie.

And the smile you see your best friend shoot your way makes it all worth it, because it’s like she’s been waiting for those words to leave your lips to go all the way, to give herself to Sofia completely and give into her as she wanted to this entire time.

“Fuck…you don’t know how happy that makes me” she sighs out, looking up towards the sky and letting her eyes flutter shut as she takes a deep inhale, and you know she’s truly happy.

And that makes you happy.

“Hey, are you busy next weekend? There’s a party Sof and I are going to, you should come with us” she says as she looks down towards you. You know it’s a bad idea, because it means you’ll third wheel the entire night, tucked away in a corner to avoid watching them make out all night long until it’s time to go home, where you’ll be just as miserable there as you are in your house.

But you know Ellie won’t take no for an answer.

You let out a soft sigh before you give her a nod, paired with a half smile, and she’s already cheering loudly, causing people around you to stare, and you groan softly as you give her a gentle shove, urging her to stop.

“I’ll text you the details! Sof and I will pick you up” she confirmed, and you give her a soft giggle before you nod. “Get out of here…I’ll see you then” you promise, and she’s smiling brightly as she begins walking away.

And despite the fact that it’s the first time you’ve talked to her in far too long, and it was mainly about her girlfriend, you can’t ignore the way your heart ignites for that small interaction on its own, and the excitement you feel knowing you have plans with her in the near future.

It’ll be fine, you remind yourself. It always has been, and it always will be. And with that, you made your way home.

The following week, is when you met Alex.

You were making your way to your first class of the day, the early morning sun shining down on you, giving you only a bit of warmth from the brisk air that swirled around you and the other students scattered about within the large courtyard that served as a main point sprouting out to all other campus buildings.

Your eyes were trained on your feet, a habit you had that had caused you to run into many people, many times. It was an easy way for you to stay deep in thought, focusing on the way your shoes sounded hitting the pavement with each steps, watching as they crunched against leaves.

“Excuse me?” A soft voice broke you away from your locked gaze on your feet, your eyes blinking a few times as you looked up to figure out who it was that was trying to get your attention.

When you laid eyes on the person looking at you, you nearly passed out.

It was a girl, she was tall, with pretty eyes and a charming smile. Her jacket hung loosely on her shoulders, bag draped over one of her arms, a paper in one of her hands. Her features were strong, yet soft at the same time, mixing together both masculine and feminine and almost making your mind go completely blank as her beautiful eyes stared into yours.

“Um…could you help me? It’s my first day and I’m sort of lost” she chuckled out bashfully, her hand reaching up to run through her hair as she tried handing you the paper in her hand. You simply blinked a few times, watching the girl almost in awe as she stared down at you, before you realized you were in fact gawking at this woman.

You cleared your throat, giving her a quick nod before you giggled. “Yes! Yea…sorry..I…can I?” You question as you gestured towards the paper, which caused her to chuckle softly and nod as she handed it to you.

Your eyes scanned over the paper, furrowing a bit in concentration before you zeroed in on the first class she has in her schedule, and it made you smile.

“Oh, that’s where I’m going! You must be the new transfer student the professor was talking about” you explain, your heart beating a bit faster as you come to the conclusion that not only is this insanely hot girl speaking to you, but she’s also in your first class of the day.

She smiles brightly, pearly white teeth flashing your way as she raises her eyebrows. “No way…would you mind if I walked with you then?” She hums out, eyeing you carefully before you look up at her from the paper, giving her a shy smile as you nod. “I wouldn’t mind at all…come on”

You learn that her name is Alex, and that she was supposed to start the semester with everyone else, but there were issues with her documents so she had to transfer instead. The entire way to class, you take your time together, strolling along the pathways and hallways of your school, getting to know one another. You realize that although it’s your first conversation with her, you feel as comfortable with her as you do with…

As you do with Ellie.

When you realize that, you realize that you’d gone the longest without thinking about Ellie than you had in a long time. Alex takes her off your mind completely, because she’s pretty, and her smile makes you swoon, and being with her feels comfortable.

And you reckon you could get used to it.

When you both finally reach your classroom, there are students scattered about, waiting for the professor to arrive and for the lecture to start. You hum softly as you look over at your usual seat, turning around to look up at Alex. “I sit over there…there’s an empty right next to me if you want” you suggest.

The empty seat used to be taken up by Ellie before she started dating Sofia.

Alex smiles brightly as she nods before you can even finish your words, and that alone prompts you to grab her hand and drag her along through all of the seats to get to the two seats tucked away in the corner, the ones you used to look forward to making your way to almost every day that you had class.

When you two are settled, you fall into a comfortable conversation, your head resting against your hand as you listen to her speak. She tells you about her old school, about her favorite books and movies, her favorite music. You’re so caught up in the conversation with Alex…

That you don’t even notice Ellie walk into the room.

She walks in as she usually does these days, laughing softly at something Sofia said, her arm draped around the girls waist, keeping her close. Had it been any other day, she would’ve made her way down to the usual seats in the front that she has recently taken with Sofia, but the sound of our laugh quickly catches her attention.

At first, she realizes she hasn’t heard the loud sound in quite some time. The only thing she’d received from you in the small moments she shared with you were tiny giggles, or small hums, but never that deep, belly laugh that she loved so much.

Then, when she looks at you, head tilting back as you cover your lips, laughing loudly at something she was oblivious to, her eyes finally fall on the person your body is turned towards. A head of short hair and a leather clad, broad back is turned towards her, and suddenly Ellie is frowning.

Because that seat, is hers.

Ellie gives Sofias waist a soft tap, mumbling for her to wait for her at their seats as she presses a soft kiss to her cheek, green eyes never leaving you and Alex as she continues to make you laugh uncontrollably.

She doesn’t think about much, other than the annoyance she feels that someone is in her seat, regardless of the fact that she’d left that seat empty, leaving you alone for weeks on end. All she knows, is that she doesn’t like that someone is sitting in her seat, she doesn’t like that this is the first time she’s heard you laugh in weeks…..

And she sure as hell doesn’t like that it’s this mystery person that is causing that laugh in the first place.

“I know! I can’t believe you like that show too, I was convinced that-“ your words are cut off by the dark, looking presence that is suddenly hanging over you and Alex. It makes you frown softly, looking up to find a very angry Ellie standing in front of both you and Alex.

“Ellie? Hey! What are you doing here?” You question softly, unable to remember the last time you’d seen Ellie up there at those seats with you. The question is genuine, and for a moment you assume something might be wrong, but Ellie’s expression seems to be even more annoyed than when she first got there.

Instead, Ellie completely disregards your question, the girl annoyed with how innocent and genuine your words are, your big eyes blinking up at her with a twinge of worry as you await her reasoning for being there with you. She looks at Alex, her tongue pressing against her cheek before she nods her head towards the seat she’s sitting in. “That’s my seat” she deadpans, not leaving any room for argument.

Alex raises her eyebrows, staring up at Ellie before she turns to you for a moment, humming casually as she gives a half shrug. “I was told no one sits here anymore” she hummed out, staring up at Ellie in a challenging manner. It causes Ellie to scoff softly, rolling her eyes before she inhales deeply, and you know it’s because she’s trying to control her temper.

“Well I do, so you should find a different seat” she barks back, her tone progressively becoming more and more irritated with Alex. Alex simply chuckles softly, clearly taking Ellie for a joke as she sighs out. “Doesn’t have your name on it…so I’m not going anywhere” she finishes off, clearly done with the conversation with Ellie. Ellie raises her eyebrows, finally looking over at you as if to silently ask if you’re just going to let someone speak to your best friend that way.

And it annoys you to no end.

It annoys you because Ellie didn’t care about the seat for the past however many weeks since she’d been dating Sofia, you were sure it had been a good month at least, and suddenly she cares about it when someone is taking up the spot.

Taking up her spot.

You frown softly, staring up at your friend before you let out a soft sigh. “I think Sofia is waiting for you, Ellie” you try, giving her a slight nod as if to remind her that her girlfriend was in fact waiting for her down at the bottom of the sea of chairs. You hope it’ll clear her head, and whatever this sudden urge to come and check up on you with it. You see a flash of something ripple across her face, something you can’t quite make out for a moment, but once you do, it’s clear as day.

Betrayal.

She inhales deeply, eyes never leaving yours, only when they dart over to Alex. She wants to stay and say more, try to get the idiot next to you to sit somewhere else, anywhere else, but suddenly you’re turning your attention back to Alex, a soft smile on your lips as you fall back into conversation with her as if Ellie wasn’t standing right over the both of you. Ellie feels like she could burn a hole through the floorboards with how much it makes her seethe.

And the worst part is? She couldn’t even understand why it made her feel that way.

Soon, she’s stomping off like a child, down the stairs of the lecture room towards Sofia. She gives you an apologetic look from her spot at the bottom where she sits with Ellie, and it makes you so confused because why is she even looking at you that way? As if she was to blame for her girlfriends behavior? You give her a small smile back, and she turns around towards Ellie, her small hands rubbing the girls back gently as she bent her head down and pressed a soft kiss to her head.

