#And the thing is I spent so SO long thinking I was everything wrong in our friendship

[tragedyslut]

“ the rumours, are terrible and cruel but honey most of them are true ”

𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 : read part 1 + part 2 here <3

𝑚𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑛𝑖, 𝑏𝑖𝑚𝑏𝑜!𝑓𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟!𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑠, 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑠𝑢𝑏 𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒, 𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑙𝑚𝑎𝑜, 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 <3

you didn't feel bad at all for sending her nudes to everyone. she got what was coming.

ellie woke up the next morning, with a feeling of dread. she didn't know what had happened, but she had a feeling. a bad one. she knew exactly what had happened when she opened Instagram to a bunch of dms, most containing her nudes with captions calling her various names.

she immediately went back onto your Instagram, seeing that you hadn't stop promoting your OF. it made her blood boil that you'd do something like that to her and act like nothing happened, but then again, she did it first. she then clicked message, and typed out a long message to you.

" hey, y/n. i just wanted to say that you're a fucking dick for spreading my nudes around like that. i sent them to people i liked, you just send any random guy everything for money. you're a slut and im glad everyone on campus has seen how much of a weird fucking slut you are. you had no right to send my nudes around like that. at least i don't send them to random men. "

sent. seen. y/n.Instagram.name is typing..

she knew she didn't have any right to be mad. just the sight of you typing back further embedded the realisation that she was in the wrong. she did all of this just because she wouldn't admit she was attracted to a girl.

" at least i get money out of it, you're this pathetic for free. " was the only thing you responded with. you were sitting in your room with a few friends, absolutely loosing it over the text. ellie really couldn't take what she dished out and it was funny.

meanwhile ellie was sobbing in her bed, she was angry, but overall, she was guilty and confused. why the fuck did she need to be such a bitch? she hated herself for doing all that now. she would probably never get to be with you now.

that night she spent scrolling through your gorgeous pictures whilst she desperately fucked herself. you were right, she was this desperate, and for free. but that didn't stop her.

the next day, she slumped her way into class, half asleep. she kept thinking about you. you were sitting away from her this time. everytime she looked up she'd earn a glare or an exaggerated "what the fuck are you looking at" expression. which was all deserved, yet she was still sitting there feeling sorry for herself.

the lecturer then said something about getting into groups of two. she frantically looked around, realising that nobody in the class actually wanted to pair with her. they all bunched up away from her, forming mini groups and voting you and her out like this was fucking survivor or something. it pissed her off. even more so when she realised that she would have to work with you. she really had to choice. even if you might end up punching her in the throat.

𝑝𝑡4 wip<3

taglist hotties! :

@fakevalentine

@toosweetfm

@pr1nc3ss-sc4r

@claymoreshaze

@bready101

@amberputh

@lil-elliesgf

[maxwell-grant]

you've talked about Vega and Bison, any thoughts on Balrog?

I think I got the wrong impression across when I called Balrog a punchable goon in my Vega post, because when I call Balrog a goon, that's not me saying I think he's just a dumb grunt, more so that this is what he represents within the Four Kings. Within them, he is The Henchman, the muscle of Shadaloo, Bison's strong arm. Shadaloo is a crime syndicate with thugs and enforcers to throw around and Balrog is one of them, and where sheer individual brute strength is concerned, Balrog sits atop the food chain. He is not just a goon, he is the king of goons, here to remind you that fireballs or fancy spin kicks won't save you, the guy who can and will smash the greatest fighters in the world with a strategy called punching them real hard till they fall.

Before you can face the greatest villain in the world with powers beyond comprehension, before you can face the former Final Boss and greatest fighter in the world, and before you can fight for your life against the assassin who awaits at the top of the world, there is a brick wall of power and violence for you to crash against, The Strongest Fist in The World, and he's here to break everything, the rules and your face alike. Within the Four Kings, he is the first you fight, and he was originally described as the weakest among them, a trait that has been de-emphasized as him and Vega stand on equal ground nowadays, but that idea in itself was important to what separated Balrog from the other 3.

The Four Kings operated on a degree above all the other fighters, led by the supervillain dictator and comprising the former unbeatable king, the untouchable aristocrat, and Balrog, the disgraced champion. Unlike the other 3, Balrog had not transcended society or the fighting circuit entirely, in fact he had already fallen from the top of both, and had risen again by selling out to the dark criminal underbelly spreading through the world. Meeting Balrog establishes that crime has seized control over the ring, and has enabled vicious and dishonorable fighters to prosper, this before you meet Sagat and see how even the greatest among existing fighters can be corrupted by it. Worse, it means Shadaloo is seizing control of the warriors to be, with the young boxing champion already among the ranks of it's top enforcers. It's very easy to overlook that Balrog used to be the youngest of the World Warriors, as well as the backstory that led him where he is.

Born as the youngest child in a poor family, he spent his childhood fighting in the slums. He became a boxer, attracted by the prospect of getting rich quick, but he didn't know how to hold back and often pushed his opponents beyond recovery

He was born and raised in the slums, influenced to fight hard so he could leave. Since he was poor, he needed to devote himself to the fight, although he did not join forces with other gangsters to commit crimes. He did not serve anyone, and does not make anyone his minion. The only thing he can truly trust is his own fists. That was the lesson Balrog learned from living through hell. The most efficient way to make money with your fists was from boxing prize money. - Street Fighter 2 Complete File

He started taking chances in petty street fights, using only his two fists as his weapons he rises to become the worlds best. He’s just a guy going for the American Dream. His brute force style boxing is actually quite advantageous, but he squanders his winnings on gambling, booze, and women. But as long as he’s in Las Vegas, he stays playing the hero. - SF2 Las Vegas stage description

I think over the years a lot of what defined Balrog is the fact that he sits at the low end of the totem pole of the Four Kings and the fact that he kinda demands to be written more "realistically" than the others. He's not a guy who shoots fireballs or does fancy kicks, he is just a really strong boxer. He is not a serial villain out to rule the world, he is not a vengeful titan toiling in solitude, he is not a maniacal rich man with a double life, and he is no scheming mad scientist, he is just a really strong boxer who wants more than what he has. All he wants is to get paid, but he doesn't know how to spend his money. He is a piece of shit, too much so to even be an anti-hero, but by design he is a lesser piece of shit than the other guys. And up until Ed's debut, he didn't have a lot of other options other than to just be Shadaloo's main muscle / henchman. He can't just be a regular character, he is one of the Four Kings, he has boss status around him, but he isn't going to redeem himself into a cold but benign rival / central figure of operatic character drama the way Sagat did, and he can't be the irredeemable murderous creep Vega is, and he's obviously never going to be like M.Bison.

In fact, Balrog is so not like Bison that they've made a point several times of showing that, if Balrog ever takes over Shadaloo, he's near immediately driving it into the ground gambling it all on girls and booze. And as much as this beat is played for gags intending to highlight Balrog as an idiot with poor impulse control, it's also always been kind of a testament of what little moral character he has, and also kind of sad. Like, Balrog achieves his dream of being the champ, and he blows everything he gains as a result of it. You put Bison's doomsday weapon in front of him, and he'll just smash it not knowing what it's worth, with Birdie of all people exasperated by how little this guy is thinking about the plan. You hand him the reigns of the criminal syndicate that practically rules the world, and all he can think to do with it is just go to Vegas to get blackjack and hookers until he goes bankrupt again. He doesn't have any selfless intentions, but he has no evil plans in him either. Balrog is the king of goons, and he has no idea how to be anything more.

