#insurmountable pressures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milfbrainrot · 6 months ago

Text

this is hypocritical bc i also do nothing but complain about other people in fandom, but i do feel like fandom is... so much more complaining about other people these days than actually engaging or making things. or at least that's kinda where i've landed myself in a bad little cycle due to other people complaining first lol.

i have always had a sense of emotional paralysis with fanon creation that was able to be remedied by me having more time for it in the past to truly take as much care as possible. and now i really don't have that, be it to make sure i'm doing things in-character or not representing something badly. so i just don't make anything. and idk, i feel like it would be less difficult if there were less pressure from knowing all of these attitudes about what the fandom doesn't like more so than what it does like, since when a fandom DOES like something reblogs and comments are dismal.

a lot of times it's hard to think of things to say that aren't negative, which is why i think those posts happen so much. clearly i do this a lot. sometimes fandoms have more popular opinions on things and it feels inevitable to voice contrary opinions to make sure ur not insane, or idk to feel better at media analysis than the other people. and yeah lol sometimes popular fandom opinions are missing the point or you do not get the popular ship etc. it's good to have those discussions i think when done respectfully to try understanding why people think one thing, or pushing that hey something else also makes sense let's look there, etc, moreso collaboratively.

at the risk of romanticizing earlier fandom days, i guess there is something more general in the backlash now though? i imagine that on sites like livejournal, or i remember on deviantart, criticism was... kind of contained. your art might get one shitty comment or there might be deviantart stamps voicing Hot Takes you could then view the popularity of based on the comments/faves and how many people embedded it on their profiles. but there weren't mass reblogged posts with 120k notes about how boring an AU type is, or how stupid people are for shipping rather than worldbuilding, or how things that are genuinely skill issues more than malice are in fact malice so people aren't even allowed to explore and learn in their inherently amateur creations. it is easier to be hateful when a validated approved post is put on your dash affirming it or influencing that toward people and making it into a bigger deal than it needs to be to justify itself and all you need to do is hit a button to further the train.

like i just think there is such a higher expectation for perfect content tm catering to a mass appeal it would've been harder to measure and conform to before. every time i go on twitter the algorithm just gives me post after post of people going "i can't believe people think this character would do this" or "this headcanon pisses me off so much because___" or "ew how could people ship this?" ...all of which was absolutely present in fandoms before! like, i'm sure anonymous posting in particular saw a lot of these things get traction! but not in such a way where an opinion dragging something you do has 248 retweets putting it on ur feed and insinuating that ur mutuals will judge you next time you post a fic update with that thing. (and then ofc, as i do all the time, seeing people complaining = cue complaining about other people complaining.)

obviously we can just block people we don't like or whatever and it's up to us to not let contrary opinions get to us! i just guess this level of complaining has never before been so widespread and easy because you don't even have to say the thing yourself. you just have to hit reblog or retweet to voice something you otherwise would've kept to yourself with less care. and the numbers feel insane because of how much more popular online fandom is today than even 10 years ago, which... i think has brought on such a loss of etiquette in certain ways when fandom is less interactive and personal for like, tiktokers seeing a 30 second fancam and hitting like if op is lucky and scrolling by. algorithms making more personalized experiences make it so much easier to expect everything to cater to us so it's the end of the world when it doesn't. i could go off on a tangent about anti behavior but i won't. etc.

again i am hypocritical because i complain about other people in fandom endlessly (mostly... because of other people complaining about people like me first) and i am doing that here and i probs have reblogged lots of those things myself lol. obviously there are good convos to be had around how fandoms handle certain things! people are free to do that AND other people are free to post whatever kinds of creations they want AND people can block/mute/whatever any of the above! it's just... although fandom has always had its toxicity i do miss when it felt more fun and carefree and appreciative of imperfect contributions instead of... the balance we currently seem to have in a lot of cases.

it felt like we hit such a shift in ~2015 (anti stuff on the rise, representation convos around lexa dying, etc) that injected the expectations for mass media creators into literally anyone making anything at all for free and for fun. and as much as the ability to reblog/retweet/share around so easily can be beneficial for spreading good and building up fanon creators, i wonder if those critical convos wouldn't have gotten so intense and high-risk for anyone who didn't conform to some frankly impossible standards if it weren't for the intimidation of mutuals contributing to the 13k validating notes on a Hot Take. (and, in terms of anti issues, the ensuing callouts FOR making a mistake could get so much more traction than... telling people to Spread The Targeted Harassment Campaign Word by putting the effort into going and talking about it in their own journal.)

anyway, twitter bad and tumblr tags bad. and i really hope i can get to a point where i am less impeded by this sense of pressure keeping me from making things because it is honestly so hard now to take the limited time i have and pump out something that is either risky or out of character or inevitably imperfect and dare to post it. i am trying to do more with original works because of that, but i still love fandom! so it would be nice to engage with other fans through creating and sharing those joys more these days rather than only having the energy to engage with fandoms by seeing what other people are doing and then seeing these popularized takes and getting even further frozen about contributing lol. people are entitled to their opinions ofc and i need to just stay off twitter keep continually building up my ability to go "yeah that opinion is stupid / even if it's understandably contrary to my preferences i can still do what i want even though it feels more dangerous to know the amount of people who could conceivably ostracize me for it" as the sharing scale of Fandom Takes on too-influencing-friendly platforms continues to rise.

