#work's intent at its finest

[roxannepolice]

For all your gazing and listening purposes, also my new favourite yt comment of all time

#duck x chinchilla, the new tensimm tag

[oh-meow-swirls]

this deserves its own post so here ya go-

[quinzzelx]

Reflections

Azriel x Fem! Reader

Request: hello, i’ve been thinking about slight angst to fluffy filth with azriel x reader, i have this idea where reader gets az off in front of a mirror while he says nice things about himself, bc we all know his self esteem is abominable. [...]

Summary: You notice Azriel isn't feeling well and want to show him just how much he is loved.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Smut, 18! +, Fluffy smut, Soft Azriel, gentle sex, mirror sex.

A/N: This is soooo cute!! I really wanted to make this fluffy. Azriel deserves so much love and I loved writing this. Also, a friend of mine gave me a really mean idea for a very angsty second part, but that would be utter heartbreak omg...

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Azriel moved through the day with a heavier shadow than usual, both literally and figuratively. His usual quiet demeanor had deepened into something more somber, his brooding silence punctuated only by the soft whispers of his shadows that clung close, mirroring his mood. It was one of those days when the weight of his duties hung heavily upon him, laden with guilt, self-doubt, and a gnawing anxiety that he might never truly be enough. His own insecurities clawed at him relentlessly, questioning his worth even as he worked tirelessly behind the scenes, unseen and often unappreciated.

You observed him with a careful eye, noting the subtle shift in his energy, the slight hesitation in his movements. Throughout the centuries of your friendship, which had seen countless shared secrets and moments of vulnerability, you had learned to read him like one of the many books lining the shelves of his dimly-lit office. You both danced around each other in a delicate ballet of unspoken words and intermittent closeness, occasionally succumbing to the gravitational pull of mutual desire that neither of you dared to fully acknowledge or define.

Recently, something had shifted. The air between you was charged, heavy with the things left unsaid, the feelings unexplored. Despite the deep bond you shared, Azriel had begun to pull away, cloaking himself in solitude and silence. His avoidance was a clear sign of his inner turmoil—a battle you knew all too well. He was adept at seeing the good in everyone else, lifting others with his quiet strength and perceptive insights, yet he was blind to the light within himself.

Determined to breach the distance he had imposed, you resolved to confront the barriers he had erected. Catching Azriel was never easy; he was as elusive as the shadows he commanded, adept at hiding his deepest fears and desires. But love, you had decided, was not a thing to be easily relinquished or left unspoken. It was a force as formidable as the magic Azriel wielded, and you were prepared to wield it with all the determination and tenderness it demanded.

You waited for him in his bedroom, adorned in one of your finest and sheerest black lace nightgowns, draped with a silk robe that whispered with every subtle movement. Positioned on the chaise in the corner of his spacious room, you gazed intently into the floor-length mirror adjacent to the door, reflecting not only your own anxious anticipation but also the room’s dark, elegant aesthetic.

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the tension and expectancy built within you. The only sound was the quiet rustle of your gown and the distant, muffled noises of the House of Wind settling for the night.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped through. His arrival was signaled not by a flourish, but by a weary sigh, his silhouette framed momentarily in the doorway. His shoulders were slumped, bearing the invisible yet palpable weight of his duties and doubts.

As he entered, his familiar shadows danced around him, a dark entourage that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Interestingly, the shadows flickered towards you briefly, acknowledging your presence as if in greeting. Yet, they maintained their silence, not alerting Azriel to your presence. It was as if they, too, conspired in your plan, understanding perhaps the necessity of this confrontation.

Azriel, oblivious to your presence and caught up in his own thoughts, moved slowly into the room. He loosened the clasps of his cloak and began to shed the layers of his formal attire, each movement heavy with exhaustion. It was only as he turned to hang his cloak in the wardrobe that he caught your reflection in the mirror. His movements halted abruptly; his eyes locked onto yours in the reflected image. A complex mixture of surprise, confusion, and a flicker of something deeper played across his features. For a moment, he simply stared, as if processing the sight and its implications.

“Why are you here?” His voice, though soft, carried the weight of his weary confusion and lingering shadows of his earlier brooding.

The room felt charged, the air thick with the unsaid, as you stood gracefully, letting the silk robe fall slightly to reveal more of the delicate lace clinging to your form. “I’m here for you, Azriel,” you said, your voice a gentle yet firm declaration. “I’ve seen how you’ve been carrying your burdens, and you don’t have to bear them alone. Not anymore.”

Your words hung in the air, a soft yet undeniable challenge to the walls he had built around himself. His initial shock gave way to a resigned vulnerability, the barriers beginning to falter under the weight of your sincerity and the palpable concern in your eyes.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a long, silent moment, the battle within him almost visible. Then, slowly, the shadows around him seemed to retreat slightly, as if giving him the space to breathe, to decide. It was your turn to wait, the outcome of your bold move hanging delicately in the balance.

Your movements were smooth and deliberate, each step carrying the quiet confidence of someone who knows their power. As Azriel's gaze lingered on you in the mirror, the sheer lace of your nightgown played a tantalizing dance over your skin, hinting at the promises concealed beneath. When you let the silk robe slip from your shoulders, pooling silently at your feet, his reaction was instantaneous—a low grunt of undisguised desire and perhaps, a hint of conflict.

"You've been avoiding me," you murmured, your voice as soft and enticing as the silk that had just glided off your body. "I missed you, Azriel." The words were simple, but they carried the weight of your genuine concern and longing.

His jaw tensed, a slight narrowing of his eyes betraying his inner turmoil. Muscles tight, he took in the sight of you—each curve accentuated by the delicate lace, the soft lighting casting shadows that played over your form. Doubt flickered behind his gaze, a constant companion in his thoughts. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice rough with a mix of confusion and rising heat.

Smirking slightly, you stepped closer, each movement calculated to show your appreciation of his formidable presence. His impressive wings, the strong lines of his body—every inch of him spoke of a crafted perfection that took your breath away. But beyond the physical, you saw the soul of the man who had stood by you through centuries, his loyalty unwavering, his strength a beacon. Tonight, you were determined to show Azriel just how much he was loved and adored. He deserved to feel valued, not just by those around him but by himself. If he needed a reminder, you were more than ready to provide it, to break down the barriers he had erected around his heart.

Reaching him, you placed a hand lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. "Let me remind you," you said, standing on tiptoes to whisper directly into his ear, your breath a warm caress. "Let me show you how much you mean to me, to all of us. You are not alone, Azriel. You never have been." The intensity of your words seemed to pierce through his defenses. For a moment, he was still, the only movement the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against him, his embrace a silent acceptance of your offer. His forehead rested against yours, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

"Mhm," you hum softly, letting one of your hands wander down his back, feeling the tense muscles beneath his shirt as your fingers explore the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracing his tattoos. The warmth of his skin radiated through the fabric, speaking of the battles he fought both outside and within himself. "I want to make you feel good," you whispered, a promise laden with devotion and want.

Azriel's response was almost imperceptible, a slight relaxation under your touch as he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. His eyes remained closed, focusing intently on the sensation of your hand moving over him. The muscle in his jaw worked silently, a visible sign of the tension he carried. As your scent enveloped him—sweet notes of arousal mixed with the calming lavender of your soap—it threatened to undo the control he so rigidly held over himself. He suppressed a groan, the depth of his yearning surfacing despite his best efforts to maintain composure.

Your other hand gently traced the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there and willing it to ease. "Let go with me, Az," you coaxed, your voice low and soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Not with me." Your words, heartfelt and sincere, aimed to penetrate the walls he built around his emotions, to reach the man who so rarely allowed himself the luxury of being cared for.

Slowly, Azriel opened his eyes, the usual guarded hazel depths now shimmering with a mix of emotions—conflict, desire, and a dawning realization that he could perhaps find solace in your arms. His hand reached up to cover yours, pressing it against his cheek, turning his face to plant a soft kiss in the palm of your hand. It was a small gesture, yet laden with significance, an acknowledgment of his trust and his willingness to lean on you, if only for the night.

You pull him into a kiss, one that starts soft and gentle but quickly escalates into something deeper, more meaningful. Your hand, not content with merely cupping his cheek, slides to the hem of his pants, palming his hardening length through the fabric. The moment he groans softly into the kiss, you seize the opportunity to deepen it, slipping your tongue into his mouth, fully asserting your presence.

The kiss turns heated in an instant. Azriel's hands wander to your waist, his touch sending shivers through your body as he feels your heated skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. "Fuck," he grunts as the kiss breaks, his eyes roaming over you with newfound intensity. He takes in the sight of your nipples, visibly strained against the sheer lace. "You look..." he trails off, exhaling sharply, the raw desire evident in his gaze. "Absolutely breathtaking."

Encouraged by his reaction, you begin to undress him slowly, each movement deliberate and filled with intention. As you peel away his clothing, his heart hammers in his chest, the sensation distinctly different, more intimate than any encounter before. This wasn't just about physical need—it was about connection, about exposing not just bodies but also hidden depths of emotion.

His shirt falls away, and you take a moment to trace the lines of his well-defined chest, your fingers exploring each scar and muscle, a silent testament to his battles and burdens. Each touch seems to speak words you both had held back, acknowledging his vulnerabilities and strengths without needing to articulate them verbally.

As you kneel to undo his belt, your proximity to him intensifies the atmosphere. The sound of the buckle clinking softly as you open his pants is almost deafening in the quiet room. You glance up at him, finding his eyes locked on yours, a mixture of apprehension and longing swirling within.

With his pants finally loosened, you help him step out of them, leaving him as exposed as you are, both physically and emotionally. Standing back up, you press your body against his, feeling the heat radiating from him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest synchronizing with yours.

"Let me take care of you tonight," you whisper against his lips, a promise hanging between you, as heavy and tangible as the air itself. "Let me love you, Azriel." You guide Azriel to stand before the large mirror, positioning him so that he can see both himself and your reflection. Standing just behind him, you drape your arms over his broad shoulders, allowing your hands to roam freely across the hard planes of his chest. The room's temperature seems to climb with each deliberate caress, the air charged with an electric current of anticipation and desire.

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you let a slow, confident smirk play across your lips. "I want you to watch," you murmur, locking eyes with him through the reflection. Your voice is low, a sultry command that sends a thrill through him.

Your hands move with practiced ease, tracing down his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. "Look at how strong you are, my love," you whisper, your voice a mix of admiration and desire.

You hold Azriel's gaze in the mirror, your eyes locking with his as you let your hand slide into the waistband of his underwear, feeling the soft, silky skin of his hard cock beneath your fingertips. Your touch elicits a shiver from him, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into your embrace, his wings twitching with anticipation.

"I want you to repeat what I say," you murmur, your voice a seductive whisper as you continue to stroke him, your movements slow and deliberate. You feel the tension in his body, the way he strains against your touch, and you revel in the power you have over him in this moment.

"Say it," you command softly, your tone firm yet loving. "Repeat after me."

His breath comes out in shallow pants as he nods, his eyes still closed, lost in the sensations you're evoking in him. "I-I'll repeat," he manages to whisper, his voice husky.

You smile, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you guide him through the words, each one a testament to his worth and your desire for him. "I am worthy," you say, your voice steady and sure. "I am strong. I am loved."

Azriel's voice trembles slightly as he echoes your words, his own affirmation mingling with yours in the air between you. "I am worthy," he repeats, his voice growing stronger with each repetition. "I am strong. I am loved."

You feel a swell of pride and affection for him as he speaks, his words a declaration of self-worth and acceptance. But you're not done yet—you want him to know just how much he means to you, how deeply you desire him.

Leaning closer, you press a kiss to the shell of his ear, your lips brushing against his skin as you murmur words of adoration and desire. "You're so fucking sexy, Az," you breathe, your voice low and sultry. "Your body, your mind, your heart—I want all of you. I need all of you."

As you continue to stroke Azriel, you feel him twitch with each movement of your hand, a visceral response to your touch that drives you both further into the realm of lust. The air between you charges with electricity, every touch and whisper amplifying the tension that wraps around you like a tangible force.

"You are incredible," you breathe out, each word laden with desire as you maintain the rhythmic motion of your hand. "Feel every stroke, every touch. This is how much you affect me, how much you are wanted."

His back arches slightly as he presses into you, his breathing deepening. The heat from his body radiates, mingling with yours, creating an enveloping warmth that makes the air around you shimmer. "I love how you respond to me," you continue, your voice a seductive whisper that sends shivers down his spine. "Every shudder, every moan. You're so beautifully responsive."

Your words of praise and the relentless motion of your hand draw deep moans from him, each one escaping his lips like a confession. His hands find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours to increase the pressure, guiding you in the silent language of lovers intimately familiar with each other’s desires.

"Look at us," you command gently, nodding towards the mirror. His eyes open slowly, heavy with arousal, and meet yours in the reflection. The sight of yourselves, wrapped in such an intimate tableau, heightens the erotic charge of the moment. "See how perfect you look, giving in to pleasure. This is you—powerful yet so open and vulnerable with me."

You press your body closer against his, your chest flush against his back, letting him feel the full length of your body, the firmness of your breasts against him. "You are so strong, Azriel, but here with me, you don’t have to be. Just feel," you whisper, accentuating your words with a firmer stroke, pushing him closer to the edge.