I only recently discovered that the SFIV: Aftermath movie, showing what happened between SF2 and IV, depicts Balrog having developed a serious drinking problem, and it's even what the Shadaloo agent uses to bring him back to the ranks. It's depressing, and I don't think it's a beat you could pin on the other World Warriors (well maybe Ken as of late). Yeah, he would, of course he would after losing his job and lifeline, becoming unable to live with himself unless he's getting hammered.

Gouken: You cannot see the true path through clouded eyes."

Rose: "All the money and fame in the world cannot heal your dark soul…"

And it's a really stark contrast to the way we see him circa SFV, when he's palling around with Ed, the two trying to run schemes together, looking out for each other, being bickering chums. It's maybe the first nice interaction Balrog's ever had with literally anybody in the series and it's something they'd reiterate with Ed in 6, that he's well aware Balrog wasn't a good person or a great father figure and Balrog would be the first to tell you that, but he still thinks fondly on the guy. That no matter how rough their days got, Balrog never hurt him, never beat him, never treated him differently over his power or origin, and that allowed Ed to resist losing himself to Psycho Power. Ed had to abandon Balrog in the first place in order to never hurt him with said power, and the scene where they depart in V is so heartbreaking in large part because holy shit Balrog is sad? How can Balrog even get that sad, since when does he care about anything other than his fight money. It sneaks up on you how much the two valued each other, and that Balrog for once in his life had something that he wasn't going to gamble away in Vegas. The old saying about how you never know what you have until you lose it.

Ed brought something really special out of him that nobody, certainly not Balrog, ever thought was there. Ed makes no illusions about Balrog being a nasty piece of work who made bad calls. Chalk it up to his closer contact to human nature than the other Shadaloo members giving him a space to mature and represent something better of it than before, or his long-running ability to destroy Shadaloo when given the slightest degree of decisive power over it, but the fact is that Balrog was never going to redeem himself. Instead, in spite of himself, he helped do something even better: redeem the future. He rescued a lab experiment and raised him to be a new boxing champ, and now said boxer goes around liberating all the other would-be Shadaloo freaks so he can lead them as an elite force to reclaim the future that Shadaloo once stood to corrupt. And so the king of goons got to pass his title to someone who can make it into so much more.

Rose: "Hands that grasp at all around them will lose touch with what matters."

Gill: "A crude desire… I doubt that is what you truly want. You've just yet to discover that which you cherish."

[geotjwrs]

hold me

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; ANGSTANGSTANGST!!

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light on the walls of the cozy living room. Y/N sat on the couch, his fingers lightly grazing over the pages of a script he was supposed to be learning. His mind, however, was far from the lines in front of him. He glanced over at Jenna, who was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, her movements graceful and precise.

She caught his eye and smiled, the sight of which warmed his heart despite the cold shadow looming over their lives. He forced a smile back, trying to keep his thoughts from drifting to the harsh reality they were facing.

A month ago, everything had changed. Y/N, the rising star known for his roles in "Stranger Things," "Scream 6," and "Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse," had been diagnosed with a rare blood disorder. The prognosis was grim; the treatments hadn't worked. Now, he was left with a few precious months, a fact he hadn't been able to hide from Jenna for long.

They had cried together, fought the despair together, and tried every possible treatment. But the cruel truth remained: their time was running out.

"Hey, dinner's almost ready," Jenna called out, breaking his reverie. Her voice was light, but he could hear the underlying strain.

"Smells amazing," he replied, setting the script aside and rising to join her. He walked into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into him, her hands still busy chopping vegetables.

"I was thinking," he began, his voice hesitant, "that we should start ticking off items from our bucket list."

Jenna turned in his arms to face him, her eyes searching his. "You mean...?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Let's not waste another moment. Let's spend these months doing everything we've ever dreamed of."

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she blinked them away quickly. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's do it."

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Jenna embarked on an adventure of a lifetime. They visited the places they'd always talked about but never had the time to see. From the bustling streets of Tokyo to the serene beaches of the Maldives, they soaked in every moment, every sight, every experience.

In Paris, they danced under the Eiffel Tower, the twinkling lights reflecting in Jenna's eyes as Y/N spun her around. The city of love lived up to its name, and they reveled in each other's presence, forgetting the world around them.

"Remember our first trip to Paris?" Jenna asked one evening as they strolled along the Seine.

"How could I forget?" Y/N replied with a chuckle. "You almost pushed me into the river trying to get that perfect photo."

She laughed, leaning into him. "Best photo we ever took."

In New York, they saw Broadway shows and wandered through Central Park hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the city. They visited the Museum of Modern Art, where Jenna marveled at the art while Y/N tried to make sense of it.

"Art is supposed to make you feel something," Jenna explained as they stood before a particularly abstract piece.

"It makes me feel confused," Y/N admitted, making her giggle.

They laughed, they cried, and they held each other through the pain and the joy. Each city, each experience was a treasure, a memory to hold onto when the inevitable came.

On quieter days, they stayed home, cooking together, watching their favorite movies, and simply enjoying each other's company. They talked about the future they would never have, and while it hurt, it also brought them closer.

"Do you remember the first time we cooked together?" Jenna asked one evening as they prepared dinner.

"I remember burning the pasta," Y/N replied with a grin.

"You were so confident," she teased, "and so wrong."

They laughed, their shared memories a comforting reminder of their journey together.

One particularly memorable evening was spent in an Italian vineyard, where they tasted wines, sampled local cheeses, and watched the stars come out in a clear Tuscan sky. They sat on a blanket, Y/N leaning against a tree with Jenna nestled between his legs, her head resting on his chest.

"This is perfect," Jenna whispered, looking up at the stars.

"You're perfect," Y/N replied, kissing the top of her head.

They shared dreams and whispered secrets, their words a blend of joy and sorrow, hope and despair. Every moment was cherished, every second a precious memory in the making.

As the months progressed, Y/N's health declined steadily. There were days when the pain was almost unbearable, but Jenna was always there, her presence a soothing balm. She became adept at administering his medications, learned how to help him through the worst of it, and, most importantly, she never let him feel alone.

In the spring, they returned to their home, deciding to spend the remaining time in familiar surroundings. Their days were filled with love and tenderness, every moment a cherished memory in the making. They talked about their favorite moments, shared stories from their childhoods, and planned small, manageable adventures nearby.

One warm afternoon, Y/N took Jenna to a secluded spot by a lake. They had a picnic, complete with her favorite sandwiches and a bottle of wine they had brought back from Italy. They laughed, reminisced, and watched the sunset together. As the sky turned a deep orange and the stars began to appear, Y/N took Jenna's hand.

"I want you to promise me something," he said softly, his eyes locked onto hers.

"Anything," she replied, her voice trembling.

"When I'm gone, I want you to keep living your life to the fullest. Keep acting, keep shining, and keep spreading joy. You have so much to give, Jenna. Don't let my absence hold you back."

Tears streamed down her face, but she nodded. "I promise," she whispered. "I promise I'll do my best."

The final weeks were the hardest. Y/N's strength waned, and he spent more time in bed, too weak to do much of anything. Jenna remained his constant companion, reading to him, singing to him, and holding him close when the pain became too much.

