#fic ratings

[darnedchild]

Possibly unpopular opinion

In my possibly unpopular opinion - All sex in fic is not explicit.

The Mature rating is there for mature topics.  Which include--but are not limited to--Sex, Drugs, and Rock-N-Roll.

The Explicit rating is, as the name implies, there for Explicit topics and scenes.  Which include--but are not limited to--down and dirty delightfully detailed smutty sex, graphic violence, gore, descriptions of graphic drug use/aftermaths, (some would argue) self-harm, and (some would also argue) perhaps some of the more esoteric kinky stuff out there in the wide-wide-world of erotica.

I recently saw a hot take that sex, all sex, should be rated E in fics.  Which means the OP was essentially equating two characters having vanilla missionary sex with vore.  And if you don’t know what vore is... don’t look it up.

Look at it like this - General is to G as Teen and Up is to PG/PG-13

Therefore, M is to R as E is to NC-17

That’s like math or something.  Math doesn’t lie.  It’s a science.  Just ask Bill Nye. Who, now that I think about it, seems to be the kind of guy who would be totally okay with finding smut in his M rated fanfic.

[newttxt]

pls read the zosan fic “utilities included” and enjoy sanji making his own life as miserable as possible in plain view of his new roommate

from ch. 1 of utilities included (mind the tags and rating)

masterpost

[bamsara]

"why would you read a fic with a scene or something you dont like in it" you see i have this ability called using my thumb to scroll down the phone screen really fast

[frownyalfred]

slightly toxic enemies to lovers superbat where Clark grows tired of Bruce denying the tension between them and starts listing off all the physiological reactions he can sense in Bruce’s body out loud

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 31

part 1 | part 30 | ao3

updating the rating to E. cw: recreational drug use/marijuana, foreplay, mild-to-moderate spit kink

“I feel like a water bottle,” Steve slurs. At some point he wiggled his way between Eddie’s legs to get a better look at his tattoos — starting at his ankles and working his way up, pointing at each piece and asking, "What's this? And what's that?"

Eddie explained each one in turn: the quotes, the lyrics, the silly art. "This one's the Elvish word for friend. That one's from an Iron Maiden song. Oh, the asterisk? It's supposed to be an asshole. No, I'm serious! That's how Vonnegut drew them in his books."

Now Steve’s lying flat on his back between Eddie’s splayed thighs, eyelids heavy, body warm. 'Go Your Own Way' plays softly on the stereo, and Eddie continues his tattoo tour, the fingers of his free hand weaving patterns through Steve's hair — lazy, twirling zig-zags that send skitters of sensation across his scalp and down his spine.

Steve feels like he could die right now. Happy. Held. Content.

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

“This is fucking awesome,” he hums.

“Good,” Eddie grins at him, “I’m glad.” He scratches lightly at his scalp. “What were you, uh— what were you saying about a water bottle?”

Oh, right. Steve lifts a hand; pantomimes tilting a bottle back and forth. “Like, uh….. Sssloshy.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie snorts. “You’re so high.”

“Mmmmhm.”

“And you look like you’re jerking off a ghost."

“I’ll jerk off your ghost,” Steve mutters petulantly.

"I’m sure my ghost would love that.”

Eddie reaches for the joint and takes another drag, and Steve tilts his neck, arching up to look at him. Bites his lip at the pretty picture Eddie makes: the sharp shadows and delicate lines, the shape of his full lips exhaling rings of smoke. Big for a guy's. He remembers thinking that a couple weeks ago. That they were big. That they looked soft.

And now he thinks: Kissable.

Steve licks his lips. “What about your, uh- not ghost?”

Eddie laughs like he’s watching a newborn puppy try to walk. “You want to touch my dick so bad.”

“S’probably a good dick,” Steve shrugs, unashamed.

He probably should be — ashamed. Guilty for the feelings stirring deep inside his chest; feelings weed brings to the surface, sends southbound, turns to need. He can imagine how the good, god-fearing Catholics who raised him would react if they could see him now, how they'd foam and froth and rage, red-faced and covered in spittle as they shouted that he's condemning himself to Hell.

But the thing is, he's already in Hell. He's been here since July.

And anyway, Hell's kinda nice. Gentle and warm, surprisingly kind. Hell smells like leather and tobacco, like weed and aftershave, and it sounds like Lindsey Buckingham, and it likes to braid Steve's hair.

Hell has endless, inky eyes and probably kisses him with tongue.

Heat spreads through him like molten honey at the thought, spilling hot over the edges, curling in his core, and Steve turns his head to the side and drags his mouth over a tattoo on Eddie’s inner thigh — a cartoon cloud over a curled-up snoozing fox. He noses at the edge of Eddie's shorts; pushes them up.

Goosebumps pebble under the warm press of his lips. "What's this one?" Steve whispers, nudging the fabric further up.

Eddie’s laugh is quiet and strained. "Something I don't want to discuss with your mouth this close to my dick. Stevie," he warns, but it's breathless, full of want. There's a wet spot on his shorts.

Steve pushes onto his belly, blows hot breath over the spot, liquid fire coursing through him at he stares at the bulge in Eddie’s shorts. Blistering heat, the sweetness dense, rich and thick on his tongue; in his veins. He mouths at the crease of Eddie's thigh. Eddie smells so good, like skin and sweat and boy, and Steve wants this. Wants it so badly he feels the ache inside his teeth. I dreamed the goddess poured ambrosia...

Steve feels it drip from head to toe.

"Steve." Eddie's voice is sharp this time, commanding and firm as he fists a hand in Steve's hair — not hurting him; not letting him move. Keeping him from putting his mouth just where he wants.

Steve makes a desperate sound and rocks his hips against the bed.

"Steve, stop," Eddie scolds. Pulls his hair a little harder, like he’s tugging on a leash.

"Eddie, please.” Steve’s eyes roll back, and he shifts his hips again. Just once; just a bit. Not nearly hard enough.

"No. Behave. Be good."

Steve freezes — tenses every muscle, holds himself so still, his face flushing with shame, because he didn’t mean to not be good. Didn’t mean to do anything bad. He blinks at Eddie with watery eyes and says he’s sorry, his voice cracking around the word.

