#And I've never had so much fun learning a language before

[stayp1eceposts]

I just started learning Korean on this app and I'm loving the apps priorities. I was hesitant because I knew I would lose my motivation if I had to go through hours of learning the alphabet just to spend hours learning to say "Anna is from Germany" but this app really taught me 4 characters and said "great, now say 'let's go to the karaoke'"

I started the second (SECOND) section and "I really like this music video" is before learning "D"

I love this app

[velarisdusk]

Drunk on You

Azriel x Reader

summary: You and Azriel were just friends. Then came the dancing. The kiss. The night you stopped pretending. word count: 11.1k content: [ explicit sexual content (piv), oral sex (f receiving), grinding in da club (do i need to warn abt that??), explicit language, alcohol, VERY irresponsible consumption of alcohol, vomiting from drinking, FUI (flying under the influence) ] author's note: FUI arent i so funny lmfao as per usual with these, i know prythian doesnt have speakers/subwoofers , and prob also doesnt have strobe lights, but i write what i want so its ok yall can deal ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a dash of blaze enhanced with lover’s knot stirred thank you @wildfloweroutlaw for the request!! i've never written a fic specifically having friends to lovers in mind so my mental block gave me a bit of trouble with this but i had a lot of fun writing it! <3

Velaris hums with life around you, the midday sun painting golden ribbons across cobblestone streets. The air is thick with the scent of spiced cider and honeyed pastries, threaded through with the briny whisper of the Sidra. Laughter swells and fades between vendors calling out their wares—bolts of silk that shimmer like liquid light, books with gilded spines that promise adventures, trinkets that glint like they’ve been kissed by starlight.

“It’s the pacing that makes it brilliant,” you say, sidestepping a wobbly cart stacked with jars of something dark and suspiciously jiggly. “You’d love it if you gave it a chance.”

Azriel walks beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark-wash jeans, his only accompanying shadow slinking along sun-warmed stones like it’s sulking. He’s a strange silhouette in the golden light—too dark for a day like this, like the night followed you out of habit. But he listens, quiet and steady, nodding at the right moments as you ramble about the last book you read. You’ve learned to hear the shape of his silences—how they stretch or shorten, the weight of them, what they hold back.

“I’m telling you,” you press, dodging a knot of children weaving through the crowd, “if you actually gave it a shot, you’d love it.”

Azriel huffs a soft laugh. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time. You’re just too stubborn to admit I have impeccable taste.”

The corner of his mouth lifts—barely. “You bought a book last month because the cover had a dragon making out with a sword.”

You gasp, scandalized. “That’s called intuition.”

“No. That’s called a gamble.”

You bump your elbow against his arm, grinning when he exhales through his nose. That small, hard-won sound. This—this is easy. Has always been.

As the crowd thickens, your attention snags on a jewelry stall to your left—slim chains catching the sun, gemstones winking in their delicate settings. At the same moment, Azriel’s gaze strays to a weapons vendor on the right, where a gleaming dagger is being turned over in calloused hands.

You both hesitate. Then look back at each other at the same time.

Azriel raises a brow.

You smile. “Meet you in a minute?”

He dips his chin in a slight nod, already angling toward the stall, fingers twitching like they’re itching for the weight of the blade. You drift toward the jewelry, drawn in by instinct more than intent. Your fingers trail over thin rings and polished charms, the glint of metal catching the light just right.

A pair of dangling earrings stops you—stones that shift hue in the sun, subtle and soft. Pretty. Eye-catching without being too much. The kind of thing that might go with the dress you picked up earlier while wandering the boutiques, half-killing time before the market. The one you hadn’t planned on trying, but slipped into just for fun. A little more daring than your usual. Soft in all the right ways, with a neckline you kept pretending not to think about. 

You’d stared at yourself longer than you meant to.

And walked out with your first shopping bag of the day.

You curl your fingers around the earrings, already halfway through justifying the purchase in your head.

It doesn’t take long to browse. After paying and a few lingering looks, you glance across the street to find Azriel still at the weapons stall, turning the dagger over in his hands. His expression is unreadable—calm, analytical, like he’s weighing something only he understands. The single shadow drifts across his back, restless beneath the unrelenting sun.

Your gaze finds him without thought. A habit carved over time. Familiar, even after everything, in that quiet, unconscious way habits become part of you. 

You blink and turn away just as he looks up. He’s already moving, steps unhurried, wings tucked in close, hands slipping into his pockets again as he falls into stride beside you.

“Anything good?” you ask lightly.

Azriel shrugs. “Steel’s folded differently—strong but light. Good balance. Sharp edge.” He huffs at himself. “It’s a good blade.”

You roll your eyes. “Careful—Truthteller’s going to get jealous.”

His mouth twitches. “There’s no one like her,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes the small of your back as he steers you out of the path of two shrieking children.

He nods toward the bag in your hand. “Let’s see it.”

You fish out the black velvet box and flip it open with a grin. “For the dress!”

Azriel snorts. “You mean that napkin you bought earlier?”

You snap the box shut a little too forcefully. “It’s a nice dress.”

“It’s barely a scarf.”

“Azriel.”

The full name earns you another twitch of a smile. His voice lowers, amused. “I still don’t know where you plan on wearing it. I’ve seen you more hesitant to leave the House in sweaters.”

Your cheeks warm. “Well, I didn’t feel as confident in those.”

His brow rises slightly, like he hadn’t expected that answer. Your voice is lighter when you add, “Maybe you’re just nervous you won’t be able to handle seeing me in it.”

“I’ll manage,” Azriel says dryly. “It’s your delusion I’m worried about.”

You bump his shoulder again, and this time he lets the smile break free. The two of you fall into easy conversation—Cassian’s most recent baking disaster (“explosive,” Azriel says without inflection), café gossip, a gentle debate about whether Velaris even needed the twelfth coffee shop to begin with.

At the townhouse, Azriel steps ahead to hold the door open, shadow trailing in behind him. The antechamber hums with warmth—laughter echoing from the next room, spices lingering in the air.

“I’m telling you, I found it just sitting there,” Cassian insists as you enter. He’s pacing like he’s testifying in court, hands gesturing wildly. “Brand new bottle of amber whiskey. Uncorked. Untouched. In a bush.”

“In a bush?” Mor deadpans from the couch.

Cassian gestures wildly. “In a bush! Behind the stables! What are the odds?”

Mor narrows her eyes. “Any chance you’re feeling lucky enough to gamble?”

They lock eyes, Cassian’s grin curling at the edges.

Feyre perks up from her place on the sofa. “If gambling means Rita’s, I’m in. I haven’t gone out in weeks, and I plan to be very irresponsible tonight.”

All three turn to you with matching looks—expectant and conspiratorial, like they’ve already know your answer but want to hear you say it. Feyre’s smile is the worst of them—sweet and smug and knowing.

You glance at Azriel. He’s already sighing, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like he can feel the impending headache.

“Guess we know when—”

“Yeah, alright,” Azriel mutters.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lean in toward the mirror, smoothing a final sweep of gloss over your lips. Then you take a step back, letting your eyes rake over your reflection. Hair styled just how you like it—precise where it matters, undone where it doesn’t—and your makeup? Soft, glowing, and just sharp enough to slice. The kind that shines when the light catches your cheekbones and mouth.

Behind you, Feyre whistles low. “He’s going to eat his words.”

Mor, sprawled on the bed in a pose that screams practiced indifference, smirks. “And probably choke on them.”

You snort, reaching for the earrings you bought earlier. “It’s not for him.”

Feyre slides up beside you, linking her arm through yours as she catches your eye in the mirror. “Maybe not. But you wouldn’t mind if he looked.”

She’s not wrong.

Mor rises in a stretch, her plum dress catching every sliver of light as it hugs her curves like a secret. The hem’s scandalous, the neckline worse—and with her golden hair cascading over one bare shoulder, she looks like she could topple empires with a single breath. Feyre’s in a slate blue that borders on silver, cool-toned and backless, the color making her blue eyes even more piercing beneath  artfully smudged liner. And with her soft waves pinned just so, she looks like smoke made woman.

You fasten your earrings with a quiet click and smile at your reflection. You feel good. Confident. Not just in the dress, but in your skin. 

There was a time when what you felt for him lived quietly in your chest—soft, persistent, and patient. Over time, it faded into something else. Something easier. You let it go long before anyone knew you were holding on.

But it never disappeared completely. Not really. Not in a way that matters. Not in a way that would stop you, if he ever hinted at wanting something more.  

Downstairs, the low murmur of male voices curls up the staircase from the sitting room. That deep, familiar hum threaded with laughter. It’s comfortable and easy. The kind of sound born from long nights, drinks shared, and old stories retold—brothers teasing one another into comfort. 

Cassian’s laugh is unmistakable—loud and unrestrained over the clink of glass. Rhysand’s is more of a drawl, lazy and pleased with itself. And then there’s Azriel. Low, steady. A quiet current that runs beneath them all, silk wrapped around steel.

The sound of heels on the stairs draws their attention—Cassian’s first. He whistles, low and appreciative, as Mor appears at the top step, her dress catching the light with every step. Rhysand gives an exaggerated bow from where he’s perched on the arm of the couch. Even Azriel lets his gaze linger, just a touch longer than polite, before returning it to his drink.

Then comes Feyre, laughing at whatever wicked comment Mor whispered over her shoulder. Rhysand is off the couch and moving before she’s even halfway down, reaching for her hand like gravity’s got nothing on the pull she has on him. He murmurs something low against her ear as he takes her hand, earning an eye roll and a muttered warning that sounds suspiciously like a threat. He grins like a male entirely too pleased with himself.

And then—

You. 

The last to appear. Not intentionally, of course. But you’d be lying if you said the timing didn’t work in your favor. 

There’s a pause—just a breath—but enough. Enough to feel it.

Cassian is the first to recover. “Damn,” he says, voice a little rougher than before.

Mor beams, smug and delighted, as if she’s taking personal credit. Rhys gives a low hum of approval, already spinning something cocky to say—but whatever it is goes unheard.

Because Azriel’s gaze is already there, fixed on the landing, like he’d been watching the space just waiting for you to step into it. And when you do, he doesn’t look away. 

His stare lands heavy—enough to steal the air from your lungs. 

You wait for the usual—some sharp, clipped remark, maybe a too-smooth deflection. But instead—

“...Huh.”

That’s it.

A single, unimpressed syllable that cuts through the air like a blade dipped in ice.

You blink. Huh?

He doesn’t elaborate. Just turns back toward Cassian, nodding at his shirt—half unbuttoned, chest on shameless display as if confidence could count as tailoring. “Bold of you to challenge her like that. One of you’s going to end up hypothermic.”

Cassian grins like he’s been handed a gift. “At least I’m not stuffed into those jeans you’re trying to pass off as comfortable. One wrong move and we’ll be calling a healer.”

Azriel’s lips twitch, barely. He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just takes a slow sip of his drink.

Your eyes drop of their own accord. Those jeans are unforgivable. So is the way they fit him.

You force your gaze away, descending the final step with all the poise you can muster.

Cassian, with a mischievous grin, offers his arm like it’s second nature. “Guess we’ll be whores together tonight.”

You loop your arm through his with a grin that could make the Mother herself blush. “Fine. But I’m the classier whore. More expensive.”

He barks a laugh, delighted. “High-class whore. Got it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mor teases, stealing the rest of Rhys’ drink without a shred of remorse (he mutters a tight ‘Hey’ through clenched teeth, swatting at his cousin as she ducks away).

Feyre checks the time with mock exasperation. “Stay any longer and we’ll miss half the night.”

“Then let’s go,” Mor cheers, grabbing you and Cassian like a female on a mission.

And then—chaos. Magic coils, wind rushes, the floor disappears beneath your feet.

A heartbeat later, you’re outside, blinking against the lights and noise of Rita’s.

Your stomach flips—like it always does. It never gets easier.

Music pulses from the open doors, thick in the night air, and faelights paint the pavement in deep gold and violet. Mor’s fingers slip from your wrist; she’s already halfway to the entrance, weaving through the crowd like it’s parting for her. 

The cool night clings to your skin, but the heat radiating from the club ahead makes it all feel alive, electric with possibility. The air is saturated with cologne, alcohol, and the faintest hint of smoke as you approach the bouncers. The low hum of the waiting crowd blends with the deeper thrum of bass that threatens to crack open the night. 

The moment you step inside, the atmosphere hits—thick and heavy with energy. The music is deafening, the bass a living thing that thrums through your chest, infecting your limbs with a restless kind of excitement. Faelights strobe in wild streaks—purple, blue, red—and for a second, it feels as though you’re in some kind of dream. 

Feyre pulls you into the crowd first, her grin wide and wicked as she leads the way toward the bar. Mor follows close behind, laughing, already calling out to familiar faces. The guys trail after—quieter, maybe, but impossible to miss in the way they cut through the crowd. 

Drinks are ordered. Jokes fly. Within minutes, your group claims a half-circle booth just off the dance floor. It doesn’t take long for the music to pull you all in. Cassian downs half his drink and drags Mor out first, the two of them already moving like they’ve danced together a thousand times—and they probably have. Feyre loops her arm around your waist, eyes glinting beneath the lights. “Come on,” she yells over the music.

You don’t need convincing.

Rhys just waves you off with a smirk, already settling into the booth like he plans to stay there all night. 

The next stretch of time blurs—song bleeding into song, breathless laughter and clinking glasses, the bass settling into your chest like a second heartbeat. The lights cast everything in hues of violet and electric blue, cutting shadows across flushed skin and gleaming teeth. You’re dancing with Feyre, the two of you falling into easy rhythm. Mor and Cassian egg each other on nearby, reckless and unbothered, like children left unsupervised. 

At one point, Mor grabs your hand and twirls you fast enough to make your head spin. You stumble into her, both of you breathless with laughter, alcohol making everything weightless.

Feyre slips between you and Mor, twirling with abandon, her hair catching the light like strands of liquid gold. Off to the side, you spot Cassian mid-charm offensive, working a pair of females with that lethal grin—the kind that guarantees more than they can handle. Judging by their reaction, it’s going well. Rhys lounges nearby, nursing his drink and watching Feyre with a crooked grin, content to let her shine. 

But a few beats later Feyre drifts away from you both, drawn by something only she and Rhys can hear. Across the floor, Azriel leans against a column in the shadows, arms crossed, the picture of cool disinterest. You throw him an exaggerated beckoning gesture—all wide eyes and mouthed dramatics. Mor mirrors you, adding a pout for effect. 

He doesn’t move, just shakes his head, unimpressed. 

You and Mor exchange a look—then stick your tongues out at him, childish and triumphant. 

You think you catch the ghost of a smile. 

Then Cassian appears beside him, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, mischief written all over his face. “Her friend’s cute,” he shouts over the music. “Be a good wingman.”

To your surprise, Az lets it happen. 

As he moves past, his arm brushes against yours—barely a touch, but enough to feel. He angles toward the other female—tall, elegant, with dark eyes and a laugh that rings above the music. She’s beautiful in a way that turns heads. 

Still, some stubborn part of you insists she’s not that pretty. Not compared to you. 

The thought surfaces unbidden—and you shut it down just as fast. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. And this? This isn’t that. 

To anyone watching, Azriel looks engaged. His smile is easy, even bordering on smug, and he leans in like he means it. But you know better. That’s your best friend. You see the signs: the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes skim past her, too fast and too often.

Which is probably why you keep catching him glancing your way. 

Or maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the lighting, the way this dress hugs your curves like a second skin. Still… you’d swear his gaze lingered. And not just on your face. 

The music shifts—louder, dirtier, the kind that grabs your spine and doesn’t let go. Mor’s gone to get drinks, and for the first time tonight, you’re alone. But with the alcohol warm in your veins, you don’t mind. You let the beat carry you, movements fluid and loose, like your body already knows the song by heart. The crowd thickens, lights blur, and everything becomes a haze of motion and heat. The tempo rises. You drift closer to the center, caught in the music, untethered. 

Then, during a rare lull between songs, you glance back toward the booth—

And spot Feyre in Rhys’ lap, flushed and breathless. Her hair sticks to her forehead as she lifts a tiny glass with exaggerated flair. Rhysand just raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, as she tries to coax him into a shot. 

He refuses. She pouts. Then she steals his beer instead, chugging it right there in his lap. He fumbles for the glass, shouting something you can’t hear. But she just twists away, triumphant, dodging him until the glass is empty. With a dramatic gasp, she slams it on the table and struts off—slightly wobbly—leaving Rhys with nothing but the small shot of dark liquor.

You laugh—can’t help it. 

But the sight of Azriel freezes your grin halfway between amusement and something more. Because he’s still talking to the female—who, from what you can tell, is more than happy to let him steer the conversation. But even as his words flow smoothly to her, his eyes are locked on you—piercing and intense, like he can’t look away, even if he’s supposed to be. 

And that gaze… it cuts straight through you.

Warmth blooms low in your belly. Not from the alcohol. Not entirely. You hold his gaze, and the rest of the room fades. The music, the lights, the crowd—they’re distant noise now. Because though the space between you is still wide, it feels like a wire pulled taut, vibrating with something that isn’t the music. 

Maybe it’s the buzz. Maybe it’s the bass still pounding in your chest. Maybe it’s the fact that his gaze is still on you. 

The music shifts again, and your body follows without a thought. You let the music guide you, every slow roll of your hips deliberate, every look daring him to match you. You aren’t sure why you’re dancing for him (because it is for him, isn’t it?), or why your eyes haven’t left his once, but the rush is intoxicating. 

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But then something flickers in his eyes—brief and unreadable.

For a heartbeat, you wonder if maybe you’ve imagined it all. 