One night, as a storm raged outside, Y/N woke up gasping for breath. Jenna was by his side in an instant, her heart pounding with fear. She held him, murmuring soothing words, her tears mingling with his.

"Jenna," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Hold me."

She climbed into the bed beside him, cradling him in her arms. He buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"I love you," he said, his voice growing weaker with each word. "Thank you...for everything."

"I love you too," she replied, her voice breaking. "Always."

Y/N's breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes, a peaceful expression settling on his face. Jenna held him tighter, feeling his heart beat against hers. As the storm outside began to subside, Y/N took his final breath, surrounded by love.

Jenna stayed with him for a long time, her heart shattered yet filled with gratitude for the time they had shared. She kept her promise, continuing to live her life to the fullest, carrying Y/N's love and memory with her always.

In the days that followed, Jenna honored his memory by living as he had asked her to. She continued to act, to bring joy and inspiration to others. And though the pain of losing Y/N never fully left her, she carried his love with her, a beacon of light guiding her through the darkness.

Their story was one of love and loss, of hope and heartbreak. Jenna found solace in the memories they had created, drawing strength from the time they had shared. She often visited the places they had been, feeling his presence beside her, whispering words of encouragement and love.

Years passed, and Jenna's career flourished. She took on roles that challenged her, inspired her, and kept Y/N's spirit alive. Every performance, every success was a tribute to him, a way to honor the promise she had made.

One evening, after a particularly successful premiere, Jenna found herself alone on the balcony of her apartment. The city lights stretched out before her, a sea of twinkling stars in their own right. She looked up at the sky, feeling the familiar ache of loss but also the warmth of his memory.

"You'd be proud of me," she whispered to the stars. "I hope I'm making you proud."

In the quiet of the night, she felt a gentle breeze, as if Y/N was answering her. She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall freely, but this time, they were tears of gratitude, not just sorrow.

Jenna continued to live her life to the fullest, keeping Y/N's memory alive in everything she did. She spoke about him often in interviews, sharing their story with the world. Fans and colleagues alike were moved by her strength, her resilience, and the deep love that had defined their relationship.

"Y/N taught me to live fully, to love deeply, and to never take a single moment for granted," she would say, her voice filled with emotion. "He may not be here physically, but his spirit is with me always."

And so, their story continued, a testament to the power of love, the resilience of the human spirit, and the beauty of living each day as if it were your last. Jenna carried Y/N's love with her, a guiding light in the darkest of times, a reminder that even in the face of inevitable sorrow, there is always hope, always joy, always love.

[jeons-catalyst]

Can I add some things about Taekook as well. I think Chapter 2 really gave you a great glimpse into TK and I would even say in some part and this is not being mean, but that Tae was probably somewhat grateful Jimin was busy or away working on the album, because he got a lot more time with JK, same thing he wanted with Jimin back in the day, but couldn't get it cause well, JK wouldn't let him. He wants to hang with them, without each other. If that makes sense and its hard to do that when Jk is going to Jimin's room 3 times a day and Tae decides to go to Jimin's room and there is JK. Its like he can't catch a break and just be with one or the other without the other there already or showing up. I am sure he was in heaven also when Jk became busy & Jimin was finally less busy in chapter 2, cause then it was Vmin's turn for alone time and we saw Vmin out everywhere together and back on their soulmate horse, with Tae literally beaming with Jimin at his fanmeet serenading his bestie. Chapter 2 was really a win win for Tae, maybe not Jikook, but for him for sure lol. JK was also going out with Tae and coming straight home and jumping on lives after almost every single outing. He wanted to make sure no one got the wrong idea. Smart man. Same way he said Tae left him at the ski resort to leave with his friends lol. To me that sounds like classic Taekook. You could also see how once Jimin became less and less busy, Tk outings and hang outs became less and less. It's not rocket science to see why. He wanted time with Jimin and Tae knew that. It also baffles me that Tae acts the same with Wooga as he does pretty much everyone, but acts way more affectionate with Wooga to the point he legit looks like he could be dating them. Snuggling them, kissing on them, cuddling them in bed, saying sleeping in a tent with them was romantic, he calls them pet names like darling and baby and shippers swear he doesn't . He even let one of them Wooga's move in his house for months and confirmed it and well JK looked at shippers like they needed a straight jacket when they asked if he lived with Tae. Y'all horrified him for a second, he was speechless. Same way people have it in their heads Tae would choose JK any day over Jimin. Now, I wouldn't say that with confidence, not when Tae calls Jimin his soulmate, one and only best friend, the one he likes the most and the one he recently said he can't live without and the one he writes heartfelt songs and letters about. So yeah I wouldn't get too confident about that considering we know little to nothing about their private life and how much time they spent together. Everything shippers claim TK are doing in private that is exclusive, he is actually doing in public with his squad and even Jimin. No use in arguing tho. And we ain't gonna talk about a certain part of Tae's life that came to light that he seemed really happy about, that put the final nail in romantic rumors for him and shut down all his ships. Yes. He did that. One day people will get it and maybe even respect him for that. All anyone sees with TK is childhood buddies, who drifted and eventually got back to a good place. The only people who thinks it's more, are shippers.

Hi anon,

I mean, it is hard for us to know everything that goes on with the boys but looking at history, i don’t think you are off track with your analysis. I don’t think Tae wouldn’t be able to hang out with Jimin or Jungkook at all if these two aren’t busy but he probably wouldn’t be able to hang out with either of them as much.

The truth is that, chapter two was the first time in years that we got to see Taekook hang out so much. Before chapter two taekook were barely seen together anywhere and even said themselves that they hadn’t even had a drink in a very long time which means they didn’t really hang out much.

I think with their schedules kinda aligning in chapter two, they were finally able to catch up on lost time which is amazing for them. I don’t think they would have hung out as much if Jimin wasn’t that busy though. This isn’t me trying to claim that Jk only hung out with Tae because of Jimin’s unavailability because it’s simply not true. Taekook would have probably hung out either way but we all know who Jungkook has been glued to for all these years. We know the one he was always seen with in and outside of work. We know the one he would choose to spend his downtime with and even refuse to let him go hang out with Tae on Live. So it isn’t a stretch to assume that the numerous taekook outings we saw in chapter two were mostly only possible because taekook’s schedules aligned at some point and Jimin was busy.

Like you said, Taekook’s public hangouts ended immediately jimin was done with him album and taekook both got busy doing their own thing and Vmin hung out quite alot too when Jimin had some time on his hands but Jk was busy.

Either way, i’m glad things worked out so tae was able to spend quality time with both Jimin and Jungkook.

[cryptiduni]

…i just saw this poll and my unevolved brain gel wriggled inside my cranium like a feral fish:

idk how you look at his official art and call him conventionally attractive. my man looks like a wet dog and has eyebags for daysss. face full of pox scars, skin pale af, and those shaggy ass hair & a rugged beard hanging from his flat long face.

he is pretty *to me* but like dude???

—not exactly a heartthrob boy band material is he?

obv I wouldn’t call him “misunderstood baby uwu” if we are talking a little more seriously —but to be fair jean is having possibly the worst week of his life. the car? fucking sunk. case? unsolved. not to mention his close partner (who is also an ass mind you) doesn’t even remember him, already running around with a new one.

yeah he is absolutely foul and aggressive and degrading harry but like i said before (in my tag essay lol) judit also makes ableist comments and i don’t see people hating her because she’s outwardly nice—

and respects harry as her superior. her BOSS.

