#or pointing out something everyone has already noticed

[thewrstinme]

“You want to act like a brat? Then I’ll treat you like one.”

summary. you’d been pissing noah off all night before his performance, taunting him right before he had to go on stage. what you forgot is that the tour bus would be empty for the night, leaving him alone with you to dish out punishments for your behaviour.

TW. 18+ mdni mean!noah. punishment but it’s rlly just smut. brat taming. hair pulling, choking if you squint. aftercare ofc. degrading. lmk if i missed any!

As soon as the two of you step into the tour bus, the door barely closes behind you before Noah grabs you by the waist, spins you around, and pushes you roughly against the sofa. The suddenness takes your breath away, but the tension that’s been building between you all night finally snaps. His body pins yours down, chest to chest, and his eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“Think you’re funny, don’t you?” he growls, his hand already gripping the back of your neck, holding you in place. “Bratty little act all night, teasing me in front of everyone like I wouldn’t do something about it?”

Before you can respond, he forces you down into the cushions, leaning in close so his breath is hot against your ear. His hands roam your body with a kind of restrained violence, fingers gripping hard as he pulls you tighter against him. His lips brush your neck, his voice dripping with mockery.

“You’ve been asking for this, haven’t you?” His hand slides down to your hip, squeezing hard, as he presses himself firmly against you, making sure you can feel every inch of how much you’ve wound him up. “Thought I’d just let it slide? After everything you pulled tonight?”

You open your mouth to retort, but he’s quicker. His hand is suddenly at your throat, not choking but keeping you still as he smirks down at you. “Not so talkative now, are you?” he taunts, his thumb brushing along your jawline before squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes glint with amusement as he watches you squirm, clearly relishing in the control he has over you.

His lips crash against yours without warning, rough and punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, tugging hard enough to make you whimper. He chuckles darkly against your mouth, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“You want to act like a brat? Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Noah’s grip on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to keep you in place as his free hand moves lower, grabbing your waist and pulling your body flush against his. The heat between you is immediate, and you can feel how much restraint he’s been holding back all night. His lips brush yours again, but he pulls back just before you can deepen the kiss, a mocking grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, you want it now, don’t you?” he teases, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Too bad. You’ll get it when I say so.”

He shifts his weight, pressing you harder into the sofa, his knee wedging between your thighs, making it impossible for you to move. You try to push against him, but he doesn’t budge, his eyes daring you to try again. When you do, his hand tightens its grip on your waist, fingers digging in painfully, and he leans down, lips hovering over your ear.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “Rubbing up against me backstage, giving me those bratty little looks in front of everyone. You think I wouldn’t notice? Think I wouldn’t do something about it?”

His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, biting down just hard enough to send a sharp jolt of pain mixed with pleasure. You can’t help the small moan that escapes your lips, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“See? You like it rough, don’t you? Couldn’t just behave, had to push me.” He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you squirm beneath him. “Now you’re gonna pay for it.”

With one swift motion, Noah yanks your shirt up over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His eyes rake over your body, the intensity of his gaze sending a thrill through you. His hand moves from your waist to your chest, fingers curling around the fabric of your bra as he tugs it down roughly, exposing you completely to him.

“Look at you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, his voice low and rough. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Before you can say anything, his mouth is on you, lips and teeth leaving a trail of bruises down your neck and chest. His touch is anything but gentle, every movement designed to remind you who’s in control. His hand slides up your thigh, fingers digging into your skin as he teases the edge of your skirt, but he doesn’t go any further. Not yet.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you again, that wicked smirk still playing on his lips as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. His hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his voice dark and commanding, “was it worth it? Being a little brat all night? Do you like how this feels?”

You can barely form words, your mind clouded with the heat of the moment, but that’s exactly what he wants. Noah’s grip on you tightens, and he chuckles lowly as he sees the effect he’s having on you.

A small part of you wants to fight back, to prove that you’re not completely at his mercy, but the rest of you is lost to the sensations he’s igniting in your body. His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that makes your pulse race.

“I asked you a question,” he says, his voice harsh and demanding. He tugs at your hair, forcing your head back, making you look at him. “Answer me.”

“I-I-“

Noah sneers at your stammering response, clearly unimpressed. “Is that all you’ve got?” he mocks, his tone dripping with derision. “A simple question and you can’t even form a proper answer?”

He tightens his grip on your hair, pulling your head back further, making you gasp as a sharp jolt of pain courses through you. “Look at you,” he continues, his voice a low growl. “Such a mess when you’re like this. So desperate and needy.”

The heat in his gaze only amplifies your confusion, the thrill of submission battling with your instinct to resist.

“You’re pathetic,” he says, his words biting and cruel. “Can’t even control yourself when I’m around. Pathetic and desperate.” His hand tightens around your hair again, pulling harder, making you whimper at the pain. “You like this, don’t you?” he sneers, his tone rough and dominant. “Being at my mercy, at my command. You never had a chance of resisting.”

The way he looks at you, the intensity in his eyes, makes your heart race, and despite the humiliation, a thrill courses through you. You’re caught in the exhilarating mix of pain and pleasure, knowing he’s right—even if it stings to admit it. He sees the shift in your expression, the reluctant acknowledgment of what he’s saying, and his smirk widens. He chuckles lowly, his fingers tightening in your hair, pulling you closer to him.

Noah’s smirk turns into a condescending sneer as he looks down at you, his gaze filled with mockery. “Look at you, desperate little thing,” he mocks, his voice dripping with scorn. “So needy for me, can’t even control yourself.”

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle the truth?” His laughter is low and mocking, sending a shiver through you. “You’re a mess, and you love every second of it.”

With a rough tug, he pulls your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You think you can hide it? I can see how much you crave this. How much you want to be at my mercy.” His fingers dig deeper into your scalp, and you can’t help but let out another whimper.

“Pathetic,” he repeats, letting the word linger in the air. “You think you’re tough, but look at you now—completely undone.” He takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, reveling in your vulnerability. “I bet you’d do anything for just a little more, wouldn’t you?”

You can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, embarrassment mixing with something more intoxicating. The way he’s mocking you only heightens your need, and Noah knows it. He leans closer, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispers, “Just admit it—you love being my little brat.”

Each word is a taunt, a reminder of how completely he’s got you wrapped around his finger, and you can’t deny the thrill that comes with it.

As he pulls your head back further, forcing you to look at him directly, you feel a mix of humiliation and excitement coursing through you. His gaze is intense, filled with mockery and disdain, but it only serves to fuel your yearning. You want to resist, to prove that you aren’t as desperate as he thinks, but the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s dominating you, it’s impossible to deny the truth.

Every time he mocks you, every time he calls you pathetic, it cuts through you, but it also ignites a fire inside you that you can’t deny. You’re torn between the desire to fight back and the need to submit, to give him what he wants. “I-I’m not,” you breathe out, trying to sound defiant, but your voice betrays you, quivering with vulnerability.

Noah laughs at your weak attempt to resist, the sound rough and condescending. “Oh, you’re not?” he sneers, his tone dripping with mockery. “Is that right?”

His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling harder, making you gasp and wince from the pain. “You’re not desperate. You’re not needy. You’re not falling apart right now at my mercy.” His voice is laced with derision, mocking your words with sarcasm.

He leans in closer, his lips almost touching your ear, and his voice is a low, taunting whisper. “Pathetic little thing. Can’t even be honest with yourself. Look at you, trying so hard to prove you’re not helpless.”

The way he emphasizes “pathetic” sends a jolt through you, and you find yourself wanting to squirm under his grip. It’s infuriating and intoxicating all at once. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the shame mixing with a thrill that only he can provoke.

“Admit it,” he continues, his voice a seductive growl. “You love being like this. You crave it. You want me to take control.” He releases your hair just enough for you to breathe but keeps you close, his eyes locked onto yours, challenging you to deny it.

Your heart races as the truth hangs heavy in the air, and the fight in you wanes. “Maybe…” you start, but the word barely escapes your lips, filled with uncertainty.

“Maybe?” he scoffs, tilting his head, a condescending grin spreading across his face. “You can do better than that. I want to hear you say it.”

There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, and you realize he’s not going to let you off easy. The thrill of submission floods through you, and with a shaky breath, you find yourself on the edge of surrender.

You can feel your resistance unraveling, the fight in you slowly giving way to submission. It’s embarrassing, knowing how much power he has over you, and yet you can’t deny the rush it gives you.

“Please,” you say, your voice a shaky whisper, and you can feel the heat of embarrassment on your cheeks. He’s watching you intently, waiting for another response. He wants to hear you say it, to admit how much you need him, but you’re struggling with the words.

He smirks at your response, knowing you’re holding back. “Please, what, doll?” he mocks, his tone condescending and taunting. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

You’re practically trembling with a mix of humiliation and desire. You need to say it, to acknowledge your own neediness, but the words catch in your throat. It’s so shameful, yet the thought of submitting to him, of being completely at his mercy, makes your heart race even faster.

Noah can see the conflict etched on your face, and his smirk only widens. He knows you’re on the verge of admitting it, but he’s not going to make it easy for you. He wants you to crawl, to beg. “Come on, little one,” he mocks, his voice a low and seductive purr. “Say it.”

You’re so torn. You want to resist, to fight back and prove him wrong, but at the same time, you know deep down that you crave this. Need this. The words are on the tip of your tongue, the truth of your submissive nature right there, but it’s still hard to admit aloud. You look at him, the heat in your cheeks making you feel exposed, and a small whimper escapes your lips. “I-I…I want…”

He leans forward, his breath hot on your skin as he mocks you. “You want what?” he eggs you on, his voice rough and commanding. “Come on, use your words. Don’t be shy now. Tell me exactly what you need.”

The heat in your cheeks intensifies, and the shame and excitement mix, creating a potent cocktail that makes your head spin. “I…I need you,” you whisper, the words shaky and laced with embarrassment. “I need you to take control.” The confession hangs in the air, the truth of your submission exposed, and you can feel it in your bones, the way your body responds to his dominance.

Noah's smirk widens as he hears the words he's been waiting for. He sees the mixture of surrender and humiliation in your eyes, and it only fuels his desire for control. He lets out a low, mocking chuckle before pulling you closer. “There it is,” he says, his voice rough and taunting. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, pretty girl?”

You shiver at the tone in his voice, the realization that he has you completely at his mercy. The mixture of emotions swirling inside you is a heady cocktail of shame, excitement, and an undeniable need for more. You can feel the heat of his presence as he pulls you closer, his mockery and mockery only fueling the fire within you.

With a smug smirk, Noah holds you close, almost tenderly, his touch so different from moments before. “Poor thing,” he coos, his voice dripping with mock comfort. “All worked up and needy. Is that what you wanted, princess?”

The gentle tone catches you off guard, his touch sending a shiver through you. “N-no…I didn’t-“ you stutter, but your weak protest is obvious.

“Shhh,” he hushes, still holding you tight. “Don’t lie to me now. We both know the truth.” He lets his hand trail down your back, his touch so gentle and deceivingly comforting.

His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every reaction. He’s playing with you, and you both know it. The way he’s holding you, the touch of his hand against your back, it’s like a cruel game. You can feel the heat in your cheeks, the shame and excitement mixing into a dangerous cocktail.

“I wasn’t-“ you try to protest again, but the words die in your throat as you meet his gaze. He’s watching you, like a predator sizing up its prey, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Noah continues the charade, his voice dripping with false concern. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he coos, his other hand coming up to caress your face. “You don’t need to lie to me.” He looks at you, his gaze intense, searching. He knows he’s got you, knows you have nowhere to hide. “Just tell me the truth,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Did you do it on purpose?”

The softness of his touch, the way he’s holding you, it’s maddening, drawing you in. You want to deny it, want to push back against the tidal wave of desire and submission that’s washing over you.

“I-“ you start, but the words fail you, caught in the storm of your conflicted emotions. It’s all so confusing, his sweetness and his mockery mixing together in a dangerous, intoxicating cocktail. “Yes…” you eventually force out, your voice a hushed whisper.

Noah's eyes darken, and his grip on you tightens slightly. There it is, the moment he’s been waiting for. He knew you did it on purpose, and now he has you admitting it out loud. “Good girl,” he drawls, his voice suddenly rougher, more commanding. “At least you can admit what a desperate little thing you are.”

The change in his tone hits you like a punch to the stomach. The switch is so sudden, so stark, it takes you completely off guard. You’re still reeling, trying to process the swift shift, but he’s already moving on.

His mockery cuts through you, a cold reminder of your exposed vulnerability. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he mocks, his hand moving down to firmly grip your chin, forcing you to look directly at him. “Needy and shameless, you just had to push me, didn’t you?”

Tears well up in your eyes, your bottom lip quivering as you look up at him with wide, tearful eyes. You feel small and vulnerable under his intense gaze, and the shame and excitement mix in your stomach, creating a powerful mixture of longing and trepidation.