#txt #there is also something about fandom being so personal so there is this angle of...#as usual the things you make reflecting on you in a way that is taken out of proportion by others at times #and i typically talk about that for anti issues but #also i feel less pressure to post things anonymously less because i think some random hate commenter will harass me on tumblr about it #but because i don't want beloved mutuals to think i'm stupid if my characterization is off lol #and the 'he would not fuckign say that' stuff taking off SO HARD for example makes that more of a concern than before etc #like idc if people have different interpretations or ideas as me but it just feels so much risky or so much more...#known in a judgemental way than it needs to be i guess #it's not even that people NEED to keep these things private most of the time #it just all feels TOO public now #anyway idk if im making sense i am v spacy today #and honestly i cite 2015 issues as jumpstarting some of this more but i do remember in like 2014 #having a lot of self hatred issues about the quality of what i make keeping me from posting as carefree as i used to #bUT i do think those critical external attitudes becoming more easily widespread compounded my own hesitations horribly #so i wasn't really able to make anything for fandom again until like 2017 when i actually had the time #to put more attention into making sure whatever i made was lower risk #perfect is the enemy of the good but good becomes even more insurmountable in the face of all this lol #and as much as i hate how it's impacted me it's good for me to remember bc i don't want to impact others negatively like this either #i am aiming to be more positive and creation oriented soonnnn i am just taking a bit to get there :')#like it is easy for me to make peace with no one liking a thing i like #but it is harder when it's... actively hateful i guess!#esp when that has such a big impact on the social side of it all ig

1 note · View note

hippy-pants · 2 years ago

Text

you guys don't understand how much money i would pay to stop getting headaches

#it's the part of the year when I can't determine which headaches are from sinus pressure and which are stress headaches #also the part of the semester when i wake up with insurmountable anxiety every day so it's just generally not Not A Good Time over here #i need it to be winter break so bad it's not even funny #mine

0 notes

pellucid-constellations · 7 months ago

Text

Fable - After

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

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

Word count: 7k

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

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

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

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

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

Someone was in your room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were the biggest fool of all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was nothing to see now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

��Is that okay?”

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

“Do you want me to leave?”

You nodded.

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

Azriel’s POV

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

He was at a loss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She say that?”

“I asked and she nodded.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Original POV

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

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

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

You were being left alone far more than usual today.

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

This miracle felt hollow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you slowly nodded and shifted on the pillows.

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

You shook your head. He sat in the chair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you lie?

Why did you—

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

“Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rhysand—”

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel shifted you in his arms. “Fine.”

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

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

Rhysand let out a tortured sigh.

Azriel’s POV

Azriel was going to try today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were making progress. This was part of progress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

“What does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel okay?” Azriel asked.

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

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

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

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

“You’re incredible,” he deemed.

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

Mate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elain.

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

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

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

Nothing made sense, but everything did.

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

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

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

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

“Of course I will.”

Original POV

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

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

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

The next day, it was Cassian.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Y/n.”

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

You ignored Azriel’s call and stepped again.

“Look at me. Please.”

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

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

You had no reply. Your legs were shaking.

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

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

“I had to—y/n, there were things—“

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say that. I already told you—“

“Just let me go.”

“No.”

“Oh, so now you listen to me.”

“Y/n—“

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

“Yesterday?” he questioned.

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

Azriel paused.

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

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

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

“Can I help you back to your bed?”

You pressed your lips together.

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

Your head turned down. You nodded.

Azriel’s POV

Azriel couldn’t tell you.

He couldn’t.

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

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

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

This was not the time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were stuck to you.

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

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

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

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

But this wasn’t the time.

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

Not after he let you down in such a way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bond feeling a little loose?”

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

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

“Don’t taunt him, Cass.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

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

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

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

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

“They are my spies—”

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

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

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

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

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

Fiery rage met Azriel’s soured mood.