You continue your tender assault, spreading kisses from his neck down his shoulder, each touch light and reverent. Azriel's breath comes in heavy pants, a sign of the deep pleasure coursing through him as your thumb grazes the throbbing, sensitive head of his cock, slick with arousal. The gentle yet deliberate movements of your hand contrast with the intensity of the moment, creating a stirring blend of tenderness and heat.

"You're doing so well," you murmur, peppering his skin with soft kisses that make him shiver under your touch. "Feel every sensation, let it wash over you. You deserve this pleasure," you continue, your words dripping with affirmation and encouragement.

As he tries to savor the moment, clinging to the waves of pleasure you elicit from him, you notice the overwhelmed look in his eyes—a mix of disbelief and ecstasy at the gentleness of the encounter. His usual demeanor of control and restraint is nowhere to be seen, replaced by raw, unguarded vulnerability in the reflection of the mirror.

"Keep going, Az," you whisper, your voice a sultry command that sends a shiver down his spine. "Tell yourself how good it feels, praise yourself like I praise you."

A flush of embarrassment mixed with arousal colors his cheeks, his gaze darkening further as he meets your eyes in the mirror. The intimacy of the moment, your hands skillfully wrapped around him, heightens the erotic charge between you. His voice, when it finally emerges, is husky and hesitant, but grows in confidence with each word. "It feels... incredible. I am... strong, and I am desired."

Hearing Azriel voice his own pleasure, a rare admission from him, something coils deep within your stomach, a mix of pride and further craving. His words, reflecting both the affirmations you've given and his own acceptance of them, deepen the connection, making this moment about more than physical pleasure—it's about emotional liberation and acceptance. "Look at how powerful you are, how much control you have over your own pleasure," you guide him, your voice both soothing and seductive.

Encouraged by your words, he begins to move his hips subtly, entering into a rhythm guided by the motions of your hand. His own words become more assured, his voice stronger. "I am powerful... I am worthy of this pleasure... I deserve this."

As he articulates his own worth, his climax builds, the tension in his body winding tighter. His breathing grows erratic, and you tighten your grip just slightly, increasing the pace, pushing him closer with a loving yet firm hand.

"Let go, Azriel," you coax as he teeters on the brink, your voice soft yet commanding. Azriel's grunt resonates with a newfound confidence, his instincts beginning to surface as he takes control. His hips snap forward decisively, rutting into your hand with a series of firm, deliberate thrusts. His gaze locks onto yours in the mirror—dark, intense, filled with a fiery desire that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

"What do you want, Azriel?" you ask, your voice a soft challenge, laced with curiosity and an undercurrent of your own need for him. The question seems to unleash something within him, a torrent of pent-up longing.

With a decisive movement, he gently removes your hand from his length, confusion flickering across your face. But before you can question his actions, he swiftly pulls you around to face him. The sudden shift in dynamics catches you off guard, and you find yourself staring up into his heated eyes, your back pressed against the cool surface of the mirror.

Azriel's hands find your waist, his grip firm but not constricting, as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I want you," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "I want to show you just how much I need you, how deep my desire runs."

He pauses, his eyes searching yours for a moment, gauging your reaction, before continuing with a more raw, almost primal tone. "I want to see you unravel beneath me, hear you moan my name as I take you, right here, right now."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbling within you. The audacity of his words, the explicitness of his desires—it's intoxicating.

"I want to feel your body tremble as I fill you, to watch your face in the mirror as you come undone from my touch." His fingers trail up your side, light but purposeful, drawing a line of fire along your skin.

Before you can respond, he bends down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that seals his vow, a kiss so deep and consuming that it leaves you breathless. When he pulls back slightly, his gaze is unyielding, locked onto yours with an intensity that holds the world at bay.

"This is what I want," he declares, his voice a blend of raw need and absolute certainty. "Tell me you want it too."

Caught in the whirlwind of his passion, your own desires flare to life, matching his intensity. "Yes," you breathe out, the word a surrender to the storm, an acceptance of his claim over you. "Yes, I want it, Azriel."

Satisfied with your affirmation, he smiles, a predatory, triumphant curve of his lips that promises untold pleasures. The chill causes your nipples to harden immediately, a visible reaction that doesn't escape his intense gaze. His eyes, dark and predatory, drink in every inch of your revealed skin with undisguised hunger. His scarred hand ventures lower, tracing a bold path down your abdomen until it finds the heat between your legs. You gasp, a soft moan escaping your lips, as his fingers explore your wetness, a rough groan vibrating from his throat in response to your arousal.

"Azriel," you whimper, your voice laced with need and a faint protest, "this was supposed to be about you."

He looks up at you, a sly grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Believe me," he responds, his voice low and husky, pressing his fingers more insistently against you, "making you feel good is very much in my best interest." His words are punctuated by a deliberate stroke that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, making your knees buckle slightly.

He steadies you with a firm arm around your waist, his touch both possessive and protective. "Seeing you unravel, hearing you moan my name—it’s what I need right now," he continues, his tone both commanding and coaxing. Azriel gently turns you to face the mirror, pulling you back against his chest. The heat of his body envelops you, and you feel the firm pressure of his arousal against your lower back. Instinctively, one of your hands reaches back between your bodies, grasping him firmly, feeling his length and hardness, which elicits a soft groan from both of you.

 His fingers continue their expert ministrations, circling, teasing, pushing you toward the edge with skilled precision.

The room seems to close in around you, the mirror reflecting your intertwined forms, a visual echo of the intense connection that sizzles between you. Every touch, every whisper, intensifies the electric charge in the air, pulling you deeper into the vortex of desire.

As Azriel's hand works its magic, you find yourself leaning back into his chest, seeking support as your body begins to tremble under the onslaught of pleasure. His other hand travels up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple in a rhythm that mirrors the actions of his fingers below.

"This is about us," Azriel murmurs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "About me showing you how much you mean to me, how much I want you." Azriel’s touch becomes even more deliberate as he strokes your clit, his fingers tracing the contours of your slick folds before teasing at your entrance. All the while, he whispers sweet affirmations into your ear.

In the mirror, Azriel watches every reaction that flickers across your face—each flutter of your eyelids, every bite of your lip, the way your brows furrow slightly in concentration and pleasure. This visual feedback drives him, his actions tuned to elicit more of those beautiful responses.

"You always make me feel incredible, Azriel," you breathe out, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "No one else can make me feel like this."

His eyes, dark with his want and need, reflect a mix of pride and deep affection. "You’re mine," he affirms, the possessive words not a demand but a declaration. His fingers resume their motion, now with a renewed vigor, as if spurred on by your admissions.

You watch together in the mirror as his fingers delve deeper, exploring you, his other hand caressing your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between expert fingers. The dual sensations, coupled with the intensely erotic sight of your intertwined bodies reflected back at you, drive your arousal higher. "I want you to see how much you enjoy this, how you respond to

me," Azriel murmurs, his lips grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I want you to watch yourself come undone because of what I do to you." As the heat of your arousal intensifies, you find yourself overwhelmed by the need for more—for him. Your whispered disclosure sends a visible shudder through Azriel, and you feel his response in the twitch of his length in your grasp. His gaze softens, filled with a tumult of emotions that had shadowed him earlier, now mingling with the undeniable love and warmth radiating from your intertwined bodies.

"Earlier," he drawls, his voice thick with emotion as he thrusts one finger deep inside you, causing a sharp intake of breath. "You said you want all of me..." His words trail off as he watches your reaction, then, deliberately, he slides a second finger alongside the first, stretching and filling you, pausing to let each sensation sink in. "Not just my body, but my heart."

His fingers move rhythmically, pumping into your core as his body presses flush against yours, his breath warm against the skin of your neck. His lips gently flutter over your skin, each touch a whisper of affection and promise. "Tell me," he commands softly, his request hanging in the air, laden with deeper implications.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you breathe out your confession, each word laced with the depth of your feelings. "I love you, Azriel." The words hang between you, powerful and sincere. As his movements inside you pause, you continue, compelled to reassure him of his worth. "You deserve to be loved. I don't know anyone else who deserves it more than you do."

In that moment, something shifts in Azriel’s eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, a glint that might be the beginning of belief, something warm and soft. His fingers resume their motion, but now with a tenderness that mirrors the emotion swelling in the room. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, only to replace them with the head of his cock, positioning himself at your entrance. The anticipation makes your heart beat wildly, every nerve alight with the need for him.

"You deserve to be loved too," Azriel whispers back, his voice husky with emotion. "And I—I love you, more than I ever thought possible." With that confession, he pushes forward, entering you in one smooth, deliberate motion that makes you gasp both from the fullness and the profound significance of his words. As the intensity of your passion deepens, each thrust is imbued with a profound sense of connection, a merging of souls as much as bodies. Azriel's eyes, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration, remain locked on yours in the mirror, capturing every expression of pleasure that dances across your features.

You're bent forward slightly, your back arched, your body yielding to his as he continues to fill you with each delicious thrust. Wet sounds fill the air, mingling with heavy breathing and soft pleas as the rhythm of your lovemaking builds, each movement proof to the depth of your connection.

Unlike your previous encounters, which were fueled by hunger and passion, now it is suffused with something more profound—love. "My legs are about to give out," you whimper, feeling the strain of the pleasure coursing through your body.

Azriel responds by pulling you back against his chest, his hand firm yet gentle around your throat, guiding you to stand straight as he continues to grind his hips against yours. The sensation of his cock nestled deep inside you, combined with the warmth of his body pressed against yours, sends wave after wave of pleasure through you. With a soft smile and a lingering touch, he slowly withdraws from you, the air cool against your heated skin. Turning you to face him, his eyes brim with love—a look so intense, it feels as though it could completely engulf you. He seals his emotions with a kiss, tender and passionate, a perfect echo of the feelings swirling between you.

He guides you gently towards the bed, sinking back first onto the soft sheets. You climb over him, straddling his hips with graceful ease. Lowering yourself back down onto him, a mutual groan fills the space, the sensation overwhelming yet deeply right. The kiss never breaks, each movement of your lips in sync with the rolling motion of your hips.

His hands find your hips, gripping gently, guiding and meeting each movement with his own. Every thrust is a word unsaid, every connection a line in a poem of your intertwining lives. The way his body responds to yours, the way your heartbeats seem to synchronize with each thrust, it all culminates into an exquisite dance of love. As you continue to move rhythmically above him, Azriel's words flow like a soothing stream, each phrase dripping with affection and devotion, encouraging your every motion. "You're everything to me," he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrates through your core. His hands are tender yet purposeful, one gliding to stroke your clit in slow, deliberate circles that send waves of pleasure crashing through you.

The intensity of his touch makes you gasp, your head tilting back as stars burst behind your closed eyelids. Feeling the shift, Azriel gently guides you back down, his body rising to meet yours. His lips find the delicate skin of your breasts, and his teeth graze lightly, careful not to hurt but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He marks you lovingly, each kiss and nibble a witness to his deep feelings, branding you as his in the most intimate of ways.

The room is filled with the sound of your combined sighs and the soft rustle of the sheets as you move together. Azriel's other hand anchors you, his fingers digging gently into your hips, guiding your movements to meet his upward thrusts. The dual stimulation of his fingers on your clit and his deep, steady strokes inside you draws you ever closer to the edge.

His eyes never leave your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every shift of emotion as you ride the waves together. He sits up slightly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer, chest to chest, heart to heart. His breath is warm on your neck, his murmurs filled with words of love and future promises.

"Let go with me," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "Let me feel you come undone."

Encouraged by his words and overwhelmed by the mounting pleasure, you surrender fully to the sensations. The world narrows down to the here and now, to the feel of Azriel beneath you, inside you, all around you. As you climax, your body tightens around him, a wave of euphoria washing over you in an intense, all-encompassing rush, crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Azriel follows shortly after, his own release spurred by the tightening grip of your body and the overwhelming sense of love.

In the aftermath, you collapse against him, both of you panting, sweat mingling, hearts beating in a synchronized rhythm of deep contentment. Azriel's arms hold you close, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"We are made for each other," he breathes out, a smile in his voice, the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. As you lie intertwined with Azriel, the tender strokes of his fingers drawing soft patterns on your back, a sense of tranquility envelops you, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and affection. The air is filled with a serene stillness, broken only by the steady rhythm of your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

You feel a surge of emotion welling up within you, a profound sense of gratitude for this man who holds you in his arms. With a soft smile playing on your lips, you nestle closer to him, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. It's as if the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of love and warmth.

"Azriel," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "you deserve the world and more." Your words are imbued with sincerity, each syllable carrying the weight of your affection. "You've always been the one to give so much, to sacrifice without hesitation. And yet, you never ask for anything in return."

Tears well up in your eyes as you continue, overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings. "You're the most beautiful soul I've ever known, inside and out. And I... I love you more than words can express."

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you struggle to articulate the depth of your emotions, the magnitude of your love for him. "Sometimes," you admit, your voice barely a whisper, "it feels like the weight of the world is crushing down on me, suffocating me. But then... then you walk into the room, and suddenly, everything becomes clear. I can breathe again." Your confession hangs in the air, the silence punctuated only by the gentle rise and fall of your breaths.  

As tears well up in Azriel's eyes, his gaze meets yours with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. His brows furrow with the intensity of his feelings, and he pulls you closer to him, wrapping you in a tight embrace. With trembling hands, he gently lifts your chin, capturing your lips in a soul-crushing kiss.

In that moment, he pours every ounce of love and tenderness into the kiss, conveying with each touch the depth of his emotions. As you part, his chest heaves with emotion, and he gazes into your eyes with a vulnerability that renders you speechless.