(also a friend with benefits? /nope, it’s just him harassing judit/ as well but not as a complicated relationship compared jean and harry’s brötherbund. only a few months of acquaintanceship.)

plus it’s highhlyyy likely that harry is not the only one substance abuse. —look at jean’s rudolf-looking-red-ass-nose. a drunkard’s sniffers. probably had few lines with him late at night… when your lifetime partner is an alcoholic it's hard to say no.

about the left for dead thing, they left because harry told them to fuck off. tbh harry is nightmare to work with esp pre-bender. (and am saying as a pathetic little unmedicated neurodivergent woman.)

but when the second time they left revachol was not jean’s fault, and it was judit’s suggestion anyway. the squad probably thought that since harry had someone a little more responsible looking after him. it will be fine when they come back. the tribunal was absolutely unaccounted for.

yet despite all of these things, he will try to come back to make sure he is ok and accommodate harrier to the best of his abilities which is wearing very thin. look at him trying to make up to our harry boy:

anyways am incapable of writing coherent thoughts (even though i want to talk about it for hours) that make sense so go look at sygneth’s jean psychological analysis instead. it is an excellent read. please go read.

[medicinemane]

Everyone's against cringe culture and shit like that, but pretty much everyone seems to have an arbitrary line they draw in the sand

I'm not talking concrete lines where like you have some quantifiable metric for it. You think I don't have lines? Of course I do, there's stuff that's blatantly stuff that causes direct harm to people, though at that point it's not about someone being weird, it's about someone doing actual bona fide harm

But that's the thing, a lot of people it's just they'll be like "no, we shouldn't make fun of people... but this person's being weird"

And it's like... you can say anyone's being weird. If that's where we draw the line then literally there's no reason for people not to make fun of you for innocent but slightly weird shit, and we're right back where we started

"Yeah, but this person's being weird", yeah, not shit, I think they're weird too but like... that's not the point, that's irrelevant. The point is that you can't just shift the rules. If it's wrong to shit on some people for being weird, it's wrong to shit on any people for being weird. You need to produce some quantifiable bad they're doing like say... going in to strangers in boxes to say stuff that makes them uncomfortable, now we've got a clear reason why what they're doing isn't ok

Though to be clear here, they're still not bad for being weird, they're bad for their other actions

Like... I don't want to give an actual examples, cause it honestly doesn't matter, but do you think I don't browse the internet and find all kinds of stuff where I think "could you fucking not"?

...but then I move on cause it's honestly not worth my fucking time. Either there's an actionable offense that needs reporting or I can just move on (or a need to change things so certain destructive or dangerous behaviors can be reported, though that requires being able to say why this needs to be a thing in concrete terms)

Just... I don't know... drives me nuts how people, including people I like, will talk a big game about cringe culture needing to die, but then do the exact same shit

"But you don't get it, this time they we're being too weird, it was creepy", yeah, but they weren't actually hurting anyone, and guess what? There's someone out there who'd be happy to use that excuse to shit on you

So there it is

[aw-bean-s]

sometimes I just wish my friends liked me the way other people's seem to

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i don’t like. the irrationality created by memories

[be-good-to-bugs]

i need to go to bed but i dont wannnaaaaa

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[feyascorner]

Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

[smoft-demons]

Mammon deserves to have someone who misses him when he’s away.

Imagine: Mammon’s not home for the week. He’s away, doing photoshoots or dealing with witches or whatever it is he does. His brothers are just chilling as usual. This is nothing to even blink at, much less be upset about.

But MC? Nope! He’s their Mammon, and they love him so much!

Imagine MC turning to the side where Mammon usually is, automatically going to whisper some dumb comment to him, and then deflating when they find no Mammon there. Imagine MC absentmindedly reaching their hand out to that side, going to hold his hand out of habitual impulse—and being confused for a moment to find empty air… then hiding their sadness. Imagine them distracting themself by hanging out with all the others, who they DO love a lot, but… Mammon’s not there, and the house feels incomplete. They’ve spent lots of time with the others without Mammon before, but he’s never been away so long before, and everything feels wrong.

Imagine Mammon’s reaction to his brothers (probably Asmo, to tease him, or Beel, out of sympathy for the human) texting him to tell him that the human’s moping without him. Imagine them catching MC doing one of those things on camera, because Mammon has to see it to really believe that someone misses him so much.

Imagine Mammon coming home, and the human regaining their energy just at the sound of his voice announcing that he’s back. Imagine them running to the door, pouncing on him for hugs with such excitement that he TOTALLY would have been knocked to the floor if he weren’t supernaturally strong—you know, being a demon.

“You’re home!!!!” MC shouts, not bothering to contain their excitement because they love him, they’re so happy to be reunited, they missed him so much, and he deserves to see that. It’s good for him.

Imagine how happy he’d be to get a reaction like that!

Imagine Mammon and MC inevitably ending up in MC’s room, as they always do, and Mammon seeing that MC has stolen the blanket off his bed. It’s in a messy pile on top of their own blanket, it looks like MC had been curled up under it just before he returned. Because it smells like him, and it’s warm and soft and big, so it’s the closest thing to a hug from him that they could have gotten while he was away.

Imagine how his heart would melt. Imagine how loved he would feel.

Idk, I think he’d cry

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ spoil you, plug!eren

eren hated when you spent your own money, but you don’t listen.

thinking about the way plug!eren would take you on his drops with him. you were so quiet and in your own world, he never minded the fact that you had your freshly white painted toes resting against the dash of his mercedes AMG coupe. the entire car was blacked out with expensive ceramic tints, protecting you both from your usual…late night activities.

your glasses rested on the cute bridge of your nose as your left leg was sat in eren’s lap while your right rested against the dashboard. eren was lucky that he fucked with most of his customers heavy…you two had been waiting for the dude to meet y’all for nearly thirty minutes now, and had it been someone else, eren would have sped away long time ago.

eren comfortingly rubbed your baby soft feet in the grasp of his tattooed hand, one with beautiful realism art of your own eye. with a turn of his head, he could see you practically nose deep in the bright screen of your phone illuminating through the car. “you growing bored mama?” his voice is concerned. “ian think we was gonna be waiting this long on dude…my bad baby.”

you hadn’t said much since you’d gotten in the car, just wanting to hurry and add all of your things to your shopping cart on the skims website. “nah, ‘m just…trying…to do somethin’ real quick,” you bite your lip as you tap away on your phone. you were trying to add as many things to your cart before it was gone. “before this shit sell out.”

eren being the nosy boy he is leans against your shoulder to see what you were doing. but the moment he’d seen you type in numbers that belonged to what he knew as your own debit card, he kissed his teeth in annoyance. “man how many times i gotta tell you to stop using your card to go shopping bae?” you roll your eyes at his words. “i’m serious, you got all three of my cards on ya phone for a reason. fuck is you typing in your info for?”

don’t get him wrong, eren loved the fact that you were independent and knew how to handle money almost perfectly now that you were in your twenties. but being together with you for so long, he continued to step up with his provider capabilities by always taking care of you. whether it was paying your bills, rent—everything in between.

but of course it was a struggle when ms. i can do it all by myself meets mr. i know you can but let me do it for you