You eye them for a moment, but your eyes don’t linger like they used to. You’re quickly looking back at Alex as she speaks to you, making you forget all about the very strange behavior your best friend just exhibited.

“Sorry about that…she’s…she’s great, I promise. I’m sure you two would like each other” you nod, giving Alex a reassuring smile. Alex hums in response as she looks down at Ellie, her eyes narrowing down at her for a moment before she nods. “I’m sure we would” she smiles out, and you can tell despite the rude interaction they just had, she’s genuine, and she seems to want to know more about Ellie.

But you save that for later, because you’d much rather get to know Alex than talk about Ellie.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

[lvrdrafts]

A Fragile Mind or a Fragile Heart?

Summary : You go to a bar with your friends where you see your boyfriend there talking to his best friend about how clingy you are, you take this too heart and try giving him space but sometimes a little space may seem too much

A/N : Imma make this into three parts because i make all my stories two parts even though they can be cut into one but like i have so many ideas with this

Part 2 Part 3

The lively atmosphere of the crowded bar buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and pulsating music. You and your friends had decided to let loose and enjoy their Friday night. Amidst the sea of people, a familiar face caught your eye—Bucky Barnes, the man she had fallen for.

A rush of excitement surged through you as you nudged your friends, pointing discreetly in Bucky's direction. However, the crowded bar was not conducive to catching someone's attention. You watched, longing in your eyes, as Bucky sat at a table a few seats away with his friend Sam. Curiosity and hope propelled you forward. With a deep breath, you maneuvered your way through the thronging crowd, inching closer to Bucky's table. Finally reaching a spot within earshot, you paused, straining your ears to hear their conversation.

To your dismay, the words that reached your ears were far from what you had anticipated. Bucky's voice was tinged with frustration as he spoke to Sam. "Sam, I don't know what to do anymore. Y/N can be so clingy sometimes. I love her, but I can't breathe. I need space." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, the pain washing over you like a tidal wave. Did bucky really think you were clingy? Yeah you were always touchy with him but he was the first boyfriend you had to be fine with your clinginess. What if he left you because you were too clingy, maybe you just had to give him some space.

Racing out of the bar, you hastily concocted an excuse to your worried friends. You sought refuge in the solitude of her own home, where you could finally let all the tears held captive spill. Alone, you crumbled, your body quaking with the weight of Bucky's words.

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As the sun rose, casting its warm hues through the windows, you stirred from your slumber. Normally, you would greet the day with a gentle kiss, rousing Bucky from his sleep. But today, you silently slipped out of bed, leaving him to rest undisturbed.

Confusion tugged at the corners of Bucky's mind as he slowly woke, his eyes scanning the room for your familiar presence. Sensing your absence, he blinked away the remnants of sleep, trying to make sense of the subtle shift in their routine.

Moments later, Bucky joined you in the kitchen, his brows furrowed with puzzlement. You stood by the stove, engrossed in watching the morning news. He approached you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head, his lips barely grazing her soft hair.

"Good morning, baby," you greeted "How did you sleep?"

Bucky's confusion deepened, a knot forming in his stomach. This wasn't the affectionate, playful greeting he had come to expect. He settled beside her, struggling to find the right words. "Um, I slept alright, I guess." But Bucky didn't question in it because he liked having that space.

You turned to face him, your eyes filled with a mix of emotions he couldn't decipher. "Well I have to go run some errands today so I'll be busy the whole day" you say walking towards the bedroom with Bucky following her like a lost puppy "but I'll be home before dinner!" You say while looking for clothes.

Bucky waited but you didn't say anything after, you just went to look for some clothes and started to put some shoes on. Normally you would ask Bucky to come with you, but today you didn't. He didn't feel good about how much distance you were giving him. "Well Baby I'll see you later" you say closing the door without a goodbye kiss.

Maybe Bucky was just overreacting or maybe he did something wrong. Either way he couldn't decide which one was the reason.

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You come home come home early from an exhausting day and all you wanted was Bucky, but you had to show him you weren't clingy or he would leave you. You had a plan—a way to show Bucky that you weren't clingy, that you understood the need for space. With swift movements, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a meal you knew he loved.

As the aroma of the food filled the air, you set the table with care, arranging the plates and utensils meticulously. You finished your own meal quickly, not wanting to be perceived as encroaching upon Bucky's space. In you heart, you hoped that this act of giving him room would ease the strain on their relationship.

When Bucky finally returned home, exhaustion etched across his features, he was taken aback to find a prepared meal waiting for him. Confusion flickered in his eyes as he looked around, his voice laden with curiosity. "Y/N, where's your food?"

With a small smile, you responded softly, "I ate already. I didn't want to bother you and i was really hungry."

Bucky's brows furrowed as he took a seat at the table, staring at the empty space beside him. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He tried to brush off the unease, focusing on his meal, but a nagging feeling persisted.

After dinner both settled on the couch, Bucky tried to make room for you to snuggle against him, eager to bridge the growing distance. However, you gracefully bypassed the invitation, choosing to sit on a separate chair instead. The weight of your absence settled heavily between them, and Bucky's heart sank further. He put on a movie and you both watched it in silence and without the normal warmth.

This routine had been happening for a week and Bucky started to get tired of it. He didn't realize how much he missed your touch. He didn't realize how much physical touch was in the relationship. He knew he had to confront you soon before he went insane.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader angst

[luveline]

oooh! just had an idea!!! bombshell reader x spencer where he comes over to her apartment one day on the weekend to suprise her with breakfast/flowers bc they just started dating. however, bombshell is in sweats/no makeup/messy hair when she answers but when she sees its spencer, she FLIPS out/slams the door bc she doesnt want him to see her in that state. spencer, however, is confused ofc because he genuinely doesnt notice her outfit/lack of makeup and thinks she is gorgeous no matter what.

hope this is ok ♡ fem, 1.1k

The song starts slow and ends slower. You could picture Spencer listening to it, his head on your shoulder or yours on his, wired earphones shared between you. 

You grab a pencil to jot a quick post-it note so you'll remember, one knee on your desk chair. You don't want to sit down with the shower running in case you get distracted by your new photo frame.

You and Spencer took a photo to commemorate finally getting together. Or rather, Hotch did, standing behind the camera with an impossible mixture of fondness and disapproval. You look like a true couple with matching graphic t-shirts and beaming smiles, Spencer's arm over your shoulders and yours behind his back. You can't see it without staring; you use all your strength to ignore the photo, pulling your post-it from its pad and tacking the yellow square to your vanity. Tell Spencer about love song from Ocean Boulavard. 

The door to your apartment rings with a knock. If you weren't distracted in your losing don't-think-about-Spencer battle, you'd recognise the timid pattern of it. 

You've been expecting a parcel all weekend. 

"Coming!" you call, tugging a sweater over your vest top, plaid pyjama pants dragging against the floor as you make your way out of your bedroom and into the main living area. "Two seconds!" 

You give yourself a precursory glance in the mirror next to the door before you answer it. You'd never go out like this, but the delivery driver won't see you long. You're mostly clean and fully dressed, though your socks don't match. 

That's another thing to tell Spencer. He must be rubbing off on you. 

"Hello," you say cheerily, pulling the door open with a smile. 

"Hi," Spencer says, big brown eyes aglow at the sight of you, his hands full to bursting. There are enough things in his hands to hide his chest completely. 

You don't have a chance to decipher exactly what he's brought as you flinch behind the cover of the door, not cruel enough to close it in his face, but wanting to. "Spencer! What are you doing here?" 

"Well, you live here." 

His hand comes up tentatively near yours on the door. He doesn't push it further in or attempt to come inside. He might have, if you hadn't squeaked in warning, biting down on the soft inside of your cheek. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Everything is fine!" You squeeze your eyes closed, your pulse a hummingbird hammering between them. 

"Really?" Spencer asks, taking back his hand. "Can I–"

There's a shuffling sound like he might step forward, and that's the last straw, you're fully panicking as you slam it closed.

A too long silence. Your breath comes unnaturally quickly, your thoughts racing to match. I can't believe I just did that. Why did I do that? 

What do I do? 

"Spencer, I'm naked," you say. 

"You were definitely wearing clothes. What's wrong? I brought breakfast, I thought I'd surprise you. I texted you. When you didn't answer I figured maybe you were still sleeping after last night, but… now I'm thinking maybe I read that wrong."

"You didn't read it wrong! You can always come over!" you insist, looking around behind you as if you might suddenly find a full face of makeup hiding in your sideboard, or a fresh change of clothes hanging on the coat hooks. 

"Okay, so, can I come in?" 

You poke at the sore bit of skin in your cheek with a wince. "Spence, I'm not dressed. Like, I'm not ready. I look like a mess." 

"You looked beautiful. For the two seconds that I could see your face, at least." You breathe in uselessly. An answer doesn't present itself. Spencer offers some wisdom while you panic, but you aren't sure you want to hear it. "We're dating, right? So as much as you clearly don't want me to see you like this, it's gonna happen. Hopefully regularly?" He laughs lightly on the other side of the door. "Can I please come in?" 