But then he claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, leans in to say something. He nods once at the female—goodbyes, maybe? You can’t be sure. 

And then Azriel steps through the crowd. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t smile. He just starts toward you, weaving through the crowd with that unhurried, measured stride you know by heart. 

He doesn’t say a word. 

He doesn’t have to. 

When he stops in front of you, the music swells again—and this time, it feels like it’s for you. Drunk enough not to overthink it, you don’t hesitate—you just reach for him, pulling him into your orbit. 

And just like that, you fall into step with him. 

Effortless. Unspoken. Like your bodies had been waiting for this moment—like they remembered each other from another lifetime. There’s no need for words, not when the music does all the talking. Not when the bass pulses through your spine and Azriel’s warmth curls in your blood like smoke.

His hands settle low on your hips—too low, maybe—and the contact short-circuits something in you. Through the thin fabric of your dress, his palms burn. You swear his grip tightens as you move, subtle but unmistakable, like he’s testing how far he can go. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You move in tandem, one body split in two. Every step aligned. Every breath shared. The sway of your hips becomes a silent conversation, and even as the crowd surges around you, none of it touches you. All you feel is the slow drag of his hand, the brush of his chest when he leans in too close. All you hear is the rasp of his breath in your ear.

Somewhere in the haze, you wonder where Mor is with your drink. You hope—fervently—she’s seen you like this and decided to give you space. You don’t want to be saved.

Then Azriel catches your hand. Twines his fingers through yours. Wordless, he spins you out, guiding you around him with a kind of reverence that feels like worship. The fabric of your dress strains, hugging every curve as you spin. His palm stays anchored to your waist, steady and possessive. And when you slip behind him, your gaze catches—hungry—on the curve of his ass in those sinfully tight jeans. The stretch of cotton over his back. The muscles shifting under his shirt like a promise.

By the time you return to face him, breathless and hot-faced, he’s already watching you. And he knows. Cauldron, he knows.

His hair sticks to his forehead, dark strands damp from the press of bodies, the heat. His collar’s still loose, open just enough to hint at skin, at the strong line of his throat. A silver chain catches the light where it rests against his collarbone, the cobalt glint of his siphon nestled low—one of the simpler siphon pieces you’ve seen him wear, reserved for nights like this when the full set would only get in the way. 

And then there are his eyes.

Not friendly. Not protective. Nothing safe. They’re molten—dark and slow and unapologetic as they trace the length of you. They leave scorch marks in their wake. And when you meet that gaze, something primal shifts inside you. Something ancient and aching.

He pulls you in, flush against him, his hands spanning your back, scarred fingers grazing bare skin. The contact is searing. Your breath falters.

Still, you manage to play it cool—or try to. “What’s wrong, Az? You’re staring.” It’s meant to be teasing. Light. But it comes out quieter than you intended. Softer. As if even your voice can’t help giving you away.

His breath stutters. Just enough. “Don’t tease me right now.” His voice is low and rough, his eyes now dark enough to drown in. “It’s not the dress.”

And then—then—his thigh slots between yours and he drags you close enough to steal your balance. The dance shifts—slower now, hungrier. There’s something dangerous uncoiling between you.

The pressure of his thigh is subtle, maddening. The friction sets a slow-burning ache deep inside you, and without thinking, you move. Just enough to chase it. Just enough to make yourself feel something. He notices. Of course he does. His fingers press firmer at your back, holding you there, and you wonder—ache to know—if he feels it too. This tension. This current humming under your skin, magnetic and irrevocable.

Your hips move in time with his, a rhythm that no longer has anything to do with the music. You brush against him, again and again, and each pass stokes the fire curling low in your belly. His hand steadies at the small of your back—firm, coaxing, guiding the rhythm of your hips until you’re moving in time with him. Until you’re grinding slow and sure against the solid line of his thigh. He watches every flicker of reaction like it’s a secret he’s been aching to unearth. 

His shadows brush your skin—light as breath, bold as fingertips. They slip under the hem of your dress, past the dip of your neckline, exploring, learning, teasing. It’s not enough to satisfy, but it’s enough to tempt. To make you dizzy. 

Your breath stutters, and for a moment, his gaze dips to your mouth. 

You barely manage a smile. “Still not about the dress?” you murmur, your voice low, throat dry. 

Azriel’s eyes flicker—then settle on you like a storm about to break. “Not even a little.”

And when his nose grazes yours, it isn’t a kiss. But it could be. It’s the moment right before—the breath, the space, the choice. A thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But the song changes, the spell snaps, and suddenly the room exists again. Someone bumps into Azriel from behind, and his hand drops to your ass to steady you. A reflex. But it brands.

You both laugh, too breathless, too wired, too aware of what just almost happened. And his hand is still on your ass. 

You need a second—a buffer, a breath of air before you do something you can’t undo.

“I need a drink,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

His hands linger but eventually fall away. Slow. Reluctant.

You glance up at him, give him a look you hope says this isn’t over, and slip through the crowd toward the bar.

The bartender slides a drink your way before you can even remember ordering one. You catch it on instinct, fingers curling around the chilled glass just as the condensation begins to bead. It slicks your grip slightly, grounding you in the present—the weight of the glass, the sting of alcohol, the echo of Azriel’s touch still humming beneath your skin.

You barely have time to take a sip before an arm braces beside yours on the counter—long, inked, and annoyingly familiar. Then the rest of Rhysand follows—tall, rakish, and far too smug for someone clearly on the brink of losing his balance.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, voice syrupy and just loose enough at the edges to toe the line between charming and concerning. “If it isn’t our little heartbreaker.”

You blink at him over the rim of your glass, your mouth still parted mid-sip. “How drunk are you?”

“Moderate,” he says, with the blind confidence of a man absolutely not moderate. Then, solemnly: “I think I just tried to winnow to the moon. Cass said no.”

A laugh bursts out of you, sharp and surprised, catching you off guard. “You were supposed to be the responsible one tonight.”

Rhys makes a sweeping gesture with one hand that nearly sends a nearby cocktail crashing to the floor. “Fuck responsible. Do you know how hard it is to stay sober when everyone around you is glowing and half-delirious? Mor and Feyre have been spinning like drunk ballerinas for the last twenty minutes. Cassian challenged a table of strangers to an arm-wrestle for ‘honor and glory.’ And Azriel—”

He cuts off, lips twitching. That grin, slow and sly, curls like smoke.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he sing-songs, turning away to steal a sip from someone else’s drink before grimacing and abandoning it.

Gods, you’ve never seen him like this. Loose. Unfiltered. Unbothered by image or control. You make a mental note to corner Cassian and Azriel as soon as possible, if only to demand every humiliating story they’ve ever collected on him.

“You were going to say something,” you groan, watching him closely.

Rhys gives you a beatific smile that practically screams I’m lying. “Me? Never.”

You take another slow sip of your drink, trying—failing—to will the heat from your cheeks. But Rhys, of course, is infuriatingly perceptive. Even through a haze of liquor, he clocks you immediately.

“Oh no,” he breathes, voice gone delighted and a little too loud. “Oh no, it’s happening.”

You arch a brow. “What is?”

“You’re falling in love with my shadowsinger.”

The words land like a match dropped in dry grass.

You choke, spluttering into your drink. “I’m not—”

“Sure, sure,” he says, cutting you off with a patronizing pat to your arm. “And neither is he. You two are just dry-humping in the dark, panting like—like you’re seconds away from devouring each other. All very normal friend behavior, I’m sure.”

You groan and let your head fall forward, forehead thunking against the bar top. The cool wood offers no relief from the mortification burning behind your eyes.

“Go away.”

Rhys props his chin on his palm, utterly content. “Can’t. Too drunk to move.”

You turn your head just enough to peer at him, face still pressed to the bar. “Do I need to find Feyre?”

His expression shifts to something like panic. “Please… do not.”

“Right.” You sigh, dragging a hand down your face and letting it rest there. “You’re impossible.”

Rhys smiles lazily, lashes low and smug. “And you’re glowing. All flushed and starry-eyed. It’s disgusting.”

You flip him off without looking.

That’s when the night starts to blur. 

At some point, you find yourself curled under Cassian’s arm, both of you howling over a story he refuses to finish because he keeps laughing too hard. He smells like sweat and cologne and a bad idea—not that you haven’t entertained the thought once or twice. When you reach for your drink, he snatches it just out of reach with a devilish grin. 

“You’ve had enough,” he slurs—then immediately downs his own.

You wait until he’s distracted, then snatch your drink back and down it in one go. 

Across the room, Mor is spinning Azriel in a slow, ridiculous waltz to music that’s far too fast. Her head is thrown back in laughter, one heel discarded, and Azriel’s grinning wide and unrestrained as she twirls herself dramatically beneath his arm. One of his shadows retrieves her fallen shoe and dutifully returns it. He pretends not to notice. 

Rhys, for some reason, decides the whole place needs another round—again. He’s at the bar holding up fingers in rapid succession—four, five, seven—gesturing to absolutely no one. When the bartender ignores him, he levitates a bottle of amber liquor off the shelf with a flourish and begins personally pouring shots into the mouths of nearby patrons like some deranged, drunken Father Solstice.

Cassian finds Azriel in the crowd and immediately throws an arm around his neck, dragging him close with a sloppy grin. “My brother,” he declares, far too loud, smacking a kiss to Azriel’s temple before pulling him into a one-armed hug that rattles both of them. “Do you know—do you know—how much I love you?”

Azriel just blinks. “Unfortunately.”

“Shut up,” Cassian slurs, already halfway into his next declaration. “You’re the best of us. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Except me. Sometimes. But even then—”

“I’m going to kill you,” Azriel says—quiet and deadly. But he doesn’t move to escape. If anything, he leans into it. 

Later, you, Feyre, and Mor vanish into the bathroom, which starts as a mission of necessity and ends in chaos. The line’s too long. The floor’s sticky. You all start yelling about how no one cleans the stalls in this place. And somehow, ten minutes later, Mor’s knees are on the tile while you and Feyre crouch beside her, holding her hair back and cackling as she curses Rhysand’s name for “making” her take that last glowing green shot.

“You’ll live,” Feyre says, patting her back with the resigned affection of someone who’s done this before. 

“Probably,” you add.

Eventually, the three of you stagger back to the booth—giggling, disheveled, makeup slightly smeared but still beautiful. Because drunk girls in packs always are. 

You collapse into the cushions, and for a moment, everything just is—a tangle of warm limbs, laughter, glitter. Cassian’s still trying to tell a story no one can follow. Azriel is methodically peeling an orange he must’ve stolen from the bar. Mor keeps interrupting to dramatically rehash her brush with death on the bathroom floor.

Somewhere between the fourth retelling and a new round of drinks, Feyre bumps into your side, giggling as she climbs— climbs—into Rhysand’s lap. 

“Oh my gods,” she breathes, burying her face into his neck. “You smell like night and sin and trouble.”

Rhys hums, stroking a hand up her thigh. “And you, darling, are my favorite sort of trouble.”

You try to ignore it. You really do. And, for a few minutes, you’re fine. But then Feyre whispers, “I swear to the Cauldron, if you keep touching me like that I will drag you into the shadows and make you beg to—”

“No,” you say sharply, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not. You cannot do this in the communal booth.”

Rhysand and Feyre both blink at you. Slowly. Like they’re just now realizing the rest of you exist.

“Oh,” Feyre says, blinking again. “I said that… out loud?”

Cassian groans and drops his head to the table. “Yes. You did.”

“We all heard it,” Mor says, looking personally offended. 

Rhys looks vaguely affronted. “We were talking through the bond—”

“You weren’t,” you, Cassian, and Mor all say at once. 

Azriel only sighs and catches your eye, mouthing, Every damn time.

And then—

Too much light. Too much warmth. Music in your bones. Glitter on your cheeks. Someone grabs your hand and drags you back to the dance floor. You don’t know who. Doesn’t matter. You let the rhythm carry you, laughter bubbling up like it’s been trapped for months. 

Azriel finds you in the chaos. Quiet. Solid. He takes your hand, spins you once—lazy, sweet—then pulls you close with that look. Like the world is loud but you are not. 

And then—

The night slips.

You and Mor, arms around each other, cheeks dusted with shimmer.

Cassian balances a shotglass between the clawed tips of his wings—a feat that’s nothing short of impressive—while Azriel leans in to drink from it for the fourth time and misses. Again. 

Rhys stumbling through a dance with Feyre, refusing to let go of her hand even as he trips.

Azriel laughing, loud and bright, shirt drenched in spilled liquor and clinging to him like a second skin. 

It’s beautiful, in the messy, ephemeral way nights like this always are. 

And when it ends—when the cold air bites and your heels dangle from your fingers—you’re walking beside him.

Azriel. Silent and steady.

Side by side. Arms brushing.

Still friends. 

Still not in love. 

Definitely not. 

Probably. 

… Maybe.

The others are a few paces ahead, their laughter echoing down the cobbled street, mingling with the night’s quiet. You’d all chosen to walk back to the townhouse instead of winnowing—mostly to spare Mor another tragic bathroom incident.

You glance at Azriel, his profile softened by the pale glow of distant streetlights, the sharp edges of him mellowed by the dim light. He’s quieter now, more anchored, like the buzz is finally starting to bleed out of him too.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and something shifts, an unspoken weight hanging in the air between you. It’s not just the silence—it’s everything that comes with it. He looks away first, but the tension doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, thick and undeniable.

“So,” you say, your voice light, but there’s a brittleness beneath it, a crack in the calm. “You get this fucked up before?”

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound familiar and warm, but with something in it that feels like the night itself. “Should’ve seen us three while we were training. You wouldn’t have recognized us.”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

Azriel smirks, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place, a mystery veiled beneath his calm. “I’ll answer that when I’m sober enough to remember half of it.”

A teasing grin tugs at your lips, unspoken but understood.

His gaze shifts toward you then, and the playful edge in his expression softens, ever so briefly. It’s a shift so subtle, it feels as though the air around you changes. His steps slow, just enough to bring him closer—his presence, steady and grounding, a quiet comfort against the coolness of the night.

And then, before you can fully comprehend it, his hand is at your back again—a subtle, possessive touch, just above your waist. It’s not new, this gesture. He’s done it before, but tonight, it feels different.

“You okay?” His voice is soft, low—barely above the city’s hum, but it cuts through everything else.

You swallow, suddenly aware of the weight behind the question, the way it settles in your chest. You nod, forcing a smile, though it feels less like a smile and more like a fragile shield. You meet his gaze through your lashes.

“I’m drunk,” you admit, a small giggle escaping, but the sound feels a little too light for the heaviness in the air.

Azriel huffs a soft laugh, warm breath brushing against your skin. “Yeah, I figured.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, in a way—a strange sort of peace between the two of you. The laughter and raucous chatter of your group fades further ahead, their voices lost in the night, leaving only the faint echo of their noise behind. Here, between you and Azriel, there’s nothing but quiet. His hand still rests at your back, the lightest touch, but you can feel it—every brush of his fingers against the fabric of your dress, like an unspoken promise.

You glance over at him, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Answer my question though. Did you have fun tonight? I know you don’t like coming out much.”

Azriel doesn’t look at you. His gaze remains fixed on the path ahead, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Fun?” he mutters, his voice light but carrying an edge. “If I’d known the night would end with me trying to drink out of Cassian’s wings, I might’ve stayed in.”

You laugh softly, the sound laced with warmth. “Oh, but you looked like you were having a blast.”

“I was,” he admits, voice lower now, quieter.

His words hang in the air, settling between you, filling the space with something deeper, something more. You glance at him again, and this time, his gaze finds yours. Dark, steady, unwavering.

And in that moment, everything feels charged, like the next move is inevitable.

You stop walking.

Azriel doesn’t pull his hand from your waist. Instead he swings around, turning to face you with an abruptness that feels almost instinctive, like the idea of letting go wasn’t even an option. Like keeping his hand on you mattered more than keeping his feet on the ground. Now, he stands before you, close enough that the heat of his body bleeds into yours, the cool night air thick with the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. 

For a moment, there’s nothing—just the two of you, suspended in the quiet, the distance between you and your family growing with each passing second.

It’s like a pulse, something deep within both of you that knows this is the moment, one that’s been silently building, lingering, biding its time.

You feel it in the way his eyes lock onto yours, how his body shifts ever so slightly—so close now you could reach up, could touch him, but you don’t move. 

Then, as if it was always meant to happen, his hand slides from your back, cupping the side of your face gently. His thumb brushes across your cheek, soft and tender, a quiet, unspoken question hanging between you.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in first. Your lips find his—soft, uncertain at first, like you’re both holding your breath. But the second they meet, it’s like something clicks into place. Like every unsaid thing between you is finally, finally speaking.

But then it deepens, the kiss turning more urgent, the gentle press of lips becoming something more, something full of warmth and heat. The taste of alcohol lingers, but underneath that is the familiar, the comforting—years of friendship tangled into something new, something wild. The world shifts, or maybe it’s just the two of you, with everything else fading away.

Azriel’s hands slip into your hair, finding the nape of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, pulling you closer. And the kiss is no longer just soft; it’s a quiet intensity, like something between you both has been building for far longer than either of you realized.

When you part, it’s only just enough to breathe, just enough to meet his gaze. Your lips feel swollen, your heart racing in your chest. But all you can think about is how desperately you want more. Not just his mouth, but all of him—his body, his touch. The press of him, hot and solid against you. The drag of his hand down your spine, the way his fingers splayed across your waist like he never wanted to let go. You want him closer. You want him everywhere. His hand between your legs. You want—

You blink, the haze slowly clearing.

