#Flyer Bonus

[quicksiluers]

@nhlflyers: Five blocked shots and a belt to go with it. 💪

[mimi--writes]

Forever Mine

—"Don't leave me..."

—In which the television you see in your dreams doesn't want you to wake up.

A/N: Someone needed to make a Yandere Tenna fic and I guess it's got to be me. See my vision, I beg of you.

CW: Yandere, Manipulation, Guilt-Tripping

——————————————————————————

The Dreemurr family's divorce is a town wide scandal, the 'incident' causing it forever an unspoken haunt to the townspeople.

To you, however, it's the reason you got this nifty little free TV.

It's cool—works just fine, though it has some parental restriction codes that were quite the inconvenience to get through, but it's free. That's right. Zero dollars. You just visited Miss Toriel one day like you thought any good neighbor would. And luckily for you, she asked if you could take her television off her hands, because no one in the family used it anymore, and it just brought back memories she didn't want.

So you helped Miss Toriel and got a free TV. Sweet.

It sits in your house, affectionately nicknamed "Tenna"—because of its long antennae that almost seem to squirm when you touch them. You know it is far from the most modern form of entertainment, but it is entertainment nonetheless, and besides—you've reluctantly grown attached to this television. Late nights on the couch, just you and it, have become commonplace. Sometimes, you even fall asleep.

And on one of those nights, the dreams begin.

You are in a place so dark it's light again—bright, saturated colors in checkered patterns marking the floors, infomercials everywhere, and tons of little flyers with the same fuzzy TV silhouette your eyes can briefly make out.

Okay, what kind of fever dream this is, you don't even know. Might as well just make the best of it.

You pick up a flyer.

"Coming Straight From Your House—Mr. (Ant) Tenna's Marvelous Mystery Board!"

Some sort of game show- wait, did that flyer just talk?

There is suddenly a spotlight on you.

"That's right!" Continues the voice, with the same chipper yet even timbre of a gameshow host. From the wall behind you pops out-

A man with a television head.

A very hot man with a television head.

You would be remiss not to admit it, really. Sure, he does, well, you know, but the TV-head is really just a bonus! On top of that surprisingly charming suit and nice ass, the TV-head fills your brain with ideas that make you wonder if you are deranged.

You decide not to give them the time of day just yet.

Meanwhile, the man with the television head continues to race about his gameshow.

"Special prizes, physical challenges, and more, only on-"

"I'm in," you say, and for all his bravado, the television man—Mister Ant Tenna from the poster, wait, your TV is named Tenna, wait, are you seriously dreaming about your TV as a hot gameshow host—startles noticeably, antennae going ramrod straight.

"You are?" He says. You nod.

"Uh, yeah. Seems cool."

He claps his hands with excitement, and suddenly, a thermometer appears on screen, immediately cracking with excitement.

"Magnificent! Splendid! The Fun-O-Meter's off the chart folks! Mike, play the applause!"

And pre-recorded applause ensues. You wonder if anyone is actually watching. Except no one is watching, because this is a dream.

You go through the motions—play the games, win the prizes. You get Z Rank, because you have what many would call a massive skill issue. But Tenna does not mind, regarding you with the patience of a saint.

The credits roll, but Tenna seems hesitant.

"Maybe- another round?" He suggests. You nod.

"When I come back," you say, before he can get the wrong idea. "Every good show needs an intermission.'

With that, you leave your dream, certain that it really was just that. A one time dream.

But then, the next late night on the couch comes, and you find yourself in that same dream once again.

Tenna's antennae droop as he speaks to you in private afterwards.

"You sure took a lot time!" He says, trying to sound cheery. It fails, though, considering the way he shrinks in discontent. "It's alright though, I get it. It was fun enough, just me and the board- I've- never been good company anyways, and-"

He's trying so hard to sound alright with it that it just makes you feel even more guilty. His antennae droop, and you avert your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the guilt from stabbing at your heart. It doesn't work.

"You're great company," you say, in lieu of asking how come it was just him and the board when he has all those employees under him. "You know what? I'll stay as many rounds as you want! Seem fair?"

Immediately, he perks up, rapidly growing in excitement, antennae perked back up.

"Absolutely wonderful!" He says. The Fun-O-Meter once again explodes. Applause roars as Tenna starts rambling.

You play and play as many bonus rounds as you can until Tenna is something akin to satisfied. At last, you wake up.

You have slept through the entire day. Angry messages await you, as a result of obligations miserably unfulfilled. You don't even want to check them.

But you do. Typing out responses and making amends.

You wish you were back there, in that dream of yours.

So you stay by the television and fall asleep once more.

And once again, Tenna greets you.

"You came by faster today, darling!" He says. You find yourself liking the nickname, if only because it is him saying it.

You nod.

"That I did."

"Miss me?" He asks, and if he had eyes you just know he'd be batting them innocently.

"No," you start, trying to set up some sort of coy flirtation, but you immediately regret it when he visibly deflates.

"Oh," he says. "I- should have seen that coming. I mean, hah, you're absolutely stellar, darling, and I'm... Just..."

"I- I didn't mean it!" You hastily amend. "I was just joking. Really, I don't even know what I was thinking; I'm sorry!"

He smiles at that, placing a tentative arm on your shoulder.

"You-" he starts, before clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure. "You won't mind if I do this, then?"

And before you can ask what he means, he's pressing a fiery, impassioned kiss to your lips.

It's half-loving, gentle, like you are the most precious thing he has ever held within his arms, half an act of possession, like he wants to lay claim to you in a way no one else can. The possessive half is carried out guiltily, you can tell, the way he gently licks at all the bites he leaves, consoles you when you yelp at the little electric shock he gives.

You've never wanted anything more.

The kiss ends, and you find a gutted sob escaping you. Tenna startles.

"Was that not alright, darling?"

"This- This can't be a dream," you say. You feel pathetic, longing for a relationship conjured up in a fantasy like this. A man born from your own furniture, who obsesses over your happiness like it is his sole priority. That can't be what you want, and yet it is. "Please don't let this be a dream."

You suddenly feel a comforting hand on your back, the touch initially sending a shock down your spine."

"It's not a dream," Tenna says, breath tickling your ear. You can only hope he's right.

You wake up with a start, dreading the day.

——————————————————————————

The relationship of your dreams is half fantasy, half nightmare. Tenna is a sweetheart, indeed he is, always fretting over your every concern and comfort, letting your worries melt away with his games and challenges.

And then sometimes he'll snap, scold you or break, and mere moments later, he'll be on his knees, begging not to leave.

"Please stay," he begs you one night, the blow of the wind that should have been pleasant chilling you to your very core. "You're all I have. Please-"

"I will," you nod, gulping. He doesn't believe you, face contorting into its familiar motion, and regardless of having no eyes, it's oh-so expressive that it immediately makes you shoot up with dread.

"Say you love me," he whispers, shaking you with a manic sort of feel. "Say it."

"I love you."

"I don't believe you."

"I- I love you," you say. "Please."

And like some sort of trance has been broken, his head jerks, the hands that were only just shaking you now cradling with the gentleness you normally know.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, kissing reverently as if that'll prove anything. "Don't leave me. Please."

You know you won't. You can't. You'll keep waking up later and later in the day, letting him take more and more out of your time. He is greedy, absolutely ravenous when it comes to you, and he'll devour you whole if that's what you offer.

And yet you offer yourself whole anyways, because you just can't say no.

Time passes. It's all a blur. You remember less and less of your day to day activities, and more and more of your dreams. Of Tenna, sweet and charismatic and pleadingly manic the next. How he beckons for you to stay even when the ring you now recognize as your alarm screams for you to wake up.

And how could you not, when his kisses are so inviting?

It all comes to a head one night.

"Stay," he murmurs, serving you dinner. You sigh.

"You know I will," you say.

"Not like that," he says. "Stay here. Forever."

"For- ever?"

Your eyes widen as the implication of his words catches up to you all too late.

These dreams- no- they're-

"I have a life back outside," you say, panicking as his antennae twitch in displeasure.

"Then you'll leave me to rot...?" He asks, falsely resigned. You gulp. You know him better by now. You know how intelligent he is. How assured.

He knows exactly what you'll say, that he knows you know but you'll do it anyways, damnit-

"That's not what I mean," you say. He sighs.

"Of course you can tell yourself that!" He says. "I really am insignificant... Just a tryst-"

"I'll stay," you say at last, acquiescing as you always have. He beams, kissing you like a touch-starved puppy, and you forget yourself for a few moments.

As far as any of your friends and family know, you will never wake up again.

But as far as you know, intoxicated by the seemingly permanent love in the air, you are the most awake you have ever been.

[curawrites]

Bonded

Ridoc Gamlyn x fem!markedone!Reader

Warnings: Fourth Wing spoilers, Iron Flame spoilers, a little angst I guess, fluff, smut, cursing, dry humping, p in v sex, cumming inside.

Note: Sorry for the late post! Exam season has been kicking my ass and figuring the plot of these fics has been a bit tricky! I decided to include a little bonus that I wrote this for this story initially but didn’t end up working so enjoy! 💚

Tag list: @ttheslutttybookwworm @sheblogs @mazzer @luvly-writer @river-of-woe @celeste-fourthwing

You had always imagined that you would've been the kind of cadet to party when you finally graduated. But nothing felt worthy of a celebration after what happened at Resson. The deaths of Liam and Solei had scarred you deeply. They had been some of your closest friends along with Garrick, Bodhi, Imogen, and Xaden.

Losing them had put into perspective how much you were going to miss the remaining friends you had now that you would all be separated.

While Imogen and Bohdi would be staying at Basgaith for their third year, Xaden and Garrick would be deployed to their assigned outpost in Samara, as would you, except your outpost was in Athbyne.

Your summer was spent with them all of course, but you did prioritize spending time with Bodhi and Imogen more. Unlike Garrick and Xaden who you'd be seeing for your weapon smuggling endeavors, visiting the quadrant to see the former two was out of the question.

At least that's what you had thought.

It seemed that witnessing Deigh's death had caused your dragon Iskra, a beautiful red female morningstartail, to realize how fleeting a dragon's life could be.

In the many centuries that she had been alive, she had never taken a mate, until now.

You should have been happy for her, excited even and you were, truly. But her choice of mate only left you with questions..

“Remind me again why you decided to become mates with Aotrom..? He’s a fucking idiot of a dragon..” You sighed heavily in your mind.

Iskra lets out a sound that could be interpreted as a purr through the bond, “He makes me laugh.” She replied, her tone dripping with warmth as she watched Aotrom do some sort of mating dance for her.

You smacked your face into your palm with a loud groan.

Not only had she chosen an idiot for a mate, she had also tied you to his idiot rider, Ridoc.

Its not like you were completely unaware of his existence prior to your dragons mating. But back then he was simply another bed hopping first year that wasn't worth any of your time.

And now he was your... Fuck buddy? Lover?? You didn’t really know. It was complicated to say the least.

You were well aware that you had grown rather fond of Ridoc as the result of the bond, as did he towards you. Your relationship had even progressed beyond the point of meaningless sex and it scared you.

The secrets that you kept from him were far from simple. Not only were you hiding the fact that you were apart of the revolution, and that you've been smuggling weapons along side Xaden and Garrick to flyers so they could fight the venin, but you also had a second signet.

Startling you out of your trance, Ridoc had slithered his arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind.