Nerves gnaw at your fingers, uncomfortable pins and needles. "What if you don't like it as much?" you ask quietly. You're surprised he can hear you. 

"Do you trust me?"

What sort of question is that? This isn't about trust. This is about you, an image of yourself you hold and that you want others to share, it's why you dress as you do, why you wear your intricate hairstyles, and spend hours upon hours priming and primping.

You want to be pretty deeply, especially in Spencer's eyes. Do you trust him to find you pretty still, without all the extra effort? Pretty from the moment you wake up? 

You wait for the verdict as you open the door again. The handle clicks and lugs, the hinge whining as it swings inward. You step backward to allow him space, meeting Spencer's eyes with an insecurity that doesn't suit you.

He doesn't react at first. His hand tightens around the neck of a sprawling bouquet, wildflowers like a burst of colour against his chest, the long white body of a lily of the valley kissing the curve of his neck. He smells like powdered sugar donuts and the food truck they came from, the story of his obsession a remembered delight. I think of you every time I cross the square to the train station by my place. The warm vanilla smell reminds me of your perfume. But I'm usually already thinking of you. He's been bringing you donuts intermittently for months now. 

He finally smiles at you, all manner of morning warmth flooding the room with him. The sun at his heels, the silky brown colour of his hair, you look up as he steps close, as light silhouettes him, turns the silk to fluff. You can see every detail this close down to the baby flyaways, and he can see the same. 

"How could you think I wouldn't like this?" he asks. His words are hushed with earnestness but yards from hesitant. Spencer is unabashedly, genuinely enamoured with you. "You're so pretty. You always are." 

You beg him silently to hold your face, taking the flowers from his hand. He can read you from that small action alone, raising a deft hand to your cheek. 

You lean into his palm. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[moondirti]

DOUBLE RAPTURE

MIGUEL O'HARA x F!READER x ALT! MIGUEL

「 Toasted, every atom in you blistering hot, knocking into each other repeatedly. It’s the buzz at the end of a cigar, embers burning, flickering down to concrete in coughs of ash. You’re both the fire and its aftermath, moaning breathlessly for all that you’re supposed to be in charge. 

And tonight – stuck between two men who don’t look, but are, each other – nothing can tamp your flame. 」

summary: after apprehending an anomaly who turns out to be an alternate version of your husband, you indulge in your filthiest fantasy.

explicit (18+) | 6.3k words | part two warnings: pure smut, pwp, THREESOME, cunnilingus, squirting, throat-fucking, blowjobs, unprotected p-in-v, anal, double penetration, tummy/throat bulge, younger miguel is submissive, spitting, cum swallowing, hair pulling, mild degradation, possessiveness, tooth-rotting fluff, every kink under the moon tbh

In truth, it comes naturally. 

Your Miguel – older, blunt around once serrated edges, wisps of grey streaking dark tresses – sits to the side. He fosters a tumbler in one grip, half-full with amber liquid. Scotch whiskey, neat; you’d poured the drink to give yourself something to do while waiting. It’ll help, you insisted. An outlet to sip on, or a loud-enough warning when set on the adjacent tea table. 

Now, you see that it was more for your sake than his. 

He’s entirely collected for someone watching another man’s hands run along his wife’s body. They pushed your shirt off a while ago, hurried to behold your covered form. You’re laying in your bra, breasts heaving while kisses trail down your stomach, nipping the sensitive skin there – and still, all you can focus on is him. Your Miguel, scrutinising the rush the man is in with disapproval glimmering on carmine eyes. If this whole thing hadn’t been his suggestion, you would’ve sworn the look was meant to kill. 

Because he likes to take his time with you. It hasn’t always been that way. Ages ago, following your premiere date, you fucked for the first time in a motel he rented, both your apartments’ farther than he would’ve liked to drive. But, again, he’s older now. Seasoned. There’s a heavy ring decorating your finger that winks reassuringly at him, three carats for the three year anniversary he proposed on. It amplifies the truth each hour you wear it – he is yours, you are his, and you’ve all the time in the world to do with each other as you please. 

Your third for the night is unfamiliar with the dynamic. 

(Though of course, it makes sense for him to be.)

You have to remind yourself of the fluid lines that mark each component of this little fantasy. They waver and wobble, bleeding into one another sometimes like wet ink on parchment. It’s hard to decipher the words they spell out when trapped in thick, indulgent lust – your legs spread to allow the man room as he moves down your body. But it’s even harder to ignore the way your skin burns with the intensity of your husband’s careful contemplation. It singes, redefining those exact perimeters for you:

One, and the most important given your suggestion, is that this will never leave your room. It’s not distrust that keeps it rigid – rather, a shared concern for the integrity of the multiverse. Your Miguel is all too aware of the dire consequences it could face should the rule be broken. You are too. It only narrows down to the partner occupying your bed and his naivete to it all. 

Two; to use the safewords established beforehand. You’re infamous for losing yourself to pleasure, the habit bordering on a dangerous degree. It’s why Miguel is watching, to ensure things start correctly. He’s piqued and ready to stop it should the man not understand your limits.

(However unlikely. Currently, you’re the one establishing them.)

The third – the one you have a particularly complicated time grasping – is that ‘the man’ in question is no stranger at all. In fact, it’s instinct to touch him in the same way you’re used to, your mind adequately fooled everytime you look at him. A full head of brown hair – albeit, cropped shorter than your voyeur’s, a fade in at his ears. Young skin, which you strain to notice is devoid of the crows’ feet you adore. Yes, he’s smoother, like time had taken sandpaper to your model and buffed out all his worn edges, but he’s still…

Miguel. 

(Though he urged you to call him Mig, entirely oblivious to the subtle cringe that’d crossed your husbands expression. That nickname is one you hardly resort to. He’s revealed a hatred for it. 

Another cue, then, that they are not one in the same). 

So, it comes naturally because you’ve spent so long in this exact space. Dusk flooding your home in plum hues, the colour of a berry ripe with rot. Overhead lights off, golden lamps projecting sensual shadows on white sheets. Your face warm with alcohol and your panties pushed to the side by a hero named O’Hara, whose palms are large and dry but a burning furnace on gooseflesh. 

The younger one, Mig, is not yet a hardened vigilante. He’s new to the game – DNA spliced with spider essence only seven months ago. In that time, he worked out his own method of inter-dimensional travel, tortured genius that he is. Hopped between worlds until, eventually, he blipped on your radar. You’d been sent to process the anomaly whose personhood you were unaware of, only to come face to face with a twenty-something version of your beloved. 

There’s no room for bias in the delicate scale of the universe. He’d found himself locked with other transgressors of his pedigree. Miguel – yours – was vehemently opposed to the notion of him joining spider society, uncomfortably affluent in his past recklessness. He knows, better than everyone else; it’s a security risk, letting in a spider-man so inexperienced. 

You think that it’s projection. That, and a recognition of the way his mirror couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you. 

(A flattering notion for all you refused to believe it. You’re about ten years his senior – surely, he’d have better prospects on his Earth. But you asked, perhaps to hearten any overprotectiveness that could manifest itself as risk.

Something wrong, Mig? 

He only looked at you behind the red laser field entrapping him, a small smile on his face. No. Nothing. You’re just different back home.) 

That was before. Before he embodied the exact enthusiasm Miguel had been afraid of, spearing your cunt with his tongue, his scalp no doubt aching under your relentless hold. He hums his encouragement despite it, begging you to direct him the way you please. At least he acknowledges his cluelessness – you can almost hear from the other side of the bedroom, acumen pulsing amidst heady air. Most men wouldn’t, their egos great fragile beasts. To have gotten around before might embellish their history with competent, but no one’s ever truly an expert on someone new. 

Mig doesn’t pretend otherwise. He’s keen to learn. 

That is the difference that encouraged this whole tryst. 

“Unfurl your tongue, Mig. You’re focusing too much on– Oh.” Your hips buck, shoving closer to the mouth that does just as you say. He laps your heated core with spittle-drenched dexterity, combing between puffy lips. “That’s it. F-fuck… Just. Just don’t stop.” 

The praise does well for him. He looks up at you, reverent – pupils not red, but black with the shadows his long lashes cast. You brush back locks that fall upon his forehead, affording him a better view of the effects he’s wrought. A thin layer of sweat clings to your flesh, gleaming with the fading sun outside. In your peripheral – framed gorgeously by the wall-wide window – it dips below the horizon, nebulous. Blurry on orange clouds. 

Pinned under observation and a feverish assault, you feel much the same. Toasted, every atom in you blistering hot, knocking into each other with novel speed. It’s the buzz at the end of a cigar, embers burning, flickering down to concrete in coughs of ash. You’re both the fire and its aftermath, moaning breathlessly for all that you’re supposed to be in charge. 

And tonight – bouncing between two men who don’t look like, but are, each other – the feeding of the flame goes untamed. 

You find that’s the cause for it. There’s nothing to cling onto for purchase, the one anchor in this equation seated on his leather armchair, ankle on knee, content in watching you soar to uncharted skies on the chin of another. Your head flops uselessly to the side, scanning him once more. 