“Oh, look at you,” he purrs, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “All big eyes and teary. But don’t think you’re going to get off easy just because you look pretty when you cry."

His eyes dark and dangerous, he leans in closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours. “You teased me back there, made me all worked up, and then you lied to me about it. Did you think I was just going to let you get away with that?”

"P-please...I'm sorry...I didn't...I won't do it again...I-“ You're a mess of blubbery whines and stuttered apologies, the tears flowing freely down your cheeks. It's humiliating, being so small and defenseless under his gaze, and yet you can't deny the submissive thrill of it all.

He holds you tight, his hand still on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. There’s a smirk on his face, a look of victory, as he mock-comforts you. “There, there, little one,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

The way he’s talking to you, coddling you like a child, it’s infuriating but it only makes the heat in your stomach burn hotter. You want to protest, to defend yourself, but the tears and blubbering make you weaker than ever, and you know he’s enjoying every minute of it.

“Oh, sweet girl, don’t cry,” he mocks, his voice deceptively gentle. “But maybe I should teach you a lesson. Wouldn’t that be fair, to show you what happens when you tease me like that?”

The threat in those words sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement twisting in your gut. You’re too vulnerable like this, and you know he’s going to exploit it to the fullest.

“Is that what you want, doll?” he coos, his fingers loosening their grip just enough to let a tear slide down your cheek. “You want me to show you what happens when you drive me crazy like that, when you push and push until I snap?”

You whimper lowly, unable to form a coherent response as you blink up at him through a haze of tears. Maybe you do want it, crave it even, the thought of being completely at his mercy both terrifying and thrilling.

His smirk widens at your helpless response, the realization that he has you completely under his sway. “That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice now deeper, darker. “You’re just begging for someone to put you in your place, aren’t you, pretty little thing?”

The condescension in his tone only serves to make you weaker, and you let out a soft, pathetic whine, your body trembling under his gaze. “I’ll be good, I swear,” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. He chuckles darkly, his eyes boring into yours. “Oh, I know you will be,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “But it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?”

With an effortless display of strength, he pushes you back against the sofa, pinning you in place with his body. His hand leaves your chin to trail down your throat, his touch like a caress and a threat all at once. “I told you not to tease me,” he murmurs, his breath hot on your skin. “But you just had to do it, didn’t you? Had to test my patience, to see how far you could push me.”

You're a mess, a whiny blabbering mess, and you struggle to control the sounds of helplessness that leave your mouth. The words "I'm sorry" and "please" and "I didn't mean to" mix with pathetic sobs and moans, each one more pitiful than the last. You can't even look up at him, so you just keep repeating those words, desperate to make him see that you regret disobeying him. The tears won’t stop, and the shame of your behavior, the pleading and begging, only makes them stream faster. You’re completely at his mercy, a vulnerable, fragile thing that he can mold however he sees fit. It’s mortifying, and yet somehow exciting, the knowledge that he has this power over you, that he can bring you to this point of surrender.

"Don’t cry, doll," he murmurs, his hand moving back to your chin to force you to look up at him. "Just listen. Just take it like a good girl." His voice is rough, not quite mocking or gentle. It’s something else, something possessive and dominant, that makes your stomach twist in knots. “You brought this on yourself,” he continues, his gaze intense. “You had to push and push until I couldn’t take it anymore. I warned you, didn’t I?”

You nod helplessly, the tears still falling, your voice reduced to little more than a broken whisper. "I-I'm sorry," you repeat, your words punctuated by sniffles. You're completely overwhelmed, the mixture of shame and desire leaving you a shaking, blabbering mess.

His hand tightens on your chin, his gaze narrowing. He enjoys seeing you like this, so low and vulnerable, reduced to a puddle of tears and apologies. “I know you’re sorry,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “But I’m not sure it’s enough, pretty girl. I think you need a bit more of a lesson.”

Your eyes widen at his words, the realization that he’s not going to let this go, that he’s going to push you further than you’ve ever gone before. You open your mouth to speak, more apologies on your lips, but he cuts you off, his grip on your chin tightening.

“Shhh,” he hisses, his voice mocking and cruel. “No more excuses. You’ve already begged enough, angel. Take it like a good little girl.”

The humiliation is overwhelming, the way he’s holding you, the condescension in his voice. “Please…” you whimper, the word escaping before you can stop it. “I can’t…I’m sorry…”

He scoffs at your plea, his grip on your chin growing tighter. “I don’t care,” he snaps, his voice cold and dismissive. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be pushed, to be broken down until you’re a whimpering mess under my hands?” You nod helplessly, unable to deny the truth of his words. You had wanted this, craved it even, and now you’re getting your lesson, whether you’re ready or not. He smirks, satisfied with your response. “That’s what I thought,” he says, his tone cruel. “Now be a good little girl and take it.”

Your words are caught in your throat, but you can only nod again, your body trembling with a mixture of shame and desire. You know he’s not going to stop, that he’s going to push you to your limits and then some.

His hand moves from your chin to your hip, his fingers finding the edge of your skirt. He tugs at it teasingly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “No panties, huh? Dirty girl. You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?” His hand moves around to your behind, squeezing it roughly before he slips his fingers under the hem, touching your bare skin.

“No wonder you’ve been so needy and pathetic, doll. You’ve been waiting for hours for this, just hoping I’d pin you down and give you what you need, yeah? But you had to push my buttons and misbehave, didn’t you?”

His voice is firm, his fingers still digging into your flesh. “You couldn’t just wait like a good little girl. No, you had to be bad, pushing and pushing until I finally snap.”

The feeling of his hand on your bare skin makes you shiver, and a pathetic whine leaves your lips as the tears continue to fall. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, your voice weak and broken. “I didn’t mean to…sorry, please I didn’t, I’m sorry.”

He silences you with one look, his fingers gripping your chin again. “I told you to stop apologizing,” he snaps, his tone harsh. “You’re not going to sweet-talk your way out of this one, little one.” The command in his voice makes you weak, the fear and shame mixing with the longing in your stomach.

You nod as best you can, trying to communicate your understanding through the tears. “Please,” you whisper, so soft it’s not even a word, more like a pitiful whine. His grip on your chin tightens, his eyes narrowing. “What was that?” he says, his voice soft and dangerous. “Speak up, angel, unless you want me to punish you for mouthing off too.”

You shake your head wordlessly, your eyes wide and pleading, begging him to understand that you only want to please him. “No, no, I’m sorry,” you manage to gasp out, your voice weak but sincere. “Please, I’ll be quiet.”

He sighs, the sound both annoyed and exasperated. Your pleas and apologies are irritating him, and he’s done with the tears and blubbering. “Enough,” he barks, his fingers releasing your chin. “Bend over. Now. Against the sofa.”

The command is sharp and authoritative, and you know better than to disobey. You shuffle around awkwardly, your heart racing as you bend forward, your hands gripping the back of the sofa. The position feels vulnerable, exposing, and your back is arching in anticipation.

“That’s it, doll,” Noah says, his voice gruff. “Good girl. Stay right there. Keep that pretty little ass up for me.” You hear him moving behind you, the sound of rustling fabric and something clinking. The sound of his belt undoing is unmistakable, the leather sliding through the loops with a harsh sound. It makes you shiver, fear and excitement coiling in your stomach.

His hand smooths over your back, caressing the curve of your behind before he smacks it lightly, a warning and a tease all at once. “Be good for me,” he says, his voice a dark rumble. “Stay just like that.” You nod, unable to speak, and brace yourself for what’s to come, the mixture of emotions swirling inside you. The anticipation hangs in the air like a thick fog, every nerve in your body alive and on edge.

His hand leaves your skin, and you can only imagine what he’s doing behind you, the sound of the leather of his belt moving the only hint of his actions. Then you feel his hand on your thigh, gripping you, positioning you exactly how he wants. “You know how this works,” he murmurs, his voice laced with warning. “You push, I push back harder. You misbehave, you get punished. You get that, doll?” You nod again, your head resting against the sofa cushion, the fabric cool against your heated skin. “Yes,” you manage to whisper, the shame and humiliation mixing with the excitement coursing through you. “I understand.”

“Good girl,” he says, his hand moving higher up your thigh. “And you remember your safe words?” You nod weakly. “Yes,” you reply, your voice shaky. “Red to stop, yellow to pause, green to go.”

He hums in approval, his fingers toying with the edge of your skirt, slowly lifting it up, exposing more of your skin. “Good girl,” he repeats, his voice a low praise. “You’re going to need them. Now close your eyes.” You blink in surprise at the words, but you obey, closing your eyes tightly, the world going dark. The lack of sight makes everything more heightened, the anticipation building, your breathing fast and ragged.

The silence is filled with the sound of your own breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the occasional thump of something being dropped onto the floor. You’re painfully aware of his presence behind you, the heat rolling off him in waves. Then you feel it, the cold leather of his belt running along your thighs, tracing a path up and down, teasing but not touching where you want it to. The anticipation is almost overwhelming, your body thrumming like a wire about to snap. “Please…” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

You hear him tsk behind you, the sound of disapproval. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, angel.” His hand lands on your hip, squeezing it roughly, a silent command to be quiet. “You’ll get what you need when I say so, doll,” he growls, his voice taking on that authoritative tone again. “Be patient.”

The touch of the belt disappears, and you wait in tense silence, wondering what he’s going to do next. Then you feel it, a hard smack on your behind, the sensation sharp and unexpected. The pain stings, and you whimper, the sound coming out before you can stop it. “Shhh,” Noah says, his tone harsh. “Just take what I give you.”

“And keep. Those. Eyes. Closed.” The command is punctuated with another smack, harder this time, and the sting spreads across your skin. “Colour.”

“G-green,” you manage to stutter out, the word a gasp. “Good,” he says, his hand caressing where he spanked you. “Good girl,” he says, the praise sending a shiver down your spine. “Now you’re being such a good little thing.” His fingers trail up your legs, his touch light and teasing. “You can take more, princess. You’ll take as much as I give you.”

The words send a wave of pleasure mixed with fear through you, the duality of the moment making your head spin. You press your face into the fabric of the sofa, trying to stay still, to be good, to take what you’re given. “Y-yes,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “Yes, what?” he asks, his voice sharp. There’s a pause, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air, the only sound your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart. “Say it proper, doll.”“Y-yes, sir,” you manage to say, your voice meek and submissive. “I’ll take what you give me, sir. I’ll be good, I’ll take it all.”

“Look at you.” His voice is a rough rumble, edged with mockery and condescension. “Already completely submitting after a couple of spanks, and I haven’t even touched you where it counts. Such a pathetic little girl, willing to take whatever I give you, desperate for anything I’ll give you.” He moves closer to you, the heat of his body almost touching your own. His hand tangles in your hair, tugging at it roughly, pulling your head back to look up at him. “Just a little brat, so easy to put in her place.”

“Is that all it takes, princess?” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. “Some harsh words and a few spanks and you’re just ready to give me everything, huh?” You nod as best you can, your hair still clenched in his grip. “Y-yes,” you gasp out, your voice low and shaky. “I’ll give you anything, sir,” you whisper, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. “Anything, huh?” he says, his grip tightening in your hair. “That’s quite a claim, pretty girl. Are you sure you can follow through?”

“Yes sir,” you gasp out, the pain in your hair mixing with the pleasure and shame. “I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you say. Please,” you add, your voice pleading. A cruel laugh tears from his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He’s enjoying your submission too much, relishing in his control over you. “Anything I say, huh?” He hums, the sound condescending. “That’s a dangerous promise, little one.” His hold on your hair tightens, pulling you even further back. You can see the smug look on his face, his eyes looking down at you. “Are you sure you can handle it, doll?” he purrs. “You’re not going to break on me, are you?” He mocks you with his tone, the words dripping with mockery. “Answer me,” he snaps, giving your hair a sharp tug.

“I …I won’t break.” You manage to gasp out, though your voice is small, shaky. You feel like you’re drowning, completely at his mercy, his control over you absolute.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, his tone dark, still laced with mockery. “You’re going to take everything I give you, just like you promised, right?” His hand lets go of your hair, and for a moment, you’re left feeling lost, abandoned. Then he gently pushes you forward, your bare skin against the cool leather of the sofa. “Stay right there. Don’t move,” he commands.

You keep your body braced on the sofa, your cheek pressed into the fabric. You can hear him moving behind you, the sound of his boots moving across the floor. Your heart pounds in your chest, the anticipation and fear building. Then he’s back, his presence behind you stronger than before. There’s a moment of silence that is almost unbearable, the tension in the air heavy and thick. Finally, he speaks, his voice coming from above you. “Lift your hips up,” he says, his tone a command. You obey, lifting your hips up as best as you can. The fabric of your skirt bunches up around your waist, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. You feel vulnerable, exposed, and helpless.