He pulled you in close as he tucked your head under his chin, comfortably resting his own on top of yours, “And they say romance is dead.” He scoffed as he observed the scene before him.

You watched as Iskra walked to Aotrom’s side, dragging her tail under his chin in a soft caress as she eyed him hungrily. They must have been communicating through their bond, because before you knew it both dragons had taken off and were flying in the direction of the vale.

You shook your head in disbelief, "I can't believe that dance actually worked on her.." you sighed.

He only hummed in response as his arms tightened around you, “I missed you.” he said affectionately through your bond.

A blush crept up your cheeks, “I missed you too..” you grumbled, letting yourself bask in his embrace.

A grin spread onto his face as he lowered his head to your shoulder, “Awww your blushing, Y/n/n.~” he teased.

You throw him a glare from over your shoulder, “Don’t push it or I’m not staying with you this weekend.” You warned playfully.

He gasped dramatically, “You wouldn’t dare!”

You eyed him mischievously, “Oh but I would! Bodhi and Imogen have been begging me to go out with them so maybe I’ll do just that!” You smirked.

He rolled his eyes, “As if- You literally only spend your time here with them and Xaden if he’s here! It’s my turn.” He whined.

A soft sigh left your lips, “Well when two of your friend dies tragically you kinda want to spend as much time as you can with the others.” You tried to joke but it fell flat.

Ridoc looked at you with a saddened gaze, “Y/n, I didn’t know that was the reason..” He mumbled.

You blinked at him a few times before looking towards the ground, “Well I never really told you.. Anyways take me to your dorm already I'm dying to get out these flight leathers.” You huffed.

A grin returned to his face, “With pleasure.~” he teased.

-

“Gods Y/n/n.. please never stop wearing those nightgowns.” Ridoc muttered as he watched you brush out your damp hair.

After taking a quick shower, you had slipped into a short, gauzy, blue, lace trimmed nightgown you had bought off of a flyer during one of your weapon drops.

You glanced towards him, “You like em?” You asked, knowing very well the answer.

He nodded as he sat up from his previously laying position, “You have no idea how much I love them. I would literally give you money to buy more.” He said as he watched you braid your hair.

That made you snort, “I’d have to find time to go buy more.” You sigh quietly before walking towards his bed.

Ridoc pulled you into his lap, “The next time I’m in Athbyne we can go together. Then I get to pick out whatever I want.~” his hands found their way under the gauzy material.

Your cheeks warmed, “Mmm..~ That would be fun but I can’t have you leaving the outpost. The General would have my head if more cadets end up in danger near the border.” You say as you dragged your hands down his chest to his abdomen.

The excuse wasn’t a complete lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

A groan left his lips as he caressed your bare hips and ass, “You’re not wearing panties..~” he said huskily through the bond.

Your eyes meet his lustful gaze as a smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth, “I’m not wearing anything but this nightgown.~” you purred as your hips shifted against his growing erection.

His hands immediately traveled upwards to cup your tits, “Spoiling me tonight now are you?~” he grinned as he groped and squeezed your mounds.

Heat began to pool in your core as his hips moved against yours, “I’m just really in the mood..~” you bit back a moan.

Ridoc let his hands return to your hips as he guided them to grind against his, “I can tell by the way you’re soaking my briefs..~” he sat up and pulled you into a kiss.

Your lips melded against his as your fingers grasped at the elastic of his underwear. “I want them off. Now.~” you demand.

He smirked into the kiss, "You're so needy for me.~" he teased, nipping at your bottom lip.

You shoot him a flustered glare, "Don't even start.~" you huffed as you tried to hold yourself still against his moving hips.

The grip he had on your hips relaxed as he stopped grinding against you, "Fine, fine, fine.~" he rolled his eyes playfully as he let you sit up and away from his lap.

Your entire face flushed the second you saw the wet spot that stained the front of his briefs. Gods you had no idea you made such a mess. Before you could focus to hard on it, Ridoc was pushing his underwear down his thighs.

When you heard the thump of his underwear hitting the floor you couldn't stop yourself from sitting in his lap again.

A soft gasp left his lips as he felt your bare pussy press against his errection, "Eager now are you?~" he teased as his hands slipped under you nightgown again to caress your hips.

His touch made you shiver, "It took you long enough.~" you grumbled as you began to grind against him.

Ridoc groaned lowly, "Its not my fault that you're so needy tonight..~" he huffed as he guided your hips into a rhythm with his.

You leaned forward and kissed him passionately, "Shut up..~" you whined through your bond.

He smirked against your lips, "Never.~" he said defiantly.

Eventually you pulled away, panting softly as you pushed him down on the bed, "I need you..~" you muttered.

His cock twitched from how dominant you were being, "Need me how?~" he asked grinning.

Your hands plant themselves firmly on his chest as you rise to your knees, "Inside... I need you inside..~" you sigh as you hovered over his lap.

Not wanting to keep you or himself waiting, Ridoc reached under you to line his tip to your fluttering hole.

Slowly, you sink down the length of his cock, sighing softly as your pussy stretched around him, "Gods Ridoc..~" you muttered as he held you flush against him.

He held your hips firmly as he adjusted to the feeling of your walls squeezing around him tightly, "Fuck you feel so good..~" he sighed.

Using his chest as leverage, you begin to move on top of him, rolling your hips against his as you bounced yourself on his cock.

A breathy moan left your lips when you roll your hips just right, making his cock press against your g-spot, "Oh my gods.. that feels amazing..~" you pant as you rode him harder, chasing the pleasure that pulsed in your core.

Ridoc couldn't stop himself from moaning lowly as he thrusted up into you, "You're so wet and tight.. fuck!~" he muttered as your arousal pooled at the base of his cock.

Your thighs burned as you tried to keep up with the pace you had set, the tingling sensation eventually turned into numbness which spread down the rest of your legs. "N-no..~" you whimpered as you loss your rhythm, making your hips stutter to a stop.

Without you even asking, Ridoc planted his feet against the matress. "I got you Y/n/n..~" he panted as he continued to thrust into you, the hands that held your hips moved you against him.

Sweat dripped down your back as you sat up straighter in an attempt to relieve some of the strain on your legs.

Feeling the fabric of your nightgown sticking to your skin, you tore your hands away from his chest and pull the garment off, leaving you completely naked on top of him.

His cock twitched at the sight of your bouncing breasts, "Fuck you're so hot.~" he groaned as he thrusted up into you harder.

Moans tumbled freely from your lips as he kept pounding right into your g-spot, "Don't stop!~ Feels so good..!~" you beg as you felt your orgasm rapidly build in your gut.

Ridoc looked up to meet your half lidded gaze, "Are you close?~" he asked huskily through the bond.

Your pussy clenched at the sound of his voice, "Yes.. I'm-I-" you stuttered as his thumb rubbed your clit. "Gods.. I'm gonna cum..!~" you whined before throwing your head back as your eyes fluttered shut.

A loud whiney moan tore itself as your climax hit you full force, making your core tingle as pleasure wracked your entire body.

Your hips twitched and bucked against his thumb as he kept rubbing the sensitive bud. "Ridoc please..~" your eyes opened again, meeting his desperate gaze.

The sensation of your pussy fluttering and squeezing him tightly was tarting to become to much, "Oh fuck Y/n..~ You feel way to fucking good..~" he glanced to where you bodies met.

Your release had pooled at the base of his cock, forming a white ring as he kept thrusting inside of you.

He groaned as the sight pushed him over the edge, "I cant.. Fuck I'm cumming..!~" his thrust quickened messily.

Ridoc moaned lowly as he cummed into you, holding you firmly down on his lap as he panted.

Only the sounds of your labored breathing could be herd in his dorm as you both came down from your highs.

Eventually, you were the first to move, carefully removing yourself from his lap before sitting down beside him.

He propped himself up on his elbows as he turned his attention to you, "Are you okay?" he asked, noticing you were rubbing your hands over your stretched out legs.

A breathy laugh left your lips, "I'm just trying to regain feeling in my legs." you said before your eyes met his, "What about you, are you okay?" you flipped the question back on him.

Ridoc smiled softly, "I'm all good, Y/n/n.” He said as he stood up, “I’m just going to go get us something to clean up with, okay? I’ll be right back." he said as he handed you your night gown.

You took the garnement from him and slipped it back on, “Alright, thank you..” you said quietly before he walked off.

He was barely even gone for a minute before he returned with a warm, damp rag in his hand.

A breathy yawn slipped past your lips before you spoke, “That was quick..” you mumbled as you parted your legs for him.

Ridoc carefully cleaned his cum from your thighs and pussy before wiping whatever was left of his soften cock.

While you got yourself comfortable under the covers of his bed, he busied himself with putting his underwear back on and throwing the rag into his pile of dirty laundry.

Once done with that, he joined you under the covers and cuddled you from behind before pressing a soft kiss to your rebellion relic covered neck.

He nuzzled his nose against the marked skin gently before sighing contently, "Goodnight.." he muttered as he closed his eyes.

Your cheeks warmed, “Goodnight..” you whispered back quietly.

While the sweet gestures gave you butterflies, they also made your gut churn with guilt as you were reminded of all that you hid from him..

-

Bonus! (I couldn’t help but use the ShxtsNGigs podast “Do you miss me when I’m not around?” conversation as inspo for dialogue lol!)💚

After a long eventful week you were finally able to get some well needed rest. You were exhausted to say the least, both mentally and physically. Not only was your entire body aching from all the flying you'd done, but you were unfortunately forced to fight some fliers during one of your patrols. It killed you on the inside but you couldn't risk outing yourself as traitor to your fellow lieutenants.

By the time you had finally made it to your barrack, all you could think about was getting out of your flight leathers as fast as possible and going to sleep.

Using the last bit of your energy to open the door, you were finally able to gaze upon the one thing you craved most. Your bed.

But it wasn’t empty.

In it laid a shirtless Ridoc Gamlyn, comfortably tucked under your blankets, playing around with the wooden dragons Liam had made you.

A groan left your lips, “I forgot that you were coming here this weekend.” You sighed as you stepped into your barrack.

Ridoc set down the figurines on your night stand before he sat up in your bed, “I sure didn’t, been looking forward to it all week since I didn’t even see you last weekend.” He grinned as he watched you undress.

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t know that I had to see you every time and since you’re probably wondering, I hung out with Bodhi an-“

Ridoc interrupted you as he scoffed, “First of all.. you’ve been spending a lot of time with Bodhi and I feel.. left out.” He admitted.

Your head turned swiftly in his direction, “What? I can’t hang out with my friend? I literally see you every weekend, Ridoc!!” You cried out.

“Yeah for the dragons! You only come to Basgaith because they can’t be apart!” He shouted.

You chuck your flight leathers to the side angrily, “You come here for them too you idiot!” You yelled.

Ignoring your point he continued, “If our dragons weren’t bonded you wouldn’t come see me every weekend!” He retorted.

Your hands ran down your face in exasperation, “I literally wouldn’t be able to! Not to mention this-“ you gesture between yourself and him, "Would have never-"

Before you could finish your sentence he cut you off again, “Do you miss me when I’m not around?” He asked rather randomly.

You stared at him in complete disbelief as you tried to figure out if he was actually being genuine or not, “What do you even mean by that?” You chuckled awkwardly.

He let out a frustrated groan, “When it’s Friday and you’re seeing me in the evening do you think ‘Can’t wait to see Ridoc’? Or do you roll your eyes and say ‘Ridoc is arriving tonight’?” He stared at you expectantly.

