#or am i just an idiot and is it leather? i feel like its not brcaude thats expensive

[piplupod]

i think what upsets me most, besides the fact that this means no more accordion unless i somehow miraculously get it fixed, is that despite my best efforts to be careful and not mess up, i still managed to make a mistake and fuck it up. despite understanding and appreciating how expensive and valuable and fragile this instrument is, despite my best efforts to keep it safe and in good condition, i still managed to mess up and damage it.

like ... I just mess up. I have something nice, something of value, and I cannot seem to keep it safe and taken care of. things end up ruined. shirts get holes, dresses get stains, electronics get battery acid leaking or cracked, dishes get broken, book pages get torn or bent, trinkets get chipped, instruments are bonked and rattled. i am so terrified of handling anything that things most often just stay sitting in lidded bins so they are safe from carpet beetles and dust and dirt and food and me.

i just feel awful, i dont understand why I can't just keep things safe and in good condition ?? why is this so impossible for me, especially when i care so much ??

[somewhere-in-wales]

What if, in this moment, Aziraphale & Crowley found themselves unexpectedly transported to our world?

And then met these two idiots?

And they all had to work together to get Aziraphale & Crowley back?

I wrote a fic about it (When Worlds Collide). Here are some nice things people wrote underneath its chapters:

"I can't tell you how much I'm in love with this fic. Like I want to marry it, right now! The amounts of times I literally shrieked with laughter reading this. I had to stop to wipe my eyes, I am dying"

"In love w this actually. the SHENANIGANS!!!! this was a joy to read"

"this fic is eating me alive. an immediate cult classic. if i had your permission and any ability to execute this at all, i would bind this fic in leather and carry it with me all my days like a spiritual nomad with their dearest tome. You Are Taking Me There."

"JFJDJDJDJFJFKDUSHCMCKCD I NEED TO GO TO BED BUT THIS FIC IS SO GOOD"

"Oh, Chapter 4 is my favorite so far. And that's saying a lot, because every time I read a new one I think 'there's no way this can be topped...it's too good, too funny, too fresh a take on these characters"

You can find it on AO3 here When World's Collide, there's an exert below, and if you're feeling generous enough to do a little signal boost re-blog, I will love you forever.

"Terribly sorry, but I wonder if I might help settle this business about whether we are who we say we are?"

Michael and David exchange glances.

"I doubt it" says Michael, reaching around the door frame for his water bottle whilst stepping out of the bathroom to take a swig. Aziraphale sweeps his hand in an arc as Michael puts the bottle to his lips, glugging. He immediately coughs and spits red wine forcefully across the room.

“Holy shit!” Exclaims David, jumping backwards to avoid being splashed.

"What the Hell was that for?" Michael splutters angrily, wiping his mouth, eyes moving between Aziraphale and Crowley

"Did you swap that out when I was filming?" he asks, irritably, looking around at the mess. "You've completely ruined the costume."

"I do hate to see it ruined," Aziraphale worries, glancing at Crowley who mock pouts. "No harm done to the furnishings at least" he says, as the stains miraculously disappear. He turns to Crowley again, appealing.

"Yes, fine" responds the Demon, getting up dramatically. He eyes Michael, who's still agitated, and feels like someone is looking into his soul. The gaze of an actual Demon, not just his acting partner, is enough to stifle any remaining irritation. With his eyes fixed on Michael, Crowley lifts his hand to click his fingers, and removes the stains from the actor's costume completely. Michael looks wordlessly at where the stain was, and raises his gaze appealingly to David.

"It's not... they can't... this is ...." he tails off, walking over to the table and sitting down.

Crowley sweeps his eyes over David's features "he's Aziraphale?" he asks, a depth of skepticism to his tone, "this guy?"

"Yes", says David "he's lovely really" Aziraphale side-eyes David before flitting his gaze to Crowley.

"And you're me?" Crowley asks slowly, with equal depth.

"Y...yes" says David with rather less confidence. Even underneath the dark glasses, he can tell the Demon is searching his eyes. "I might just take the contacts out" he says, to no one in particular, and ducks back into the bathroom.

"They'll need our costumes back. Where are you two going to sleep tonight?" Michael asks.

"Oh I don't sleep" Aziraphale shakes his head as though he's been offered an unappealing appetiser.

"I do"

"We'll get you a hotel room" says Michael. Aziraphale and Crowley exchange glances and Michael resists the urge to settle their discomfort by saying they'll get two. This situation is ridiculous, but he'll be damned if he isn't going to have a little fun with it.

"Thank you" Aziraphale offers, politely.

The door to the bathroom opens and David comes out, eyes back to normal. Crowley looks him over, flicking his eyes to Aziraphale, gauging the Angel's reaction. Aziraphale stares at David's face, breathing slowly, mind retracing memories long gone, but never forgotten.

"We better go then" Crowley huffs.

"Not dressed like that" David gestures to Aziraphale, who looks down at his clothes fondly, smoothing down his jacket.

"I have standards, you know?" He says.

"He's not wrong" Crowley agrees.

Michael, who had been watching Aziraphale's reactions thoughtfully, taking mental notes, speaks up "if we go in pairs and break up leaving, it's possible that no one will notice two David and Michael's leaving."

David looks uncertain.

"Unless you have a better idea?" Michael asks, "One, single, better idea?" Crowley and Aziraphale both flick their heads to look at Michael in recognition.

"No, let's do that" David relents. "I'm going to change." He steps back into the bathroom.

"Me too" says Michael, heading for the door "I'll be back in 5 minutes."

A few minutes later, Michael returns in the outfit he arrived in that day, to the general disdain of Aziraphale.

"Do you still think we should come to an arrangement?" Asks Crowley, smiling at this turn of events.

"I can't wear that" Aziraphale gestures to Michael's clothes, completely failing to hide his disgust at the suggestion he should wear such an outfit.

"What's wrong with this?" Michael asks. He's wearing jeans and a shirt, nothing worthy of such disdain. His question is ignored.

"You have to, Angel" Crowley teases, just as the bathroom door opens and David enters in a bright purple jumper. Crowley looks at him, then back at Aziraphale, a panicked expression briefly flicks across his features. The Angel raises his eyebrows and puts his hands on his hips in a look that communicates 'your move'.

"Oh Hell no, that's not happening" the Demon states. Clicking his fingers, he changes Michael and Aziraphale into sharp suits, David and himself into slightly-less-tight-than-usual black jeans and a slim black shirt. "Take it or leave it" he says, glancing briefly at Aziraphale, who's eyes soften, and lips form a slight smile in thanks whilst he smooths down the well-fitting suit.

"Yes, much better" The Angel sighs.

"For you, maybe, I'd never turn up to work in this" Michael fiddles uncomfortably with the collar.

"You should dear, you look ...nice" Aziraphale says, moving over to Michael to smooth his collar. Michael frowns at the Angel, noting the back-handed compliment.

"The hotel's not far," says David. "I'll call for a car. I'll take Aziraphale." Aziraphale and Crowley exchange glances in silent resignation. "We should wait at least 10 minutes before you call for yours" he raises his eyebrows, a quick glance at Crowley. He reckons he has the easier job.

"So, I'll be pretending to be..." Aziraphale gestures to Michael.

"Michael" Michael looks unconvinced by this.

"Yes, I know, I just wondered if there's anything I should know about you?"

"Probably best if you just don't talk" Michael glances between Aziraphale and Crowley. But Aziraphale looks very uncomfortable at this suggestion.

"He's an actor" David tries to offer something that will help.

"Yes" Aziraphale responds in a tone that shows his patience is wearing thin.

"He lives in Wales" David tries again.

"Oh," Aziraphale smiles, a look of relief forming on his features "Oh lovely, I do love the Welsh Coast" he beams, looking at each of the other trailer occupants. "Yes, yes I think I can handle this" he nods, confidently, adjusting his cuffs.

David smiles back, broadly.

Michael and Crowley are less confident, their eyes meet with a knowing expression of concern.

Continued here

[crumbledcastle28]

Azriel Shadowsinger: Young God

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Request: “Okay I’m annoying you with these now hehe sorry. But I have another idea/request. You know how in angst Azriel x reader oneshots it’s always the reader who’s in love with Azriel and he’s in a relationship? How about we switch that and make it so Azriel is in love with an unavailable reader?” @aroseinvelaris

Excerpt: “He looked up at you like a boy, a little boy, who had been pushed too far. And yet, at the same time, the Azriel who quickened your heart with only a glance was still there, giving his face and body the look of what you could only describe as a young, bleeding god. Covered in sweat and tears and blood, his hair soaked with the same alloy, he was a fallen angel, begging for mercy.

His eyes said to you make it stop. Please, make it end.

“Az,” you whispered, and he fell into your arms.

Your brain instantly tore you in half. You had never felt so overjoyed and crestfallen in the same moment.”

Warnings: illyrian!reader, jealous!azriel (so yummy), idiots in love, reader has sex with someone else, heavy swearing, kind of toxic reader and az, drinking, mating bond, punching bags, blood, kissing, and our lord of bloodshed and high lord make an appearance.

Word Count: 3.7k 

A/N: I have been sitting on this request forever, and I feel I am finally capable of doing it justice. I hope you enjoy @aroseinvelaris, thank you again for your request.

A/N 2: I’m a lot a little rusty with acotar vernacular and Azriel descriptions. so please be kind. This is also incredibly not canon.

SJM Masterlist 

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated :)

The last thing you wanted to do in the infamous, disreputable Windhaven War-Camp was drink, but with the presence of its current war lord, you were really fucking tempted to.

You could hear his remarks from a multiple tables away. 

 Training females, a waste of resources if you ask me.

What the fuck else does Rhysand expect of us? To put bitches in our camps? On our front lines?

Rhysand’s dogs wish they could prove what we do to with them after their training.

He was a cocksucking pig, and that was enough of an excuse for you to bring a cup of wine to your lips and practically guzzle it down.

“You hear him too?” said the Lord of Bloodshed to your right, or as you knew him, just Cass.

You nodded, taking another sip despite the sour grapes coating your tongue, and his leathers squeaked as he leaned forward on his chair. He was gripping his own glass like a sailor dangling over a hull.

“Mother help me,” he replied.

“Mother help us all,” you countered, and Cassian chuckled.

“And Rhysand most of all,” he replied, gesturing across the crowded dining area.

Rhys was elbows-deep in documents, going over how exactly Windhaven was functioning under his rule with the other war lords. You didn’t blame him. With Ironcrest continuing to defame him and grip onto their dissent, Rhysand couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.

He would never admit that, of course, but after over a century of spying for him, you had your ways of reading him; shoulders tight, back hunched, eyebrows creased, and chin resting on his palm. Yeah, he was a bit stressed out.

If only you could read another Illyrian in the room’s body language so well.

You and Cassian sat and drank for some time, grateful Rhys trusted you to be his backup but simultaneously regretting ever joining him in the first place, before the rest of your backup arrived.

You begged your heart not to quicken. The alcohol was already fucking with your head enough.

Azriel sat in the seat to your left, his distinct musk of cool air, leather, and shadows breezing by you as he did, and poured himself a glass of his own.

“Notice anything?” Cassian asked him as he poured, well aware that your heart was in fact quickening, but Az shook his head.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You nodded as he sipped his drink, leaning back into his chair. His wings and chest widened, giving your peripheral vision the perfect angle of his leathers. Him and Cassian had gone all out - adorned with every dagger, cuirass, pauldron, and gauntlet you could think of, in addition to their shimmering siphons bouncing off every metallic object in the hall. You blended in with them as best as you could.

Except, of course, the fact that you were a female.

Az’s voice ripped you from your thoughts. “I would feel more confident if Y/N did my route over again after dinner is served. Would you be okay with that?” 

You nodded without looking at him, and were surrounded by silence once more.

The three of you continued to keep your eyes open, scanning the room for any sudden movements, suspicious glances, or unnecessary walks towards your High Lord. Your body besieged you to get up and get away from the male beside you. Escape the nervous energy he always seemed to coat you with made especially worse given the fact that you were surrounded and outnumbered by enemies, made your fight-flight-or-freeze response ache with strain.

The alcohol wasn’t helping the feeling at all. You needed something else. Right then and right there to make your heart pound and sweat pour from your pores.

With one glance to your right, you spotted your solution.

“Is that who I think it is?” Cassian asked, following your line of sight, and you grinned.

Ozia. A name perfect for his image in your mind.

Azriel followed your gaze as well, his spine straightening and his eyes squinting, and looked back to you with a look that could only be described as a mix of puzzled and panicked.

The male’s hazel eyes met yours across the hall, and in that moment, you knew exactly where your night was going to end.

The male was tall and chiseled, skin tanned and freckled, and his hair was brown and curly. It hung over his eyes slightly, etching his curved nose and pouted lips perfectly. He was quiet, reserved, but one of the few Ilyrian males you had ever found yourself able to trust. You had met him the last time you had visited Devlon, enforcing Rhysand’s rule of training before chores with an iron fist, and Ozia had backed you up completely. He explained that he had even started taking the females back to his home to teach them proper stretching and breathing techniques, and his support made your trip infinitely easier.

Maybe that was the reason you had ended up in his bed, or maybe it was because of his borderline piercing resemblance to the male on your left. Either way, Cassian had never teased you as relentlessly as he had the day he had found out - you still had no fucking idea how - and with the look in his eye as his gaze bounced between you, Ozia, and Az, he was not going to let this one go either.

Not a morsel of you cared. It was infinitely better than sitting in the want of a male you could never have.