"God," Eddie groans. His fist tightens in Steve’s hair, and his hips twitch off the bed, the curve of his cock brushing the tip of Steve's nose. Fuck. "Holy shit. Roll over."

"What?"

"On your back, like you were before." He’s panting when he says it, and Steve does as he's told; flips over onto his back, face bracketed by Eddie's thighs, the tent in his own shorts embarrassingly big. Obvious.

"Good,” Eddie exhales. “That’s- Jesus. Yeah, that’s good." He sinks back against the wall with a winded sigh.

And then he doesn't say anything else.

Doesn’t even move, just slouches down to catch his breath.

Steve kind of wants to cry; feels chastised and stupid, because of course Eddie doesn't want this. He already said he didn't, didn't he? Not tonight, anyway. And now Steve’s ruined things by being high and dumb and selfish, getting himself worked up over nothing and making it Eddie’s problem, and he'll probably spend the rest of this night miserable and blue-balled because he's a horny idiot, but that's—

It’s fine, if Eddie wants to cool things off; if he doesn't want to— he's allowed to not want—

"Here's what's about to happen.”

Steve snaps his head up to listen. Twists his neck around, sees Eddie lounging against the wall like a bored king on a throne, one ringed hand cupping himself loosely through his shorts. He squeezes once, takes another deep breath; lets it out long and controlled. Steve’s gonna fucking drool. "You’re gonna touch yourself for me.”

Steve moans. Guttural and loud, the sound punched out of his lungs, because Eddie’s voice comes out like gravel — husky, deep, the words authoritative and slow; like Steve needs to be punished; like Eddie’s merciful.

“You’re going to touch yourself exactly how I tell you to, and only how I tell you to. If I say stop, you stop. If I say faster, you speed up. If it's too much—" His hand moves to Steve’s cheek, slapping lightly against the bone. “—you tap out, or you tell me.”

Steve nods his head, entranced. Eddie’s thumb moves to his mouth. “And if you’re very, very good…” He tugs his bottom lip; presses in; lets him suck. “…then I’ll let you watch me come. How does that sound?”

Steve whines; hollows his cheeks, sucking harder, flicking his tongue. Eddie’s thighs clamp down around him, and when he pulls his hand away the spit clings to his thumb, a delicate string connecting them before it breaks. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.” He smears the spit over Steve’s chin. “Does that sound good?”

Steve nearly swallows his tongue.

—

part 32

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[eightmakesonebraincell]

rating bff!ateez as sea animals

pairing: ot8 x gn!reader

genre: platonic bffs, twitter smau, crack, fluff if you squint

c/w: swearing, nsfw jokes - mdni (we're upgrading from suggestive 🥵), pet names, mentions of tumours

a/n: just a lil something to keep yall fed while i disappear to work on my christmas fic hohoho 🤭

taglist: @bluehwale-main @thecarnivaloflies @miriamxsworld @shakalakaboomboo @lavishloving @emily505 (lmk if you want to be added)

[tinartss]

some of tin's fav haikavetham fics (fic rec list!)🍓🍓

hello all i've always wanted to make a fic rec list and i feel like i've collected enough hkvh fics to make one now LOL most definitely i am forgetting to include a lot but here are a few of my faves!

notes:

check tags before reading👍

most if not all are sfw bc that is my vibe

sorted from least recent -> most recent

was gonna add little comments to each but i'm now realizing that would take up a huge amt of space so. just know that all of these changed the trajectory of my life. thank u fic authors for all u do🫶

then who? by heartslogos (T, 27k)

“Let me,” Kaveh would say with his eyes, his head, his hands. Let him what? Let him in, let him speak, let him stay, let him touch and see and listen — All of the above. Has it not always been so, the two of them like this, Kaveh and Al-Haitham? Kaveh: not quite asking, not quite taking. Al-Haitham: not quite answering, not quite offering. - Al-Haitham has been confined to bed-rest for a month. Kaveh assists. Al-Haitham recovers, they both do.

Asked and Answered by heartslogos (T, 55k)

It begins in the House of Daena, or at least, Kaveh thinks that that’s where it should begin. If one were to trace the flow of events backwards, it would lead to this moment. If Kaveh were Al-Haitham, he would insist on going further back. Further. Further. Further. All the way back, to the literal beginning of all of time and creation, possibly. But Kaveh’s brain only has enough room for so many creations at any given moment, and the works of others — while inspiring — historically don’t get students passing grades. Or even grades at all. When thinking about one’s relationship with their soulmate, it seems natural to think to a first meeting. A first introduction. Well. This can be said for any relationship. It all begins with that first brush — a name, given; a silhouette, glanced; a voice, heard.

the truest forms of love by heartslogos (T, 29k)

“Nahida said that the moment you touch the seeds is the moment you must stop speaking,” the Traveler says to him, standing between Al-Haitham and the door of the simple, small hut that is to become his and Kaveh’s for the foreseeable future. “Is there anything else you want to say?” The beak of the swan is foreign, cool and strange. Al-Haitham struggles not to flinch away from it as it slides along the side of his jaw, his cheek — imploring and fretful. One last and ineffective plea. Al-Haitham feels the warm weight of solid muscle around his neck, his shoulders — the fidget of wings, the beat of a heart. Al-Haitham’s fingers sink into soft feathers and the bones and muscles of a bird shift against his hands as he holds Kaveh close. What is there to say? Why bother to say something to someone who cannot say anything back? “Stand aside,” Al-Haitham says, slowly lowering Kaveh to the ground. “The sooner I begin, the sooner it ends.” - A story loosely based on the fairy tale of "The Six Swans".

house of cards by luminvies (T, 21k)

There is a scrap of parchment he'd created and abandoned all the way back when the two had been attending the Akademiya together. Sometime between then and the first month he has to move in with Al-Haitham, the list gets crossed out, scribbled over, crumpled up, carefully unfolded again, and revised. The working title for his tireless troubles: Ten Reasons You Cannot, Under Any Circumstances, Fall In Love With Al-Haitham.

…And how Kaveh falls anyway.

through the grapevine by katarasvevo (G, 3.8k)

Theories are passed around in the form of whispers: Professor Alhaitham probably said something that angered Professor Kaveh. Professor Kaveh, unable to let the insult slide, decided to take revenge by interrupting his precious class time. A prediction goes around that in less than ten seconds, Professor Alhaitham will proceed to offend Professor Kaveh even more with a tactless comment, which will lead to Professor Kaveh and Professor Alhaitham murdering each other. The whole class will walk out today without needing to write the test, having been traumatized by the tragic demise of the two professors. It is not a very pleasant line of thought, but it is sadly the only logical outcome.