"My love," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "those words... they mean more to me than you could ever know." He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch feather-light against your skin. "I never thought myself deserving of such affection," he confesses, his voice raw with honesty. "But you..”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze never wavering from yours. "With you by my side, I can finally sleep peacefully," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "For centuries, I wandered in darkness, haunted by my past. But with you, I've found solace, a sense of peace that I never thought possible."

You reach out, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs gently wiping away the tears that still linger in his honey-colored eyes. "Az," you whisper, your voice filled with tenderness, "you deserve all the love in the world. You are worthy of every ounce of affection I have to give."

With a soft smile, you press a kiss to his lips, a silent promise of your unwavering devotion. "Together," you murmur against his lips, "we'll navigate through the darkness, hand in hand, until we find the light." In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of each other's embrace, you know that you've found your home in each other's arms. And as you hold each other close, you're filled with a sense of peace and contentment that you know will carry you through whatever trials lie ahead.

[aemonds-sapphire]

Precious Stones

Summary: When you receive a unique gift from Prince Aemond, you know there is no turning back.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Aemond is such a tease...

Word count: 1.5k

Here is part 2

A soft jab at the door stirred you from your shared embroidery sitting with princess Helaena.

“Come in.”

The servant did as the princess commanded, and walked in, bowing profusely at both of you.

“Pardon the interruption. I come bearing a gift from Prince Aemond.”

“Precious stones are shared by loved ones…” you heard Halaena absentmindedly whisper under her breath, too involved in her craft to be bothered to accept the gift. “Precious stones are shared by loved ones.”

You rose to your feet so you could take the velvety pouch from the young girl’s hand.

Even the just mere mention of his name had your heart tighten briefly.

“Thank you,” you gave her a warm smile before walking toward the princess.

“Actually, my lady… it is for you,” her voice was but a whisper. “Prince Aemond requests that you wear it for tonight’s festivities.”

You widened your eyes. “Me?”

Nodding, the servant turned and made her way out of the quarters, leaving you to your thoughts.

This was bold.

Too bold.

Even for the likes of Aemond Targaryen.

Offering gifts to his sister’s lady-in-waiting could rapidly spread like wildfire across the Red Keep. It was not a nuisance you craved.

Even though you did crave him.

Wholeheartedly.

“Precious stones are shared by loved ones.”

Helaena managed to catch your attention as she kept on repeating the same phrase over and over.

“What is the matter, Helaena?” you asked, dropping to her knees, staring at her worriedly.

She then met your gaze with a soft smile. “Let’s see my brother’s gift.”

Resting on the heels on your feet, you untied the neat lace, pouring the gift onto your hand.

Helaena gasped in wonder.

You gasped in horror.

Prince Aemond Targaryen had offered you the most beautiful necklace you had ever had the fortune to touch.

Oval sapphires hung from it, laced in intricate golden patterns that secured them in place. Its weight dug into your hand, and you were certain this had to be the work of the finest jewelers in King’s Landing.

Helaena’s face was radiant as she clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“This is so nice of Aemond,” she beamed, holding your hand so you would stand next to her. “Let me help you put in on.”

It was in moments like these that you thanked the Gods above that Princess Helaena was so often oblivious to the intentions of others. She thought her brother was simply showing courtesy, but that wasn’t the case.

Aemond was now resorting to luxurious gifts to have your attention and… more than that.

Panic took over you. “Absolutely not. I cannot accept it,” you vehemently said, sliding the necklace back inside its pouch. “I shall return it to him.”

The princess dropped her smile, but nodded. “It can be rather rude to return a gift, but I understand.”

Sweat coated the palms of your hands as you urged Helaena to ready herself, so you could join the rest of her family in the big hall.

You felt your mind not being able to focus properly on your tasks, and you almost tripped and fell. Twice.

“You need to be careful,” Helaena rushed to you before taking a look at your feet and crouching to pick up a spider. “You nearly stepped on it…”

As much as you had expected you would have gotten used to her odd antics, it never failed to amaze you how she’d much prefer the company of crawling bugs.

A last glance at the tall mirror and both of you walked out.

She laced her arm in yours, pulling you to her side, humming a joyful song as you paced along the poorly lit corridors.

One turn to the right, and you nearly collided with someone.

“I apologise!” you yelped upon realising who it was.

“Aemond!” Helaena greeted with enthusiasm. “Come with us.”

The young prince bowed curtly. “You both look delightful.”

“As do you,” you immediately whispered, not daring to fully look at him.

Not that you needed to. Aemond always presented himself impeccably, drawing the eyes of everyone he crossed paths with.

“Although…” he said, and you could feel his eye on you. “I do not see my gift on you, my lady.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you immediately let go of Helaena’s arm.

“Go right ahead, dear sister,” he said, offering a short smirk. “I am going to help her put it on.”

The joyful girl smiled widely and took her leave humming. "Precious stones are shared by loved ones."

Feeling your mouth go dry, you stood frozen in place, as he turned to face you.

Before he could speak, you reached for the pouch in your dress and extended your arm to him.

“I cannot accept this, Aemond.”

Silence.

He had his hands laced behind his back, his eye studying you, showing no intention of taking back what he had freely given to you.

After what seemed like too long, he spoke, “Why not?”

“It is beautiful, but I do not deserve it.”

He rose one eyebrow at you. “Are you questioning my judgment? If I see you fit of receiving such gift, then you only have to accept it.”

You licked your lips.

“I just don’t… understand why.”

In half a heartbeat, you had the young Targaryen prince pacing towards you until your back hit the wall behind.

His eye never left your face as he brought one hand to remove the eyepatch that he’d always wear around court so he wouldn’t scare off those around him, revealing the glistening sapphire in place of his left eye.

“Does this repulse you?”

“No,” you answered truthfully. “Never has.”

“This necklace…” he whispered, snatching the velvety pouch from you hand. “Is an extension of myself.”

“People will talk…” you said, as he held the shiny piece of jewelry in between you, the round sapphires casting a faint blue on his face.

“Then let them,” he replied calmly. “Let them know Prince Aemond Targaryen has made his claim.”

Your pulse quickened and you felt your mouth drop open at his statement.

“Let them see that when they look upon you, they look upon me,” he said, his face drawing near. “Let them know that if they question you, they will question me.”

He stood so close, you could feel his hot breath fanning your lips.

“Let them know that if they dare hurt you, they will face my wrath.”

Aemond had you pinned against the wall with the weight of his words. He was well versed enough to move mountains. And, if given the chance, he could certainly make love to his partner without touching them.

You swallowed hard, not knowing what to do with your hands, settling for gripping the sides of your dress, threatening to tear holes into the fabric from the friction.

His lips hovered yours, and you fought back the urge to kiss the young prince.

“There is more that draws us together than apart,” he carried on, eye roaming your face. “And I’ve had enough of fighting my desire to consume you.”

You were at a loss for words, but your body spoke in your stead. The throbbing between your legs, the pants, the sweat that pooled in your hands…

Gods… how you wished he’d take you right there and then.

Aemond brought his gift to your neck, nose nearly touching yours, breath stirring heavier pants from you. He only broke eye contact once secured it neatly against your flushed skin, and you watched his eye drop to your heaving breasts.

“So beautiful…” he murmured, tracing the sapphires that framed your chest with one finger, careful enough no to touch you directy.

It was pure torture.

He shifted slowly, placing his lips to your ear in a whisper. “You look positively delicious…”

You gasped from his words and from the pads of his fingers caressing your restrained breasts.

“I want to fuck you in nothing but that necklace.”

A moan escaped your throat. “Gods…”

“You worry others will talk about my gift,” he purred, tracing your neck with his breaths. “You should worry about hard I’m going to take you.”

The moment his lips touched your collarbone, you felt your walls clench desperately around nothing, wetness dripping from you, and letting you know your body was more than ready to accept his offer.

Another moan was heard from you when he pressed his thigh to your swollen clit, sending jolts of pleasure across your body.

He dragged his lips across your neck, jaw and then almost planted a kiss to your own lips, but leaned back, breaking contact with you.

At the sudden loss of warmth and intimacy, you gasped. “Aemond…”

An amused smirk tugged at his lips, as he placed his eyepatch back in place. “Now you know how it feels like not being able to take what you desire.”

-

Part 2

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied kidnapping, possessive behavior, slight stalking, delusional thoughts.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

Like most tailors, Chiori often finds herself preoccupied with the concept of preservation.

It’s as inevitable as it is unreasonable, for those who work through mediums as impermanent as fabric and textile. To make a piece of clothing is to make something that, by its very definition, cannot last. No matter how fine the silk, no matter how strong the thread, no matter how sturdy her design – colors will fade and stitches will run and eventually, the only thing left of her masterpiece will be a pile of scraps left to rot underneath a bed or among the cobwebs in a forgotten attic corner. Fashion is an even more unforgiving mistress. What does it mean to try and capture the beauty of a single moment in a world that stood for a thousand years before she ever thought to pick up a needle and will stand for a thousand more, when she’s no longer able to? What does it mean that she keeps trying, regardless?

Inevitably, when Chriori thinks about herself and her craft, she thinks about preservation. And, when she thinks about preservation, she thinks about you.

You, in the most generous of sentiments, are the enemy of permanence. Her designs may eventually fall apart, but you seem to tear and shatter all that you touch, to rend the very fabric of reality without ever dropping that achingly oblivious smile. Your first visit to her shop ended with a shattered teacup, your second with a chip to the blade of her favorite pair of sheers, your tenth with a pot of her darkest, blackest dye splattered across an otherwise untouched skein of dove-white silk. Calling you clumsy would be an understatement – you’re a vehicle of pure destruction, an entity of the type of chaos that so often reduces her finest creations to rags. If it wasn’t for the way you apologize so wholeheartedly after each and every offense, the bright optimism written across your expression each time you step through the door of her boutique, she might mistake your drastic lack of coordination for a deliberate act of sabotage. At least, if that were the case, she may be able to find the strength to banish you entirely from her domain.

Her frequent gifts to you – unpaid orders, she assures, items that would just go to waste if left to gather dust on her shelves – are demolished with a similar haste. That, you can blame on the needs of your trade, claim that the clothes of the noble class don’t mix with the work of laborers, but as often as she tries, she fails to see what’s so dangerous about hauling spools of ribbon and crates of lace from one boutique to another. You do your best to mend torn sleeves, to find replacements for missing buttons, but she almost wishes you wouldn’t – that you’d let her claims to you die a swift death rather than defacing them so humiliatingly. In her weakest moments, she considers that being more blatant with her intentions, speaking to you in something other than cutting innuendo and being more transparent in her attempts to carve her name into you, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Your nature, so quick and brash and thoughtless, is contradictory to hers. No number of signatures stitched into the hems of undercollars and lipstick stains pressed into the lining between layers of material can change that.

Certainly, none of it can change the trait Chiori finds most troubling in you – your willing inability to preserve even the most precious of things, yourself. Fontaine is a much more gentle land than Inazuma, but no part of Teyvat is completely free from risk. You brag worryingly often about your run-ins with local monsters, go on at length about having to guard the embroideries she had commissioned from the finest thread-painters in Liyue from fabric-eating slimes and especially fashionable thieves, but all your levity can’t seem to draw your attention from the bruises blossoming upward from your shirt collar, the bandages so often wrapped around knuckles and plastered over your cheeks. Mortality is a concept you seemed to have considered briefly and ultimately discarded, leaving Chiori to try to make something redeemable out of the scraps. It’d be enough to drive anyone mad. It’d be enough to drive any good tailor to extremes.

You are not a delicate fabric. Satin can be properly hemmed and handled with gloves, embroidery glazed over with perfumes and resins, lace held to a candle and burnt into a more sustainable form, but you are not so easily changed. Gowns have no regard for safety or the lack thereof, but you – frustrating, impossible you – seem to actively detest the very idea of it.

You are the enemy of permeance. It’s a thought Chiori often considers, lingers on, obsess over, as she would the safe keeping of any of her proudest works.

But, she finds herself thinking, as she feels the reassuring chill of iron chains again her palm and weighs it against two matching twin cuffs, there’s a chance she may just be pairing you with the wrong materials.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

What’s your favorite part about working on the comic? Specifically the comic; like drawing it, coloring, writing scripts, etc

Oh, that's an interesting question! Let's rate them!

Sketching/Drawing: (9/10) Creating at its finest. For me, this is the distilled elixir of creation. The heart of being a comic artist. I love organizing panels on a page, it's like playing tetris. I love drawing! Points off for requiring so much time. Why can't I just bang my head against a tablet and dump out all the pictures onto the screen at once?

Scripting: (6/10) Pretty standard work. I enjoy it well enough, but it gets points taken off for requiring so much re-writing and emotional turmoil. Sometimes, I will rework a line 3-4 times and think it works great, but inevitably something will come along to make me think it would have been better to have the character say that OTHER thing instead.

Lineart: (11/10) Excellent. Stupendous. This is drawing, if drawing required no braincells. It's meditation! I'm listening to a 2 hour long video essay about evolution or manta rays or ancient trees. I'm happy, I'm in my lane, I'm flourishing. (This would have been 12/10 except for those times when you're drawing the same line 17 times and are stuck in a ctrl+z loop.)

Coloring: (-2/10) Don't like it. Cannot recommend it. People tell me they like this part? I'm skeptical. It's tedious. It's boring. It's like one of those baby games where you put cubes into a square hole, etc, but sometimes the cubes the misshapen and don't go in smoothly. At best it's just 10 minutes of clicking with a bucket tool. At worst, it's coloring within the lines, which I have been OVER since I was 4.