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

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader

2K notes · View notes

nymphoniah · 9 months ago

Note

hellooo :33 i've been thinking about old man!logan lately.. could you do something nsfw (specifically overstimulation?) with him and a crybaby!reader? thank uuu!! 💌

pretty when you cry | logan howlett

pairing: old man!logan x crybaby!reader

AN: you absolutely read my mind, anon..! the way in which i need old man!logan is actually concerning to feminism. like im gonna actually go feral. but anyways, hope you enjoy this little self indulgent drabble! <3

content/tags: nsfw, minors DNI, overstimulation, spit as lube, oral sex (female receiving), daddy kink, implied age gap (logan is over 200, reader is in their 20's), afab!reader, swearing, pet names (princess, babydoll, etc.), porn without plot, dacryphilia

there he is kneeling at the edge of your bed—salt and pepper beard glistening with your arousal, his lips placing wet, sloppy kisses against your clit.

he ate you out like a starved man; his tongue was flattened, lapping adeptly between your folds, occasionally pulling away to catch his breath, then continues to work at your cunt.

“so fuckin’ wet for your old man,” he groans out against your womanhood, his hips thrusting into the mattress to feel any sort of friction against his cock. “feels good, huh princess?”

logan teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue, licking a stripe from your sopping hole to your clit, then back downwards. he’d continue this motion, making sure to nudge his nose against your clit every so often.

“s’too much logan,” you whine out, gripping at the tufts of his hair, his beard prickling the soft plush of your inner thighs.

“she can handle another orgasm,” he mumbles against you, speaking to your cunt. he pulls away to admire the mess he’s making of you, and a smirk forms across his face. “isn’t that right, babydoll?”

hastily, he spits on your clit, and his stern eyes watch the way his saliva leaks downwards on your cunt. “such a dirty fuckin’ sight” he grunts, moving his face a mere centimeter away from your womanhood.

he blows air gently against your cunt—the cool breeze of his breath contrasted the ever raging heat you felt down below, sending a shiver down your spine.

your eyes tighten as you hiss out in frustration. logan notices this and lets out a small chuckle, seeing the way you squirmed underneath him.

the calloused pad of his thumb runs between your folds, collecting his spit, bringing it back to your clit. he rubs lazy circles against your bundle of nerves, paying sweet attention to how you writhe.

“can’t do it lo,” you whine, tears forming at the the corners of your eyes from how tight you were shutting your eyelids.

“‘course you can, darling” he encourages you, his broad arm stretching over your torso to reach your face. he cups your cheek with his free hand, his thumb brushing away the tears that continued to fall down endlessly. "y'look so fuckin' perfect like this, all ruined for your old man"

“i know you got another one in you, doll.”

at this point, your brain is all fuzzy; you couldn’t form a coherent thought, and you could only babble logan’s name—or rather, the words daddy… s’too much… fuckin’ can’t…!

“make your daddy proud, darlin,” logan coos, his thumb now rubbing tighter, faster circles against your clit. his mouth finds its way back to your entrance, and he’s now fucking you with his tongue.

as his nose bumped against your clit, along with the added pressure of his thumb, you were a whining mess beneath him. all you could think about was how badly you needed to cum, regardless of how fuckin’ bad it would hurt.

tears rolled down your cheek, leaving splotches of gray against the silky white pillowcase you lay your head on—eyes shut so tight you could see stars floatin’ around.

with a couple of more flicks of his heavy tongue, all of a sudden, that pain transformed to an insurmountable amount of pleasure. “logan..!” you whined, pulling his face closer to your cunt.

“what d’ya want from your old man, huh?” he grunts against you, rutting his hips faster against the mattress, trying to chase his own release. “ask like a big girl for daddy”

“need to fuckin’ cum…” you whimper out, “please daddy, please let me..!” logan smirks against your folds before pushing his tongue deeper, hitting that sweet spot that pushed you past your breaking point.

your velvet walls tightened around his tongue, and he lets out a primal growl at the feeling. your slick coated his mouth, his beard—fuckin’ damn near his entire face.

his thrusts eventually came to a halt, but he continued to lap at your cunt, making sure not to waste even a single drop of your arousal.

as he finally withdrew his face from your cunt, he rested his cheek against your thigh, his gray sideburns tickling your soft skin.

his hazel eyes bore into your own. the intimacy of the silence allowed you to take in the moment and collect yourselves.

letting out a deep sigh, you run your fingers through his silvering hair, tangling the strands between your manicured fingertips.

“knew you could do it,” he murmurs, his tone of his voice deep and sultry. “now doll… what do you say to daddy?”

you let out a little giggle before the words slip from your lips. “thank you, daddy.”