You take a minute to actually think about it before answering, “It depends-“ You admit.

Ridoc gasped loudly as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

Panic quickly set in as you realized what you said, “Wait- wait! Let me answer! Let me answer!! Let me answer!!!” You wave your hands around wildly.

Ridoc laughed, “Y/n!! I’m asking you if you miss me when I’m not around!!” He whined.

Your eyes roll dramatically. “You’re fucking ridiculous..” you sighed as you took off the remainder of your clothes before slipping into a nightgown.

After a beat of silence he sighed, “Go on then, tell me what you did with him. Gods I can’t even say his name- What did you do with him?” He asked as he laid back down and stared at the ceiling.

You shake your head in exasperation as you climbed into bed next to him, “You’re so jealous.” You teased as he dragged you into a spooning position.

Ridoc huffed, “So what if I am?” He brushed away the hair from your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers grazed your skin, “Well, if you would have let me finished you would have known that I hung out with Bodhi and Imogen.” You sassed.

He rolled his eyes, “Like that makes it any better.” He huffed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

An exasperated sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, “Goodnight, Ridoc.” you muttered as your body succumbed to its exhaustion.

You felt his lashes tickle your neck as his eyes closed, “Goodnight..” he sighed quietly.

[velarisdusk]

I've Got the Gift of One-Liners (And You've Got the Curse of Curves)

Day 7: Free Day @sjmxreaderweek summary: Backstage. One night. No regrets. The track says too much—but that night said it louder. (A bonus fic for my Wings of Illyria AU) word count: 7.2k content: [ explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), praise, dirty talk, fingering, pet names (sweetheart, baby, i think thats it), condom (i know, shocker for me), mentions of sacrilege, cigarettes, smoking, explicit language ] author's note: HERE SHE IS, im really excited to hear what yall think of this one :) i really loved working to tie in the lyrics i already established in previous parts to this one :) ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦

Security had pulled you from the pit like it was routine — like girls were ushered out of the crowd for private encores every night. One of them checked your ID with the flat disinterest of someone who’d done it a hundred times before, just long enough to confirm you were over eighteen before waving you through. You kept waiting to wake up, to be told it was a mistake, some kind of cruel joke. But the moment stretched on, and reality was still here, pressing against you with an undeniable heat.

Azriel was leaning against the wall with a crumpled bottle of water, shirt clinging to his chest, damp with sweat from the stage lights that still seemed to kiss his skin, glowing like he was something otherworldly. His eyes flicked up the moment you walked in, and for a split second, it felt like the world around you stilled. 

You stopped a few feet away, suddenly aware of everything—the way your hair clung to your neck, the heat in your face, the way your heart was hammering. His gaze never left you, heavy with something that had you second-guessing the ground beneath your feet. 

But then, that smirk. The one he wore on stage, in press releases, in interviews. You knew it was just part of the act—the same cocky, rehearsed charm he gave everyone—but directed at you it was different. He unscrewed the bottle of water, lifted it to his lips, and drank, the sound of it strangely intimate. Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave yours the whole time. 

“Hey, beautiful. What’s your name?”

You told him, voice caught somewhere between awe and nerves, your eyes locked on his—but your focus kept drifting, low and traitorous, to where his tattooed fingers twisted the cap back onto his bottle. It shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was. It was like he was already imagining what he’d do with his hands when he got them on you.

And when he repeated it, slow and low, like he was already tasting it—fuck. Your legs nearly gave out.

“I—” you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, nerves flickering like static beneath your skin. “You were really great out there. I mean, I’m sure you hear that all the time. But I—” You winced, cringing at the way the words tumbled out too fast, already regretting trying to sound cool. “Sorry. That was stupid.”

But he just smirked, slow and sure, like he was amused at your attempt to stay composed. “No, it wasn’t.” His gaze never wavered, an almost predatory gleam in those hazel eyes as they flicked down to your lips, a deliberate pause in the air. And then, without missing a beat, he said, “C’mon.”

He reached for your hand. You hesitated for all of half a second, then took it. 

Azriel’s fingers laced through yours like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would reroute the entire rest of your life.

You followed him through the back hallway—dim, humming with bass still trapped in the walls, cords snaking across the floor, scattered flyers and crumpled setlists littering the ground. The air smelled like beer, sweat, and the heavy, lingering scent of smoke, the kind of grit that hung in the air after a show, when the stage lights had dimmed but the energy was still burning. His hand was warm, rough, calloused. You couldn't stop looking at it—or at him, broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the glint of a silver chain nestled against his skin. 

“You always pick someone out of the crowd?” you asked, trying to sound casual. Normal. Like you hadn’t screamed every word of his songs twenty feet from the stage ten minutes ago.

He glanced over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only when she looks like she wants it bad.”

You huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure that was half the front row.”

“Yeah, but only one of them kept mouthing the guitar riffs.”

Your cheeks burned. “Okay, that’s embarrassing.”

“No,” he said, his voice low, “that’s hot.”

You couldn’t tell if your stomach flipped or bottomed out.

He kept walking like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain. “So, you come to a lot of shows?”

“First time seeing you live,” you lied. “Been a fan for a while, though.”

Azriel shot you a quick look, brow lifting. “Just a fan?”

You bit your lip, trying not to think too hard about the cardboard cutout you and your roommate had in your freshman dorm. Or the playlist in your phone titled ‘Azriel’s Soundtrack for When He’s Fucking Me Into Oblivion’. Or the handful of other Wings of Illyria concerts you’d gone to. You’d even bought tickets to a show they were only opening for—left after their set without even seeing the headliner.

“A big fan.”

He grinned—full teeth, devastating—and looked ahead again. But your gaze wandered, flicking toward every open door, every voice in the distance. Somewhere in your head, the whisper returned: what are you doing, this is insane—

Azriel slowed, his eyes still ahead. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly.

He stopped, turned to face you fully. The hallway was dim and quiet, the distant sounds of teardown echoing faintly behind you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the sharpness in his gaze as he studied you. 

“You keep looking around,” he said, voice low. “Don’t want to be seen with me or something? Any little boyfriends I should know about?”

You opened your mouth, intending to deflect, to joke—but his hand slid up, fingers brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt, and your breath caught.

“Jealous already? We haven’t even kissed yet.”

But he was still touching you, palm spreading against your waist like he meant to leave a print there. 

“Besides,” you let your eyes drag over him, slow and deliberate—the damp shirt clinging to every line of his chest, the lazy grip he still had on that half-crushed water bottle, his messy hair, the smudged eyeliner, the mouth that looked like it’d been made just to get you in trouble. “They don’t have a greenroom or a god complex, so… it’s not exactly a competition.”

He laughed—a short, rough thing, punched out of him like you’d caught him off guard. “You’re funny, (y/n).” And the way he said your name, so effortless, completely undid you in a way you wouldn’t admit to anyone.

“I am,” you managed, your voice tight, strained. “Actually hilarious, once I stop feeling like I might throw up.” And you meant it—you were two seconds away from either cracking a joke or passing out.

Another smile, slower this time. “Relax.” His mouth brushed your temple, his hand now fully beneath your shirt, fingers trailing up your ribs. “No one’ll see, just let me feel you.”

You shivered, not from the cold.

“I just…” you started, glancing past him again—down the hallway, toward a door that had just clicked shut. “I don’t wanna look like one of those girls.”

“What girls?”

“The ones naïve enough to think this means something.”

He didn’t flinch. Just leaned in, his voice like smoke and promise: “Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

A pause, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hand slid lower—out from beneath your shirt, fingers trailing along your skin like he couldn’t quite stand to let go..

“Just means right now, it’s you and me.”

Then he opened the door to his dressing room, leading you inside with a gentle pull.

The door clicked shut softly behind you, and for a moment, the room was just a quiet, dimly lit space. A couch sat against the far wall, the remnants of a few discarded bottles and empty cups scattered around. The air felt heavier in here, but it was still comfortable, like you could actually breathe for a second after the chaos of the show.

Azriel stepped further into the room and tossed his water bottle onto the couch, letting it roll off with a dull thud. He turned to face you, arms casually crossed over his chest. The easy confidence was still there, but now, in the quiet of the space, it felt a little more grounded, less like the persona he wore on stage.

You couldn’t help but feel the tension—too much of it hanging between you, and yet neither of you seemed in any rush to break it. You shifted your weight, unsure what to do with your hands, your thoughts spinning.

“So…” Azriel started, his voice low, but with no real edge to it. “What’s the deal? You’re in here with me, but you’re not acting like you’ve got a thousand questions or a million things to say.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Most people—fans, I guess—they want to talk about the band, the music, all that. They’ve got their script. But you just seem… quiet. A little offbeat, actually.”

You bit back a joke about a musician calling you offbeat—low-hanging fruit, and besides, his voice had gone too genuine for teasing. 

Instead you gave a small shrug, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you looked at him—really looked at him, like you weren’t afraid to see the man behind the persona. “I mean, what’s left to ask? You already put it all out there on stage.”

Azriel tilted his head, like he wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a challenge. “You think that’s all there is?”

“No, no. I think you’re really good at making people feel like they know you,” you said. “Even if it’s just a story you’re selling.” You paused, then added, “But it’s a good one! Makes people believe.”

That seemed to catch him off guard—just for a second. The smirk flickered, not gone, but softened at the edges. “And you? Do you believe it?”

“I think you want everyone to,” you said, stepping a little closer, feeling bold despite the nervous tremor in your fingers. “But I don’t think you care that much if I do.”

He laughed under his breath, low and rough. “You come with a warning label, or do people just figure it out too late?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ on purpose. “Not going to cry about you writing a song about someone else, either.”

Azriel’s brow quirked. “What if I said I was writing one about you right now?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Then I’d assume it’s a slow night for inspiration.”

That really made him laugh. A full-bodied, caught-off-guard kind of laugh that cracked the air open between you. He crossed the room slowly, like he didn’t want to scare you off, but couldn’t help himself either.

When he stopped in front of you—still standing just inside the doorway, your back barely brushing the closed door—there was less than a foot between your bodies. The heat off him was immediate, dizzying. His voice was lower now, rougher around the edges. “You always this blunt?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” you admitted, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Which, if we’re being honest, is kind of your fault.”

Something shifted in his expression—something that wasn’t the stage persona or the flirty smirk. Just Azriel, the guy beneath all that noise. “Don’t be nervous.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Easy for you to say.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth again, slower this time. He didn’t say anything for a beat, just stared at you like he was memorizing your face, the slope of your jaw, the way your lip caught between your teeth.

“I thought you’d be easy,” he said finally, voice almost more thought than words. 

Your brows rose. 

“Not like that,” he rushed out, hands half-lifting like he meant to ward off the offense. “I just meant—fuck—I thought I had a read on you. But I don’t.” 

You felt your breath hitch.

Azriel leaned in—not touching you, but so close you could feel his words against your skin. “It’s kinda messing with me.”

You swallowed, pulse a wildfire. “Good.”

And that was all it took.

He didn’t lunge or rush—just closed the space between you in a smooth, devastating slide. One hand skimmed your hip, the other cradling your jaw like you were something he’d been craving all night. His lips brushed yours, light and deliberate, a question more than a claim.

You answered without thinking—hands fisting in his shirt, mouth parting just enough to meet him halfway.

The kiss was slow at first—measured, like he was still trying to figure you out. But the second you sighed against him, something in him cracked. His hand tightened on your waist, and he deepened the kiss with a hunger that sent heat straight to your core.