There’s a tricky look to him, suspended on two lines of equal measure. You can tell he wants to join, to take control of the exploit and direct it how he sees fit. Perhaps it’s regret. Yet the pronounced mass in his trousers speaks to the contrary. Miguel palms it, testing his endurance by keeping his touch above cloth, rounding back once his heel presses its end. The sight catalyses your delirium; the knowledge that he, your dedicated husband, is tender with rushed blood and idle about it. Waiting for an opportune moment. 

When you reach out an arm in his direction, you hope he takes it as one. Mig sucks your weeping cunt in a symphony of lewd noises, as though he’s trying to push the grace he’s been granting. Slurp. Tracing the perimeter of your slit, revelling in the way it clicks at his ministrations. Squelch. Nose driving into your clit, so hard you suspect he’s trying to bury himself there. 

It only calls to your lips, how dry they feel. You’re parched of the one thing he chose to forgo, marking it as off-limits based on some arbitrary ideal. You don’t assume you understand it, instead wiggling your fingers – come here – at your husband. He skips over the grabby hands, devouring your bitten pout and droopy lashes, weighing them in his head. 

“Mi vida.” You plea, voice pitched high and winded. The glass’s bottom glints with the last swill of his drink. He knocks it back before rising – sweeping towards you, tantalisingly slow. 

Mig shoves your knees higher, practically folding you in half. Your hamstrings stretch with the motions, sending molten spasms to your core – that which he continues to eat out. He’s now doubtlessly coated with your juices, but he doesn’t relent, tracing messy patterns on the sweet spot he managed to pinpoint without your help. You’re reduced to a sore bruise, egged on with every poke and prod. Pleasure swells with blood, clogging burst capillaries. Delicate. Inflamed; deliciously so. You give him a validating pat on the head while a free hand wraps around your Miguel, ironing his waist as he ducks down to your lips. 

All three of you are on the bed now. You can’t begin to process the depravity of it all, the way things suddenly become hot and bursting and real. No – you’re much too enthralled by the rough kiss you’re pulled into. It’s dominating and tastes like smoked oak. Honey and faint vanilla where his tongue traces your fauces. The flavours batters you into something vapid, stupid, until the older man has to cup the back of your neck to keep you from sinking. 

Intoxicated – you thought you’d be familiar with it by now, how wholly he consumes you, but there’s a power imbued in his approach that has you struggling to keep up. It’s all you can do to keep moving your mouth against his, gathering the material of his shirt to pinion yourself. 

He’s got a stubble that colours his jaw in grey, the stalks of it grazing your nose and flaying you raw. It leaves you feeling sunburnt, dazed yet still pushing forward, like the balm for relief can be found at the back of his throat. That’s something else, you note, flicking your observation over to the face between your thighs. Mig keeps himself clean shaven, a youthful shine to his complexion, no peppered hair to obstruct it. Without it, you can clearly see the way his high cheekbones curve inward, hollowing out as they lead down to a pronounced chin. Charming, especially as it shoves between the globes of your ass to make room for his continued efforts. 

You’re close, so close. A dam about to burst with centuries worth of water and–

“Need help, corazón?” Miguel whispers, nudging your nose so you can look back at him. Your response comes in the form of a stuffy whimper, nodding minutely. What exactly he means by help, you’re not sure, but his double seems to understand, breaking the smallest bit away to whine a protest.

“That’s offens–” 

“Get back to licking her cunt before I change my mind about you being here.” Your husband orders, glowering when the reprimand seems to create the opposite of its intended effect. Mig grins wickedly, a cocky aura about him as he obeys. Just as he’s about to make contact again, his gaze catches yours. The subsequent wink he gives is a warning – loud and bleary and smug – preparing you for when he dives back in with a vengeance, plunging into your hole with that cursed muscle that runs like velvet.

The air pinches from your lungs, squealing on its way out. Your toes curl and your muscles tense and then Miguel directs your face back down with thick fingers, steering you by your cheeks. Your lips pucker, mouth unhinging at the silent command the action echoes. Tongue flattening, you prepare yourself for the little dance you’ve trekked a hundred times before – thankful, in some part, that he’s doing it to ground you. 

When he spits – hawking, a dense glob concentrated with scotch – onto an expectant palette, you suppress the devilish narrowing of your eyes. It’s almost habit to reflect his countenance, looking down with fondness and pride at the control you exhibit. Because you don’t swallow, not immediately. You wait for him to kiss you again, to gather the slaver and push it behind your molars with reinforced passion. And he does. Of course he does – that and so much more as he places claim to the hole that is solely his for tonight. You hardly notice when his clutch leaves you, skimming down to unclasp your bra. 

Not when your breasts jerk free, nipples pocking at the shift in temperature.

Not as he squeezes each, tugging at their peaks until they’re fully erect. 

Or even while he tickles the line of your abdomen, following the same path his counterpart did, smoothing over aggressive bite marks. 

It’s only when you break away for great, gluttonous breaths of air – your vision blurring with hypoxia – and Miguel reaches two digits to your fattened clit, do you finally run up to speed. It’s a little too late, though, because he presses down and escalates your delight to unprecedented heights. Enough to see stars – enough to scream the loudest you have in a long while, so that all your appeals are fully unintelligible but available for the world to hear. 

“FUCK! Oh my– Fuck, s-shit, shit…” You cry, tears finally breaking the tension at your waterline and running in an unending sequence. “B-both of y-yo– Ah! So good. I’m–”

Mig moans, sending vibrations right to the tightening ball of pressure in your gut. He’s snowballed his efforts, drinking you in with a sincerity. Specifically targeted is the spongy wall of tissue on the upside of your mound, suffering his battery and singing for it. String-plucked and pedal-pressed symphonies, composing a viscosity within you that sloshes behind your orgasm. Yes, he adds to it, but the fingertips rubbing you with bullish ferocity are going to break what’s holding it all back. You feel– know it. 

Using your hair to hold your head in place, Miguel utters a string of debauched nothings onto your lower lip, face pressed close to yours. They’re quiet enough that even you have trouble catching them, your ears ringing with rising alarm. But you sense the way his breath blows, what shapes it creates, how it twines – and that fills in every gap for you. The intimacy manages to speak to the truth, despite all the degrading dirty talk. 

“You like that, you filthy fucking thing?” Groaning, your husband increases his speed, goading you faster. There are crushing hands on your hips, and another wound into your scalp, pulling it taut. “So insatiable that you need two men to help make you cum, huh? Do you think you can?” 

“Yes, yes, yes please. Please,” The very implication that he might stop before you do inspires unruly desperation. Your hips, arms, head – they all thrash in unison. “I wanna– I want to cum, Miguel, for the love of everything! Please!” 

He slaps your clit in warning. The blow sends you reeling into a hush, so much so that you stop moving immediately, secretly wishing he’d do it again. To divert your energy, you stare right into his pupils, which shine with burgeoning playfulness. “You will, dirty girl. You’ll wish you didn’t though.” 

“W–” 

“Oye, wide eyes.” He turns to Mig, who's been curiously watching the display, jaw still moving against you. He unhooks under the attention, blinking rapidly. “Mouth wide open. You’ll want to catch every drop.” 

He returns to strokes you in circles – furious, fervent. It’s a screw to the cork, twisting forcefully to combat the tension it’s working to release. You squeal, screech, do just about anything except contract your body like you’re compelled to do. You leave yourself loose, watching as Mig registers what’s about to happen, following orders and transforming into a receptacle for it. His fangs peak from behind swollen lips. 

All you’re able to think about, plastered to this pane of double rapture, is how they don’t seem to retract. Permanent, unlike your Miguel – a fixture in his gums. 

And then the dam shatters. Implodes, actually – collapsing into itself until it’s a small particle floating out with the deluge. You can hear it, the rush of fluid squirting from you. Consistently, pouring into the puddle the younger man happily gathers. He beams with satisfaction and looks so much like your husband, who does the same, brushing tears off your wrecked face. 

With a core still convulsing, caught in the reverberant throes of pleasure, you’re mentally spent. Drained for every dime you’re worth and still wholly aware of the promise he made, flipping it over in your head. Again, and again, until it loses impact and dissolves from the impending future. For all you try, though, he holds power over you – even in memory.

You’ll wish you didn’t. 

Mig sits up, crouched on his haunches. Chest bare of everything – including the curls that span your husbands’ – and in just his boxers, you can’t help but focus on either one of two things. His maw, pulled in a downward smile and soaked with clear slick, a concoction of saliva and your fluid dripping from where his canines poke out. But you find that it fills you with unwieldy humiliation to behold, so you fall onto the next. 

Which just so happens to be his erection, trapped and throbbing from behind navy cotton confines. The head of it peaks above his waistband, purple and dribbling with pre-spend. It’s created a wet spot that grows larger by the second, and your humility is replaced by guilt for the poor thing. 

Miguel, cooing in faux sympathy, swoops to caress the shell of your ear with his sinful proposal. 