“because i’m spending like 600 dollars,” you point out to his previous question with an obvious scoff. “i’m not asking you for that.” eren mirrors your actions and rolls his eyes again.

eren looks at you as if you’re insane and suffered memory loss for the past four years you’ve been together. “babe…i make that shit in one night. actually—fuck a night—i make that shit in two hours!”

it wasn’t like he was lying either, with the way that eren was one of the only trusted plugs in town, it was very easy that he’d bring at least a band a night on a consistent basis. selling for almost six years was finally paying off.

you two hardly ever fought, but if you did, it was always about money. eren knew how long you’ve had to do things on your own physically and financially. you couldn’t go to your mom for help, you didn’t have a dad to beg, so it was all on you since you’d been 16. but now that he had eren, he’d just wish you’d let him take the burden of money of your shoulders and take care of you the way you take care of him.

after a few minutes, your boyfriend holds his hand out. you give him crazy eyes, but eventually follow orders by putting your phone in his hand. “don’t know how many times i gotta tell yo stubborn ass, forreal,” he grunted. “‘s never a problem spoiling my baby. you don’t ever ask me for nothing. let me feel useful and get you stuff, mama.”

with a sigh, you nod your head, like you always did. there was no way eren was gonna take no for an answer when it came to spoiling his wife.

in response, eren uses his free hand to delete your information and instead place the correct numbers—the information to his amex black card. all the money he has, he sits and does nothing with it, so why not buy you all the things you’ve never had before?

when you hear the chime of your phone confirming your order, eren hands you the phone back and goes to look out his dark window.

with your acrylics, you grab eren by the neck and slowly turn him back to face you. “thanks papa,” you gave him genuine eyes.

eren leans forward and pecks your lips. with a serious face, he pecks you one more time before wrapping his tatted fingers around your neck erotically. with a look in your eyes he tells you, “always tell me what you want, no matter how much, mama. you know daddy gonna get that shit for you one way or another, regardless.”

[heart4gyu]

wet dreamz || sim jaeyun x reader

note: 18+ mdni!! y’all know the song lol changed it up a lil for the story tho :P this turned out longer than i expected and maybe needs a part two (??? lmk) also this is my first time writing full smut so i hope it’s not too bad and that y’all enjoy anyway okayy gn :3 not proofread sorry!! | pt.2 here |

this had honestly never happened to jake before; waking up in his bed, heart racing, covered in sweat, and pants soaked.

he just couldn’t help it though.

you hadn’t even noticed him before you got partnered up for a project. but him? oh, his eyes were on you the second you walked through that door on the first day of class.

how pretty you looked laughing with your friends. the sweet smell of your perfume as you walked past. the way you always got the answers right when you got called on. it started off so innocent, just a little campus crush.

after you became partners, everything changed though. the project went perfectly, of course, with both of you acing the class it was easy. but after it was over, you didn’t go back to sitting with your friends like jake thought you would. you stayed there, right next to him, every day.

you became friends. you exchanged phone numbers and you hung out quite often in the library or student center. the more time you spent together, the more jake’s want for you grew.

jake just didn’t understand how you could be so effortlessly perfect for him though.

you, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were doing. you’d observed jake long enough to know that he’s probably never made it past second base with a girl.

the way he’d turn red when you’d scoot over touching your thighs to his. the way his mouth went dry when you’d lean over his desk in a very low cut shirt. even the way he’d stare at your lips after you applied your lip gloss.

all the things you purposefully did to get his attention. because obviously how could you not go after him, he was just your type. sweet, nerdy guy who was also extremely hot.

and so far, you were doing an excellent job at it. but you were getting a little impatient with him, so you decided to tell him about this loser guy who took you out the other day. and fuck it, you decided to slip it into the conversation that he couldn’t even make you finish.

you smiled when the text bubbles appeared and disappeared over and over again. how cute.

jakeyjakey: don’t let someone like that take you out again.

you: ikr. need to find someone who can get the job done…

jakeyjakey: if you gave me the chance y/n, i’d show you a great time.

it definitely wasn’t expected but who were you to complain when this is exactly what you wanted. so you let him know that your roommate would be gone visiting family this weekend & that maybe he should come over…

so he went to bed that night, thinking about the weekend coming up. thinking about you.

and he had a sweet, sweet dream. it was so realistic too. the way your pillows smelled like you as he laid back on them with you on his lap. how soft your thighs were as his fingers grazed over them. your eyes darker than he’s ever seen them, and your voice so quiet he could barely hear it over his heartbeat.

he felt the coil in his stomach tighten the second your lips were on his. you tasted like strawberries (or at least that’s what he thought you’d taste like because of your pink gloss).

you held his face gently as you kissed him. and your tongue slipped inside his mouth so easily when he let out a deep moan for you. his eyes squeezed shut as he felt you grind down on him. your pace speeding up the longer his lips were on yours.

“jake,” you panted, he didn’t know he could want to hear your voice more but you proved him wrong with the way you sounded right now. “can you touch me?”

he could’ve came right then but he took a deep breath to compose himself and nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. he dragged his hands up your thighs and under your skirt, stopping at your ass to give it a squeeze to which you let out a whine.

giving his confidence a boost, he kept going up with one of his hands, pressing down on your lower back to close the small distance between your bodies and grinding up into you.

he broke the kiss to look down between your bodies and saw your hands working on unbuttoning his pants. he didn’t know how his breathing could become even more ragged but it did. especially so when he felt your cold hands pull his cock out of his pants, and he had to look away. he squeezed his eyes shut trying to focus but how could he with your delicate hands stroking him so perfectly.

“jakey, you said you’d show me a good time,” you said, looking up at him with those irresistible eyes of yours. fuck, fuck was all jake could think as he rolled you over, positioning himself between your legs.

“i know i did, angel,” he whispered by your ear, placing a kiss right below it. he reached under your skirt, then pulled your underwear all the way down your legs. “i’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

he lined himself up quickly, not wanting to look like he’d never done this before. then he leaned down for a quick peck making you smile into the kiss and hearing that pretty little laugh he loves to hear. now he could push in gently and it was easier than he thought it’d be.

there was still resistance though because you were tight. so tight he had to drop his head down beside you and just breathe for a second. he could honestly just stay here forever, his cock buried so deep in you. he loved the feeling more than he expected.

you placed a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, your other hand soothing his arm that supported his weight above you. and he wanted this you always, every day, never wanted to hear you talk about another man again.

so he started thrusting into you, slow but hard thrusts. with you squeezing his arm, pulling on his hair, and moaning out his name, he was a goner for sure. “yes, that’s what i wanna hear,” he said, lips on yours as he kissed you again.

he kissed on your neck, and brought his hand down to rub circles on your clit just like in the videos he studied for you. he never heard your voice this loud before, couldn’t believe the way you looked with your head thrown back as you came around him.

he was close now too, knew his thrusts were getting sloppier. but you wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. “god, you’re so good for me,” he whined.

“i’m so close,” he said, kissing you again as you put your arms around his neck. then he heard you whisper something that he didn’t quite catch, he leaned in closer so you could repeat it.

“babe, please come in me,” you whispered. and that’s all it took for him to come undone, a moaning mess as he filled you up. he was panting at this point, trying to regulate his breathing.

and unfortunately that’s exactly how he woke up. in his own bed, heart racing, covered in sweat, and pants soaked. only one thing, or more specifically, person on his mind.