He tasted like sweat and water and something darker, something heady. You barely had time to register how good it was before he was walking you backward, not breaking the kiss, just guiding you until your back met the door. 

Azriel kissed like he performed—confident, intense, a little overwhelming. Every press of his mouth stole more air from your lungs, every shift of his body pushing you harder against the door like he wanted to pin you there and never let you leave. His hands found your waist, your hips, your jaw—possessive but not rough, like he wanted to touch everywhere at once and didn’t know where to start.

You let him. For a while.

Because, god, it was good—the kind of kiss that melted your spine and rewired your thoughts. That made it very clear how he got away with every scandal, every rumor, every headline that should’ve been a red flag but somehow wasn’t.

But then something clicked. A flicker of boldness, of clarity, of fuck-it heat right behind your teeth.

You broke the kiss first—he chased your mouth for a second, frustrated, but you steadied a hand on his chest.

“What—” he started, just slightly breathless.

You didn’t answer. Just grabbed the hem of his shirt like it belonged to you now, like he already belonged to you. And then, with one sharp turn of your bodies, you had his back against the door.

Azriel blinked. His chest rose in a slow, surprised breath. “Oh?”

You didn’t smile. Not really. Just met his eyes as you sank slowly to your knees, one hand dragging down the front of his chest, watching the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

His pupils blew wide. “Fuck.”

“Still think I’m quiet?” you asked, voice low, teasing, as your fingers found the waistband of his jeans.

Azriel’s hand slapped flat against the door behind him, like he needed to ground himself.

“I take it back,” he muttered, already sounding wrecked.

“Good,” you said, undoing the button with infuriating slowness. 

That earned a groan—deep, appreciative, the kind of sound you’d file away forever. His eyes stayed on you, stunned, like he’d just realized you weren’t playing by any of the rules he thought you were. 

When you dragged his jeans down just far enough, he hissed through his teeth, head tipping back against the door with a quiet thud. You pressed a kiss just below his hipbone, slow and deliberate, then another. 

A soft hum vibrated in your throat as you mouthed against the fabric of his underwear, teasing, your lips tracing the ache there. You could feel the size of him even through the thin material, and god, he only seemed to get bigger the more he hardened beneath your touch. 

You wondered how it looked from his angle. A starry-eyed fan kneeling on the dirty carpet of his dressing room, the last place you ever thought you’d be—pressing your mouth to the bulge in his underwear like you were starved, desperate for a taste of him. 

Azriel’s breath hitched, and his hand found your hair, tugging lightly to guide you away from him. “Enough with the teasing,” he muttered, voice rough but the edge of amusement still there. “You’re killing me here.”

Finally you pulled the fabric down, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, and fuck, the sound he made when your mouth wrapped around him was downright obscene.

“Shit—” he choked, breath catching.

You didn’t rush. You savored. Licked and sucked and stroked with practiced ease, drawing long, lazy moans from him like you were playing an instrument you knew intimately. Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, gliding over wet heat, and his thighs tensed beneath your grip.

“God, (y/n),” he murmured, voice strained. 

That did something to you—hearing him say your name like that. 

A second later, one of his hands finally threaded into your hair, not guiding, just there. His fingers dragged through the strands gently, like he needed to anchor himself. You looked up at him as you took him deeper, watched his chest rise in a sharp inhale, watched his mouth fall open just a little.

His hips twitched. His jaw clenched.

“Fuck, you’re—” His voice cracked off. “You’re really fucking good at that.”

You pulled off slightly, just enough to smirk against his skin, your tongue flicking out again with infuriating confidence.

“I know,” you said, breath warm. Then you took him again, slow, deep, letting your throat tighten around him. Your jaw ached, muscles sore from the effort, and distantly, you wondered how the hell this was going to fit inside you. The thought of it made you flush, but you kept going.

Azriel swore, hand tightening briefly in your hair before smoothing it down, like he was torn between urging you on or just losing himself in it. His eyes were dark, almost dazed, mouth slack, and every muscle in his body was drawn tight like he was barely holding on.

You were about to do it again—just a little deeper, just a little sloppier—when he suddenly grunted and tugged at your shoulders, not rough, but firm.

“Okay—okay,” he said, breath ragged, jaw working as he blinked down at you. “That’s... you need to stop. Now.”

You blinked, lips swollen, mouth still wet, the taste of him warm on your tongue. The fear crept in, sudden and sharp. “Why?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant, uncertain.

His laugh was short and sharp, like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to ask. “Because if you don’t, I’m gonna embarrass myself.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “So you can do the whole ‘humble rockstar' thing.”

He gave a breathless laugh, then cupped your jaw in one hand and tilted your face up toward him. “Get off the floor, sweetheart. That mouth should come with a warning.”

You rose, still smug, and he kissed you before you were fully upright—fast, needy, like he couldn’t help it.

Like he needed more.

The kiss turned rough fast—his mouth hard on yours, all tongue and teeth and the kind of heat that made your knees threaten to give. You barely had time to register that he was moving again before he pressed you chest-first to the wall. The cool surface kissed your flushed skin through your top, shocking a little breath from your lips.

Azriel’s front was flush to your back, his breath ragged at your ear, hands already moving with greedy intent. One gripped your hip, steadying you; the other snaked around you and skimmed up the inside of your thigh, dragging the hem of your skirt higher and higher.

And then he paused. You felt it—the stutter in his breath, the twitch of his fingers.

“No fucking way,” he murmured, grinning into the shell of your ear. “You wore this tiny thing and didn’t even bother with shorts?”

You didn’t answer. Your smirk spoke for itself, even if he couldn’t see it.

Azriel groaned—like the sound had been ripped from his chest—and shoved your skirt up around your waist, rough with want. His hand cupped you through your underwear, palm broad and warm and already pressing just right.

You gasped, back arching slightly, and he groaned again, low and hungry.

“That’s evil,” he said, dragging two fingers over the thin fabric. “Fucking evil.”

You whimpered as he circled your clit through your panties, slow and deliberate. His body caged yours, every inch of him crowding you against the wall, hips pressing firm into your ass, his cock thick and hard against you through the fabric. 

And then—swift and smooth—he hooked two fingers in the side of your underwear and pulled them aside.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your neck, fingers sliding through slick like he owns it. “You this wet the whole time?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your forehead pressing against the wall, hips twitching back into him.

His fingers moved again, lazy and unhurried, fingers skilled from years of strings and rhythm, stroking like he wanted to memorize every reaction. “You were singing my lyrics like that,” he whispered, “with this pretty little cunt already begging for me?”

A tiny, broken sound escaped you.

He laughed—rough and low, his free hand splaying over your stomach, holding you steady. “Should’ve pulled you up on stage right then,” he said, dragging his fingers higher, circling, teasing. “Let the whole crowd see how much you wanted it.”

Azriel didn’t wait for you to respond. His fingers slid back down, stroking through the mess he’d already made of you, gathering it up like he owned every drop. And then he pressed one inside—slow, thick, knuckle-deep in a heartbeat.

You gasped, eyes fluttering closed as your forehead met the wall with a dull thud.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, voice all gravel and sin, “you’re so tight.”

You barely had time to whimper before he added a second, pushing in with more pressure, no resistance. His palm pressed flat against you now, keeping your underwear pulled taut to the side, while his fingers curled just so—finding that spot that made your thighs tremble.

“That it?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. “Right there?”

Your nod was jerky, breath ragged, hands splayed uselessly against the wall. You turned your head, blindly searching for him, and his mouth was there—hot, open, devouring yours like he couldn’t stand not to be kissing you. Your lips parted, tongues brushing—messy and desperate. He was all heat behind you, chest rising fast as his hips rolled forward, like he couldn’t help grinding against your ass, letting you feel every inch of how hard he was.

But your gaze dropped, and your head trailed after it, tracing the lines of ink winding down his forearm—down, down—until they vanished beneath your skirt, where his fingers were still working you open. 

He set a rhythm—slow but deep, purposeful, fingers curling again and again, dragging against that spot like he was trying to ruin you. Your underwear still stretched taut to the side, the fabric bit into the crease of your thigh, an added pressure you could feel with every shift of his hand.

“You’re fuckin’ clenching,” he groaned. “God damn.”

One hand still braced at your stomach, Azriel dipped his head to your neck, teeth grazing skin that was already damp with sweat. 

You blinked, your eyes a little hazy, before you spoke up. “Didn’t that one used to be unfinished?” you asked, voice low. “The wing—on your tricep.”

He slowed, just barely, the rhythm stuttering. “You’ve seen it before.”

You nodded. “The Tiny Desk session. And that festival set—when your shirt came off halfway through.”

A low, incredulous laugh ghosted over your throat. “You really pay attention, huh? Kinda sexy.”

You tried to stifle a laugh. “I mean, it’s hard not to. You’re kind of… hard to miss.”

“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers picking up pace as he pressed deeper. “What else have you seen, sweetheart?”

You blinked, mouth parting—his fingers kept moving, stealing the words before you could speak. “I—I’ve seen a lot of your shows. Recordings, I mean.” You laughed softly, trying to push through the aching heat building in you. “I know you guys’ setlists by heart.”

“Oh yeah?” he murmured against your neck, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “Go on then—what was the opener for the Late Hours tour?”

“‘Out of Body,’” you breathed, hips twitching against his hand. “Except for that show in Brisbane where it was—fuck—‘Violet Hour.’”

His fingers slowed just enough to make you whine, but it was deliberate—he was listening now. “Jesus. You’re a little encyclopedia, huh?”

You gave a shaky laugh. “Kinda my thing.”

“Mhm,” he said, curling his fingers just right. “So when’s my birthday?”

You blinked, struggling to think. “March… twenty-second?”

He gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck.”

“And you told GQ you don’t like cake,” you gasped. “Said your mom used to burn—oh god—burn the edges.”

That made him laugh, teeth grazing your jaw. “Fuckin’ hell. You know shit about me you shouldn’t.”

“You’re the one who keeps putting it out there,” you panted.

His fingers didn’t stop, dragging more ragged sounds from your throat. “Feels unfair, though. You’ve got all this shit on me, and I don’t even know what you do.”

You made a noise that was half-moan, half-laugh. “Like… in general?”

“Yes, in general,” he drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Do you work? Study? Or just professionally stalk musicians?”

“Depends who’s asking,” you managed, voice catching as his thumb traced slow, maddening circles, so precise you knew you’d never manage it again without him.

“I’m asking,” he murmured, picking up the pace again. “C’mon. You told me my fuckin’ birthdate. Least you can do is tell me yours.”

Your mouth opened—nothing came out at first. The next slow thrust of his fingers had you gasping, voice faltering before the answer finally slipped past your lips.

He hummed, satisfied. “See? Was that so hard?”

“You’re making it hard.”

“That’s kinda the point.” The cockiness in his voice alone could have pushed you over—but then came that quiet chuckle, right against your ear, low and smug and fucking lethal.

But just as the wave crested, as your body tensed and your breath caught, he stopped.

Pulled his fingers out, dragged them slow down the inside of your thigh like he knew what he was doing, like he meant to leave you there—trembling, soaked, and aching.

You whimpered in protest, hips shifting back, desperate for any kind of contact, but he just chuckled, breath still hot against your ear.

Then—his hands were on your waist, spinning you. Your back hit the wall with a soft thump, and Azriel was already there, crowding into your space, his fingers dragging up your bare thighs before settling on your hips.