In which everyone is convinced Professor Alhaitham and Professor Kaveh are sworn enemies, unaware that their relationship isn’t at all what it seems.

the kübler-ross model on romance by luminvies (T, 10.8k)

Kaveh smiles up at the stranger. "Sorry, he's right! I am taken. By him. But he doesn't know it yet." What. "Wait, what did you mean by that?" Al-Haitham asks faintly. "Oh, that?" Kaveh scoffs. "You're a little dense. Obviously, I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn't want to be kept by anybody but you." "But we are—" Al-Haitham trips over his words, trailing behind Kaveh as he walks purposefully through the city. "We aren't. Together. Neither of us has confirmed anything of the sort." Kaveh gives him a derisory look. "And what, we don't act like it? Some things don't have to be put into words to be understood. Ah, I forgot. Haravatat. You probably wouldn't accept anything else any other way." "It is not logical to make assumptions without empirical evidence." "You scholarly types," Kaveh mutters. "Always so particular."

So. Al-Haitham is in love with Kaveh. This has got to be somebody's fault.

Cue the five stages of grief.

The Fall by heartslogos (M, 131k)

In the third generation of Lord Sangemah Bays when all is but a dream, Lord Kusanali, from their divine seat in the Sanctuary of Surasthana stirs and reaches their hands to the sky. They arrange their fingers to capture a square of sky, humming and singing to themselves as they put the patch of star and moon and cloud through the divine calculus before they translate it into the tongues of men to be made knowable, and perhaps even understandable — and with great fortune, actionable. “Summon the court,” Lord Kusanali says, “The Third Face of God has spoken. Hear the Word through me and make your peace. For the God Kings only ever speak thrice on any given subject.” The court of Sumeru crowds the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “That which waits in the Palace of Alcazarzaray can only be absolved through a union of souls and an exchange of hearts, a lifelong journey that ends only in death.” Lord Kusanali translates. And then, beatific, “What you need is a wedding.”

set alight by celestialfics (T, 2.3k)

Since he was young, Alhaitham has followed a self-imposed, unspoken rule not to touch other people unless strictly necessary. Over the years, there have been two exceptions. One was his grandmother, whose side he would cling to as she read him books on the living room couch. She would pet his hair, and he’d lean into the touch, not unlike a kitten blissfully being groomed by its mother. The other exception was an Akademiya upperclassman named Kaveh.

transparent night by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 9.4k)

“Sir, kindly do not obstruct us,” says the matra sharply. “We are in the midst of carrying out an arrest.” “An arrest?” repeats Kaveh, incredulously. “You’re arresting him? You’re arresting him? Why, what in Teyvat has he done?” The Archon Rescue Operation is going as smoothly as it possibly can — that is, until Kaveh returns prematurely from his desert trip, and runs into Alhaitham at the absolute worst possible moment. Of course he would.

this is what happens in the absence of small-talk by pencanze (T, 17k)

Haitham and Kaveh, whose travels are leading them in opposite directions, meet as strangers in a caravanserai—a travelers’ guest house. Because even opposite directions have a point of intersection or overlap, don’t they? Some might even call that point a headfirst collision. And another thing about opposite directions: they still run in parallel, even long after they’ve crossed.

trishna by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 8.2k)

Down the seventh-floor passage in Vahumana, past the statue of the sage Zolfikar, and behind the third door from the left; inside a small, abandoned seminar room in the Sumeru Akademiya is a mirror cursed to show the viewer their heart’s deepest desire. Kaveh’s father smiles at him, slowly, so Kaveh can see it happen; the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and his eyes twinkle. He’s moving, alive. Kaveh hasn’t seen his father smile – not the expression itself, preserved in an old Kamera shot he kept in his sketchbook, but the very action of smiling – in almost ten years. An Alhaitham/Kaveh X Mirror of Erised AU

if they ask my gain from this world’s harvest by patchy (T, 16k)

In the silence that follows, Alhaitham seems to interpret the end of the conversation. He takes a step back into his bedroom and starts to shut the door. “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Kaveh forces out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. The door pauses in its trajectory. Kaveh takes a deep breath. “But this is the last time,” he continues in a lower voice. “I’ll be out of your space by the end of the month.” Alhaitham pushes open the door.

The House, The Home, You and Me by sonotfine (G, 11.9k)

Alhaitham's books-hoarding situation continued to grow out of control. Kaveh magnanimously decided to offer to build a new house for him, with enough space for his ego and the books too. This was fine by Alhaitham. And, of course, he wanted it to be a house for two. -- On moving out of the old, moving on to the new, and moving forward together.

what it means to point true by luminvies (T, 9.8k)

It is biologically impossible for a man to replicate technological functions. As much as Kaveh (and colleagues) like calling Al-Haitham an index of niche and generally insignificant information on legs, he will never quite live up to the title. Here's a novel one: people must have taken to thinking of him as a human compass because they always seem to come to him when they're looking for Kaveh.

is that what I look like? by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 3,8k)

Alhaitham grows a beard. Why? Who knows.

Three or Four (Or Possibly Five) Easy Steps to Living Harmoniously With Your Roommate by Bgtea (T, 28.7k)

The truth of the matter is, Kaveh has no idea how to read Alhaitham. He prides himself on being an expert at understanding people, his empathetic heart lending him the capacity to relate deeply with those around him (oftentimes to his detriment). But with Alhaitham, there is nothing for him to read; no clues from his cool expression for him to grasp. The man appears stoic all the time even during their petty bickering. Honestly, when was the last time Kaveh has seen the man do anything except smirk or frown? Does Alhaitham feel happiness? Has he ever seen the man laugh? Kaveh's mind is drawing a blank on the latter and it...bothers him deeply. -- Kaveh devises a plan to get Alhaitham to smile by being aggressively nice to the man (and also maybe if he makes Alhaitham happy, he can score a discount on his rent or something). Alhaitham thinks Kaveh ate some mind-altering mushrooms and is, understandably, confused and mildly afraid.

in weal and in woe by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 26.7k)

“Oh, right – Alhaitham.” Kaveh claps a hand to his forehead. “Cyno, if you see him at the Akademiya tomorrow, don’t mention this to him, would you? I haven’t told him yet.”