Rendering values, special effects: (5/10) This is fine. It's simply fine. I can enjoy it. It's interesting, but a bit repetitive, but it takes less effort than coloring, with more variety, so I respect it.

Posting: (4/10) This is a trap. There IS a typo, and you WILL see it as soon as you click Post. Or as soon as the post hits 100 notes. Whichever one is more painful. But on the other hand... commints! But on the other-other hand... people misunderstanding your characters' intentions and being a whole clown in the comments about it! It's a mixed bag.

[omisubi]

ushijima x reader. some angst, mostly fluff, suggestive content. timeskip spoilers.

plot: your long-time coworker turned friend, Kuroo, sets you up on a date with one of his finest clienteles.

To stay unattached is to keep a distance.

Ushijima Wakatoshi knows this well enough. He had gotten accustomed to it at an early age, when his parents divorced. It was pretty clear that his mom hardly wanted anything to do with him, and neither did her family.

His intention is to keep this maxim walking into the date. Though, it doesn’t deter him from being the gentleman he is, even when you show up 15 minutes late.

Your first impression of Wakatoshi is that he is a man of few words. You aren’t put off by it, however, you prefer a man that knows his points, speaks it, and waits for a response in deliberate silence. It’s endearing in its own way.

It’s endearing now, when you can’t help but find yourself staring at him. His dress shirt and pants—Armani— are tailored to fit him perfectly. You saw when he stood up to greet you, even pulling your chair out for you (swoon.) His jawline is sharp, eyes stoic, and his shoulders are so broad—

He’s turned to you with expecting eyes.

“Oh- sorry, what did you say?”

Wakatoshi clears his throat and straightens in his seat. “I said because I’ll be in Europe soon, I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”

Oh. Okay… you can work with that. You usually don’t do one-night-stands, but the longer you look at him, the more amorous you’re getting.

“I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

You perk up, realizing you haven’t given a reply. “Not at all! I’m not really interested in that either.”

A lie. You fear you are quite the hopeless romantic at heart.

As you resume to your dish, he takes a moment to watch you.

Wakatoshi might not be too well versed in pop-culture, but he has picked up a few magazines in his free time and reads enough ads to know that you’re quite the public figure yourself. Quite the vivacious one at that— according to some headlines.

He isn’t too sure of what your job is, just knows that you’ve worked alongside Kuroo for a while and recently ventured into the fashion world. Your confidence in style illuminates under the dim lamps of the restaurant: classic, chic, timeless. He hadn’t missed the wandering eyes when you walked through the door.

When Kuroo had called him during his off-season trip back to Japan, Wakatoshi had initially declined, not wanting to start something he wasn’t sure if he could finish. But, Kuroo had insisted, saying that you thought “his eyes are pretty” and wanted to see for yourself if they were olive or brown. Safe to say, he was intrigued and figured he’d quell your thirst for knowledge.

When dinner concludes after some small, but interesting talks, Wakatoshi insists he pay for the bill, and before you can deny, his card is already given to the waitress without even looking at the check.

“Thank you for dinner, Wakatoshi. It was delicious.”

“Of course.” He says as he holds the door open for you. You both walk to the marble water fountain placed in front of the parking lot. “Have you decided what color my eyes are?”

You freeze.

(“They’re definitely brown.” Kuroo assured.

“We’ll see. You didnt tell him I said anything about his eyes though did you ?”

“Not at all!” Kuroo gave his salesman smile to your glare. His two thumbs up acting as a shield from your valid accusation.

He did.)

You make a mental note to leave a scathing voicemail later.

“Oh!” You laugh, bashful, a hand coming up to rub your neck. “That….”

It appears Wakatoshi is still waiting for an definitive answer. You suppose he’s the not the type of man to tease, but still comes off just as humorous through his bluntness. It’s lovely, you think, you prefer to be the one teasing anyway. You step closer, leaning in close enough for him to feel the surface of fabric on your evening wear against his own. The string lights around the restaurant have given you both a warm, golden hue. It’s brighter out here.

“…Right now, they look olive. In the restaurant, they looked a dark brown.” Your voice is quieter now, but you’re still looking at him with that inquisitive gaze of yours. And he can’t help but study back. He scans your face and absentmindedly thinks those magazines don’t do you justice. He watches as your lips curve upwards into a small smile. “I guess it depends on the lighting, but my verdict is olive.”

Neither of you have moved, still inches apart. It feels… intimate. “What color do you say they are?”

Wakatoshi never thought about it, never really cared, but right now, he just wants to agree with you. “Olive.”

He watches as your smile grows, feeling his heart beat at a quicker pace. “Ah, I love being right.” There’s a moment of silence until you take a step back and extend your hand, “Well. Goodnight, Wakatoshi.”

Wakatoshi gives a nod, breaking out of his short-lived trance. He takes your hand, thinks your skin is some sort of magnet the way he can’t bring himself to pull away.

And before he can think clearly and go through with his plan of saying goodbye and leaving it at that to go your separate ways, he leans in closer, gently tugging you in with his hand still in yours.

You don’t move a way, instead you purse your lips as you look to his and back up at his olive eyes.

His voice is just above a whisper.

“May I… kiss you?”

He’s not sure who kisses who first after he asks. He just knows that for the following weeks, Wakatoshi sees you more than he should be. He becomes accustomed to your presence in his apartment, your smell on his bed, and the way you call him ‘toshi against his lips.

The weekend before his flight(weekends of which you usually spend the night) you don’t come over. He doesn’t play dumb at the fact that he had been the one to say it wasn’t serious in the first place. You seemed to take that to heart. He remembers the sadness in your eyes the last time you were in his home, telling him you weren’t good at goodbyes. Did you think he was?

Wakatoshi spent that weekend mulling the last few weeks over, missing you. He mentally scolds himself for letting it go this far, but how was he supposed to know his heart would cave at your simplest touch?

This kind of issue can only be resolved by talking to one person: a best friend.

And Tendou Satori rarely misses a phone call from his.

“I suppose me leaving is for the best.” Wakatoshi had rationalized, the afternoon before his flight, filling Tendou in about the heartache that is you.

“Maybe.”

“The more distance the better.”

“Ah, but Wakatoshi-kun, doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?”

His flight landed in Poland around noon. Many hours on the plane, Wakatoshi decides he isn’t good at goodbyes either. He calls you when he reaches his hotel.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” His voice is caught on the air, surprised you’d picked up so quickly. “I just landed. I…I—“

To be unattached is to keep a distance. But, even thousands of miles away from you, Wakatoshi is bound, tied true to the anchor that is your voice and the mirage of your face when he hears it.

“I miss you too.”

He wants to laugh because really, it’s only been three days since you’ve seen each other. Have you both grown lovesick?

“Can I see you when I get back?”

“Wakatoshi, that’s weeks— months away.” You laugh. He smiles upon hearing it. Yeah, lovesick. “Who knows what will happen by then?”

His smile is replaced by a confused frown. “What will happen?” Before you can answer, he has spoken again. “Nothing will change. For me, at least.”

You hum. A beat of silence. “‘Toshi?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be thinking about you until then.”

Wakatoshi thinks he might just fly you out and attach you to him forever.

…

(On a random weekday, Kuroo receives a box of Parisian chocolates and a typed out ‘Thank You’ card on his desk. The card flips to show a man with red hair and red eyes.)

a/n: ty for reading! long distance sucks, but this couple will make it thru :’)

[rose-lunaire]

Hi!! How you think Hannibal and Will (separate) in a situation where the reader is a nurse and for some reason she finds with them and both falls madly in love with her? Like they follow her, admired her and simply adore her??

brace yourselves, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long one! thank you so much for this idea, i had a great time writing this, enjoy <3

pairing: wiill graham x reader, hannibal lecter x reader

warnings: stalking themes, a lot of blood and inaccurate medical descriptions

(Y/B/T - your blood type)

hannibal lecter

it was a really nasty case, bodies carelessly abandoned in a forest, like a beast haven’t finished feasting on them

by the time hannibal and will arrived, it had already turned into a bloodbath

the culprit, ambushed in his agony, shot at the fbis weakest link: the two consultants

the older man suffered a concussion and wills leg was repeatedly pierced by bullets

it was jack who rushed the to the hospital, knowing damn well it would take hours for any ambulance to arrive

hannibal kept insisting he’s fine, but the policeman was having none of it

he collapsed on the hospital floor

the man woke up to the rhythmic sounds of the operational room: monotone beeping, a clock idly signaling its presence

“you gave us quite the scare, doctor lecter”

a soft timbre brought his closer to consciousness, but an excruciating headache soon followed

torn between slumber and awareness, he groaned quietly

“doctor lecter? can you hear me, doctor lecter?”

the voice soothed his aching body, poured life and yearning into his soul

he squinted his eyes, as from a blur of white light came to life an angel

hair of raphael’s venus, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes worthy of rubens’s paintbrush, steady and powerful pose of velasquez’s infants

they were perfect like doryphoros or artemis of versailles, sculpted by apollonius himself

the stoic warmth radiating from their eyes couldn’t compare to debussy’s finest works

hannibal felt the sudden urge to take this light with him and never let go

to protect and worship it like gods of ancient times

his killings are not in vain, they are a token of adoration, a promise for a better world

for them

for so the angel wouldn’t have to suffer existing in between such impure souls

he’s always on the lookout for any people in their environment who might have foul intentions

he’s eternally great full to have met them and shows his feelings in subtle ways, like leaving home-cooked meals for them, a note full of gratitude always attached to the gift

he once used his connections to move them to a different department, so that they wouldn’t have to work so hard

they’re his muse, his god(ddes) and he’s just a lowly apostle

he wouldn’t dare bring them into his world, it was too cruel, too dangerous for such a radiant creature

but believe me, he’s always there, a loyal knight guarding their safety and happiness

will graham

he was losing a lot of blood

one of the bullets came through his leg, cutting through his aorta and no amount of pressure could stop the bleeding

his mind was getting fuzzy, but still stuck in painful awareness

he remembered having been sat on a bed, the sting of a needle and helplessness in the voice of a surgeon

“we don’t have enough type y/b/t blood for the operation”

as the anesthesia was wearing out, will felt an unfamiliar presence next to him

calm and unsuspecting, a nurse was sleeping in the corner of the operation room

he finds himself attached to a blood transfusion set

will rested his head in his hands, tired and almost ashamed

the nurse had their sleeve harshly tugged on the forearm with a welt straining their delicate skin

he perceives himself as repulsive and unworthy, yet they gave up their own blood without any hesitation

he’s deeply moved by their dedication

he can’t seem to draw his eyes away

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to stare” - he panicked

“don’t worry about it”

they were graceful even in exhaustion, it send chills down wills spine

maybe it was a crease they a smile painted on their face or the eyes scrunched in kindness and warmth, he didn’t know but in that moment he fell in love

he would ask a million questions about the equipment and the surgery, then their daily life and work

it brought him peace and reassurance and the conversation seemed to flow naturally for hours

after he left the hospital, he often called them

a confusing wound? he calls. a drug found on the scene? he calls. hannibal is hosting a dinner party? he calls every time

his heart is desperate for closure and they provided it, never asking questions, just being there for him

there was one time when a dog got severe diarrhea and vomited a lot, and will was scared it may be parvo or other dangerous dog disease

he called almost immediately, for help and comfort of his favorite person

after this incident he became paranoid when they weren’t around, so he does everything in his power to keep them at arms length

will means no harm, but he simply can’t imagine his life without them

[anemos-orca]

Better than Almond Tofu

Xiao x GN!Reader Smut, MDNI!

CW: blowjob (Reader giving), established relationship, semi-public (?), kissing (hehe :3), shy Xiao, swallowing, comfort/aftercare

NSFW under the cut

series tag: #●BTAT

●○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○●

Working as the new chef at Wangshu Inn had put a lot of stress on you. After Smiley retired, it was up to you (his apprentice) to maintain the culinary reputation of Liyues favorite Inn.

No pressure.

However, despite the weight of high expectations, you never woke up feeling stressed or overwhelmed (well, there would always be off days, but those were off days)- partially because you loved your job, and partially because your long time crush, and now boyfriend, considered the Inn as his "lair." Which, speaking of- you had tried to suggest terms other than "lair" because it sounded very villainous, but Xiao had no intention of changing his vocabulary. You would sigh and narrow your eyes, but despite his stubborn continued use of the deviously connotated word and how it made you shiver at first, you eventually came around, finding the title rather endearing and ending up using it yourself.

♡

It had been a long, busy day, and now that the sun was set, the workers of Wangshu Inn all collectively sighed in relief, retreating to their respective abodes for a good nights rest. Saturdays were always busy.

"Im heading up to Xiao, g'night Ms. Goldett!" You said to the boss of the Inn with a friendly wave, grabbing the plate of Almond Tofu you had made for Xiao. By now, it was your nightly routine- finish cleaning, make Xiaos meal, say goodnight to the boss, and head up to his lair before bed (though, more often than not, you fell asleep laying on Xiaos lap, insisting that it was better than your cold, lonely bed).

The boss waved right back at you as she shoved the last of her belongings into her bag, preparing to retire for the night herself.

Making your way up the stairs with two hands on the plate of steaming food (archons forbid you drop it like that one time), a smile began to tug at the corners of your lips just as it did every other night. You couldnt help it, not with the way Xiao smiled so softly and graced you with little kisses, followed by a barrage of "thank you"s as though he were indebted to you and your cooking, even after telling him each night that you cooked for him because you loved him.