He looked wrecked—hair a mess, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. And he was watching you like he was deciding whether to devour you slowly or ruin you in one go.

He bent, hands curling around your ankles, lifting one foot at a time to unbuckle your heels and slide them off, setting them aside with surprising care. Then his hands were under your skirt, pushing it up, up, until he had it bunched around your waist. A quick, rough tug at the waistband and your underwear was gone—torn clean off, like it was never meant to survive this.

Your top came next. He peeled it up over your head, fingers skimming your skin, and your bra was unclasped and discarded with barely a breath between.

Then his hands were back on your body—hot and greedy, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch first.

You reached between your bodies, brushing over the exposed length of him—still hard and glistening. He hissed between his teeth. “Not helping,” he growled.

You smiled up at him. “Then hurry up.”

Azriel shoved his shoes off, then kicked his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down, stepping out of them completely. He turned, muttering something under his breath as he dug between the couch cushions. A second later, her came up with his wallet, flipping it open with practiced ease. 

You watched, dazed, as he pulled out a condom. Wallet condom. Of course. 

At least if this somehow knocked you up, your baby daddy was hot and rich. The kid would be set. 

Before you could fully imagine a life and kids with him (as if you hadn’t before), he was on you again—all of him. Bare chest pressed to yours, the heat of him bleeding into your skin. He didn’t wait. One hand slid behind your knee, hitching your leg up and over his forearm, opening you to him as he stepped in close—so close. His other hand braced the wall beside your head, steadying both of you.

“Loud,” he murmured, lining up. “Bet you’ll be loud for me.”

Your mind went static. Any reply you would have come up with died in your throat as he pushed in, thick and slow, dragging a shattered moan from your lips as he filled you inch by inch. The stretch burned in the best way, a pressure that made your spine arch, your fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, his arms, anything.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked on your face like he couldn’t decide what to focus on—your parted lips, your fluttering lashes, the way your body clenched around him. “You feel—shit—perfect.”

You could barely answer, your mind dissolving as he drew back and thrust in again, the rhythm sharp. The wall thudded softly behind you with every motion. One foot barely held steady on the ground, the other still hooked tight in his grip like he dared you to move.

He leaned in close, lips grazing your jaw as he murmured, “Look at you. Taking it so fucking well.”

Your head tipped back, the words like gasoline, and he took the opportunity—mouth on your throat, teeth grazing skin, hips snapping forward again, harder this time. The slick drag of him, the sound of skin meeting skin, the low growl in his chest—it all worked in tandem, pushing you further, higher.

“Bet you’ve touched yourself to my music before,” he whispered, pumping deeper, rougher now.

You let out a sound—half protest, half moan—and he grinned against your throat, wicked.

“What was it?” he pressed. “One of the slow ones? Something filthy?”

His hand slid up to your chest, fingers teasing over your nipple in lazy circles before giving a firmer roll, then settling there to hold you steady. “Which one, baby?” he murmured. “Which song made you spread your legs and think about my cock?”

“‘Glass Chapel,’” you gasped, a broken sound, and he groaned—a guttural, desperate sound like you’d cracked something open in him.

“No fucking wonder you were only singing my parts out there.” His eyes dragged over your face, catching the way your cheeks flushed, lips parting like you’d been caught. His smirk deepened. “Yeah. I noticed. Was it the bridge? Yeah? Yeah, baby, knew that bridge would ruin you.”

“It did,” you breathed, your fingers digging into the muscle of his arm as he angled his hips to hit exactly where you needed. “I came so hard I—” He sped up—the wet, obscene sound of his efforts echoing in the dressing room, shameless and slick. “God, I had to pause it.”

Azriel snapped. One arm locked tight around your waist, the other already hooked under your thigh as he lifted you—effortless, like you weighed nothing. He pressed you into the wall, firm but careful, his body pinning you there. Your legs locked tight around his waist, arms flying up around his neck. You buried your fingers in his hair as he thrust into you hard enough to make your breath stutter, raking your nails down his scalp when the angle hit just right. He groaned against your chest, then dipped his head to suck your nipple into his mouth, tongue hot and insistent.

“Song’s old,” he growled, voice muffled against your skin. “Let me give you something new to touch yourself to.”

You whimpered something that wasn’t a word, hips tilting to meet every thrust like your body was chasing him on instinct. The stretch of him was dizzying, unbearable in the way only perfect things could be, and when his teeth grazed your nipple, a shock of pleasure bolted down your spine.

“Feel that?” he muttered against your skin. “Every time you play that song now, you’re gonna feel this.”

He slammed into you again—deep and brutal, but never careless—and your moans turned strangled. Your head tipped back against the wall, nails dragging harder through his hair until he hissed.

His breathing was ragged as he pulled back just enough to speak, eyes dark and intense. “When I saw you out there… The way the lights hit you, how you looked at me—like you were waiting for me to see you.” His voice dropped lower. “I wondered what you’d sound like if I ever got you alone. If your voice would shake when you said my name.”

Your body seized around him at that, the raw confession cutting through the fog in your mind like lightning.

“Oh, you like that,” he growled, almost laughing as your hips rolled down against him, helpless. “Knew you were filthy, baby. Knew it when you looked me up and down the second you got backstage. When you told me you got yourself off to goddamn ‘Glass Chapel,’ Jesus Christ.”

You huffed a breath, teeth sinking into your lip. “It was the Hail Marys that did me in.”

He stilled suddenly, eyes flashing, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right. Then he breathed out a low, stunned laugh—more breath than sound. “You’re kidding.”

You didn’t say a word, just shook your head—lips parted and red, hair a wreck, sweat catching the dim light on your skin. You were sure you looked completely fucked out, and God help you, you loved what it did to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, jaw tight as he thrust into you again, slower this time. “That shit’s not even subtle.”

A bitter smile curved his mouth. “Didn’t think you’d be into the whole martyr complex. You got a confessional kink, too? Or is it just the guilt that gets you off?”

You tried to glare at him, but it collapsed into a moan as he found that merciless rhythm again, your head falling back against the wall. “You’re cocky as hell,” you managed, breathless, “but I thought about this every night and still didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Azriel let out a rough laugh, hips slamming into you like your praise lit something in him. “Yeah?” he panted, mouth dragging over your throat. “Say that again.”

You dug your nails into his shoulders, lips brushing his ear. “You’re better than I imagined, Azriel.”

He groaned, low and rough, and buried his face in your neck like he needed a second to pull himself together. “Fuck, baby.” His voice was ragged. “Keep talking like that and I’m not gonna last.”

A smug smile curled on your lips, despite how wrecked you felt. “What, you want me to lie instead?”

Azriel laughed, breath hot against your skin. “No, keep talking.” His hands tightened around your thighs as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide. “Tell me what you want, (y/n).”

When his hips slammed into you again, deeper than before, the words spilled from your lips without a second thought. “I want you to fuck me like you can’t get enough. Make me scream so hard I forget where I am, who I am—I don’t care, I just want to feel you all over me, Azriel, until I can’t walk, can’t think, just you. Fucking me. Over and over.”

The sound of your pleasure bounced off the walls, loud and unrestrained, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the way he made you feel. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop him as he drove you toward something reckless and burning.

Azriel’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his eyes darkened with a wicked, almost feral gleam. “Fuck, (y/n),” he growled, voice rough and shaking. “Fuckin’ perfect goddamn pussy. Made for me to fuck it, huh? Yeah, baby, and that filthy fuckin’ mouth—I could fuck you like this forever, you know that?”

You whimpered, one hand sliding between your bodies, fingers working your clit in tight, desperate circles. “So close,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop, Azriel—fuck, don’t stop.”

His hips stuttered at the sight, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Shit—look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Rubbing yourself while I fuck you. You feel too fuckin’ good to be real.”

His voice broke on the last word. And then he lost it—thrusts erratic, bruising, as a groan tore from his throat and he came hard, spilling into the condom with a raw, guttural sound like it was dragged from the pit of him.

But he didn’t stop. 

He kept moving, fucking through it, pace rough and messy with the aftershocks, and the overstimulation only pushed him harder. The rhythmic slap of his skin against yours grew louder, the pressure building in your core, until you were coming with a cry, back arching as heat tore through you like wildfire. 

Your whole body shook. Your legs trembled. And finally, finally, he slowed. 

Azriel leaned into you for a second, breath ragged against your skin, before finally easing out with a low, involuntary hiss, your bodies slick and trembling where they met. 

Without a word, he adjusted his grip on you, one arm locked beneath your thighs, the other bracing your ass as he carried you from the wall like he hadn’t just demolished you. Like you weren’t still gasping in his arms.

“Hold on,” he muttered, voice rough, and you instinctively clung tighter, arms looped around his neck. He shifted one hand, reaching for the blanket slung over the back of the couch, and shook it out with an easy flick before laying it across the cushions.

Then he knelt, lowering you onto it with a care that shouldn’t have felt so reverent after what he’d just done.

While you melted into the soft spread—mind blank, body humming—Azriel rose and padded over to a trash bin tucked near the corner. He peeled the condom off with one hand as he walked, tied it off, and tossed it without pause.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

There was something unshakably magnetic about the way he moved—casual and unhurried, like he wasn’t Azriel, the bassist every dive bar daydreamed about and the reason half the crowd screamed louder during the breadowns, but just some guy cleaning up after the best sex of your life. His shoulders rolled as he walked, loose and satisfied, and there was a certain quiet confidence in the slope of his spine, like he didn’t need to say a word to know you were still reeling. 

He made his way to the mirrored dressing table—small, utilitarian, built into the wall—and grabbed a towel and a battered pack of American Spirits off the cluttered surface. Your eyes trailed after him, helpless not to admire the ripple of lean muscle across his back, the taper of his waist, the tight curve of his ass. Even his legs—long, strong, littered with faint bruises and a thin, silvery scar running vertical over one knee—had you clenching around nothing. Azriel looked like he was carved for sin and didn’t even know it. Or worse—did know, and just didn’t care. 

The cardboard crinkled in his palm as he tapped one loose and caught it between his lips, already moving back toward you. With the lighter tucked inside the carton, he slid it free one-handed, thumb dragging the wheel with practiced ease.

Back on the couch, he dropped down beside you, one arm thrown over the backrest to hook around your shoulders. The flame lit with a soft chk as he sparked the cigarette to life, the glow briefly catching on the sharp cut of his jaw, the relaxed slant of his mouth.

Then, without so much as a look, he held the towel out to you, a fluffy rolled up green thing—just a quiet offer, casual and thoughtless, like it was muscle memory. You took it with a still-shaky hand and an even shakier thank you. 

Azriel leaned his head back and took a long drag, exhaling like he didn’t have a care in the fucking world.

And you? You stared.

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t fucking believe it.

Azriel—the Azriel—was sitting beside you like you hadn’t just been pressed against a wall, stuffed full and screaming his name like a prayer. Like he hadn’t just wrung you out with his hands on your thighs and your voice in his ear. He was right there, cigarette in hand, the taste of him still on your tongue.

A shaky breath left you.

You needed a cigarette—

So you reached out and plucked his from between his lips, slow and deliberate, your index and middle fingers brushing the corner of his mouth.

He turned to look at you, one brow arched in lazy disbelief, but there was unmistakable amusement in his eyes.

You didn’t say a word. Just brought it to your mouth and took a long, deep drag—slow enough to make a point, greedy enough that you knew he’d taste it when he got it back. Smoke curled from your nose, then your mouth, a slow exhale through parted lips.

Only once the breath had fully left you did you glance at him—then carefully, precisely, placed the cig back where it belonged, tucking it against his mouth like you were returning something borrowed.

Azriel let you do it, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Just took another drag like nothing about this was abnormal.

You busied yourself with the towel—more for something to do than out of any real modesty, dabbing between your thighs like it might distract from the buzz still lingering in your limbs.

What were you supposed to do now?

Just get dressed and leave? That felt weird.

Say thank you? Even weirder.

Make conversation? Try to pretend like this wasn’t the craziest thing that had ever happened to you?

You avoided looking at him, trying not to think too hard, trying not to come across like you were thinking too hard. But your thoughts were looping, loud and nervous, until—

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his expression shift. A sharp inhale, eyes widening mid-drag, followed by a low, almost startled curse.

Then:

“You wouldn’t mind signing an NDA, would you?”

You blinked, turning to look at him. “Isn’t that supposed to be before?”

Azriel exhaled smoke through a crooked grin, one brow raised, all lazy charm and unapologetic sin. “I forgot,” he said, voice rough with amusement.

He tilted his head toward you, like he could already see you agreeing, like he knew exactly what you’d say next.

And fuck—you probably would sign it.

[notdysfunk]

do all of soaf sun's wings make him a really fast flyer?

HAII!! TY FOR ASKING <3 Probably yeah!! His mass amount of wings does make him a very STRONG flyer. Meaning he can take off very quickly, and kind of shoot himself into any direction- sometimes when he doesn't need to 😭

Bonus vvv

Some more rambles: Each of his wings sets all work together to fly. His biggest wings put in the most work, used for actually flapping along with the second pair. His third pair are MOSTLY used for stabilizing him if he flies for a large distance (i.e., to the store). But of course those can flap too. Since he has SO MUCH surface area of wing, he catches a lot of wind and definitely could fly pretty fast if he needed too. :D

[antrea]

[25.01.23] morning skate

ej - skating with three sticks taped together - photobombs flyers broadcasting director brian smith while he films the pregrame preview video (prev: pt7, whole series)

bonus photos:

[fellow-anime-weeb927]

Only you..~❤️ (Brant x Gn!reader)

Literally got this idea when i was showering at night- @//.//@

You and Brant were chilling on the ship like usual, you being vice captain and him teaching you what duties there were to fulfill, you have never been more grateful for his guidance.

Despite having important roles, you two couldn't help but goof around with each other. Him teasingly poking your tickle spots and you playfully wearing his pirate hat.

Suddenly, one of the crew members walked up to you two, showing a flyer about a performance competition going on at (place name), Brant grinned and glanced at you cheekily, earning a knowing smile from you. So the ship headed off to the venue, the air filled with his laughter and your excitement.

As you two and the crew members arrived at the venue, you all signed up for the competition with the staff and waited patiently as the sun sets. The organisers officially announced the start of the event as the audience clapped and cheered. Each group got welcomed onto the stage, performing their own unique and talented performance, the surroundings filled with cheers and laughter.

Once it was your turn, the crew members readied themselves. Brant hopped onto the stage and extended a hand for you to help you, making the crowd chuckle at the sight and you blushed a bit. Accepting his hand, you two on stage and the crew started to create a catchy tune. Brant pulled you close to him with a trusting smile, you returned it with a grin and danced with him, a dance only you two know and created during your time on the ship.

Both of you took turns to lead the other as the dance continued, him pulling you close and letting you go to dance separately while you decided on a bolder approach, dipping his body down carefully with a wink before pulling him back up to continue the dance. The audience cheered and applauded while you two performed dancing filled with flexibility and specialty. Finally, the crew finished the music as you and Brant stopped when your bodies were pressed against each other, panting a bit from exhaustion yet smiling with relief. You playfully pulled him closer by his shirt collar, making him blush. He took off his pirate hat and hid your faces from the audience at the front. Before you could ask him, he kissed you deeply. Slowly returning the kiss and wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss lasted a while before you two pulled away for air. He put his hat on your head and kissed the back of your hand, making you blush as well. The crew members cheered along with the audience, you two bowed and all of you left the stage.

When all competitors finished performing, the organisers discussed on the stage, the audience murmured and whispered to one another. They announced that they have decided on a winning team, the moment they announced you, Brant and the crew, you all hopped onto the stage in excitement to accept the winning prize. You all bowed to the audience and waved cheerfully. You thanked the crew for their hard work on the music and turned to Brant, who was already looking at you endearingly. You chuckled and thanked him for being your dance partner, he did the same and kissed you breifly behind his hat before putting it back on your head. You stood still in disbelief and blushed, staring at him in awe and ruffled his hair as payback. He only chuckled and hugged you, smiling at feeling your arms wrapped around him.

Bonus~

You two were now cuddling in his room on the bed, him kissing you over and over again, making you giggle and return each kiss.

You playfully asked if he’s smitten for you, he grinned and whispered into your ear..

Only you..~❤️

A/n: need more content of this man istg i need him biblically, i’m on my knees praying rn-🛐✨

@sorinbds hope it isn’t too bad since I don’t play wuwa-🙏🏻

😌✨❤️

[tinkerbellknockoff]

beautiful blue hair // jinx x fem! reader

jinx eased quickly into her new life at demacia, deciding to do something for the first time in her life- see a hair stylist.

-- a/n: had this idea after staring at s2ep9 jinx and realizing that haircut would probably grow out terribly. this was written at 3am, enjoy!

jinx found being at demacia good enough. it was a very different culture than the life in zaun that she was used to, but arguably, she thought that was great for her. she was free to be herself, with no repercussion because here- she had no weight of the past weighing her down.

the only thing? she mildly regretted the haircut of choice that ekko had given her. during her crisis back in zaun, ekko had came to her side- he helped her. and, even with jinx's hyperindependency, she knew she had bits to thank him for.

looking in the mirror, seeing the comically long bang hanging in front of her face compared to her bob length hair, she figured this was the one thing she wasn't going to thank him for.

it looked great when it was first cut, though, which was a bonus.

but jinx's hair grew freakishly fast. weekly in her workshop she'd give herself little trims to tame her hair. unfortunately for her, she grabbed a whole lot of things while packing her bag- one thing she didn't?

scissors.

jinx let out an annoyed huff, "oh, c'mon! seriously? out of all things?"

she spoke to herself, the walls echoing back nothing but the sound of her own voice. jinx's hands continued to brush through her hair, looking at the chopped layers in mild distaste. she had never been one to ever care about her appearance but for some reason, this peeved her. real bad.

during her examining, her eyes caught a glimpse of something. during her time walking and exploring demacia, she was given scattered flyers, business owners wanting to promote their stores. she chose not to throw them away, believing that since she was making a new life for herself, she might try to get out more. normally. without explosives, even though she'll find it significantly less entertaining.

"daffodil's," jinx muttered, the name slipping off her tongue as she picked up the flyer from the pile. she hummed in interest, eyeing the design, promoting a small salon that had recently opened.

jinx scanned it over one last time before sighing to herself, "... why not?"

☆☆

jinx slowly pulled open the door of the tiny salon. it was in the downtown area, tucked into a less busy area. she liked that a lot.

she was greeted with a soft smell of sandalwood, the sound of the heater in the building slightly humming, giving a background to the idle chattering of the few people that were inside.

a girl, possibly around jinx's age, sat at the front desk. the desk was a little bit to the side of the entrance, the person sitting there catching a glimpse of whoever entered first. but, the girl was too preoccupied.

the girl sat comfortably on a chair, slightly reclined back as she calmly chewed gum, occasionally popping a small bubble. her feet were elevated, resting on the desk, a magazine in her hands as she loosely flipped through the page.

jinx's eyes scanned her over, biting her lip almost nervously. why hadn't she just decided to go out and buy a damn pair of scissors? would've been much less work. she walked up to the front desk, her boots clanking against the floor in a rhythmic, melodic kind of way. this caught the girl's attention, causing her to look up from the magazine, her chewing stopping for a second.

as jinx finally got up to the counter, the girl adjusted, sitting upright and giving the blue-haired girl a grin. she tilted her head, her (h/c) hair tumbling to the side as she looks at jinx.

"hi there! how can i help ya? do you have an appointment?"

the girl's relaxed, bubbly demeanor was almost nauseating to jinx. she never once dealt with someone so... she doesn't even know. she took a deep breath in, calming her nerves she didn't realize existed, giving the girl a grin in return.

"hi! i was wondering if you could do... erm..." jinx's voice trailed off for a moment. she doesn't know terminology. an appointment? is that the word? no, those are in advance-

her thoughts stopped yelling at her as the girl gave jinx a soft smile. "we do walk-ins. you looking for a new do?"

the girl giggled at her own terminology, moving the chair back to stand up. jinx nodded, "yup, one of those."

"great. i'm free to take you back," the girl beckoned jinx with her hand, leading her to the furthest chair in the corner, patting the seat as she grabs an apron from the side. "what can i do for ya?"

jinx slipped into the chair. it was so comfortable to her, it almost felt foreign. it was wood but it was lightly cushioned, and had a slight modern feel. jinx's reflection greeted her, one that she only recently got used to with having a new unbroken mirror.

jinx cleared her throat, "just.. wanting it fixed. or whatever."

the girl lightly ran a finger through jinx's hair, bringing it up to assess the layers in her hair. jinx slightly tensed at the new touch, but didn't let it alarm her too much.

"at home hairdo, huh?" the girl spoke humorously, meeting jinx's gaze in the mirror. jinx huffed, refraining from giving the girl a glare. she didn't want to be made fun of for her decisions, and before she could make a retort, the girl started speaking again, "i get it. once i accidentally cut my hair up to my ears- wait i shouldn't be telling you that."

the girl cut herself off, and that got a laugh from jinx, giving you a lopsided grin in the mirror, "don't tell me that when you're gonna be chopping at my hair, toots."

the girl gave a sheepish shrug, before asking, "anything in particular in mind?"

jinx pursed her lips for a moment. did she? no. "just... whatever you want, yeah?"

the girl rose her eyebrows, "trusting a complete stranger with ya looks? bold. i dig it."

jinx found the girl funny. jinx watched the girl begin to even out the layers in her hair, chopping her hair to a length just right underneath her chin. jinx liked it so far.

eventually, the girl came around to the front, bending slightly to meet jinx's height as she grabbed at the long strand of hair, evening it out as she chopped a pair of bangs on jinx. the position got jinx to awkwardly clear her throat, looking away.

even with the avoidance, the girl started speaking up, "ya know, people say that hair holds memories."

jinx didn't know that.

"so what was so special about this one piece of hair?" the girl grinned in a playful manner, and jinxed watched the long strands fall onto her lap. she looked in the mirror and there were a pair of bangs just falling right above her eyebrows, nicely blending in with the rest of her hair.

"aren't you nosey?" jinx quips back, though without malice. jinx thought this girl was nice, even without knowing her for that long at all. and, seeing her new hair, she couldn't but have some approval.

"just makin' conversation, yeah?" the girl giggled. "let's get you washed?"

jinx hadn't realize how long it'd been since she washed her hair.

feeling the girl's hands and manicured nails shampoo at her scalp was almost a moan worthy, toe curling experience as the girl didn't speak, but only chewed on the piece of gum that had been in her mouth. she could tell jinx was enjoying it, but she didn't judge. I mean... who doesn't like getting their hair shampooed?

time passed quickly as eventually jinx ended up back in the salon chair, the girl eventually wrapping up blowing out jinx's hair, leaving her hair straight and soft, the heat nice against jinx's neck.

jinx couldn't believe who she saw in the mirror. this is what she needed. what she wanted. when she saw herself in the mirror, she didn't think "jinx" or "powder". she just felt.. like herself.

the girl eyed her expression in the mirror, giving a soft grin, "ya like it?"

jinx stopped admiring herself for one moment as she met your gaze in the mirror, nodding vigorously, giving you a grin, "love it, toots."

she paused for a moment, "what's your name?"

the girl tilted her head, telling jinx her name, "recommend me to your friends, yeah?"

jinx repeated your name, letting your name roll off her tongue. she wasn't going to let you know that she has no friends, but she gave you a grin, "definitely."

jinx became a regular after that.

[see-arcane]

I wrote a book!

The Vampyres is the happy horrifying accident born of feverish scribbling in the wake of Dracula season* (*inhaling Dracula Daily and Re: Dracula at the same time May thru November). It features a number of familiar villainous faces from classic supernatural lit, though not everyone is wearing their original name anymore. The story takes place in the 21st century and you can only hold onto those sentimental titles so long in the mayfly mortal world before you start drawing attention.

Not that swapping out pseudonyms has done anything to thwart the new shadow looming over the revenant community…

Free Preview Chapters (If You Want a Sneak Peek)

All on my Substack here!

More info under the cut:

Description

Something is culling the undead.

Whether they imbibe blood, leech life, or traded mortality away to their devil of choice, the revenants of the world are disappearing. The Vampyre, a possessor of many names and collector of many lives, has been fretting over the phenomenon for some time.

A laughable fear, for he is one of those canny cadaverous few who made a deal for perpetual resurrection. The bitten may crumble, but the bargainer can rise from death after death. So he reminds himself. So he worries is no longer the case.

Not when the boyar in the Carpathians was one of the first to vanish. Still, the monster from the mountains may simply be in hiding, just as the rest of the bargainers must be. The Vampyre convinces himself of this for a single night…before the monster called Quinn Morse makes itself known.

Where to Buy

eBook: https://books2read.com/thevampyres

Paperback (Bookshop being a U.S. store search*): https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-vampyres-c-r-kane/21171669?ean=9798218374587

*Available internationally!

To Search by ISBN

eBook ISBN: 9798218374594

Paperback ISBN: 9798218374587

Art Pile

Announcement Post Flyer - Cover Conundrum - Preorder Announcement - Vampyre Valentine

Skull Scratch - Eye in the Sky - Food Chain of the Vampyre - A Long Night In - Red Smile - Prototype Book Cover

BONUS: Fanart Book Cover!

Ko-Fi

If you’d like to donate a buck or commission some art, I have a Ko-Fi here.

My ocular official site

Spotify

Tunes to run for your unlife to.

[sheriffmango]

Happy (late) maid day aka It's Victor Kudo's favorite day. Funds are running low and the showbiz isn't bringing in that much cash as it used to for Mr. Powers, looking for a job to keep himself afloat he finds a pretty dainty looking resturant that apparently wanted an equally dainty waitress. Powers neglected to read the dainty part in the flyer so he was quick to apply, apparently Armstrong didn't mind that his apperance didn't quite match up the qualifications as he instantly got in! He was just "parfait".

Bonus Powersworth cause I haven't drawn Powersworth in a bit

[kazamasthings]

How Lee Chaolan, Jin Kazama, Hwoarang React When Reader Says She's Pregnant

thank you so much, anon! i'm so sorry for the delayed response. i've been struggling with depression, which led me to neglect this blog for a while. I withdrew from many things I enjoy and unfortunately, fell into a period of deep sadness. however, my love for tekken remains strong, and I'm eager to get back to writing about it. 🥺 so, here we go!

How would Lee Chaolan, Jin Kazama, and Hwoarang react when reader says she is pregnant?

and a little bonus!

Lee Chaolan

You already knew you were pregnant and now you needed to tell your fiancé. You wanted to do it in a grand way, since everything you did together was grand. After all, Lee Chaolan wasn't just a man, he was the man in your life. And he deserved the best surprise in the world.

You dressed meticulously for dinner that night, choosing a dress that subtly highlighted your growing belly, but without being too obvious. The big reveal would be the cherry on top of your anniversary celebration. Lee's driver arrived punctually to whisk you away to the most elegant restaurant in town. Your heart pounded with a mix of nervousness and excitement.

When you arrived, Lee was waiting for you, his warm smile radiating pure love. He looked absolutely stunning in his impeccably tailored suit. He approached you with feline grace, kissed your hand with a touch as delicate as silk, and pulled out your chair with the effortless charm of a true gentleman.

The dinner was a delight, both for the exquisite food and the engaging conversation. Lee was especially charming that night, his eyes shining with boyish enthusiasm as he talked about his robotics projects. It warmed your heart to see him share his passions with you. You felt like the luckiest woman in the world to have such an intelligent, charming, and romantic man by your side.

When it was time to exchange gifts, Lee presented you with an envelope filled with photos of breathtaking landscapes from around the globe. "Choose a place, my love," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "or perhaps we can visit them all!" You laughed, marveling at his generosity.

Then it was your turn. You took a deep breath, trying to still the tremor in your hands, and offered the gift box to Lee. He accepted it with curiosity, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. Upon opening it, he first saw a pair of tiny baby shoes. A flicker of confusion crossed his face before his eyes widened as he noticed a neatly folded baby outfit nestled beneath the shoes.

You could practically see the gears turning in your fiancé's brilliant mind as he processed the information. Tears of joy welled up in your eyes.

"My love..." he began, his voice thick with emotion, "...Don't tell me we're going to have an heir?!"

"Yes, Lee!" you replied, your own eyes brimming with happy tears, "I'm pregnant! We're going to have a baby!"

"That's...Excellent!" he exclaimed, before gently pulling you into a passionate kiss. It was a kiss overflowing with love, desire, and pure happiness. No more words were needed. That kiss said everything. Lee was ecstatic. And so were you.

During pregnancy:

Lee Chaolan would become the epitome of the devoted husband during your pregnancy. If you craved an authentic Argentine barbecue at 3 AM in Tokyo, he would move heaven and earth (and draw upon his considerable resources) to magically transport a Buenos Aires steakhouse to your dining room. Literally any whim you expressed would be met with swift and decisive action, no questions asked.

His staff, quite accustomed to their boss's... particularities, would develop a comprehensive manual on "How to Pamper the Expectant Mother" and accumulate a hefty number of frequent flyer miles as they jet-setted around the world fulfilling your every craving.

Lee would transform into a connoisseur of out-of-season exotic fruits, a patron of renowned chefs for personalized cooking lessons, and even a collector of miniature robot sculptures for the baby's crib (because, naturally, the nursery needed a touch of his genius, wouldn't it?).

On fatherhood:

Fatherhood would deepen Lee's devotion and amplify his protectiveness. He would leverage his intelligence and resources to ensure his child enjoys every possible advantage, from a top-tier education to opportunities to explore diverse cultures.

You know the kind of father who lives by the mantra "My child, my rules"? Lee would embody that, but with an added layer of sophistication. He might even design a robotic nanny capable of teaching the baby Mandarin while simultaneously rocking the cradle.

He would be the kind of father who proudly displays a family photo in his wallet. He would meticulously document every milestone, from first steps to first words, capturing high-quality photos and videos that would be carefully archived and shared with loved ones.

Lee would likely want more than one child, believing his firstborn deserves the companionship of siblings. He would also envision his children as extensions of his legacy, individuals to nurture, guide, and eventually entrust with his empire and vast knowledge.

Above all else, Lee's loyalty to his family would be unwavering. He would be a devoted and present father, striving to maintain a healthy balance between his demanding career and his family life. He would prioritize attending every important event in his children's lives, from school plays to sports matches.

Lee would be a father who inspires his children to reach their full potential, encouraging them to cultivate their talents and pursue their passions. He would be a role model of discipline, intelligence, and dedication.

Jin Kazama

You were sitting on the bathroom floor, hands trembling as you stared at the positive pregnancy test. You knew the dangers of being romantically involved with Jin Kazama. The threats you’d already received for being close to him were a stark reminder that the world wasn't a safe haven for your love. And now, with a baby on the way, the risks seemed to multiply exponentially.

"Have courage," you whispered to yourself, trying to quell the rising tide of fear. "You are strong... You will take care of this." But the words felt hollow and inadequate against the wave of doubts crashing over you. How would Jin react?

Later that day, when Jin arrived home, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The sadness etched on your face worried him deeply. He approached you, his expression a mixture of affection and concern, and asked softly, "What's wrong?"

"We need to talk," you replied, your voice trembling.

You sat side by side on the couch, your bodies tense and unyielding. You took a shaky breath, searching for the right words to articulate the storm raging within you.

"I've been experiencing some changes... and I took a test today... I... I don't know how it happened, we were so careful, but... I'm pregnant," you confessed, tears streaming down your face.

Jin's reaction was exactly what you had dreaded: silence. He didn't shout, he didn't cry, he didn't express any emotion whatsoever. He simply sat there, frozen, his gaze fixed on some distant point. In his mind, a whirlwind of thoughts collided in a matter of seconds.

He thought of you, your safety, the ever-present danger you faced simply by being with him. He thought of his child, the potential for them to inherit the Devil Gene, the difficult life that could await them. He remembered his own childhood, how he was manipulated and used by the very people who were supposed to care for him: his father and grandfather. How could he possibly be a good father? It was his fault, his love for you had placed you both in jeopardy.

But then, amidst the chaos of his thoughts, a memory surfaced: his mother. The strong, resilient woman who raised him alone, who fought to protect him.

In one swift movement, Jin pulled you into a warm, comforting embrace. With your head resting against his chest, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

"Jin... What are we going to do?" you asked, your voice choked with tears.

"Darling..." he replied, his words filled with love and unwavering conviction. "You've just given me one more reason to live and fight."

Those words, spoken by Jin, who was usually so reserved and guarded with his feelings, were a powerful declaration of love.

"Don't worry," he continued, "You're strong and brave. We'll face this together."

In that moment, Jin's only thought was protecting his new family. He held you close, as if trying to shield you from all the evils of the world. A single tear escaped his eye as he realized this was his chance to break the cycle, to do things differently, to avoid the mistakes of his father and grandfather. He would give everything he had to his family. In his heart, he wished his mother could be there to share the joyous news.

During pregnancy:

Jin Kazama, with his naturally reserved and protective nature, would become your personal guardian during your pregnancy. He would feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility and would stop at nothing to ensure your safety and well-being. The memories of his own troubled childhood, the absence of a father, would fuel his determination to provide the opposite experience for his own child.

He would likely compile a detailed dossier on every doctor's appointment, every test, every stage of the baby's development. He would become a self-taught expert on prenatal nutrition, creating balanced and personalized meal plans for you. And, of course, he would ensure your utmost comfort, arranging for relaxing massages, providing extra pillows, and anticipating your every need.

Jin would be a "24/7 husband" during your pregnancy. He would be constantly attentive, observing your every move, every expression, every flicker of discomfort. His protective instincts would intensify to the point where he might install security cameras throughout the house and hire personal security to accompany you on outings.