[chloeofgondor]

I did in fact try to establish a singular boundary and yet it’s still been crossed, send help

[utterlyazriel]

how long have i searched for you?

azriel finds his mate in the most inopportune time and he convinces himself you haven't sought him out for good reason. he couldn't be more wrong. word count: 4.6k & god bless @strangerstilinski for making this fic ever get written <3

Though he'd deny it if ever asked, most of all to Cassian, there was a part of Azriel that had spent years upon years yearning for what it would be like when he met his mate.

A chance encounter. A friend of a friend. A shared look across a crowded room, your eyes catching, where you both suddenly just know.

A thousand possible ways to meet, to find each other. Azriel had run every scenario through his head, ten times over, both soothed and aching at the dreadful mixture of hope and doubt he had. With his rotten luck, he was probably doomed to a life without ever finding his mate. If he even had one.

However, in all his years of hoping and wishing, not once could he say that he'd imagined meeting his mate the way he did.

In a flash; a brush up during the battle of Velaris, where you, a healer, had stumbled into his life. There had been only a moment amongst all the chaos, where this deep strong pull had risen in his chest, glowing and hot like he'd never felt before.

His head had snapped around, finding the source in a heartbeat. Everything leading to you.

But it hadn't been the time, no matter that you had clearly felt it too, the glow, the pull, given away with your wide eyes and parted lips. Battle was being sieged on Velaris and despite every instinct in Azriel that roared at him to stay with you, to take you from the danger, he had a duty to fulfill.

And then, even once the battle finished, the war was waged and won, when was there time? Azriel could feel it in him, the yearning that seemed to sing from his very blood — he itched to go find you. However, there was still much to do, still orders from Rhys to carry out, mission and meetings to attend to.

Besides, you hadn't sought him out either.

So, when the chaos calmed finally and he finally had time to breathe, Azriel did not seek you out. He waited. He longed.

But if you wished to stay away and never see him, then Azriel would respect it. He would never impose on your life if you did not wish it, no matter how long he had waited for his mate.

One month of quiet life rolled on.

Today, the weather in Velaris greatly contrasted his state. Exhausted from his mission and a tad more scratched up that he had hoped to be, Azriel feels like a cloud on the city's sparkling sky. He's dirty, half soaked, and probably dripping blood and mud all over the tiles.

Gods, he was tired.

The fly back to the House of Wind had been harder, his landing a little ungraceful due to the slices he bore on his wings. Not the worst of his injuries but still, they throbbed painfully and Azriel felt the rivets of rain and blood trickling along them. His wings gave a little shudder and even his shadows seemed to droop.

"And he returns—" Cassian's voice announced his arrive before his feet had even touched onto the balcony. Upon the sight of his brother, hunched and not his usual self, his tone shifted quickly. "Holy Cauldron, what happened to you?"

Azriel bristled, schooling away his sneer at the thought of the fight he just won. He rolled his shoulders back, biting back his wince at the tenderness of his wounds, and grimaced.

"Same thing that always does, brother."

Cassian frowned, his concern evident with the furrow between his brows. "You're going to see a healer."

His tanned hand gestured to Azriel's drooping wing. His question was more of an instruction. Azriel felt apprehension roll through him, torn between the sweet relief he know would come with having his wounds tended to and the first healer he could think of: you.

He shook the thought away. Nearly two months since he'd first seen you had passed and he found himself infuriated with how his brain seemed intent on taunting him. You pervaded his thoughts just as frequently as you did on that first day, even with your distance.

"Madja does not reside here anymore."

"So?" Cassian pressed. "Gods, I will take you myself if I must."

Azriel huffed. He knew Cassian could make good on his words and as another ache rippled through his back, making every slice on his skin known, he let himself relent. Besides, what were the chances of his healer being you?

"I will go." Azriel replied, straightening up his slumped shoulders. A hint of smugness crossed Cassian's face before he smiled, genuine as he lay his hand on Azriel's shoulder.

"Before you go," Cassian said, beginning to grin. "Did you wipe the floor with them?"

Azriel's lips quirked, a semblance of a smile. He inhaled, preparing himself for one more course of travel before he could rest. "Of course."

—

The second flight had agony clawing deeper within his wings, a protest with every strong beat of them, as he flew to the Apothecary down amongst the city's heart. The surging pain fought for his attention, like a poison writhing beneath his bones, and Azriel was nearly embarrassed at his hard landing.

It was loud, his boots slamming down into the pavement before the Apothecary, his wings flaring to catch him. He could feel the tremor in his muscles, each leg held taut. He looked up at his destination.

The building before him was a sage green, white trims around each of the windows. Within, through the panes of glass, Azriel could see a healer jump at his sudden entrance. His shadows wisped around him rapidly, as though they might soften his abrupt interruption.

Azriel straightened up, tucking his wings in as he reined himself in. He could feel his emotions boiling up within him, swirling and rising as he peered in the window before him. Apprehension tinged with something he wouldn't acknowledge, something too close to hope.

The glow in his chest was back. You must be near.

Azriel wasn't sure what was winning; the absolute urge to follow the tug on his chest to find the person on the other end of it, or the part of him that would prefer never knowing if you wanted him or not.

The bell above the door jingled quietly as he pushed it open. He was careful to mind his mess, far too aware of how he was tracking half a mountain of dirt in with him. Eyes scanned over each thing in the room, calculating in a way he always was.

Around him, his shadows had gotten zippier, darting about and back to him; as though, they too, could sense the nearness of his mate.

The Fae behind the counter stared, wide-eyed, whether at his shadows or simply himself. Azriel willed them to calm as best he could. They were being unnaturally eager to leave his side.

"Hello," Azriel started, unsure on the proper procedures. He wondered if just gesturing to himself might work. The Fae behind the counter, a fair women with dark hair, seemed to finally shake herself out of it.

"Hello!" She amended her behaviour quickly. Her hand waved behind her, gesturing to the corridor that stretched out behind her. "Let's do something about those wounds. If you head down and take the last door on the left, y/n will be available to get you on the mend."

The name she spoke sent a pang through Azriel and he wondered, he hoped, if a name that beautiful could potentially belong to you. Maybe, he would be better to request someone else, if it was you down the end of the hall. Hesitance kept him rooted to the floor. His eyes sweeping down the hall and back to the Fae woman before him.

"Thank you," He finally murmured. His began walking, passing the counter and heading down the hallway — mindful of his drooping, tired wings that threatened to leave a trail behind him.

Final door on the left. Azriel paused before it, deciding to knock before he entered. He could hear someone inside, bustling around in the space. His knuckles grazed against the door.

"Come in!"

A voice like honey called out, wrapping around him like the softest silk, every nerve in him trilling and burning. Azriel swallowed heavily, knowing who must be on the other side of that door. He should walk back up that hallway. He shouldn't go through this door. He should give you the privacy you so clearly desire.

And yet, the warm glow in his chest urged him forward, urged him closer, and Azriel couldn't resist being selfish. Just this once, just to see you once more. He pushed the door open and slid silently in the room.

You're everything.

Gods, as he laid his eyes on you now, Azriel had to commend himself for ever managing to keep himself from you. You’re ethereal — and the glowing tug on his chest had expanded ten-fold as you turned to face him, every ounce of his being yearning, aching, to be closer to you.