"Xiao?" You softly peeped, not wanting to startle him as you stepped up onto the balcony.

The Yaksha was leaning against the railing and staring out at the expanse of Liyue, only peering over his shoulder once you called his name, "Hm? Oh, (y/n), its you," he gave a gentle smile and left the railing to meet you half way, his hands rising from his sides to hold the plate over your own, making you blush. You noticed how his gloves were taken off, your heart fluttering as you realized that he remembered how much you loved it the last time he took them off.

You would think his body cold and calloused, but it was quite the contrary- his touch was as gentle as that of a tiny canary, his warmth as soothing as a fond childhood memory, and his skin silkier than even the finest silks of Teyvat. He was so soft, sweet, tender- it was intoxicating and you were never able to get enough, even if you were to spend every waking moment of the day with him.

He took the plate of tofu with a "thank you" and set it aside, focusing his attention on you, "You look so sleepy. Are you feeling alright?" He asked, his voice a soft coo.

You nodded, bringing your hands up to hold his cheeks, "Mhm. Just a long day, but i dont mind. Come here," you purred, leaning in and pressing your lips on his. You thought he would only reciprocate like he usually did- pressing his lips against yours before pulling away to cover his blushing face- but tonight was different. He slid his hands onto your waist and pulled you closer, kissing you back with a passion you didnt know he had in him yet. Gently pulling away, he gazed into your eyes, an intense blush creeping over both of your faces.

Your hands fell from his cheeks to his shoulders and your words seemed to catch in your throat from the pounding of your heart in your chest. Xiao brought one hand up to caress the soft skin of your cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth as he studied your eyes, "Was... was that okay?" He asked, his voice gentle and soothing, pulling you out of your racing thoughts.

You smied and nodded leaning into the comforting touch of his warm hand on your face, "Can I have another?"

Xiaos eyes widened a bit, not having expected you to ask for more- though it was a welcome surprise. He leaned in and kissed you again, this time deeper than before. His tongue swiped against your lips and you parted your mouth, inviting him deeper. Your tongues pushed against one another in a messy kiss, swapping saliva as his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair. You instinctively rested your body against his, making his breath hitch in his throat with a quiet gasp.

It continued like this for several minutes- you were lost in his embrace, the sweetness of his mouth, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. Time melted away and all you could think about was the way his tongue felt inside your mouth, and the more he kissed you, the more you wanted.

You couldnt help but quietly moan into his lips as the hand that was once gripping your waist moved to the dip in your lower back just above the hem of your pants, pulling you against him. Xiao didnt seem to realize, but by pulling you that much closer, you could now feel the tightness that was forming in his pants, causing your once steady breathing and quiet moans to stutter. That, Xiao did notice. He gently broke the kiss, lightly panting, "A-are you okay?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

You licked your lips and nodded, "Hm? Why wouldnt i be? I was just a little... surprised, is all," you explained, your gaze softening and a reassuring smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Xiao seemed a bit confused, his brows slightly pushing together in thought, "Surprised..?"

It suddenly hit you that Xiao hadnt exactly noticed the tent in his pants. You leaned in, "You... have an erection, Xiao," you explained, your voice soft and lightly laced with desire.

Xiaos eyes instantly widened and his entire face turned red as he froze up, glancing down to where he had pulled you closer as if to make sure he wasnt hearing things. When his gaze rose back to you, you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was mortified, so before he could spew out a tsunami of apologies and disappear, you tightened your grip on his shoulders to ground him, "Xiao, its nothing to be embarrassed about, please dont go!" You plead, earning an apologetic expression from him.

"B-but-"

"Please...?" You said, cutting him off.

"I-it... wont go away on its own, i have to go s-so i can take ca-

"Let me do it for you," you offered, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes, "I-i... i want to help you... please, dont go."

Xiao gulped hard, thinking for a moment. He had never done such a thing before (which was to be expected considering his lack of experence with, well, anything and everything to do with humans), having always taken care of it himself, but he knew for a while now that this would have eventually come up. He knew that when humans got in relationships they indulged in frivolous, physical romantics, but he never understood any of it- until he met you. The way your fingers moved so grasciously over his each time you held hands, the way the sweet taste of your lips lingered on his after each little kiss, the way he couldnt help but stare a moment longer than he should whenever you would wear revealing or form-fitting clothing- it all made him start to catch himself thinking shameful, perverted things about you and your body. Thats when he understood human romantics- thats when he started looking forward to the day he got to experience it with you.

With a shakey breath, Xiao nodded, agreeing to let you help him, "J-just... be careful, a-and dont push yourself..."

Your eyes lit up with excitement and you couldnt help but press an adorable little kiss to his bright red face as a genuine smile spread across yours, "Ill be gentle, i promise."

If you had a tail like General Gorou, it would be wagging like crazy right now.

You had Xiao sit in one of the two chairs you brought up to his lair quite some time ago before carefully dropping to your knees before him. You looked up into his gaze with those pretty doe-eyes of yours, making sure he was comfortable and okay as your hands slid up his clothed thighs. He brought one arm up to his face, covering his mouth with the back of his hand to try and stifle the little whimper that fell from his lips as your thumbs caressed his inner thighs. He watched as your fingers wrapped around the hem of his pants and gently tugged them down, guiding the restrictive fabric off his bulge. Xiao gave a strained groan as his erection sprung free- if it was possible for his face to turn any redder, it would have.

Your mouth instantly watered at the sight of his member and how hard it was just for you, forcing you to swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth. His erotic scent filled your nose as you squeezed his thighs and leaned forward to kiss the precum drooling from his tip, your eyes never leaving his. You wanted so badly to tell him how cute his whimpers and gasps were, how you wanted him to not hold his voice back, but you kept it to yourself, not wanting to make him self conscious. You pressed your lips against the base of his cock, leaving a trail of heated kisses along the entire length before wrapping your lips around his leaking tip and circling your tongue around it. You watched with satisfaction as Xiaos eyes rolled back into his head and his brows furrowed together in pleasure, a full-blown moan rolling from his throat. His hand found its way to the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair as you began bobbing your head over his cock, taking the time to ensure that every inch was given the special attention it deserved.

"Ngh~... (y/n)..." Xiao breathlessly said between whimpers and moans, his eyes meeting yours once again as you managed to deepthroat his entire length, if only for a moment. Your thumbs massaged circles into his inner thighs and you moaned onto his cock at the taste of his delicious precum coating your mouth, a tiny tear pricking in the corner or your eye as you gag around his length.

"F-feels so... a-ah~ good..." Xiao whimpered, his grip on your head tightening. You felt his cock begin to twitch in your mouth and his hips slightly buck up into you as he drew closer to climax. Lewd, wet sounds of you sucking him off filled the air and you purposefully moaned more to send vibrations through his throbbing length as his breathing evolved into desperate panting and moaning.

"(y/n)... (y/n), i-im," he said before being interrupted by his own embarrassingly loud moan, "im gonna- haahh- cum, im gonna cum, l-let go before it gos in your m-mou-"

Before Xiao could even finish his sentence, you sucked harder and faster, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock before deepthroating him one last time. With a sharp cry of your name, he pushed your head down further and released his hot seed deep inside your throat. You continued sucking and running your tongue over what you could reach to milk him of every last drop he had. He gasped hard, fully covering his mouth with his hand and squeezing his eyes shut as he hunched forwards from the intense waves of pure ecstacy, his hand clenching a fistful of your hair. You bobbed your head over his throbbing length a few more times to help him ride out his climax before pulling back and swallowing. Drool was smeared over your lips and chin and a little teartrack shone on your cheek, but the only thing Xiao saw was the happy, satisfied smile on your lips as you fixed his pants back around his waist and gazed up at him.

"(y/n)..." He said under his breath, still feeling aftershocks of pleasure.

"Did you enjoy it?" You asked with a lustful twinge in your voice, wiping your face clean with the sleeve of your shirt.

Xiao weakly nodded, still catching his breath and blushing hard, "Y-you... didnt have to... swallow it..." He murmured, stammering and tripping over his own words.

"Why wouldnt i?" You asked, fixing your hair.

"I-it... it cant taste good, y-you shouldve spit it ou-" Xiao began, only to be cut off by your finger on his lips to shush him.

You got off your knees and moved to straddle his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck, "I liked it. It tasted good, like you," you quietly explained, feeling his arms hug around your waist, "You know, from now on, i-if you... want to do it again... id be more than happy to."

"... I-i... wouldnt mind that..." Xiao admits, nuzzling his cheek into your hair as he holds you close.

"I love you, Xiao."

"I love you too, (y/n). Always."

There was a brief moment of silence as the two of you basked in one anothers embrace. Had you been cats, your purring would be so loud that you wouldnt be able to hear even the loudest of thunder claps.

"(y/n)?"

"Hm? Something wrong?"

"No, no, i was just thinking, uhm... if you wouldnt mind, id like to help you next time, too."

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a/n: i hope it was enjoyable :) apologies for how long it is, i got a bit carried away! Should i try and keep these shorter in the future? idk what you all prefer ~w~

a/n²: rip that almond tofu its cold as hell now qwq

[bunnysbrainrot]

Bunny's Masterlist

Hi everybody! Below you'll find my works organized by fandom and character. Take a peek at the new WIP category - stay in the loop on what's coming up, and if it's not something you're itching to read, send in a request!

Supernatural: Dean Winchester: If You Change Your Mind - Ch. 1 If You Change Your Mind - Ch. 2 If You Change Your Mind - Ch. 3 Back Seat Guessing Game (ft. Sam) He Wants To Watch (ft. Sam) Discreet A Lesson in Manners

Sam Winchester: Keep Watching No Vacancy - Day One No Vacancy - Day Two No Vacancy - Day Three Guessing Game (ft. Dean) He Wants To Watch (ft. Dean) Size Matters Research Sinners (Teaser)

Crowley: Your Rightful Place Fitting Room Vices and Virtues

Castiel: Obedience at Its Finest (Lucifer!Cas) Vices and Virtues

The Last of Us: Joel Miller But I'm Better (Series, DBF!Joel) Blood Flow Daddy's Girl The Real Thing Our Little Secret

Too Sweet (Series, Jackson!AU) Bourbon and Mead Unspoken Rules Friendly Competition

The Walking Dead: Negan Smith: Easy Access

Other: Pedro Pascal: Sway Coat Check

Sinners (Full) - Sam Winchester x Reader Unlike Your Brother - Sam Winchester x Reader A Lesson In Manners - Dean Winchester x Reader Step by Step - Dean Winchester x Reader

Requests are open! Be aware that if the request is incredibly long, oddly specific, or awkward it may be altered or unused. Some past requests have been questionable, gross, or illegal and I have no intention of immersing my brain in that for hours [*thousand yard stare*]

But, I digress!

Thank you for all of your support, as always. It means so much more than you know! If you have a request or simply want to say hi, my inbox is always open! Daily life impedes quite a bit, but I'm incorporating writing whenever I can. Feel free to give me some creative homework!

Also, check this link to see who I write for, and this link if you'd like to be tagged in future posts! The latter will be a lengthy process to finish, but I'm going to give it a shot! There's gotta be an easier way than doing this with a Google doc, right?

Here's to our lil' family, and to more fanfiction!

xoxo - Bunny

[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt.3)

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part four

CW: feminine drow reader, catching feelings (involuntarily)

OOOOOOOOOO WE'RE BACK, a lot of set up and development in this one, next part will be the wedding ! - Seluney xox

Minthara paced in the grand hall of House Baenre, her sharp eyes flickering over the scholars gathered before her. A mixture of her cousins and nieces, they represented the finest minds of her house, all assembled to unravel the mysteries surrounding you and House Liakyre. They stood in a semi-circle, awaiting her command with a mixture of fear and respect.

"You have a task," Minthara began, her voice cold and authoritative. "I want you to dig up everything you can on Y/N Liakyre's power and the history of House Liakyre. Leave no stone unturned, no scroll unread. I want answers, and I want them quickly."

The scholars nodded in unison, their faces tense with the weight of her words. Minthara's gaze then shifted to her nephew, a young drow with wide eyes and trembling hands.

"Arys," she called, her tone softening slightly as she addressed him.

"Y-yes, Matron," Arys stammered, stepping forward. He was petrified of Minthara, a fact she was well aware of and often used to her advantage.

"You will befriend the Liakyre twins," she instructed, her eyes narrowing. "Get close to them. Gain their trust. I want to know everything they know about their sister's abilities."

Arys swallowed hard and nodded, his fear evident. "Yes, Matron. I will do as you command."

"Good," Minthara said, her tone final. "Now go. All of you. I expect results."

The scholars bowed and quickly dispersed, leaving Minthara alone in the hall. She brooded in the silence, her thoughts dark and turbulent. The mystery of your power gnawed at her, a puzzle she was determined to solve.

Her contemplation was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. The Baenre tailor entered, carrying a measuring tape and various fabric swatches. She was a skilled artisan, responsible for outfitting the house's finest.

"Matron Minthara," the tailor greeted with a respectful bow. "I'm here to measure you for your wedding attire."

Minthara nodded, allowing the tailor to approach. As the tailor worked, Minthara's mind returned to the topic that had consumed her thoughts.

"Tell me," Minthara began, her voice casual but laced with underlying intent. "What do you know of spidersilk?"