1K notes · View notes

hellobykittys · 7 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶

SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, the talented Formula 1 driver, saw his life turned upside down after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. His fans still haven’t gotten over the end of the dream couple, and his public image is in shambles thanks to headlines about parties, women, and a life of excess. Under pressure from sponsors and his team to salvage his reputation, Charles is forced to accept a plan he despises: a fake relationship with the influencer of the moment.

Y/N is the darling of social media and the fashion world, the perfect definition of an it girl. Her outfits set trends, her videos rack up millions of views, and her image as the perfect girl is everything Charles needs to clean up his name.

Trapped in a sham neither of them wants, Charles and Y/N must learn to work together, even if their initial hatred for each other seems insurmountable. But amidst so many lies, is there room for real feelings, or will pride and their differences keep them apart?

PAIRING: Charles Leclerc x Influencer!Reader

STATUS: In progress

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 | 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔 𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 | 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔 𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one imagine

395 notes · View notes

walkingnearfoxes · 25 days ago

Text

Work Perks (Homelander x Reader)

You’re Homelander’s new favorite worker bee. It’s a mixed blessing.

NSFW. Warnings for dubious consent, coercion, toxic workplace power dynamics, oral, anal, and it’s the Homelander we all should be running.

Some perks came with having caught Homelander’s attention. One of them was moving from a cubicle in the trenches of Vought Tower to your own private office. Another was that an offhand comment about knee pain resulted in a state-of-the-art convertible standing desk, accompanied by a bouquet of roses next to your keyboard. He even left a note.

Need to make sure those knees are in working order, right? ;) - The Homelander

You don’t know why he felt the need to write you a signed note. He’s the only one in your life with such a frivolous grasp of an insurmountable bank account.

Keeping the positives of this “relationship” in mind was important. When Homelander’s advances started becoming obvious, you thought your coworkers would hate you. No one else at Vought rocketed to importance as quickly as you had, and you wouldn’t fault anyone for seething at the favoritism. Instead, whenever you passed an old office buddy in the lunch room or the halls, they gave you nothing but sympathy. Homelander had kept up his shiny reputation with the world for decades, but the inner sanctum knew better. Each shiny toy bestowed upon you came with a cost. They knew a contract with the devil had been signed, and you weren’t the one holding the pen.

So, with little other choice, you focused on the good parts. The desk cost more than two months’ rent, and it kept your knee from locking during your insane hours. Your productivity soared to the point that you were smiling to yourself when the door opened.

“Oh, look at you,” Homelander coos as he struts towards you. “My little worker bee in her element.”

There goes your productivity. Still, you smile at the hero as he saunters closer. “Hi, Homelander.”

“Hi,” He stops to run his gloved hand over the desk’s outer edge. “So, what do you think? You like it?”

“Very much,” You tell him honestly, your fingers still typing away at your dozens of e-mails. “Thank you.”

Homelander waves his hand in mock modesty. “Oh, come on. You’re the one making the company run, right?”

A huge exaggeration, but that’s his specialty. He slowly takes off his gloves and leaves them by your monitor. He then saunters over to the desk controls on the side of the wood. With a quiet hum of intrigue, he presses the button to raise the desk. He keeps hold until it’s as high as it can go, leaving the keyboard in line with your neck. He then lowers it all the way down so the keyboard aligns with your knees. He then repeats the process, not minding that you’re still trying to do your work. He does it again. And again. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Please stop that.”

He laughs, but obliges. You feel him walk behind you to stand behind your back. One hand settles on your waist. His chin comes down to rest on your shoulder. He says nothing for a while and watches your attempt to continue working, his fingers lightly drumming against your waist. Finally, he chuckles. “Your blood pressure’s awfully high. Tough e-mails?”

You swallow heavily as your typing rate continues to decrease. “Yeah. Very tough.”

Homelander chuckles again and gently kisses the side of your neck. “You’re so cute.”

You have no reply to that, and he allows you to work for a few more minutes. You manage to get two more emails sent. As usual, it doesn’t take long for him to get bored. He starts brushing soft kisses along your neck, soft kisses that evolve into sucking against your skin, sucking that turns into little nibbles along your collarbone. One hand stays on your waist while the other trails down your skirt. He grabs a handful of your ass. You let out a sharp gasp. “Homelander-”

“I don’t like this dress,” He mumbles against your skin. “It’s not flattering.”

You’ve had this dress for years. Prior to Homelander kicking down the door into your life, you had a very average living. An average living didn’t afford you the luxury of buying the lavish outfits Homelander prefers.

“We’ll have to replace it,” Homelander says, emphasizing his point with another full squeeze of your ass.

“I like this dress,” You murmur. He’s begun taking over your wardrobe, but you have been more resistant to losing your personal style.