Azriel was a strong man but even he couldn’t help the way his body swayed closer, a ripple passing through his wings subtly. They gave a tiny shake behind him. His shadows seemed to be dancing across his shoulders, gleeful in their wispy movements.

Even his pain had been put aside for this moment — dialed down to barely a twinge as he drunk in the sight of you before him, his eyes scouring your face for every detail he could, lest it be the only time he got to.

Faintly, he felt his lips twitch. His hands curled up at his sides, a minuscule motion. You’re… very beautiful. You’re everything he’s been waiting for — and Azriel is sure that shine of the night sky he adores so reverently is rivaled only by your eyes.

“I—” He remembered himself, the word rasping out before he could stop it. He realised he was not sure what he intended to say. “Forgive me.”

You seem perplexed by his words if the wrinkle between your eyebrows was an indication.

One of his shadows snaked down his arm, flitting out to meet you and Azriel felt himself flush slightly. He called it back sternly and silently — only more embarrassed when it didn’t listen, circling your wrist and tickling its way up your arm.

But there was no apprehension in your face, nor in your laugh which felt like a shot of espresso to his system, as his shadows continued badgering you. Something close to mortification crept up his neck as two more shadows darted out to join the first, curling excitedly around your neck like a lover would.

“My apologies,” Azriel forced his mouth to work. “They are not usually so… misbehaved.”

You waved him off, another laugh tittering from your mouth as a shadow curled over your ear. Surprisingly, whether through some bond or not, he knew that you were not afraid of him in any sense.

Your hand waved him over to the table set up for patients, ushering him over. “That’s alright. You can tell me what I’m to forgive you for as I look over your wounds.”

Azriel didn’t move. His feet felt rooted to the floor, heart turning itself inside out. Did you not know? Could you not feel it? Were you simply sweet enough that you would still tend to him, heal him, even though you knew and had decided to keep your distance?

“I…” He selected his words carefully, watching you closely. “I did not wish to make you see me if it was not on your own terms."

You were setting up your items on a silver tray beside the medical table and when you looked over your shoulder, you seemed confused that he hadn’t moved. You urged him over with a jerk of your chin and a smile that melted through his chest, hot like candle wax.

“Nonsense.” You patted the table invitingly. “C'mon, you’re dripping blood on my floors.”

His politeness had him standing up straighter, wings bunching up as he realised they had begun to drag along the ground. It was the thing that finally got him to move, his feet stepping forward in an instant.

“I’m—”

“Kidding. I was kidding.” You intercept his apology easily, eyes bright.

Something preens within him at how you knew what he would say so soon within meeting him. Azriel took another step and let himself sink down onto the padded table, his wings resting gently around him. Even seeing you, talking to you, is not enough to chase away his fatigue. You hand him a clean cloth to clear the muck from his face and he does so silently.

“Are you fit to remove your leathers?” You asked, your gaze turned analytic as you scanned over his muscled body for his injuries.

Azriel nodded, not trusting his voice. As each piece of armor was pulled off, not a wince in sight, he was surprised at the flustering feeling within him. It was light, just a ball of nervousness, tinged with embarrassment, in his chest — which made no sense. As he pulled the final layer of clothing from his chest, Azriel realised that this feeling wasn’t coming from him.

You were staring as politely as you could, eyes darting around the injuries scattered across his torso but with a nervous flush to you. Your eyes flitted across his chest, once, twice. Barely a glimpse— something that would’ve gone unnoticed if he was not the spymaster of this court.

Azriel couldn’t resist. “Everything alright?”

If he had made voice a tad gruffer than usual, that was between him and the Cauldron.

“Yes.” You smiled at him again and it nearly made him miss the pinch in your voice. Nearly. “Just thinking that if you look like this, I hardly want to imagine the other guys.”

Azriel bit back his smile, only half succeeding in hiding it. It was wiped as you finally stepped closer, examining him properly. A furrow between your brows. Azriel could feel the hot burning want to smooth it out with his thumb, to take your worry from you.

His shadows had slipped further from him, more and more of them following your gentle hands as you skimmed atop his skin, deep in thought. They swirled around your hands, festering where you were nearly touching him, and Azriel desperately willed them to relax. They did not obey.

“The shadows,” He began, already apologetic.

Your eyes flashed to his and then back on the laceration splitting the skin on his shoulder. You pulled one of your hands back, just an inch, focusing on how the shadows followed you. Tiny wisps dancing around your hand, light touches that reminded you of a thousand tiny kisses.

“It’s alright.” You hummed, sweet with a smile. “They’re sort of lovely.”

And if Azriel had felt your momentary fluster, he had no doubt he would be unable to hide the swell of surprise within him.

You finally pulled your hands back, beginning to circle around the table to take a closer look at his wings. Azriel couldn’t repress his shiver at the thought— his mate, so close to something so precious to him. He was torn between emotions; his body buzzing at the thought of your touch and his mind adamant that you wanted to keep your distance for a reason.

“I must say, I have heard of Illyrian wings before,” Your voice breathed over his shoulder, distracted by the view. Without meaning to, Azriel’s wings gave a little twitch. “But never seen them this close. They’re very beautiful.”

Azriel blinked and willed himself to remain neutral even if all his shadows seemed to give him away; their flitterings only increased at your words.

He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

Then there was a soft touch along the leathery skin of his wing, your fingers, tentative and gentle. Azriel swallowed the noise in his throat. His wings gave another involuntary shiver.

“Is it alright to… touch?”

It’s sweet of you to ask even though he’s sure you’ll have no way of healing him if he says no. Azriel steeled himself, forcing himself to remain neutral.

“Yes,” He murmured. The wounds across his torso had already begun to heal themselves, his Fae blood clotting and knitting the skin back together at an achingly slow pace. He was too tired to heal himself properly. He had known his wings would require the most attention.

It was an effort not to jump when your touch returned, tiny fingertips that felt startlingly warm suddenly. Azriel could feel the tendrils of your magic as it poured out through your fingers, a healing salve to the agony of his wings. It felt so good he struggled to not sigh aloud, his scarred hands flexing in his lap.

“You know,” You began, voice quiet. “I was hoping you might seek me out but perhaps, for a less painful reason.”

While Azriel fought to keep his head from snapping around, his shadows did no such thing— all of them jumping from their usual hiding place. He swatted at them, mortified at how revealing they seemed to be in your presence.

Still, there was no battling away the kernel of hope that sat deep in the pit of his stomach, mixed tightly with disbelief.

Another touch along his wings, another warming healing glow. Azriel cleared his throat and fought to keep his voice even.

“You were… waiting for me?”

Gods, he couldn’t have sounded more pathetic if he tried. But his head was spinning, the glowing pull on his chest tightening, the kernel growing larger and larger. You were waiting for him, you were waiting for him.

“Of course, why would I not be?”

“I…” He had never been so lost for words in all his centuries of living. Never sure how deep the rift within him ran, a part of him convinced that the reason he had not found a mate in all his time was because he had not deserved one.

“I did not want to impose on you, I know that not all—”

It was all coming out wrong. Azriel reined in his rampant emotions, the swirling of his shadows dimming for a moment. Your hands had paused their ministrations on his wings, listening intently. He couldn’t bear to turn to face you as he spoke.