The tailor looked up, her hands pausing in their work. "Spidersilk is a rare and precious material," she explained. "It is incredibly strong, yet delicate. Only a few houses have mastered its production."

"House Liakyre among them," Minthara said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, Matron," the tailor confirmed. "House Liakyre was known for their exquisite spidersilk. It is said to be unmatched in quality. House Liakyre will be supplying the spidersilk, for your betrothed's ceremonial wear. The same spidersilk she used to behead that hook horror, Matron."

Minthara frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes. "I burned down their resources," she muttered to herself, her mind racing. "How can they be supply her spidersilk?"

The tailor remained silent, her hands resuming their measurements with careful precision. Minthara simmered in silent anger. Ousting you was evidently not going to be as easy as she thought.

As the tailor finished her work and began to pack up her tools, Minthara's resolve hardened. She would uncover the truth, no matter the cost. She had underestimated you once, but she would not allow it to happen again.

Once the tailor left, Minthara prowled through the dimly lit halls of House Baenre, her steps purposeful and silent. She had been informed by a passing servant that you were praying in the house's chapel. Curiosity and suspicion drove her, her mind replaying the tailor's words about the mysterious spidersilk. She needed to understand you better, and what better place to start than your devotions to the Spider Queen? The one who seemed to favor you so greatly.

The house chapel was a domed shape and featured an illusion created by their archmage, that switched from spider to drow female, an ode to Lolth. It was beautiful, the chapel, ethereal even.

Reaching the entrance of the chapel, Minthara paused, her eyes adjusting to the flickering candlelight that illuminated the sacred space. She spotted you immediately, kneeling at the grand altar, your head bowed in fervent prayer. The soft glow of the candles cast an ethereal light around you, making you seem almost otherworldly. Minthara had to push down those damned feelings of admiration she had started to feel for you once more and slipped into the shadows, keeping her distance.

She observed you, her sharp eyes noting the way you seemed genuinely at peace, a stark contrast to the cunning and defiance you had shown her earlier. Your voice, though soft, carried through the quiet space, and Minthara strained to catch your words.

"Oh, great Lolth, Mistress of the Web," you began, your tone reverent and almost joyful. "I praise you for your unmatched cunning, your strength in battle, and your wisdom that guides us all. You have brought me to this point, and for that, I am eternally grateful."

Minthara watched as you lifted your face, a serene smile gracing your lips.

"Mother Lolth, give me the strength to face my upcoming marriage with courage and resolve. Help me navigate the web of power and deceit that surrounds me. I trust in your guidance and place my fate in your hands."

As you finished your prayer, a small spider scurried up your arm, its tiny legs tickling your skin. You held out your palms, and the spider settled into them, as if finding comfort in your presence. You cooed softly at the creature, a look of genuine affection on your face.

Minthara felt a strange pang of envy at the sight. Here you were, openly displaying a connection with Lolth that she herself had never quite achieved. Lolth favoured House Baenre greatly, but Minthara ahad never felt the revered connection that the matrons before her had. Perhaps that was why she went on her vengeful tirade to begin with, to prove herself to Lolth.

She stepped out of the shadows as you rose, still cradling the spider and whispering sweet compliments to it. Minthara had to admit, it was a very cutey wutey spider-idy. Shaking her head of the thought she stepped forward as obliviously walked past her.

"Y/N," Minthara called, her voice echoing in the chapel. The spider quickly scurried away, disappearing into the folds of your robe. You turned to her, a frown marring your serene expression.

"Must you always disrupt my peace, Minthara?" you scolded, your tone sharp. Minthara ignored your reprimand, stepping closer.

"I couldn't help but overhear your prayer," she said, her eyes narrowing. "You seem quite close with our most revered Spider Queen."

"Perhaps you should spend more time in the temple, Minthara," you suggested, your voice dripping with disdain as you turned away, heading towards the exit of the chapel. "It might do you some good. Instead of parading around the battlefield, try praying for once."

Minthara's jaw tightened at your words. She followed you, her curiosity unabated. "How is it that you have such a bond with Lolth?"

You paused at the threshold, turning to face her one last time.

"Some things, Minthara, are not meant to be understood by those who seek power for power's sake," you said, your eyes boring into hers. With that, you walked out, leaving Minthara standing alone in the temple, the weight of your words settling heavily upon her. As she looked around the sacred space, she couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease.

Your connection to Lolth was deeper and more profound than she had anticipated, though she should not be surprised considering the predicament she was in. Favoured by Lolth is how the High Priestess had described you. Blessed with powers, blessed with baby spiders, blessed with-

The baby spider.

It suddenly all made sense. That is how you still had reserves, that is how you manipulated that divine silk, it must be the spiders Lolth sent you. Minthara gleamed with a renewed sense of purpose and set a plan into place.

Later that night, as you both prepared for bed, you could tell Minthara was up to something. She hadn't threatened you in a while, a behavior quite uncharacteristic of her. You asked Minthara if something was wrong, but she merely brushed you off and slipped into bed.

"Nothing is wrong, go to sleep," she said curtly, turning her back to you.

"Yes because that is entirely reassuring," You murmered to yourself, passively aggressively yanking the covers away from her. Minthara rolled her eyes but allowed it. She had other matters to concern herself with.

Minthara waited until you had fallen asleep, the even rhythm of your breathing signaling your deep slumber. Just as she suspected, the baby spider from earlier crawled up from beneath your pillow and settled on your cheek, nestling comfortably against your skin. Minthara moved swiftly, capturing the tiny creature in a delicate yet firm grasp. She called for a servant, instructing them to wake up her scholars immediately.

In the dim candlelight, the scholars examined the spider, their faces a mix of confusion and fatigue.

"This is a common infant spider, Matron," one of them finally said, looking at Minthara with a mixture of concern and skepticism. "Are you sure you have been sleeping well? Perhaps the stress of the impending marriage is getting to you."

"This is no ordinary spider. It can't be" Minthara snapped at them, her patience thin. This spider had to have something to do with your abilities. "Check it for divine presence. Now."

One of the scholars prepered a spell and she moved towards the baby spider that blinked up at them. It was no bigger than a piece of gold and as the scholar enacted the spell, it was jsut as common as a piece of gold. No divine presence. With apprehension the scholar told her matron of her findings.

Minthara scowled and she dismissed them with a sharp wave of her hand, and they scurried out of the room, casting worried glances at each other.

As Minthara stood alone, holding the spider, it suddenly bit her finger and then scurried off into the shadows. She hissed in pain and frustration, storming back to the bedroom. She stood over you, arms crossed and damned Lolth for her presence (only in her mind, she was not that foolish).

Even in your sleep, she could tell there was a smile on your face, a smugness that spoke of an intimate victory. Minthara glared at you, her mind racing with thoughts of retribution and control. She knew that understanding your connection to these creatures and your peculiar blessings was crucial to bending you to her will.

For now, however, she was left with nothing but the faint, mocking smile on your face as she climbed back into bed, seething silently beside you. Though she could not help herself and yanked the covers off of you, cocooning herself in them, leaving none for you.

The next morning, after a particularly chilly night, you woke to an empty bed. Minthara was gone, likely tending to her wounded pride. You got dressed and made your way downstairs, curious to see what she was up to.

As you walked through the corridors of House Baenre, you could hear the faint clashing of steel and the grunts of exertion. Following the sounds, you arrived at the courtyard and saw Minthara training fiercely with her blade. Her movements were precise, powerful, and undeniably attractive. Despite the enmity between you, you couldn't help but admire her skill and beauty. Anyone would, you justified. But the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the way her hair fell from her bun, accenting the tattoo on her neck. You suddenly became fixiated on her neck and instead of wondering what it would be like to put a blade to it, you wondered what it would be like to kiss it.

You took a sharp breath in and composed yourself, perhaps the cold had got to you last night and you were coming down with something. As you turned to leave, a conversation caught your attention. A tired-looking scholar, clearly frustrated, was speaking to another scholar just out of earshot of anyone else.

"Minthara's losing her mind," he grumbled. "She's obsessing over that Liakyre girl. What's so special about her anyway? She's a parasite that's just latched onto our House. Dirty Iblith."

You felt a surge of anger. Stepping out from the shadows, you confronted the man. Despite your previous ability to remain calm with Minthara, you were not going to allow such disrespect to start among the staff. Especially from some, man.

"What did you say?" you demanded, your voice cold and steady.

The scholar turned to you, his face paling. "I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did," you interrupted. "You think you can speak about me like that?"

The argument quickly escalated, voices rising and fists clenching. The scholar, emboldened by their frustration and perhaps a bit of madness, shoved you. You retaliated, pushing back harder. The commotion drew the attention of the nearby guards, and soon a crowd was gathering. Among them were Minthara and the acolyte that had been watching you and Minthara.

Minthara's eyes narrowed as she approached, her expression unreadable. You braced yourself, expecting the acolyte to have to command Minthara to defend you. To remind MInthara that she was to protect you as to not anger Lolth. However, to your surprise, Minthara stepped forward of her own volition, placing herself between you and the scholar.

"Enough," Minthara's voice rang out with authority. She turned her gaze to the scholar, who visibly trembled under her scrutiny. "How dare you speak ill of my betrothed and cause such a disturbance in my House?"

The scholar stammered, "I-I didn't mean to—"

Minthara cut them off sharply. "Your insolence and disrespect will not be tolerated. You will be punished accordingly." She gestured to the guards. "Take them away."

The guards quickly apprehended the scholar, dragging them off as they pleaded for mercy. Minthara then turned to you, her expression softening slightly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice low. As if she didn't want anyone else to hear her.

You nodded, still stunned by her actions. "Thank you."

Minthara simply nodded, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned to address the gathered crowd. "Return to your duties. There is nothing more to see here."

As the courtyard cleared out, the acolyte approached, her expression approving. "You handled that well, Matron."

Minthara glanced at you, then back to the acolyte. "It was my duty. Nothing more."

You may have felt hurt by her words, if it wasn't for the slight hitch in her voice when she spoke. Unnoticeable to anyone but you, who Minthara had regarded so frequently, often in a negative light, that you were able to tell immediately when something changed.

"Thank you, for your duty to me, dearest betrothed" You sweetly thanked, curtseying and you could swear that you saw something like a blush dare to rise to her cheeks. Minthara muttered something about reprimanding the guards and walked off, leaving you and the acolyte.

The acolyte flashed you a smile. "It seems things between you and the matron have developed. Perhaps there will be less bloodshed on the wedding day than previously thought."

"Perhaps," you slowly nodded in agreement, still reeling from Minthara's gesture. She could have easily allowed the scholar to walk all over you, but she didn't. A tactic, you convinced yourself, she simply did it to lull you into a false sense of security. You would not be fooled, though someone needed to tell your heart that.

Later that afternoon, you and Minthara found yourselves in the grand study, surrounded by parchments and scrolls detailing the arrangements for your impending wedding. The atmosphere was tense, yet there was an undercurrent of something else—an unspoken connection that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Minthara, always the picture of stoicism, scanned through a list of guests with a critical eye. "We need to ensure that no undesirables make it into the ceremony. The last thing we need is a disruption."

You nodded in agreement, your focus on a different scroll detailing the menu. "Agreed. We need to project strength and unity, at least outwardly." You paused, noticing a note about the wine selection. "What about the wine? I prefer the vintage from the vineyards of Val'ythin."

Minthara glanced up, her expression momentarily softening. "The Val'ythin vintage is also my preference. It has a depth that no other wine can match."

You were momentarily taken aback. "I didn’t expect us to agree on something so... trivial."

She gave a slight smirk, though her eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity. "Perhaps we have more in common than we care to admit."

As you continued to discuss the details, you found more common ground. Your taste in food was remarkably similar, both preferring the rich, exotic flavors of dishes seasoned with rare spices from the Underdark. There was even a shared appreciation for certain pieces of art and music, though neither of you would admit to liking anything that the other suggested too enthusiastically.

Reaching for a scroll that detailed the decorations for the banquet hall, your fingers accidentally grazed Minthara’s hand. The touch was brief but electric, sending a jolt up your arm. You quickly pulled back, and Minthara did the same, her eyes momentarily widening in surprise.

An awkward silence settled between you, the air thick with unspoken tension. You cleared your throat, attempting to dispel the moment. "So, the decorations. I assume you want everything in black and red?"

Minthara nodded, her voice a bit sharper than before. "Naturally. Anything else would be unacceptable." You rolled your eyes, masking the confusion and burgeoning attraction with sarcasm. "Of course, because we wouldn't want to deviate from the classic Baenre gloom. Minthara narrowed her eyes at you, her tone biting. "At least our decor has a purpose and meaning. Unlike the gaudy excess your House was known for."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Better gaudy than perpetually dour. It's a wedding, Minthara, not a funeral."

The sharp exchange seemed to ease the tension, both of you falling back into the familiar rhythm of barbed comments and disdainful looks. But the underlying current of that accidental touch remained, simmering just beneath the surface.

The conversation continued with more pointed jabs and forced cooperation, but every now and then, your eyes would meet hers, and the memory of that brief contact would spark anew. It was a strange, disconcerting feeling, but it also brought a certain thrill, a reminder that beneath the animosity lay something more complex and potentially dangerous.

Finally, after what felt like hours of negotiation, you both settled on the details. The menu was finalized, the decorations agreed upon, and the wine selected. As you gathered the scrolls and prepared to leave, you couldn't resist one last comment.