As if reading your thoughts, he breathes a dark chuckle against your neck. “Aw, my little doll doesn’t like dress up? What’s the problem? A million people in this building would kill to be in your pretty little shoes.”

There’s an edge of a warning in his final words, but you don’t dare take the bait. You don’t want to tell him what he perceives as envy is horror. Maybe a few poor souls haven’t seen through Homelander’s porcelain grin, but you remember your coworkers' sympathetic looks with each new “gift.” You didn’t offer yourself to the wolf; he found you.

Homelander’s hand slides underneath your skirt. He growls against your neck as he feels the soft fabric of your underwear, dexterous fingers wrapping around them and pulling down. You gasp quietly, your fingers finally pausing in the frantic typing. “Homelander, I have so much work to do today.”

“Okay? I’m not stopping you.” You feel his eye roll as he lets go of your waist, but only to continue pulling your underwear down your body. It ends with him kneeling between your legs, his hot breath too dangerously close to your sensitive skin. “Fuck, I love the smell of this cunt.”

There’s a window on your office door. If anyone passed by, they would see this. That doesn’t stop Homelander from pushing his face up your skirt and licking a slow line up your pussy. You gasp, your hands flying forward to grab the edges of your desk. He chuckles against you. One of his hands grabs the back of your thigh to hold you steady, and the other moves to grab a handful of one cheek, squeezing and spreading you wide. When he’s decided you’re steady, he licks you lazily. The Homelander loves to eat you out. He does it whenever and wherever he can. He’s loud and unabashed, growling and sucking on your lips like you’re his favorite meal. It leaves you shaking every time. His hold on you and your white-knuckle death grip on the desk - the desk he gave you - keep you from turning into a puddle. He barely touches your clit until little moans of pleausre start escaping your lips. Only then does he angle his tongue down to flick at your little bud with a practiced precision that makes any remaining good sense flee your body. “Fuck, Homelander...”

“That’s my girl,” He growls in approval, pressing his face impossibly closer against your cunt. His hand on your ass travels around to thumb at your clit lazily, his tongue pressing up inside you. The gentle fucking of his tongue is so distracting that you nearly miss how his thumb travels south, rubbing slowly over your ass, and then presses against your asshole. You gasp, unconsciously bucking back into him, and his thumb slowly slides inside of you, and you moan. Homelander’s low chuckle against you is sinful. “I knew you’d like that.”

You can’t form a reply by his design. He goes back to sucking your clit, his thumb slowly fucking your ass, and your orgasm takes you by surprise. You hear him growl as your juices drip into his mouth, a meal he eagerly takes, and the pleasure rolls through your body. You bury your face against the desk to stifle your moans from alerting the rest of the building just what the leader of the Seven is doing to you in your office. You’re still recovering as you feel him pull away. Homelander lifts one of your legs onto the desk, your shin resting on the cold wood. “Up we go,” He murmurs, then reaches over to lower the desk so your hips are in line with his. “Damn. This thing really is multi-use, isn’t it?”

Your legs are fully spread, your skirt tossed up. It sends the gifted roses to the floor, but Homelander doesn’t spare them a glance. Your raised leg leaves you little mobility, but he seems to get a real kick out of leaving you at his mercy. You hear the familiar sound of his belt - that ridiculous eagle - coming undone, and then his hard cock is pressed against you. He feels hot, and your fingers curl to fight an arch back into him. Then, he slowly presses his cock against your ass. You jolt; you haven’t done this with him before. “Homelander…”

“Oh, come on,” He growls, need and impatience heavy in his voice. “You came like a faucet at just my thumb in your ass. You telling me you don’t want this?”

You’re not rejecting him; you’re not even sure if you could. But he turns sex into a marathon and leaves you a mess every time. You don’t know if you could handle him fucking your ass over your desk. The thought alone makes you shake, but that gives you your answer. You let out a shaky breath. “Just…just be gentle, please.”

He surprises you by leaning forward and brushing a kiss on the top of your head. “Of course…gonna stretch my doll nice and gentle,” He murmurs against your hair. He takes himself in his hand and slowly, achingly, pushes inside. His hands both move to your hips when he bottoms out. The moan out of his mouth is filthy and loud. If you could think straight, maybe you’d be concerned about the whole floor hearing you. But even if they did, they’d know exactly what was happening and who was doing it. No one in their right mind would interrupt the Homelander now.

He fucks your ass slowly at first, giving you space to adjust, but never stops moving. His grip on your hips will leave bruises, and you remember how much he’s holding back. This man could tear you apart without even trying. In a way, he already is. His cock has a way of fucking the most difficult parts of this situation out of your mind. The more your body adjusts to him, the more heat tingles along your spine. Your eyes roll back, your moans getting louder to match his own.