You finished off your wine before standing up, scraping your wooded chair against the floor as you did. Azriel looked up at you and, likely having put the two pieces together, asked, “What about dinner?”

Your excitement to escape him caused you to overlook the venom in his tone.

“I’m not hungry,” you responded, and made your way towards the male you knew, and away from the one you wish you did.

                                                          ~*~

Azriel willed himself to remember a word of what Cassian had said to him from the moment you left to the moment he finally made his escape, but as he trekked up the creaky, circular stairs to his dust-ridden bedroom for the evening, he could not recall a single word.

Not after the look in your eyes as you looked at the male across the room, the grin tracing your teeth as you eyed him, and the way your hips moved as you walked to him. Not after Azriel could not eat more than a few bites of the chicken soup provided for them without becoming queasy at the thought of what that male - Ozia - was doing to you, what you were doing to him. Not after the blow to his heart after waiting for you to walk his route with him, as you had agreed to, and you never showing. 

And especially not now, as he prepared himself for the necessity of passing your room in order to get to his own.

With the alcohol muddling his mind and the exhaustion in his muscles from one of the longest days he had experienced in recent memory, he thought he could pass it by without a second thought. He was in the clear at the top of the steps, throat closing and head pounding, but as he made his way past your door, his hope dissolved like a sugar in tea.

He didn’t hear you, or him, or have any proof that you were together in your room in any way...

... except for the smell of it.

He had never hated anything more..

The smell of you - you - that he had gotten to know so well. Vanilla and green tea with just a hint of rose, a mixture true to who you were at your core, mixed with the smell of someone else. It was sex and sweat and spit and sheets and you so much of you and so much of him.

It was acrid, pungent, and so fucking heart shattering that he had to put his hand to his chest to ensure his heart was still beating.

He wanted to keel over in pain, rip his heart out of his chest, shatter every window in the cabin, and rip you away from him all in the same moment.

But he just kept on walking, ignoring the tether in his chest pulling him back to you more than anything else.

                                                       ~*~

If Azriel thought that night was long, he was not ready for the morning after.

At breakfast, you reeked of him, yet the smile on your face was what burned Azriel to a crisp. As the four of you traveled home, you and Cass snuck glances at each other like two females who knew something Azriel didn’t. When you finally reached the House of Wind, you immediately went up to bed, mumbling something about how you hadn’t managed to get much sleep anyway.

He hadn’t either.

As you headed upstairs, Azriel headed down, vibrating with an energy he could not describe. All he knew was that he wanted it off of him. He needed everything he was feeling inside of him off and away it was cutting him so deeply - 

“Hey,” came a voice, the arm attached to it finding its place on Azriel’s shoulder. He turned, startled to finally feel his body after living solely in his head, and was met with violet.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asked, and Azriel softened a bit from the look of concern in his eyes.

After centuries of having brothers - real brothers - he still wasn’t used to being loved.

“I’m fine,” Azriel replied, and Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Honestly, I am. Just overtired, and sick of Illyrians.”

As if on cue, Cassian walked through the house with a dagger in one hand and an even bigger bottle of liquor in the other, likely headed upstairs to bring said items up to his mate.

He turned to look at his observers as he made his way up, exclaiming proudly, “I picked the dagger out myself.”

Rhys and Az looked at each other after he reached the top, and Rhys chuckled, patting Azriel on the shoulder. “You and me both, brother.”

                                                     ~*~

 Azriel couldn’t remember how many punching bags he’d sent flying across the training room’s floor. He didn’t fucking care.

All he knew was that the feeling inside of him was not stopping.

He had done pushups until he collapsed, a plank until he dropped, crunches until he puked, and now he was punching the bags without any wrapping protecting the skin of his hands. He would take anything else - anything else - in place of this anguish. He could still smell it, couldn’t stop picturing it, and every time his brain seemed to release him from the torture of its vividity, it would snap back in almost instantly like a punch to his stomach.

He’d been hit many times, but nothing that felt like this. It was a feral, dirty, venomous beast inside of him tearing him apart with its nails and teeth. His arms were jelly, his hands were spilling clumps of blood, but it still wasn’t enough. The beast was relentless, beating Azriel no matter what he did.

His chest ached so badly. The thought of you kissing Ozia.

Punch.

Tasting him. 

Punch. 

Feeling him.

Punch.

Laughing with him.

Punch.

Smiling at him. Enough to crinkle your irises. While Azriel waited for you.

Punch.

And possibly even loving him.

A punch, a crack, and a scream echoed through the chamber, and Azriel smiled with victory as his body finally gave out on him.

                                                          ~*~

You woke covered in sweat, an unidentifiable scream echoing through your mind like a stone in an empty cave, and a searing pain etching its way down your right hand. Tears coated your eyes as you sat up, hissing as the throbbing made it down to your fingertips.

The scream continued to reverberate all the while.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hand laying limp by your side. You felt stupid for crying. You had broken your hand before.

But your hand wasn’t broken.

You attempted to wiggle it around, flexing your fingers and widening your grip, and the pain slowly faded to a dull ache. You wiped your eyes as you pushed down onto the mattress with it, attempting to gauge how harsh the pain was engrained your bones.

The searing sensation returned.

“Fuck,” you whispered again, and scooted off the bed and onto your feet. The sun had begun to rise outside your window, illuminating you with gold as you walked into the hall and down to the kitchen. 

Your mind muddled with pain and sleep so harshly that you relied on your body to navigate for you, allowing it to think for you. You didn’t even know why you were going to the kitchen. You just needed to move the rest of your body to distract you from your hanging hand.

As you blinked the sleep out of your eyes, you realized that, instead of the kitchen, your body had begun to take you down further. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” you questioned, but still walked down, down, down.

Maybe your body was telling you that some training would do you good. Maybe your hand was just stiff and sore, and needed renewed blood flow. You had been skipping out on your morning routine due to your guard duty. Maybe your body was itching for it back.

You yawned, whispering, “Whatever.”

You began rolling your shoulders as your feet hit the ground, warming up your back and neck. You rubbed your eyes one last time with your left hand, allowing your still aching right one to remain hanging at your side, while simultaneously becoming overwhelmed with the scent of sweat, rubber, and blood. For a second, you smiled, content with the feeling of walking into a space you knew so well - that knew you so well. You were excited, your adrenal gland suddenly pumping you with adrenaline and dopamine.

You were home.

That euphoric pairing was suddenly doused with cortisol as you turned towards the punching bags, only to be met with nearly a dozen lying flat, and a mass of dark wings kneeling on the hard ground.

A mass of dark wings that you could recognize with only the sound of them.

“Azriel,” you whispered, watching as he breathed heavily, clutching his bleeding hand. He was surrounded by small sprays of crimson blood and clear sweat, painting the floor a muted color. His expression was...pained, haunted.

It was his right hand he was clutching.

“Azriel,” you said again, a bit louder that time, and picked up your stride. He hinted at no recognition.

Your own pained hand was long forgotten.

You reached him quickly, kneeling down beside him and touching his shoulders gently. You turned him to look at you, tempted to finally understand the exact feeling of his face slightly stubbled, but his head remained low.

“Azriel, what the fu -” you began, but were unable to form another syllable when his golden eyes connected with yours.

He looked up at you like a boy, a little boy, who had been pushed too far. And yet, at the same time, the Azriel who quickened your heart with only a glance was still there, giving his face and body the look of what you could only describe as a young, bleeding god. Covered in sweat and tears and blood, his hair soaked with the same alloy, he was a fallen angel, begging for mercy.

His eyes said to you make it stop. Please, make it end.

“Az,” you whispered, and he fell into your arms.

Your brain instantly tore you in half. You had never felt so overjoyed and crestfallen in the same moment.

His face was pressed against your collarbone as he began to weep, and his arms wrapped around your waist. He was timid at first, waiting for you to push him away, but you didn’t. Your body molded him to you, pressing him against you and holding him like glass. He was shaking, sweating, and bleeding all over you, enough that blood dripping from his mouth had begun to soak through your shirt. You closed your eyes and held him impossibly closer, and brought your still throbbing hand up to the back of his neck.

Every part of his body that you could feel was warm - too warm.

“Azriel,” you whispered, your voice suddenly cracking at the effort to speak, “what happened?”

He said nothing.

“Why are you down here, Azriel?” you asked, beginning to rub your fingers along the top of his spine. “Tell me why.”

He inhaled shakily, his hot breath mixing with the heat of his blood still staining you, and tried to speak. Nothing escaped besides another quiet sob.

This Spymaster, Illyrian warrior, the strongest there had ever been, was shattering in your arms.

“Please just tell me,” you whispered again. It was your own way of begging him to get up again, be the male who never cracked, never crumbled. He was a rock - he was always a rock - and seeing him like this was scaring the living shit out of you.

He had to have caught on, because after a few shaky breaths, he whispered quietly enough for only you to hear. “Because I can still smell him on you.”

Your eyes widened, and a copper taste coated your tongue.

“You...” you whimpered, “you smell him?”

Suddenly Azriel pushed himself off you and looked at you with something other than pain and hurt.

It was...you didn’t know what it was.

“Yes,” he replied, his bloodied, broken hand trembling, “that’s all I can fucking smell and see. I can’t stop it. No matter what I do, I can’t stop it.”

You recalled Rhysand’s words from the past, about Feyre.

When I would feel her on Tamlin, he said, it was all I could see. I couldn’t stop it.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Azriel continued, “my chest...it hurts.”

It was all in my chest, Rhysand had said, the pain was, at least, The rest was somewhere deeper, like it was engrained in me. The wrongness of it was inside of me.

“It’s inside of me, Y/N.” Azriel’s mouth was dripping blood now, adding to the mural he had painted on the floor, “I don’t...your hand?”

You looked down at your limp one, and back up at him.

“You...you felt it?” he asked, referring to the shattering of his own bones.

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks, but from something other than pain. Your voice was breathy and perfumed with triumph as you traced the pattern in both Az and Rhys’s words. “Yes.”

Azriel’s defeated eyes suddenly lit with curiosity. “How...how is that possi -” 

“The pain’s right here, isn’t it?” you interrupted him, putting your left hand on the area right beneath your breasts. “Right here?”

You moved your hand to the same area on his chest, and he nodded. 

“It burns, doesn’t it?”

“Everywhere,” he agreed.

You nodded. “It’s deep, like in your bones it feels -”

“- wrong.” He completed your sentence for you.

You smiled, big enough to wrinkle your irises, and kissed him.

He was bloody and hot, but you kissed him anyway, hard enough for drops of it to begin to drip down your lips as well.

You pulled away and took his injured hand in yours. “Why do you think I was with Ozia in the first place?”

Azriel’s voice was quiet and unsure. “I... I don’t know.”

“Because he was as close to you as I could get,” you said with a chuckle. “I thought, after a century, there was no hope. That the Cauldron destined you for someone else. I figured, if I couldn’t have you, I would drown the grief in someone who I could pretend was you.”

His eyes widened, and he licked his bloodied lips before asking, “Did it work?”

You chuckled back and kissed his cheek. “Not even close.”

With your lips still buzzing, he pulled you in for another kiss, and finally - finally - the cracks in your chest bloomed into a bond. It was soothing, spreading itself over all the wounds that remained open from a century of festering, and replaced them with a garden of roses. The feeling stretched itself around your body, wrapping you in a cocoon of solace. You had been carrying the ache of an untethered line in your body, and it had finally found its dock.

He kissed you softly, holding back enough to prove to you of his uncertainty, before you pulled away and mumbled, “I feel it too.”

He swallowed and smiled, enough to crinkle the skin around his eyes and accentuate his dimples. With his blood still dripping from both of your mouths, he said with full confidence, “You’re my mate.”

You wiped the blood from his chin and brushed back the strands of hair sticking to his forehead as you replied, “And you are mine.”

With eyes only filled with love, Azriel said, “So that’s why I wanted to tear his jaw off.”

You smiled and pressed your foreheads together, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone. Your shattered hands were placed on top of each other on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said to him. “I thought the pain I felt was merely jealousy, and I was with Ozia to escape from it. If I knew you were experiencing it too, or if I was honest from the beginning, you never would have gotten hurt.”

You leaned back to look him in the eye as you said, “I am sorry I hurt you. I am sorry I left you to do the route alone. I am sorry for all of it.”

He only smiled. “I had every opportunity to be honest too, and I didn’t take it. This isn’t your fault.’

You nodded, but he kissed you again. “This isn’t your fault.”

 You kissed him back, showing him you believed him through your tongue and teeth.

You had dreamed of this moment, internalized every spat of poetry Rhysand and Cassian had iterated about the feeling of it, but nothing could have prepared you to know the feeling of being honestly, rawfully, and purely loved.

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@leahkenobi  @notquitehero @lovelyladymayyy @seraphqueen @em---r @azaideen @katiebellf @llovelydove @tinasbookishlife @xxpeachyxo @evlyncelia @icarusave @forever-paramore28 @peachyxlynch @feyretopia @wingedmiken @moonslattes @hollyismentallyillhelp @esposadomd @redhighlady @bsenpai-blog @buttercake2234 @perssepeony @whor-3-crux @avengerswhre @mystic-sculpture @wolfyland7 @are-y0u-serious-blog @hilism @tooobsessedsstuff @simplysensual @hernameispa @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @i-am-fascinated @seraphimluxe @just-living5 @saphiraprince22 @azsazz​ @thatonespriteobsessedbitch​ @moisyinfluencerstrawberry @bigcreatorwombatdreamer​ 

[drurrito]

I wrote this fairly quickly bc my crim prof is painfully hot and I am suffering as a result. All mistakes are mine.