"Well, this was... productive," you said, your tone dripping with irony.

Minthara smirked, her eyes glinting. "As productive as it can be when dealing with someone of your... caliber."

You gave her a mock bow. "Always a pleasure, Minthara."

With that, you turned and left the grand hall, your heart beating faster than it should. As much as you loathed to admit it, the day had brought a revelation: beneath the enmity, there was a spark of something else, something that both intrigued and unsettled you.

[aziraphales-library]

Hey y'all, first off, thanks for the great work you're doing!

I'm looking for Aziracrow fics with like,, one of them as an FBI agent and the other as art consultant or something like that. I already checked if there's anything in a possible art heist tag, I also looked for crossovers with White Collar, which has a similar premise, and I didn't really find anything. Maybe there's nothing, but I thought maybe you'd have an idea :) Thank you!!

Hello! So, the best I can do is fics in which one of them works in law enforcement of some kind, and the other works in either a different department or completely different job, and they work together in some way. Hope this was the kind of thing you're after!...

Containing Seeds of Destruction by feathereddino (T)

Lower Tadfield is a rural, sleepy little village that is trying to be a town. The crimes that Police Constable A.J. Crowley usually responds to are mundane but never evil. His husband, police psychologist Dr. A.Z. Fell appreciates that their combined caseload reflects that banality. That all changes in 2008 with a call about an abandoned baby. Adam Young's surrender will spark a series of events that will impact their village, their careers, and their personal lives.

What Will Destroy You by EveningStarcatcher (E)

London, 1888 Police Inspector Aziraphale Fell forms an unlikely alliance with Reporter Anthony Crowley to investigate the Whitechapel Murders. Can they solve the mystery and stop the so called Ripper before he strikes again?

Tadfield's Finest by angelsnuffbox (E)

The sleepy town of Tadfield is thoroughly shaken by the arrival of DI Crowley. Where barely anything ever happened before, there is now a bustle of low grade criminal activity, and everyone knows where to point the blame. Gabriel thinks he's a bad omen for the town, many others are quick to agree. Meanwhile, Aziraphale from SOCO just thinks he's hot. Ridiculously so.

and salt the Earth behind you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (E)

Detective (well, Profiler actually, not that anyone seems to care) Aziraphale Fell should have dropped his one and only Criminal Informant the moment he realized he was already falling in love with the man. Alas, he's never had good ideas regarding his self-preservation: when Anthony Crowley calls, he always comes. He will always come. If this wasn't already very bad, his feelings are apparently reciprocated and, in the meantime, his unit has to catch the worst serial killer Washington D.C. has probably ever seen. Crowley has no intention of leaving Aziraphale to deal with this on his own; Aziraphale has no intention of letting Crowley do something stupid just for his sake. Ah, if only love could ever be something easy. “Sometimes I wish I’d met you in a park.” Crowley’s hands move lower, down, down until he reaches Aziraphale’s palms and intertwines their fingers. There isn’t a single chance this gesture can fall under the umbrella of ‘plausible deniability’. Though nothing about this sort of impromptu confession could. “A park, uh? Nice.” A squeeze. “I always imagine something like a library. Or a bookshop or, not sure, whatever place is full of books.”

For His Eyes Only by AFrenchFanWriter (M)

Anthony J. Crowley has been an MI6 spy for 10 years, completing successful mission after successful mission under the guidance of his quartermaster, Aziraphale Fell. But this life is starting to take its toll on him as he is getting older; and when, one day, his past comes back to haunt him, Crowley realizes that it might be time for him to hang up his gun and face all the things he has left unaddressed… (Yep, it is basically a James Bond/Q AU!)

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E)

1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

- Mod D

[littlest-w01f]

Bakery

Rhysand x Reader

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Day 7: Free Day

Summary: In an AU where Faeries and humans live together, Rhysand finds himself in a little human ran bakery he's heard so much about.

Cw: Fluff, Rhys being typical Fae

You were working at a cosy bakery in a small town of humans, packing up some cupcakes for a customer while taking another's order. As you expertly wrapped the colourful cupcakes in their paper wrappers, the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods filled your senses. The bell above the door jingled, signalling another customer entering the quaint bakery.

With his black cloak swirling around him like smoke, Rhysand strides into the bakery. His presence is as palpable as the night itself, casting a shadow over the warm atmosphere of the room. The High Lord of Night Court scans the bakery, his violet eyes landing on you, your skin glowing against the white apron you wore. He approached you slowly, each step deliberate, a predator stalking its prey.

His ethereal form seemed to absorb the warm glow emanating from the ovens, leaving only an aura of mysterious shadows in his wake. The air around him rippled as if reality itself was bending to accommodate his presence. His piercing violet gaze swept over the bustling shop, pausing briefly on each customer, who all shrieked away from him, some rushing out, not used to having a Faerie this close to them.

"Good evening," He purred, his velvety voice sending shivers down your spine. "I wish to speak with the owner."

You feel your heart flutter nervously in your chest as Rhysand's intense gaze locks onto you. His words, dripping with that unmistakable faerie allure, same as his pointed ears, send a thrill through your body despite yourself. The other customers in the bakery have grown quiet, sensing the sudden shift in energy.

"You're talking to her." You reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "How can I assist you?"

Rhysand's lips curve into a sly smile, revealing just a hint of perfect teeth. "Oh, really? You seem far too young to be running a shop like this." As he leans in closer, the scent of starlight and something darker, more primal, fills your nostrils.

You frown when his coming closer makes the customers that were in a line move away, "What do you need from me, High Lord? You are scaring my people."

He looked at the customers. They seem a little wary of him, as if a stranger has entered their home. He looked back at you, and narrowed his eyes. "I had heard whispers of a skilled baker in this little town, right around this corner. I had to see with my own eyes the quality..." He smirked. "...You must be the best. For your little human town."

The compliment, though laced with his usual arrogance, still warms your cheeks with a blush. But you quickly shake off the flattery, focusing instead on his request. "Well, I'm glad you think so highly of my work, but we don't get many visitors from the Night Court or any faeries. What brings you here?"

His eyes glint with mischief as he takes a step closer, the air between you seeming to thicken with tension. "Ah, but why should I reveal my intentions so easily? Perhaps I've come merely to sample your finest pastries." His gaze travels down to your curves, clearly appreciating the view. "I don't suppose I can get a sample?"

"Yeah sure, samples are free." You gave him a smile, despite not knowing if the fae meant a sample of you or your baked treats, you looked up at him, and he seemed to be staring right into your soul, or a sample of you. You were about to tell him to wait his turn, but as you spun to your customers, all of them had retreated in corners. "Although I should charge you since you made most of my customers go away with your giant scary Fae-ness you carry."

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards in a smirk, clearly amused by your boldness. "Ahh, so feisty," he purrs, his violet gaze flashing with intrigue. "I didn't expect such spirit from someone in a humble bakery. Thought I suppose I am a little intimidating..."

I raise my brow at him "You suppose?"

"You could say that again," Rhys said, his tone teasing yet laden with a dangerous edge. "But perhaps I should be asking myself why you're so willing to entertain a visitor from the Night Court. After all, aren't you afraid of what might happen if you let your guard down?"

"Well, you're a guest here, and I don't discriminate." You say, even if stupidly, "Now, what would you like to try?"

The smirk fades slightly from Rhysand's face as he watches you, studying your every reaction with those unnerving eyes. "A guest, huh?" he muses aloud. "Interesting choice of words. Usually people show much more caution."

Then, with a wave of his hand as if flicking away any remaining doubt or concern, he moved towards the display case filled with delectable treats, reading their names. "Let's start with something simple, perhaps one of those... Apple tarts?"

"Of course," With a nod, you pick out the little sample of the tart and offer it to him, set on a mini plate to match.

The moment your fingers brush against his, a jolt of electricity seems to shoot through both of you. It's almost as if the air itself crackles with potential energy. Rhysand doesn't miss a beat, however, he accepts the plate gracefully and brings it to his lips.

As he bites into the treat, a look of pure satisfaction crosses his face, the kind usually reserved for pleasure rather than food. "Delicious," he murmurs, wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth with a finger. "You have quite the talent, darling." His voice was rich with pleasure. "You certainly know how to indulge in the finer things."

You snort softly, bussing yourself in cleaning the counter top, "Not words I thought a Faerie would say to a human,"

"Oh? Why not?" Rhysand asked, arching an eyebrow at you. He took another bite, smaller this time, relishing the sweet flavour and texture. There was no doubting his genuine enjoyment, which surprised you a little. But then again, the High Lord of the Night Court was known for his extravagant taste.

"Your surprise amuses me," he added, his smirk making another appearance. "Is it so unexpected for a Fae to appreciate mortal pleasures? Perhaps we are more alike than you realize."

"Oh, it is very unexpected." You smile, "But I appreciate it nonetheless. Just don't kidnap me in the middle of the night and force me to make pastries for you." You say dead serious. "I've read faelore. I would put ash and iron in your food."

The amusement never leaves Rhysand’s eyes as he listens to your conditions, and for a moment, you wonder whether he finds your fears amusing or simply entertaining. "Kidnapping you?" he repeats, his voice tinged with mock horror. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

However, he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "No kidnapping, no forced baking. At least not tonight. But who knows about tomorrow?"

The High Lord takes another bite of the tart, savouring the taste while watching your reaction carefully. He knows everyone else has left by now, and he didn't even get to show them his true power, "It seems you've been well-informed about our ways," he says after swallowing. "I must admit, it's refreshing. Most humans are either too scared or too naive to bother learning anything beyond basic folklore."

He places the empty plate aside and looks directly into your eyes, his gaze piercing. "But tell me, what else did your readings reveal?"

"Never tell a faerie your real full name," I say confidently.

"Well, I have bad news for you, Ms. y/n l/n." He said your full name, eyes serious for a moment. "Your name is on the board hanging merrily outside."

Your eyes widen in shock at the revelation, "I-" you start, and the words catch in your throat. That was awfully careless of you, but then again, you didn't think a fae would show up on your shop.

Rhysand watches your reaction with a mixture of triumph and curiosity, clearly enjoying the power he holds over you now. "Don't worry," he assures you, his voice still eerily calm. "I won't use it for ill intent… Today."

His words have started to annoy you, the same teasing and taunts over and over again. You open your mouth to say something but shut it back up, glaring at him.

"Annoyance suits you," he remarks, observing your increasingly frustrated demeanour with an air of casual amusement, of course, he could read your mind, you groan to yourself. "Such passion, and it's all directed at me."

Leaning back against the counter, Rhysand crosses his arms over his chest, the picture of nonchalant superiority. "Do you often find yourself at the mercy of Faeries? Or is it just my intoxicating charm that has you flustered?"

"I am not flustered." You huff, flabbergasted.

"Oh, really?" Rhysand challenges, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Because it seems to me like you're struggling to maintain control. Is it because I'm so charming? So irresistible? Or perhaps it's because you secretly crave being ensnared by the High Lord of the Night Court?"

"Oh yeah, every human woman wants a fae male to take her away so that she loses all her freedom." You roll your eyes but before you could've said a thing more, the fae disappeared right before your eyes. Then you inhale sharply, stunned when you notice a small pouch on the counter, you open it and your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull at the gold marks that spilt out, currency that was high even for faeries.

A note accompanied it too, 'I have a particular fondness for witty girls. They tend to make the most interesting company.' easy to say, your first experience with a fae was a bizarre one. Leaving your bakery with a chill surrounding it, and only then you realised that you were alone in the place.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

[accio-lo-ki]

Hii would you have any percabeth fic recs?? I'm just deprived 😭😭

Oh I have a LOT. If you’re as insane about this ship as I am, you’ve probably read all of them but I’m still going to list them down anyway. So, in no particular order:

Whiny Little Pitch by petersgwen - this fic literally made me scream multiple times. everything by this author is chef’s kiss btw. Sports au like no other + exes to lovers

Apartment 305 by waddled - a literal serotonin boost monster of a fic that i’m sure most already know about . i love percy and annabeth’s relationship here, and their characterization. It’s got college romance, olympic athlete Percy, and pipabeth bffism at its finest.

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated at School by lammermoorian - man this one I reread a lot. I just love it so much. Academic!Percy, domestic percabeth, and just a whole lot of charm

Honesty and Promise Me by Darkmagyk, lammermoorian - never thought I would enjoy punk!annabeth until this fic. it has unexpected pregnancy but it’s so well done! fwb to lovers!

For Real This Time by captainjackson, timelesslords - anything written by this pair is a must-read, but this is one of their best! roman!percy and divorced annabeth! the premise is so interesting and the setting even more so.

Murkiest Intentions by inkncoffee - i feel like this fic shows my age, but when i tell you it’s a classic! jurassic world au (it sounds crazy but it’s so good) i’ve been rereading this since high school and it still holds up

Would it really kill you (if we kissed) by greenconverses - i mean, who hasn’t read this and all the author’s works? but it’s a classic in the fandom and it’s a classic for a reason

The Old Guard au by ananbeth, blackjacktheboss - this series is so well-written with such a solid worldbuilding you have to binge it this instant go

Love me, won’t you by ananbeth, blackjacktheboss - modern romeo and juliet with greece as a backdrop? sign me tf up

the sun stands by petersgwen- if you want pain this is it this fic is pain in fanfiction form

That crosses the white sea by husborth - another well-written masterpiece with percabeth in college

Voice on the radio by PastyPirate - another fandom classic! this one has me giggling kicking my feet everytime i reread it. soulmate au! musician!percy! and friendship bracelets!