“Told him?” Cyno asks slowly, a wary glint in his eye. “What exactly haven’t you told him?” “That I’m getting married,” Kaveh grimaces. “I wanted to tell him myself – I suppose I do want him at the wedding after all, you know – but I didn’t get a chance yet. You know what it’s like, trying to have a conversation with him.” It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Kaveh is a single man. That's about it, really. or: the one in which Kaveh gets married, but not to whom you think.

the hypothetical shore by heartslogos (T, 10k)

When Al-Haitham was still a student in the Akademiya he wore his hair long. As long as Kaveh’s is now, perhaps a little longer than that, even. But unlike Kaveh's, Al-Haitham’s hair was just as quiet as he was, just as cool — like a stream of silver water, fresh from the mountain pass. To this day Kaveh remembers the exact moment he thought he might be falling in love with Al-Haitham and that, perhaps, it might not be such a terrible thing.

de insomniis by liyuen (M, 32k)

Kaveh and Alhaitham live together. Nothing ever happens. Nothing ever hurts. But sometimes, when Kaveh watches Nahida idly finish her homework, he gets the feeling that he’s forgetting something important.

Kaveh must have fallen asleep at his desk again, the morning light hitting his eyes like a slap. He blinked at the soft green blanket over his shoulders. When he stumbled into the hall, Alhaitham was sitting in the living quarters with his back to him, soundproof earpieces alit. He had a stupid moment where he wanted to call out to Alhaitham. What would he even say? ‘I’m having some trouble.’ ‘Is the blanket yours?’ ‘You were right, I’m in over my head.’ ‘Can you hear me out?’ ‘Help me. Please, help me.’ Stupid. He yawned and went to stumble his way to the kitchen. From his periphery, he thought he saw Alhaitham turn towards him with a look like he wanted to say something. But that, too, surely was just a very nice dream.

The Importance of Interruption by theSealby (T, 8.6k)

Years. It has been years, yet it could’ve been yesterday they were sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, eye to eye, filled with a contentment that their future selves have lost. Maybe it would be enough to have that again. Maybe correctness has no place here—has never been the ultimate goal between them—and Alhaitham finds himself asking a very different question than intended. “How would you like to come home?” ✥ Alhaitham loathes interruptions. (All except one).

To Dream in Shades of Green by Intensely_Reading (T, 55k)

“There are three suitors who you can romance in this game. You must complete all your requirements with one of them." “Who are the three potential suitors?” Kaveh asks warily. “Your three suitors are Tighnari, the blunt Palace Chamberlain; Cyno, the standoffish Captain of the Royal Guard; and Al-Haitham, the acerbic Duke of Vultur Volans.” There's a new invention from the Yae Publishing House that turns a user's dreams into light novel stories. Kaveh has the (un)fortunate pleasure of being one of its first users. Too bad it dumped him in a romance game.

The Theorem of Narrow Interests by lumielle (M, 36k)

Kaveh clicks his tongue. “Well, I hope you are also aware that with all these requirements, you don’t get a set (A+B), or even (A+B+C). Yours is a set comprised of the entire Sumerian alphabet!” Kaveh has had enough of Alhaitham always loitering around the house. In an attempt to get Alhaitham to go out more often, he jokingly tells him to start dating someone. Much to Kaveh’s shock, Alhaitham agrees—and promptly assigns him as his personal matchmaker. And even though Alhaitham’s requirements for his ideal partner are annoyingly specific, Kaveh refuses to back down from a good challenge. He’s confident in his abilities—that is, until his own feelings start getting in the way…

Precipice by viiparyas (M, 37k)

Lately, his heart staggers at a precipice, just one breath from toppling over. Into what, he doesn’t know. After everything, after everything… He can’t help but melt easily into the intimacy between them, whether it’s by his design or not.

Kaveh has won fame and renown through Sumeru, witnessed the dissolution of a corrupt government, traveled from the trenches of homelessness to the pinnacles of a fairytale paradise. And yet something deep between his ribs screams, more, more, more.

or, Kaveh discovering what he truly wants and finally reaching for it. (Spoiler alert: it's Alhaitham)

nazar by pencanze (T, 13k)

It’s like they’re in a globed world of their own, trapped within a glazed bead. Shatterproof, soundproof, impregnable and unbreakable to anyone else—anyone besides themselves. (On superstitions, friendships, and other things that shatter.)

case study of the scribe by Jazer (T, 25.5k)

"The consequences of obtaining knowledge is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. "

In which Alhaitham realizes that a peaceful existence does not have to mean a lonely one.

People keep coming to Al-Haitham when they want to know where Kaveh is. Al-Haitham would be lying if he said he didn't know why.

silviculture by sunsmasher (T, 13k)

Kaveh’s face is bright, young, flushed, freckled, happy. He’s wearing an Akademiya uniform and is as tall as the last time Alhaitham saw him (fifteen minutes ago) which means he’s an inch or two shorter than the last time Alhaitham saw him, because the uniform boots are heeled. He’s staring at Alhaitham with the aforementioned flush spreading like dye over the silk of his cheeks. “Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Don’t freak out. I believe I’ve been displaced in time.”

spitefully yours by luminvies (T, 6k)

Dear Al-Haitham, I propose that we meet this Friday at sundown on the southeast edge of the city bordering Avidya Forest. This is a marital engagement. Please come prepared with your sword at the ready. With spite, Kaveh Al-Haitham sets down the letter, letting out a long sigh. After all, isn’t the answer to dealing with domestic disputes not marriage? Isn’t that entirely contradictory to the issue?

Kaveh sends Al-Haitham martial summons to sort out their issues. Unfortunately, he makes a small error in the letter.

The Art of Misunderstanding by Anonymous (M, 7k)

"Kaveh didn't consider himself to be vain. Yet he was becoming increasingly, upsettingly aware that most associates would disagree. Vanity, by definition, refers to an inflated sense of self-importance and pride in oneself. A vain person may believe themselves to be the best in the room. They may find it absurd that all eyes do not fall on them the instant they make themselves known. A vain person may put themselves on a pedestal, believing themselves objectively skilled in their field. And though Kaveh had trust and confidence in himself as an artist, he was caught entirely off-guard to hear that others thought of him as vain." ------ AKA, Kaveh misunderstands when he overhears an upsetting conversation between old classmates. His assumption is that they are attacking his character and commenting on his personality. In reality, they're talking about his looks. Everyone picks up on it, save for Kaveh himself.

Illness, Drowning, and Other Minor Inconveniences by EulerIHKH (G, 11k)

Faced with a uniquely difficult client, Kaveh is reluctantly forced to look for help in the one architect he considers more capable than himself: his mother. But soon enough, the turmoil of Kaveh's personal life begins to seep into their professional correspondence, forcing him to reevaluate his career, relationships, and identity.

love haitham and kaveh....love these fics....so many talented writers...thank you authors <33 def missing a bunch bc my organization on ao3 is horrendous but i can update this or make another list at some point....also i would highly appreciate any recs tyy🙏

( + bonus not rec but self promo of a hkvh fic i tried my hand at writing last summer but never shared oops. here she is if you're intrigued

a comedy of errors (T, 6.7k) )

[wormdebut]

JANUARY MICROFIC (2) — SAFE

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: hole | WORD COUNT: 404 | Rated: T | CW: Sad Boy Steve, Hurt/Comfort

——

It’s like a fucking hole in his chest, a weight that he can’t ever carry.

He’ll never be enough. He’ll never be smart enough for college, worthy enough for a scholarship, romantic enough for Nancy, good enough for his dad.

‘You’re going nowhere, Steven. You’ll amount to nothing.’

It was playing on a loop in his head.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Sure, he helped save the damn world a few times, but you can’t put that on a college transcript.

Steve's eyes flick to the door. Someone’s knocking—he should probably get that. He should, but he won’t. Robin is out of town and Dustin can come back later.

He pulls the blanket over his head, turns into the couch—needs to turn off the noise.

The knocking stops, but to Steve’s dismay he hears the lock on the door clinking open.

He knew giving Dustin a key was a stupid fucking idea.

“Dustin. Go. Away.” Steve huffs from his blanket cocoon.

“Not Dustin.”

Eddie.

Steve flops over to face him, the top of his head barely popping out from under his blanket nest. “What are you doing here, Munson?”

Steve watches as Eddie clutches at his jacket, directly over his heart. “Reverting back to last names, Harrington? You wound me.”

If Steve cracks a smile, that’s between him and the blanket he’s hiding under. He rolls his eyes before pulling the damn thing away from his face.

“What are you even doing here, Eddie?”

He watches as Eddie’s gaze flicks to his shoes and then back up to meet Steve’s. “Dustin said your parents came back yesterday—I checked for another car before I stopped by and only saw the bimmer. I just—“ Eddie’s eyes flick up to the ceiling, as he runs a hand through his hair, “—thought you could use a friend.”

Well that’s—that’s not what Steve was expecting. He can’t hide the soft smile that creeps across his face this time.

“Sure.”

They end up watching…something. Steve’s not entirely sure what it is. He’s too busy listening to Eddie go on and on about dungeons and dragons.

His ramblings only calm when Steve plops his head down on Eddie’s shoulder. He pauses, before wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I’m sorry things are heavy right now.” Eddie says.

Steve hums. The hole in his chest shrinks just a little.

“It’s alright. I think things might be looking up.”

——

[bluepixiedream]

I began something…

Good Dogs Only

Unable to be broken by the military and deemed too much of a hassle to be worth anything, your last stop is teaming up with the 141 until your demise. Can you learn to be a good dog, to follow orders and listen, or will one of the guys finally put you down?

(Read as an reader insert, but they do go by a call sign and have backstory. I’m trying to avoid physical descriptions. Does go by she/her.)

[I have an idea on where this is going but honestly, this is all vibes and thoughts. A nice little distraction. Thank you :)]

Content Warning: mentions of violence, call sign is a reference to csa, brief mention of sa w/o details, just a quick meeting a very brief overview.

1) The Meeting

You stared out of the window, taking in England entering the autumn season. The changing leaves. The colder air. Ice threatening to form on the roads and a sickness flowed through your bones and stayed there.

This is your last stop in your very short military career.

The United States didn't know how to handle you anymore. On a tight leash, you were unstoppable. A danger to their enemies. An unstoppable force. But ultimately you were uncontrollable and deemed a hazard. You must be broken at all costs. You must submit.

It almost became a game to your superior, Yena, to see how far you could be pushed. Could you escape a sinking boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with a broken leg, a dull blade and a mountain full of soldiers who were ordered to skin you on sight?

Of course.

Almost too easy.

They built you up for six months during your training. And they spent the last few years trying to shatter you in between missions and teams who could not handle someone like you. Solidarity confinement for 200 days. Shoved in the floorboards of Guantanamo Bay and left to rot until you escaped or died. Kept locked in a room with violent men and their violent urges until you were used up. Until you broke. Until you listened to your owners.

But you didn't.

It wasn't wired into you like it was with everyone else and, now as you get closer and closer to your last stop, you almost wished it was. You wish you could retire and move to the deep woods, in a cottage that begged for an owner and someone who would make fires in its belly and make bread in its stomach until it grew alive with hope and feelings. Finally allowing children to run around, making the cottage into a home.

You felt the weight of your past. You felt the grief you caused. The lives you took as a civilian and the chaos you sought while working for imbeciles in military drags.

Good people deserved good things. And you, my dear Lolita, were not a good person and did not deserve nice things.

Not anymore. Maybe never even at all.

"You will meet the 141 at 0800 hours. Laswell is not convinced you will fit in, and I assume the rest of them won't either. Make them believe otherwise." Yena demanded, her tongue dabbing at her bottom lip, her eyes pinched like she ate something sour. She didn't. She was just in your presence and after awhile, it was enough to feel as if she had.

"Yes ma'am." You replied, the mocking tone seated deeply within you, but Yena had been around for awhile. She knew what you meant.

"Get yourself under control and we can discuss an early retirement." Lies. All lies. All pathetic, wasteful, delicate lies.

"Yes, ma'am." You said again, your chest locking in as the jeep rolled to a stop outside of the base you would stay at until your demise. Thick, concrete walls lapped around, barb wire on top, guards holding their post like they were ready for war.

If this didn't go according to Yena's plan, they would be at exactly that.

It took only a short minute before the gate opened and you were rolling through.

The new wound on your side itched. It would until it finally healed enough. You deserved the ache. You deserved the pain. You were a dog after all. And a shitty one at that.

"If they can't control you, Lolita, nobody can." Yena said, almost sincerely as she gazed at your eyes. Trying to telepathically send you a message. A warning, a plea to be good. To listen. To be a good attack dog and listen to your new owners. "We have no use for soldiers who don't listen." Her voice turned down, almost a hush. "We have no use for dogs we can't control." You nodded, reading her loud and clear.

Be good and buy yourself some extra time.

Don't listen, attack unprovoked or bite, and there would be no more punishments. There would be no more moldy bread and sour water, no more prisons and no more impossible tasks.

Only death.

Death shouldn't scare you, but you were hiding from some of the dead, and you would never be ready to face them. You couldn't. Not yet.

The jeep stopped moving. Yena sat back, ran her hand over her pristine uniform before opening the door to greet the team standing outside, waiting for the new member to join them.

The incredible team of four.

The team that made superior officers whisper in fear of being overheard. The team that was sent to their almost certain death and yet, came back time and time again.

The best of the best.

And yet, here you were.

Not the best of the best. Not incredible. Not miraculous. Just you and your past and perhaps the little thing you could do with your memory, if you ever felt like sharing with the class again.

Four would become five.

It was a shitty thing to put any team through. The team knew each other deeply, trusted each other explicitly. There were four of them and it was perfect. A leader, his right hand man, and two soldiers who were eager to do good. To be good dogs and listen and do as they were told.

Throwing you in would be fucking up their whole dynamic. It could ruin them.

All apart of a grand experiment, no doubt.

You followed after Yena. Your boots hitting the ground with a crunch. The cold morning air brought you much needed relief from the stale, tense air. All of their gazes found you immediately and you couldn't help it but stare back at them the same.

Laswell was first. Kate Laswell. Station Chief for over 10 years. Unconventional but respected, feared and dangerous without the team around her. Leader of the 141. Yena's personal crush, even if she never outright admitted it. She was using you to get closer to Laswell and, if you had a heart, you would almost think of it as cute.

"Hello, I'm Kate, but call me Laswell. And you are-"

"Call sign only." Yena interrupted, her eyes on you before going back to Laswell. Laswell clearly didn't enjoy the interruption, nor did she enjoy feeling out of the loop for once. She was normally the person to make the others feel that way. She was not the one to be on the receiving end.

"Lolita." Your voice came out strong, your hand held out and as she gripped yours, you felt her squeezing yours twice. Quickly. A test. You did not engage. Yena might shoot you there if you did.

That wouldn't be a very good dog, would it?

Laswell couldn't help her own reaction, her left eyebrow twitching up, the jerk of her lips. Something died on her tongue. You wanted to seek it out. Make her spill it in front of everyone. In front of you.

Nothing you hadn't heard before. There was power in knowledge, in knowing exactly what she thought, and she was smart enough to keep it to herself.

"Sergeant Lolita. Welcome."

The next person was Captain John Price. Mid to late 40s. Dark brown hair hidden under, what you could only assume, was a fisherman's hat. Bright blue eyes. A half beard, cut off at the chin. He wasn't the tallest, nor the biggest, but there was something about his personality that oozed confidence. A tamer of unruly soldiers. The one person in charge and that would stay that way.

You were almost sad you wouldn't be around for long. You would love to see their personalities play on each other. Was he the dad of the group? Or was he, truly, the most vile and only the men behind him could control him?

Maybe that was their entire group. Everyone kept everyone in check.

An ache filled your heart.

It must be nice to have a team like that, a family like that.

His hand reached out first and gripped yours tightly. You reciprocated, a short nod from you got you a nod in return. You wanted to say so much to him. To all of them. You wanted to let them in on your little secret.

You wanted to be a bad dog already.

But you couldn't. Not yet. Not in front of Yena and Laswell.

Maybe not ever.

"Captain John Price." His voice was like his handshake, strong and sturdy. His accent only made you fall into the twisted maze of control even further.

Maybe Yena was right. Maybe it could be okay to give up control. To submit. To be good. To listen. To obey.

"Lolita. Nice to meet you, Captain. Glad to be apart of the team." He let your hand go and backed away, allowing another to take his place. The man now in front of you was beautiful. It was almost breathtaking. Almost grotesque. What was he doing here? Why wasn't he a model somewhere, on a beach, being fed grapes on a vine from other Gods like himself? His brown skin glowed in this shitty weather. He deserved the sun. He deserved the stars.

You made note that he could be dangerous to your objective, and to maybe keep some space.

And then he smiled. Perfect teeth framed by plush lips. His cheekbones sharp. His eyes glowed, like he was honestly happy to have an extra member added.

You made another note to highlight your previous note, mark it in red and never to forget it. He shook your hand, this time more gently than the Captain but still strong. He needed to feel you out. See what you were made of. You didn't blame you.

You were doing the same.

"I'm Kyle. You can call me Gaz if you wan'." Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. Panty dropper. Partner stealer. A perfect and deadly decoy.

You had to hand it to Laswell, this was a nice team she put together.

"Call me Lola when we're not on field." You couldn't stop yourself and maybe that's why Gaz was here. Open you up. Get you to spill.

You wouldn't. You can't. He gave you a million dollar smile. It almost hurt to give him a small one back.

"You got it, Lola." Just like the Captain, he backed away and allowed another member to take his place.

This time your eyes didn't stray to the face like before, but the mohawk that went down his head. Non compliant. Non military approved. You wanted to smirk. You wanted to look over at Yena and ask her how the fuck she expected you to listen when your new team clearly did no such thing?

You let your gaze travel to his face and fall into his piercing blue eyes. Just like his captain but a lighter shade. A scar broke his left eyebrow in two. His nose was sharp but the slight bump told a few stories of broken bones and a possible refusal on being set correctly. His lips were plush, a bit wet from his tongue darting out to touch them. He was around the same height as Gaz, but perhaps a bit bulkier. He wasn't as pretty as Gaz though.

You didn't think anyone could be. Not unless they were a professional model and even then, there would always be something about Gaz that would rope you in. Something hidden, something dark, something brewing under his surface that made it clear why he was SAS.

The man in front of you smiled, and you were hooked like you were with Gaz. That smile. Full teeth. A small dimple on his right cheek. His hand came out and you immediately grabbed it. His hand was warm and it fully engulfed yours. Not that it was abnormal but it almost made you want to rip it away. It also made you want to grip his hand harder, keep the warmth all to yourself.

"Johnny but ye can call me Soap." Your heart felt off. You were use to using your charms on people, on men, but not the other way around.

It was quite rude when you thought about it more and more.

"Lola." You gave him a small smile back and did nothing to hide your eyes from traveling over his body. Taking in his frame and searing it to memory. You knew you would fight these men to prove your worth and it would happen soon. He was big and bulky. You took your hand back before you began gripping it for a different reason.

What else was big-

"Ay, this tall, dark and mysterious is L. T. Or Ghost."

You almost couldn't believe you didn't see him but that was a lie. You thought a cloud was following Johnny-Soap. No, it was a man. You didn't remember seeing him at first but how could you miss him? Someone much taller than everyone around with the body of a tank. A black balaclava covered his entire head, leaving no skin to be shown and a human skull improperly sewed onto the material underneath. Black gloves covered his hands and his eyes, dark and endless, looked at you like you were a pile of shit under his boot.

That was fine, almost preferred. You liked indifference. You hated lust. It complicated things when eventually you had to put an unruly officer in their place; it often lead to your own punishment instead of theirs.

His outfit was something else entirely and it made you think. It was almost relieving to see someone else who was non military compliant when it came to bullshit like looks and uniform. Someone who played by his own rules. Someone who wasn't scared of what others thought of him.

'But even he was broken, broken enough to be on a team, unlike yourself.' You could hear Yena whisper without having to open her mouth at all.

You gave him a short nod before turning back to your new captain and station chief, happy to be over with introductions. Captain was the first to speak and broke the mounting tension.

"Let's get this over with, yeah?"

You couldn't agree more.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

hi hello for drunken love confessions prompts 16 "This is not a dream, I think. In my dreams we're usually kissing." if anything comes to yooou 💘💘💘

hiii my love thank you SO much for this prompt, it brought me joy when i really needed it, and im sorry it took me so long asdfghjkl

drunk love confessions prompts : "This is not a dream, I think. In my dreams we’re usually kissing."

you fill my head with you | 22K | buddie drunk love confession | ao3

And then everything winded down, their friends decided to turn in and head home. Him and Eddie were the last to leave, and he–

He stumbled out of the bar right beside Eddie. He–Oh god, he threw himself all over Eddie. He flirted. He–he told Eddie that–

Buck’s hand stills, the toothbrush lying on his tongue with dead weight, uncomfortable and somewhat annoying, but Buck can’t even think about that because he fucking told Eddie that he dreams about them kissing.

What the fuck?

What the actual, horrible, unholy fuck?

Buck has to leave.

He needs to find a deep, dark hole to climb inside. Bury himself so that he can never come out.

He told Eddie he dreams about them kissing.

He can never see Eddie again for as long as he lives and that’s such a terrifying, heartbreaking, impossible thought, but that’s the way it has to be.

or, a night of drinking leads to buck confessing his feelings to eddie and they are both very stupid about it

read on ao3

[petite-phthora]

Please don't shake the cat

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 13]

<< Prev | Next >>

Part 1

Ao3

---

Private chat nicknames:

RedHood = Jason

Danny = Danny

---

Private chat

RedHood: *picture*

RedHood: this yours???

---

Seeing the picture of Ellie clamped onto Red Hood’s arm Danny lets out a sigh while rubbing his forehead. He takes a few seconds to look at the picture while deciding on how to reply.

---

Private chat

Danny: you don’t happen to be in Mexico right now by any chance, do you?

RedHood: No.

RedHood: I was out patrolling when I was suddenly bitten by her.

RedHood: Thought it might have been a criminal or stray cat or something like that at first.

RedHood: I was not expecting a feral teenager, but I can’t say this is the first time it’s happened.

Danny: damn, she was supposed to be in Mexico 😕😥

Danny: I guess this is what she was trying to tell me with that cryptic message she sent me huh

Danny: and the stray cat analogy isn’t too far off to be perfectly honest 🤔

RedHood: So you know her?

RedHood: Can you help me get her off? I’ve tried prying but she’s got some sick ass jaw strength.

RedHood: Which would have been pretty cool any other time, but it’s currently not really working in my favor.

Danny: I’m so sorry about her 😓 😓

Danny: we’ve been trying to teach her to ask for consent first

Danny: but it’s still a work in progress 😅

Danny: of course I'll help you get her off!! 😊🙃

RedHood: Great! You’re at your apartment, right?

RedHood: I’ll be there in two shakes.

Danny: please don’t shake the cat 😰

Danny: she’ll get grumpy and might latch on even tighter

Danny: I’ll come to you instead 🙃

Danny: you said you were patrolling, so crime alley, right? 🤔🤔

RedHood: Well, yes, but I doubt you’ll be able to get up where I am right now.

RedHood: Let me at least come down to the ground first and I’ll tell you how to get here.

RedHood: Danny?

---

Jason looks down at his unread messages with a slight frown. He puts his phone away and looks back at the teenager on his arm.

He gives his arm a small shake, causing her to growl at him which immediately makes him stop.

Right… No shaking the cat.

Jason lets out a weary sigh before looking down over the edge of the building to the ground below. He’s trying to think of the best way to get down with only one functional arm when a voice breaks him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Hood. I’m here!”

He turns around, slightly alarmed that there’s a second person who managed to sneak up on him tonight.

Damn, he’s getting rusty

Though from anyone whom he had been expecting to see, he had not been expecting to see the guy he messaged a minute ago standing behind him on the roof.

“How did you get here so quickly? And for that matter, how did you even get up here?” Jason asks confused.

“Oh, I flew” is Danny’s casual response, which gives Jason more questions than have been answered. But before he can decide whether he should bother asking for clarification Danny already moves on to the next topic.

“Anyway, let’s see what we can do about this,” he says, approaching Jason’s arm and the girl that’s hanging off of it.