As you lean past him, you finally take in the world around you again. The rest of the group is a fair distance ahead now, moving in a disjointed knot—Cassian with his arm slung lazily around Mor, Feyre pulling Rhys by the wrist as he slurs something half-laughing.

“Guys,” you call, breathless, voice a little hoarse, “we’re going to the… to the House of—” But you realize, mid-sentence, that no one is listening.

“Forget it,” Azriel mutters, and without warning, he grabs your hand.

He tugs you right, pulling you away from the main walkway and down a narrow side street, dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights overhead. You follow without hesitation, heart racing, your legs moving before your mind can fully catch up. The sounds of the city—music drifting from an open window, the distant clang of something dropped—feel muffled now, like they belong to someone else.

All you know is the heat of his hand in yours, the excitement blooming in your chest as a grin spreads across your face. And then, you’re running.

Laughing, breathless, borderline euphoric as your feet hit the cobblestone in time with his. His fingers are laced with yours, and he doesn’t let go—not once—not even when you nearly trip on a loose stone and bark out a curse through your grin. He just squeezes your hand tighter and keeps going. 

The wind rushes past, sweeping your hair into your face, and still you run, streetlights flickering overhead like stars caught in motion. You glance at him once, just once, and gods, it knocks the breath clean out of you.

He looks good. Stupidly good. His wings are tucked in tight behind him, shadows trailing in his wake like they can't quite keep up. There’s a flush high on his cheeks from the alcohol or the running—or maybe the kiss—and his smile. His smile is rare and wild and real, splitting his face in a way that makes something in your chest twist. His eyes find yours, dark and bright all at once, and the way he looks at you feels like falling without ever hitting the ground.

You’ve known him for years. Fought beside him, argued with him, trusted him more than you’ve trusted most. You’ve always thought he was beautiful in that silent, devastating kind of way. The kind of beautiful that hurts if you look too long. But this is new. Or maybe not new at all—maybe it’s just undeniable now. 

He slows only once the path narrows again, steps easing to a walk, his hand still firm in yours. You're panting, your heart racing in your chest like it’s trying to tell you something urgent, something important.

Azriel glances at you, still grinning. “Want a shortcut?”

You eye him, arching a brow. “A shortcut, or are you about to throw me over your shoulder?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I could throw you over my shoulder.”

You snort. “You’re drunk.”

His smile deepens. “Tipsy.”

You tilt your head. “Drunk, and you think you’re in any shape to fly us home?”

He smirks, swaying slightly. “I could.”

You blink at him. “Could you even land us properly?”

He pauses—just for a beat—then looks at you with a glint in his eye that’s half mischief, half something far more dangerous. “I’m so fucking glad you didn’t know me growing up.”

Before you can ask what the hell that means, he sweeps forward. One arm wraps around your waist, the other slides behind your knees, and suddenly you’re airborne—held tight against his chest like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders without a second thought.

“Azriel—”

But he’s already launching into the air, wings snapping wide, the wind catching beneath them as the city drops away below.

You press your face into the side of his neck, your laughter half-dazed, half-horrified. “You’re actually insane.”

He hums, voice a little smug. “Maybe. But you’re the one who kissed me.”

And gods help you, you’re already wondering when you can do it again.

Maybe he feels it—senses it—because before you can even finish the thought, he adjusts his grip just enough to shift you higher against him. Your arms loop instinctively around his neck, noses brushing, breath mingling. The wind whips past, cold and biting, but you don’t feel it.

You only feel him.

Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s nothing like that first kiss—nothing tentative or hesitant about it. It’s needy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and breathless hunger. 

You moan into him—can’t help it. The sound is swallowed by the sky, lost to the night. But he hears it. You know he does. His grip tightens like he needs you closer, like there’s not a single inch of air he’s willing to spare between you. His shadows are stirring again, curling around you like they want in on the taste.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your teeth graze his bottom lip, and he growls—deep and low and barely restrained.

“Azriel—” you gasp against his mouth. He huffs a laugh, sharp and wicked.

“Careful,” he murmurs, lips trailing hot over your jaw. “I might miss the landing on purpose.” 

You barely manage a breath. “We need to land,” you murmur, though it sounds more like a curse than a request. “Now.”

He lets out a sound that’s half-groan, half-laugh, and the next moment, he angles downward.

The house appears below in a blur, the lights from the windows streaking past as he descends fast and sharp. The landing is rougher than usual—feet hitting the balcony hard, wings flaring wide to catch the worst of it—but neither of you care. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours the second you touch solid ground.

He walks you backward through the open doors, his hands already skimming beneath your dress—rough and hungry, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you first. The fabric slips higher with every step, until it's bunched around your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like you might tear it clean off.

Instead, you reach behind him, fumbling at the slats that hold it together around his wings. The second you get the first one undone, he groans into your mouth, kissing you harder. His hands slip down your back, eager and sure, grasping for the zipper of your dress. 

You undo the next, and the next—moving fast, clumsy with urgency. By the time the last one comes loose, he’s all but panting against your jaw.

“Off,” you whisper, and he shrugs out of the shirt with a sound that’s damn near a growl.

He lifts you again like you weigh nothing, kissing you through the hall like he’s starving—stumbling a little, both of you half-drunk on each other and the leftover buzz of the night. His shirt falls somewhere by the wall, your heels were long since discarded on the veranda, and your dress slips off your shoulders as you reach the stairs, falling in a silky heap at your feet. You barely register the path, only the heat of his mouth on your throat, the scrape of his teeth at your collarbone, the low, broken noises he keeps making like he needs this—needs you.

The bedroom door slams shut behind you, and then you’re falling back onto the bed, and he’s following you down.

The mattress gives beneath your weight, cool sheets against your back—his body a furnace as it presses to yours, bracing on his forearms. 

His lips find yours again, slower now, but no less desperate. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you sigh into every kiss like it’s the only one you’ll ever need.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking gently over your cheekbone as he leans in deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that feels far too practiced for two people who’ve never done this before. But you have, haven’t you? In glances. In moments stolen in shadows. In the soft touches that used to mean nothing—until they meant everything.

You arch into him when his hand skims down your side, across your ribs, ghosting the curve of your waist like he’s still not sure you’re real. Like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, breath catching. “You’re so—”

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.

You feel it in the way he lowers his head and wraps his lips around your nipple, warm and wet and slow. Your back arches off the bed, a gasp escaping you as he laps his tongue over the sensitive bud, sucking just hard enough to make your thighs clench around his hips.

You dig your fingers into his hair, letting your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as his hands roam—one cupping your other breast, the other smoothing down the length of your thigh. He shifts, nudging your legs apart with his knee, sliding between them like he belongs there.

And gods, he does.

You open your eyes just enough to look at him—his dark hair falling into his face, his mouth wet and red from kissing you. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more wrecked.

“Az,” you whisper, breathless, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone.

He lifts his head. Meets your gaze.

The look in his eyes nearly undoes you—like he’s never seen you before, not like this. Like something old has cracked open between you and there’s no going back.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says, voice low and raw. “Longer than I ever let myself admit.”

You don’t reply. Because his hands shake as they trail down your body, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You barely have time to catch your breath before his fingers tug at the fabric, dragging it down your hips and past your thighs.

“Cauldron, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, the words thick with desire, as he works your underwear off your legs. His eyes trace the path of his hands like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “It took everything in me not to stare when you came down those stairs,” he says, voice rough. “You looked like you’d strung up the fucking stars just to watch them burn.”

Your heart gives a traitorous flutter. He was looking. He did care. And knowing that makes something inside you ache. 

You spread your legs for him, a silent invitation. His gaze flicks back up to yours, hungry and wide, a dark promise in his eyes. But it’s not just hunger in those eyes—there’s something deeper, more tender, that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

He shifts, dropping to his stomach, his wings spread out behind him like a dark, protective shield. You gasp as his lips brush the inside of your thigh, the heat of his breath against your skin making you shiver. He’s barely touched you, but your body is already aching, already craving more.

Azriel hums as he presses his mouth against the soft skin of your inner thigh, the sound a low vibration that runs straight through you. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs as he settles between them.

He can’t wait any longer.

His lips finally brush your folds, and you can’t help the needy whimper that escapes you. His mouth is hot—so hot, and as soon as his tongue flicks against you, your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his hair. He groans, low and satisfied, and the sound makes your chest tighten with need.

Azriel loves this—loves the taste of you, the way you tremble under his touch. It’s like he’s starving, and your pussy is the only thing that will ever fill him. He’s quick to bury his face deeper, his tongue lapping at your clit with the precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times, each movement a studied perfection. You feel him groan into you, his entire body trembling, like he can’t get enough.

And then, he starts grinding.

You feel the slow, desperate rut of his hips against the mattress—like he needs the friction, like it hurts not to be inside you. His cock throbs against the fabric of his underwear, and still, he doesn’t stop. He moans into your cunt, a low, broken whine of a sound, his mouth locked to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality. 

You reach for his hair, tugging him closer, hips moving of their own accord as you grind up into his face. He moans louder this time, his hands pressing down on your hips to hold you still just long enough for him to really feel you.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling away just long enough to breathe, “you’re so fucking sweet. Can’t get enough.”

“Then don’t stop,” you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Az—just—”

You don’t need to finish. He’s already back, his mouth pressing against you again like a man starved, devouring you with everything he’s got. Every flick of his tongue against your clit, every deep stroke, sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, building you up higher and higher until you can’t think of anything else but him—his tongue, his mouth, his need.

He’s lost in you, his hips still grinding desperately into the mattress as he eats you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You grip his hair tighter, pulling him even closer, rocking your hips against his face, each thrust of his tongue like a promise.

And when you finally let go—when you shatter, your body arching against his mouth and your vision going white—he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps licking and sucking until you’re trembling, until you’ve been pushed past every point of endurance.

He pulls away slowly, his face glistening with you, and his dark eyes are glowing—feral, hungry. His lips curl into a satisfied grin, like he just won the most important battle of his life.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, voice thick, and then he crawls back up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

You can feel his chest press against yours, his heartbeat racing as fast as yours. He pulls away, and for a moment, you just look at each other—eyes locked, the world outside forgotten.

He brushes his nose against yours, a soft, lingering touch, and then lowers his forehead to yours. “You okay?” His voice is rough, still full of desire, but there’s a softness to it now, a care that makes your chest tighten.

You nod, breathless, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “More than okay.”

His lips curl into a smile, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. You reach for him, your hands shaking just a little as you trail your fingers over the muscles of his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips. His eyes close as your hands move lower, tracing the defined lines of his stomach. You want to memorize him—want to feel him, every part of him.

As your fingers brush against the waistband of his underwear, your breath catches in your throat. The tension in the air thickens, and for a moment, you hesitate, fingers trembling just above the fabric. His body is taut beneath your touch, but his eyes remain locked on yours—expectant, but still tender.

You pull them down slowly, the fabric sliding off his hips, revealing him fully for the first time. Your gaze flicks downward.

And gods, he's big.

You blink, your heart racing as you take in the sight. The soft glow of the room highlights the sharp, defined lines of his body, but it's him, his cock, that makes your breath hitch. Thick and hard, standing at attention, the tip flushed with need, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, wide-eyed and speechless.

Your stomach does this strange flip, a mix of awe and anticipation. You’ve seen his body before—shirtless, after sparring, sweaty from training—but this... this is something else.

It’s nothing like you imagined. It’s bigger than you thought, intimidating in a way that makes your cheeks flush.

The heat between your legs flares, but it's not just lust—it’s the overwhelming realization of how much he desires you. The connection. The intimacy. This is your best friend, exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. It’s more than you expected. Bigger, thicker than you thought—intimidating and... a little overwhelming.

A warmth starts to bloom in your chest, spreading down to the pit of your stomach. It’s not just lust, though there’s plenty of that. It’s a sort of quiet shock that makes your whole body feel electrified, like you’re standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure you’d ever have the courage to leap into.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally look up at him. He looks nervous—his gaze flicking down, then back up again, like he’s unsure how you’ll react. “I can handle it, Az.”

He doesn’t answer at first, just watches you with those dark, stormy eyes, searching for something in yours. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

“Are you sure?” His voice is thick, strained. The weight of his hesitation settles between you. You nod, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

“I’m sure,” you breathe out. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

A shudder runs through him at your words, but he doesn’t move to rush it. Instead, he leans down, placing a soft kiss to your lips, his hand gently cradling your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue coaxing and tender. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours again.

“I’ll never rush you, okay? Anything—you let me know,” he says, his voice low and filled with such sincerity that it makes your chest tighten. He slowly begins to ease himself between your legs, the tip of his cock nudging against you.

It’s everything you imagined and more—every inch of him solid and warm, the weight of him just right as he finally pushes into you. The stretch is slow, controlled, and you wince slightly at the initial burn, but it fades quickly as he inches in deeper, his hands gentle on your hips. He pauses once he's fully seated inside, both of you panting, your body adjusting to the sensation.

Azriel’s breath is ragged as he pulls back slightly, then presses in again—slow, deliberate, giving you time to adjust. “Fuck, you feel so good, (y/n),” he groans, his voice thick with desire.

You feel him everywhere, his every movement slow and deliberate, the depth of his tenderness filling you in ways you never expected. But as the heat builds in your belly, a need rises in you too—a need for him to give in, to let go, to stop holding back.

“I need more, Az,” you whisper. “Please.”

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of conflict and desire flickering across his features. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice rough, but you can see the way his hands grip the bed, his muscles straining as he tries to hold back.

You reach up, hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him again, more urgently this time. “I said I’m sure,” you whisper against his lips, fingers brushing the edge of his wing.

And that’s all it takes. He straightens suddenly, hands sliding down to grip your waist as he begins to move, his thrusts steady and sure. He’s still gentle, his rhythm slow but building in intensity with every movement. His eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see the same fierce desire mirrored back at you, mixed with something deeper—something softer.

Each stroke is powerful as he drives into you with growing urgency. You moan, fingers digging into his biceps, your body arching to meet every snap of his hips. 

“Azriel,” you gasp, your nails scraping down his back as the pleasure begins to build inside you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a breathless growl as he thrusts harder, the force of him filling you completely. “Always got you.”

The heat builds fast, that deep, aching tension curling tighter with every thrust, stoking the fire within you. His hands find your hips, fingers curling hard into the flesh—gripping you like he’s claiming you, like he can’t bear to let go—as he pulls you onto him again and again. He angles his movements just right, drinking in every sound you make and relishing each one more than the last. 

His movements are still slow, deliberate, but there's a hunger there now—something primal in the way he grips you, the way he pulls you closer, urging you to take more of him.

“Please,” you whisper, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, desperate for more, for him to push you over the edge.

Azriel responds with a low, hungry groan, his thrusts becoming a little quicker, a little harder. He can feel the way your body trembles beneath him, the way you react to him. He loves it, loves knowing that he’s the one who’s breaking through all the walls, all the restraint you both held before.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he growls, his voice rough with need, words spilling out in a rush as he braces himself over you. His forearms cage you in, hands on either side of your face, cradling your jaw, holding you there like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing. He thrusts deeper, pushing you further into the mattress, and the room seems to spin. Your world narrows to just the two of you, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

Your breath hitches as you feel yourself tightening around him, your body winding up with a force that threatens to snap. You can’t stop the moan that escapes you, the pleasure building inside you, getting closer, almost overwhelming.

“Az, I’m—” you choke out, unable to finish the sentence as the pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

“Let go, baby,” he says, low and raspy, urging you on. “Let me feel you.”

You never thought you’d hear him like this, hoarse and hungry and just a little wrecked, and fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve heard in your life.

And then, it happens—the release hits you like a wave, washing over you, taking over every part of you. You cry out his name, your body trembling as your nails scrape down his back once more.

Azriel groans your name, the sound raw and desperate, and as your body contracts around him, his thrusts falter for a moment before he loses himself too, the intensity of the moment taking him to the edge.

He buries himself deep with a guttural moan—low and wrecked, like the sound’s been punched out of him—his breath hitching, hips stuttering as he spills into you, body trembling with the force of it. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck—”

You’re both still breathing hard when he suddenly stills, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wide. 

“Shit,” he pants. “I didn’t even ask—are you on the tonic? I’m so sorry, I just—fuck I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to—”

You laugh, breathless. “Az, I am. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He exhales shakily. “Okay. Good. Fuck, good… Just—yeah. Okay.”

For a moment, all there is is the sound of your breathing, the feel of him against you, and the pulse of your hearts racing together. You both just stare at each other for a moment, trying to catch your breath, the weight of everything hanging between you in the most beautiful, unspoken way.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, still hovering over you, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

You nod, your fingers gently tracing his jawline. “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice still breathless, a contented smile tugging at your lips.

Azriel presses a kiss to your forehead and slips out, easing onto the bed and tugging you with him until your head rests on his chest, your body draped over his. One arm wraps around your waist, and his wings wrap around you both like a blanket. 

You lie there in silence, skin sticky with sweat, limbs tangled, breath slowly evening out. You’d deal with everything in the morning—whatever this was now, whatever it meant. You’d figure out what to say to Mor, to Cassian, to Feyre and Rhysand. But for now, you just press your face into Azriel’s chest and let yourself rest, wrapped in him, wrapped in this.

[ilydeku]

teacher izuku has a girlfriend??

Regardless of the joy and spur he expelled towards the students, Izuku knew how to maintain the steady hand of keeping the class under set composure. Nothing but the intent to teach and the will to learn, an equitable relationship between the two—and it was no question. Being the most loved and favored teacher had its perks, and grandiose respect was one of them.

But no matter how mature a student has grown, having fun will always reign somewhere along their focal point. Even if that fun means encouraging their teacher in his love life.