“That’s it. Knew you’d like this, you slut,” Homelander growls, emphasizing his words with rougher thrusts. “Been wanting to fuck this cute ass for so long.”

One hand deftly moves around to rub quick circles at your clit, and then pinches it between his fingers. That’s it for you. You whimper through your orgasm this time, the pleasure sending the energy out of your body, and he follows right after. He almost sounds pained as he comes inside you, his hand on your hip shaking against your skin. His face rests against your head, and for a long moment, he says nothing. Finally, he curses under his breath. “Fuck.”

You shift, his softening cock still inside you. “What?”

“I really wanted to fuck your tits,” Homelander complains. He reaches around to give one of your breasts a squeeze. “They look so good in this blouse.”

You can’t help a quiet huff of laughter. “You got really sidetracked, then…”

He snorts and leans down to kiss your exposed collarbone. “Can’t say I’m disappointed,” He kneels down and finds your panties, pulling them back into place. When you squirm, he chuckles. “Relax. You won’t be wearing them for long.”

That only means one thing. You’re getting no more work done today. You’re getting whisked away to Homelander’s penthouse, where your only job is to please him. To survive him.

#my writing #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #i woke up today and chose to sin

168 notes · View notes

thecheshireprincess · 26 days ago

Text

Starcrossed Masterlist

First Published: 6/1/2025

Last Updated: 6/29/2025

Next Update: Coming Soon

A Jujutsu Kaisen AU Multi-chapter Series

Satoru Gojo x F!Reader x Suguru Geto

Deeply rooted in history, culture, and tradition, the Three Great Jujutsu Families hold the fate of humanity in their hands, having long ago been gifted immense power with the intention of quietly preserving the balance of the world. It is essential that cursed energy-wielding sorcerers coexist and protect regular humans, both inevitably walking among cursed spirits - that is how proper order is maintained.

Over the years, even non-sorcerers had begun to recognize the authority of the major clans, thinking of the families more like royalty than silent safeguards. Led by a well-trained, highly skilled head, each family is intended to be dedicated to serving and protecting those around them. But as humans are apt to do, they allowed the prestige and wealth to inflate their egos; ultimately losing sight of their greatest purpose.

For the last century or so, the families have coexisted chaotically, to say the least. All three finding enemies instead of allies in each other; often clashing for even more power and even more recognition. The clan leaders' greatest desire being to produce the very best sorcerers, stronger than all the rest, no matter the cost. Instead of answering the call of their ancestors to work together, utilizing their gifts to protect, they got caught up in weaponizing their people against one another.

That is, until a prophecy was delivered to the elders that threatened the families to their cores - find harmony together again and return to your intended life's purpose, or risk complete destruction of the jujutsu community as a whole and leave the world in shadowy darkness and inevitable collapse.

And that's where you came into the puzzle, bright-eyed and strong - the first female heir to not only the Zenin family, but any of the three clans in history. It was a sign, the elders had decided before you were even five minutes old. It would be you that would serve as the perfect bridge, bringing the families together and fulfilling the highly feared prophecy. A twist of fate ensured that the other two clans had their heirs in place in the months leading up to when you were born; Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto. The three of you would grow up together, learn together, train together, exist together; and when the time came, you would choose one of them to marry.

It wouldn't be an easy path to walk, the weight placed on your shoulders as heir to one of the Three Great Jujutsu Families is already insurmountable, now add the pressure of having to choose a husband between your two best friends in order to save your clans from a mess that none of you made.

It is an arranged marriage situation, so most people really don't expect you to be in love with the person you ultimately choose to marry. But absolutely no one is expecting you to fall in love with both of them.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Main Story

Coming Soon!

Imagines/One-Shots/Drabbles

Introduction Blurb

Relationship Dynamics Blurb

Megumi and Reader Blurb

Imagine Teenage SatoSuguReader at the Arcade (Jealous!SuguReader)

Blurbs about Satoru and Suguru's First Dates with Reader

Suguru Always Brushes Reader's Hair

SatoSuguReader's Kids

Q&A

Toji Raised Reader in the Gym

Imagine When Gojo Brings Yuji Before the Council

Is Satoru jealous of SuguReader's codependent relationship dynamic?

Are you (as an author) biased towards one of the men?

When will the main story be posted?/What is Reader's relationship with Toji?