“Good luck,” Jason says, holding out his arm a little better and watching bemused as Danny and the teen have a stare-down.

“Ellie, what did we say about biting others?”

The teen, Ellie, narrows her eyes and growls at him. Danny just crosses his arms and gives her an unimpressed stare.

“Nah-ah, you have to let him go. We ask before we bite someone. It’s called consent. Don’t make me get Jazz to give you another lecture”

It’s clear to Jason that Danny’s attempt at talking to her isn’t working when the teen proceeds to glance at Jason calculatingly before giving Danny a challenging look and biting down harder.

Apparently, it’s clear to Danny as well, as the next thing he does is let out a put-upon sigh before declaring “Well, I gave you a chance. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way”

Danny then grabs a hold of her and tries pulling her off of him.

What is his life? Jason thinks as he’s standing there while Danny tries to physically pull the teenage girl, who decided his arm looked like a nice snack, off of him.

Though luckily for him, it seems to work as not a few seconds later Danny has pulled her off of his arm and is now holding the teenage girl with a bloody mouth up by her armpits.

Danny sets her down with a sigh but before he can speak up, the teen crosses her arms and levels Jason with a sharp look that makes him straighten up.

“Thou winneth this round, Red-Helmed Knight of the Night. Though thou should be prepareth, as the upcoming trials will be even more toilsome” Ellie declares while pointing at him, uncaring of the blood on her face.

“And I,” She points a finger back at herself for emphasis, ”Sir Ellie of the Infinite Realms, will—” she gets cut off when a fly enters her mouth.

Danny moves to help her but she holds up a hand to stop him, using her other hand to thump on her chest a few times.

She spits the dislodged fly out onto the floor and glares at it.

“Curse you! Foiling my monologuing once again!” she yells after the fly as it flies off.

Right…

Jason turns to Danny.

“So is she your sister?” he asks curiously. And totally not trying to fish for more information about Danny and his family.

Instead of Danny answering the question though, Ellie cuts him off.

“I’m his love child with the mayor of our town.”

Danny gives her a disgusted look.

“Ellie—”

She looks back at Danny with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Yeah, definitely siblings.

“I love my dads!” she says proudly, her eyes still on Danny.

Danny gives her a deadpan look in response before it changes to a more mischievous one.

“Oh, I’m sure Vlad would love to hear all about how you reclaimed him as a father figure—”

“Oh Ancients, no. Don’t even joke about that” She fake gags at him before turning back to Jason.

“Can I change my answer? I’m his bodyguard” She says, pointing her thumb at Danny.

That makes both Danny and Jason raise an eyebrow at her, though Jason’s can’t be seen through the helmet. They speak up at the same time.

“A bodyguard, huh?”

“No, you’re not, that’s Frighty”

Danny’s statement makes Jason pause and turn to look at him.

He’s got a bodyguard?

Ellie shakes her head happily.

“Nope! I took over the position. My knightly title isn’t just for show, y’know? I earned it fair and square!”

“When did this even happen? And why was I not told?” Danny asks, bewilderment covering his face.

Jason stays silent as he tries to make sense of the conversation.

“About…” Ellie takes a moment to think about it “3 months ago? I think it was when you were dealing with some time chores. And I thought it’d be a nice surprise, so… Surprise!” she exclaims, doing some jazz hands at the end of the sentence.

“What did you even do?”

“I snuck up on him and threw a Fenton Wii remote at his head which knocked him out cold. It counted as a win so I earned the position by right of conquest and gained my knighthood” She says with a shrug.

“Huh… think that would’ve worked for Pariah Dark as well? Would’ve made things so much easier…”

Ellie gives another careless shrug as Danny lets out a small reminiscent sigh. Meanwhile, Jason stands awkwardly to the side.

“Well, either way, I’m proud of you. Do you have a video?”

“Tucker filmed it for me, yeah”

“Nice”

They high-five with grins on their faces. At this point, Jason lets out a small cough which has the Fenton siblings turn around startled and proceed to then give him identical sheepish smiles.

They really look like they could be twins…

“Ah, sorry Red Hood. And again, I’m sorry for Ellie.” Danny says, rubbing the back of his neck with a small blush on his face.

“I’ll take her back home. And uhh… see you next time?”

Jason gives him a smile from under his helmet.

“Sure, if you’re still up for that next date?” Jason trails off with some hope.

His words make Danny’s blush darken.

“Ah uh, yeah! Yeah, of course! The next date! Uhmm, I’ll text you! Or you can text me. That’s fine too!”

Next to him, Ellie rolls her eyes and makes some fake gagging motions. She then grabs Danny by his arm and starts dragging him away.

“Come on, Loverboy. You can and your paramour can flirt later. When I’m not there… and after he’s passed my trials” she says, muttering the latter part low enough that Jason can’t hear. But, judging by the way Danny’s head snaps back to her and how his brows furrow, he did hear.

Just as Jason goes to reply, giving them a thank you and a goodbye of his own, perhaps even an offering to help them get down from the roof, he picks up on movement behind him.

Quickly turning around has him regretting not leaving the rooftop earlier, as he watches the Bats (and birds) land.

Fuck.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[ekingstonart]

in lieu of a functional brain progress on the final chapter of The Shape of Soup, i bring you horny art

[frownyalfred]

getting rated in the bookmarks of your fics — even if it’s a “good” rating — can be so demoralizing.

I know the reader-centered arguments for ratings and public comments/recs, but as an author, sometimes it really stings to put something out only to get a 6/10 sticker slapped right across it.

I’m not saying people can’t or shouldn’t do it but. Take a second before you do it publicly and ask, will this come across poorly to the author? Will it discourage them? Is it actually useful or helpful?

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[eightmakesonebraincell]

rating bff!ateez as kinks

pairing: ot8 x gn!reader

genre: idol!ateez x non-idol!reader, platonic(?) bffs, twitter smau, smut, crack, fluff if you squint

c/w: mdni!!! lots of kinks, very nsfw jokes & pics, swearing

a/n: i am officially retiring from kinktober after finishing this one (1) fic. kudos to all the writers out there releasing one fic a day 🫡

taglist: @bluehwale-main @thecarnivaloflies @miriamxsworld @shakalakaboomboo @lavishloving (lmk if you want to be added)