Pairings: LawStudent!Reader x LawProfessor!Wanda

Warnings: like one cuss word lol -- reader's age is not specified and neither is Wanda's at this point -- if you want to be a K-thru-JD, be my guest.

----------------

You’re staring at the heavy wooden door in front of you. Your eyes trace over the markings, this building is your favorite on campus because of the architecture. It was once a grand library in the late 1800s and now it holds most of your 1L classes. It’s also home to the office of your Criminal Law Professor whom you’re supposed to be meeting with in a few seconds.

You let out a long exhale as you stare at your watch. You try to ignore how sweaty your palm is as you clench your hand into a fist to knock on the door.

“Come in,” your professor’s voice is calm, with no hint as to why you were summoned to her office in the first place. It came through an email yesterday afternoon after class. You blinked at your screen while your friends teased you about being in trouble. 

Are you in trouble?

You step into her office and she’s sitting at her desk writing something down. 

“You wanted to see me, Professor Maximoff?”

“Yes,” she sets down her pen, “can I get you anything? Water? Tea?” She gives you a warm smile that would normally disarm anyone but it only makes you stiffen with nerves.

“No thank you, professor. I’m good.”

“Sure," she leans back in her chair and gives you a serious look that makes you flinch, "what did you think of the lesson yesterday? Any questions?”

Did she really call me in here to talk about yesterday’s lesson?

“No, professor, none that I can think of. Inchoate crimes seem pretty straightforward,” you nervously nod and her lips twitch into a smile.

“I look forward to reading your analysis on it for tomorrow’s discussion board then.”

“I’m just about done with it,” you breathe, it was the truth. You know you won’t see your class ranking until after your first year of law school but it seems to already be obvious to everyone that you’re top of the class. It’s not by luck, you've always had to work harder than everyone else to get where you needed to be. It does help that you’ve wanted to go to law school since you were a child. Now that you’re here, everything just clicks.

“Y/N,” Profesor Maximoff’s voice makes your eyes snap to hers. Her usually bright shade of hazel eyes are now much, much darker.  

“You’re a good student, you know that right?"

That makes you clear your throat, “thank you, professor, I’m just trying to make the most of this opportunity — it’s pretty busy at times.”

“You must be too busy to realize how you come across as well.”

“I’m sorry?” You have to ask to make sure you heard her correctly. 

“You realize this is the first time you’ve held eye contact with me for more than three seconds?" She crosses her arms and that makes you tense even more.

“You’ve been counting?”

“At some point, yes. It’s like clockwork," she unfolds one arm to frame her face and you can't help but appreciate her jawline and the perfectly manicured finger that's tapping away at her cheek.

You have to look away and take a breath. You feel like an idiot for having such obvious tells. Of course, if Sam and Bucky can clock your nervous habits, Professor Maximoff can too.

“You don’t let your eyes land on me for too long, they bounce around the room a lot, like right now.”

Your eyes fall on her again, but this time you make it a point to hold it for as long as you can physically bear it.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I’m not rude, just shy at times. I can see how that comes off as standoffish.”

“It’s okay,” she gives you a nod with a smile. It’s the same combo she gives during her lectures. You only know this because you’re its number-one fan. Your jaw reflexively drops but you quickly pick it back up before she notices.

“You know,” she slides out of her plush leather chair and saunters out from behind her desk, “at first I did think you were just rude.”

She shrugs for a beat before stepping closer to you, “but then I think about how often you hold the door for me.”

And closer.

“And how you say ‘good morning’ or ‘good afternoon’ whenever you pass me on campus.”

And closer.

“Now, it all makes sense.”

Your cheeks begin to burn, you want to step back to give her space but she’s already a breath away from you by the time your brain can form the idea.

“Y/n.”

“Yes, professor?”

“Do you like me?”

Fuck.

She asks it so innocently you almost forget where you are. You're not two people casually exploring each other's fascination with one another. You're not on some kind of date, she’s your professor and you’re just a 1L. She watches your throat squirm as you swallow. Your mouth is now bone dry. 

“I…it’s--just a little crush, yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, professor,” you respond so quickly and she hums in praise. Something pulls deep in your belly but you don’t have any time to figure out what it is before Professor Maximoff speaks again.

“Just a little?”

She leans impossibly closer to you. Your eyes don’t have a single corner to escape to, your breathing is shallow and sporadic. 

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t correct you this time and you can’t help but feel a heavy pang of want. You watch a smirk stretch across her face and you feel like prey that’s about to fall victim to--

“That’ll be all, y/n—please close the door on your way out.”

She backs away before you do, turning on her heel to sit at her desk just the way you found her.

You stand there dumbly nodding for a moment. She subtly raises an eyebrow in your direction and that’s when your limbs begin to move towards the door. You quietly shut the door behind you before slumping against it, air filling your lungs once again. You shake off whatever you're feeling and head home, still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. 

[aurumacadicus]

Pride Pocket 16--Give to Me Your Leather

Kink belongs at Pride. I will not be arguing a fact.

The title is from Stevie Nicks and Don Henley's "Leather and Lace" and rest assured Tony indulges Steve in both. You can also find this fic on ao3 (here). Look out for under the cut!

--

After a gala, Tony was in the habit of simply dropping all of his clothes on the floor and falling face-first onto his bed. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his clothes, or that he wouldn’t miss a cufflink, or that he expected someone to clean up after him. It was just that, by the time he finally trudged in during the early hours of the morning, he simply couldn’t imagine doing more than that. In his opinion, if he even made it out of his clothes, it was a victory—after hours of shaking hands and kissing rings, of drinking watered-down alcohol and dancing, of seeing off all of his guests (and making sure they signed their checks), it was a miracle. There were a few times that he hadn’t even made it that far, instead crumpling onto the nearest flat surface without having managed to loosen his tie.

He’d been embarrassed, the first time he woke up to find Steve had hung up his tuxedo to send to the cleaner’s. That Steve had set his cufflinks on his dresser next to his watch display, his shoes in the closet. That Steve had sat beside him and carefully undid his garters and pulled his socks off so he could tuck him comfortably under the blankets. He’d known that Steve liked to keep a tidy room. He had tried so hard to keep things neat so Steve wouldn’t regret moving in with him. Steve had shrugged off his apologies, said he didn’t care. But Tony had. Steve had been so hesitant to move in at all, he didn’t want to give him a reason to move back out.

He hadn’t really understood how much Steve didn’t mind until he found him in his closet a week before another gala, carefully cleaning a pair of his leather shoes.

“I have. People. For that,” Tony said when he realized Steve wasn’t stopping. He tipped his head, looking at the different tins in the basket at Steve’s elbow. Clean rags, dirty rags, tins of shoe conditioner and different colors of polish. Where had he gotten those? “You don’t have to.”

Steve’s hands didn’t stutter. “I like to do it.”

“Oh,” Tony answered, feeling like an idiot, and he was only half sure why.

He was suddenly reminded that when it came to cleaning and repairing Steve’s suit, he’d never received the leather harness he wore. It certainly saw a lot of wear and tear from the shield—he’d seen scuffs and friction burns after battle. He’d figured that Steve just. Got new ones. But that didn’t make any sense, he realized, looking around the closet. He’d seen the one hanging with his suit when he’d moved his things in. He had a spare, but… he didn’t like to use it, he’d said. Wanted to work it soft during training first, or something.

“Leather hasn’t changed at all,” Steve continued before he could try to press. He turned, holding the shoe up so Tony could see his reflection gleaming in its shiny black surface. “I don’t know how much you know about me, but—”

“I would hope a bit more than the average person,” Tony mumbled, crossing his arms. He had no idea why he felt defensive. Steve didn’t seem mad. But he was also in here polishing Tony’s shoes, and he didn’t really know what to make of that.

Steve blinked at him placidly. “In the thirties,” he finally continued, once he was sure that Tony was finished. “Buck an’ I had an apartment together. I made money by shining shoes.”

“Oh,” Tony said again, feeling even more foolish. He didn’t know why he should, though. Steve struggled to tell him about his past sometimes, and it wasn’t like he’d ever seen ‘shoe shiner’ under the ‘previous occupation’ parts of his paperwork. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s soothing,” Steve added, bringing the shoe back down to his lap so he could go back to rubbing it with the cloth in his other hand. After a moment, he slanted Tony a concerned look. “Am I not doing it to your standards?”

“Doing?” Tony repeated, baffled, and then squawked, “How long have you been shining my shoes?!”

Steve blinked at him again, brows furrowing together in confusion. “Since I moved in with you, Tony.”

Tony had never felt so mortified in his life. Steve had been polishing his shoes for three months, and he’d never noticed. He found himself stepping forward and reaching for his shoe, trying to pull it from Steve’s hand. “You don’t have to—”

Steve smacked his hand away with the sole of the shoe and rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing it because I feel like I have to, Tony. I just told you. I like it. It’s soothing. Familiar,” he added, rubbing at the smudge Tony had left. “Like I said, leather hasn’t changed. And it’s… nice, that I can do something for you.” He offered Tony a wry smile. “Not many gifts I can get for the man who has everything, after all.”

Tony shifted back and forth on his feet for a moment. Steve had never lied to him before, so he really must enjoy doing it. He still felt a little uncomfortable, but he was beginning to realize it was because no one had ever really… cared to do something like that for him before. He opened his mouth to say so, to try and defend the way he’d been acting the past few minutes, but then decided to bite it back. He didn’t want to upset Steve when he seemed to be enjoying himself, and Steve had this habit of going from sad to angry on his behalf when he thought Tony hadn’t been treated right. He was still feeling very wrong-footed and he didn’t want to deal with it if this was a thing that pushed Steve’s ‘Tony’s been mistreated in every relationship he’s had’ button again.

“It’s… fine,” Tony finally answered, voice halting as he tried to find the proper response without revealing too much. “The quality, I mean. I haven’t noticed a difference, so, you’re just as good as the people I was using.”

Steve smiled, but he didn’t lift his gaze from the shoe in his hand, instead turning it so he could observe it from a different angle. “Well, that’s a relief. I have to admit, I did have JARVIS order a pair of shoes for me to practice on.”

Tony blinked, surprised. “Oh. Well, that explains why I suddenly had two pairs of Snowdons,” he said, turning to look at his display of shoes. He’d just figured he’d bought a second pair when he was mindlessly scrolling in bed, unable to sleep. It was a good-looking shoe. He wasn’t mad about it.

“Those are a pretty nice pair of shoes,” Steve said, nodding. He gave the shoe in his hand one last going over before he looked back up at him. “I was thinking about getting a pair myself, for when I have to go to these shindigs.”

Tony opened his mouth to tell him he would probably faint dead away at the price tag. He closed it again quickly, though. He decided he didn’t actually want to be there when Steve realized he’d casually spent a thousand dollars for a pair of shoes without asking. Instead, he finally stepped around him to go sit in the other chair, leaning back so he could watch Steve set the shoe aside and carefully take up the other one. “So, you used to shine shoes for a living, huh?”

Steve sort of grimaced, lifting his shoulders in an aborted shrug. “A living? Well…” He picked up a clean rag from his kit, using it to buff along the toe of the shoe. “It was money. Not as good as having a full-time job like Buck, but at least I was contributing.” The corner of his mouth tugged up into a wry smile. “Maybe if I’d been shinin’ shoes like this, I’d be able to call it a living. I was getting twenty cents a pair where I was. I heard on Wall Street, they charged forty-five cents.”

“And milk came in glass bottles to your house and you bought ice from a horse-drawn ice cart,” Tony grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest again as his mind automatically converted the numbers. So he was making six dollars for every pair of shoes he shined while others were making ten. He sagged petulantly in his seat and tried not to think about how unfair the world was to Steve. It was almost a century ago.

“We had a refrigerator, Tony,” Steve chided, but the wryness was gone from his smile when he looked back up at him in amusement.

Tony huffed at him, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t hear you mentioning the milk in glass bottles being delivered to your door.”

“I was lactose intolerant before the serum, Tony,” Steve deadpanned, and Tony couldn’t help but let out a bark of stunned laughter.

.-.

Tony didn’t want to say he forgot all about Steve shining his shoes. It was just that between events where he had to wear suits and loafers, he really just liked to skip shoes altogether, preferring slippers but donning sneakers if he needed to keep his feet safe in the lab. He was always painfully aware of it when he got home from an event and slipped them off, though. ‘Steve is going to clean these for me’ was always at the forefront of his mind as he forewent putting them away every time. He’d tried to put them in his closet since, but Steve had shrugged his effort off, and he’d come to realize that was part of Steve’s… ritual?

“I like doing these things for you,” Steve had said when he’d found him worrying over it again, and Tony still felt a warm squirminess in his gut every time he remembered how earnest Steve had been.

Still. It did make him feel awkward sometimes. Steve’s hobbies were all very hands-on, and he was particular about his tools. He’d only just recently let Tony start buying him paint. Tony had offered to pay for some of the polishing equipment, and Steve had just slanted him an unimpressed frown and said no. It had made Tony blush at the time for some reason. He was not going to examine why that was. Steve’s smirk when he realized Tony liked something was already dangerous. He wasn’t going to give him more ammunition.

Tony didn’t think he’d even make it out of his shoes this time, though. His board of directors meeting had run over, and he had the choice of sitting and dissociating with a sandwich or changing his clothes before the next one, shareholders or something; Pepper had reminded him as they’d parted, but he couldn’t remember after the drudgery of the first one. He’d decided he needed food more. His sandwich purported to be turkey and cheese, but it mostly tasted like exhaustion. He considered giving up eating to just stare blankly into space.