The Heart is a Muscle by thebackupkid - I feel like this one is so underrated, but it’s so good and so interesting and distinct! it’s got magic and adventure and fantasy! the worldbuilding again is so good!

Impossible Year by bananannabeth - another pain in fiction form. but this time it has a breakup trope, which destroys me so much I always need years before i want to reread this again. but it’s a masterpiece and you should experience it at least once in your life!!

Game, Set, Match by ananbeth, blackjacktheboss - if there’s a classic percabeth sports au, it’s this. and it has fwb too and it’s just too iconic

Stucco Hearts by ananbeth, writergirl8 - another fandom classic, but this time it’s a soulmate au! this is so so interesting and one of my favorite soulmate aus ever. the worldbuilding is so interesting. another case of it’s a classic for a reason!

Puck It by bipercabeth, jasonmclean - hockey au + friends w benefits. again, another fandom classic. unfortunately i think this was discontinued by the authors but it’s still too good not to read!

Broken glass, no reflection by ananbeth, flyingcrowbar - another (potentially) discontinued fic that I still think about now. it’s a pacific rim au and it’s so. goddamn. good. read it now !!

kiss me once cause you know i had a good night by herecomesthepun - this one is pure comedic fluff and if you need a serotonin boost you have to read it. workplace romance with a twist !

slow motion double vision in a rose blush by herecomesthepun - ooh this one is a high school fwb secret relationship au with a punk percy and a student council president annabeth so basically it’s a classic

and they were roommates by bipercabeth - friends to lovers + college percabeth like no other. another fandom classic

Never Shall We Die by captainjackson, timelesslords - this pirate au series is INSANE it’s crazy good the worldbuilding is amazing it makes me feral actually

Wreck my plan, that’s my man by seaweedbraens - everything by this author is so good they’re a fandom icon but this one in particular i think about daily (tho it’s ongoing)

How to Seduce an Earl by sinfulindulgence - this is hella spicy but it’s also so addicting? i blame bridgerton (this author does so much stuff w this vibe that u should check out too! i liked Revenge of the Duchess as well)

Night at the Museum by lammermoorian - it’s so niche and crazy and camp but also angsty and fluffy and you need to read it right this second ! i LOVE this one

faster than a hairpin trigger by medeaa - this one is the quintessential percabeth fwb college au TO ME. unfortunately it’s (potentially) discontinued, but it’s still one of my favorites.

watch me fall at your feet by maydayparade8123 - this is a really well-written friends to lovers fic that realt explored how confusing it is to fall in love with your best friend like,, it’s a classic but also it’s so real !! this author is a fandom icon but i think they deleted / orphaned their accounts on ff.net and ao3

spellbound by writergirl8 - this is the percabeth hogwarts au. i dont make the rules.

home is where i want to be (but i guess i’m already there) by percivaljackson - fake dating + holidays! this is so well-written!

‘tis the damn season by captainjackson - regency au at its finest!!

-

This is way too long already lmao i dont have the time to list down everything (i have 700+ percabeth fanfics downloaded on my ibooks app 😭) but these are the ones that i can recall at this time !! Happy reading!

[wangxianficrecs]

Good Fortune Lies Within Bad by ereshai

Good Fortune Lies Within Bad

by ereshai (@ereshai)

T, 1k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Kidfic Exchange

Summary: Whatever had happened must have been recent - the child, who they had discovered crying all alone outside the house, was scared and probably hungry, but otherwise unhurt. Kay's comments: Accidental child acquisition at its finest! Really enjoyed this short story, very cute and I love how in-sync Wangxian are with their intentions. The poor child in question has had a rough few days behind him, but Wangxian will take good care of him. Excerpt: It took the rest of the afternoon to walk to the small village Lan Zhan had spotted while they were traveling. Lan Zhan carried the child the whole way, despite Wei Ying’s attempts to take a turn. Every time the little boy even thought Lan Zhan might be letting go of him, he began to cry in loud, heartbreaking sobs. Neither of them could bear to put him through that. Wei Ying was thankful for the famous Lan arm strength; so impressive that he could carry the little boy for so long without tiring, and the memory of Lan Zhan striding down the road with a baby in his arms would stay with him forever. Was that something Lan Zhan wanted? Wei Ying had idly considered the idea of raising children with Lan Zhan every so often - maybe more than that, actually - but he wasn’t sure how Lan Zhan felt. Lan Zhan had raised A-Yuan, as much as he could within the Lan clan’s strict way of doing things. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to do it again. And there was the problem of actually acquiring a child; despite what he had told A-Yuan all those years ago, he knew they didn’t actually grow like radishes. Of course, they had a child right now, a child who had unfortunately gone through a tragedy. Not that they could just keep him. Could they? And they would probably discover relatives in the village. Wei Ying shouldn’t get attached.

pov wei wuxian, post-canon, established relationship, accidental baby acquisition, soft lan wangji/wei wuxian, adoption

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[applcrumbl]

I see the way you look at her.

Pairings: Peeta Mellark X Reader Warnings: Y/N uses she/her pronouns, talk of cheating, talk of murder and death.  Author’s Note: Y/N is kind of a dick in this but that’s so slay purr for her

Summary: Peeta returns to District 12 after the 74th Annual Hunger Games to a girlfriend who wants nothing to do with him. 

The air in District 12 was thick with tension as the Reaping day unfolded, casting a shadow over the usually quiet town. The nervous energy in the square was palpable, each child from from age 12 to 18 lined up as though they were being put to death by firing squad. In a strange way, they were. Dressed in their finest garments, the kind that they would be proud to have on television, yet praying that their names were never called.

Y/N’s name was in the bowl 20 times this year. 15 as tesserae, for the grain and oil her family so dearly needed to survive, and the rest for the age she’d turned earlier that year. There were boys with twice as many in the other bowl. Her neighbour, Gale, at 18 years old, had his name in 42.

Yet, with only 5 slips of paper, Peeta Mellark was called. His eyes bore into hers as tears threatened to fall. She watched him hug Effie Trinket, clad in her Capitol Extravagance. Katniss Everdeen, the girl she’d played with since youth, stood with him.

Truthfully, she’d moved on from the shock that her lover was going to die quite quickly. He certainly was more likeable than the rest of the tributes, But there was not enough money in the entirety of District 12 to provide the sponsorships he would need to stay alive. Peeta was strong in build, but would never be able to hurt someone, let alone to the point of murder.

She sat with a group of girls in the square, watching Caesar Flickerman on the large screen.

"Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember.” Peeta says, “But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping." 

Furrowed brow, she listened intently to his words. Who else would he be talking about, if not his own girlfriend? If not herself.

“She have another fellow?" asks Caesar.

“I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.

Alice Walker, one of the girls who sat with Y/N, turns to look. “Thought you an’ him were going steady?”

“We are.” She replies—confusion as to why he was talking about her as though she were someone else.

She turns back to face the screen. Eyes trained on Peeta, looking the same as ever - only cleaner and in nicer clothes. He still wore the silver ring she’d bargained for at the market. His 15th birthday gift - She had put her name in the reaping another time to afford it.

“So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?"

“I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning...won’t help in my case," says Peeta.

“Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified.

"Because...because...she came here with me.”

From the moment of Peeta’s admission, she secretly hoped that he’d die in the games. As much as she wanted him to come back alive so that she could kill him herself, she also wanted nothing more than to see him suffer.

Everything she’d done for him. Everything she’d been put through for him. All for him to be in love with Katniss Everdeen. She stopped watching the games after that.

That didn’t mean she didn’t hear all about District 12’s star-crossed lovers and how they won the Hunger Games by means of their love. She stayed far away from the train station, and its once-dull platform, now adorned with makeshift decorations crafted from whatever materials the citizens could salvage. She stayed far away from his family’s bakery, and his shiny new home in Victor’s Village. She stayed far away from any place where the boy could find her. But, that did not mean that he did not try.

Katniss once spoke to her in the woods, explaining that it was all a rouse for the Capitol. Y/N only believed it because Gale had told her the same thing before. Katniss pleaded with her to speak to Peeta and allow him to explain. If not for her own sake, then for his. “I can’t even look at him Y/N. But he shouldn’t be alone right now”

She wondered how a victor of The Hunger Games could be so desperate for company. 

It took a lot of her pride to walk to Victor’s Village that night. The air was crisp, and the stars overhead seemed to bear witness to the storm of emotions raging within her. Unable to quell the turmoil in her heart, she found herself standing outside Peeta’s home.

It was the first time that she’d seen him. A glimpse through the front window into the warmly lit kitchen. He was baking again, decorating a cake, much like he would have been before the games. Except now, he was thinner, his eyes more sunken, hands shaking as they pressed fruit into icing. 

Taking a deep breath, she approached the door. Knocking gently, the sound echoed through the quiet night.

"Y/N," Peeta said, his voice soft with a hint of regret. "I didn't expect you."

She met his gaze, searching for answers. "We should talk."

He nodded, stepping aside to let her in. The air inside was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, a familiar comfort that felt oddly out of place given the current circumstances.

They settled in the living room. The fire roared, illuminating the large room in an orange glow. The walls of the ground floor were taller than the height of her entire house. And one of the multiple sofa suites was bigger than the bed her brother slept on. There was more luxury in a singular room than in any 5 buildings in the seam. 

She sat, conscious of the room she was taking up. It felt like she would be whipped for even being near. Peeta sat more comfortably, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. The girl took a deep breath, ”How are you?”

“Where have you been?” Peeta interrupts, “I’ve been looking for you since I returned.”

“Can you blame me?”

Peeta hesitates a moment. “No.” He admits, hands wringing together, “It was for show, Y/N. For the cameras and the Capitol.”

A curt nod. Her expression remained stoic as she processed Peeta's words. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, the crackling fire doing little to dispel the cold atmosphere that had settled between them.

"For show," she repeated, her voice flat. "So, all of it—the love, the sacrifice, the pain—it was all just a performance?"

Peeta looked pained, his eyes desperately searching for understanding in hers. "Yes, entirely. Katniss and I, we played along to survive. It was the only way."

“It was not the only way.”

“I never wanted it to be like this.”

“You could’ve fought. You could have-”

“I couldn’t kill her. And I couldn’t watch her die.” Peeta interrupts.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “But you could lead the careers right to her.” She deadpans, “And you did do that, by the way”

His shoulders slumped, guilt written across his face. "I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted us both to make it out alive. But they wanted a love story, and we had to give it to them."

“You don't get it, Peeta. You don't get what it's like to watch the person you love be in love with someone else, pretend or not.” Y/N shook her head, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "It was so embarrassing to hear about your 'epic love story' broadcast to the entire nation. Have people question me every single day about what happened between us.”

Peeta scoffs, standing up from his seat and pacing to the far corner of the living room. His hand rubbing his face, he forces out a laugh at her words.

“You had some uncomfortable questions forced your way, Y/N” He starts, “I was reaped for The Hunger Games. They are not the same.”

The room falls silent, save for the roar of the fire and the gentle hum of the lights.

“I did what I did, not to stay alive.”Peeta admits, “I couldn’t care less if I died in there, My family wouldn’t either-”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. But that’s not my point.” He breathes, “I needed to stay alive so that I could come back to you.”

Y/N remained seated, her eyes fixed on Peeta as he spoke. He turned to face her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I needed to survive, not for the Capitol, not for the cameras, but for us. I wanted to come back to District 12, to you.”

She couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice, but the wounds ran deep. Having spent the latter half of the last 5 months hating his guts, she couldn’t forgive him easily. Hearing that he’d done it for her only made her feelings more scrambled.

 "Love is more than a performance, Peeta. It's more than a show for the Capitol.”

He took a step closer, his expression filled with regret. "I thought we had a better chance of making it out together than I ever would have alone.”

“But now you’re in it for life. After your victory tour, do you seriously just expect that you’ll be able to just ‘break up’? People who have suffered together like the pair of you have, don’t just call it quits.”

“We’ll figure it out, I just need time.”

Y/N leans back in her chair, eyes still trained on the broken boy before her. She tears them away to try and stop the tears that threaten to fall. “I saw the way you looked at her.” She admits. “I understand that you went through a lot together, but- But, you never looked at me like that.”

Peeta's eyes, full of remorse, met hers. He reached out, as if to touch her hand, but hesitated, fingers hovering in the air.

"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "But in that arena, survival seemed like the only option. It was never about choosing her over you."

He lowered his hand. "I know I messed up. I can't change the past, but I want to make things right, Y/N. I want a chance to prove that I can be the person you need."

She shook her head, a mixture of frustration and sadness in her eyes. “I think you need time to figure it out by yourself, Peeta”

"Give me time," he pleaded. "But give me time to figure it out with you.”

The room hung heavy with silence, the fire that danced in the hearth was slowly dying. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, as Y/N distanced herself from him, each footstep on the plush carpet seemed to amplify the quiet. 

“I should go,” she says.

“Please don’t.” He begs. 

Y/N hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob. She wanted to turn around, to look into Peeta's eyes and find a glimmer of the person she had once loved. Yet, the fear of more disappointment held her back.

"I need time, Peeta," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, “We both need time. Alone.”

Peeta remained silent, watching her silhouette against the doorway, his expression a portrait of heartache. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, but he didn’t.

“If you love someone, let them go.” He whispers, allowing her to open the door and walk down the snow-covered stairs. The hinges closed with a soft thud, and Peeta was left alone.