You hear him draw in a sharp breath, the sound sending a jolt through you. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Look at you, so eager and desperate.”

“Such a needy little thing,” he continues, his voice a low rumble. “So willing to do anything I say, just to get my attention.” His hand comes down on your skin, a hard smack that leaves a burning trail behind. “Isn’t that right?” he adds, his tone sharp. “So desperate to be good, so eager to please.”

“Yes sir,” you gasp, the words coming out in a ragged breath. “I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you say. Please,” you add, the word falling from your lips before you can think about it. He raises an eyebrow, the action condescending and mocking. “Big statement for a little brat,” he murmurs, the words a challenge. “Let’s see if you can live up to it.”

He pauses, the silence stretching out between you. You can feel his eyes raking over your body, taking in every detail, every flaw. “Because I have a feeling,” he continues, his tone low and dangerous. “That you’re all talk, and no action.”

He moves behind you, the sound of him removing his clothes the only thing echoing through the space. His hands are gentle on your skin, the action almost a contradiction to his rough demeanor. “Lift your hips up a bit more for me, doll” he instructs, his voice a gentle command.

You obey, raising your hips higher as he positions himself behind you. There’s a rustling sound as he reaches for something, a moment of silence before you feel the cool touch of lube on your skin. It’s a gentle sensation, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words. He slicks his fingers, the motion firm and purposeful. The whole situation is a strange mix of gentleness and control, a constant reminder of who’s in charge. “Shhh,” he says, his tone soft for a change. “Just a bit of cold, doll.”

The words are a comfort, a slight reprieve from his harsh tone before. You let out a soft whimper, your body tense under his touch. Your hands clutch at the sofa cushion, the fabric bunched in your grip. “Just relax for me, okay?” he adds, his voice gentle but still holding that hint of command. “I’m just getting you ready, princess.”

His slick fingers against your core are both soothing and arousing, a contrast that makes your head spin. “Fuck, baby, so wet for me. You been thinking of this while I was on stage?” You press your face into the fabric, biting your lip to keep from making a sound. The feeling of anticipation coiled tight in your belly, the knowledge of what’s coming next both exciting and terrifying.

He takes his time, gently preparing you with a care and precision that’s surprising given his earlier attitude. “You’re doing so well, my doll,” he murmured, the praise wrapping around you like a blanket. “Being so good for me, letting me take care of you.” His words are gentle, but the control in his tone is undeniable.

After a little more prep, you feel him withdraw his fingers, leaving you feeling empty and wanting. There’s a moment of silence, and you’re not sure what to expect. Then he speaks, his tone suddenly rough and commanding once more. “You’re ready for me now, pretty girl,” he grunts. “Just the way I want you.” The words are a stark reminder of who’s in charge, his hand grabbing your hips roughly and pulling you back towards him.

His grip is tight, holding you in place, as if you were an object to be used for his pleasure. “Been waiting for this,” he growls. “Been waiting to feel you around me. So desperate and needy, aren't you?” There’s a possessive edge to his tone now, the gentleness from before vanishing completely. His body is pressed close against your own, the heat of him burning through your skin.

He pauses for a moment, the heat of his breath against your skin your only warning before he speaks again. “Gonna take what’s mine” he growls, the words thick with desire. “This pretty little pussy belongs to me.” You can’t hold back the soft whimper that escapes you, your back arching almost unconsciously, your body needy and ready. You’re lost in a sea of sensation, every nerve ending on edge.

You claw at the sofa to find something to hold onto, a lifeline to tether you to reality. But it's all becoming a blur, his presence behind you taking up your entire focus. “Such a pretty little sound,” he murmurs, the words a harsh contrast to his gentle tone before. “Like music to my ears.”

You’re pressing back against him, desperate for friction, your body desperate for any touch he’ll give you. “So impatient,” he chuckles, the sound deep and rough. “Impatient little doll, so needy for me.”

“Just can’t wait, can you?” he adds, the words a taunt, a challenge. “No, I thought not.”

“No, you just need to be taken care of, don’t you?” he continues, the words sharp and mocking. “Just need something to fill you up, don’t you, doll?”

He chuckles, the sound low and guttural against your skin as his lips brush your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re always so desperate for my attention, it’s pathetic. But I suppose I can’t blame you for that.”

His hand slides up your thigh, his palm warm and rough against your skin. “You do look your best when you’re begging. I’ll give you that.”

You whimper, trying to find the words, but all that comes out is a series of garbled, incoherent sounds. Your brain is mush, all thoughts of bratting or teasing gone as you cling to him, your body arching into his touch.

He notices your inability to form a complete sentence, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Looks like I broke you. Can’t even string a sentence together anymore, can you?” His fingers find the edge of your skirt, slowly sliding it higher up your thighs, his other hand still on your neck, keeping you in place. “Poor thing. That’s what happens when you make me wait all night.”

His hand taps your thigh, a firm but not unkind command. “Leg up,” he instructs, his voice stern and expectant. It’s an unmistakeable order, one you know not to ignore. With a small, whimpering sound escaping your lips, you obey, lifting your leg and draping it over the arm of the sofa, exposed and vulnerable.

Your words come out as a whiny, desperate plea, a jumble of sounds that are barely coherent. “Please-” you manage to get out, your voice trembling. His hand has moved up your thigh, now so close to where you need him the most, and you’re keenly aware of how exposed and vulnerable you are in this position. “Please-“ you repeat, hoping he takes pity on you and gives you some relief.

He hums softly, his eyes fixed on you, a dark amusement dancing behind them. “Please what?” he asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “Use your words, doll.”

Your words are pleading, the tone of your voice making it clear how desperate you’ve become. You whine and blabber, your brain completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence. “Need you in me, please,” you finally manage to speak.

The smirk on his face widens as he hears your desperate plea, the edge of mockery and condescension in his tone making it perfectly clear that he’s enjoying this. “Need me in you, do you?” he repeats, the words hanging in the air for a moment before he continues. “How badly do you need it, then? Can you tell me that?”

Your throat feels tight as you try to respond, your brain so overwhelmed that speaking seems like a struggle. “Please,” you repeat again, the word pleading and raw. “So badly, I need-“ you cut yourself off, unable to fully articulate the depths of your need right now.

He lets out a low, amused sound, clearly relishing in the power he has over you right now. “What a desperate mess you are,” he murmur. A wicked, satisfied smirk plays across his lips as he finally gives in, his hand gently caressing your inner thigh as he hums in mock contemplation. “I suppose I should give you what you want,” he says, his tone still dripping with condescension. “Since you asked so nicely."

You’re a complete mess, your body shuddering and tense, your words a jumble of desperate pleas and whimpers. Your hands clutch tightly at the sofa, your knuckles white as you try to ground yourself. Your eyes are pleading, and you’re whimpering and whining, the need inside of you growing more intense with every passing second. He pushes you back, the movement firm and assured. You feel his body heat against yours as he positions himself on top of you, his hands grabbing your hips to hold you in place. He’s dominant and in control, his eyes burning with a mix of desire and satisfaction.

“You gonna behave now?” he husks, his voice a low, growling sound, as he pushes you even further into the sofa, your body pinned and at his mercy. “That’s what I thought,” he says, his smirk growing as he notices your nod and the way you’re whining. “You’ve finally learned your lesson, huh? Finally learned not to tease me and act like a fuckin’ brat?”

His hands grip your hips even tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he slowly pushes into you, the feeling overwhelming and satisfying, the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You hear his voice through the haze of pleasure, barely distinguishable past the buzzing in your ears. “That’s it,” he groans out. You whine and whimper, clinging to him, unable to form a coherent thought or sentence. “Yes, please, yes,” you manage to get out.

You feel completely unraveled, your body trembling and sensitive to every touch and movement. He’s relentless, each thrust rough and commanding as he takes what he wants. You struggle to hold on, the pleasure so intense that it’s almost too much to bear, your body writhing under his hands, each motion drawing cries from your lips.

“Noahhh!” His name on your lips like a chant, a prayer, a plea, sends a jolt through him, a low curse leaving his mouth as he thrusts harder into you, his fingers holding your hips so tight it feels like you’ll fall if he lets go.

His movements grow rougher in response to your reaction, the need for control seeping through his actions. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he demands, “Colour. Now, princess.” The authoritative tone in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the demand clear and uncompromising. “Give me a colour, baby, talk to me,” he repeats, his words a command that demands an immediate answer.

You struggle for a moment, your brain so clouded with pleasure that forming a coherent response feels like an impossible task. But finally, you manage to gasp out, “G- green.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer, the grip on your hips loosening just a little as he slowly eases back, his movements still assertive and powerful but with a hint of tenderness. “Good girl,” he praises, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Such a needy little thing,” he coos mockingly.

The sound of your safe word seems to unleash something in him, a primal and dominant side taking over. He pushes you further into the sofa, his movements rougher and more demanding as he takes what he wants. The mockery in his voice is even more apparent now, as he mutters, “Can’t believe how needy and desperate you are for me. Just begging for me to take you like this, huh?”

His hands roam your body, grabbing and pulling, his fingers digging into your skin as he pins you down more firmly. “Look at you, a complete mess under me. Did you think I was just gonna let you get away with your little act all night?”

Your hands scramble for purchase, grasping and clawing at anything you can reach. They cling to his thighs, then the sofa, then his upper body, trying to find some grounding as your body goes completely limp in his arms. Your whimpers and moans are constant, a incoherent string of sounds that seem to urge him on even further.

Your body trembles and writhes under his touch, completely undone and at his mercy. You're not sure how long you can last, but you're sure he's not planning on making it easy for you. He continues to push you to the brink, each movement calculated to drive you to the edge of madness. The intensity is overwhelming, the sensations and feelings almost too much to bear. And through it all, the mockery in his voice never fades.

His hand moves up to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make the pressure building in your core even more intense. “Going to break you for this, you know that?” he mutters, his voice gruff and low, nipping at your ear. “You won’t misbehave next time, will you?”

You shake your head vigorously, unable to form a coherent response, the sound that leaves your mouth sounding more like a plea than anything else. “That’s what I thought,” he responds, a smugness creeping into his tone as he continues to drive you further and further towards the edge. “Just gonna let me take you apart and put you back together, over and over again, is that right?”

His hand tightens ever so slightly around your throat, his other hand moving back down to grip your hips again, holding you in place as he continues to take you mercilessly. Your body is so sensitive, every touch and movement feels like an electric shock, sending tremors through your entire form as you cling to him.

It’s so much, it’s too much, and you’re sure you won’t last much longer, but you’re trapped and completely powerless in his grip, his control over you absolute. “Please-” you manage to gasp out, the word catching in your throat as your body trembles even more. “I-”

You can’t finish your sentence, the words cut off by a whimper as his movement increases, the overwhelming sensation building like a tidal wave. He groans at the sound of your whimper, the pleading word cutting through the haze of ecstasy he’s experiencing. He goes faster, his breathing ragged and his muscles taut with exertion. “I know,” he responds, his voice ragged and strained. “I know, I’ve got you."

“Not going to slow down, not gonna be gentle with you,” he hisses, the words edged with mockery. “This is what you get for being such a tease all night, huh? You love playing games, but you aren’t so good at handling the consequences, are you?”

Each word cuts through the haze of pleasure, a stark reminder of the control he has over you right now. “You’ll remember this the next time you decide to act up,” he continues, his voice low and rough. “You understand?” Your body trembles, overwhelmed and oversensitive under his touch, the words adding an extra layer of intensity to the heat already building within you. “Y-yes,” you manage to gasp out, your breath coming in short, ragged pants.

“That’s right, you do,” he responds, satisfaction seeping into his tone. “You’re gonna learn your lesson pretty quick like this, aren’t you, baby?” Your head spins, the relentless pace of his movements and the words he’s muttering driving you closer to the edge with every passing moment. It’s too much, it’s overwhelming, and you’re not sure how much more you can take. “Please-“ you manage to gasp out, the word catching in your throat as your body trembles even more. Your vision becomes fuzzy at the edges, your senses heightened to an almost painful intensity.

“Please what?” he demands, mockery seeping into his tone once again. “You think you deserve to finish after acting like that all night? After misbehaving and being a tease?” It's clear he's enjoying this, revelling in your desperation, your need for release. His eyes burn into yours as he continues to push you to the limits, his smile both sweet and sadistic in equal measure. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, doll,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “Think you need a little more convincing.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, the warning clear and present, but you're helpless to do anything other than cling to him, surrendering to the sensations and the dominant grip he has over you. "You're such a sight like this," he hisses out, his tone a mix of mockery and amusement. "So needy and desperate for me, begging and whimpering. Makes me wonder why you bother putting up a fight. You clearly like this way better." His words are both a taunt and an affirmation, a confirmation of the power he holds over you right now. You can feel his control in every touch and movement, every word and command, and it only serves to make you more overwhelmed and desperate for release.