“I wanted to give you space to decide yourself. To leave the decision in your hands. Because I would understand if—”

He cut himself off with a sharp inhale. Voicing it, suggesting the possibility of you hoping and waiting for a mate all your life, just as he did, only to be disappointed that discover it was him— he couldn’t say it aloud.

He was sure you must be able to feel his fear and clamped his mental shields down as tight as he could. He would not guilt you into this.

“I can see why the Mother made us mates.” You mused after a moment.

Azriel nearly shuddered at the word, at you referring to him at your mate so casually— a yawning chasm of want spreading over his entire body. Gently, slowly, your hands began to work again.

“Here I was,” you continued, voice light and hands warm. “Thinking that, maybe, the shadowsinger had his duties and would come find me if he wished. And that I would understand if he never came to find me at all.”

This time, Azriel could not resist turning around to see your face. His heart ached terribly to hear what you had thought. His shadows spun around his shoulders and as he turned, they twisted and ran for you.

“No,” He said severely. He couldn’t help the way he shook his head, like a petulant child but you were just so wrong. “No, I— I’m sorry, I never meant for you to think— please forgive me.”

Despite his evident distress, you smiled easily with a little shake of your head. “There is nothing to forgive. It would be, well, almost hypocritical if I let you apologise for doing the same thing I did to you.”

Amongst his relief, Azriel felt his chest pulse in adoration, a smile forming on his lips. Twisted back on the table, your hands mending along his wings, the thing he’d wanted for — had spent so many years envisioning — finally finding him. He would not have it any other way.

“I’ve waited for you for five hundred years.” He croaked.

Your eyes widened a fraction and you blinked owlishly at him for a moment as his words sunk in.

“Well,” You chuckled somewhat awkwardly. Azriel could feel the nervousness radiating off you in waves. “I hope after that all that waiting it wasn’t too underwhelming—”

“It wasn’t.” He interrupted. “It isn’t. You’re…”

It was an effort to restraint himself — to not be too much, too soon.

“Despite the knots we both seemed to tie ourselves in,” He huffed a silent laugh, melting as you relaxed too. “Please believe me when I say I would not have it anything other way.”

You glowed, a sweet emotion singing from you so loudly that Azriel couldn’t not feel it. You hadn’t accepted the bond yet and still… he could feel the strong emotions as they rippled through you. Joy. He was so happy that it was joy, more than anything else. His shadows seemed to be split between the two of you, protecting you as much as they did himself.

Then suddenly, your eyes widened again, as if another thought had occurred to you.

“Wait a minute, five hundred years?” You repeated his words back to him with an air of disbelief. “You’re an old man!”

His laugh escaped him before he could capture it, entranced at your delightful quick wit. Your eyes were bright, your pretty mouth pulled into your smile.

The ache in his wings had dulled almost completely and Azriel absentmindedly noticed you had managed to heal up the majority of his wounds during your conversation. They fluttered appreciatively and your eyes darted back down to them.

“Is that to be a problem?” He teased lightly.

Your obvious flustering pooled off you, sliding down along the bond even as he felt you desperately trying to curb it. Even then, you couldn’t resist another glimpse at his toned back.

He certainly didn’t look like an old man— not with the taut tan muscles of his back, his large biceps, nor his handsome young face. His hazel eyes watched playfully as you allowed yourself one long look over him.

“Nope,” you said decisively, pressing down your grin. You held your hands up defensively, as if it would aid your point. “No problems here.”

Your footsteps were light as you rounded the table to face him from the front, your healing job completed. For a quiet moment, Azriel could only stare — holding his breath, waiting.

He schooled away any thoughts of how much it would hurt to part from you, now that he had finally found you, and spoke again.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He said, hazel eyes fixed on your own. He made sure his emotions were unwavering, that you would not feel swayed to spare his feelings. A shadow skittered across your shoulder.

“I want you to be sure. I would never want you to feel as though you had no choice. We— I can wait, I have waited years for you, I can—”

His words were smothered in his own breathy gasp as you reached out, one finger trailing across the peak of his wing. Something like pure desire shot down his spine and he did everything in his power to hold in his growl.

“Something told me that would get you to stop talking.” You said, with a hint of teasing.

A seriousness flicked across your face, settling into your expression as you took in the male before you, your mate — and you could feel his want, the enormity of his yearning trickling down the bond— and yet, you knew that he would walk away from it in a second if you asked him to.

You had no intention of doing any such thing.

“While you may have me beat on the waiting,” You said softly. It didn’t feel right when you’ve only just met him to reach out, but the urge swims within you anyways.

You reached out to touch his face, your hand as soft and warm as a sunbeam on his skin.

“I do not wish to extend that waiting for any longer, my mate.”

Your words had an instant effect, a shudder that passed across his face, eyes fluttering, the flick of his wings spreading out and forwards, as though reaching for you. You kept your hand steady.

Azriel allowed himself to lean into your touch. Allowed every feeling to flow down the warm tug in his chest, over the bridge that kept him inexplicably connected to you — overwhelming bouts of relief, of love, all of it unrestrained. And he could feel you on the other end, meeting it all with the softest, kindest assurance.

“Can…” He murmured, nearly embarrassed. He would have been if you were looking at him any way other than completely adored. His shadows had finally slowed, soft caressing motions along your shoulders and neck. He dared to ask. “Would you say it once more?”

You smiled, brighter than the sun and softer than moonlight, unable to resist your temptation to get nearer to him. You inched closer, letting yourself breathe in the scent of him greedily, knowing he was doing the same. Both of you desperate to memorise each other, despite knowing you had forever to come.

Your nose brushed his and you nuzzled against it gently, eyes sliding closed. Azriel released a shaky breath, his scarred hands clenching tightly in his lap, terribly overwhelmed in a way he’d never been before. If you had peeked over his shoulder, you might have seen the slight quiver in his wings.

“Azriel,” you whispered. “My mate.”

The shadows around both of you suddenly laid down very still, as if they had encountered a feeling within their master that had not yet before; a calming tranquility. The moment lingered as you let your words sink in, watching his closed eyes. You let yourself steal this moment with him.

“Though,” you pulled back from him, watching his hazel eyes open again. The shadows around him picked up, lazily flitting around. “If you want to get all cleaned up before dinner, you best head home soon.”

“Dinner.” Azriel repeated, the smallest scrunch between his eyes.

You stepped back from him, smoothing your hands down your front almost nervously— but no, it was closer to excitement, he realised.

“Dinner, yes.” Azriel said, catching on, his wings flaring out for just a moment. You grinned, endeared entirely by all his little tells despite his apparently stony demeanour. You could see him beneath it, the soft kind Male that the Mother had made for you.

“It would be an honour.” He added seriously, finally getting to his feet, preparing to leave. You ached at the thought — but more of you preened, knowing you would see him not long after. His seriousness made you laugh.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda intense?”

Azriel smiled, his shadows moving more deftly now. “And yet, never has it sounded so sweet as it does coming from you.”

You flushed and it was made entirely worse by the chuckle you felt down his end of the bond. You jabbed him in the shoulder, a bit miffed when he didn’t sway in the slightest.

“Alright, no more mud on my floors.” You ordered, faux serious as you pointed to the door. “I will see you later tonight.”

“Promise?” He asked, once more to check— but mostly to see that elated grin he was already falling in love with.

“I swear on my mate." You promised back, delighted when he grinned — properly, teeth and all — and you stole one final glance at your forever as he disappeared out the door.

part two here