“What do you say, cariño? Want us to fuck you silly?” 

Your hole squeezes around nothing, empty, speaking with a will of its own. He hears it, because of course he does – he’s in tune with everything about you – and manoeuvres you onto your stomach. By mere muscle memory alone, you get on wobbly knees, presenting your rear to the ecstatic man behind you. 

And, your husband… Well–

He squeezes between your face and the headboard, tree-trunk thighs stretching out on either side of you. There’s a huge wedge in his pants, not at full size yet but stiff regardless, suffocated by time and space. Your mouth waters, appetite returning far too rapidly for how distant it seemed mere seconds ago. 

“Beautiful, hermosa.” Mig groans, spreading your ass to get a proper view of the way your pussy drips for him. A quick glance back provides you with a lovely picture. Him, positively captivated with your holes – both of them, it appears, based on the way his thumb grazes over your tighter clench. “Can’t wait to feel you on me.” 

His cock is out, too, briefs shoved under the sack at the end of his length. You take it all in like it’s the first time – despite the many traits he shares with Miguel. Fat, darker than the rest of him that gleams bronze even at night. Though rooted on a crop of tangled hair, whereas his alternate self prefers it trimmed short. When he strokes himself, anticipative, you note the mushroomed head. Circumcised. 

An impish idea suddenly crosses your mind. Succumbing to it, you arch your back, knocking your behind on him. The action traps the appendage between you and his pelvis, and to add insult to injury, you wiggle around until it slots between your cheeks. Mig’s face screws up, close-knit, his hands scrambling for purchase on your rolling hips. 

Something slaps your cheek. Grinning, you turn back to Miguel, his dick now extricated from its prison. The heft of it sways, tapping your nose and fluttering eyelids, so damn heavy that you cringe when it approaches. Two veins pop up from the smooth skin stretched along him, branching down to his frenulum, the spot you choose to start. 

Your tongue runs along it, lathering the plump seams on your journey to the top. His nerve endings are mainly reduced to his head – unlike Mig, who’s still moaning as you grind across his length – so you stay there, particularly concentrated on the edge and the valley it creates. Your temples warm with the gentle cradle of two large hands, piloting you on your trip around his cock. 

He smells like home – an ambrosial mix of leather and sweat, the backseat of his car where he fucked you on valentines. It’d been raining, windows made misty by passing fog, city colours painted on the grey wash. You’d teased him all day with a lack of panties and suffered for it, practically choked on pleasure, nothing on but a new pendant necklace. 

Right now, you’re stuck in a parallel state. You can’t breath under the leaden attention of both him and his mirror, doing your best to keep sucking and grinding regardless of your dwindling strength. It’s difficult, difficult to divide yourself and satisfy them both, but fuck do you want to. More than anything, you’d kill to see them come undone in your holes – simultaneously, in some unlikely reverie. Pumped full of cum and praise by double the man you love most. Your tummy lurches with nauseous desire, teeth separating as you take Miguel into your mouth. 

Peering up at him, if only to experience the way he loses control. But creases fold between his brow, reading your expression just as well. Without rush or need for brawn, he pulls the responsibility from under you, assigning it to himself by propelling into your trap, all in one go. He grates along the texture of your palette, cleaving your tonsils, and finally settling deep in your throat, triggering a series of ugly gags. To quiet down, you grip your thumb in a fist, focusing not on your lack of air but on contracting your throat around his tip. 

“Are you going to fuck her or continue to rut like a dog in heat?” Your husband bites at Mig, ever self-critical. The latter man sucks in a challenging huff, patting your waist as he withdraws to centre his cock between your folds. He wags it until it catches on the divet of your cunt, hot and surging with natural slick. 

Then, just when you think you can’t bear it any longer, he pushes in. 

“Ghmmngf!” You cry, forced forward onto Miguel’s breadth, coughing out the saliva and pre-spend that threaten to smother you. Nose smooshing to his groyne as the other bottoms out, sheathed fully within you. You swear you can feel him in your guts, silently praising whatever taught him how to make most of your narrow space. 

Like they’ve practised telepathy their whole life, both men dip to feel themselves through your body. Mig presses a sturdy hand to your stomach, positioned right at your mound where he protrudes outwards, admiring the visible bulge he creates in you. Similarly, his older counterpart cradles your neck, pinching the sides that expand and retract with the pistoning of his hips. He fucks your gullet slow, fast, and back to slow again – amused with the pace he can discern in more ways than one. 

If your eyes hadn’t been rolled to the back of your head, you’d be blinded instead by a pool of blissful tears. They bubble up uncontrollably, wetting the cheeks already glazed with almost every other bodily fluid. You’re ravished, cock dumb times two. Your cunt is stretched to its limits, sucking your paramour in with vacuum-like violence, the gravity of it equatable to the sun.

Or, no–

Not the sun. 

Something a hundred times larger, nearing the end of its life. With every rock of your body, it runs out of hydrogen, draining the last dregs of fuel before eventually caving in on itself, transforming into an infinitely dense mass. It happens in your core, Mig’s bruising pace only exacerbating the strain, contracting smaller and smaller. Boundlessly so, enough to brush off as you snake a hand down to your clit, tapping the sensitive bud, testing its reactivity. 

When you flick it, though, you’re drawn back into the dip of spacetime. It’s inescapable, the one fixed point in all this mess, imminent for all your ragdoll self tries to delay it. The room pounds with sex, the scent of it accompanying every particle, reducing air to balmy filth that acts as a catalyst in your undoing. 

Impossible. You know it’s impossible to acquaint yourself with the sensation of being filled on both ends. Despite it, you try. You claw onto what little authority you have, pushing past your clit to graze your nails on a pair of swinging balls. They’re full and drooping, slapping your thighs as their owner humps your cunt. 

“Keep doing that. Fuck, fuc– mierda, feels so good. Yersotight. Soft. Soft and… ah, small.” Mig babbles, bowing over your form to kiss the dip between your shoulder blades. Your teeth graze the cock ramming your craw, an unconscious tick that has your husband tugging your hair in admonishment. “Hermosa– s’okay if I? Gonna… gonna cum.” 

“Mmnmgh–”

“Not so fast.” Miguel says, tugging you off him at once. It causes the both of you teetering over the edge, to groan, something overtaking all executive functions and compelling you to listen. The lull finds Mig slipping out, unable to hold himself back should he spend another moment filling your pussy. 

You’re carried upward, manhandled off elbows and knees, to straddle your husband’s lap, facing a wide chest with pecs as comforting as pillows. When did he take off his shirt? Your vision swims, crossing, oscillating with the unexpected motion – until, well, it doesn’t, stopping as your forehead finds solace on the dip beneath Miguel’s clavicle. It’s a reassuring change, your brain rewiring into safety mode given the fact that, when you cum again – however overstimulating – you’ll be within the arms that have always expertly navigated it before. 

And he’s warm, an ever-raging bonfire that licks your breasts and pebbled nipples, heat penetrating your bones to seep into your heart. Your marrow follows soon after, melting into a potion of desire and relief, especially when his far more familiar cock replaces the void left by Mig.

“Wide eyes.” The older one calls. 

“Did–” Said man stutters, shuffling closer. “Hope I didn’t hurt you, pretty.” 

“Hngh… ‘Course n-not, Miggy. We’ve safeee– words, rmmbr?” You grunt, reaching a hand behind you to hold onto his bigger one, squeezing it for added reassurance. “My ass, tho-eahh. Please.”

“You’re– You’re being for real. Seriously?” He asks, rising hope evident in his tone. “Have you ever done it before?” 

“Of course she has.” Miguel interrupts, rolling his hips instead of bouncing your tired body on him. “First drawer on your right.”

You laugh when the mattress wobbles, sheets tangling beneath his hurried scramble. The bottle of lube is almost empty, bought spontaneously during your honeymoon to Cabo. Your then newly-wed wanted to indulge your fantasy of anal on the beach, tucked away on a private cove he’d found just for the occasion. It’s been a vice ever since, just like all things with him. You’re addicted to the man, flat-out, scratching to get your fix whenever possible. However possible.

And, of course – due to a devastating soft spot that makes it hard for him to begrudge you anything  – you now have two. 

Mig spurts a substantial amount onto his hand, rubbing it on his dick and the ring of muscle it faces. Two digits thrust into you, exploring your elasticity, scissoring to make room for a much larger insertion. The man seated balls deep in your cunt kneads your flesh; obsessed with the chub around your waist, thighs, your cheeks especially, pulling them apart to make this whole ordeal easier. 

Not that you necessarily need it, being used to it by now – though you preen under the attentiveness regardless. Your ego is a drowsy cat, tucked under a patch of sunlight, purring as its heavily pet all over. Muscles lax, borderline liquid as you moan with the training your rear clench receives. More lube is added when the previous pour dries up, shoved into the spasming sphincter, accompanying every lewd ministration used to loosen it. 