"Fuck," he curses lowly, his voice tight and strained. "You feel so good like this, so tight. Like heaven.” His grip on you tightens, holding you in a position where you can't move, completely at his mercy. "Can't get enough of this, can you? Don't you remember the last time I made you wait like this, huh? You remember how desperate you were for me?"

You can barely think, your mind a mess of sensation and need, the only sound you can manage is a string of incoherent words and moans. You're a complete mess, a whiny, trembling bundle of desire, your body completely at his mercy. Your mind has turned to mush, your only focus on the intense pleasure and the man holding you captive in his arms. You're beyond coherent thought, your body completely taken over by pleasure and sensation.

The only words you can manage are broken, incoherent moans, your mind consumed by the overwhelming feeling of being at his mercy, completely at his control. You're a trembling, needy mess, a helpless victim to the pleasure he's wringing out of you with every movement and touch. You're completely overwhelmed by the power he has over you, and you're not sure how much more you can take. “Fuck, this pretty little pussy is all mine. So fuckin’ tight for me.” There's no room for doubt or question in his tone, only a certainty that you belong to him, completely and utterly. His hand tightens around your throat, a reminder of his power and control over you.

“Gonna cum-“ I whine, unable to speak a coherent sentence properly. He smirks at your struggle to form words, enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Yeah, you gonna cum for me, doll?" he mutters, his words a taunt and a demand. "You'll cum when I say. And not a moment before." His hand tightens around your throat, his grip a reminder of the control he has over you. "You understand?"

Your voice is wrecked, your response no more than a broken whimper, but you manage to nod, the submission clear in your expression.

He smiles at your acknowledgment, clearly satisfied with your obedience. "Good girl," he purrs, his tone both praise and condescension. His hand shifts from your throat to your hair, tangling in the strands and pulling your head back with a firm, commanding grip. The tug is sharp and sudden, eliciting a gasp from your lips as your head snaps back, exposing your neck to his gaze.

You're a mess, a trembling, whimpering thing, tears streaming down your face, pleading for release. Your words are a jumble, an incoherent babble of desperate pleas and need. "Please," you gasp, choked out in between ragged breaths. "Please, I can't- I need-" It's all you can get out, the rest of your words lost in the haze of pleasure and need. Your voice is raw and hoarse, your body a quivering mess in his arms. Your face is streaked with tears, your eyes pleading as you look up at him, fully at his mercy. "Please," you implore again, the word a broken whisper. You're past the point of embarrassment or pride, past the point of coherency. All you can think about, all you need, is release, and you're completely reliant on him to get you there.

Your body twitches and trembles under his touch, oversensitive and hypersensitive all at once. You're utterly wrecked, a complete mess of need and desire. Your pleas have dissolved into incoherent whimpers and gasps, the only word you're able to form is a broken, desperate "Please." There's no trace of the confident, fiery woman you normally are. You're broken down, a trembling mess under his touch, completely reduced to a state of raw need and vulnerability.

He grins at the sight of you, completely unraveled before him. "Look at you," he murmurs, his tone both mocking and affectionate. "You're a mess, princess. All worked up and begging for me, huh? You're adorable." He smirks down at you, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Needy little thing," he mutters, his tone still holding that hint of mockery. "Begging me so pretty.” There's a gentleness in his words, a hint of endearment amidst the mockery. It's a reminder that he enjoys having this power over you, relishes in the fact that he can reduce you to a trembling mess with just a few words and touches.

You're writhing and wriggling against him, your body quivering with barely contained need. You clench and tighten, desperate for release, your voice reduced to a needy whine. "Please-" you gasp out again, your tone pleading and desperate. "I can't take it, I can't-"

"Cum for me, pretty girl," he purrs, his voice both gentle and commanding. "Let go for me. I've got you." His tone is soothing, reassuring, despite the demand in his words. He knows you're at your limit, and he's going to push you over the edge, but he'll be there to catch you.

With a final few words of praise and encouragement from him, the tension that's built between you finally reaches its peak, and you come undone. Your body tenses, every muscle tight as the wave of pleasure washes over you, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You're a trembling, gasping mess in his arms, held up by him as you ride out the waves of pleasure that crash over you, and slowly, as the pleasure subsides, you collapse against him, boneless and exhausted, completely spent. His arms wrap around your body, holding you close, a mixture of satisfaction and endearment etched in his expression.

His demeanor shifts instantly, the dominating, commanding persona fading away to reveal the softer, gentler version of himself that you know so well. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you with a tenderness that's a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. “Colour, baby? How are you feeling?" he asks quietly, his voice filled with concern and affection. His fingers run gently through your hair, a soothing gesture as he checks in on you, ensuring that you're okay and that he hasn't pushed your limits too far. There's a hint of self-reproach in his tone, a silent apology for any moment when he might have been too rough or demanding.

You manage a small, exhausted smile, the aftermath of the intense pleasure still lingering. "Green," you assure him softly, your voice hoarse but steady. "So green, baby." His shoulders sag slightly in relief, the tension that had subconsciously built up in his body releasing at your reassurance. He pulls you closer, rubbing a hand along your back in a comforting, gentle motion. "Good girl," he murmurs, his tone filled with praise and affection. "You did so good, you were so perfect. I'm proud of you." The words come easily, a natural response to your submission and obedience. He's still in caretaker mode, his concern for your wellbeing trumping any remnants of the authoritative persona he had moments before.

He lifts you up gently, your body still weakened and trembling in his arms. With a soft, caring demeanor, he sets you down on the couch, a thoughtful gesture to prevent you from exerting yourself. “Just relax, baby," he soothes, his tone gentle and affectionate. "I'm gonna get you cleaned up, okay?"

He disappears into the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp towel. He sits down beside you, his touch soft and tender as he begins to gently clean up the residue of your intimate encounter. He moves between your legs, the gentle touch of the towel against your skin a soothing contrast to the previous intensity. You're boneless, barely able to move, your head falling back against the couch as you struggle to catch your breath.

His gaze is filled with affection and care as he cleans you with gentle, steady movements. Every now and then, he pauses to press a soft kiss to your skin, offering words of praise and reassurance in his quiet, comforting tone. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his words soft and sincere. "So good for me, princess. Always so good for me." He's careful in his movements, his touch gentle and slow so as not to overstimulate you. His focus is on caring for you, attending to your needs and reassuring you with his touch and words.

Once he's finished, he discards the towel and returns his attention to you, shifting to sit beside you on the couch. He pulls your weary body into his arms, cradling you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you, enveloping you in a protective embrace. You feel yourself yawn, exhaustion settling into your bones now that the adrenaline has faded. You snuggle closer to his chest, your body a perfect fit against his. He smiles at the sight, gently maneuvering you into his lap, cradling you against him with a protective, loving grip.

He lets a few moments pass in comfortable silence while he absentmindedly strokes your hair. Then, with a soft chuckle, he speaks up, his tone filled with affectionate sarcasm. “You learn your lesson about teasing me yet, princess?" You roll your eyes, giving him a light elbow in the side. "Oh yeah, I'm a changed woman," you reply sarcastically, a playful smirk on your lips. He laughs, enjoying your playful banter. "Yeah, right," he retorts, raising an eyebrow at you. "You're still a brat, sweet girl." His tone is affectionate, laced with a hint of mock severity. He loves your feistiness, secretly enjoying the way you push his buttons. It's all just a part of your dynamic, an endearing trait that he finds endearing even as he playfully chides you for it.

He presses another soft kiss against your hair, his voice a soothing rumble. "Get some rest, angel," he murmurs, holding you tightly against his chest. "I've got you, just relax."

He continues to stroke your hair, a gentle, repetitive motion that is meant to soothe you into sleep. He stays alert, watching over you as you slowly drift off.

“I love you, princess.”

taglist @aubrey-melinoe @cainified @krrule1 @ihrtlonghairedboys @somewhere-diamond

[loveandleases]

(Kinda NSFW)

I'm sleep deprived, so if you find any English mistakes, I'm sorry.

How would the ROs react if after a slow burn romance with an MC recovering from trust and self-esteem issues that they acquired after Chris, both of them finally reach the boiling point where they can't hold it anymore and reveal their love for each other along with a night of passion and in the end, already exhausted, the RO looks at the MC, noticing that even though their eyes demand that MC close their eyes to finally sleep, the MC refuses, and when the RO ask why they answer "I'm scared... I don't want to wake up tomorrow and end up finding out that this is all a dream."

Sure thing nonie , the rest are under the cut!

❤️ Cam - "How about we make a deal? I'm going to pinch myself, and if we're both still here after then you have to go to sleep. Alright?" Cam pinches his cheeks with more force than necessary. "I'm still here, so go to sleep. I'll be right beside you when you wake up. Promise." He'll leave you no choice, either those eyes close or he's going to be reminiscing about some dumb things the two of you did when you were young. When you are finally asleep, Cam will just watch you. Because no matter how much he hate's to admit it, you spread a little seed of doubt. What if this is a dream? What if the thing he has longed to happen for so long vanishes when he wakes up?

💙 G - They want to say something logical, but logic tends to go out the window when the two of you are together. They allow their fingertips to rub along the lines of your face until they reach your eyes, using the soft pressure of the pads of their fingers to guide your eyelids down. "If it's just a dream, mind you the best dream of my life. Promise me, that if I'm not here when you wake up you'll find me. So that this can become real. I'd find you a hundred times over. Just to be with you again."

💚 Kara - She pulls you closer, allowing her head to rest on your chest as she studies you. "You'd dream of me?" she asks, with every intention of tiring you out. Talking until you have to no choice but to drift off. Reassuring you that she's here, and when she decides to be with someone, she means it. She will be there with her gold hair tangles in knots and old makeup clinging to her face. She'll be there to wake you, to remind you that tonight like the night before she'll spend it with you. Until you're no longer scared that it's a dream.

💛 M - "Would you rather stay up and let me tell you how I would make it a reality if it were?" M leaves a feather light kiss on your cheek. Burying their face into the crook of your shoulder. "I'd like to think I could write a character as amazing you, even with all the things that has happened that got you here. But I couldn't do you justice, not even in a dream." M would cradle you close, allow you to feel their heartbeat. Something real and tangible. There's no dream that could sum up the feelings between you, the way your very face lights up their own.

💜 Isaac - "It's ironic, you're worried this is a dream, and I'm worried it's real." Isaac shares the pain of losing someone, of losing a relationship held so dear that it could break you if you let it. They don't say it to worry you, they say it because they want to be honest for once. To let you see how messed up and scared you make them. "You scare me. This," they motion to the both of you, "scares the hell out of me. Because I didn't think I could feel for someone again. I don't want to lose you, to lose us. So if it's a dream, let me dream it." "And if it's real?"

"If it's real, promise to love me through the dumb things I'm going to do until I realize you actually want to be with me."

🖤 Ardent - He places a hand on your hip pulling you tight so that your bodies can slight together, your shared warmth radiating throughout your bodies. An all too familiar crooked grin falls on his lips, "You mean to tell me, out of everyone, you dreamt me up" Ardent laughs, rubbing your back with his palm to ensure he means no harm.

He stares at you, those eyes looking for reassurance, and his smile fades into something more sincere. "If this were a dream, I'd be the luckiest man." He kisses your forehead, allowing his deep voice to soothe you.

His nose nudges your own, as those dark brown eyes latch onto yours. "You know a dream could never be this real," he allows his fingers to trail along your bare arm causing goosebumps. "A dream could never capture my affection for you. How much I want to hold you like this, it would never allow me to make love to you like we did. Go to sleep, and I promise when you wake up I'll prove to you all over again this is real."

[sw3etnena]

Till death do us part

Summary: Votes are just words when a betrayal is discovered.

Warnings: Angst, physical aggression, torture, false betrayal, Pregnancy.

Author's notes: Let's start with an important fact, English is not my first language, if there is any spelling mistake, blame the translator! Second fact: Votes and reposts are appreciated, so please do this charity. And third fact: I know them, seriously, but I ended up running out of ideas for scenarios, so I got inspired by the Russians (since they have a history)

☆"I, Y/N/S, take thee, Simon Riley, to be my lawfully

wedded husband."☆

Ghost Husband! Who feels the world fall apart when he opens the yellow folder left on his desk, photos of you, talking and exchanging envelopes with a man he knows very well, after all, he was the one who captured him, a member of the Russian force.

He runs through the corridors, all eyes seem to be on him, but he doesn't care, clutching the envelope in his hands as he runs to the cells, where he knows you would be, where you are.

— Ghost… — Price steps in front of him, his hands holding your shoulders, Ghost can't look at him, his eyes fixed on you, hanging, hurt and almost unconscious.

— Did she betray us? — The question seems to come out bitterly, every piece of Ghost collapses when the captain nods reluctantly.