Posting my lengthy CW here, please don't start the story if anything here may make you uncomfortable! Note that some of these may be spoilers for the story, but I'd rather people know and be able to make an educated choice whether or not to read the story than get part way through the story and then see it take a turn they don't like

This is an augmented universe in which I have adjusted the lore to serve me/created my own (sorry Kamo clan, you are no longer one of the Great Families). I cannot convey to you enough how much this might deviate from canon - please do not message me and tell me things are inaccurate or wouldn't happen, this is the point Technically arranged marriage (with wiggle room, Reader is given a choice; Gojo and Geto are at her mercy), terrible families/childhoods across the board (with the exception of Geto's mom; her love will be enough to save all three of them), polyamory, the trio will be put in a position to raise young kids when they are still kids themselves, eventual smut (all three together, and one-on-one), canon-typical violence, some angst, probably curse words because I have no chill, Reader will have to have at least one biological child with each man + one more (think one heir for each clan), so keep in mind that there will be pregnancy, talk of it, pressure from the higher ups/clans to produce children, and babies at some point. Many decisions are not their own, but are due to their duties to their clans, especially early on (think of this like political pressure in a way); there will be a lot of sad moments (think panic attacks, depression, etc.) for the trio to navigate together, both Reader and Suguru will brush with darkness but he will not defect, I promise. There will be major character deaths, but I promise not to touch SatoSuguReader, all three of them will make it to old age.

As always, I will tag content warnings for each chapter as they appear, but these are just what I can think of off the top of my head. Please remember to interact responsibly and don't read things that might make you uncomfortable!

Quick reminder that I absolutely do tag lists, you can comment on this masterlist, send me a message, or an ask if you want to be added! Please specify what you want to be tagged in; I never want to force people to be tagged in stuff they don't want to see. I have tag lists for this series, everything I post, Jujutsu Kaisen, Alice in Borderland, and character specific. Don't be afraid to get detailed - I am happy to do the work for you.

139 notes · View notes

lymericslimerick · 17 days ago

Text

I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me | Caleb

What does it feel like when the valve of a stuck pipe finally gets turned? It feels like getting hit in the face with a torrent of pressure.

warnings .ᐟ suggestive, toxic relationship between you and caleb, spoilers for death + rebirth and caleb's myth, masturbation, happy birthday caleb!! you loveable freakazoid!!

1.5k words | afab reader

You suppose this moment would be akin to a great release, a pipe finally being turned on to release the pressure building up inside, a euphoric realisation that freed both you and Caleb from the shackles of your untold urges holding you back from finally having a real and true relationship free of any hang ups of the past…

It was more like a bomb detonating at point blank range.

The papers on the coffee table had been flown away onto the ground, you taking their place as you and Caleb kiss like you’re fighting. Every lean in by Caleb was met by an angry rebuttal by you, and every time you’d give an inch of lip service he’d try and take a mile back. He still had his colonel outfit on, stiff and starchy against the exposed skin of your arms as his hands roamed around your waist, squeezing and caressing the divots and bumps. It’s hard to believe this was your first official kiss, even harder to believe that not 5 seconds before this you were ready to drag Caleb kicking and screaming into a fight.

It was 3:00am, the moon shining bright into the floor to ceiling windows lining Caleb (‘and Yours’, he’d interject with a tight lipped smile whenever anyone who talked to you two would ask where you stayed while in Skyhaven)’s abode, casting an almost eerie light into the room. The clouds were dark and low, grey and stormy to match your gaze as you watched the News Broadcast on Caleb’s TV.

BREAKING: Farspace Fleet Colonel announces that escapees of EVER’s Fountain of Atei project are top priority on their list, cites major security risk.

“Security risk my ass,” You talk to the TV. “Just a bunch of dogs sent to chase back mutts to their kernels.” Your (e/c) eyes set in a hard glare towards the faceless emotionless Farspace Fleet personnel rounding up the escapees like cattle in the background, your mind stewing with the truth of what’s really going to happen to them.

And the anger that a certain sunglasses clad colonel surveying them all on the plane’s landing gear could’ve been the key to you saving all of them.

Caleb wasn’t all there, you could tell. His posture too stiff, his eyes watching his men drag the kicking and screaming escapees around like it was another paper on his desk. The two huge, long guns laid at his side were warnings that he’d use with a sick sort of glee to terrorise any escapee who’d dare look at him. Your gaze is locked onto him like you’re there, staring him down as you wonder when he became the researcher and not the experiment.

The news reporter announces that they have an exclusive interview with The Colonel, and you take that as your cue to turn off the TV, chucking the remote far away as you heave a sigh. You can’t look at him like that. Not when you know you’d end up feeling things you shouldn’t towards this twisted version of him creates by the touring chip.

Hell, they’re already developing. You remember how embarrassingly hot you got when you heard Caleb’s monotonous rage ring through his communication wristlet, having to cross your legs and keep them that way as you imagined bloodshed, dead eyes, and the EVER logo.

Even now, your hands ghost across your exposed thighs as you remember how it felt when Caleb ‘playfully’ dragged you by your thighs back to bed after you insisted on an early start, even wrapping one leg around yours to lock you in place. When you came around your own fingers a couple hours later after he left to the memory of his weight on top of you, the embarrassment you felt after was insurmountable.

You narrow your eyes and groan at the memories, grabbing a throw pillow and burying your head in it. You feel like you’re a teenager again, having stupid thoughts about a stupid boy that looked at you like you hung the moon. Caleb’s (And Your’s?) apartment responds with defeating silence.

Time passes but you stay, lying on the couch staring at the sky outside the window. You’d sluggishly check your phone sometimes, yeah. But it was no use, your mind had been whisked away by that damn colonel and his iron clad outer shell. Nothing could break the sickeningly tight grasp his dead eyes had on you, except—

“(Y/N), I’m home.” His voice makes you stiffen immediately. You hate acting like this, hate it when the shit you’d tease him about (the tensing, the scared look, the loaded gazes he’d shoot your body) was turned back on you.

“Yeah, cool.” You mutter as he moves to walk in front of you, blocking your view of the carpet fibers with his uniformed legs. You swallow silently. “Welcome home.”

He immediately notices. Of course he does. “.. What happened?” He bends down to look at you, finally gracing you with a good look at his face. That boyish charm, that smiling face, all gone. Instead, his angry eyebrows and purple eyes that needle straight into your face and split open your skull greet you. Caleb Xia, Colonel. Not your Caleb. Not yet.

Fuck this. “Nothing, I’m going to bed.”

His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, you can feel his EVOL in the grip. “Don’t give me that, Pipsqueak. What was it? Breakfast tasted bad?.. House too drab? What’s happened? Talk to me—“

“— Had fun being a lapdog today, didn’t you?” You bite, finally. You can feel him pause, feel the cogs in his brain spin and whirr to find sense in what you said. Caleb, your mutt, being someone else’s attack dog? You give him a bone. “You were on the news.”

Caleb, smart as he was, immediately got it. “..(Y/N), c’mon. You know how it is.”

“I’m starting to believe I don’t, Caleb. I know you can’t do anything. Genuinely, I know. But you could’ve gave me a crumb, a little bit of info. You know—“ Your voice cracked and his jaw clenched tighter. He hated seeing you get worked up like this, especially if it was about some stranger. “— You know, they’re protected. We’re trying to save them and you just—“

“Don’t put it all on me.” Firm. Angry. When the Colonel is seething, Caleb is boiling. You can’t help but push and see where this goes, your anger and hurt merging with the deep shame of desire. “Who’s we, pipsqueak? Last I checked, I was making sure the fleet wasn’t in your hair. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Caleb.”

“(Y/N).” It feels like the space around you too is crushing, it pushes you to stumble onto the table as Caleb’s hands go to your sides to cage you in. You can’t tell if it was on accident, his gaze betraying nothing but the familiar deep carnal need of his for you to see him, understand him. “You’re killin’ me here. I know I’m not who you like me to be right now. But you— I’m trying, okay? I’m really fuckin’ trying.”

“How? How are you trying?” You’re getting pissed now. Images of Caleb lying through his teeth at you multiple times flash through your head, distorting and warping itself with the sensation of his uniformed legs rubbing against the inside of your thigh. You fight the sensation to bite through your the skin of your lips. He’s too close, this is dangerous.

“Fuck!” His head hangs, exhaustion permitting his every move. You give him a once over. Caleb usually lets you fight more, lets you needle and prod before he keeps you back in your place. But now, as his fingers grip air and clench into a fist against the table you realise he’s in no position to be Caleb, that comforting presence.

That safety, that gentle touch, that..

Fuck, he looks good. Whoever’s wearing Caleb’s skin looks amazing rambling his ass off like you were Jesus and he was the last catholic on earth, dying in his confessional for even a chance at you listening to him.

“I’ve been holding back, I’ve been trying to be good, yet you still think I’m anyone else’s mutt? I’m yours and you don’t want me like this, what else am I supposed to d—“

Lips meet lips. The silence of the apartment returns if only for a moment. Your patience wore thin, does he ever stop talking? Does he ever stop lying? Is he lying now? These thoughts repeat a cycle in your head as you try and eat into him like you’ve been starved (You have, god knows you have). His eyes bulge out of his head and you resist the urge to break free and run, nip this in the bud—

His hands come up to grip your arms and push into you, returning your kiss with tenfold interest. His eyes close in acceptance as yours lilt open to stare at him, this empty husk inhabiting your summer boy.

You close your eyes too. No use going back now.

#lads x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #lads #lads caleb #caleb smut #viola's vignettes

130 notes · View notes