You gasp, loosening and wet. When fingers exchange for a dick that’s packed, solid as steel, Miguel captures you into another teeming kiss. It’s to occupy you through the temporary pain, you know, suckling your tongue into his mouth with a gentleness unbecoming of your current lechery. The pressure soon subsides, ebbing and waning to an easier to manage fullness. 

Fuck. You’re plugged on both ends, twin lengths driving into you, stroking each other through the thin wall separating your rectum from your vagina. Initially, they keep the same pace, working in tandem to strike and pull out at similar times – but the task is demanding. It prevents them from fully forfeiting to euphoria. Their nature soon takes over, a novel motley of priorities wrenching you apart. 

Miguel goes unrushed, sybaritic, fucking you in waves of doughy passion. He knocks against your g-spot, groaning at the way you flounder. The system unspools a little emotional well, tugging heartstrings until you bite his collar to quell your wails. He’s dedicated, a professional in the trade of you; his cielita – the term of endearment mumbled on your temple, lips pressed there in a perpetual kiss. 

And Mig– 

Bless him. 

He’s unhinged, ravished by the feeling of your gummy walls flexing around him. Consistently refreshing the lube that makes it possible, petrified at the notion that this could perhaps stop, doing all he can to counter it. His method is rough, fast, pelvis smacking your plush behind – of which Miguel has long since let go of. There’s emotion in the way he behaves too; a wild, unspoken, behemoth thing, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. Not the anal, but you, specifically, panting in his embrace. 

(‘You’re just different back home.’)

Your husband might’ve been too quick to judge. If what you suspect is true – which it likely is, an assumption based on an inextricable fondness you’d felt when you first saw the younger man, like you were made to love every version him, in every timeline – then his haste is not innocent clumsiness, but a more dangerous prospect. Desperation. Crestfallen, degenerate desperation. He hadn't the chance to feel any of you before tonight, for one melancholic reason or another. 

“M’not… w-won’t last long, beautiful.” He whispers between pecks, peppering them across your nape.

“N-No, me neither.” Whimpering, you twist to scrutinise his tousled appearance. “Want you to cum in me. Fill me so I sp-spend days scooping you out. D-Don’t wanna fo… Need to remember this.” 

“Fuck… you can’t talk like that and– and expect me not to embarrass m-myself.” 

“Isn’t she something,” Miguel joins, smoothing the stray baby hairs away from your sticky forehead, callused fingers grazing deliciously across sweaty skin. It’s now that you choose to regard their voices, the subtle variations between the two. One deeper than the other – smoked with a prominent accent that jumps at the end of every syllable. “Filthy, dirty little girl. We could stay like this ‘till tomorrow and she’d have no problem. Would bounce on our cocks until she milks us dry.” 

“Y’probably need it to keep you in shape– Hmnff!” Is how Mig strangles, cut off as you convulse around his thrusting length. The mass returns, settled in your cunt – a star verging on supernovae level catastrophe, about to implode while they participate in a literal dick measuring contest. 

“Watch it, wide eyes.” 

“Shuuu… shutup, shtp!” You keen, falling back on the chest of your paramour while Miguel fondles – slaps – your tits, mesmerised by the way they jiggle, your entire body jostled as their fat cocks jam you full.

“Is my girl going to cum?” One says. You can’t tell which, eyes squeezed shut, though you don’t think Mig would dare use that pronoun. My. Not in good conscience, not when he didn’t kiss you for fear that it’d be crossing a boundary.

“I swear I’ll burst if you squirt again.” 

“Don’t expect too much from her in this state.” The trigger to it all, that aching bundle of nerves mashed against your husband’s pubes, starts buzzing with electric urgency. You brace yourself for the lightning, the shock. “Silly thing, can’t begin to form words let alone ideas. Look at me, corazón. What do we say?” 

You don’t know. You can’t care. No flying fucks exist outside the devastating wreck that’s about to transform you, squalling loud and shrill from every organ that still retains its function. Heart fluttering like a baby bird’s wings. Lungs depressing into shrivelled cavities. Soreness gnaws on your cervix, abused by successive thrusts. Your bones feel like mush, macerated under mortar and pestle and dissolved in blood.

It’s coming, that celestial calamity.

Mig agrees, gasping. “I’m gonna–” 

“Oye. What do we say?” Miguel exhorts, catching your glassy-eyed stare with his. 

The former man barks your name, completely winded. Your asshole jerks on his cock, which twitches inside of you, ready to blow. Sopping with lube and pre-spend, spit and your own slick, you can’t control the syphoning noises your holes make, blubbering on the cocks that split you apart. 

It’s then the words finally find you – manners that your husband insists on. 

“Pleeaase.” You cry.

“Fuck!” 

Thick spurts of fluid coat your insides, wrung from the man behind you. His cum is blistering, burning the thin layer between him and Miguel – who surprisingly, given the control he’s exhibited thus far, follows suit, pumping you full of his seed. Your womb and rectum, the puffy folds and rim that try to keep it all in – are all frosted with pearlescent spend. Heady and dripping, staining a depraved mess on every crevice between your legs. Gross globs of it caking you, your skin barely visible anymore.

The thought alone – of two men’s essence, beckoned and bled out by you, mixing something disgusting on your most intimate parts – is enough to kick you off the edge. Flailing off that cliff, plummeting into an outburst that lets nothing escape. Not smell, or taste, or light – spinning a black hole of groundbreaking proportions. 

You orgasm, again and again – or maybe the whole thing is all just one prolonged, feral, exhausting endeavour. Cumming until your muscles physically give out, going paraplegic with the strain of constant contractions. You crumple, sandwiched between two sturdy chests, stuffed with cotton and sex and pure endorphins, flying with no sign of ever coming down. 

A siren's song – sleep, calling to you from the depths of consciousness – almost pulls you under. That is, until your husband manoeuvres you onto your back again, spreading your legs in a near split to expose your sloppy holes to your paramour. His expression is doused with reverence. Supple, soft, the tiniest bit guilty at the sight of you, desecrated by their combined efforts.

“Well?” Miguel prods, fanning your leaking cunt and asshole out wider. “Are you waiting for her to absorb it all? Clean it up.” 

And – for the last time that night – Mig does as he’s told, ducking to gather every last bit of proof with his tongue. 

Much later, you watch him pull his shirt over his head, snuggled close to your husband. The sky has deepened to its darkest form – midnight, a gibbous moon cushioned amidst glimmering stars. 

“Well, it’s been fun.” The man sighs, brushing imaginary lint off his abdomen. He winks at you before turning to leave, testing his luck now that it can’t backfire on him. “If you ever want to trade him in for a newer model, you know where to find me.” 

Miguel just grumbles beneath you, displeasure rumbling the hollows of his hairy sternum. You, on the other hand, smile gently, giving the parting gift of your humour. 

Only for something better to occur to you. When his grasp closes around your bedroom door knob, you call out – voice a faint, hoarse thing. 

“Mig.” You say. 

“Yeah?” He replies, blinking back at you.

“I think you should go for it.” 

And all your mild musings are confirmed when he nods, sheepish, like a child caught with a fist in the cookie jar. It’s okay – you mouth, because you know. Whoever you are on his Earth, with whatever cosmic odds stacked against you, you’ll fall. If only because it’s Miguel. Mig. Your O’Hara – such truth woven into the fabric of every conceivable reality.

Your husband catches on quickly, patting your sleepy head. It’s the first time he talks to himself with a tone that isn’t condescending, laying a sentiment you recognise as meaning more to his younger counterpart than anything you could say. Perhaps because it’s kind, a bit of proper advice made mushy by an echoed devotion to you. Or, perhaps because he’s witnessed the evidence to it consistently, all night long. Wide eyes.

“It’ll be the best thing you’ll ever do for yourself.”

part two

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[yxami]

Yandere coworker!!

Desc: Yandere coworker x gn reader, general Yandere behaviors, possessive, a pinch of toxicity, jealousy, and other things. He’s pretty tame compared to others.

Coworkers, meant to keep relationships within company time and inside the workplace, but a few drinks with the boss and others wouldn’t hurt right? You tell yourself that as you get ready for it, putting on nice shoes you wouldn’t usually wear and a casual outfit for dinner.

It’ll go by fast and you won’t drink that much, at least not enough to have a hangover.

But your plan fails when one of your coworkers insists you drink more than your tolerance can handle, one shot after another before you can notice that you’re tipsy and stumbling over your own words, and seemingly nothing on the ground but you don’t pay enough mind to it.

“Here, cheers to another shot” Your pushy coworker hands you another, or at least attempts to before a veiny hand pushes the tiny glass away.

“That’s enough. Can’t you see how drunk they are?” An intimidating but familiar voice speaks, your coworker that you’ve hardly spoken to defends you. He was always a quiet one, keeping to himself, he was scary but always did what he was told by the boss. You’ve tried being nice but he seems like a shut in so you stayed inside your cubicle that happened to be right by his.

“Awh cmon, don’t be a wimp, another won’t hurt you right?” He turns his focus back on you, a wobbly smile on his face, clearly showing the intoxicated state he caused for himself.

“No, and you should stop drinking, we all have work tomorrow.” He stands up, towering over him as he denies the drink for you once again. “Let’s go, I’ll take you home” He sighs, helping you to lean on his side as much as you can with the height difference.

He might as well carry you..

“Mm’ fine, I’lll…. just order a cab home” You slur your words, trying not to cause trouble on a coworker you’ve hardly spoken to other than saying “yes, no, over there” every now and then to each other.

“I insist. It’s too late anyways and I’ve hardly drank, I just hope these idiots can manage to find their way home” He sighs, looking at the passed out coworkers and your boss somehow still preforming songs on the karaoke machine.

You stay quiet after that, observing his serious expression and cologne, it smelt nice, like a cold fall breeze before a walk. You recall the way your boss insisted for everyone to dress casual, but here he was, in a suit without worry about you vomiting all over it or in his car, buckling you in, mimicking a child with its parent.

The car drive seems rather short, at least for you, but time seemed to go a snails pace for him while he drove.

Why did he offer help? It’s not like he cares about you, but he couldn’t sit and let you get fed shot after shot, clearly that guy didn’t know his own limit. And plus, he was leaving so it was convenient to take you home, even though you weren’t on the way..

He shouldn’t have helped, what if you assumed the two of you were buddy buddy now? He hates that shit, someone clinging onto him because they believe they’ve made a breakthrough in his just because he keeps things professional.

They only care about what makes them feel special and hell, they weren’t in the slightest.

But you don’t act that way, if anything you were the complete opposite.

“Thank you for driving me home, I was definitely way too drunk to do so” You laugh slightly, thankful that he troubled himself to bring you home. It was a little embarrassing to recall how he put you to bed and made you drink water before he left.

“No problem, next time learn how to say no, it’s not hard” He casually delivers a brutally honest sentence, you can’t decipher whether if it was a kind gesture or not but continue on.

“You’re right, I haven’t grown a spine yet” You joke, smiling this time with your words. “I brought you some food I picked up before work, I hope you like baked goods, I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I got a small container of everything” You grab the cardboard box you had on your desk and hand it to him, hoping he at least wanted one.

“Oh.. thanks.” He quietly says, looking down at the small box in his hands. You nod and try to focus on your work after that, attempting to not riddle yourself with worry about how you may have given a shitty ‘thank you!’ gift.

After that, you would attempt to befriend him, as much as he would let you. You never pushed further than what he gave, you wanted to be kind so you weren’t exactly best friends but you were able to greet him unlike the others who couldn’t.

“Do you want to eat lunch together?”

“Huh?”

“Eat lunch. Together?” He repeats, turning his chair to face you, eyes now staring up at yours rather than his freshly printed paper that was warm to the touch.

“Oh yeah.. yeah! that would be nice” You say, a little surprised that he offered, let alone was willing to eat lunch with someone.

He wasn’t sure why either, but his mind has been nagging at him to interact with you. He’s been craving to see you more and he’s been doing relatively well with hiding it but he can’t comprehend why he’s feeling this way.

Feeling so helpless against these instincts that beg to see you, that want to talk to you, maybe even touch you if he ponders long enough. It’s strange, he’s never felt this way, so he’s curious enough to indulge in it. As long as it keeps his brain at peace.

After a few lunches, his needs grow more, and more, and more until all your time is spent on him. You don’t pick up on it until a coworker points out how close the two of you are now, it almost makes you forget how it used to be, weren’t you always like this with him?

“Can you come over today? I wanted to cook dinner with you again” He speaks with a muffled volume, mouth filled with too much food to speak clearly.

You nod, agreeing like always, this has become a usual thing, and you’re used to it. Even growing accustomed to sleeping over if you’re too tired to go home. Sometimes it almost seems like he purposefully makes bigger portions so you grow sleepy after your full and content.

“Good, I bought the ingredients for your favorite. Maybe we can pick up some ice cream on the way home as dessert” He smiles slightly, continuing to chew his food in silence after that.

Time passes rather quickly, at least for you, he’s a little confused on why you’re taking forever so he stops waiting at the elevator like he told you he would do, walking up to your cubicle he sees you chatting, talking with the same coworker who pushes you around.

“Awh cmon please? I’m trying to meet up with a girl tonight and if I do these papers then I’ll be late, and I can’t be late to a first date” He pleads, putting his hands together with the papers crinkling slightly between them.

“I don’t know.. I already have something planned and I can’t just cancel on them” You say hesitantly, debating whether if you should help him or not, again.

“I’m sure you can do these papers on your own, I’ve seen you do a stack in 20.” He approaches, glaring at the shared coworker, he’s always despised this guy.

“Ah- seriously, it’s an important date” He pleads again, ignoring him as if he hadn’t just spoke.

“And it’s a no, can you hear?”

“I wasn’t asking you”

“I’m not letting you throw work on another coworker just for you to have another failed date”

He scoffs, annoyed as he walks back to his cubicle, not willing to pick a fight over some papers, even though he would if it was anyone but him.

“Let’s go then? Are you done with everything?” Your friend says, mood switching with your other coworker gone. It seems like he could be intimidating one minute and be ecstatic about something the next.

You didn’t mind how he acted now, even if he was a little harsh to others and wouldn’t want you speaking to them as much as you do. It helps you out in most situations, like now and at the party.

“Yeah, let’s go..!”

You just can’t help but wonder if it’s something you should worry about.

#yxami’s yam #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere guy #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #needy yandere #yandere dom #yandere boy #yandere male #coworker yandere #yandere coworker

[bookofthegear]

Long, long ago, before Twitter descended into its end-stage hellscape, I ran a few iterations of a weird little choose-your-own-adventure game there, where I used the poll functions to offer options as we traversed a strange concrete labyrinth. I’d like to do that again. But as the shortest poll I can run is one day, this is more like a play-by-mail than a real-time on-the-fly. Fewer choices, but hey, you do get much longer descriptions!

The Rules

- Your choices are by majority poll (though if there are two identical options, they may be weighed together)

- If y’all choose to do something boneheaded, you WILL die, and the game will begin again with a new adventurer (who may someday find your corpse!)

- If y’all choose to retire and raise cabbages, by god, I will send you home to raise cabbages, which is sort of a happily ever after

- If you played on Twitter, please be kind and don’t spoiler too hard for the new players! Also, don’t assume the maze is still the same…

- Life being what it is, I cannot promise every update will land as soon as the poll closes—I love you guys, but y’know

Let’s begin, shall we?

You, friend, are the latest graduate of the Wentworth School Of Exploration and Adventure (Goooo Fighting Codfish!) the second-best explorer’s school in the city. You left behind your grandmother’s cabbage farm in pursuit of higher, better, possibly more fatal things.

It was at Wentworth that you first came across a reference to the works of Eland the Younger, that wandering naturalist, historian…okay, occasionally out-and-out liar…and his great fragmentary work, the Book of the Gear. It detailed his descent into a great clockwork labyrinth, filled with strange creatures and stone gears. Even for Eland, it’s a bit weird. Most scholars dismiss it outright as a fabrication, and the few professors who would talk to you about it strongly suggested that it was dangerous and you should ignore any rumors about its location and do something else. (Possibly on one of their projects! For course credit, obviously, not money.)

You didn’t listen. It was all just more academic cabbages as far as you’re concerned. It took a lot of research and guesswork and a lot of slogging, but after cutting your way through the overgrown woods, miles from any town, you find yourself standing before a stone wall with an immense crack in it. The edge of a stone gear taller than a man is just visible inside.

A small finch sits on a branch nearby, waiting.

Wentworth students are highly trained in the arts of adventuring, including Hiking, Skulking, Orienteering, and deciphering avian interpretive dance. Which brings us to the first question!

#choose your own adventure #gearworld #ursula vernon #t kingfisher

[tflaw]

+ dad!neuvilette. reader is referred to as wife & mama. no warnings, this is just fluff. i had a sudden thought about neuvilette having a son and this is the result >< not proofread!

bubbles of merry little sounds has filtrated neuvilette’s ears. they prick up in response to the owner of the voice with a smile on his face.

“what is it, sweet boy?” he whispers, tone barely owning a decibel, close to the same pointed ears of the little boy in his arms. pressed against neuvilette’s thigh are pairs of feet that have scarcely covered its width, the boy’s arms hook over his right shoulder, hands clawing up. “oh,” breathes neuvilette as he follows his son’s eyes upwards, witnessing an aquabus slowly passing by overhead. “that is what we call aquabus. it’s fontaine’s main transportation system. do you want to ride on it?“ the boy claps his hands, squealing. “alright, shall we ask mama?”

he brings a hand to his son’s back, supporting the little body while securing him in his arms. neuvilette spots you on one of the fruit stalls a few meters away from where they are, examining an apple in your hand.

“monsieur neuvilette?”

pivoting on his heels, neuvilette catches sight of a middle-aged woman standing in anticipation with a basket in her hand. she has a kind smile pasted on her lips and sparkles in her eyes.

“yes, madame?” he politely asks. “how can i be of service?”