— Andrey Petrov. He confessed things that only she heard besides us. — He explains, and then Ghost pushes him aside, opening the cell, he sees you raise your head.

— Si… — You try with a broken voice, grunting when he squeezes your cheeks.

— We share the same bed. — He interrupts, you notice his eyes shining with tears. — And yet you betrayed me. YOU BETRAYED US!

You flinch when he shouts, pushing away from you aggressively.

— They lied, I-I. — You stop only to watch him rip open the envelope, throwing the photos at your bruised body. You tremble as you look at the photos, your doctor, the one who examined you two weeks ago, who told you in no uncertain terms that a child was on the way.

Did he lie?

— Simon… — Your voice breaks, suddenly you find the strength to face your husband. — He's my doctor, I was…

— Confidential conversations. — He interrupts again, approaching you again, pointing his finger in your face. — That only you heard, only you, me, and the captain, don't fucking lie to me.

— Simon…

— DON'T CALL ME THAT! — He yells, his hands coming up to hold your hair, you scream in pain. — You're nothing more than a traitor now.

Traitor.

'I swear to love and care for you at all times, and if I fail, it's because I'm dead." Simon says in a low voice, a soft smile on his face as he places the ring on your finger. "I swear to have you as my wife for the rest of my life, at all times, I will love you."

— I am… — You try to say, your voice dies when the door is opened once again, revealing a soldier, your colleague, known as “Wasp”.

— Lieutenant… The captain is calling you. — I’m coming. — And then he lets go of your hair, and slowly lifts your balaclava, collecting saliva and then spitting it on your face, the saliva mixing with your tears.

— I’ve already finished what I had to do. — And as soon as he leaves, you know that your world has ended, every piece of it, slipped through your fingers, so quickly, it all started in the morning, when you appeared in the mess hall, and everyone turned to you, until your captain, and best man at your wedding, punched you in the ribs, you fell to your knees, and then you were dragged to a cell.

— Please… — Your voice is interrupted by the scream that escapes, with the sharp pain of the cut on your arm, and then cheeks, thighs and legs.

— Your little friend asked me to say something. — The woman sighs, turning the bloody knife in her fingers. You frown. — It wasn’t fake. What wasn’t fake?

And then your eyes widen, your heart pounding in your chest.

— Listen, I swear I'm not a traitor. — A strong slap is placed on your face, you bite your cheeks before continuing. — You need to tell Simon that…

— Do you really think we're going to believe anything you say? — She questions, getting closer only to put the knife too close to your neck.

— Then go through my sock drawer. — You beg, tears falling. — If you ever had any respect for me, as a partner, at least tell Simon that. She doesn't answer, she just takes the knife away from your neck, grabs a bucket of ice water, and throws it on your body.

It was at that moment that you knew you were going to die.

☆"I promise to be faithful. "☆

You have no idea what time it is. The cell is dark, and now empty, only the sound of water dripping from your disheveled clothes fills the dirty environment, decorated with your blood and dried tears.

No one visited you besides the woman, but you know there's a soldier at the door, you can see the shadow, they all came to look at you, not for long enough, just telling you how disgusted you made them, Kyle, Price, Ghost, they were all at your wedding, they were all your family.

You decide to stop mourning, there aren't many things in the room, but there is the knife used by the woman who tortured you, under a table a few feet away from you.

With difficulty, you manage to free yourself from the handcuffs, your feet finally falling silently to the dirty floor, you don't care, picking up the knife, also ignoring the pain in your broken thumbs.

Hiding is also easy, you just stay behind the door, until you hear the soldier curse, and then open the door, looking for you, who is quick to attack - even with the pain in your body - You press the knife into his shoulder, he grunts in pain, and then you knock him down, piercing just below his ribs, a clean cut, without any damaged area, you were not a monster like them.

You grab the man's boots that are easily too big for your feet, but it doesn't matter, not when you run silently through the corridors, ignoring the silent pains in your body.

Dodging the awake soldiers is easier than it seems, ducking and sneaking, but unfortunately, the emergency button is soon activated, while you hide behind a column, everyone runs in the opposite direction, and you smile mentally, stumbling until you reach the outside, and then into the forests.

During the night, which you discover is cold, you hold your slightly larger belly, it's a search for comfort, and you can't help but pray that he's okay.

You don't know how long you've been walking, but at some point, your still wet body feels heavy, and you find yourself forced to lean against a tree, sliding until you fall on top of the leaves, you sigh, your eyes closing. I'm not going to die.

☆"love you and respect you ."☆

— WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?! — Ghost screams as he pushes the door, the squad stares at him, clearing their throats.

— She injured one of ours, and then ran away. — Price explains. — All we know is that she ran into the forest.

— She would have to walk more than ten kilometers to find any sign of life. — Ghost grumbles, rubbing his forehead in irritation.

— She must have someone waiting for her. — Kyle suggests.

— And wouldn't they come for Andrey? — Ghost interrupts.

— Y/N could be the real piece, Andrey is probably a pawn. — Kyle explains, crossing his arms.

— He got caught and then he ratted her out, we just need to know how she got someone to come looking for her.

— That doesn't matter now. — Price says, walking around the room. — We need to know what she knew, and how much they know.

And then they go back to Andrey's cell, who is more injured than you, with a broken nose, and yet a splendid smile on his face, the smile of a winner, he starts to hum.

— Не плачь, девочка, мама тебя спасет. — Ghost approaches, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

— What is he singing? — Ghost asks the translator next to him, he doesn't take long to answer.

— Don't cry girl, mommy will save you. — Ghost sighs deeply, holding his jaw.

— Tell me what you know.

— Она такой хороший солдат, мой друг, она девушка. — he says with difficulty.

— She'll make a good soldier, I bet it's a girl. — The military man translates.

— Who is she? — Ghost takes a deep breath, irritation growing in his body.

— Кто она? — The translator asks.

—Это, очевидно, ваша дочь. — He says, looking at Simon with a big smile.

For a moment, even the military man translating stops, his eyes wide and his breath held.

— What the fuck did he say? — Ghost steps away, approaching the translator, who reluctantly looks into his eyes.

— Your daughter.

No. It can't be. I-

It's impossible.

He doesn't,

there's no way,

no-

— Daughter? — His questions come out slowly.

— The one in your little wife's belly. — The prisoner says with an accent, his voice thick and drawn out, his smile seems to widen, and suddenly Ghost feels suffocated.

— I'll kill you, you son of a bitch! — He grabs the man by the collar, his eyes locked on his, who shows no sign of lying, Ghost feels dizzy. — She's not pregnant, she would have told me!

— Она сказала, что планирует рассказать

— She said she planned to say it.

— Она сказала, что хочет чего-то романтического.

— She said she wanted something romantic.

“Baby, what do you think of this?” You ask sweetly one night, sitting on Simon’s lap, scrolling your finger on the screen of your phone.

“Why something so fancy, baby? We’re already married, aren’t we?” Simon jokes, mentally noting the name of the place.

“I want something special for us, Si.” And then you kiss him, he kisses you back, so sweetly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

— Папы не существует, мама его убьет. — He continues to hum.

— Daddy doesn’t exist, mommy will kill him.

Simon doesn’t think before running to his quarters, the room they’ve shared for years, he searches under the bed, inside the wardrobes, and then drawers. There are sheets of paper with words and more words, and then:

Positive for pregnancy.

— Simon. — Price runs to the room, stopping at the door only to see Simon kneeling, his fingers trembling as he holds the paper. — Did you find out?

— Find out what? — He looks up at his captain.

— The pregnancy. — Price bites his cheeks, guilt burning in his chest.

— How do you know about this?

— W-we found a… — Price interrupts himself, sniffling softly, trying to contain his tears. — Recorder on her cell phone, hidden in the case.

— S-so she didn’t… — Simon doesn’t need to finish, he is interrupted by a loud sniff from Price, who timidly nods. — Fuck.

Traitor.

Traitor.

Traitor.

“I swear, for the rest of my life, to be with you, when you fall and when you get up.” Simon fell even more in love with your smile, at that moment, you dressed in white, your eyes shining, he finally felt alive.

Kyle, Gaz, Price, Soap, his entire family, present at the best moment of his life.

“And I promise to love you even in the fights, the battles and the heartaches.”

Idiot.

Idiot.

Idiot.

— We need to go after her. — And then they both quickly agree, and stumble toward the rest of the task force.

Little did they know that as their bodies ran through the forests, screaming your name, with nothing but flashlights to light their way, you were no longer there, your body carried like feathers by soldiers in black, barely able to breathe, pale and cold.

— It seems we have a victory. — One of them cheers, the same Russian accent you would hear from now on, a new life.

Or the destruction of it.

☆"In joy and in sadness"☆

[reachexceedinggrasp]

I have a feeling you might relate to this or you might have even related this on your blog already, but I was just thinking of that Ghoul quotation water water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I think probably my favourite, maybe ever, quiet point of characterisation in a sort of villainous or Beast love interest is his or her having a poet's soul... whether that is conscious or unconscious romantic meditation. It's like Kylo musing to Rey when he says 'You have that look in your eyes. From the forest. When you called me a monster' I love that sort of wistful observation, especially because it evokes such potent imagery ('when we fought together in the forest and then you marked yourself on my face'). Or more literally something like Ghoul citing a line of literature, even when none around except for Lucy would know what he's referencing, it's for his own arrestment and amusement, this is how he sees/interacts with the world

I guess in that way, it reveals something new about their perspective on the world, even when they're somebody seemingly cut off from it - monstrous, othered, repellent, ugly - when they're able to articulate a certain beauty which other characters may not remark upon. It's sort of covetous in that sense, but I think it also sort of helps explain what might interest them about a Beauty, after all, there's something they long for and value (spiritual, aesthetic, existential beauty).

I thought you might be able to relate 🥰

Oh, totally. And with Cooper and Ben, specifically, which is a parallel I hadn't actually noticed until you've just pointed it out, we're being shown their sensitivity as characters. Not in the sense of being considerate, but that they're aware and alert to beauty and meaning in the world despite currently occupying a narrative role which might make us think they're simply destructive or nihilistic figures. Despite the cynicism they're both ostensibly espousing.

Cooper quotes or alludes to literature practically constantly relative to how little he speaks, always knowing people almost certainly won't understand him, and that's especially fascinating because he didn't make those kinds of references in the flashbacks. We could take this in a whole direction about how he created the Ghoul as a character to shield himself from the things he had to do to survive and is living within a meta-narrative deconstructing the reactionary anti-hero who overtook the white hat sheriff he used to play in his movies. The anti-hero he never wanted to be. He makes allusions because his life has become a story he's telling himself to stay sane. He's his own wry Dickensian narrator making asides to an imagined audience about dramatic irony and social commentary.

And an important part of his presentation to others before the war was painting himself as not sophisticated. Just a cowboy and then just a guy who plays a cowboy in the movies. He wants nothing to do with politics either in an interpersonal or broader sense, and disclaims any pretensions to being savvy despite being in a very theoretically powerful position as a rich, connected major film star. I think he was genuinely naive, but I also think he often played dumb to avoid social conflict. He was complacent and his image helped him remain complacent. Obviously he was very willing to be confrontational when he saw wrong or injustice right in front of him (he goes after Bud Askins directly to his face about marines getting killed by shitty equipment, he challenges Moldaver when she calls him out), but pre-bombs he mostly uses his empathic perceptiveness and charisma to keep everyone around him happy.

In the wasteland we often see him doing the opposite and deliberately riling people up in order to gather information and assess or eliminate them as threats, but he's also only gotten better at disarming people when he wants to. As a handsome charming film star he pretended not to know anything, as a scary intimidating monster he pretends he knows everything.

What I'm curious about as far as all this goes is whether Cooper had a secret nerdy side and read all the classics as a teenager or perhaps while waiting between shots when he was working as a stuntman or whether he wanted to fit in when he started to make it in Hollywood so tried to become cultured before realising that wasn't what anyone wanted from him. Or if he just spent 200 years alone and read anything he could find as a way to cling to his humanity. We know he was at least a bit intellectually curious before the war, because of his reading and retaining some article about studies on torture.

But YES, him quoting poetry and being so interested and insightful about Lucy, specifically is a huge part of how he's framed as a romantic figure. And he's already by far the most romantic figure in the show. If it were solely about his tragedy, you'd think they would emphasise the contrast between his pre-fallen and post-fallen state by stripping him of his heroic trappings, but they don't. He's actually more romantic post-'curse'.

It also gets me because he's an extremely smart, socially adept person who doesn't let others see him for who he really is both consciously and unconsciously on multiple levels and that layers of identity shit is my crack. He was a profoundly honest person who thought he was simple, but actually he was a glorious maze of contradiction and complexity waiting to happen who is now a master manipulator.

[marvelmusing]

What if these two moments are happening simultaneously?