And, as mentioned before, Jin's love language is acts of service. He would happily embrace the role of "malewife", taking care of all household chores, from dishes to laundry, allowing you to rest and focus on nurturing the baby. This was a side of Jin that only you knew.

At the slightest hint of fatigue, Jin would mobilize his extensive network of contacts to secure the most qualified medical professionals in the country, ensuring you receive VIP treatment throughout your pregnancy.

On fatherhood:

Jin would be a devoted and loving father, determined to break the cycle of violence and abandonment that defined his own upbringing. He would want his child to feel loved, protected, and secure, and would dedicate himself to providing that unconditionally.

You can be certain he would never, under any circumstances, even consider throwing his child off a cliff! Instead, he would commit himself to instilling in his heir the values he holds dear: respect, compassion for all living beings, altruism, and unwavering integrity.

And, naturally, Jin would teach his kid self-defense. After all, a Kazama must be able to protect themselves. But he would do so responsibly, imparting self-defense techniques and martial arts skills with the explicit purpose of protection, not aggression.

Jin would likely want only one child, at least initially. He would be deeply concerned about the possibility of passing on the Devil Gene and would want to focus all his attention and love on a single child. Perhaps, after confirming his child is free of the cursed gene, he might consider expanding his family.

He would strive to be his son's best friend, a present and involved father who actively participates in his child's development and education. He would always be there to listen, to play, to offer guidance and unwavering support. Jin would be a father who inspires his son to become the best version of himself, encouraging him to pursue his dreams and fight for what he believes in.

Hwoarang

Your boyfriend should have been home by now. You sent him a message hours ago, but he hadn't replied. "Ugh! I'm so excited to tell him the news!", you muttered to yourself, pacing your apartment. Today was the day you'd finally reveal you were pregnant. Only Master Baek knew so far.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Master Baek Doo San. He said Hwoarang was training late at the dojo again and that he was practically begging you to come get him. He even added a pleading face emoji, a sight you never thought you'd see from Master Baek.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a smile tugging at your lips. Hwoarang and his dedication to training... it was a constant source of amusement and sometimes, mild exasperation, but you secretly admired his passion.

"Okay, Master Baek," you texted back. "I'm on my way. And I'm going to give him a piece of my mind for not answering my messages!"

Grabbing your keys, you left the apartment, a playful scolding already forming in your mind. "He's going to get an earful," you thought, "I have big news, and he's busy beating up a punching bag!"

Arriving at the dojo, you found it mostly dark, save for a single light glowing from within. Hwoarang's motorcycle was parked out front, confirming your suspicions.

You quietly opened the dojo door and peeked inside. There he was, training with Master Baek, completely engrossed in their sparring. They were so focused they didn't even hear you enter.

You bowed respectfully to Master Baek, who returned the gesture with a nod and a warm smile. Then you turned your attention to Hwoarang, who still hadn't noticed you.

"Hwoarang!", you called out, feigning annoyance. "Why haven't you answered my texts? I've been waiting for you!"

Hwoarang stopped mid-kick and turned, flashing you a sheepish grin. "Honey, I totally lost track of time! I'm so sorry!", he apologized, but you sensed he was holding something back.

"Hwoarang!!! I was so excited, you should be more considerate!", you scolded, trying to keep a straight face in front of Master Baek, who was watching with amusement. This was definitely a familiar scene for him.

Your words finally snapped Hwoarang out of his training trance. He looked at you curiously and then, a little nervously, said he had something to tell you too.

Your expression softened instantly. You looked at him with a mix of affection and confusion, suggesting you should both just say whatever it was at the same time. You were certain your news would be the bigger bombshell.

He hesitated for a moment, then excused himself. He went to the locker room and returned a few seconds later, his hands clasped behind his back.

Finally, you both counted to three and…

"I'm pregnant!", "Will you marry me?", you exclaimed in unison.

A stunned silence filled the dojo. You both froze, staring at each other in disbelief.

In the next three seconds, Hwoarang was down on one knee, a small velvet box open in his hand, revealing a beautiful ring. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and overwhelming joy. You were equally speechless, your mind struggling to process everything.

The next moment, you were both embracing, laughing and crying, the initial shock giving way to pure elation. "Are you serious?", "I can't believe it!", you both kept repeating, tears streaming down your faces.

Your now fiancé swept you into his arms and twirled you around, a romantic and joyful celebration. Hwoarang, still beaming, explained he’d been planning to propose for months, saving up for the perfect ring. He then added that Master Baek had suggested proposing at the dojo, where you first met.

Master Baek, his smile radiating fatherly pride, approached you both. He would have normally chided you for the commotion in his dojo, but this time, he simply couldn't resist beaming with happiness for his two beloved students.

"Master, I'm going to be a father and I'm getting married!", Hwoarang announced, his voice overflowing with happiness. "You're going to be a grandpa!"

Hwoarang, typically impulsive and driven by his passion for fighting, would undergo a remarkable transformation during your pregnancy. The news of impending fatherhood would hit him like a lightning bolt, awakening a previously unseen side of his personality.

Baek Doo San, who was both a mentor and a father figure to Hwoarang, and also the respected master of his soon-to-be wife, felt deeply touched. He knew this was a momentous occasion in their lives, and he felt honored to be a part of it.

During pregnancy:

It would take some time for it to fully sink in. Initially, he might still get into the occasional street brawl, but gradually, the reality of his new responsibility would dawn on him. The man who once lived for the thrill of combat would now be a familiar sight at the local supermarket and pharmacy, carrying bags of groceries and prenatal vitamins with a goofy grin.

The once-enticing allure of dangerous street fights would diminish, replaced by a deep sense of responsibility. "My girl's pregnant and waiting for me, I ain't got time for this," he'd declare with newfound maturity, turning down any invitations to trouble.

Hwoarang would immerse himself in the world of pregnancy, devouring books, articles, and websites on prenatal care. He'd pepper doctors and nurses with questions, and might even join online parenting forums, eager to learn everything he could.

The days of forgotten texts and late-night training sessions would be a distant memory. He'd become your unwavering support system, attending every prenatal appointment, every ultrasound, every crucial moment.

He'd transform into an expert on remedies for morning sickness, a masseur for aching backs, and a connoisseur of comfortable sleeping positions. He'd ensure you were always well-nourished, stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, and gently encourage you to stay active with prenatal exercises.

On fatherhood:

When the baby arrives, Hwoarang's transformation would be complete. The occasional impatience he sometimes displayed would melt away, replaced by an endless well of patience, especially when it came to his little girl.

He'd become the epitome of the cool, present father, attending every school event, teaching her how to ride a bike, and taking her on fishing trips. He'd be bursting with pride, showing off pictures of his daughter to anyone who'd listen.

Hwoarang would radiate the energy of a doting dad, showering his little princess with affection and spoiling her (within reason, of course). He'd take her shopping, buy her adorable clothes and toys, and maybe even let her give him a makeover. Think Gru from "Despicable Me," but with more style and less villainy.

He wouldn't hesitate to shower his daughter with love, showering her with hugs! He'd be a fun-loving dad, playing games, telling stories, and making silly faces just to see her smile.

And, naturally, his little girl would be a regular at the dojo from a young age. Hwoarang would teach her self-defense, instilling in her not only physical skills but also discipline, respect, and perseverance. He'd be a puddle of mush the first time he saw her in a mini kimono, throwing her first (adorable) kicks.

[mirror-and-mind]

The remaining results of my merch spree:

Karakasa special movie ticket (I've wanted this one since I first saw it, finally got it because I was feeling insane.)

Medicine Seller acrylic stand (Same as above.)

Hinezumi sticker set

Hinezumi and Hebigami prints

Medicine Seller "Umi Bozu" stickers

Hinezumi Medicine Seller sticker cards (I think that's what they are...? They're cards and they seem to have film backings. Didn't want to actually remove the film to confirm.)

Tenbin washi tape

I also got two of the Hinezumi flyers at the bottom left of the last photo. Not sure how, as I don't remember ordering any. 😛 I think at least one must have been a bonus that came with something else.

[ixtaek]

Throwing my Dark World form headcanons in the ring:

Hyrule: A rat. He’s a survivor, adaptable, can be soft and cute or rugged and feral, plus he’s still kinda on scale with Legend

Time: As much as I want him to be a monkey (like the ones from Majora’s Mask!) I feel like the gold wolf is effectively canon soooo can go either way. The monkey reflects his adventures, is playful and dexterous and how he looks out for his little troupe (that IS his circus and those ARE his monkeys), but the wolf ties him to Twilight. So yeah.

Legend: Sorry dude you’re a bunny and you’re adorable. (I wish you could be a hedgehog. But canon.)

Twilight: Sorry dude you’re a wolf and you’re also adorable.

Wind: I will die on the hill of Wind being a seagull. And also wanting so bad to fly that he has to basically be restrained (mostly by Sky) lest he try to dive-bomb monsters.

Four: A beetle! A shiny one with a multi-colored shell that reflects the four colors. Added bonus if Four is one type of beetle and the Colors are all slightly different ones (Red as a firefly y’all. Are you seeing the vision??)

Warriors: Warhorse all the way. Twilight is SO jealous. They all kinda are. In honor of something that actually happened to me with my BotW horse, he can, will, and HAS chased and trampled a Yiga trying to get the jump on the others.

Sky: Canadian Goose. A good flyer but also can be cute and cuddly or TERRIFYING depending on the mood. It’s a beautiful day and you are a sleepy godslayer—

Wild: A stag. I have a special love for the deer in BotW and rode them often because it was more fun than walking. Wild’s horns would be broken on the side with the scars.

[germesthegenie]

You took a wrong turn on your way back to the shelter. It’s dangerous getting lost in Brockton Bay, especially right now with large sections of the city ruled over by villains. You’ll need to get your bearings and get back on your route fast.

As you duck down an alleyway, you see it. The symbol marking the area as under the villain the Union’s flyers had marked as unpredictable and violent. The territory of…

Bonus: The boring, inferior version of Skitter’s symbol

[kitkatorin]

I want to see Ratchet who works with a local EMS crew and his reaction to transporting frequent flyers akdjdjf

"Them again? We transported them yesterday and just 6 hours ago. Do they have to call us every time for every little thing that bothers them? This has to be some sort of sick joke."

Bonus if it's one of those patients who pack their whole life for a trip to the hospital

"If we have to stash all their belongings in my cab one more time..."

Don't worry, he'll still let the medic take the call and make the transport. Just don't expect it to be the smoothest ride when it's for the umpteenth time within a week.

Coping through work with Transformers is so much fun hehe

[antifainternational]

Saw 1488 on a bus seat. Written in black, perhaps permanent, marker. These bus seats are made of a thick plastic with a rugged texture. What would be the easiest way to wipe it off? I was thinking alcohol and wipes, but I am not sure.

We're not ones to normally endorse cleaning products, Anon. And we're not going to start now! Mostly because we're not sure what would work best but maybe you could search for "how to remove permanent marker?" Or, better idea: counter with some antifascist graffiti/stickers in the same area, to let the bus-riding nazi know that they're shit wasn't just erased, it's actively opposed by other bus riders! "161 > 1488" immediately comes to mind. BONUS LEVEL: note the bus route you saw this on and try to keep note of dates/times that you first notice shit like that. After a while, you might detect a pattern that would lead to good guesses about when this nazi is on the bus, where they live or work or go to school, etc. THEN you can target the areas they frequent with antifa posters or flyers or stickers or graffiti, to make them feel ESPECIALLY unwelcome and super-hesitant to pull shit!