“oh, no, monsieur! i apologize for interrupting your alone time with your son, i tried to stop myself but i could not help it,” the woman explains while waving her hands. “what a beautiful little boy. he looks exactly like you, monsieur!”

the little boy pushes his cheek to his father’s own while hugging his neck. tendrils of hair brush against neuvilette’s skin, tickling the side of his face. it’s as though he’s wondering how to decipher the syllables uttered by the woman before him.

it has long been considered by many that his son stands as the glaring copy of neuvilette: from the sharp eyes touched with magenta and blues, to the pearlescent hair that has started to show strikes of aquamarine.

“how old is he, monsieur?” pitches another bystander.

“he is ten months old.”

“has he started walking, monsieur?”

“we are slowly working on that, aren’t we, sweet boy?” neuvilette turns to his son, who puffed his cheeks as if in determination.

“what’s the first word he said? is he talking already?”

“well, he can mumble a couple incoherent words. he is a determined student—” neuvilette has been cut short by his son’s another round of clapping.

the little boy leans his head to the side, facing the bystanders gathered around him and his father. “m… mama! p… p… papa!” he beams before hugging neuvilette again, as though proud of his showing off. “m… mama! papa!” repeats the boy with a jovial lilt.

all around them, laughters from the onlookers fill the air with vivacity. their faces morph in unfiltered euphoria; either clutching their chest for the adorable boy before them or clapping their hands together with him.

neuvilette watches with wonderment, his heart overflowing in bliss. albeit possessing a mastery of his countenance, a wide smile creeps up to shape the edges of his lips.

this little boy, the sweetest of all, is yours and his forever. flesh and blood, yours.

“i hate to sever this merriment, but i’m afraid we must join my wife now,” neuvilette excuses, his eyes and that of the bystanders wandering in your direction.

you raise your hand for a slight wave, still unused to the attention that comes with being the chief justice’s wife.

“what’s with all the ruckus?” your curiosity shows through raised brows.

neuvilette softly bounces the boy in his arms. “blame this little one for showing off his communication skills. he is marvelous at it. aren’t you, my boy?”

“m… mama! papa!” chirps the boy once more, giggling at his own achievement.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact fluff #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette x you #neuvilette x y/n #neuvilette fluff

[twobluejeans]

HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 8: you’re losing me, part 7: revenge dress, series masterlist

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 8! taylor swift deserves jail time for creating you’re losing me. taylor swift also deserves jail time for not officially releasing it. def recommend listening to it reading the chapter! (might have to stream illegally bc mother is being stingy 🙄.)

INSTAGRAM, july 17 (midnight)

liked by paulwesley, ninadobrev, and 13,333,112 others

yourinstagram and just like that, the final chapter of Midnights, is out now. this is my most personal body of work that i'm putting out into the universe, and i'm so scared yet excited to share her with u. thank u to my team, my producer jackantonoff turned dearest friend of almost 7 years (woah!!!) we spent many noons & midnights on this album and i'm forever in debt n grateful. thank u to all my other friends who i didn't mention, yk who u are. to everyone else, thank u for your persistent patience and support. it does not go unnoticed. from my heart to yours, midnights (till dawn edition), is available on all streaming platforms. i love u. thank u 💗.

View all 101,273 comments

leclerccharl ain’t that the teddy bear charles won for her at the fair forever ago??!

y/nsfeverdreamhigh leclerccharl o em gee yeah..

fernandoalonso_offical Proud of you cariño

barbie 🥹🥹💗💗

landonoriss screaming crying shaking throwing up

danielricciardo gagging choking ascending to god

authur_leclerc Love you always, Proud of you always ❤️

INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 17

zendaya 30m

viewed by alexademie, tomholland2013, and 64,134 others

badgalriri 2h

viewed by harrystyles, bellahadid, and 3,262,128 others

sabrinacarpenter 5h

viewed by zendaya, lola.tung, and 1,524,211 others

TWITTER, july 17

The song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?”

BY: ALLY PUBLISHED: JULY 17, 2023

Y/n L/n’s lyrical candidness is what has always made her standout as a songwriter. Whether she was writing about young love, relationships, or breakups, her songs never flinched from trying to paint a full picture, even if it was one that was hard to look at.

It’s been a while since the super star has released a breakup song, but it was only a matter of time; since the singer split with Charles Leclerc, fans have already began anticipating the inevitable breakup album. But it turns out they didn’t have to wait long. At Midnight (July 17), L/n released a second deluxe edition of her 2022 album Midnights, which included four new songs, among them the release of “You’re Losing Me,” a song fans have deciphered as ostensibly about her split with Leclerc.

via @yourinstagram on instagram

The nearly 5-minute track is a devastating relationship ender if we’ve ever heard one, as it details the hopeless and tragic dissolution of a relationship. Though L/n doesn’t include any names or details, it’s not hard to see why fans are interpreting it as being about her and Leclerc. 

When Entertainment Weekly first broke the news of their split in April, sources for both parties diplomatically described the breakup as amicable, and that “it was not dramatic.” “The relationship had just run its course,” one source told ET. However, that story was debunked as L/n herself, stated Leclerc had an affair with Australian Youtuber Lola Ransdell, in one of her Eras Tour Shows.  With the release of “You’re Losing Me,” L/n seems to offer a window into her perspective of how things ended while also releasing one of the most devastating songs she’s ever written.

Its lyrics don’t waste any time getting into the tragic heart of the matter. “You say, ‘I don't understand,’ and I say, ‘I know you don’t’/ We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won’t/ Remember looking at this room, we loved it ‘cause of the light/ Now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time,” she sings in the first verse, painting a portrait of two people who are unaligned and have seemingly grown apart in their relationship.

The pre-chorus lays out the song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” But waiting for resolution feels like something L/n doesn’t want to do anymore: “I'm getting tired, even for a phoenix/ Always rising from the ashes/ Mending all her gashes/ You might just have dealt the final blow,” she sings.

The most heart-wrenching part of the song comes in on the chorus, as she warns her other half, “Stop, you're losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me I can't find a pulse/ My heart won't start anymore/ For you/ ‘Cause you're losing me.” The lyrics mirror the song’s production which sounds like a quietly pulsing heartbeat, driving the knife’s blade of the song in even deeper.

Perhaps L/n’s biggest skill on this song is being able to convey all the heartbreak and roiling emotion without actually providing any specifics into the breakup. 

“You’re Losing Me” is rife with frank, confessional lyrics, but still keeps many of the exact contours of the split obscure. There are no accusations or fingers pointed at who’s at fault. There are no mic drop moments or explosive gossip; The closest L/n gets to revealing any details is on the second verse, when she seems to suggest that the relationship hadn’t been OK for a while now.

“Every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes/ How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?/ I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick/ My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick,” she sings.

On the bridge, L/n reveals that she “wouldn’t marry me either,” perhaps offering the tiniest, sliver of hints into one of the other reasons why they ultimately fell apart: “And I wouldn't marry me either/ A pathological people pleaser/ Who only wanted you to see her/ And I'm fading, thinking/ Do something, babe, say something (say something)/ Lose something, babe, risk something (risk something)/ Choose something, babe, I got nothing (I got nothing)/ To believe, unless you’re choosing me.”

It’s the lack of details, the palpable restraint despite L/n’s clear heartbreak behind its lyrics, that makes “You’re Losing Me” perhaps the most devastating song in her catalog (yes, even more so than “All Too Well.”) Amid the grief and sadness of the song, there’s also a feeling of inevitability, of sorrow that nothing more could be done, of pointlessly waiting for action when you know nothing is coming.

 In some regards, it’s one of L/n’s most mature breakup songs in her catalog, regardless of whoever it’s about. And if this is just a “from the vault” track, it makes one wonder what an albums-worth of these songs would sound like.

SEE MORE RELATED POSTS:

• Lola Ransdell Cancelled over resurfaced racism tweets

• Lola Ransdell loses brand deals over Y/n L/n drama

• Charles Leclerc finally breaks his silence over Y/n L/n Breakup

ally’s radio 📻:a filler chapter im sorry😞 but anyways, the related stories r a sneak peak of the next chapter🤫 if u asked me to tag u and i didn’t, pls send me a message or inbox me bc it might’ve gotten lost 😭 i try to stay up-to-date but sometimes i miss people so pls lmk!!!

taglist 🦢🪩: @incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife @mrsmaybank13 @black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx @lilsiz @ohthemisssery @leclerclvr @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @shessthunderstoms @cool-ultra-nerd @ncentic @playboykenz @canvashearts @tinyhrry @xeliaaaa @ifionlywould @gaviypedrisbride @callsignwindow @dhhdhsiavdhaj @chasing-liberosis @laneyspaulding19 @a-daydreamers-day @saikikusouswife @motorsp0rt @lifesuckslife @shessthunderstoms @drewsandsebastianswife @sainzluvrr @ietss

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charlesleclerc #carlos sainz jr #daniel riccardo x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #heartbreak on tour #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc imagine #scuderia ferrari #charles lecrelc #ferrari f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #carlos sainz social media au #carlos sainz #charles leclerc social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fanfic #f1