[izzyspussy]

the fact that they made it illegal to make ads louder than programs on tv in 2010 but haven't updated it to apply the same regulation to streaming. who do i have to call.

[zincbot]

HM. MIRABELLE?

[xcziel]

oooops i forgot

tuesday new releases for november 14:

patrick rothfuss novella the narrow road between desires (same size as slow regard of silent things)

david baldacci has new thriller the edge

mitch albom novel about the lives of three holocaust survivors little liar

new novel from michael cunningham day

a return to the time-travel cafe: before we say goodbye by toshikazu kawaguchi author of before the coffee gets cold, english translation by geoffrey trousselot

elizabeth crook's western sequel to the which way tree, the madstone

harmony new book of poetry from whitney hanson

jacquelyn mitchard's new familial drama a very inconvenient scandal

.just once new christian fiction by karen kingsbury

letters of j.r.r. tolkien edited and selected by humphrey carpenter with assistance by christopher tolkien

rush drummer geddy lee's new memoir my effin' life

johnny cash: the life in lyrics with mark stielper

the night parade: a speculative memoir by jami nakamura lin

a woman i know: female spies, double identities, and a new story of the kennedy assasination by filmmaker mary haverstick

city on mars by kelly and zach weinersmith (good non-fiction gift for those who like the martian and laughing at elon mushk)

tomlin: the soul of a football coach by john harris

entangled life: illustrated edition by martin sheldrake - new gorgeous hardcover for the mushroom and fungi fans

core of an onion another micro-history - with recipes - from michael kurlansky, author of cod and salt

new leather gifting style black cover of 48 laws of power: special powers edition

the bill gates problem the myth of the good billionaire by tim schwab

the money kings by daniel schulman

new hardcover collector editions of madeline miller's circe and anthony doerr's all the light we cannot see

also new romance collector hardcovers of archer's voice by mia sheridan and one last stop by casey mcquiston

star wars the eye of darkness a high republic novel by george mann

the marvel multiverse role-playing game core rulebook is out now

the upcycled self by tariq 'black thought' trotter

political books 😔:

network of lies about fox news by brian stelter

biography mitt romney a reckoning by mckay coppins

mike pence's advice(?) book go home for dinner

tired of winning by jonathan karl about trump and the gop

[daisynik7]

When Nanami gets jealous, he gets mean. 

One day, you’re checking out at your favorite bakery, chatting with one of the new employees you just met the other day. Nanami stands beside you, already eyeing the poor guy suspiciously, sliding his arm around your waist, as if to make it even more apparent that the two of you are together. Still, this goes unnoticed; the man says something flirty, along the lines of I made this bread special for you today, I hope you enjoy it. He seals his fate by giving you a brazen wink, and you’re surprised that Nanami manages to keep his cool, though you can feel him tense up next to you. Before he can say anything, you pay quickly, grabbing your baked goods, fleeing the scene with your husband fuming silently in tow. 

The following week, when you suggest going to the same bakery the next morning for breakfast, Nanami is especially enthusiastic when he agrees. It doesn’t strike you as odd, until later that night. 

You’re cuddling in bed, and as usual, you both start getting handsy with each other. He slips beneath your top, flicking his thumbs against your perked nipples. His mouth grazes your neck, licking at your pulse points. You giggle, ticklish at the sensation, but then he nips at your skin with his teeth, immediately sucking on the spot hard. You whine his name, squirming at the sting. “Nanami!” 

“What is it, sweetheart?” His mouth is hot on your ear, one hand trailing down between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your panties. “You don’t like it?”

You do, of course, so you say, “I do like it. Just…no hickies. We’re seeing people tomorrow.” You’re referring to your friends, who you’re meeting for dinner. But Nanami has someone else in mind. 

“But that’s exactly why I want to,” he growls, sucking on your neck again, making his mark on you. “Everyone is going to know you’re mine.”

And how can you deny him when he’s being so fucking naughty right now, slipping his fingers inside you, grinding his body against yours, leaving more love bites on your neck and across your collarbone. When he gets on top of you, folding you into a mating press, pounding his cock in and out of your sloppy cunt, you can’t help but notice his gaze flitting to the hickies he’s left on your skin. His pace increases, marveling at his pretty little slut imprinted by his kisses.

Even that is not enough. No, he has to mark you up in every way possible. After he fucks you into three orgasms, clit swollen and rubbed raw by his thumb, he’s ready to bust. He pulls out of you abruptly, dropping your legs back onto the bed, crawling up to straddle your chest. He strokes his cock in his fist as you watch him, moans pouring out of your drooling mouth, hungry for it. It doesn’t take much longer for him to shoot his load onto you, painting your love bites in his pearly white cum.

The next morning at the bakery, you greet the employee, Nanami beside you with a small grin on his face. It takes a minute of idle chit-chat for the man to notice, pointing at his own neck to ask, “Are those...?”

Before you can answer, your husband slides his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, smirking at the employee. “Ah, well, I made these special for you last night, I hope you enjoy it.” Nanami gives you a loud smooch on the cheek, grabs the pastries, and leads you out the door, leaving the man too stunned to speak and you with your face buried in your hands, mortified. 

[togament]

suo. sakura. umemiya. togame. pt. 1

"...and the biggest fattest one too. How'd it take him so long to figure it out? What did it take for him to finally realize?"

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, general cute stuff really. There isn't much to warn about :o!!! gn!reader, Togame is tall and awkward and cute and and--, Ume's precious as always!

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

✦ when he’s doting on you way more, putting your wants over everything else.

He's attending to your every need even before you realize you even need it in the first place. Need tissues? He's already pulling them out of his bag. Got a migraine? He's already handing you a water bottle and an ibuprofen. He does it so naturally too like it's second nature to him.

✦ when he uncharacteristically gets heated when someone tries to harm you.

Listen. He's usually so, SO calm even in the most intense situations, always ready to analyze before acting--a real brain over heart typa guy. But when he finds you being cornered at an alleyway? He's sprinting towards you to beat whoever's planning on hurting you without even thinking twice. Someone's bothering you in town? He's shadowing you, protecting and keeping watch.

✦ he catches himself being flustered, blushing and folding at the sight of you.

Suo rarely shows any intense emotions. If anything, it's always just a slight smile and a little teasing remark here and there. But around you though? He's smiling widely, cheeks blushing. It's hard to hide sometimes. Goodness. He needs to keep himself in check, he often thinks. He doesn't want you to find out yet. Not yet.

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀.

✦ when he looks for you FIRST whenever he achieves something, whenever he's having a bad day--for literally EVERYTHING.

his immediate thought is you. Every time. When he sees the hybrid tomato plant you both grew from seed blooming, he's immediately sending you photos. When he's having one of those nights, tossing and turning in his sleep, thoughts keeping him awake, the only thing that's tethering him down to earth is you.

✦ when he sees you get along with the family that he built for himself.

Ume is never subtle when it comes to this. My god. He's blushing, tripping over his words, movements ever so stiff--it's very unusual to see Ume in this state. He's just so happy to see you interacting with everybody, loving each member as much as he does. He can't just swoop you off your feet and kiss you right? Not right now. Not when he's been silently pining for you for years.

✦ when he realizes his thoughts about his future always has you in it.

He often talks about his future with others, what his plans are after he graduates, where he wants to go, what restaurants to go to. Everyone notices how his thoughts always seem to gravitate towards you, always easing you into his plans with a pensive little, "Hm. Y'think they'd like to go here too? I heard them talking about the spot a couple times!", "Maaaan I wanna go here with them soon. Should I just book the tickets? Surprise them? Yeah I think I should!" Everyone's just waiting for a confession at this point, really.

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

✦ when random things remind him of you.

he could be on their daily patrols, passing by some shops and his mind would drift off to you and how you would look in the shirt he passed by, how your face would probably light up at the taste of the anpan they're selling down the street. Goodness you never leave his mind. Day dreams about it sometimes. Suo and Nirei has caught him multiple times doing so. Always ends with an extremely flustered Sakura.

✦ when he thinks he hears your laughter or your voice, his head snaps towards the direction of the sound.

just like the above! But it's your voice. Nirei thinks Sakura's just on guard by how often he looks around quickly but Suo points out Sakura's reddening cheeks and they immediately know he's thinking about you again. Wants to fish his phone out of his pocket with trembling (and blushing) fingers to ask you where you are. Y'know... Just in case you run into trouble.

✦ when he gave you the other half of his food (he hasn't taken a single bite yet)

Sakura sometimes eats for at least 5 people so to have him offer half of his food to you when you're out eating is saying something. His hands are blushing and trembling as he's trying his best to steady them, slicing a portion of his food to place it on your plate. Of course, you give him the other half of your food too. Of course he's a blushing mess.

────────────────────────────────────────────

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

✦ finds every excuse possible to be close to you. (Subtly.)

Ever noticed how Togame always seems to bump into you at spots you and your friends frequent? How he so happened to pass by the Furin school after your classes are dismissed? Gosh you're his first real crush so he doesn't know what to do with all these feelings. He wants to see you and see you often. He awkwardly and adorably tries his damndest not to seem too obvious when he's trying to see you more to strike up a conversation but his blushing (and tall frame) doesn't help his case.

✦ when he always talks about you to the old men at the public baths he frequents.

Togame's a quiet guy. He rarely ever yaps, always getting cut off mid-sentence since he talks so.. SO slow. But when it's about you, his normal 0.75x speaking speed goes up to a full 1.0x or even, dare I say, 1.25x. He's smiling ear to ear, voice with an uncharacteristic shine to it while he's playing shogi with one of the old men. They already adore you before they even meet you. They often give Togame advice too--bring you your favorite flowers, they suggest. Take you out for a festival date, they suggest. "Soon," Togame responds, scratching the back of his neck, "M'nervous though. I can pull it off ri--" "Of course you can, kame-kun." he looks at the old men with the softest, most lovestruck eyes they've ever seen. Soon. He'll make his very first move.

✦ has caught himself staring at you from afar, smiling to himself like a damn lovesick puppy.

...on multiple ocassions, might I add. You could be yapping away with the Bofurin members, talking animatedly about the most mundane things, arms flinging to and fro to get your point across, snort laughing and head thrown back. Togame's just sat just outside the group, ever the introvert. Face propped on his hand, heart practically melting. He doesn't realize he's doing this before Choji points it out. Loudly. He's immediately looking in the other direction, blush creeping up his neck as he struggles to keep the smaller Shishitoren member in check. While he's preoccupied, it's your turn to stare back at him, hiding a blush behind your hand. Suo notices this and points it out. Now the both of you are flustered messes.

a/n: tried my hand at a new layout!! eeeee inspired by my favorite perfume house but we're not opening that can of worms right now, lest I yap. ANYWHOSIES thank you, dear reader, for getting this far. I am smooching your forehead tenderly with consent.

[violenteconomics]

as a prank, ace and epel start referring to their upperclassmen as members of their family rather than by name — when they're not actually talking to their upperclassmen, of course — just to see how long it will take them to notice. and after a while, the other freshmen start doing it, too.

ace is the first one to come up with this idea. he think it's a harmless little thing, a prank that'll cause plenty of mayhem but won't get him in any serious trouble. so he starts referring to cater and trey as his dad and mom respectively, and riddle as his uptight, no-nonsense older brother.

("one time i saw my brother try to put one of mom's tart into like a ziplock bag to save it for later, and when he took it out like two days afterwards, it fell apart immediately and he started bawling, ha ha! my dad got the whole thing on camera and shared it with me — i can show you if you want.")

he ropes epel in on the plan. epel is a little more hesitant, but seeing this as a way to get back at vil, even in a small way, he agrees to it. vil is now "ma" and rook is now "pa". people do start to wonder why he still uses he/him pronouns to refer to his supposed mother, but they decide not to question it too much.

("a few months ago, my pa told me a story about how one time my ma was trying to comb his hair, only for his comb to get stuck. so he got another comb to get the first one out, and that ended up getting stuck, too. five combs later, and peepaw had to rush him to the barber for an emergency haircut. it was pretty funny, but now i'm left wondering how pa even knew that story... hold on, i need to check my bathroom mirror for cameras, excuse me.")

surprisingly, deuce catches on pretty quickly, and he starts thinking maybe it's a new dorm policy. he doesn't know why, or why nobody else seems to be doing it, but ace seems pretty sure of himself, so he starts doing it, too, if a bit awkwardly.

("my brother always gets on my case for my bad grades. it's a little frustrating, but he only does it because he cares. my dad tutors me whenever he can, but he's not very good at studying, either. but whenever i do get good grades on my report card, my mom makes me egg tarts!")

yuu starts after they ask ace about it, and thinking it's a good prank, they decide to join in on a little mischief. so they start referring to all the teachers as their "dad". it makes people really confused, because they assume they only have one dad, two at most, but "dad" seems to change personalities every single time they talk about him.