"...-because a good relationship between your teammates makes for optimal communication, conduct, and cooperation," explained Izuku, pointing from one spot on the board to another, well immersed in his lesson. "Now, considering quirk-"

"Speaking of relationships, are you in a relationship, sir?" A student, a frivolous girl, teasingly pipes in sudden interest. Plenty of students amongst the grade claimed a crush on Deku-sensei. Of course they did: he's sweet, very tentative and understanding to all his students individually, and takes his time to really help and engrave the knowledge he possessed for them to become the best future heroes they could be. That, and mostly his physical charms. So wouldn't it be in his best interest to have a girlfriend?

Little did Izuku know that this inquiry marked the beginning of his first uncontrollable havoc.

For a moment, he hesitated, pausing midway on the convoluted diagrams drawn on the whiteboard. A strange question, but he thought nothing much of it. He turned around and crossed his arms, lazily pointing the expo marker to the girl.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Unrelevant, didn't see a hand raised-"

"Aw, but sir!" She draws out, slumping back in her seat. "Are you?"

Some students began to look at each other and exchange a few grins until the room began to slowly increase in volume and erupt into unintelligible chatter.

"Ahem."

The room fell into silence accordingly, but he could clearly read the expression on everyone's faces. The class was still waiting for his answer, the way they stared and leaned over their desks in anticipation. Izuku sighs and turns back to the board.

"...no, I'm not in a relationship. Moving on, the information I've drawn-"

"Really?" The girl cuts in matter of factly with a tilt of her head. "But aren't you and y/n talking??"

A chorus of engrossed 'oohs' echoed across the room and a very subtle, but defined shade of pink dusted his cheeks at the mention of you. He turned around again and attempted to regain composure of the class.

"Everyone settle down-"

"Y/n L/n? Isn't that (hero name)?? I think she's in the top 20's now."

"Yeah! I've seen her drop by the school a couple times during lunch!"

"Now that I think about it, Deku-sensei does have her come in as a guest speaker a lot..."

It was just one after another, the addition of suspicions and theories now bringing the truth to the surface. Izuku swallowed.

A loose black band around Izuku's wrist caught another student's eye and they stood up and pointed in excitement. "Look!! Deku-sensei has hair ties on his wrist!! Hair ties!!"

"Kids, please...-"

"Wow..I've never seen your class this rowdy before, Izuku!!" That voice. His head snapped toward you in surprised, totally flustered about the situation. The entire class went dead silent and turned to you, standing at the entrance of the classroom. You wave at his kids with a smile and stroll over to Izuku's desk, dropping off a bag of some sort. He watches you endearingly.

"You forgot your lunch at home, silly."

"O-Oh did I? Haha, sorry y/n. Thank you. You're on break right now, right?"

The students watched you both like a show, taking in the interaction, the body language, the words. There's no doubt you two were a thing right? Deku-sensei and (hero name)!!

And just then, you confirmed it with simple kiss on his cheek.

"Bye, Izuku! Be nice to the kids, hm?"

"You know I always am!!"

As soon as the classroom door clicked, the class burst into awe.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US???"

[gothghostiie]

@pricegotmedickmatized my turn, the promised second brain worms i got regarding poly!141 and Price punishing his boys

also based on what she had to say about this

cw: fingering, anal, overstimulation, toys (cockrings/buttplug), threesome, degrading, brief/mild cbt, praise, manhandling, hairpulling, crying, hatefucking, creampie, abrupt ending

they truly dont learn. they never do. why would they? price will always deal with them. he feels like he's talking to a brick wall, but unfortunately its his brickwall and he loves it with his whole heart. even if his brickwall is three goddamn brats - or rather one stupid, reckless brat, one pretty boy who has too much fun to say no and one looming shadow who's too good at keeping quiet. they drive him up the wall sometimes, especially on days like these. he just can't throw the heat, can't get himself to get hard and fuck the idiots like they deserve - but that doesn't mean he wont find a way to fuck them back in line. not when each of them has a perfectly good cock each.

hes sat in his armchair that he keeps in the big bedroom he assigned for all of them; for after scenes, to hang out or to just all sleep in the same room or even bed if they feel like it. soap lovingly calls it the cuck chair, kyle snickers every time he hears it, ghost likes the thought a little too much (but that's a story for another day). watches johnny and kyle grope and push each other playfully while trying to stay serious, simon sits with his head down, waiting for price to speak; but he doesn't. not yet. lights himself a cigar silently, taking a deep puff followed by a mild cough, before he sits up with a grunt. "you lot don't fucking learn. you don't wanna learn, do you?" he sighs. "it's like you like pissing me off. like you like being disrespectful and insubordinate brats. like you enjoy making me angry and getting yourselves punished." he takes another puff, the boys finally pipe down. kyle looks a little guilty, johnny is still grinning - he knows price is absolutely right - and simon is unmoved.

"tried so many things to get you to behave. good old fashioned spanking, denying you your orgasms, taking away privileges, denying you things you want - I've tried to fuck you straight, for fucks sake. but you truly don't learn. nothing takes fruit." he shakes his head with a scowl. "got me thinking what else I can do to make you be good. been overworking my poor head." he takes yet another long puff, leaving the words hang in the air for a moment before speaking again. "but I think I might have something that'll help." the boys all look at him, curious, a bit scared, excited. price looks around silently to keep them on edge.

"what is it?" Gaz finally asks, his leg jumping nervously, swatting aways soaps hand from his lower back, soap pouts.

price looks around again. "I don't have it in me today to fuck you straight tonight, just for you lot to be back to being stupid brats tomorrow. im too old to deal with naughty little boys." he chuckles dryly, taking another puff. the boys wanna laugh, but they know it'll just fuel whatever price has planned; even soap's piped down. for now. "but what do I have three young, healthy cocks for if not to use them, hm?" he chuckles again, the boys get more confused, a bit flustered.

"Sir?"

"Take your clothes off." he says, glancing around. "you too, simon." they all quietly do, soap immediately rocking a boner - christ 3 of his favourite people are naked and he gets to stare and drool like a slut. "get here. at attention." the military language immediately strikes a cord in all of them, they all scramble to get up and stand in a half circle around price, hands behind them, backs straight and feer slightly apart. the sight makes price laugh, shaking his head while reaching into his pocket.

"good soldiers." he chuckles, unpacking what he had brought - cockrings. three different ones: a regular one, a vibrating one and one that fits around cock and balls. each of them knows who's getting what. price looks around briefly, waiting for protest that never comes. "you know the deal." he says, putting them in his lap and picking up the regular one, lubing it up as he speaks. "tell me if it hurts too bad, if it feels numb or cold." the boys nod and simon closes his eyes, whimpering as price slides the cockring onto his flaccid cock, setting it snugly at the very base of it. Kyle is next, price grabs the vibrating one and lubes it up, turning it on and off to make sure it works before sliding it onto the younger man's cock. Kyle shivers, a soft moan falling from his lips as his cock twitches.

then its soaps turn. the slut is beaming as price lubes up the last ring whike shaking his head. "don't look so happy." Price scolds. "God damn slut. can't even keep your pathetic cock under control so I can put the ring on. have to make it hard for me." he gently slaps the hard dick, drawing a yelp and a flinch from soap - that's a first. and price loves it. he does it again, a bit harder to test the waters, then again to hear the shriek again. finally slides the ring on while laughing, squeezing the heavy, full balls through the silicone and giving them a smack too, for good measure. he leans back again and eyes the three over while taking yet another puff off his cigar, blowing the smoke at the three of them.

"look at that." he hums. "all of you standing at attention for me. takes you back, doesnt it?" he laughs at his own words, shaking his head. "back when you still fucking listened to me." he adds. "lets see if you can still listen, hm?" he gestures towards the bed, silently telling them to get on. they all do, waiting for their next order, like dogs. price truly does wish he had a camera on hand. "now, for your punishment.." he hums. "you're gonna fuck each other. under my command, under my direction. if I see any of you doing anything I'm not telling you too, you'll regret it. got it?'

they all collectively nod, so does price. "good. Simon, lie down, on your stomach." simon winces. once again he hadn't done anything but not tell on the others, and once again he regrets it now. price throws them a bottle of lube. "Kyle, prep him a bit. be nice." The man nods quickly, spreading the lube on his long, slender fingers and works them into the tight hole splayed out in front of him, gently working simon open while he buries his bare face in the pillow he put his head on. John let's them have at it for a while, watching gaz softly soothe simon with gentle whispers, his other hand massaging the tight back of his neck. "That's it." Price hums after a few minutes. "Thats enough. good boy, kyle." he praises gently, watching him pull out. "dont clean your fingers. sit back and turn the ring on low, then finger yourself too. got it?"

"Got it, Captain." Price hums in approvement, watching as kyle follows his orders. he then turns his attention to soap.

"go boy. have at it." soap freezes. this has to be a trap, right?

"what?" price tilts his head.

"have at it. fuck him how you like. go on." Soap hesitates as he climbs over the big guy, straddling his muscular thighs. pulls apart the fat cheeks hiding the slicked up hole, simon just takes it quietly; even when soap slides his chubby tip into the prepped hole. he throws his head back, starts thrusting slowly as price watches closely. but soap wouldn't be soap if he had any ounce of self control, so it doesnt take long before hes slamming down into him, making simon let out pathetic, high pitched whimpers. that's when Price stands up, walking over. "keep going." he orders firmly, as if soap would ever stop if he wasn't being physically ripped away. he kneels down by si's head, running a gentle hand through his hair as he leans in.

"feel that? that's the cock that keeps gutting you into trouble. that keeps getting you punished for no reason at all." he croons, the soft voice a stark difference. "and now he's ruining your hole too. youre a fucking doormat, aren't you? letting the little brat walk all over you." ghost tenses, price has him hooked now. the fingers gently carding through his blond hair suddenly tighten and pull the head up. "look at me when I'm fucking talking to you." simon winces. "you're a god damn pussy for letting him do that." he drops the hair and steps back, letting simon brood while soap keeps rutting into him like a madman. he's chasing his own high like a cat chases a mouse, he doesn't get to fuck this tight hole often, he has to make most of it. and he does, at least he tries. the ring makes it hard, feeling like some kind of barrier is cutting off his cum, making sure it wont come out any time soon, but that doesn't stop him. it never does. his rutting gets more aggressive, more agitated, his grunts louder and more laboured. it takes him longer than both of them would like before he's pumping his load deep into ghost, thrusting some more to make sure it's really all in there, all messy, before pulling out and slapping the red, angry tip against the stretched hole. the laugh that leaves his lips is cold and nasty, ghost tenses more.

"sit back. Kyle, your turn." Kyle gulps. he knows what price is doing and hes praying he won't get the short end of the stick. he climbs up and takes soaps place, price gestures for him to go ahead. kyle does, slowly pushing in, giving him a gentle fuck in hope to soothe what price started, rubbing his back and kissing his shoulders. but price isnt having that. he laughs. "look at that. all sweet n gentle to make up for getting you into trouble too. isn't that nice, simon?" he says sarcastically. "at least kyle cares a little, hm? how kind of him. really, really sweet." ghost tenses up again, kyle gulps. he keeps the gentle demeanour up, despite his cock aching and begging for more stimulation.

"he's holding back so hard to not anger you. he's scared of you. maybe we should help him, hm?" Price grins, it makes him shiver. "Johnny, get behind him." Kyle's eyes widen, as does Soaps grin. he places himself behind Gaz and presses his dick against the taller mans hole, filling in the banks of what price wants him to do. he rubs it teasingly, making kyle shiver in anticipation, thrusting into ghost deeper to get away from soap; unfortunately for him this backfires.

"go, boy." the simple words send soap into a frenzy, almost lunging himself forward to press kyle down onto ghosts back - despite being the shortest he's still a goddamn tank - forcing his already hard again cock into the tight hole. Kyle gasps loudly, forced into the big guy to the hilt, praying that ghost won't tear him to shreds later. Soap once again starts rutting down, this time into kyle instead of ghost - more or less, since he's forcing kyle to fuck him in the same rhythm. both of them are whining and moaning, gaz is louder, soap grunts with effort and pleasure.

Kyle looks up with teary eyes, looking at price for help - to his surprise he actually stands up and walks over; but not to help. the opposite, really. poor naive kyle sobs out when price reaches down between them to put the cockring on its highest setting, then stands up straight again to watch. "look at that. not even sweet kyle can help when the brat gets his hands in, huh?" he's talking to ghost again, riling him back up. "what a shame, thought you were better than.. that." his voice drips with disdain - and kyle finally realises what's happening. his eyes widen and he glances up at the older man, who smirks down at him with a wink. he knows this is happening, no matter how much he'd beg or plead, this was happening. lucky for him he wouldn't get the short end of the stick, so why stop it? the worst that will happen to him will be getting overstimulated, and that's worth the show - so he puts his head down, relaxing his body as soap keeps plowing into him.

soap is far too sunken into the pleasure to notice the exchange, far too busy with the feeling of the pilant hole around his cock and the feeling of power that comes with forcing someone to fuck another person. he gets drunk on the power quickly, digging his short nails into Kyle's ass as he chases another high - but not without making sure to angle his thrusts against the other mans prostate, forcing him to cum into Ghosts hole too, mixing with the mess already in there. only when he hears the squelching noises get sticky he allows himself to finish again, pulling out right away to watch his sperm dribble out of Kyle's gaping hole. smacks his ass for good measure before sitting back, exhausted and happy.

Kyle follows suit, pulling out slowly and carefully, leaving ghost wide open, price grins. "look at that.." he whispers, pulling the cheeks apart to have a clear view. "what a fucking mess. disgusting. you really let him do that to you?" he rummages through the nightstand, fishing out a rather big buttplug. he gently, slowly pushes it into Ghosts hole, sealing it shut with the mixed cum inside it, a constant reminder of what just happened. price now bends down, mouth right by his ear.

"you won't let him get away with that, are you, ghost?"

his eyes fly open, he's frozen for a moment. price grins and steps back. he doesn't even have to give the command, ghost is already hauling himself up with a grunt, grabbing johnny by the hair and pulling him onto his back on the mattress, a shocked look crossing the other mans face. his cocky demeanor is gone as he finally realises what price had been planning all along, that he wasn't going easy with the punishment, no. he made soap fuck him on purpose. got him angry, not at being punished, but at soap for getting him punished. and it worked, because ghost is forcing soaps knees to his ears, fat, drooling cock resting on his ass, rubbing back and forth. the only thing holding him back is the lack price's command to start, and soap knows it. he looks up, baffled. price bends down again, looking into his eyes.

"go on." Soap looks at price as if he had just signed his death contract, like he just sent him on death row with no chance for trial. Ghost doesnt hesitate, he forces his whole lenght in I'm one deep thrust, making the smaller man cry out, air forced out of his lungs.

"fuck-!" Soap cusses but is quickly silenced, not by Price, but by ghost, shoving his thick fingers down his throat, making his eyes water.

"shut the fuck up, you pathetic whore.." ghosts voice is low, angry. soap gets butterflies and he's not sure whether its fear or arousal. "your fucking fault I keep getting into trouble.. your fucking fault I'm fucked full of cum.. your fucking fault I'm stuffed now.." he growls, showing his fingers deeper as he thrusts harder. its short, deep thrusts with a painful force behind them, soaps tears soon flow freely. "gonna make you fucking regret what you did to me.." soaps eyes roll back as ghost hits his good spot, deep, deep inside him. he swears he can feel ghost all the way in his tummy, swears it bulges from the sheer size, but his hands cant feel for it, digging into the sheets as ghost ruins him, like he ruined ghost.

"holy shit.." Kyle whispers shakily, cockring still buzzing away around his cock, lazily stroking his semi as he watches soap get brutalised. "Captain.." he mumbles quietly. "he's crying.."

"that he is." Price nods, kneeling down. he cups the back of his head, surprisingly gentle. Ghost pulls his fingers out, making space for price, wiping his fingers on his face. "does that hurt?" he coos, soap nods. "he's really deep, ain't he?" soap nods again. "got you all teary, hm? that bad?" soap nods again, a glimmer of hope as ghost tears into his hole, but it's snuffed as quickly as it was lit. "good." price says firmly, sadistically. "it's a god damn punishment. maybe being made to cry like a fucking baby will make you behave."

[ryescapades-archived]

hello rye! <3 congratulations on reaching 1k followers, you deserve all of them & so much more // i've read all your works, and i can't express in words how amazing of a writer you are ☘︎

for your milestone event can i request:

rin itoshi + sfw + "hey, look at me"

thank you & i wish you the best of lucks on midterms + finals :3c

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: 17 - “hey, look at me.” characters: itoshi rin (bllk) x f!reader contents: comfort/fluff, reader gets bothered by some sleazy guys erm wc ~ 1k

a/n: ruruuu my beloved i uhh dunno what to think of this personally but i hope it’s better for u than it is for me shsdfdfk and thankyou sm for participating and the kind words ilyy !! <3 (not proofread!)

your date has been going so well today.

you had planned this so long ago, wanting to go to the aquarium with rin. it’s been quite a while since you’ve had some alone time with him, considering how busy he is with soccer so it’s only right that he’d wanted to spend the whole day and more with the one he treasures the most.

the aquarium itself was a blast; you had fun learning about and looking at all the beautiful sea creatures, though rin would argue that there’s entirely something— or someone— else that was worthy of being labeled as the embodiment of beauty itself.

he would never say that out loud, of course.

the aquarium aside, the rest of the day went by pretty leisurely. after getting yourselves some matching trinkets (you think that the faint blush brushing his cheeks when he holds the dainty ornament in his hands is the loveliest, most incredible sight you’ve ever seen), the two of you decided to check out the new ramen place downtown, catch up a little bit over lunch (you did all the talking, unsurprisingly) before ending up taking a stroll in the park nearby.

everything’s turning out wonderful, until it was not.

while the two of you were preoccupied in your own little bubble, a few wandering tourists had interrupted you to ask for some help. the both of you knew that giving some mere instructions would be too vague, so you had convinced him that you didn’t mind waiting as he showed them the way instead as he was more versed in their language. rin wanted to dispute, not wanting to leave you alone even just for a second, let alone 3 minutes, though he begrudgingly obliged after one look of assurance from you.

the world would’ve been a better place if some people knew how to keep their hands to themselves and mind their own business, really.

all the while you’re waiting for rin to come back, you catch sight of a couple guys standing just a few feet away, their leering eyes hooked on you as their faces spell nothing but trouble. you try not to visibly grimace, turning away from them as you start chanting in your head for your boyfriend to return quickly and wish that by some miracle he could feel your (hopefully) telepathic distress.

you’d wanted to walk away but unfortunately for you, you don’t get far as a few seconds later, a bold finger taps on your shoulder to gain your attention. turning around, you feel your body tense at the men suddenly looming over you with a grin looking oh so sweetly on each of their faces.