Then he felt a pair of hands carefully wrapping around his ankle and foot. His leg was being lifted. Tony blinked at his sandwich for a moment, but it didn’t hold any answers, so he reluctantly followed the length of his leg with his eyes. Steve had dragged a chair over to sit across from him and had lifted his foot to plant it against his thigh. Tony blinked again, taking another bite of his sandwich. When he saw Steve grabbing for a length of cloth, though, he managed, “I don’t have time to change shoes.”

“You don’t need to,” Steve replied easily, shifting his thigh until he liked the angle of Tony’s ankle. “I’m just doing a quick touch-up.” He adjusted his grip on the cloth, then gave it a sharp snap, and the crack of the fabric cutting the air drew Tony’s eyes down to it in shock. “Did someone step on your foot at the meeting? Rude.”

Tony looked at the scuff marks on the left toe of his shoe. They weren’t that bad. He doubted anyone at his next meeting would have even noticed. Still, Steve wanted to do this for him, and he was learning that it was okay to want that, so he let Steve begin moving the cloth back and forth vigorously to remove all the marks. After a moment, when he remembered that he’d been asked something, he added, “It was Pepper.”

Steve let out a huff, half amusement and half annoyance. “Well, I guess I can’t yell at her about not mussing up your shoes then, huh? She was probably keeping you from pissin’ someone off.”

Tony didn’t even bother with giving that an answer. Instead, he just watched Steve work, remembering every once in a while to take a bite of his sandwich. The scuff marks quickly disappeared under his careful attention, and Tony could swear he could feel the heat of Steve’s thigh through the red sole of his shoe. It was… nice. Having this little moment. Feeling cared for. And it helped to know that Steve wanted to do this for him. Tony tipped his head back for a moment, letting his eyes drift shut as Steve examined his reflection in the toe of his shoe. “Should have you take a look at my belts,” he murmured. Those saw a lot more use than his fancy dress shoes.

“I’ve been taking care of your belts,” Steve answered, steady and matter-of-fact, just like his movements. Tony blinked his eyes open again in shock to find Steve looking up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Anything in that closet that’s made of leather? I take care of it.”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out. That Steve shined his shoes had been a shock, but at least they’d made sense, especially with the explanation of having done it in the forties. But his belts? Did he also mean the leather bands of his watches? It’d certainly explain why the leather cuffs they used in bed always looked sleek and shiny, he realized with a vague choking noise.

Steve leaned back in his seat, lips spreading into that smirk he always got when he made Tony speechless. He wrapped his hand around Tony’s ankle and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze, and it sent a thrum of heat through him. “Everything,” he drawled again, punctuating each syllable in a way that each one sent a punch of heat right into Tony’s gut.

“Why’d you say it like that,” Tony choked out, hoping he didn’t sound as aroused as he felt.

Steve’s grip on his ankle tightened before he dragged his fingers down to play with the laces of his shoe. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Tony?” he asked instead. He was still smirking at him.

Tony felt himself flushing against his will. “No,” he answered, fighting down the urge to squirm under his penetrating stare. Unfortunately, even to his own ears, he could hear the lie in his answer.

“Oh,” Steve said, disbelief dripping from the word even as he nodded in agreement. He very casually tossed his arm over the back of his seat, lounging in it in such a way that it made his jeans stretch attractively around his thighs. “So that riding crop I cleaned and oiled, that belongs to someone else?”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He’d hidden the riding crop away when Steve had moved in. Telling him about it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Steve was more of a hands-on guy—he was more likely to use his palm to spank him rather than a tool like a riding crop. And he was so good at it, Tony never really felt the urge to ask for more.

Steve’s fingers caught one of the ends of his laces and pulled, and Tony watched as his shoe came untied as if in slow motion. His mouth went dry. He was vaguely aware of his sandwich falling out of his lax fingers and knew he’d probably be annoyed later. Right now, though, he was focused on Steve’s long, clever fingers picking his laces loose, being careful not to even touch the leather of his shoes with his fingernails.

“If you like leather toys, I can take care of those, too,” Steve continued, hooking his hand behind Tony’s ankle so he could grab the shoe with his other one and carefully pull it free of his foot. “Suede, too, if you like floggers. I can get the stains out and everything.”

“Steve,” Tony whispered, because he knew if he spoke, his voice would shake. He swallowed thickly. He’d never used a flogger before. Hadn’t trusted anyone to use it on him properly. But as Steve gently but firmly reached for his other foot to pull that shoe off too, he could image Steve with one in his hand, carefully using an eraser to smudge the stains off each piece of fabric, cleaning and caring for it just as perfectly as he did everything else Tony owned. “My meeting,” he tried, swallowing to try and wet his throat.

Steve slanted a glance up at him. He was still smirking. Tony swallowed again. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to make it to his next meeting. “I think you should help me break in my new harness. Gotta make sure it holds up to prolonged sweat.” He slid his hand up Tony’s calf, flicking his sock garter open easily. “And other fluids, I’m sure.”

“Like anything I produce is going to be the same as alien gore,” Tony said, trying to cut through the tension between them.

Steve’s smirk didn’t falter. “No, but it’s always nice to practice cleaning something… especially soiled.”

“…That’s not sexy,” Tony started. “‘Soiled’ isn’t a—”

“I’m gonna make you come so hard it gets on the harness. Fuck you so stupid you drool all over it, too,” Steve told him, stern and sure, in a way that rekindled the heat between them tenfold. He reached out to grab Tony’s tie and pull so he was forced to sit up more in his seat, eyes dark. “And then I’m gonna make you lick it clean. Really give myself a challenge to make it look good as new, as if I hadn’t fucked you raw wearin’ it.” He wrapped the tie around his hand, dragging Tony in closer, so he could breathe across his lips. “Would you like that, honey? You wanna help me break in my new harness?”

Tony whimpered, and part of him sincerely hoped he was awake to watch Steve clean the harness after they were… finished? With it? Something about the meticulous focus he had when he did it made something simmer hot in his belly, especially if Tony was still wearing whatever he was cleaning. “My meeting,” he tried helplessly.

“You knew you weren’t gonna make it to that meeting as soon as I put your foot on my thigh,” Steve said, voice pitched low and dark, and Tony hoped that JARVIS would make reasonable excuses for him.

[4pfsukuna]

Prof. Nanami puts his two smartest students together for a research project and you just can’t help teasing him…until he teases back.

Black coded reader, cause black af.mdni.

Tapping my long red french tips on the library table i let out another long sigh irritated with my (not chosen by me) partner.

We had been sitting here in silence a dimly lit corner in the back of the library our only exchange was “hey” so what could he possibly be typing.

“So i was thinking we could do our project on—“ i begin to speak taking my hand out of my leather jacket pocket only to be cut off by the dark eyed assailant. 

“No. I’ve already decided” he mutters out not moving his attention from the screen. Resting my chair forward so im no longer leaning i scrunch my nose.

“Theres no way you decided because i didn’t agree” and from the slight view i have of his face i can tell hes rolling his eyes.

This was exactly why i didn’t want to work with him… or anyone. He was quiet, closed off, known as a loner and had these deep dark eyes that felt like he was stairing into the pits of your soul.

“Are you going to do all the work?” I ask with a raised brow before noticing not once has he even looked at me. Pushing even more forward to see what he was typing im unaware of our proximity until i notice the slight red blush covering his cheeks right under the mark on his nose.

Ive completely invaded his space my boobs nearly pouring out of the top of my black crop top and im pressed completely onto his arm.

“Am i making you uncomfortable” i tease and i couldn't help it when you grow up with step brothers like Sukuna and Yuji (our dad wanting to step out of his marriage and explore with an american woman actually explore his kink for black women which in all actuality he had a poor taste in women their mothers who decided it was time for her to live her dreams so she just up and left and mine who shipped me off as soon as she had the birds and bees talk which is all irrelevant since choso is storming out of the library laptop in tow and the last thing i need is to fail this final paper.

Grabbing my oversized purse and slinging it over my shoulder i chase after him and catch him in the hall.

“Wait wait wait” i huff out of breath because these heels were not made for running and he turns around facing me with a bored expression, you wouldn’t even think i offended him.

“Alright that was completely inappropriate and i shouldn’t have joked like that, but i also don’t want to fail or push all the work on you. I want to work on this project together” i breathe out standing infront of him blocking his path but as large as he was compared to me im sure he could step over me if he seen fit.

“What makes you think i want to work with you” he bites out and i let out the arrogant smile that solidified i was Sakunas half sister.

“Do you actually think professor Namami would place  the smartest person in the class with a idiot and have them do all the work? Come on now its Nanami he would put his two smartest pupils together to challenge another and write a final paper hes actually happy to read” i say as if its common sense cause it is. 

Its NANAMI.

I watch the debate in his eyes as he thinks over what i just said before his shoulders drop in defeat. I grin widely sticking my hand out as a form of truce which he painfully takes.

I force myself to bite back the smirk at his clamy hands knowing it was all my doing and use the grip to yank him closer.

“And i would love if you could send me what you have so far so i can begin doing research” i utter lowly licking my lips watching his glare never falter almost as if he's painfully keeping his eyes avoiding my mouth before bidding him goodbye a devious plan forming in my head.

The next afternoon when we meet in the library i offer sweets from a local bakery as an official truce which i can hardly read his expression at.

“Im sorry now that i think about it you dont seem much of a sweets guy” i feel foolish of course he didnt like sweets— my train of thought is interupted by him picking up a creme filled chocolate pastry.

“Shouldnt judge a book by a cover, every smart person knows that” he quipps quickly and my lips twitch in a smile. Ah so he does bite back. 

“Did you call me dumb?” I scoff playfully dropping bait which he quickly takes.

“Does the shoe fit?” He bites back and when i dont respond only send a playful glare i watch as the corners of his lips twitch up feeling proud i could get a smile. “Come on show me your work” 

And we spend the next two hours talking theories and sharing ideas conspiring every concept as his long fingers type away my thoughts later to be put into essay format.

Its not long before he lets out a yawn breaking our silence and i look up at him noticing the bags forming under his eyes slowly being covered by his bangs.

He was actually begining to look disheveled. Two signature buns drooping from running his hands through them bangs more full from the pueces of his buns and the bored expression— actually that was very on brand for him.

“Come on let’s wrap up your tired” i say softly twirling a stand off his bangs around my finger and i knew it was when he was too tired to cover his blush he was exhausted. 

Yup, still got it.

He swats at my hand sending me a pointed look to which i innocently bat my eyes up at him from the seat next to him.

And thats how it goes for the next few weeks smart remarks met by his even more quick witted remarks sometimes followed by a half smirk, my harmless flirting/ teasing which i may have taken too far the day i rested my palm on his inner thigh and he flew out of his seat claiming he needed to use the bathroom only returning 10 minutes later saying he had to leave.

Or the day he asked me to proof read a page leaning away from his computer so i could take it instead i lean forward hand resting on his shoulder unaware just how close his face was to my—

Both occasions i had to bring apology pastries.

And the more time we spent together the more i learned about Choso. How smart he is, what makes him tick, his favorite foods, what makes him blush the way i thought he was a boob man but ive caught his gaze on my thighs several times and i may purpousely wear shorter skirts on days i know were going to be together.

Today was no exception.

The only thing i hadn’t planned on was the air conditioner being on full blast. Probably my karma from the universe wearing the tiniest of clothes to tease him.

“Oh no were going to have to finish another day its freezing in here” i shiver crossing my arms over another trying to huddle into myself for warmth. The black (extreme)  mini skirt with short sleeve white shirt that had bows tying the back together with Sukunas red varsity jacket was such a cute look until he realized i was wearing his jacket and took it . He was now my least favorite brother and yuuji was in the lead, which he typically always was given his competition.

“What?!” Choso nearly begins to foam at the mouth. “Its our last day and were so close to being done we can actually submit it now and im sure we would get an A still” he quickly rambles out dropping our stuff on the table we usually took up. The library was nearly empty so him being loud was no bother at all to anyone probably because most students didnt know where the library was.

“So submit it, I dont do the cold” i shrug ready to grab my bag when he begins taking off his jacket placing it on my shoulders pulling my hair from put under the collar and going to his work.

“Probelm solved, now sit” he bites put and id never seen this side of him but it was kind of a turn on and probably karma rearing her head into me again because through all the teasing i developed a tiny crush on Choso. Like tiny though.

Super tiny.

Extremely tiny.

So tiny i couldnt help but flirt with him every chance i had and notice all his favorite things and Damn did his jacket smell good.

So tiny i knew every detail of the scar on his face and how it swerves slight over the bridge of his nose not just cause it curves but—

Damn his jacket smelled… good wasnt a strong enough word. I was feeling intoxicated from how sensational his jacket smelled.

My crush was so tiny i made sure to bring his favorite pastries every tuesday and thursday because the way he smiled could brighten up my whole day.

My crush was so tiny i wasnt thinking about using my rose tonight to the smell of his jacket and the way he demanded me to sit down.

Imagine hearing that in the be—

Feeling a tight grip on my thigh my head snaps over to him and his eyes give me that bored yet slightly annoyed expression. 

“Stop fidgeting, its driving me insane and just let me finish typing the rest of what you wrote” he says like he cant wait to be done and i pout knowing this would be the last time we’d get to spend together. My crush would stay just that.

My eyes trail down noticing his buff arms veins sticking out something id never notice before. Has he always worked out. Going down even further i notice the silver rings spread across his fingers and almost choke.

I was going to need 10 minutes in the bathroom if he didnt move his iron grip. I just had one question.

“Have you ever fingered a girl with all your rings on?” I blurt… and this time it was a genuine mistake. Of all the shit ive said this was the one i completely wish i didnt.  I was actually okay with us never speaking again, Sukuna says we should never have shame but i bet he would never do something like that.

Ok yes he would.

“Do you want to be the first?” I hear and nearly fall off the table if it wasnt for his iron grip on my thigh. I thank God for my brown complexion because my cheeks feel hot and I’m lost for words completely. Its when he begins to chuckle that i realize he was just giving me a taste of my own medicine. The weeks of comments and sexual innuendos id thrown at him and couldn’t handle one.

I feel the proud smile grow on my face and unknowingly squeeze my thighs together slightly squirming the idea still playing in my mind. 

“What if i said yes” i retort watching as he becomes flustered and that adorable blush comes back to his cheeks.

“Would it make you stop… moving your thighs so much” he struggles his hand moving to my other thigh squeezing  and i grin knowing he had a thing for them and he can no longer hold back. His eyes meet mine until i lean forward placing a few soft kisses on his lips.

“Promise”

Ok that was a lie. It was all a lie.

Sitting on his right leg, my back pressed up against his chest and 2 of his fingers buried inside me the squirming absolutely hasn't stopped but it doesn't seem to affect him one bit as he edits the last bits of parts i wrote for our project.

“This is so good sweetheart, how about a third finger?” He ask rhetorically lips brushing against my ear and i'm so close to cumming at Dom!Choso cause whewwwww what a turn on. He curls his two fingers up as if he’s trying to pull the orgasm from inside of me and my legs clench together trying not to make too much of a mess.

He chuckles right against my ear and I'm losing myself at the stimulation, Biting my lip as he uses a third finger on my clit. My vision begins to blur and I feel myself about to cum for a second time.

“Look at you trying so hard to hold back those gorgeous moans after you spent the past month teasing me, fucking with me… mmm so wet” he groans in my ear spreading my lips causing the squelching sound to be louder. His fingers brush a particular spot deep in my core making me fall apart as I bite my lip harder cherry lip gloss mixing with the iron taste of blood.

“I love every little sound you make Why try and hide it from me, would you really deny me?” He kisses up my neck using his other hand to pull my bottom lip from my mouth releasing a string of curses, his fingers never stopping their exploration of my walls.

He did show mercy, slowing down other hand snaking up my shirt cupping a boob until his fingers found my nipple. 

“You're so wet for me… just me” he groans his teeth leaving marks down my neck to my shoulder and the idea of him being slightly possessive wanting to mark me so everyone knew i was his? My insides clench and he hums at the feeling.

His fingers pick up the pace once more and I have to close my eyes to hold on to every drop of restraint I have left between the way his fingers are moving expertly inside of me, the contrast of his warm hands to the cold rings on his fingers. I could stay here forever, one hand clutching his bicep the other on his thigh.

“Ch-choso i—mmmmm” i try to get out feeling my hips have a mind of their own grinding down on his fingers needily unaware of how he had me completely wrapped around them. He bites onto my neck and my release follows earning a groan from him as im left panting in his lap. What i dont expect to hear is the wet sound of him licking each of his fingers and the sight has me wet all over again my heart racing.

He chuckles pulling my chin toward him as he places his lips on mine i instantly kiss back gently sucking on his bottom lip earning a groan from him. He doesnt hesitate as his hands rub my thighs gripping and squeezing our tongues dancing together until he slowly pulls away lips and cheeks both red. 

“Lets go” i murmur placing another soft kiss on his lips only to receive a confused look.

“Yuji and Sukuna both are going to a party so they wont be back until 7am… i have a free house where i dont have to worry about being quiet”

[talesfromlissom]

“I DON’T NEED A MAP TO KNOW THAT WE’RE LOST” // ROTTMNT!Donatello x reader|| Could be seen as platonic, G/N reader

SUMMARY – Per usual, your idiotic nature gets you and Donatello lost in the Undercity, and per usual, its up to Donatello to fix it. And also per usual, he’s being an ass about it. (Random Prompt included – “I don’t need a map to know that we’re lost.” – words may be changed to sound more in character)

WARNINGS – None

To say that you were annoyed would be an understatement. “It’s not my fault that we got lost in the undercity, y’know,” You exclaim, throwing your hands into the air before slouching in your seat. A pout weaves itself across your face, soon followed by your arms crossing over your chest in anything but a mature display. The twitch of Donatello’s brow and how his eyes don’t even briefly flicker up towards you from his screen is all you need to know: he isn’t listening. You huff at this, grabbing the plastic cup of juice beside his right arm and taking a long, large, and loud sip. He sighs, “Must you be a nuisance? I am trying to find us a way home.” 

“You’re angry at me.” “I assure you I am not.” “You’re a bad liar.” Now, it's Donatello’s turn to pout. It's not really a pout, but he frowns at you while his mouth presses into a thin line. His gaze briefly lifts from his tablet before he promptly snatches the plastic cup back. He ignores your protests and shakes the cup before sipping the straw. You watch with an open mouth as he downs the remaining juice and puts the empty cup back onto the table. The area you’re in could technically count as a strip mall. It was buzzing with activity as you two sat on a wooden picnic table just outside a store with crystals and leather necklaces in the display windows. The hidden city was filled with giant footsteps, occasional shouts, and other noises you didn’t quite recognize. Other than the murmur of conversations from passing shoppers in other languages that don’t sound human, it could almost make you feel like you were at home. If you were to shut your eyes of course. Nobody in this area looked even remotely human. You pull the hood over your head still, scratching the front of your neck, mouth scrunching up as you look above you. You fully expect to see the bright blue sky and the blaring sun that usually accompanies a day like this. You’re met with a green and black rock ceiling instead. “Donnie,” You whine, sliding down the seat more. “C’mon, what’s taking so long? I thought you were supposed to be the tech whizz guy.” Donatello does nothing but snicker a bit. “I am the tech guy,” he replies. I am attempting to get a signal to the surface so I may call my brother to pick us up.” “Who, Raph?” “Leo.” “What, why? I thought you were gonna use GPS to get us home?” Donatello doesn’t reply at first, before a grimace inches across his face. You see his console turn red. Donatello scoffs as he puts his arm down and just…pulls his phone from his pocket. “Donnie, I’m pretty sure you can just put your home address in and use google maps or something.” “I do not need a map to know we are lost, dearest Y/N,” He retorts. “And I cannot get a strong enough signal either.” There’s a visible pause in his words before he speaks again, “If my father grounds me for being out this early in the morning, I’m blaming you.” This is just met with a scoff and roll of your eyes. 

WORD COUNT – 541

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[ohwhataniight]

I'm never gonna dance again - Part 3

I can't stop writing this story and I'm not even proofreading properly before posting (I'm sure it's obvious). Thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, I hope you like this <3

Part 1, Part 2

Songs:

Cry to Me, Solomon Burke

Photo source

I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

“I have an international reputation.” Sherlock slurs, raising his head, his back still pressed against John’s sides as they’re lying down on the stairs. “Do you have an international reputation?”

“No, I don’t have an international reputation.” John responds, squeezing his eyes tightly together and seeing black dots. His head is spinning, the room is spinning even though he can’t see it, and his stomach churns. He can smell Sherlock’s cologne mixed with a hint of leather and tobbaco. When did Sherlock sneak outside for a smoke? They’d been together all night. John blames his negligence, but he doesn’t blame himself for his choices. Never. Sherlock decided things would pan out that way when he made crystal clear that he was married to his work, when he left him, all alone, for two excruciating years.

Mrs. Hudson finds them like that, scolds them for being back so early on his freaking stag night. Oh, yes. The stag night. The wedding. John is getting married in the morning and all he can think about is Sherlock’s body pressed against his own as the corners of the steps dig into their spines.

Sherlock makes an attempt to stand up and suddenly there is nothing against John’s side. The air hovering between them pisses him off, he wants to close the gap, to pull Sherlock close and lie back down, shut their eyes and let the universe swirl them in its vast vacuum of stars and nothingness.

Fuck.

Never without your love

I should've known better than to cheat a friend (should've known better, yeah)

And waste the chance that I'd been given

So I'm never gonna dance again

The way I danced with you, oh

John is sitting on his chair, Sherlock’s leg bent between his own, his grip tight on Sherlock’s knee. His head is still spinning, standing upright has become a struggle, and he has to keep himself from getting nauseous, staring into Sherlock’s silver eyes that are glassy with stupor. They’ve been trying to figure out the names taped on their foreheads for a while, without much success.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asks eventually.

“No, you idiot, you’re you.”

Sherlock takes a few seconds to register the information, then goes pale. “John, my trusted doctor, you have to help me. I’m losing my power to deduce.”

John pokes him on the chest with his index finger. “Sod off, you’re just drunk.”

“I am, amn’t I?” Sherlock slurs, and John doesn’t even have the energy and focus to laugh at his friend’s faltering grammar. “I failed to deduce myself!” he carries on in a frantic voice.

John groans and presses the heel of his hands against his eyes, losing his balance and falling over, kneeling on the floor between Sherlock’s bent legs. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself. No one can deduce you sometimes, not even yourself,” he opens his eyes, staring at Sherlock’s form that’s swaying in front of him, so dangerously close that he can feel the intoxication on the man’s breath. Without completely realizing what he’s doing, his right hand comes to rest on the left side of Sherlock’s chest, his fingers sprawled out against the expensive fabric. “No one can deduce your heart, Sherlock,” he blurts out, lost in the alcoholic haze of his mind. He feels his own pulse thrumming in his veins, his head throbbing with excitement and sheer terror. They’ve gotten too close. If John does not contain himself it’s going to be too late, too soon.

Sherlock’s hand comes to rest upon John’s own, pressing it firmly on his chest, over his heart that’s fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. “You are my heart,” he murmurs, his eyes moving from John’s eyes to his dry lips for a split second, then back up to his eyes, breath catching on his throat.

John doesn’t register who makes the first move, but they’re kissing, ever so softly, lips pressed on lips in timid exploration, and soon it becomes urgent, vehement, lips part and they’re dancing, this time with their tongues, in a frantic rhythm full of breathless staccatos. John’s free hand comes to rest on Sherlock’s cheek and he feels the ever so faint beginnings of a day’s stubble sprouting on the detective’s skin. His hand moves back, cupping the nape of Sherlock’s neck, gently tugging on his dark curls as he takes Sherlock’s lush lower lip between his teeth. He elicits a groan and takes it as his cue to break the kiss and dig his teeth lower, into Sherlock’s long neck, his tongue tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

Sherlock hands press against John’s chest and he’s pushing him away, looking horrified as he’s trying to catch his breath. “No, John. We can’t... Mary...”

“Shh,” John silences him softly as his fingers come to trace the outline of Sherlock’s facial features ever so slowly, the pupils of his eyes moving frantically around Sherlock’s face, trying to take him all in. “I’ve waited for so long...” he mutters, closing the distance between them with another kiss. “Why, Sherlock?” he mumbles against his lips, his voice breaking. “Why? Everything could be different...”

“I know,” Sherlock breathes hoarsely, his own fingers travelling on the rougher skin of John’s face. “I’m sorry, I know...” He lets himself slide from his chair and join John on the floor, helping him shift from the uncomfortable position that must have made his knees lose feeling. They are both sitting down, their legs sprawled out, Sherlock’s knees bent around John’s waist. John’s hands travel down to Sherlock’s back, on his sides, on his hips, and land under his buttocks. With strong arms he pulls Sherlock to sit on his lap and Sherlock bends his legs, his calves folded on the floor under his thighs, the bulge on his pants pressing hard against John’s own throbbing erection. He presses their bodies together, attempting to synchronize their heartbeats but it’s all too frantic and Sherlock can’t keep up. He’s dizzy and has lost all control of his body and mind. Everything hurts, from his eyelashes to his toes. Everything is burning him from inside out.

John breaks the kiss when he tastes tears. He doesn’t know whom they belong to; they pull away, staring at each other, and they both realize they’re tasting salt. Their foreheads come to rest together, their fingers intertwine on their sides.

Suddenly, Sherlock untangles his own from John's and manages to pull himself up so that he can stand. He manages to with unexpected sobriety and he reaches for his phone, deft fingers manipulating the screen, thumb pressing Play. He extends his hand to John and helps him up, steadying him against his body as the first, notes of Cry to Me fill the room with yearning.

To be continued...

[foolsdiamond]

Untitled DirkJake AU Vaguely Inspired By Castlevania

chapter 1: Entering the castle,exposition

Far off the paved path, in the foothills of the mountains, is the quaint little village of Lotak. Its townspeople serve the Lord of the castle nestled among the rocky slopes, with black granite slabs and slate tiles creating a dark, ominous silhouette. It is in this very village that wandering hero Jake English has just arrived, seeking information on the castle’s Prince to further his quest.

Jake English is a strapping young man, the kind of guy you’re proud to bring back home to your parents. He wears a thick, long leather coat with a furry ruff of animal hide around the collar. It hides the holsters for his set of twin flintlocks, along with the pouches he keeps stocked with basic provisions and supplies. He’s a vampire hunter, a title inherited from his grandmother and earned from his experience. The rumor mill around Lotak has brought him here to investigate the Prince lording over from the castle on the hill.

The village is bustling at the brink of dusk, with the orange sunset spreading shadows from building to building. Jake tries to tune the background noise out; filtering the useless dribble from actual beneficial tidbit using his own personal metric (a process that might today be referred to as Attention Deficit Disorder). He decides to make his way to the marketplace first, where he's more likely to encounter some better candidates for questioning. This isn't his first rodeo, nor his first vampire slaying, by a long shot.

"Good day, good sir!” Jake starts, leaning an elbow on the wooden counter covered with exotic jewels and stolen daggers. He cuts the merchant off of his introduction to offer his own. "You see, I am under the impression this town is suffering from a curse, something of the rather dark variety. As a specialist, you may very well recognize the family name English, we're professionals at this sort of curse removal, anyway as a specialist, I was hoping to sell my sword as it were."

The merchant keeps a cold glare on Jake, only broken when the self-proclaimed professional accidentally nudges the goods with his elbow. “You. You're a vampire slayer?" he asks, frowning.

English pulls his arm off of the counter and puffs up his chest. He whips his coat aside, to reveal two holstered pistols at his hips. The whole gesture is significantly cooler in his mind than to anyone watching what looks like a foreigner harassing a knife merchant.

"Indeed I am, sir! From a family line, you see. It's not only in my blood, but also in my very training, you know!” Jake puts one hand on his hip, and rests the other palm flat on the counter, rattling the jewels.

“And… you're here to slay our vampire?” the merchant asks with a chilling drawl. Something shivers on the back of Jake's neck.

"Yes, that's exactly right my good sir. I'm here in the town seeking information, if you know anything about his powers or perhaps how many underlings he has?”

"Bold of you to strut in here and assume we wish our Lord dead,” he says plainly. "When our Lord Dirk Strider provides the town with protection, and his infamy brings about idiots like you to feed him.”

Jake rolls the next words on his tongue before spitting them out anyway. "He's a vampire, of course he's evil and requires slaying. You're either under his glamour or you're putting your own nefarious opinions above that of the rest of your townspeople!!”

"Leave, Mr. English,” the merchant retorts.

Jake turns around and storms off regardless. Mumbling under his breath about how he's probably a traveling merchant and doesn't even live here, he's so full of shit. He should have just gone to the tavern in the first place! English storms into the bar in a relatively sour state of mind, and quickly sucks his hurt feelings back down when everybody throws a glare his way. He makes his way meekly to the bartender, seats himself, and folds his arms on the table.

“Another adventurer, eh?" says the innkeep.

“Gung ho, good sir, am I that obvious?" Jake responds.

The bartender gestures around, and Jake obediently takes a gander.

“Notice something?"

“Is this to do with everyone being… well, rather pale actually?" Jake asks.

“More or less. This whole village is populated by the Lord Dirk Strider himself. You stick out like… an obvious metaphor.”

Now that it's been pointed out to him, realization slowly sets in. Jake recalls every face he's seen since he entered the village, and even the similar fashion to which they all talk.

"Everyone here is his children?” Jake asks. The innkeep doesn't even respond, simply stares at him until it sinks in. "Everyone here is his clone?!”

"Now you get it.”

"And this information isn't common knowledge? Even though farmers come in and out?”

"The only people who learn this tend to go straight for the dragon’s head. And every one of them has wound up dead,” the bartender says.

Jake slowly rises to his feet, with his stomach and his brain tumbling. He had every intent to rest and feed before heading in, but the anger is boiling up and drowning out his reason. An entire village of ghosts, puppeteered by the vampiric master Dirk Strider!

His name is nothing new; Jake arrived here on the wind of stories of Strider's cruelty. His love of games, trapping innocent people and torturing them before finally feeding on them in their last breaths. One of Jake’s dear friends and cousins, Jane, recounted his girlfriend’s grisly demise; she couldn't escape, it was only through her telepathy she was able to make her fate known. Jake English therefore had a mission twofold: to rid the world of this heinous monster, and subsequently erase all of the clones he's made; and to retrieve some momento of the departed Terezi to return to Jane.

His thoughts race, pounding in his head to the drum of his feet on the cobbles. The path from Lotak up to the castle gates is winding, snaking its way up the steep granite cliffs of the mountains. The English family name normally strikes a sense of fear into monsters and a sense of peace into the victims; even if he was the only English left still maintaining the family name and business, he usually relied on that high to get his spirits up and morals going. But an entire town filled with the Vampire Lord’s own dark underlings? He’d never heard of such a thing!

Jake ponders whether the townspeople are truly clones, or if perhaps they really are normal citizens trapped beneath a spell of which they would be unaware of. He definitely had more experience with the latter than the former, and while the comfort of knowledge lends itself to an easier job, English is the kind of man who cannot shy away from the thrill of a challenge.

Jake finds himself standing on the doorstep of evil, with a powerful sense of foreboding weighing heavily on his shoulders. He has no clue what he's getting himself into, but he’s anxious to begin regardless. He grips the handle to the door tightly, and retrieves one of his pistols before forcing it open and plunging into darkness.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I swear I intended to post this unedited, but I kept going back and doing edits. I stopped myself though, because my dog wants my attention, and my secretary ( Ikea Blavingad ) can only keep her occupied for so long.

Anyway, enjoy. I'm on chapter 5 I think? Still all completely rough draft, obviously by me still nitpicking it. When I'm finally satisfied with a chapter, I intend to upload to AO3 (let's not discuss my record for actually finishing stories on there)

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

The Robin Manual

First posted: May 8, 2018

Focuses on: Bruce (with some Damian)

My favorite bookmark: "Dick and later Damian help Bruce with his depressed potato days"

Second favorite bookmark: "do not read if sad"

Tier: Definitely one of my quieter fics by all metrics.

This is my "behind the scenes" series where I indulge myself frightfully by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

This was only my third fic ever posted and my first one-shot. As best I can remember, it started because I was procrastinating on Much That Once Was Is Lost (in which Tim is verrrry depressed) and thinking about depression in general. That made me think of the posts about Batman's cape as a weighted blanket, and then I swapped out the cape for a Robin.

Bruce Wayne was having a very bad day that unfortunately had been preceded by a very good week.

This felt important, to set up at the start that Bruce is well-acquainted with bad days and can handle them, but that he also has happiness and that sometimes the light can make the gloom feel gloomier.

Most of the time, he could feel them coming the way a swimmer could feel the approach of something huge beneath the surface of the water. The pressure would start to build, tugging at him like undertow by the shore, and it was always a gamble to see how long he could tarry before the pull yanked him under.

My two earlier fics both had water imagery, too, so this third time's charm really cemented things, I think.

As Bruce Wayne, he charmed and cajoled and raised funds and awareness. As the Bat, he worked and fought and bled. 

"Why doesn't the billionaire just—" HE DOES!! THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT! This man has devoted EVVVVVVERY facet of his life to trying to heal his city and to prevent his own childhood trauma from happening to everyone else!!

Then Dick Grayson had come into his life. Bright, irrepressible Dick, who despite all he’d been through shone so fiercely with life that sometimes it hurt to look at him. Days with Dick meant chatter and laughter and so many questions that Bruce’s tongue felt like shoe leather by the end. He loved every minute.

This was also important to me, establishing Bruce as someone so very different from Dick but who loves that boy completely and irrevocably. This was also multiple years pre-Battinson. Get on my level, Reeves, I dare you.

And then, very carefully, a small body had climbed onto his back and lay down.

Confession: I very much wanted Bruce to be on his back when Dick came in, so Dick could sleep on his chest. Idiot wouldn't roll over for me. Turns out stomach-sleeping is the most depressed of poses.

He couldn’t risk sinking, couldn’t risk losing himself, even for a day. He forced himself up and through his bad days, his mind fathoms away but his body up, moving, fighting, protecting. It felt like trying to walk on a broken foot, each step grinding shattered bones further into dust. But he did it, because he had to. And then came the very bad day in the very good week.

Again, the good makes the bad seem worse. Also, Bruce has such mammoth willpower, it makes sense that he would push through mental pain the same way he would physical, because he felt like he had to, even to his own detriment, and only be able to fall apart once he was sure it was safe to do so.

Bruce didn’t know how long he had drifted until he bumped against the reef of that voice. Skeletal fingers scrabbled at its edges, trying to hold fast before he could float away again. His kids needed him. There was an emergency. A case. He needed to pull himself up onto those shattered bones and stride back into the fight.

I am pleased with my own imagery. That is all.

When Bruce woke some time later, he remembered to twist slowly and grab the child on his back before turning over completely. With a quiet, sleepy grunt, he settled the groggy boy onto his chest and tousled his dark hair.

Finally! I got him onto his back! Have a small child curled on your chest like a sleepy kitty as a reward!

Lastly: I forgot that in the endnotes for this one, I already had staked a flag in Bruce being touch-starved. Fascinating.

[hotpinkboots]

Kissing Din

Its the first Wednesday without Mando and I am feeling ~✨unwell✨~ about it PLEASE SIR I MISS YOU SO MUCH ALREADY WAAAA

anyway kisses

AHHFJSHD Okay obviously idiot can't take his helmet off, so if you remember the thing I posted about kissing his neck, this is more of that 😍

He's a bit shy about his hands because they're rough from being in battle and stuff. So if you kiss his hands he's gonna be speechless and his heart is gonna go bump bump bump. they're so warm even though they're rough MAKE HIM MOISTURIZE. MASSAGE LOTION INTO HIS HANDS.

Prefers you to not kiss his helmet because he likes it to be shiny shiny shiny, but every now and then if you wanna give a silly little "mwah" to his helmet he'll chuckle about it. THOSE SOFT CHUCKLES Y'KNOW 🥺🥺🥺

I know I already covered hand kisses but WRIST KISSES OKAY. If you kiss his wrist his breath catches in his throat because that's such a sensitive spot.

Kissing up his arm makes him scoff at you but obviously he's enjoying it. He isn't the type to constantly want to be touched all the time, but God he loves soft kisses from you. He wishes he could kiss you in return but he CAN'T AAHH

Okay so hear me out this won't get too heated I promise but like

tummy kisses

you're both, like, in the moment okay, and while you're kissing down his body you reach his muscular but still soft belly and of course that's one of the spots he needs to protect with armor and leather and suits whatever, so when he feels your hot breath and your lips on his stomach, he's going to DIE on the spot. the groan you get out of him is something you somehow need to record and keep forever OKAY

BACK KISSESSSS. MASSAGE HIM. force him to lay down to you can massage his shoulders and back, and kiss his back every now and then, it surprises him and makes him either hum in response, chuckle, or shudder. then he tries hiding the fact he had a reaction but he'll reluctantly admit it eventually and he'll smile about it when you get excited over the fact you made him have such a reaction

your kisses keep him going they just shock him sometimes but in the best way possible.

keep kissing ur space cowboy boyfriend ok he needs it to survive

[1000fiction]

How is it that something as simple as waking up in a warm bed, surrounded by the arms of your lover could be so moving? To some it was standard, and it probably should be to Ronthil given how long he’d been sleeping with the clan leader, but he couldn't help how blessed and refreshed he felt knowing he had you. It’d been so long since the fall of Harkon, since you’d taken over the castle and raised his rank, or more precisely, made love so loudly the others knew quite well just what your relationship was with the lesser vampire. 

He rolled over, temporarily leaving your loose hold to peer over the edge of the bed. Cusith and Garmr curled against each other, huffing and grumbling lowly as they slept. He braved the chill in the room, extending an arm from beneath the sheets to pet each of the hounds, shushing as Cusith made to stand. 

Momentarily, he considered padding his way to the fireplace to start heating the room for when you awoke but decided against such a thought when your arms sleepily grasped at him, pulling him back into a warm embrace.

“Stay.” A chill ran through him, electric, tingling up his spine as that lower octave settled into his bones, the sleep-laden command triggering every cell in his body to obey. His Adam's apple bobbed and pressed against the leather around his neck.

“Yes, love.” He nestled in, cock half-hard and pressing against your hip.

“How do you feel? You passed out last night before I could take this off.” delicate fingers made contact with his skin, hooking beneath the collar and gently stroking at the skin beneath, no doubt checking for chaffing or marks -  tender spots he’d neglected to report in the throes of passion the night previous.

“I- uhm… Actually, I feel quite wonderful.” wonderful indeed, if the cock prodding at you was anything to go by.

“Is that so? Well, I do like the sound of that my sweet Bosmer.” He grinned sheepishly, lowering his gaze - so very submissive he was, so very beautiful with that blush across his nose, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath that pretty collar. The polished leather shone in the moonlight that filtered through the window, giving you glimpses of the night previous. You were still tired, but that didn't mean your little pet couldn't have fun.

“My dear Ronthil, I’m so tired, yet I have quite the need to see my beautiful man absolutely wrecked.” He felt a push at his hips, rolling to mount a thigh, balls pressed against the muscles as they tensed. Your fingers pulled him low by the collar, his hips already starting that slow rock as you breathed against his lips, barely touching.

“How I love you my Ronthil, I hope you realise how happy I am to see you in my collar, I only hope you keep wearing it, and show the rest of these idiots exactly who you belong to.” He whimpered against your lips, hips wrecking gently as he whispered words of affirmation. Sweet pledges to obey, serve, and devote tumbled quietly from his plush lips, kisses peppered in between. He could feel the tightness of the collar with each sound, every gasp for breath reminded him of your love and kindness, it made his hips move faster, the exposed, sensitive cock head prodding against your belly, your skin kissing it sweetly. He pressed his palm to its shaft, trapped between his calloused hand and your smooth thigh, he hissed at the delicious friction.

"Who is my pretty boy?"

"I am!" You could remember when he'd been so shy, felt so undeserving of your attentions. But now, with your collar latched around his neck, he was overjoyed to claim such a thing. It was a thrill, to feel so useful and wanted, made his blood quicken with the thrusting of his hips.

He loved it, loved you, and loved painting your skin with his cum whenever you commanded

[h2o-my-gods]

Kylo Ren x Reader (Wip)

a/n: I'd like it noted that it has been almost 9 years since the force awakens came out and I am still utterly obsessed with this man. I jotted this down a couple of months ago and suddenly remembered it so might as well put it out there. I prefer to write my stories with a gender neutral reader for future references, so sorry if this isnt your cup of tea but please enjoy :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

            Watching them move on was the hardest thing that Kylo had done.

It stabbed his heart with a thousand needles prickling with heat, an everlasting reminder that throughout everything that had transpired, he still had a heart. The very thing he tried so hard to destroy, to forget about even. The very thing they had tried so deeply to convince him that he had, that having didn’t negate all the work that he’d done. He had tried so hard to box it up under lock and key, compliments from Snoke’s training. He needed to be heartless to rule a galaxy and he preferred it that way. No contact, no feelings, no weaknesses. He’d kill any potential weakness that tried to worm into his life, or even ones that were already there. He’d already taken care of his father.

Others had tried to get close to him, foolish officers and even more idiotic flyways, the people it was easy to not care about. He saw their own emotions, their own weaknesses plain as day on their faces. The annoying tilt of the head those female officers would do, that glint in their eyes that they wanted him to see. It infuriated him. But just as easy as it was to see their obnoxious infatuation with him, it was easy to see how to hurt them, and he did. He relished in the fear on their faces as they realized just how heartless he was, how heartless he tried to be. But he saw them.

He noticed their looks towards him, not the terrified glances from those who feared him, closer to the looks that the female officers would give him, and yet they never did anything about it. They never approached him, never sent him ridiculous chocolates, or brought him reports that didn’t concern him just to get a chance to talk to him. They did nothing about it and that was what caught his eye.

It slipped his mind at first because if they were to do nothing then why should he concern himself with it. Soon, it seemed to become the norm, he grew used to their idle stare, an ever-present sensation that was different than the fearful aura he was used to. He didn’t even realize he was growing slightly fond of it. Too late did he finally realize, the feeling rising exponentially the week he noticed their absence from their workstation. It only got worse from there.

With every day of their absence that passed, he felt himself growing more and more irate, a simmering rage that bubbled in his stomach, constantly threatening to boil over at even the most minute annoyances. The fear that surrounded him was stifling suddenly, it encompassed him in a thick haze that made him want, no, need to get away. It didn’t help that Hux seemed to sense his craze too, a permanent disapproving scowl pointed towards Kylo that just made his rage worse. He wanted to wrap his hands around Hux’s throat, no Force needed, just him and his gloves, leather against skin and the feeling of Hux’s windpipe slowly closing under his grip until-

They took Hux’s gaze from him as they approached, silently offering a datapad to him without sparing Kylo a glance. Though neither Kylo nor Hux had been talking before, the silence seemed thicker after their approach, save for the soles of their boots thumping against the polished floor. Hux’s scowl diminished to its normal aversion, taking the tablet and scanning it’s interface quickly before signing its contents and handing it back. They took it swiftly and turned on their heel towards their workstation and though his mask hid his almost greedy eyes on their figure, it didn’t hide his head following their path, an action that Hux noted. He also noted the slight sag of Kylo’s shoulders, the beasts rage simmering faster than it had started this morning. Hux was a perceptive man, he prided himself on it, he knew when officers were slacking, he knew when Kylo was angry, and he knew that Kylo was infatuated with his star officer.

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I'd love to hear any and all feedback too, feel free to leave whatever you'd like :)

[mx-julien]

Zane is curious to a fault and that's my favorite flaw. refined version of this rough fic post from three years ago. now posted on ao3

Zane gets taken prisoner by the Mechanic. Nya and Cole are on the way, but will they get there in time? And why Zane?

CW: threats of robot violence (not carried out), canon-typical violence (people get beat up and walk away with a bruise or two)

///

Gray is called neutral for a reason. It doesn't offend any of the other colors. Not with red plastic wire jackets or the gold wiring inside, cradled by unpolished titanium plates. The only real light Zane has is falling onto the concrete floor and stretches up to his chest. Someone removed a Monopoly box-sized rectangle from the door and stuck wrought iron in. It's a far cry from the smooth round bars installed in Kryptarium. They should rethink calling him "Most Valuable Prisoner" if these are the conditions they put important people in.

Zane would halfheartedly kick at a rock, but all of his motors are shot except for the ones on his neck, abdomen, and right are. Also, there are no rocks nearby, so he lies there, half propped against a wall. His left arm is detached and strewn to the side of the cell in the corner.

The slivers of light are disturbed by a silhouette wearing a bowl hat. In a few moments, the door is open and The Mechanic stands inscribed in a rectangle of light that crawls towards the inside of Zane's cell, "Little nindroid," he leans in, keys jangling on his hip, "Don't count yourself lucky 'cause I'm not leavin' any time soon."

After a moment to process the double negative, Zane tries to right his head and gets about 70% there. His vision is still tilted slightly to the left. "You're the unlucky one," an exposed motor audibly whirs when he speaks. One good arm helps push his back further up the wall in an effort to look like he's sitting rather than considerably incapacitated. "And an idiot on top of that," he looks pointedly around the room, "Or did you not realize that you led us straight to your base?" Zane looks the mechanic in the one good eye he has.

He just laughs, "Like you'll ever make it back to tell 'em!" The clanging of loose gears punctuates every heave of his leather-clad chest.

Someone from behind yells, "Yeah!" and pumps a fist into the air while another curls one hand into a fist and hits it against their palm as an ode of what's to come. Oh joy.

Squinting, Zane can make out three goons of various sizes past the doorway. All of them are wearing tattered leather jackets and ripped acid wash jeans. Idly, he wonders if their 'Henchmen from an 80s movie' outfits come out of their paycheck or the boss'.

The Mechanic turns and screeches for them to be quiet.

Then he searches a large, and horribly inconvenient, key ring. After what feels like ages, he clips a particular key to his belt.

He sets his eyes on Zane and begins to creep forward into the cell, "You're going to give me that capacitor real nice like," he motions his hands in a 'come come' manner that Zane discovers he finds incredibly demeaning, "Or I'm gonna take you apart  'til I find it like the Good 'Ol Mechanic I am." He crouches, still out of arm's reach but too close for any semblance of comfort, "Like I've wanted to for so long. You get me?" Grinning, he shows off teeth adorned with gold and silver. Either he lacks dental hygiene or fancies the look of grillz.

The metal piece replacing his eye has a few lights in it that stare at Zane like they're expecting him to blink first. "We destroyed it-" narrowing his eyes before scoffing, "Do you really think we'd keep around a novel compact device capable of holding that much electricity?"

"No," The Mechanic stands up to full height and walks backwards to lean back on the cell wall, "I think you," he points at Zane, "Are curious enough to want it around to tinker with - to figure out all its little secrets and whatnot." A pause. "But smart enough to know that your other little friends wouldn't agree." He takes out a cigarette and flicks his lighter, illuminating the dank room. It is summarily snuffed out after serving its purpose; the butt of the cigarette glows a dark red. "You either have it or you know where it is." He draws in a breath and lets the smoke trickle out through his mustache.

Zane feels a tangible sense of checkmate as he sees the ash fall between oily human fingers. But it's not over yet. "Fine," he raises his head the last several degrees to straighten it fully, "But if I don't tell you where it is, how is taking me apart going to help? You'll never find it if I'm not intact."

"Tell it to me now," he shuts the door, letting it clang so loud it makes the tallest henchman flinch, "And you won't have to see me rilflin' 'round that chest of yours to see where the memory stick's at." He pulls a pair of foot-long pliers out of his toolbelt, wearing a smile that borders on the side of deranged.

This is Zane's own fault and he's fully aware that he deserves what's coming to him. But he can't help feeling relief when a door down the hallway is kicked in and "Hands off the nindroid!" echoes through the room.

The goons spring to their feet just in time for Nya to incapacitate the shortest one and trip the gangliest member against a wall. It's enough to keep her occupied that a woman with blond, curly hair puts her arms around Nya's neck in a choke hold. Out of reflex, Zane tries to move his left arm to grab a shuriken, only to be greeted by sparks that jump to the ground and fizzle out.

Nya widens her stance and attempts to flip her assailant onto the person slumped against the nearby wall. When the taller goon flips open a switchblade, she reconsiders just long enough for the Mechanic to make it over and brandish his brass knuckles. Stopped in her tracks, Nya lifts the feet of her attacker from behind just long enough to spin around and jerk backwards to smash the Mechanic into a wall.

She's not pay attention to the person with the knife. They've stood up and are mid-lunge when Cole barrels through the hallway, knocking the wind out of them and leaving them gasping for air on the floor. Nya still has an arm around her neck, but the woman attacking her is dazed. Cole grabs one of her arms, letting Nya twist out of the way. She snatches a pair of handcuffs from the henchman's belt, securing the woman's hands behind her back and around a table leg. Cole was checking the pulses of the other knocked out henchmen, so he didn't notice who had gone missing.

"Damn hard to find good help these days," not to be forgotten, the Mechanic quickly locks he cell door behind him and throws the keys across the room, coming to rest near what used to be the Zane's left elbow, "Oh well," his other hand grabs wire cutters out of an inner coat pocket, "Guess we'll have an audience, eh, nindroid?"

"Shit!"

He takes only two steps closer before the door groans and bends behind him. The Mechanic spins around, shocked. Nya chooses that moment to walk through the new opening in the concrete, drag him a few feet closer to her by grabbing his shirt, then punch his lights out.

Cole watches it happen, a few of his locs obscuring an eye, while he's still holding the door in his hands. Almost regarding it as a seasoned debate student would his notes. He promptly throws it aside after his eyes land on Zane's, rather dishevelled look.

"Hey buddy," he bends down at Zane's right side, putting a hand on his back so it's easier to sit, "Not looking too hot," he scans the room, finally able to process the extent of the damage, "What the hell did they do to you?"

"They tore that arm off," he uses his head to gesture to it, as if there are some other remains of a titanium android's arm lying around in close proximity, "And then it joined me as I was pushed off a building." Zane puts a hand on Cole's shoulder, "But I gathered what I could of it and I'm okay. All the important things are intact."

Finished with tying up the Mechanic, Nya walks in and surveys the damage she, Jay, and Pixal will have to repair, "What did they want from you, anyways?" She takes off her gi to use as a makeshift bag to hold the large arm plates she's picking up, "They seemed to specifically go after you once they regrouped."

Zane's lifted into the air, his legs uneven; the right side showing too many wires to be fully intact inside and the other being so crumpled it became an inch shorter. Cole's supporting all of his weight, one arm gripping the area where an arm used to be and his right holding on to the metallic one that's slung around his shoulders.

"The capacitor from last week."

"What about it?" Cole shuffles sideways through the opening so Zane's legs don't catch, "But you destroyed it a few days ago? Why'd they think- don't tell me you-"

Pointedly, Zane looks the hallway, admiring the bent door and its handle laying on the floor. Nya stands up, gi in hand, and leaves the cell, putting her free hand on her hip and sighing, "Zane. This is why we get rid of those things in the first place."

He waits a beat, feeling the eyes of his disappointed friends. Much Zane's body may be broken but his pride is in perfect working condition. They just didn't understand, clearly. "It stores energy so much more efficiently than anything we have developed right now. We don't even know if it's the design or the materials or-"

"Or what?" Cole readjusts his grip on him, making the loose pieces in his legs rattle and scrape together, "It could be important, sure, but is it worth it to get captured again? Damn it, Zane, we can't afford to worry about someone going missing or another burnt down monastery!"

"I-" the nindroid lets his head hang, giving him a clear view of the wreckage that is his lower half. His voice gets quieter, "There was some... collateral damage I hadn't fully taken into account."

After a few moments of silence, Nya gets out her phone to call the commissioner. His limp body is dragged out anther door and up several flights of spiral stone stairs onto the roof. Zane's set down against an air conditioning unit, propped up like a favorite tea time doll.

Cole sits down to his right, holding his one good hand. He takes the other to push hair out of his eyes. Taking a deep breath in, he methodically exhales after almost exactly ten seconds.

A full minute later, Cole tries to speak, "Just-" he turns his head to look away from Zane, to where the Bounty will presumably dock soon. "We can always get you one from Borg: the guy has everything," he squeezes his hand, "Except- except you. We only have one of you, and I'd like to keep this Zane in one piece."

There was no use pointing out that Borg does not have what he's looking for. "I'll..." letting his voice box draw out the word, he leans forward a little, catching Cole's eye, "restrain myself -  in the future, that is - when it comes to things like this."

Cole just nods, accepting the apology as one might tuck a missing letter into their pocket.

Zane's not forgiven yet, just understood.

Nya comes up after not much longer and sits where his left arm would usually be when it's not shattered into pieces.

Soon, the Bounty will descend out of the clouds, but right now it's tranquil. Zane closes his eyes, shutting off visual sensors and allowing his head to rest on the AC unit behind them. If he sits here long enough, he just might forget how damaged his legs are.

And how the capacitor sitting right next to his heart has never felt heavier.

~*~

set in a "vaguely after s8" timeline and Some General Robot Gore, but none of the End Of The Season Plot things. wanted to treat myself a little bit because I love underexplored character flaws and broken robots.

lmk if you want another chapter on the team's POV or the bit leading up to Zane's capture; or just throw me a prompt in my asks

[unhappycylinder]

Hellfire’s Newest Member (Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader) Pt. 2

Masterlist

Your alarm startled you awake and you fumbled dramatically out of bed, taking your sheets with you. That was probably the hardest you had slept in a long time. You had to get to school early to meet with the counselor to talk about your interests and your grades and all that stupid first-day-but-its-almost-the-end-of-the-year bullshit that you knew all too well.

You stepped into your bathroom, brushed your teeth and your hair, and did some light makeup before heading back to your room and throwing on your usual outfit: blue jeans, a band t-shirt (today was Led Zeppelin), a denim jacket with a few pins on it that you literally had never washed, and your orange converse. You grabbed the money your dad left and shoved it in your backpack before heading out.

The walk to school was nice, quiet, and honestly peaceful...that was until a disgusting old van came barreling down the street at an ungodly speed. You couldn't help but scoff as you imagined what reckless idiot could be driving it. As the van passed you, you avoided eye contact with whoever was inside, but you could feel their eyes burning into the side of your head. Just after they passed you, the van screeched to a halt and the driver's side window rolled down.

"guess today's the day I get kidnapped...in goddamn Hawkins, Indiana" you whispered under your breath as you approached the van, stopping just next to the window.

You glanced up to see a guy about your age with dark wavy hair down past his shoulders, deep brown eyes that felt like they looked into your soul, and a denim vest over a leather jacket. Metal music was playing on his stereo and he had his right arm propped on the steering wheel, his ringed hand draping over the edge, and his left arm hanging out of the window. He didn't break eye contact with you once, and to you it looked like he was ever so slightly blushing.

"Well hello there gorgeous," he said after a few seconds of intense eye contact.

"So are you gonna like, I don't know, kidnap me or something?" You said, putting your hands in your jacket pockets.

"Nah, that wasn't my plan sweetheart. But I was gonna ask what a girl like you is doing walking down the highway at 7 am"

"On my way to school, and I just moved here so I don't really have a means of transportation just yet other than these bad boys" you said while patting your thighs, his eyes following your hands to your legs and lingering there for a second.

"Well it just so happens that's where I'm headed as well, why don't I give you a lift?"

"Uh...well...if there's one thing I know its that you're not supposed to get in vans with strangers. That's like tip number one of how to not get kidnapped"

"Listen sweetheart, I already said I wasn't gonna kidnap you. Plus I'm not a stranger, I'm Eddie, Eddie Munson." He held his right hand out of the van for you to shake, which you did. As you shook his hand, he leaned out of the van window and brought your hand to his lips, giving your knuckles a small kiss.

You were absolutely full of butterflies, but you didn't want to show it, so you tucked your head into your shoulder to hide your smile.

As Eddie let go of your hand, his fingers grazed past yours as your eyes looked up to meet his, which had been glued to you this entire time.

"So what do you say, a ride to school from a total non-stranger?" Eddie asked.

Your logic of course told you not to get in the van with the long-haired guy in a leather jacket, but your hormones apparently got the best of you cause next thing you knew you were being escorted to the passenger door by none other than Eddie Munson.

He held out a hand for you as you got in, which you took, and you also took note of the black bandana in the back pocket of his ripped jeans. Your time in Vegas wasn't wasted after all, you had learned some shit there. But you decided to just ignore that for now, and focus on the music playing on the radio - Metallica.

"You like metal music?" Eddie asked, breaking you from your trance.

"Uh yeah, yeah I do. I'm more of a rock gal, but I like Metallica a lot"

"I gathered that from your outfit. And I gotta say I'm surprised to hear you even knew their name"

"What, Metallica? Doesn't everyone know them"

"You'd be surprised sweetheart, around this town nobody really branches out from the norm," Eddie said, looking down into his lap.

He looked over to you, watching you bop your head back and forth to the music, "hey so uhh, I didn't catch your name back there"

"Oh um I'm y/n, I guess I totally forgot that when someone introduces themself, you're supposed to do the same thing back," you awkwardly chuckled before looking out the window.

----Eddie's POV----

y/n stared out the window, looking at god knows what, but all you could think about was how you managed to discover the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen on your drive to school. It was like she spawned out of thin air. You knew absolutely nothing about her other than she was new in town and liked rock music, but you could already feel a crush forming.

You hoped you hadn't been too forward with her, offering her a ride, kissing her hand, calling her nicknames...but you wanted her first impression of you to be good in the hopes that they would somehow overcome all the shit she'd hear about you as soon as school started. About you being 'the freak' and not graduating on time, all that nonsense. You wanted her to see you as a friend, someone she could count on, and maybe in the future something more than that. She was beautiful, and she was all you were gonna think about for the rest of the day.

----y/n's POV----

Eddie pulled into the empty parking lot, stopping the van before running to the passenger side and helping you out.

"Eddie, thank you so much for the ride, and for not kidnapping me, I really appreciate it...especially the kidnapping part"

"What'd I tell you princess...nothing to worry about here," Eddie said as he gestured to himself. As he opened his arms you got a glimpse of his t-shirt, 'Hellfire Club,' with a demon? on it? This man really was an enigma, but boy was he charming. You giggled as you pulled your backpack straps on, turning to walk towards school.

"Hey uhhh I have to take care of something before school, but um I'll see you later hopefully, yeah?" Eddie asked, walking backwards towards the woods beyond the parking lot.

"Oh yeah, okay! Um, thanks again Eddie, I'll see you around." You turned and started walking towards the doors.

"Hey y/n!" Eddie shouted, "It was an absolute pleasure meeting you, m'lady" he did a little bow before turning to the woods and walking away.

Who the hell was this man, and how did he already have you thinking about nothing but him before your first day even started?

----In the counselor's office----

"Okay y/n, your transcript looks great, your schedule looks complete, and you're all ready to go on my end. I'm having another student walk you around today to get you acquainted with the school and help you get yourself settled socially, and she'll also be able to answer any questions you have about clubs or extracurriculars," the counselor said, handing you a packet of papers with your schedule on top.

"Oh okay, thanks," you said, taking the packet.

"Her name is Robin, she's in our band and she's in most of the same classes as you. I think you two will really hit it off well!" With that, Robin busted through the door of the office panting. She was dressed head to toe in a marching band outfit, complete with the plumed hat and all.

"Hi um, you must be y/n, I'm Robin," she said before diverting her eyes to the counselor, "and I'm so so sorry I was so late, you see I was getting a ride from my friend Steve but I forgot my hat at home. You know me I'm a total klutz. And I-I- was rushing to find it and it was in absolutely the last place I would have thought to look..." Robin droned on, making you giggle as you stared at her in wonder.

"It's quite alright, Robin, y/n and I were just finishing up actually. And seeing as today starts with a pep-rally, I can't see why we really need to worry about punctuality anyway" She said, handing a copy of your schedule to Robin.

Robin opened the door for you as you walked out of the office. As soon as you were out she cornered you against the doorframe and started talking.

"Listen, y/n, I'm so sorry for being late. And I've also got to warn you I talk a lot, like a lot a lot, especially when I'm nervous. And this pep rally has my nerves waaay through the roof, and I'm really really not prepared for it," she panted as she stared at you, "anyway, I'm really excited to show you around today, I think we'll get along splendidly." She smiled and took your arm in hers, walking you down the hallway to the gym, where she joined the band and you sat in the far back corner behind them, observing all the other students coming in, hoping to get a glimpse of a certain boy in particular.

--

Part 3

[ohdudedhesflirting]

Lots of people on tik tok, and tumblr and probably Twitter as well, have been saying, me included, that zerobaseone is going to debut with a Greek mythology concept.

Which I believe is very likely.

Here is what I feel like each member is going to be assigned to a god/goddess. (yes i am including goddess, bite me.)

Disclaimer ! I am basing this from my memories of my class on greek iconography and not of work adapted from it. And i am not going to talk about everything that is SA, abuse and violence the gods are surronded with and created. I am not going to do a whole class on greek mythology so good luck. Its also my opinion. And I am not pretending to know everything, I may even be wrong.

Here is the hyung line : (below the cut)

Jiwoong endorsing Zeus

Zeus, if we put away his tendency to be a major idiot and globally a serious menace for everyone and everything, is the god of the gods. He is one of the first three god with his brothers Hades & Poseidon. They are the ones that defeated their father Kronos.

Zeus is always represented with his Thunder (Foudre in french). We also can notices that he is very often represented with an eagle which symbolizes him. If he is not clearly shown on a piece/artwork his presence will be symbolized by an eagle. He is also represented as a man with a beard which can be a symbol of widsom but also of age (being one of the most proeminent gods)

On a kind of level power Zeus is the big boss. He is the first olympian. The god of the gods. As well as the god of the sky, he reigns over the sky as the total master of it.

Eagles are as we said his symbol as well as his Thunder, his weapon with which he defeated Kronos.

Now why would Jiwoong be his representative ? Well firstly because Jiwoong is the oldest and Zeus (for gods not titans obv) is also one of the oldest with the 12 olympians. But also if even Zeus is an ass he is still a brother (that gives terrible advice but still) and watches over his brothers. But also because he is powerful and globally respected (lets not talk about all the coups tho)

I feel as well that Zeus representatives colors would be silver and a dark blue which I feel are Jiwoong's colors as well.

I feel like we could expect something where his age and experience could be put forward as well as his relationship with his members and the kind of guide image he has.

Zhang Hao endorsing Hades :

Hades is also one of the first three gods, with his brothers Poseidon & Zeus.

I know what you are going to say "he is the god of death blah blah" no. He is the god of the dead. Its different. And he is as well the god of wealth and he is the king of the underworld.

In his iconography Hades is represented with his helmet which his attributed weapon as it is with it he defeated Kronos.

A good part of his iconography is actually him kidnapping persephone, working or just like statues so I feel like the part we know of him through text is more important.

Why am I pairing Zhang Hao with him ? Because Hades is a good guy, vehemently, he as a cute dog. He is I believe one of the only gods who didnt SA someone, he is faithful and respectful.

But what truly achieved of conving me is the fact that Hades is litteraly (in my mind) an introvert, a kind of mr darcy if you will. And Zhang Hao is an introvert, invorted person.

But also because from the outside Hades is like grrr underwold dead people and inside he is like my wife <3 giving better conditions to the dead <3.

Its Zhang Hao energy for me okay ?

I feel like we could expect something badass that could be a good break from his usual good boy image. Something darkish with leather, the helmet and obviously dogs. Or a more soft version alongside his sweetheart.

Hanbin endorsing Persephone

Persephone is a character in greek mythology which depending on the interpretations is a dumb maiden that got kidnapped or a lovely wife and person capable of talking sense into her husband or a badass lady (rare tho)

Persephone is the godess of spring but she is as well the queen of the underworld. She is 1/3 of the year in the underworld with her husband and the other 2/3 in the human world with her mother.

In an iconographic point of view there is not that much about her. At the beginning she was only represented getting kidnapped. Now in her iconography it's more the side of flowers cute that is put forward or her intelligence.

I feel like Hanbin matches her because he just exclude this energy of sunshine happy but also a more severe side if anyone dare hurt someone that matters for him (we saw it at the airport when they got mobbed)

We could expect something that could be more of a badass concept such as (queen) King of the underworld. Or something more sweet focused on springs with lots of floral and pastelish colors

Matthew endorsing Apollo

Now this one is easy. We already have lots of hints about that one.

Apollo, god of the sun, poetry, medicine and music.

He is the twin brother of Artemis as well as the son of Zeus.

In his iconography Apollo is representated as a young man, without a beard, not too muscular. He generally has a bow and arrows as well as a lyre (as he is the god of music). The sun and the lyre is what represents him.

Now we saw in Matthew birthday post that he has an arrow and a bow. However there is the presence of hearts. With hearts we could make the supposition that it is actually Eros (God of love) that he actually embodies. Which is not the case. One of the main symbol of Apollo is the sun. And what is Matthew nickname ? Sunshine.

Putting Matthew as Apollo is actually quite clever because he is someone that is devoted to his sister. Has multiple talents, is handsome and warm. Lots of common points with Matthew.

I feel like we could expect maybe something truly solar and full of warmth that would truly highlight his nickname but also Apollo and his particularities. I imagine totally Blond Matthew (this aged well lol) with a bow and arrows or with a lyre. Apollo is a good character because he is truly complex and can show very various stuff.

Tae Rae endorsing Eros

I actually hesitated a lot for Tae Rae. He was nearly Hestia but I changed my mind.

Eros is the son of Aphrodite, godess of love and beauty. As you can guess Eros is the god of love but his task is very unique because he is the one that send off the arrows to make people fall in love.

Globally I feel like if there is a greek mythology concept they might do little focus on a more "historic" aesthetic kind of concept with armors and weapons. But I feel like it might be globally modernised and simplified with the global ideas of what I've started to developp.

He is a loverboy actually because he had a love story with a mortal which he was supposed to kill but didn't because he fell for her.

He is someone very tender but clever and determinated.

I dont have much on his iconography because I didn't saw it in class so just trust me lol

In my eyes Tae Rae is the perfect fit because he is a loverboy. Yall saw the way he looks at people? Loverboy. But also because Tae Rae is someone very tender and sweet, easily emotional.

We could expect something in pastel colors with like discret symbol such as the rose (even if it came from Aphrodite lol), arrows and very hearty tender looks.

I globally believe they will debut with the Greek mythology concept but it will be heavily modernized and focusing only on the most important points. I think it will be or very badass with like lots of leather or very sweet with lots of pastel

Maknae line will be out by next week or in a few days depending on how I progress.)