("i was helping my dad do paperwork the other day, except we didn't get anything done and spent the entire evening playing solitaire and making dog puns."

"i was filling my dad's basketballs for him for his next game, whilst simultaneously helping him rework his pick-up lines that he's going to use on rsa's 'hot librarian' — his words, not mine. it was... a weird experience."

"i was feeding my dad's cat a couple of days ago, but i guess i fed him too much, because he's just a ball with limbs now. it's fine, though — it's not like my dad actually goes anywhere. too old for that, y'know?")

ortho is up next. idia's already ortho's brother, so he can't really do anything with that, but he really wants in on the average teenage experience of pranking your peers. so he starts referring to literally every upperclassmen he knows as his "brother". this is when everyone starts to realize that something's wrong, because some of things ortho says can not apply to idia in any reality.

("my brother is so talented! he's so good at talking to people, and making them sign contracts with him, and convincing them to invest in his restaurant... gosh, i wish i could be as good at communicating as him!")

jack is, unsurprisingly, very unamused when he figures out what the others are doing, but he doesn't try to stop them. but after a few weeks of exposure, and jack starts unconsciously doing it, too, which the others don't point out to him because they think it's absolutely hilarious.

("my brother didn't show up to morning practice, again, so my other brother and i went lookin' for him, and we ended up findin' him in a tree. obviously, my brother and i can't climb as well as my eldest bro can, so my brother just... threw a spelldrive disk at him. to get him out of the tree. and then we had to rush him to the infirmary because now he had a concussion. i don't... i don't know why he thought that would work.")

sebek is the last hold-over. not only is he unamused by this prank — and frankly very aghast when he realizes that jack has also been infected by it — but he's also really repressed and will do literally whatever it takes to not sully his image in the eyes of diasomnia. of course, with enough wear and tear, this doesn't last very long.

("ugh. my brother fell asleep on the road AGAIN! i swear, so many people have tripped over him, i'll be surprised if he hasn't broken any ribs yet.")

ace and epel think all of this is extremely funny, so they all keep trucking along with it with nobody noticing for a couple of weeks. it's all fine and dandy until the first-years are out on the town during the weekend, and deuce gets involved in a really bad carriage crash.

at the hospital, deuce starts deliriously asking for his older brother to take him home. but when the receptionist checks his familial records, they're really confused because deuce never even had a brother.

unfortunately, ace knows exactly who deuce is talking about, and awkwardly spends the next 30 minutes trying to get a hold of riddle over the phone.

the awkwardness doesn't end as riddle actually gets to the hospital, and the doctor smiles and says, "you must be mr spade's big brother."

[yusiyomogi]

i actually think there's some significance in the fact that mithrun wears oversized shirt with open collar (it most likely belongs to laios) in the final arc of the manga. i mean, not just that kui simply wanted to draw him in oversized clothes, lol.

in all instances we see young (pre-dungeon) mithrun he's wearing clothes that hide his body as much as possible. which seems normal, until you see what other elves prefer to wear: most of them wear light short tunics with no sleeves and they don't usually even wear pants. here's a comparison to his brother's outfit, for example, as they stand next to each other.

it's not like his fashion choices are unique, but it certainly feels deliberate. he doesn't add any variation to his canary's uniform either, but that's not especially notable, i guess, because a lot of canaries don't do that (i mean, it's still their armor).

but in his perfect world he's also one of the few who always wears this type of clothes. never revealing himself. sitting a little further from everyone else.

he even lies in his bed fully clothed, like he can't ever bring himself to let his guard down, never showing his "true" skin to anyone.

btw notice that his bed is a single bed, even though he's been living with his partner for 5 years at that point.

and that's the idea, isn't it? he never lets himself be truly vulnerable with anyone, even in his dungeon, where people are supposed to like him unconditionally. i think it adds something to the horrible scene with the demon: it's especially disturbing that the demon literally doesn't care how much of yourself you wanna hide, it sees (and eats) right through every protective layer. and we all know what the allegory of this scene is.

when mithrun loses all his desires, he no longer cares what clothes he wears. and in some twisted metaphorical sense it's heartbreaking to see him in a simple elven tunic when he's recovering, the one that doesn't hide any of his injuries or scars or terrible physique.

he doesn't care to hide himself anymore, but it isn't on his own volition. it's something that was ripped away from him, as well as his privacy (a lot of people have to go through this when they're in medical care actually).

when he recovers and enlists to canaries again, he starts to wear full uniform again, but i don't think it holds much significance to him anymore. or at least he thinks it doesn't. we can see that cithis forces him to wear frilly dress at some point and it's implied that he goes along with it (cithis is still an asshole for that btw).

at this point he's fully focused on finding the demon, but i think the sad reality is that he's always been capable of developing new desires. i'd argue that there are already some things he cares about without realizing it, in the main story. but what's stopping him from actually realizing it at that point is that he's clinically depressed. his disability makes his life difficult; he lives with the idea that he's completely "broken", he accepted the reality of living like that and always goes along with what others make him do. so, he doesn't believe in his own privacy anymore. it’s actually something kabru talks about in the adventurer’s bible comic, when he tries to help mithrun to figure it out again, to help him see the value of privacy, of choosing what he wanna reveal of himself. mithrun needed a reminder that he still has this choice like anybody else.

i think the scene where kabru asks him about his past for the first time is interesting in that sense. first of all, i like the symbolism of kabru unbuttoning mithrun’s collar and cuffs, revealing the scars underneath (a good amount of them is self-inflicted). he does so unthinkingly, but in his defence he doesn't know anything about mithrun yet. another interesting thing is that the first reaction mithrun has is covering his eyes with his hands. he's trying to hide. he supposedly has no desire to hide, but this reaction is almost instinctual to him. i think kabru notices this as well (of course he does) and i think it's one of the things that prompts him to voice his concerns about mithrun's privacy later. 

so, what about that laios' shirt he wears in the final arc of the comic? he has to change his uniform's shirt for something else because it's covered in spider's guts. it's unclear if someone puts laios' shirt on him or if it's something he chooses to wear himself. regardless, it's still symbolic for his change. it's not particularly revealing or anything, but it's different from the type of clothes he usually wears, and it's tallman clothes. and in this final arc we can see a lot of his true feelings as well. he's visibly mad at kabru, he shows concern and tries to help marcille, he helps kabru to break out of his spiral. and obviously, in chapter 94 he reveals a lot of what he actually feels and think and shows genuine emotions other than anger. and I think it’s the first time he decided to be open and vulnerable on his own volition, probably in his entire life.

we can see him wearing variety of clothes post-canon and it’s ambiguous how much of it he picked for himself. pattadol probably helps him a lot with choosing outfits and she also prefers high collars. but mithrun knows he can choose now; even if he doesn’t want anything in particular, he always can express his opinion or feeling, like he did with kabru’s food. he always can choose how much he wants to be seen. i’m just glad to see him wearing similar shirt with open collar and rolled-up sleeves on the cover of daydream hour book.

[katskitoshi]

"W-WAIT, YOU'RE NOT A BOY?" with TWISTED WONDERLAND

synopsis: he's gotten to the point where he thinks he knows everything about you, until you (accidentally) spring on him that you're not even a guy.

characters: riddle, trey, cater, ace, deuce, leona, ruggie, jack, azul, jade, floyd, kalim, jamil, vil, rook, epel, idia, ortho, malleus, lilia, silver, & sebek x fem! reader

includes: mutual crush relationships (everyone -ortho), cursing, mentions panties and bras, slightly suggestive in some parts.

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

if not for an unbirthday party where you needed an outfit that accommodated your body more, riddle rosehearts would have never noticed unless you outwardly told him. only now did he realize your more feminine features, and he turns as red as his hair. after realizing, he does treat you slightly more respectful because he was raised to treat women respectfully. besides being more respectful, flustered, and in love with you, not much changed in you two's friendship.

trey clover would have found out sooner or later even if his hand never touched your bra on accident while tying your apron. he straight up asks if you're a girl, and when you tell him you are he acts surprised and flustered. honestly, not much changes. he acts the exact same but gets slightly more protective of you.

when cater diamond found out over magicam that you were a a girl, he nearly died. he just though you were one of the guys that were more naturally feminine, only to find out you're actually a female. honestly, he's not mad. he still loves you! he'll help you keep it a secret if you wish, but if you don't want to, there probably won't be a student in the school who doesn't know you're a girl. but don't worry, he'll keep all those icky pervs away!

okay, okay. because he's a little shit, he wanted to prank you and it just happened to involve you dressing yourself. so ace trappola waited until he knew you were changing to barge into your room, only to be face to face with you in just a bra and panties. he screams, like a girl, more girly than you, and rushed out the dorm with his face red. the next day is awkward, but at least he knows his crush is a girl, and that you have a really cute body under the clothes that convinces others you're a boy.

it's just so strange, the feelings deuce spade has. he even calls his mom and tells her all about his little crush. but by the way he was describing you, ms. spade didn't think you were a guy. so deuce builds up the courage to ask you if you're actually a guy. to his surprise when you tell him you're not, he dies of embarrassment. queue delinquent deuce whenever someone makes some pervy comment (or generally speaks) to you.

honestly, leona kingscholar probably knew already. he could probably sense or smell the female hormones on your or something. i don't know, all i know is that leona knows. he doesn't really have to ask or anything. he just knows. and you think he knows because he treats you better than any other male in the school. his attitude towards you doesn't ever really change but he's definitely flirty with you.

ruggie bucchi is in the same boat is leona. they both can just tell you're not a guy. however, he fears you. male hyenas usually listen to their female counterpart, so ruggie usually just listens. however, when he realizes he has control and that you aren't a threat, he's definitely becomes more friendly around you. no matter how much he fears you, his crush never ever leaves.

i won't lie, but every person in savanaclaw probably knows you're a girl. jack howl included. he won't make it painfully obvious that he knows but he definitely lets you know subtly know he knows. he shows you great amounts of respect and sometimes can't help but feel absolutely vile for thinking of you in some... not so respectful ways.

look, you're gonna give the poor octopus a heart attack once he finds out! you're filling out a contract and you inform azul ashengrotto that you're a girl and ask for certain things to be changed. he simply dies on the spot from shock and is a blushy little octopus. he thinks of using you to convince more people to the monstro lounge, but he can't do that to his crush!

just as expected, jade leech finds out rather quickly. one walk in the forrest on a hot day and a crop top with some sweat soaking through was enough to spill the beans. of course he had his suspicions, but you confirmed them for him! he finds you somehow cuter with your secret revealed. don't worry, your secret is safe with him!

floyd leech always thought you were just so cute! so, he just has to squeeze you to show you his love, right? when he squeezed you, he felt something push against him. he realized what he felt was what all the female merfolk had. "oh, shrimpy! you have boobs!" and he enjoys squeezing your boobs more than you. it doesn't matter if they're big or small, he just can't stop squeezing them!

this shouldn't come as a surprise, but it takes kalim al-asim a long time to find out. i mean, he can quite literally see you naked and be like "wow! you're very female-bodied for a guy!" of course, he didn't find out that way, but he could have. he actually found out by spilling water on you and seeing your bra. anyways, he's surprisingly calm about it. he still treats you like a friend that he has an obvious crush on, so yeah!

jamil viper is surprisingly shocked at what he found out. a little cooking mishap caused you to take off your oversized hoodie and make jamil realize your more... feminine features on your upper body. of course, he's a lot more over protective of you, and oh! he just can't stop staring! he tries his best, but his crush is just a bit more apparent!

he had always had his suspicions. vil schoenheit always thought your more feminine appearance had been more than some accidental blessing. apparently, he was proven right when on a shopping spree he got a little look of your breasts while trying on some clothes. he'll bring you all sorts of clothes that he thinks will suit you, enjoying getting to see you try on the clothes. you can tell he knows your little secret by the more.. risky.. clothes, if you can even call them that, he requests you in.

rook hunt knew from the first second he saw you. you come into night raven and expect not to be observed by the hunter? how cute. he gets actual confirmation when he was watching you change one night. of course he looked away while you were naked (maybe not), but he saw your bra and completely knew. the next day, he obviously hugged you more to try and egg you on that he knows (and feel you), but don't worry, it doesn't take to long to find out.

okay, so epel felmier though you two were on the same boat. two really pretty men cursed by genetics somehow. but, after he takes you on a magic wheel ride and feels you against him, he realizes he is alone. he's obviously flustered but he feels more manly somehow? he protects you and comes off as manly as possible. surely other guys will see how manly he is if his crush, and the only girl on campus, sees it, right?

when idia shroud found out, he was more than surprised and honestly didn't even think he could face you ever again! with a bit of convincing from his dear little brother, he could face you again. although with pink tinted hair and a red face, he'll still see you! how did he find out exactly? well, he accidentally touched you boob when aiming to punch your shoulder after a won game.