“hey, you alone here, sweetheart?” you resist the urge to visibly roll your eyes at the petname. with a reluctant smile, you shake your head at them before starting to walk off. “i’m heading somewhere else, sorry.”

persistent like a parasite with the intent to make your life worse, they fall into steps behind you. you’re feeling the urge to curse at the inconvenience of the part of the city you’re currently at, reprimanding yourself for waiting at such an isolated place. “here with your friends? or family?” one of them presses, and your heartbeat rises as they begin to get closer.

“boyfriend, excuse you,” you huff quietly under your breath, wanting to lose yourself in the incoming crowd as you anxiously walk faster. you would’ve been fine with tolerating them until they’d eventually get bored of your lack of enthusiasm, if not for the slimy hand that suddenly extends out to harshly grasp yours from behind, triggering your fight or flight response as your heart goes plummeting down to your stomach in dread.

“oh, come on! we just wanted to–” the scream that has bubbled up in your throat doesn’t get to escape, however, when another figure comes barreling towards the man, a raged hand reaching up to fist at the latter’s collar. your wrist is then freed, and you gingerly rub at the skin as if to wipe away the foreign touch.

“she’s clearly not interested, you bastard.” your boyfriend’s gravely tone enters your ears, and you’d almost cried out in relief at his appearance. there was a dangerous and deathly lilt to his voice, and something about it makes you shiver for some unknown reason.

you initially don’t have any clue as to how badly affected rin is by the situation with how he has his back towards you but the way rin’s grip on the stranger’s shirt tightens, proven by the flexing and slight quivering of his arm. not to mention you can hear the man’s audible gulp, so you know it’s not a pretty sight.

“w-whoa, sorry, man. we were just…” the other guy trails off, and you had almost sympathized with how genuinely terrified they look but it’s really not worth the effort to cause such a commotion here so you try to get him to calm down. “rin,” you call out, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt.

you can see him tensing at your voice for a few moments, then with as much reluctance as he can muster, the striker roughly shoves the man away before backing up slightly to hide you behind him, and they both immediately scurry off into the distance. rin doesn’t take his eyes away from the two, fists clenching and teal orbs sharpening like daggers as if to make sure those jerks are undoubtedly not coming back.

your heart squeezes at this whole ordeal. soothingly sliding your hand down the length of rin’s arm, you languidly take his hand to unfurl the whitening knuckles by weaving your fingers with his. “rin,” you press, reaching up to turn the side of his face towards you. “hey, look at me.”

your boyfriend snaps his head towards you then, tension leaving his body when his eyes land on you. he doesn’t protest when you pull him down by the back of his neck, bumping your forehead against his with a gentle thump, a silly method you’d picked up whenever there is a need to ‘knock’ some sense into him.

because the only way for itoshi rin to simmer down and regain his control is exactly that; having you close to him in whatever way possible.

“i’m here, baby. i’m okay,” you mumble against the shared space between your mouths, and rin doesn’t resist the magnetic pull as he pecks your lips once before planting another one on your forehead. “should’ve brought you along,” he mumbles, exhaling warmly against your skin.

you let out a chuckle, “hm, you’re right…” you feignedly ponder, pulling your intertwined hands together as the two of you start walking again, “though as much as i am thankful, you do look quite hot there getting all mad. and cute too, i guess. like an angry kitty, you know?” you quip, glancing at him with a small teasing smile.

a tinge of pink dusts the apple of his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowing in slight offense. “am not,” rin grumbles.

“are so,” you counter, lightly bumping your shoulder against his side.

“... am not,” he bumps back.

“angry rinnie.”

“shut up.”

taglist open !

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[teojira]

[I look after you.] [POTA headcanons!]

Summary: Random acts of service I think each ape would do for you!

Characters: Caesar, Noa, Koba, Maurice Rocket, Blue eyes, Lake, Cornelius, and Dar.

Warnings: Caesar and Noa's are meant to be romantic. Dar and Cornelius are platonic as well. The others could be read as platonic or romantic, though!

A/N: These are all just random thoughts I've had today. Some will be shorter than others due to just how many characters I tried to include, so bare with me!

Caesar has a sixth sense as to when you're gonna get hurt, it's uncanny.

Humans are clumsy and more fragile than others, he knows as such because of his grandfather and Will, seeing them trip and fall over nothing, stub their toe and curse, it's almost as if they didn't have spatial awareness at times.

His reflexes are faster than his words.

So he knows when you're about to slam your forehead full force into a wooden beam, immediately throwing a hand up to soften the blow.

You instinctually let out an "Ow!" Before realizing you're okay, your mates warm hand against your skin. The Chimp raises an eye bridge up at you, looking towards you and then his hand.

"Oh."

Koba doesn't do anything nice for you without the expectation that you will do something for him in return.

One thing he will do is protect you against yourself, mainly out of pure pity.

Your center of gravity is different than his, and the woods are not meant for you, so get used to Koba yanking you back from a steep drop.

He isn't gentle about it, fist curled into your jacket and roughly dragging you backward, letting out a shrill against his knowledge.

You knock against his chest, his body immediately giving off its warmth to your own.

You're too scared to look up at Koba, knowing damn well he's gonna be glaring down at you, a comment ready to go.

Unfortunately for you, he does it regardless if you meet his gaze or not.

"Should have. Let you fall." He growls, hoping you can't somehow feet his heartbeat pumping out of his chest.

Noa enjoys caring for you, making your life easier by any means necessary, whether it be by learning how to make you tools that help you fish easier, cooking your meat for you, knowing that your anatomy is different, to teaching you to the best of his ability how to hunt more efficiently.

It's his love language, not that he'd be aware of it. It makes him feel like a good mate, and that boosts his ego.

He gets so mad if you try and wave him off, scoffing at the thought of you not needing him.

What do you mean you're fine on your own? Nuh uh.

Has pouted before and got huffy if you get off of your horse without him helping you down, turning his back to you childishly as he sighs as long as possible.

I hate him.

Maurice lets you cuddle into him for warmth. His fur is longer than the others, and he runs warm. He worries for you when the winters get rough. There's only so much they can do other than set a fire up and wrap you with animal hides.

Sometimes, it's not enough, and shivering yourself to sleep isn't fun.

Maurice considers you family, being the first first ape to truly take you in, he'd never turn you away from when you need him most.

Never needing permission, you quietly make your way to the Orangutan's nest, trying your best not to step on any leaves or branches.

Gingerly taking your time to settle next to Maurice, lowering your body down.

Taking a glance at Nova resting on his other side, you don't catch his eyes peering open, a hand coming up to sign slowly.

'Come.'

Lifting a long arm, he allows you to curl into his side, finally granting you a good night's rest.

Blue eyes always makes sure you're apart of the conversation, if he and Ash are goofing around, and you're standing off to the side, he's gonna immediately poke small fun at you to get your attention.

The second he has it, he's gesturing you over to their little circle at the camp fire, asking you what humans think of whatever subject they're talking about.

Baby Blue will shove his shoulder into Ash if he tries to make fun of you, knowing well that you may not take it as friendly banter just yet.

If you're gonna be with the colony, you'll need a protector, and who else is a better, more loyal one than Rocket.

No ape is being disrespectful towards you on his watch, you're important to Caesar and while that was in fact originally the reason he made it a point to keep an eye on you, he's come to love you himself.

An Ape comes up to you, asking something wildly inappropriate?

Rocket gets up in their face, making direct eye contact and puffing out his chest for them to back the fuck off, daring them to make a move, all while making sure you're well hidden behind himself.

Lake enjoys braiding your hair for you, the different texture offering a welcome challenge compared to her own.

She's so gentle and light handed, her fingers weaving the strands to the best of her ability, fingers much too large.

It's a bonding experience between the two of you, her downtime, after working with the little ones for hours previously.

The littlest ape prince is no stranger to clinging on to you at any point in time. Even as he grows older and gets to be too heavy to sit on your lap or climb up your back, he does it anyway. Wrapping his arms around your neck and hiding his face against your skin.

He does it when looking for comfort, but also for when he's being a little shit and his dad is searching for him to chastise.

Cornelius knows that when you're near, you're gonna spoil and baby him, and that's exactly what he wants, hiding behind you.

He is observant like his father, always in tune with your emotions and knows when you need to have company so you don't stew in your own head.

Drags you off to play with the other apes, not taking no for an answer even if you try to. He pulls those puppy dog eyes and it's damn near impossible to deny him.

Taking on a motherly role for you comes with ease, Dar slipping into it once Noa vouches for you.

She makes sure to take you under her wing, teaching you their ways of life in the a view point of an elder, not just Noas.

Please don't imagine that she'd make you your own shawl, matching her own, literally don't bc I teared up.

She'd be ecstatic to see you wear it around the colony, staring at you. She's so proud of you from how far you've come.

Dar will blatantly introduce you to others as her child, no matter what another ape says. Which wouldn't be much to begin with, became who is gonna argue with her? She won't hear a word of it, waving them off.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s February ficrec frenzy

Hi everyone, just under two weeks to go until we're so so back, and it's time for February's rec post of all the fic that I've read and loved over the last month! Basically I've been rolling around in delight at all the interpretations of the behind the scenes hug fic, so you may sense a theme. As always you can find previous rec lists here.

22 February 2025

It’s a good thing we’re so normal and well-adjusted and could never fall in love with each other! by @luckshiptoshore my dear friend wrote her first Buddie fic, and it's a delight. Posing the question, what would happen if Buck and Eddie had an ongoing fwb arrangement, and hadn't thought any deeper about it than that because they're both straight right, so it's just blowing off steam? Coupled with Buck's canonical bi awakening...that makes him reassess what exactly has been going on all this time. Witty and so much fun, bless these idiots, they have but one braincell between them but boy does it spark when rubbed together.

there is no road by @ghostlandtoo such a gripping take on Eddie moving to El Paso and Buck in LA missing him, this is a dual POV in which Buck is striving to be fine, and Eddie is struggling to adjust, and they're both missing each other. When Eddie is injured on the job, Buck drops everything to come to his side, and together they heal and slowly start to unpeel the layers on their feelings. Really fantastic examination of how to be there for each other when you know what you feel but not how to unblock obstacles in the way. I especially loved the Eddie POV and myriad family dynamics in this one.

so make the best of this test (and don’t ask why) by @littlefreakbuckley oh this one took me by surprise in the best way! Buck 1.0 wakes up in the marriage bed of future Buck and Eddie. Adjusting to learning he's into guys too now, and reckoning with the realisation that he's built a family since his early season 1 pre-Abby relationship days, what unfolds is both flirtation to the max and a beautifully introspective journey of acceptance. And one VERY intrigued Eddie. Hot and sweet, their idiosyncrasies and banter were so on point, with such a lovely subtle characterisation shift between 1.0 and Buck that still made them both feel distinctly them even with the gap in wisdom and growth: just gorgeous. Also hot, did I say hot? Hot! 

crying after sex by @eddiebabygirldiaz I'm always here for an ren's fics, and oh hello, this one is a stunner! After a hook up following the Risky Business scene, Buck and Eddie have kissed...but they've yet to define anything, and before they can have that conversation, one or the other bolts. When Eddie moves to Texas, Buck spirals and has a lot of sex and spirals some more. They miss each other terribly, and through their discussions, they find their way to each other, but not without a few speed bumps. I really love the self reflection they both go through here, and the structure which means we get to see so much of how they cope, love, and grow together.

his indecision's bugging me by @peachino a beautifully written contribution to the 'Eddie moves out and without telling him, Buck moves in' speculation. The language and descriptions in this one are so gorgeous, with Buck's head being a delightfully messy, tangled place to inhabit. There's paint metaphors, Buckley sibling conversations, and an Eddie who is gently accepting and amused. I love you squatter Buck!

crash test anthem by @clytemnestraaa part two in gear shift harmony, Buck is not having a great time in LA, and the firefam are concerned for him. Really diving deep into his abandonment issues and his less than healthy ways of dealing with them, this is putting him in the torment nexus.

tailspinning by @doitgently taking Buck spiralling to the extreme...this is that one time Buck snooped on Eddie's fridge calendar to the extreme! With a mix of location tracking and memorised schedules, the codependency is off the charts and yet remains somehow incredibly sweet and charming - such a fine line and executed so well. Buck knows what he's doing is insane but god help him, he just needs to know.

slaughterhouse by @kithmet 'Buck has resolved to be the greatest friend ever. He’s handling this move so well. And not at all being abnormal about Eddie’s house. Or Eddie’s belongings. Or, well. Eddie.' In which Buck accidentally starts magpieing Eddie's belongings in a reaction to him moving away and feels very guilty about it but just can't stop himself....and Eddie's reaction might not be what you expect. This one tickled me so much, lovely little klepto.

oh brother, I see (you burn like me) by canadadry SISTERS!!!! Oh oh how I loved this...chapters split between Adriana and Maddie, this is a third person POV to Buddie, from the eyes of their siblings. What Adriana witnesses coming in fresh contrast to poor Maddie's slowly boiled frog experience of the two. Lovely characterisation and just so much fun, I really loved that they bonded over the insanity.

We're Overdue for a Revival by @bespectacledbunnys in which Chris agrees to come back to LA but he has one condition....Eddie must marry Buck. The only problem? Buck and Eddie are totally platonic? Right? I love the comedy of errors sensibility to this fic, along with the marriage of convenience trope wielded by teenage melodrama. Chris is brilliantly given agency here, allowed to be a messy and contradictory and hurt teenager just trying to be okay. Love Buck's easy acceptance and the firefam's incredulity. So much fun, and a delightful ride.

Okay let's leave it there for now, with Eddie perpetually in El Paso and Buck perpetually Not Okay About It. So excited to be back with more canon informed fics soon, happy reading everyone! 12 days until 8b!

[avelera]

(Meta) Fortiche's Use of Religious Imagery in Viktor's Arc Was Intended to Convey Sinister Undertones

So I'm gonna put my Art History TA hat on for a second and say I've seen a lot of the connections made between Viktor (Arcane) with the religious imagery referenced in his arc, which is inescapably present and intentional, and I feel like its worthy time for a reminder that Fortiche, the animation studio for Arcane, is based in France

So on the one hand, it would be impossible to develop as an artist in France and not have a ton of exposure to religious art and iconography, which is very obvious in just how much Renaissance art and Catholic iconography is referenced with Viktor. (Never mind how well it works as a visual language for the mysticism they imbued into the rise of the Machine Herald in general.)

There's a great thread about all the art referenced here:

But on the other, if I can just put my history nerd hat on as well for a second I'd also like to point out that there's also subtle (and not so subtle) sinister undertones to the religious iconography for Viktor, even before he does anything overtly evil. Like, even when he heals Huck back in 2.02, I think we're meant to feel at least a subtle sense of wrongness to the "triumph" of that scene and the swelling religious chorus.

I was reminded while watching those scenes that an element of the French Revolution (also referenced in the opening credits of Arcane with Jinx waving the flag, so I think it's fair game to consider in discussions of the meta themes of the show) that is sometimes overlooked in the US when we learn about the French Revolution is how much the rage at the aristocracy was also aimed at the Catholic priesthood, since those two institutions were deeply intertwined as oppressive forces against the French people.

Basically, I think if you consider a French studio referencing Catholic religious imagery in their show (used to depict Viktor's rise to mystic power which will in turn lead to his eventual disillusionment with humanity and him dooming the world if he isn't stopped) you're missing out on some delicious shades of nuance and subtle foreshadowing if you don't know that a French studio's use of Catholic imagery could, in itself, be intended to add a subtle sense of impending evil because Catholicism in that country has also historically represented a system that is oppressive towards individual freedoms.

Now of course France's relationship with Catholicism is complex and it isn't just a simple case of Catholic Imagery = Evil Stuff is Happening Here, but I would point out that if you watched an American show and a character was crowned king in the first act to a manically cheering crowd, it would absolutely be fair to wonder if the crowning of the king had sinister undertones, because of the US's history and how the country was established in part as an escape for monarchy. On a cultural level, we see kings as bad things in the US, and likewise in France, Catholicism as an institution and Catholic imagery have some very complex and often evil associations.

TL;DR If you don't consider that a French studio might have used Catholic imagery specifically as visual hint and foreshadowing that Viktor's arc was going to be about him turning evil, then you're missing out on some very fun and tasty meta associations in the Arcane show.

[ashkabbom]

Nightmares - Mouthwashing

A/n: I finished the draft of this at 3am and finished the English version at 5am😭. I'm not going to lie, I was a little embarrassed while writing this, but I kind of liked how it turned out. Feel free to correct me if I wrote something wrong. English is not my first language and I used the help of translator🎀.

Versión en español en Wattpad: Libro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Cuenta: ashkabbom)

Versão em português no wattpad: Livro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Conta: ashkabbom)

Summary/Synopsis: Nightmares keep you awake longer than you want.

Notes: I didn't specify gender and I didn't describe any closer relationship with any character, so you decide the gender and how you see the relationship between them.

→Warning: There is mention of death, blood and suicide here, so be careful or don't read if these are subjects you don't like and doesn't feel comfortable reading, since they are sensitive topics, okay?🫶🏽 Take care of yourself.

Stupid ideas are something common to everyone, right? Well, going after that job, even knowing how strange it seemed for them to accept you so... quickly or easily, that was stupid.

Daisuke and you had been playing Monopoly for a while, maybe 30 minutes. You guessed it was sometime between 3 and 4 in the morning, the moon on the huge screen letting you know that you were definitely not supposed to be awake right now.

It was those few moments that made you feel like yourself again, less crazy. Being among the stars in space was new, you didn't really expect to be here and it was a little strange not talking to other people.

"You can pay me $250" You mentioned with a cheeky smile and a cocky voice.

Daisuke looks at you confused and then at the board. It was already the fourth time he had landed on a property you had purchased, and that in 15 minutes.

"How do you manage to make this game work in your favor?" He asked indignantly.

"Daisuke Daisuke... You need to expand your mind a lot with the knowledge of a true entrepreneur." You explain with elegance and sincerity.

"I still have a lot to learn then" Daisuke says sighing with a raised eyebrow.

"This is already the second property stolen in this game without you seeing it," Anya says as she watches you and Daisuke playing.

"Hey, I thought we were friends." You look at Anya with fake disappointment.

"I thought WE were friends!" He shouts (whispers loudly) in disbelief. "And before that you two were complaining when we were playing UNO."

"Your cards were only good cards! It was impossible for you to have gotten those cards completely randomly," Anya asks, pointing her finger at him.

"What can I do if luck was on my side?" He shrugs smugly.

"What a coincidence that luck was on your side when you were the one who shuffled the cards, huh?" You point out with a doubtful tone. "Quite a coincidence."

"A twist of fate," he quickly retorts. "By the way, you were the one who brought the UNO deck, who can guarantee that you hadn't already left the deck ready for you to deal the cards?"

"Are we really arguing about UNO this early in the morning?" Anya asks with a slight smile.

"It's for the power of being right and not being accused of false crimes" Daisuke answers simply. "But I think I've had enough of Monopoly, this game takes longer than I remember and is more fun with more than two people, since Anya didn't want to play"

"Of course I'm playing! I'm the bank!" She says, feeling wronged.

"Just handing out the money doesn't count, you're not playing in the game with us" He retorts once more, pointing at her face.

"He's right," you reply as you start to put the game away. "But I swore we had more board games here on the ship."

"And we have, I remember having more than these three at least.." Anya says a little thoughtfully. "It must be in someone's room I think"

The three of you start to put away the games you had brought there together without much fuss, although Daisuke said that one of the Monopoly dice was missing.

You never imagined meeting the two of them during one of your sleepless days. Anya you had met before when you were sleep deprived once, but Daisuke was new, out of all the others you thought he would be the one who would have perhaps the best sleep because he was an intern.

This goes down the drain when he says that sometimes he lies awake thinking only that this time he heard footsteps in the hallway, probably yours, so he went to see who it was and was lucky that it was you and Anya. If it were any of the other three, he didn't know if he would be able to make any conversation flow more smoothly.

That's how you ended up playing some games during the early hours of the morning. Daisuke suggested you guys maybe play something in silence while you talked, coincidentally you had some games.

"Did you imagine yourself working here when you did the job interview?" This time it was Anya who started a conversation.

"I was kind of pushed here, so I was hoping so," Daisuke says, remembering how he got here. "But I didn't really want to be accepted here."

"I didn't even expect to get a job so quickly, I had resigned a week earlier from another job" You say as you plop down on the couch, the two board games on your side with the UNO deck on top.

"And why did you resign?" The boy asks curiously, throwing himself on the couch and stretching.

"My boss was my ex, and he was my ex for a reason, I think that was already a reason for me to rethink whether my workplace was good or at least tolerable." You say it simply. "But obviously there were other reasons, I almost sued the place where I worked, but that's a story for another day."

"And then you came to work in such a cool place like Pony Express, what a great thing" Anya says sarcastically, sitting down next to him.

"I needed a job, water, electricity and food bills are not paid with anything" You sigh sadly. "But I think I'm going to quit when we get back, it's not necessarily rock bottom here but it's not a good thing either."

"I think I'd feel a little better if I knew less about what we were transporting into space." Daisuke complains and rests his head on his hand.

"That's a fair reason, I hadn't thought about that side of things just now.." She stops to think if at any point they had received any information about the thing that you were all transporting.

"Hmmm.. That kind of company must transport food or water, things like that, right?" You assume that it must be based on what little you know.

So you stay in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the calm that night..

Now the silence seemed like the worst torture.

If you had known that, I think you would have been better prepared to try to deal with the situation, or... I don't know. You can't even imagine knowing how to deal with this. You just want to go back to that night and make it last a lifetime.

You hugged your friend with all your strength, saying that everything was going to be okay and that she was going to be okay, you were going to go back home, you were going to play together again.

"NO NO NO! God, please tell me this is a lie!" You sob through your tears. "Anya! Please talk to me! Don't say that's true!"

She didn't respond at all, her eyes, now lifeless, staring upward, blood staining her mouth and chin.

You begged her to be a lie and just mess with you, to wink and laugh at how desperate you were and tell her she was fine. Everything seemed so unreal, so weird and heavy.

Crying is the only thing you could do right. You don't even know how long you stood there with her in your arms.

But then you freeze.

You freeze when you notice Daisuke's silence in the other room, you sob and just hear Jimmy say something about letting him think he was going to fix everything.

Carefully letting go of Anya's body you stand up.

That's not true, is it?

As you enter the other room you look to the side and feel like vomiting.

"Daisuke, no no no... Daisuke answer me, please look at me, please please..."

Screaming and crying you go next to Daisuke's body now in silence, running your hand over his face.

Gosh, you didn't even know what to do. On one side was Anya's body and on the other was Daisuke's body.

All you could do was beg any God that could hear you at that moment, beg that all of this was just a terrible dream and that your friends were okay.

They still had so many dreams, you still had so many things to do together. Even if you never left the ship and died here, you would get through this together.

What had you done to deserve this? What had Anya done to deserve a future like this? Daisuke still had so much to live for.

A few minutes pass with you sitting on the floor, now holding Daisuke's body in your arms, running your hands through his hair, saying that tomorrow is another day, that he would talk excitedly to you again..

You remember hearing Swansea yelling to go after Jimmy, but at this point you couldn't tell what you were imagining and what was real.

You lay him down again.

Everything would be sorted out tomorrow.

You walk towards the kitchen in that room.

This is all too much for your head.

You grab something from the kitchen.

Everything was going to be fine

You move automatically, and then blood gushes from your neck, the knife falls and then your body.

Curse this nightmare you lived in.

[chrissv4mp]

get him back! 💘

warnings: vulgar language, smut (p in v, missionary, unprotected sex, cunnilingus), jealous!chris, use of 'y/n', etc.

summary: in which chris was just a summer fling that you couldn't get enough of, and neither could he.

pairing: fem!reader × christopher sturniolo

a/n: literally jumped at the fact that i got to participate in @annamcdonalds67 's writing challenge! first ever comp i've been in🫶🏼 also there's a huge timeskip in this, sooo...

_____________

SUMMER 2023 , day 30

"chris, you can't burp in public places. seriously." you sighed, continuing to walk alongside the boy in the mall.

"why not? it's not hurting anyone," he grumbled, swaying the bag in his freehand back and forth.

"because that's not polite, chris." you swore you were talking to a child sometimes.

chris rolled his eyes, who were you to tell him it wasn't polite?

"fuck, you argue with me about everything." you muttered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

chris hadn't heard, and even if he had, he wouldn't answer. his full attention was on some girl talking to her friends. his wandering eyes had always failed him.

her hair was dark, long, and her lips were so full he wished he could--

"chris," your voice pulled him out of his trance, his head quickly snapping toward you.

"yeah?" he smiled softly.

"i'm gonna go to the bathroom, then we can leave." chris nodded, his mind already going back to the girl from earlier.

as soon as you disappeared behind the doors, chris was making his way to the brunette and her friends.

"hey," chris smiled, eyes trained on the brunette.

"hi?" she smiled awkwardly, nudging her friends and making them leave.

"sorry, didn't wanna make your friends leave just now, i just saw you from across the store and... you're really pretty." he said, his smile fading to a smirk.

the girl laughed, "thank you, but seriously? not even gonna ask my name?"

"shit, sorry! what was your name?" he chuckled, eyes going down to her lips.

"chloe," she replied, crossing her arms over each other.

chris nodded, "pretty name for a pretty girl. i'm chris, nice to meet you."

"nice to meet you, as well. uh, sorry, weird question," chris hummed, urging her to continue.

"how tall are you?" chloe smiled sweetly, eyeing chris up and down.

"six-foot-two," chris lied, biting the inside of his cheek.

your hand on his shoulder was what caught his attention, "nice try, chris."

he turned around, his cheeks flushing of embarrassment as he stared down at you, "hey, y/n."

ignoring him, you looked over at chloe, giving her an awkward smile before pushing past chris.

"i'm sorry about him. and i assure you that he's not six-foot-two." you sighed, flashing her another quick smile before dragging chris out of the mall.

chris stayed silent as you scolded him in the car, was he serious?

"you are so embarrassing chris, and, god, you need to get yourself in check. flirting with another girl while dating me? seriously?" you scoffed, driving out of the parking lot.

you should've left him a long time ago, honestly, but he was so much fun and he had such weird friends.

and plus, he would take out you and your friends to parties every other night. they were always a good time, it felt as if they never ended.

"i'm sorry, ma," he muttered, placing his hand on your thigh and gently squeezing it.

"i can make it up to you tonight. me, nate, and a couple other friends are going out to a club," chris said quietly, a smile growing on his face.

you stayed silent. even if the invitation did sound nice, you were still pissed at chris.

"c'mon, don't be like that, ma. i know you want to." he muttered, his thumb running over your thigh softly.

fuck it, it was just one night without talking about your feelings. plus, you needed something fun to do, "fine."

chris smiled brightly, "y'know i learned some new dance moves."

rolling your eyes playfully, you nudged the boy, "shut up, chris."

SUMMER 2023 , day 42

"i mean, maybe if you stopped being such a bitch all the time more people would approach you?"

that's what chris had said just a few hours ago when you were at the party, dancing together.

now chris was trying to get you to talk to him as you sat at the edge of his bed, going through your instagram feed.

"i didn't mean it, baby, you know i didn't. please just talk to me, c'mon," he whined, his hand rubbing your shoulder gently.

you just sighed, tucking your phone in your pocket before looking away from him, "you can't just say shit like that, chris."

he nodded as his hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him, "i know, i just wasn't thinking, i'm sorry."

that's what he always said, and you always believed him. always.

"hey, i'll be right back, okay?" he said softly, kissing your cheek.

you nodded, watching as chris left his room and shut the door, leaving you alone.

chris was back in a matter of 15 minutes, barging into his room and making you jump from the sudden noise.

you were sat against the headboard, scrolling through tiktok as chris climbed onto the bed next to you.

"ma," he smiled, showering your entire face in kisses as he moved your phone to the side.

you laughed at his clinginess, feeling his hands go up to cup your face softly, "hi, baby."

"i have a surprise." he said, the smile on his face growing as he grabbed his phone.

he held the phone in front of your face, and on the screen were 2 tickets to paris, france, the date on the ticket showing that the plane was leaving in just 4 days.

your mouth fell agape as you turned your head to look at chris, before he could even say anything, you jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly.

after a few minutes of silence in his embrace, you finally spoke, "i love you, chris."

the boy smiled, kissing your neck affectionately, "love you, too, y/n."

SPRING BREAK 2024 , night 3

your eyes were glued to your phone, attention on chris's new instagram story.

it was a picture of him, his tongue stuck out as the words "Happy Easter !" were next to him.

your lips curled into a small smile, but then it faded as the memory of your breakup crashed into your mind.

maybe he was an asshole at sometimes, but you really missed him. he was so sweet and such a gentleman at times.

every moment with him was never boring, he was funny, kind, hot, everything a girl would want in a guy.

you shut off your phone as another memory came into your mind, when chris had hit on your friend right in front of you.

and the worst part wasn't even that it was right in front of you; the worst part was that he'd done it multiple times.

"fucking asshole." you muttered, eyes going to the TV that was currently playing Waves.

your attention couldn't stay on the movie, though. it wasn't long until your eyes wandered below the TV to the entertainment center.

there was a photo of you and chris in paris, on the eiffel tower.

he was so sweet for taking you on that trip, but then again, he was a dick for the reason he bought the tickets.

god, you couldn't make up your mind.

do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it's up and down.

you couldn't even decide anymore. all you knew was that you wanted to get him back.

you wanted to make him jealous, like he always made you. and, fuck, you wanted to make him feel bad. really bad.

he would always blame you for shit you couldn't control.

and then at other times you wanted to get him back.

you wanted him again, missed him, even.

you felt sad every time you saw him having fun with other girls, felt like you were never good enough for him.

you just wanted him to reassure you that you were better than all those girls, that you were his girl.

sometimes you even found yourself on your bedroom floor, texting him little notes about how much you missed the way kisses and the way he grabbed your--

the way he made you laugh.

you'd pour your heart our every time, and the "little notes" would always end up as huge paragraphs.

you still remember the time you had almost hit send. during your relationship another girl had texted you that chris was cheating on you with her.

and of course, it had to have been one of your ex-friends.

she had explained that she went through his phone and saw your text messages with chris. he said you were the only girl.

but that just wasn't the truth. another one of his lies.

another memory was when you had actually sent him a paragraph. a paragraph about how bad he had hurt you.

chris, never being one to admit to something like that, said you were trippin'.

you remember how angry you were, how much you had fucking hated his guts. but then you remembered what you had told your friends that same day.

"maybe i could fix him."

SPRING BREAK , day 7

matt was hosting a party at him and his brothers' shared house, and he had invited you.

and, of course, you accepted the invitation. he was just chris's brother, and you would just avoid the younger triplet if he tried to come to you.

"y/n, oh my god, we missed you!" nick greeted, pulling you into a hug as you stepped into the house.

"i missed you, too, nick." you smiled, hugging him back before going off to find some other friends.

why couldn't chris be like his brothers? they were so sweet.

maybe you should've went for matt last summer.

a few hours into the party and a guy was all over you, grabbing at your waist and pulling you against his front.

you caught sight of chris as you danced against the guy. he was staring daggers at the man, his grip on his pepsi can tight enough to break it into pieces.

you smirked at the thought of making him jealous. but, fuck, you wanted to make him more than jealous.

maybe after the party you would key his car. that'd get him going.

or maybe you'd make him lunch tomorrow, make him happy.

you hadn't even met his mom during your relationship. what if you got in touch with her just to tell her her son sucks?

whatever, it didn't matter right now. all that mattered was that chris was jealous and was ready to attack the guy.

"let's go upstairs, yeah?" the guy whispered into your ear, hand going up to squeeze your boob.

just as he did, chris was out of his seat, pushing way past other people and stopping just in front of you.

you hadn't even had time to process the whole interaction between chris and the unknown guy before chris was dragging you down the hall to his room.

"chris, what the fuck are you--" your sentence was cut short as he pushed you against his locked door, his lips crashing onto yours hungrily.

your eyes widened in shock, but as soon as chris's hand rested on your waist, you relaxed, kissing him back just as rough.

his grip on your waist was tight, sure to leave marks in the shape of his hands.

good, that would remind any other guy who touched you that you belonged to chris. only chris.

his lips left your, trailing kisses down your jawline to your neck, sucking harshly on your tender skin just before his tongue lay flat on the same spot to soothe the ache.

"fuck." you whined, hands tangling in chris's hair.

chris didn't stay at your neck for long, pulling away entirely from your body to pull your shirt over you head and undo your bra.

his lips were quick to find your nipple, swirling around the bud slowly as his hand played with your other boob.

his eyes never left yours as he left marks on your chest, making sure they wouldn't fade in just a matter of hours.

"stupid fucking guy thinks he can touch on you like that," chris muttered as he grabbed your waist tightly again, roughly leading you to sit on his bed.

he got on his knees in front of you before pulling at the hem of your jeans.

you quickly got the hint and slipped them off, kicking them off your ankles before chris threw them somewhere around the floor.

"still such a good girl for me, yeah?" he said, amusement in his tone as he grabbed your thighs and pulled them open.

you nodded eagerly, "i'm your good girl, chris."

chris smiled, before hooking his finger in your panties and pulling them off of you roughly.

you swore you heard him rip the fabric, but that didn't matter, all that mattered right now was the ache between your thighs.

"still such a pretty girl." chris mused before running his tongue through your folds.

you gasped at the warmth of his tongue, attempting to squeeze your legs shut.

chris kept them open, his grip on your thighs tightening as he dipped his tongue into your entrance, eliciting a loud moan out of you.

"chris, fuck." you moaned, hands going back into the boys hair and tuggling lightly.

his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly as he slipped his index finger into your wetness.

your grip in his hair tightened as your moans got louder, whining his name as his finger hit that sweet spot deep inside of you.

"oh my god, chris.." you groaned, eyes rolling back as they fluttered shut.

he added a second finger to your entrance, finding it harder to thrust both fingers into you.

"so tight." he groaned into your pussy, the vibrations of his voice making you let out a throaty moan.

"chris, chris, fuck, i'm gonna-" you cut yourself off with a moan as chris curled his fingers.

you came on his tongue and fingers, your chest heaving as you let go of his hair.

chris lapped at your wetness, cum coating his chin as he stood up in front of you.

he wasted no time in taking his shirt off, unbuckling his belt and kicking his jeans off his ankles, quickly pulling his boxers down before throwing them on the floor.

"you make me crazy, y'know that, ma?" he growled lowly, pushing you softly to lay on your back.

chris didn't even let you reply before he aligned his cock with your entrance and thrusted himself inside of you.

hiding his face in your neck, he began to roll his hips, groaning as he felt your walls clench around him tightly.

"fuck." he whined at the feeling of your nails digging into his back, sure to draw blood.

it wasn't long until you had adjusted to his size and chris had began to thrust into you faster, his tip hitting your cervix just right every time.

your moans echoed off the walls, and suddenly you were glad that the music outside of the door was loud.

the bed creaked as the headboard hit the wall, evidence of how hard chris was rocking against your body.

"chris, fuck, you're so big." you whimpered, gasping as you felt his hand on your lower belly.

he pushed down slightly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he felt a small bulge.

it didn't take long for the both of you to reach the edge, gasps and moans being the only thing heard in the room.

chris came seconds before you, filling you up just before you came on his cock, making him groan loudly.

"fuck, ma." he sighed, giving you a few seconds before he pulled out of you and plopped by your side on the bed.

you rolled on your side to face him, smiling slightly at the knowledge that he had already been staring at you.

he smiled back at you, his eyes struggling to stay open.

he laughed, "still making you feel bad?"

even if he was tired, he would never pass up the chance to make a snarky comment.

"shut up, you idiot." you laughed, punching him playfully.

. . .

tags: @mattsneezing @55sturn @niicksposts @mayhem-72 @chrissturnswife @sturn-wrld @freshloveee @h3arts4harry @films4sturni @lanixsturniolo @voidghsts @thebottledwatersupplier @strniohoeee @strnilolo @heartsforchrisandmatt @sturn3g1rl @mstxrniolo @iluvmattyb @ryli3sworld @stingerayyy2

n

[seirei-bh]

Jason Mendal headcanons

I wrote these headcanons for fun, however, keep in mind that there is only a few episodes of MCL NG out by now, so I may be wrong about some ideas due to later revelations. (I've also added some NSFW headcanons under the cut!)

-He loves luxury restaurants, especially Italian food, and everything expensive and exotic that is the specialty of five-star chefs.

-He has a limousine and a driver, but he only uses them on special occasions, since he prefers to drive his own car.

-If he were an animal he'd identify with a panther, a wolf or a shark

-He likes to listen to jazz.

-He made an anonymous Twitter account that he uses to insult Devemenentiel members (later Thomas found it and hacked it to permanently ban it, lol)

-He usually wears cologne, his favorites are “Sauvage” by Dior, and “Eros” by Versace (obviously very expensive and brand name)

-He doesn't feel close to his family. Most of them are unbearable to him, with a few exceptions.

-He tends to think that stable romantic relationships are a waste of time. Most of his romantic relationships in the past didn't last very long, almost all of his former lovers complained that "he was married with his job" or that "he was a self-centered asshole". He never had enough time for them and he got bored of them because they were not intelligent or interesting enough to him (something that changes with newsucrette/Ysaline)

-He likes women with self-confidence, who know what they want and are capable of challenging him.

-His poliosis was a consecuence of his Waardenburg syndrome. That syndrome also causes on him to suffers from partial deafness and has vision problems. However, he hides all this by using a very discreet hearing aid and contact lenses. Almost no one knows this except a few people very close to him, Jason hides these problems from the people at his company and any competitors to avoid look weak.

-He's afraid of one day becoming completely deaf, so he learned to read lips and sign language.

-He doesn't want to have children, partly because he doesn't have time to raise them, but mostly because he fears they could inherit the physical problems he has, like a partial or complete deafness.

-Since he was little he was always very good at maths.

-Jason pretends he was always popular, but he was quite nerdy at school, something that he decided to change later in high school and college, he went from being the nerd boy who other made fun of to being the popular boy who insulted and bullied the others.

-During his childhood and teenage years he used to dye his hair so that other children would not mess with him, but as an adult he learned to leave his natural white streaks with self-confidence and to see them as an attractive and unique feature.

-He likes the beach, the pool and going on a yacht. He hates mountains and nature.

-He likes to go to the theater and museums. He knows a lot about the life and work of artists, but he doesn't know as much about art itself, although he pretends he does.

-He has the philosophy of “the end justifies the means” and also that money does give happiness, or at least it can help buy it.

-As a child he learned to play the piano, but as an adult he has thrown away most of his former hobbies from his little free time, because he no longer has time for any of that.

-He got that tattoo on his arm because he lost a big bet once, but since Jason never talks about his defeats, when someone asks him, he says that he got that tattoo just because he wanted to and without any reason or meaning beyond the aesthetic.

-Devon was one of the few true pals Jason really respected and appreciated in the past, before “something” happened between them and they became enemies. Each of them has a different version about what really happened in mind, so that hostility due to differences in povs became increasingly stronger as the years went by. (Probably in this case it is Jason who is not right, but he is too proud to admit that he was wrong.)

-He felt attracted to newsucrette/Ysaline from the first moment he saw her. At first it was just desire and he wanted to manipulate her, but over time that feeling grew stronger and turned into love. Something that he also tried to ignore and deceive himself, denying it until he realized about the truth. He knew that maybe she would hate him, that maybe he would hurt her, that everything could end very badly, but still he couldn't resist to try it.

NSFW headcanons

-He loves bondage, specially tying your hands with his tie.

-He enjoys giving you orders in bed and see you obeying them, but also he enjoys secretly even more when you're a "bad girl" and refuse to do what he orders.

-Praise kink (both give and receive)

-He absolutely adores when you claw your nails on his back, so he has more excuses to call you “kitten.”

-Also when you grab him by his tie to drag him to the bedroom and passionately tear off his clothes.

-His favorite place is in his house, although it can be in bed, against the wall or on a table.

-Too excited by the idea of f*king you in Goldreamz's office, on his desk table sometime.

-He almost always prefers to be the dominant one, but also loves when you fight for dominance and you get to be the queen in his bed who is able to doms him.

-He loves to tempt you beforehand, whispering sexy and dirty things in your ear, kissing you on the neck and caressing you softly and subtly, until you can't take yourself anymore.

-Hard. Savage. Passionate. Sometimes very fast for all the sexual tension you two can't handle, sometimes unbearably slow on purpose because he wants to hear you beg for more and praise him how good he is and how much you want him.

-You two always end on a bed after an argument. He's turned on by how beautiful you look when you're angry and how you fight back fierly. Sometimes he makes you angry on purpose because how much he enjoys the moment and what comes later.

-He loves when you tell him that you hate him. That turns him on too even more.

-Skilled with his fingers and proud of it *wink*

-Proud of his own body. Yeah, his size too.

-He loves to kiss your neck, caress your legs and grab your thighs and butt.

-He loves looking at you. His gaze is especially intense and challenging when you're riding him, and he likes to hear you gasp as he watches your beautiful face and body.

-Sometimes is a competition between the two to see who shows better skills in bed and how much you both can last (how many hours and poses). He'll give you his best sexy smirk and won't stop f*king you until you beg him, but you would never beg your enemy... right?

Extra! A few nsfw sweet headcanons too:

-If he notices that you feel too uncomfortable and nervous, he makes humorous comments to break the ice and make you laugh.

-Although he likes BDSM, he will always ask you if you feel comfortable or not with it and will stop if you ask him to do so.

-He's not very used to aftercare, but he knows that you need them, so he tries to give it to you. Plus, he likes it when you rest your head on his torso, close to his heart, and he thinks you look gorgeous while you sleep.

[cheezeybread]

Could I request headcanons for Scarabia + Pomefiore where they overhear their lover speaking in their native language with is neither japanese or english? Maybe they're cussing, maybe just talking to themselves, maybe singing, whatever. Here are the characters + some language samples:

Jamil - bangla: https://youtube.com/shorts/WF2LbzJDzD4?si=11V-UicSCLv8vySx

Kalim - mandarin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iUCZgObUDg&t=106s

Rook - egyptian arabic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zsz0ou4VX2g

Vil - swahili: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tpol4TKeJ14

Epel - welsh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufKf4eORcKA

So sorry it took me a while to get around to this request, I've had it gathering dust in my drafts as I brainstormed ideas for it, hehe!

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

Jamil Viper

Jamil's first introduction to your language was when you burned yourself in the Scarabia kitchen. Touching a hot pot before he could warn you that it contained boiling soup, you cried out a foreign phrase to him

"Hauar pola!" You screamed, one hand clamping over your injured palm, applying pressure as you glared at the pot "Magir Puth!"

Despite his fretting noises as he grabbed the nearest first aid kit (of course with Kalim, Jamil had made sure there was a pack in every room) and fixed your hand, Jamil had to hide his laughter. He had just assumed that you were making up gibberish like Kalim used to do as a kid- gibberish to take place of curse words.

Once you explained to him that it was indeed an actual curse, in your mother tongue, he was a bit shocked. You mean you didn't originally speak what you were speaking now??

He'll definitely ask you to teach him some words in Bangla- mainly curse words, but if he can get his hands on a book for the language, he'll attempt to learn some "sweeter" words to use with you, if only to get a little bit closer to you...or make you feel closer to home.

Kalim Al-Asim

He's no stranger to different languages! Being in a merchant family, knowing many different languages was essential to business, and Kalim has had so many tutors teaching him so many languages- he's not entirely fluent in all of them since he never gets a chance to speak them, but he knows all the basics to have a simple conversation

He probably knew that you didn't originally speak the current language that you did in Twisted Wonderland, but hadn't really heard you speak in this "Mandarin" before.

But one day, while prepping for a party, he took a small break to ask you to show him a new dance- he wasn't particularly set on what sort of dance you showed him, he just wanted some new moves to use while dancing at the party.

To his utter delight, you grabbed his hands and tried to teach him a little dance that went to an old song you heard in your childhood- of course, since your song didn't really exist in this world, you had to hum and sing it out loud.

He's definitely going to insist that you not only teach him the song, but that you start giving him lessons on your language! He figures it'll be fun to converse to you in Mandarin, allowing the two of you to have conversations in secret, where no one else knows what you guys are talking about!

Rook Hunt

Ooh, la la!

He's going to run into you whilst you're in the library after class! You were sitting at one of the tables, half-closed eyes scanning over a textbook. Of course, you hadn't been getting too much sleep recently, so it was hard for you to actually read and digest the information you were supposed to. Which led to you mumbling to yourself instead in Egyptian Araibic under your breath.

Of course, Rook doesn't greet you at first, preferring to stay back and listen to your voice for a little while longer. He enjoys the cadence of it, the highs and lows of every word...it is truly beautiful for a language, is it not?

Once he helps you get to bed and can speak to you after a good night's rest, Rook inquires as to what you were saying earlier.

To hearing you say that you spoke a different language than this one, he was flabbergasted, but intrigued.

"Read me a poem in your own words, dear, in your mother tongue! Speak your mind, call me curses, list out your errand runs, just allow me to hear you speak once more!"

He's...strange. But he enjoys the foreign language very much

Vil Shoenheit

Hearing you sing to yourself while having a spa day with Vil left him speechless, for once in his life.

He had left you alone in the bathroom to soak in the warm, bubbling water, assuring you that he would be right back once he found a certain brand of oil that he suspected Rook had mistook as his.

Once he came back to the bathroom, your words sounded so...alluring. It made his hips sway with the beat you put out with a fist slapping the side of the porcelain tub. It was rather catchy, and he couldn't help but smile as he nodded his head to your tune.

"Oh, such a wonderful language, what is it?"

He's so genuinely curious about it all, and enjoys listening to you speak about it all- how you grew up, how you felt about your culture and language itself.

And don't worry, he'll be asking you to sing to him a lot more heheh

Epel Felmier

Another curser! Aah!

Epel absolutely loves the sounds coming out of your mouth as you lose your temper and let loose at another student bothering you in the courtyard, but curbs his excitement until he properly threatens the student with a good lickin' if he doesn't scoot out!

I'm not gonna lie, Epel seems like he'd speak Welsh if he weren't in Twisted Wonderland- it just seems to fit his character so well.

And, of course, he's going to ask you to teach him all of the swear you know, so that Epel can voice his grievances against Vil and some teachers without them being able to get mad at him (because, of course, Welsh isn't technically an existant language in Twisted Wonderland, soooooo the teachers/Vil can't prove it even exists unless you become a tattle-tail, hehe!)

Once he has his fun with cursing, Epel will try his best to learn some simple words/phrases from you so he can pass you secret notes in class and talk to you in private. He's...not the best at learning a new language, so be patient with him, but he's trying his hardest!

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

[scribesynnox]

Sike! I seperated my first post into a second one anyways. More apocalyptic ponyo jazz and prowl thoughts because the first post was getting long. And I want to see people's thoughts on them, but that'll be hard to do if there's too much going on in just one post.

@keferon Sorry for the double post but hey, this is on you. You are just so inspirational, and your ideas are just so fun to play with.

Man, one my favorite parts about captive Jazz and him knowing human language is that Jazz knows from the get go that humans are sentient and sapient. Everyone else is playing "oh wow, I've befriended a very clever animal!" and the only mer who knows humans are in fact not a pet, is stuck with ANOTHER mer and can't even speak fluent mer yet.

It's going to be so funny when Jazz finally learns enough mer to tell Prowl about humans and Prowl is like "THEY'RE SENTIENT?!"

Jazz: man, did you really think I was held captive for so long by a bunch of NON sentient animals? Because if you did, I'm about to be very offended. Prowl: You were land locked, I was hardly going to think you were unskilled or dumb. Any normal and sane mer wouldn't have been able to escape. Jazz: I feel like there was an insult hidden in there. Prowl: No, I'm shocked because if they're sentient, then they HAD to know what they were doing was wrong! Jazz: don't blame them too much. They didn't keep me trapped out of malice, they thought I'd die if they let me go. And to be fair, without you, that definitely would have happened. Prowl: That doesn't make your treatment okay! Jazz: I said don't blame them TOO much, I didn't say don't blame them at ALL.

Jazz swimming around in the ruins of the drowned city and going up to read a city map that's been protected behind some glass. Prowl has no idea why Jazz is staring so intently at the human drawings, and impatiently tries to get Jazz to move along. Jazz frowns at him and waves him away, stiltedly replying back, "Listening now. Gathering information. Hold." What is Jazz learning from the drawings? Do they actually mean anything?

Jazz memorizing the maps and then using the street signs to navigate their way around. Prowl being baffled at how Jazz seems to know where to go despite having clearly never been outside before.

It takes so long before Jazz can convince Prowl that "see those weird squiggles? That's human writing" Prowl: no those are territory marks that humans make. Jazz: hey, who's the one that grew up around humans. I'm telling you, it's writing. Prowl: but it's only one color! Jazz: humans don't use color as a tone indicator, they have different symbols for that. Also, fuck you guys for using colors as a second secret language, why is your writing so complicated? And I thought Chinese was hard.

Hey speaking of not knowing things about his own god damn culture, WOW how must Jazz feel about getting to go back home, except when he finally escapes, there's a lot more rubble and deadly mutant sharks than he expected.

Except when he escapes and gets to the open sea, he STILL feels like he's inside a tank. An outsider looking from behind a glass wall as everyone else gawks at him.

he is a stranger to his own culture and it hurts more than he expected it to, to come back to what should have been his home, only to find that there is no magical instant sense of belonging. It is just as alien to him as the tank had first been all those years ago.

He expected it but it still hurts more than he thought it would.

But at least there IS a warm welcome, courtesy of Prowl warbling a "Welcome back" at him. It's a start.

There is just.. SO MUCH sea!! Jazz can swim forward and swim and swim and SWIM and he can swish his tail as much as he wants, and he'll never hit a wall. And there's more than just Forward, there's also up and down and left and right and just!!! EVERYWHERE!! There is so much sea EVERYWHERE!! He could swim a HUNDRED laps just going straight forward and still never run out of room!

there is almost.. TOO much sea, honestly. Jazz's whole world consisted of tanks that barely had enough room to swim in, and now there is a dizzying amount of room to swim in.

This whole experience has just been absolutely breathtaking but if Jazz is being honest, he's not sure if it's from awe or from fear.

haha, imagine if this is when Jazz finds out he has a fear of The Vast? Oof, rip.

And like, Jazz had been in a cell, trapped for years, yes, but he still grew up there. I bet Jazz misses things from the human world.

He named himself after jazz music, Jazz isn't going to want to give up on human things.

Does Jazz sometimes miss the processed food that had been given to him? Because I KNOW we all got that one garbage food that doesn't taste good but it's what you grew up eating so you love it anyways, so does Jazz have his childhood garbage food in processed fish food? Does Jazz dig up and find those buckets of fish food and just start chowing down and Prowl is just staring at him in disgust and judgement? Lots of judgement. Jazz is offended.

Oh! And what about the effects of being raised by humans! Like, yes, the ignorance about his own culture and own world and the lack of social knowledge and his atrophied tail and all that. But like. what about night vision?

Jazz having shit night vision because he grew up surrounded by humans, and humans are always leaving SOMETHING bright on. He's never experienced true darkness before, and the first time he sees the world without light pollution, he's scared shitless because FUCK, IT'S PITCH BLACK, HOW DO YOU SEE ANYTHING, HOW CAN YOU KNOW WHERE DANGER IS!

Can I just say, I absolutely adore the fact that Jazz is as terrified of the ocean as humans are because he only knows of the ocean through their eyes. It provides an EXCELLENT way to project our own fears of the ocean onto a mer. I love it.

you know, I'm really glad that Jazz is the captive one and Prowl is the "wild" one in here. Not just because it's interesting, since it's so easy to immediately go "Oh yeah, Prowl would be the captive one and that's why he's so analytical and aloof", but also because this way makes more SENSE.

Prowl as the "wild" mer, the free mer, was able to grow up in a society. He went to school and got a degree and shit. Ya man has gone to college.

Meanwhile Jazz doesn't get taught SHIT because everyone thought he was a dumb animal. Clever, sure, for an animal, but still just a regular non sentient animal. So Jazz had to learn tricks and how to read people and all that jazz (haha, get it?), learn how to get around and do things on his own.

Which seems fitting for these two. SO yeah, I like their current set up, it's great.

[peacheeeliz]

003. they're not soundproof (wc: 1046)

Mark sits at the end of the study table, arms crossed as he takes slow breaths. When he left the room, only you and Allen had occupied the table. But once he returned, four of your classmates had joined his little ‘study group.’ Everyone was off in their own little conversations, but you couldn't help but send him a small smile. His blood would boil if it were any other person there, but the sight of that sly smile that played on your lips just left his heart pounding.

“Sorry, my brother and Jungwoo said they wanted to join,” you whisper to him, pointing at the two that sat on the opposite side of the table: Jiwoong Kim and Nicha Yontararak, or Minnie. Two upperclassmen that were friends with your brother and Jungwoo and also a part of your Japanese class. You stared at the two on either side of them, “those two, I don't really know why they're here. I thought you said they couldn't make it?”

‘Those two’ were Mark's friends, Donghyuck and Julie, who sheepishly smiled at him as they conversed with their classmates. “Well, that's what they told me,” he tells you, huffing.

Julie, closest to the two of you, leans over to butt in. “We had something come up with our other plans,” she starts, shrugging before she mouths a quick ‘sorry’ towards Mark.

Before Mark can respond, Jiwoong starts on the other side of the table. “I'm so glad somebody started a study group,” he says, smiling softly. “I was starting to go a little crazy because of Mr. Suh's lessons, and we're only one week in.”

“Oh my Gosh, same,” Minnie continues, hands falling down on the table. She sends a sorrowful look your way, “your Japanese is literally so good already, girl. How do you do it?”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head at her words. “Oh, it's nothing, come on,” you draw out.

Allen, who had now moved to the chair on the other side of you, threw his arm over your shoulder with a bright smile. “Y/Nie here is a multilingual genius. I genuinely think she has a superpower to learn any language she wants just like that,” he snaps his fingers to emphasize the word ‘that.’ “She's amazing.”

“Stop it,” you say sheepishly, swatting his arm away. “I want to learn just like you guys, I've just got a few languages down, so it's easier to learn others.”

“I agree with Allen,” Mark starts, smiling sweetly at you. “It's really amazing.”

Your eyes don't stay on him long, as Hyuck's loud voice calls you back to the group. “Well, then, you will just be a great help for our study group then, won't you?” He asks you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glances back and forth between you and Mark. “Mark is just terrible at learning new languages, so he might need a lot of help.”

“Haha, shut up, man,” Mark laughs, though his eyes stare daggers towards his friend.

“Well, I think this is going to be fun,” Allen exclaims, tapping the table excitedly. “I've never been in a study group before.”

“Actually, uh, before we start,” Mark interrupts, eyeing Hyuck again. “Can we talk real quick, outside?”

Despite his previous cheeky mood, Hyuck tenses up at Mark's gaze. He nods quickly, following his friend out into the hall. But of course, he doesn't forget to send you a friendly wave before the door shuts behind him.

“What the hell, man?” Mark starts instantly, huffing as he crosses his arms once again. “This was supposed to be just me and her. What the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck are any of you doing here?”

“Listen, Y/N invited everyone but me and Julie, alright?” Hyuck rebuts, scoffing. “And Allen only invited us because he had no idea we were ‘supposed’ to be a part of your little study group.”

Mark rolls his eyes, letting out a pained laugh. “Listen, roll your eyes all you want,” Hyuck continues, jabbing his friend in the chest. “I can try to help you out as much as you want, but forget studying alone with her. This study group's happening. If I have to study, so do you, sweetheart.”

The sound of the door opening brings their attention away from each other, and their eyes fall on you. You peaked your head around the door, “hey.” You said softly. “Just wanted to let you guys know that these windows, y'know the windows that completely surround the study room. They're not soundproof.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” Mark starts, following you back into the room with Hyuck. “I'm sorry, really.”

“What, sorry that your plan got ruined?” You ask, sitting back down at the table. Your classmates stayed silent, watching the scene play out in front of them. “Or sorry that I heard how disappointed you were in the plan not working out?”

He watched as you prepared your books for studying, ready to completely ignore him if absolutely necessary. “Obviously the latter, come on,” he tells you, eyes too focused on you to notice that Hyuck returns to his seat. “I really want to study with you, genuinely.”

You stare up at him with a blank stare, “drop the act. I'm not falling for it,” you reply, returning to your notes. “If you don't want to study with us, then fine. You know where the door is.”

“Y/N,” he says, but all he gets in reply is you pointing at the door in silence. He looks to Julie and Hyuck for help, but their eyes are glued to their textbooks. His eyes graze over the others, who awkwardly avoid his gaze by looking at each other or their notes. “Fine, I'll leave.”

He begins to pack his things back up in silence, though his eyes keep wandering back to you. To see if you'd look back at him. To see if you'd tell him to stop, just sit down and join them. But you never do. Your eyes stay on your textbook, never leaving to meet his.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he throws his backpack over his shoulder. Without saying another word, he exits the study room and doesn't turn back.

synopsis ⤏ mark, desperate to talk to the cute girl in his japanese class, forms a study group. who knew that other struggling college students might want to join a study group?

a/n: i'm imagining their seating arrangement to actually be like it is in community 😭😭 so like mark in jeff's spot, y/n = britta, allen = abed, hyuck = troy, jiwoong = pierce, minnie = shirley, and julie = annie. i hope that all makes sense !

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[covenha]

Synopsis: Sunoo realizes that his love language is acts of service. Pairings: sunoo x fem!reader Genre: fluff! so much fluff I got cavities from writing this WC: 1356 Warnings: mentions of academic stress and insomnia a/n: I had fun writing this one, really had to destress from all the studying I've been doing these past few days so this fic is a lil self-indulgent whoops. anyway, this is also a work of fiction so don't forget to touch some grass after reading! lmao jk but as always feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated! and requests are open so if you guys want me to write something lmk :))

Sunoo can admit, he always felt like he was pampered.

It’s not like he didn’t like it. Heck, he enjoyed the feeling of his members being attentive to him. The way that Jay cooks meat just the way he likes it. The way that Jake lets him get away with mistakes in his grammar because it’s just “part of his charm.” Or, the way that Jungwon always let him have a few bites of his sweets even though Sunoo definitely said he didn’t want to order one of his own. 

Which is why it was such a refreshing feeling to be with you. He never really knew what his love language was until he met you. So here are the three times that made him realize his love language was acts of service.

It was late at night, midterms were coming up and things were not looking up for you. With so many enzymes to memorize and so many cascades to internalize, if you had to look at one more diagram with arrows one more time, you were simply going to go clinically insane. 

“Why won’t this get in my head?! Who even named these stupid enzymes? Argininosuccinate synthetase? Sounds like something Elon Musk would name his child.” You bonk your head with your notebook, clearly on the brink of insanity. 

“Hey,” Sunoo’s soft voice cuts through your inner monologue. “You doing okay? Is it the krebs cycle again?” You sigh.

“There’s just so much to study for, I don’t think I can cram it all inside my goldfish brain.” You pout at the notes scattered across the desk in the room. 

“Hey, babe, you don’t have a goldfish brain. C’mon, you’re one of the smartest people I know.” Sunoo starts to get up from his lying position on the bed. 

“You don’t have to get up, Sun. I can manage this on my own, just need to whine about it first.” You give him a little smile while shrugging your shoulders. 

Sunoo drags the bean bag chair at the corner of the room and sets it right beside you. 

“Okay, we have a few hours before your exam. We can work with this. We just need to mix some active recall into the review!” Sunoo beams up at you as he lay in the bean bag, notebook in hand. 

And for the rest of the night, and well into the morning, Sunoo helps you study for your godawful Chemistry midterm. The look you had when you got back your results, passing your midterms exams with the brightest smile on your face, he just knew that he had to protect that smile.

One thing that Sunoo learned about you quickly was that you loved to drink matcha. Sure, to him it tastes like grass, but he liked mint chocolate things so who was he to judge? You loved going to this cafe two blocks from your apartment, it was owned by an old Taiwanese couple who immigrated a couple years ago. You were one of their longest regulars. So it was quite upsetting to find out that they were closing up shop for good.

Ever since that cafe closed, you have tried looking around for the next best matcha but, sadly, none have come close to beating their matcha latte. One month into the search and you had all but given up on your matcha latte dreams. That was until one day you woke up to the smell of green tea in your kitchen. 

“Sunoo? What’s that smell?” You nose around the hallway leading to the kitchen. 

And much to your surprise, a glass of green goodness is being served up on the kitchen island. 

“Sunoo? Is this what I think it is?” You ask in surprise at what you see. You go up to him and hug his side. He throws his arms around your waist, hugging your form. 

“Well, I know you’ve been looking for a matcha latte replacement and haven’t found one yet, so I decided to do a little digging. Asked for their recipe and tried to make it myself. I hope it tastes okay.” He mushes his cheek against your head then smiles down at you. 

“Sunoo, you really didn’t have to do this….” You look up at him. You felt all warm and fuzzy. 

“Well, I can’t have my little girlfriend go for too long without her matcha latte. She’s gonna start tweaking.” He teases. You just poke his cheek and decide to taste his drink. 

You knew that whatever it tasted like, you were going to love it anyway. But one sip of the green drink and you felt your heart soar at the familiar taste. 

“Sunoo, this tastes amazing!” You look back at him with a surprised look in your eyes. 

“Really?”

“No, really! Like it tastes just like how they make it. How did you pull this off? I’m actually so impressed right now you don’t even understand.” You keep taking sips of the drink, savoring the green tea goodness. It feels like an old friend has come back from the dead.

“Well, I actually found the son of the owners and emailed him asking for the recipe. I really didn’t expect to hear anything back from him but he surprisingly gave in.” He smiled. His heart felt like it could burst from the compliments you gave him. 

“This is too much. You didn’t really have to do all this for some silly drink that I like, noo.” You put down the drink and hug him. 

“But I wanted to. Really, if it means seeing you happy I’d go to Taiwan myself and ask for their recipe.” He kisses your cheek. You sigh at this. 

“You’re just the best.” You hug him tighter. He beams at this and you guys revel in each other’s warmth. 

It was going to be “one of those nights” you feared. Sleep had yet to take over your body despite the many hours of tossing and turning in your shared bed. Sunoo lay beside you, soft snores and even breaths coming from his side of the bed. Deciding that you were not going to be sleeping anytime soon, you get up from the bed and head to the kitchen. 

You trudge towards the kitchen and grab a glass of water. You look up at a clock to check the time, 2:37 AM. You decide to do some cleaning up in the kitchen to pass the time. As you are wiping down a surface in the fridge, Sunoo’s voice startles you.

“y/n? What are you doing up?” You jump a little as Sunoo makes his presence known. He notices this and softly apologizes. 

“Couldn’t really sleep. So I decided on kitchen duty.” You motion to your gloved hand wiping down the fridge shelves. “Sorry if I woke you up. You can go back to bed. I’ll finish up in a bit and try to fall asleep again.” 

He silently walks up to you hugging you from behind. Then he mumbles something into your hair that you don’t quite catch. 

“Noo?” You ask him to repeat himself.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?” 

So that’s how you end up buying ice cream at a convenience store at 3 AM. As you guys walk back to your apartment, Sunoo looks down at you happily snacking on your ice cold treat. Your ruddy cheeks from the cold autumn breeze nipping at them, your tired eyes from the lack of sleep, and your hair haphazardly thrown into a bun. 

“What is it?” You ask him, noticing how silent he is.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. 

“Is there something on my face?” You motion towards your face. 

Sunoo just smiled at himself, telling you that there was nothing on your face. And as the two of you neared the entrance to your apartment he mulled over some thoughts. Even though he was munching on some mint chocolate ice cream, which he could argue was one of life’s best delicacies. He thought that maybe, no surely, he liked being the reason you smile a whole lot more. 

[silentbeaves]

Hi! I'm trying to write a fanfic but I'm lacking on hcs for Petra. I was wondering if you'd be ok if I used some hcs of yours? Either way I rlly wanna know what your Petra hcs are :D

Ohh, this one's an interesting one. I totally don't mind anyone using my headcanons because they're not really that interesting, and I don't have too many headcanons that I keep. They mostly remain as little thoughts and ideas before I brush them away cuz I love to keep to canon, but I can totally share some headcanons that have stuck, and some little ideas I've had here and there.

Might not be super organised, but here:

I love to think that Petra is a huge softie at heart (I mean it's almost confirmed atp but like hear me out), but no one has ever been able to pick that lock in her heart to let it out (until Jesse 🥰🥰 we love you Jesse). The only reason why she's so stone cold is because she's been forced to be within her adventures, and probably had bad past experiences opening up to people in the past. But as soon as you can get past that wall of defence, she's one of the most loyal, affectionate, and caring people you'll ever meet.

I like to think that her love language is a mix of gentle physical touch and lots of gifts. But it takes ages for her to get to that point, even with someone she trusts and loves.

I also like to think that her arm brace thing (idek what it is and I've spent ages analysing her design bro what is this woman wearing 💀) was just for fun at first and to function as a brace during adventures, obviously. But then, after the witherstorm arc, she kept trying to cover her left arm because of a scar that was left from her wither sickness. But, she uncovers it when she feels comfortable enough, mostly around Jesse, because she doesn't feel judged when around them.

Onto the more complicated stuff, the idea that Petra holds onto the past, be it by weapons, armour, or memories, is really interesting to me. Why she does it, I don't know, but from experience, it's either hoarding (lol) or a bad past, where she's struggled to keep what she once had (things like friendships, swords that broke (she loves swords she's such a nerd I bet she could name every single sword in existence), bases/homes) So that's kind of a headcanon I have. It also ties into the whole defence she's built up, so she doesn't become attached to people. But I like the idea that she becomes very attached to inanimate objects, like Miss Butter, because they don't skidaddle off and abandon her, unlike people.

I think that part turned more into an analysis, but do what you will.

Tying into the defence thing, I love to headcanon that she plays herself off as more confident and collected than she really is at times. I feel like it's more obvious in the witherstorm arc, where she's sick in the cave, can barely move, yet tells Jesse and the gang she's fine. She does this, not only to brush off the others from bothering her, but to try and convince herself that she's okay.

I also headcanon that, that defence was lowered within S2, because she had opened up more and learned what friends were. Beforehand, she was probably just some reckless mercenary, doing risky trades and stupid things to get the most out of life. She never really cared for other people, only rewards.

A really huge headcanon of mine that I enjoy delving into is that she developed PTSD and anxiety after the witherstorm arc, but hid it far too well for her own good, for ages. I love to think it all came back to bite her after S2.

EP7 is also really interesting for the whole trauma thing. I don't think she was traumatised by the events too much, but a few things got to her. She has occasional false memories and some minor flashbacks to the time she was chipped. Redstone machinery surprisingly doesn't bother her, though. What does bother her is seemingly sentient machines that talk back to you with a level of self-awareness that is just a bit too uncanny for her. For obvious reasons... Good thing her world doesn't have any of that... until Olivi- Ok, this one's kinda funny but I like to headcanon that Petra wasn't as built in S1 compared to S2, like look at the model difference on the arms dude SHE WAS GRINDING BRO LIKE DAAAAAANGGG

I think I have a pretty obvious headcanon (lol) that she's totally in love with female Jesse. Although she pushed it down during the portal arc, I like to think there were a few times where she went, "dang bro.. she's kinda sweet I can't lie...". And yet before this, she never had any interest in relationships or anything, but Jesse changed her just slightly.

These ones below are more like ideas, not really solid headcanons I have, but I still like the thought of them:

I like to imagine she has a resistance to eating rotten flesh because she had to resort to it so many times during adventures where she's gotten lost, or something. The thought of Jesse trying to down rotten flesh and gagging just by being in contact, while Petra is just munching on it like a snack, is hilarious to me.

Another small idea I looooovee a LOT is that Petra and Lukas were good friends before she met Jesse, Axel and Olivia. She probably trusted Lukas the most out of anyone in her life until Jesse swung around.

I'm not sure how useful any of these headcanons are cuz they're kinda minor and don't really affect much unless you're writing something really specific, but yea 🔥😎

If they're not that useful at all, uhhhh I hope you enjoyed reading miss yappertron 3000 talk about petra (and sorry if I may have repeated myself a few times during my yap, my ah ain't checking this over like it's an actual essay ok????)

ummm Ig that's it, SilentBeaver OUT 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🫡🫡🫡