(platonic) a simple body scan gave ortho shroud the answers he needed. ortho is the biggest idia x [name] shipper on the planet! he'll call you 'big sister', and probably lock you in a room with idia if it'll help speed up the love-i-fication process. eventually he'll break the news to his brother, but he loves playing the waiting game with him. is idia getting any closer to finding out? no- wait, yes, wait-!

malleus draconia is an intelligent man. however, to crack this mystery, he'll need every clue and sign laid before him. once he pieces the picture together, he still might need to to clarify that you are in fact a woman. and don't forget, malleus is a gentleman. he'll treat you with love and respect as he courts you, beds you, and makes you his queen.

at some age, you just realize what everyone is, y'know? lilia vanrouge just knows that you're a girl. it probably started out at a gut feeling that ended up true. and maybe he'll let you know that he knows by giving you a cutely wrapped box of matching black and pink panty and bra set! maybe with a rose and a note that says 'be my girl?'

sleepyhead silver realizes completely by accident when he just wanted to lay on your shoulder. next thing you know, you've pulled his head to your thighs and when he tries to look up, he's meet with a new type of pillow. he's conflicted between staying awake or going to sleep upon this newfound discovery. either way, don't think that his sleepiness will prevent him from wanting to be as knightly as possible for you.

sebek zigvolt accidentally unhooks your bra when trying to fix your posture. it's an awkward moment and sebek is surprisingly quiet when he asks you your gender. his loudness returns as he begins yelling about how informal he's been to you. as a servant of his dear master malleus, he promises to treat you with the utmost respect!

[callmearcturus]

I said this elsewhere but

not to be That Guy but I don't really see the point of moving platforms anymore.

There is no where we can hide on the internet from the silicon valley bros. There just isn't. Patreon is VC-funded and could announce tomorrow that oh of course they've been partnered with Midjourney for months already. Twitter actively scraps everything for AI learning. And even if you trusted the other big players like FB/IG to tell the truth about shit, people are going to use these platforms for datasets anyway. They'll just do it quietly and hope no one notices.

And places like cohost or whatever-- honestly, if it makes you feel safer/better, go for it, but I don't think cohost has the sway or capital to build the type of legal team you need to fight against scrapers. Hell, you wanna retreat into private discords? Discord wants in on AI too.

Everyone big is already dealing in AI, and everyone small doesn't even have a seat at the table. In my opinion, we are all collectively holding out for Brussels or any of the many court cases to do something about this shit, because it's no longer a thing we can just hide from.

I'm going to keep my writing on the AO3 because they are the odd case of having an actual legal team in place for this shit. For artists, I have nothing but sympathy. I suggest glazing and nightshading literally everything you post.

But beyond that, I'm unsure what we can do. This is a matter for legislation. Silicon Valley doesn't care if we all go to cohost, and even less scrupulous data-crawlers will just grab our shit from there too.

So I'll be here.

[pastryfication]

oscar x reader who has a cochlear implant

sudden silence | oscar piastri

summary: your cochlear implant isn’t always your best friend, but when it fails you at the worst possible time, you feel panic like never before. note: i hope this is what you imagined!! i researched quite a lot to make it as accurate as possible but please correct me if i’ve written something inaccurate xx

everything was loud around you. the engines roaring to life again and again cut through the air and the crowds erupted in cheers whenever they caught sight of a car. the announcers were talking animatedly over the loudspeakers, their enthusiasm clear even if it was just free practice. and on top of all that, the general hustle and bustle also sounded in the background. the high-octane atmosphere was almost headache-inducing. everything was slowly becoming too much for you, the noise deafening, drowning out your thoughts, until suddenly, everything stopped.

suddenly, everything was completely quiet. not a single sound of oscar’s pit crew talking loudly. not a single tyre screeching on the track. just complete silence.

your hand immediately reached up to the small implant in your ear. don’t panic. you forced yourself to take a deep breath. glitches happen. just count to 10 and it should be working again.

1, 2, 3, 4 . . . you took a deep breath again . . . 8, 9 . . . 10 . . .

nothing happened. the silence lingered, the disorienting feeling wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. one of the engineers started shouting something and suddenly everyone was running around, but you couldn’t hear them. you couldn’t hear anything.

you could feel your heart beating away in your chest while your hands started to tremble, clamminess forming in your palms. you tried to steady your breathing again, tried to calm yourself, but everything was suddenly overwhelming. relax. you thought. you can fix it.

fingers fumbling, you reached for the implant, quickly checking the battery. it was still there. adjusting the settings didn’t work either, and it dawned on you like a comet from the sky. there was nothing you could do.

the panic gripped you from the inside and moved into occupying your entire body. hearing was crucial at the track. not just for communication but for safety as well. what if you missed an important announcement? or something critical happening on the track? what if oscar crashed and nobody could tell you?

the visual stimuli—the flashing lights, the cars zooming by, the people moving around you—became slowly overwhelming without the grounding presence of sound. the sensory overload only added to the panic already formed by your thoughts.

what were you supposed to do? alert some of the employees? no. you couldn’t disturb them from their job. find someone else to help? you mind did a quick once over of the people attending the grand prix, but no one who would be able to help you came to mind.

you were on your own.

୨୧

oscar immediately stressed when he exited the car after fp2, finding out that you were gone from the garage. and no one knew where you were.

you had left somewhere in the middle of the session without telling anyone.

it instantly worried him, and with a frown on his face, he made his way to his small drivers room.

you don’t hear him enter, but suddenly, his figure was standing in front of you, a frown on his face as he said something. you couldn’t hear it. it was as if he was miming the words, no sound escaping his mouth.

he must have noticed something in your facial expression, because suddenly, he stopped talking. his face morphed into an even deeper frown of concern, and his hand moved up to point at his right ear, his question evident in the unspoken.

you only nodded, looking down at your fingers instead of meeting his eyes. was he disappointed that you had left?

you didn’t get long to ponder, because he quickly took a step forward, his hand meeting shoulder first to alert you of his closeness before he pulled you into him, both arms wrapping tightly around your frame and squeezing you against his chest in a hug.

the two of you stayed there for a while, his hand rubbing your back gently as you sniffled slightly, trying to keep the pent up tears at bay.

someone must have knocked on the door, because you felt oscar chest vibrate as he lifted his head to shout something in reply, but he didn’t pull back from you.

there, in oscar’s embrace, with his arms shielding you from the outside world, his lips pressing reassuring kisses into your hair, you knew everything would be fine. you could call the audiologist in a moment, and everything would be fixed. but for a moment you actually enjoyed the silence, because you know that oscar won’t let anything happen. with him, you were completely safe, and as long as you had him, nothing could go completely wrong.

[prythianpages]

Be Safe | Azriel x Reader

summary: you are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go.

warnings: fluff and a hint of suggestiveness at the beginning

note: I saw this tiktok and decided to write it into a little scenario because I loved it so much.

“Oh, you’re going to love the Day Court,” Mor purrs with a grin. “And it’s High Lord. Helion…let’s just say his pegasus isn’t the only thing you’ll want to ri–”

“Oookay.” Cassian chimes in with a chuckle, placing his hand over Mor’s mouth to keep her from finishing her sentence. “Settle down, Mor. We don’t want her to love it too much!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back,” you respond and then laugh as Mor bites Cassian’s hand. "Besides, Rhys will be there and he’s, you know, my boss. This trip is purely professional.”

The three of you stand in the foyer of the town house, Cassian cradling his hand to his chest with a pointed look at Mor, who merely rolls her eyes. You were heading for Day Court, where Rhysand already waited for you. Cassian and Mor had stopped you, insisting on wishing you well before leaving, even though your mission was amicable. The only danger you could possibly encounter on your trip, it seems, would be Helion’s chambers. A welcomed danger, if Mor’s insinuations were to hold truth.

“I should go now. I told Rhys I would be there within the next half hour almost an hour ago.”

As you gaze at your friends, a subtle ache tugs at your heartstrings, a silent yearning for another’s presence. Though you know he's currently engaged in a mission, you can't help but wish he were here beside you too. 

You turn away from your friends, preparing to winnow to the Day Court. It's as though the Cauldron itself heard your unspoken longing. Just as you're about to step forward, a hand emerges from the depths of the shadows, halting you in your tracks with a gentle yet firm touch.

You turn back around, watching as the darkness seems to part for him, revealing those warm hazel eyes that could pierce through the darkest of nights. “Azriel,” you greet in pleasant surprise.

His eyes lock onto yours and you suddenly find it hard to breathe. “Be safe,” he murmurs, his voice deep yet sweet like honey. The way he looks at you, full of concern and something else you can’t quite discern at the moment, sends a delightful warmth seeping into your heart. 

Azriel’s gaze flickers down toward your intertwined hands and you notice the subtle tension that comes from his scarred hands before he abruptly lets yours go. It’s a moment of vulnerability that makes your chest ache. You want to reach out for his hands again but he comes to stand by your side instead.

His arm brushes against yours. The dark tendrils dancing around his shoulders revel in your proximity, slithering down his arm and coiling around you in a cool embrace. You welcome his shadows, smiling softly when you feel them tug you closer to their master, deliberately enchanting you with the scent of cedar and night chilled mist. It’s as if they don’t want you to leave his side.

“I will,” you finally respond, your voice a mere whisper as you look up at him

Azriel’s gaze softens. The tension between you dissipates into something lighter, something magical. The world around seems to fade into darkness, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment that feels both infinite and fleeting. No words are spoken yet so much is said.

Meanwhile, Cassian and Mor exchange a knowing look of their own. The mutual crushing between you and Azriel has been evident to everyone for years. Well, everyone, except for you and Azriel. Mor and Cassian will give you grace, as Azriel can be unreadable at times. But Azriel? The spymaster of the Night Court? How he cannot see your unmistakable crush on him is beyond them.

“Be safe,” Cassian says, mocking Azriel’s tone.There’s a mischievous gleam in his hazel orbs as he gazes down at Mor, pouting his lips in an exaggerated manner. 

Mor’s eyes light up, mirroring Cassian’s mischief. She leans in toward Cassian’s shoulder–the very same way you’re doing with Azriel. Except, she wraps her arms around Cassian’s larger one, resting her head on his chest. “I’ll be so safe,” she cooes, voice like velvet.

Azriel feels the heat rising to his neck. He turns to Cassian and Mor, gaze darkening with an icy glare. “Stop,” he warns but it only encourages the two further.

They continue to hug each other and make kissing sounds. A blush creeps up your cheeks and you seek solace in Azriel’s arm, burying your face against it. Azriel’s wing instinctively curls around your form in a protective manner. Were you being that obvious? Your answer is immediately given as your hands gravitate towards each other once more.

 “Stop it! Or I’m going to kill you!”

Cassian pulls Mor even closer. His brows furrow, softening his expression as he directs his pout toward Azriel. “But how would that keep us safe?”

None of you will be safe if you keep delaying y/n. Helion does not like to be kept waiting, echoes an all too familiar voice–Rhys’s– through your minds. He leaves your mind as quickly as he entered it, lingering only in Azriel’s long enough to add: Let her go.

Azriel blinks, not realizing that throughout the teasing, his fingers had intertwined with yours. He turns his attention back to you, reluctantly releasing your hand. A sheepish expression takes over his features as he brings the hand that had been holding yours to rub the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t help but worry when you’re not home,” Azriel admits quietly.

Mor and Cassian both let out a sound that Azriel is quick to stifle with his shadows. 

“It’s only for a week,” you assure him as you open the door and step outside. You feel a flicker of anticipation tingling in your veins as you prepare to winnow. You turn back to face Azriel and your friends one more time.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

But I miss you already, Azriel thinks as he feels a strange stirring awakening deep in his chest. His shadows buzz around him in excitement. 

“Bye, y/n. Have fun but not too much fun!” Cassian calls out to you in mock warning over Azriel’s right shoulder.

Mor peeks out from Azriel’s left shoulder and winks at you. “But if you do find yourself having too much fun, call for me, okay?” 

“Sure,” you agree and Azriel fails to notice the reciprocated teasing in your tone.

He’s too busy glancing between Cassian and Mor, hazel eyes wary. His shadows whisper to him, confirming the suggestiveness of their words. Uneasiness settles into his stomach, causing his entire body to tense up.

He’s familiar with the flirtatious nature of the High Lord of the Day Court. Too familiar that he can already dreadfully anticipate the sweet words Helion will shower you with. His shadows stir, excitement morphing into panic. What if you fall victim to Helion’s charm?

Suddenly, he hates the idea of you going to Day. 

As your gazes meet once more, an unseen force seems to settle into place. His eyes widen in realization, his mouth parting to utter your name, but it’s too late. You’re already winnowing away and he lurches forward, after you, pulled by the golden threads that have wildly unfurled within his chest.

Mate. You're his mate.

note: I hope you enjoyed! <3 Part two can be found here

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria