#the moment i read that i already had ideas flowing through my mind so

[jils-things]

nero if you're reading this your tag comment on the fake edit ate im deadass gonna write about it /gen

#i expressed the need to write lately and this idea was too good to ignore #the moment i read that i already had ideas flowing through my mind so #you are so real for that #im gonna cook 😈 #i knew abt the whole calling random trainers to battle them again but including steven in the list js so funny i gotta do it

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

#it got very long... i'm sorry! #we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho #i can't DO IT #azriel a big softie in this one... #i mean he always is :) #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in luv <3 #i need a writing tag.....

[scudslut]

A New Years Surprise 🎀

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, poorly written smut, oral (fem-receiving), unprotected p in v, porn with some plot lol

a/n: i know i’m a little late but happy new years everyone!:) thought i’d start off on the right foot this year with some Daryl lovin<3 also don’t mind my writing i’m just getting back into it so i’m a bit rusty:/

“God, you’re such a dumbass,” you muttered to yourself, cringing at the reflection staring back at you.

Currently, you were a mess.

Tonight was Alexandria’s supposed ‘New Years Eve’ celebration, like we actually had anything to celebrate or look forward to.

There were always those few people you’d come across over the years, that had somehow managed to keep track of the time passed and as it turns out, Alexandria’s people were very serious when it came to sticking to the old worlds holidays and traditions.

Hell, they’d host parties and backyard shindigs on a regular bases, no prompt needed.

It was bizarre, and even after a full year living here, you still weren’t used to it.

Deep down, a small sliver of you agreed that it was something special about this place. That it somehow kept the hopeful humanity glimmering inside the residents. But the larger, much more sceptical side of you, couldn’t help but notice the flaws of the idea and the dangers of false hope.

Or maybe it was just because you looked fucking ridiculous trying to play dress up.

Either way, you hated the celebrations.

This one in particular though, caught you off guard.

You hadn’t payed much attention to New Years before the world ended, and just assumed that would be the same now; but when you caught wind of the party, you felt your stomach bubble in excitement.

And for one reason only.

Daryl.

You knew Daryl was an absolute sucker for dainty dresses and lingerie and you hadn’t ever gotten the chance to wear something like that for him. But a few days prior, you had stumbled across a small shopping mall on run and found this adorable matching light pink set and had to stuff it away in case the opportunity to surprise him presented itself.

Well, here it was.

And man was that excitement rapidly turning into a full blown panic attack.

Running your fingers through your hair haphazardly, you studied your appearance in the mirror.

You’d only so far put on the lingerie and a small black skirt and you already felt confined and self conscious. The straps weren’t sitting right, the cups of your bra were too big, causing weird awkward gaps.

Sighing, you close your eyes in defeat, resting your head in your hands.

This was just awful.

You could already hear the beginnings of the party going, music and laughter flowing in through your slightly cracked window and it only caused you to sink further into yourself.

You felt your mind slip into your self deprecating thoughts as you began to tune out the world around you, missing the soft creaks of footsteps on the wooden floored hallway.

The door of your shared room was wide open, as it was only the two of you that occupied the small house.

Daryl took you in for a moment, leaning against the doorframe observing your defeated aura silently.

He immediately knew what was bothering you, he could read you like a book at this point. He crept up behind you, gently touching your shoulder as to not frighten you from your thoughts.

Jumping slightly, your eyes flew open and landed on those deep familiar blue ones you adored, staring back at you through the mirror.

His natural scent caught your nose and your body subconsciously began to ease, slumping back into his chest.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you home so early,” you whisper to him as you notice his eyes drift down your body.

You wrap your arms around yourself, not wanting him to see your failed attempt at a surprise and be disappointed.

You should have known he’d be quicker than you.

“Not so fast, baby,” he says, catching your arms before they can fully shield your torso from him and twisted you around to face him.

“It’s nothing, really Daryl, I-I don’t even know what I was thinking,” you mumble feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

That’s when you notice the dark, lustful glimmer in his eyes and awed expression clear as day on his features.

Oh. He likes it.

Heat pooled in your stomach.

Daryl bunches the fabric of your dainty skirt in his hand contemplatively, drawing it up ever so slowly and tucking it into the waist band to keep you exposed.

You could feel his eyes wander your skin, like soft breathy kisses, from finger tips to the dip of your collar bones.

Your breathe catches as you feel the faintest pressure on your dripping cunt.

“This all fer me?” He whispers, slowly sliding his middle finger from the wet patch on your panties to the tiny pink bow at the hem.

He finger dips into the waist when he doesn’t hear your response, and snaps it back against your skin.

“Y-yes Dar,” you gasp.

Of course it was for him, you were his and he damn well knew that, but he simply couldn’t help himself from asking time to time.

He continued to toy with the bow thoughtfully, letting his finger tips graze over the sensitive skin there. Over your hip bones, stomach, and down to your inner thighs, never allowing too much pressure so it felt like soft tickles.

He enjoyed to watch you pant and writhe. Liked the way your skin would erupt in goosebumps every place he touched.

He was a hunter after all.

He could spend hours playing with every detail of you, work you up until you have tears welling in your eyes and your cunt was practically pulsing.

Though you’d beg and plead for him to stop, to give you what you need, he knew you loved it.

And so did he.

Daryl Dixon was a tease.

“Wanted to surprise you after the party,” you manage to squeak out and his gaze finally meets yours.

“Did ya now?” he mocks, walking you backwards till the back of your knees hit the bed and you take a seat at the edge. He looms over you, thumb grazing your bottom lip and you simply nod back at him.

“Well, ya can be certain there ain’t gonna be no party anymore,” he growls, staring you down like you had offended him somehow.

He harshly grips your hips, pulling them till your ass was practically hanging off the edge and drops down to his knees before you, spreading your legs to make room for himself.

All you can do is watch him, mouth parted open as he manhandles you however he pleases.

“And where did ya find somethin’ so pretty, hm?” he questions gruffly, once again rubbing his thumb over the wet patch forming on your panties.

You lean back on your arms, dropping your chin to watch his movements.

“I-uh, on a run the other day,” you huff, your words stuttering in excitement and anticipation.

Daryl only hums in response, as he dips his fingers and pulls them to the side, exposing you fully to him.

He barely gives you a second to register his actions before he’s dropping his head between your thighs, licking a long strip across your soaked cunt.

Your body jolts in surprised pleasure, your right hand flying to grip his soft brown locks as he laps at your clit.

Moaning loudly, your hips rock into him as he continues to lick and suck, lost in the taste of you.

“Oh god,” you whimper. Your arms are shaking behind you, ready to give out any second as you watch Daryl devour you like you were his last meal on earth.

He always looked so damn pretty, eyes closed and entrapped between your thighs.

He lifts his head, groaning at the sight of you and begins trailing kisses over your hips and down your inner thighs.

“Sweet girl,” he mumbles between kisses, “always thinkin’ bout me, huh?”

Your eyes roll back as you sink to your elbows, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“Asked you a question, baby,” he nips at your skin causing a soft sting.

“Always Dar,” you pant, rolling your hips into him again. Your body was pulsing with lust and Daryl could sense how needy you were for him, like it had been weeks without his touch and honestly, it felt like that for him too.

He was about ready to cum in his jeans at the sight of you alone. Legs spread for him, pupils blown wide while you panted and moaned noisily just for him to hear.

Trailing his lips back up, he grips your waist stilling your movements, “What do ya need from me, hm?”

Your mind blanks for a moment, surprised by his uncharacteristic generosity. He was never this quick to give you what you need, always wanting to drag your pleasure for miles and miles until each pretty sound you could possibly make filled his ears.

“Come on now, or do you want me to decide for ya?” he asks again and you quickly shake your head, grabbing him by the shoulders and scooting back until you both were at the top of the bed.

As he lands above you, arms on each side of your head, you finally feel him and how hard he already was.

Rocking into him suggestively, “You know what I need,” you whisper.

Daryl groans from the friction, dropping his head to your shoulder and rutting into you further, chasing your movements.

You hadn’t seen him this worked up and responsive in a long time, and god were you loving it.

You pull his head up to face you and crash your lips onto his, hands finding his belt trying to discard him of it as fast as you possibly can. Daryl’s a panting mess above you, “Baby are you tryna kill me?” he groans when he feels your hands brush against his cock as you attempt to rid him of his jeans.

All you can do is whimper into his mouth as you struggle, and he kicks them down and off the bed.

He grabs you hands and pulls them above you, pinning them down as he begins to attack your neck with bites and kisses.

“Please Dar,” you whine, “need you now.”

“I know baby, I know,” he coos, attempting to soothe you as he draws your skirt and panties down your legs.

You begin tearing at his vest, needing to feel him closer to you, as close as he could possibly get. You feel him chuckle against you, “So eager for me, are ya?” as he lines himself up with your aching core, teasing you even more.

Taking him by surprise, you crush his hips into yours, filling yourself to the hilt all at once. You gasp from from the mixture of pain and pleasure, as Daryl all but whines into your mouth.

“Oh shit, fuck me,” he groans as he begins to slam into you at a bruising pace. You claw at his shoulders, rocking your hips to match his fast movements.

“Just love this cock, don’t ya?” he grunts, lifting one of your legs around his waist to drive into you even deeper.

You felt your brain cloud over, unable to think about anything other than him, drunker on his cock than you’d been from any night of drinking you’d partaken to in the past.

“Don’t go dumb on me now, darling. What did I ask ya?” he repeats, slowing his hips to sensual rolls, so it only stroked that cord in your stomach but kept it from building any further.

“God yes,” you moan, matching his slow but absolutely delicious pace.

Daryl is a groaning mess in your ears as your bodies dance a synchronized rhythm together, moulding into each other like pieces of a puzzle.

His hand snakes between you two, finding your clit easily and he begins to stroke you gently, allowing the fire in your abdomen to build rapidly.

“Oh Dar,” you moan and Daryl only picks up the pace, chasing after his own high to experience with you. Your clutching to him for dear life as he pounds into you quickly, grunting and groaning quiet praises about how good you feel.

You can tell he’s close when his hips start to stutter and shake, losing his rhythm slightly and you finally feel the cord break.

Your body floods with ecstasy, cunt pulsing around him causing his high to come crashing over him with you. Waves of pleasure wash over you as you both come down, his hips slowing to a stop.

He rests his forehead down to yours while the both of you struggle to catch your breath. You feel Daryl start to chuckle against you and your eyes lazily drift open, “What?” you mumble, running your fingers slowly down his back.

“Never was a big fan of surprises before, but ya can bet your ass I am now.”

#daryl dixon #daryl imagines #norman reedus #norman reedus smut #the walking dead #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon smut #twd smut #twd drabbles #daryl x reader

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀say i'm what you need⠀𓏔⠀lee know⠀❫

☆ㅤlee know x afab!reader⠀★⠀3.3k words

warnings / note: this is just a silly fic based on my lovely @skzms minho's drabble 'minho in love', which i totally recommend before you read this. i hope you like it, may, and that i made justice to your words!! ♡ i listened to say i'm what you need by låpsley while writing this, ofc. and it's just some thoughts about how minho and you met, but from your point of view.

You knew it was pouring outside the bar, but you didn't care. That night you had gone out with your friends in the area you lived in, escaping the rain on short runs from bar to bar, spending the money you had saved for the occasion, the shifting spring weather announcing that there was not much time left before the end of your last college term. You had met in your dorm room to get ready, glasses of cheap alcohol and makeup products everywhere, your favourite playlist playing in the background as you exchanged skirts and tops and little hair hacks, laughing and telling each other the latest gossip. And you kept laughing, showing off the dress you were wearing for the first time that night, while you danced with your friends downstairs in the bar where you had arranged to hang out with other students from your faculties.

It was those moments, your mind free of worries and exams, simply enjoying the present, with a couple of drinks downed and the music flowing through your body, in which you felt more alive than ever. And it showed. You became a magnet for anyone who approached you, inviting them to meet you with the beautiful smile that curved your lips and narrowed your eyes, your extroverted energy blending with the innocent look in your irises. You had greeted most of the people in the bar, most of them accepting your hand shake with a complicity of who had already shared nights of fun by your side, and the few that hadn't, accepting your touch with confusion written all over their faces.

You exuded confidence, in that silky dress you never usually wore, with its thin strings crossing your bare back in smooth motions, and the empty glass of rum and coke in your hand. Or so Minho had thought when he had really seen you, your hips moving under your best friend's hands like a leaf swaying in a current of air, your hands in the air and shouting the lyrics of the song at full volume. When he had entered the bar where Chan was waiting for him, the first time he had saw you at all, you had approached him, even if you had no idea of who he was, welcoming him as if you were lifelong friends, only to disappear as quickly as you had arrived, leaving with you the breath that had gotten stuck in his throat.

And after that first interaction you'd felt his eyes on you all night, following you around the bar, running over your skin as you'd used the dance to get attention you already had anyway. You had laughed when you had pretended to slide your own gaze around the room and made eye contact with him, his ears tinging with a reddish hue that the darkness of the night didn't allow you to see, but the sheepish smile he outlined as he averted his eyes from your figure giving you to understand everything you needed to. Your best friend had dared you to kiss one of the guys in the bar in exchange for a drink, and you wondered if he would be the one suited for your little games, despite his self-conscious aura.

That's why you knew you had fallen for him. You, never one to turn down a juicy challenge, had detached yourself from your friend, approaching the counter after shooting a quick glance at the guy, more than willing to steal a kiss and get on with your night. But as soon as he joined you, ordering what he had seen you drink so far, his nervous smile creating butterflies inside you, and you greeted him again, it was clear to you that this challenge was not going to do any good. First, because you didn't see yourself capable of doing that to him. But also because you were sure that once you tried him, you wouldn't want to stop. So you stayed next to him, your shoulder brushing against his, exchanging hellos and names, telling him who you were and what you did, listening to him tell you about his work and his family, who your friends were, where you came from, what you wanted to do with your lives. And by the time you left the bar, cheeks flushed as your hands accidentally touched, you felt like you had known each other all your lives.

You had had breakfast together, once the sun had risen, in a nearby coffee shop, reluctant to let the moment end, stretching the conversation until the bubble inevitably burst. And when he had accompanied you to your residence, your breaths drawing trails of steam barely perceptible in the air, he had quickly stammered something about your phone number, and you had not been able to deny him, so you took the device from his trembling hands and wrote it down among his contacts, absolutely sure that it was impossible for that midnight bond to go any further.

But you were surprised to wake up two days later with a couple of messages from an unknown number, simple words that hid a fear of rejection that you could not see, but that Minho had felt as he wrote it. And in that first chat interaction, which had been an aberration to all the ones you had had so far, you formally and politely agreed to meet again. Later you would smile as you reread it, noticing the urgency in your messages, that hidden truth that screamed that you didn't care about the place, that you just wanted to see each other again, but that you weren't going to confess it because it was too soon.

Actually, with Minho nothing had been too soon. Somehow, every step you had taken, however small, had seemed the size it deserved at the time. You had feared that the spell you had fallen under that night was over, but when you arrived at the café where he had asked you to meet him, time seemed to stand still around you. Not in the dreamy way of every romantic movie, time slowing down when you made eye contact, but you were so at ease with each other that the numbers on your phone screen didn't seem to move, engrossed as you were in your conversation, in each other.

Minho had remembered the order you had made at that first hurried breakfast, and when you arrived he waiting with the steaming mug in front of him. He greeted you with a shy smile, one end of his lips curving more than the other, looking down nervously. One of your favourite snacks was also waiting for you, a detail that made you squeal with excitement when you told your friends, noticing how attentive he had been to everything you said. And by the time you realised it was way past breakfast time, the clock ticking just at one o'clock, you smiled when you saw in his eyes that even though it had been hours, just for both of you it had felt like a few minutes.

And the days turned into weeks, and your get-togethers became more frequent, always brightening your days. Waking up in the mornings was wonderful, just because when you unlocked your phone you had a "Good morning" from him, accompanied by a photo of his cats, or a selfie, just before he left for the gym. And you had developed an amazing ability to invent excuses, each one worse than the next, just to spend a few more seconds by his side, even if it meant asking him to accompany you home, or inviting him to dinner at one of the restaurants he had written down to try together.

The best were the memories, and the first times. You couldn't forget the first time you'd noticed how he tried to be the one to walk closer to the road, and how you'd noticed it ever since. A couple of weeks after you met, on your way to nowhere, just walking around, a car had passed too close to you, and he had bent down to tie his shoelaces, even though they were perfectly knotted, only to gently push you to the safe side of the sidewalk. You had watched his frown soften, continuing the conversation as if nothing had happened, but the relief was evident on his face. And when you got home you relived it in your mind, and your heart was filled with warmth by his antics.

And the first time he had touched you was still etched in your memory. You had noticed that Minho was not much given to physical contact, and you had respected that, so every little interaction, every brush of his skin against yours, sent shivers down your spine. But that time had been special, and he hadn't been able to refuse. You knew it was chilly outside, but as clueless as you were, when you left home you had only grabbed your favorite leather jacket. As you headed to the new restaurant Minho had discovered and offered you to go to that night - where they supposedly made the best sushi around - you had started to shiver. You didn't feel it was that cold either, but it was seeping through the thin fabric and soaking into your bones. He noticed right away, but it took him a while to muster the courage to stop you in the middle of the street, take off the scarf he was wearing and tug it into place around your neck.

Your reaction, you thought, had been pathetic. Your face falling uncertainly, your eyes anywhere but on his, another shiver running through you and not because of the cold, your fingers atching to take his hands in yours. You had noticed the way his fingers had brushed your collarbone the same way he had, but you had been petrified, not quite sure what to do next. Minho took the initiative, eternal gentleman, taking you by the hand, and you just ignored the rushed way your heart was pounding, the beats echoing in your ears, clumsy steps to follow his determined strides.

The first time he had invited you to his place, a casual evening with his friends, so you could get to know his friends. How it hadn't taken you two seconds to strike up a conversation with them, finding common points and shared hobbies, exchanging phone numbers and laughs, appreciating how easy-going they were. You knew Chan, whom you had seen many times in your favorite pub, and also Seungmin, the first in your class, and the one you talked to for hours. You could feel Minho's eyes on you as he bit his nails, half paying attention to whatever Jisung was telling him, and you tried to smile at him or make eye contact with him, to see if he would come closer, wishing he would come closer, just to feel his presence next to you. But he didn't, and during the walk back to your flat seemed he to be too much in his head to engage any conversation.

The first time he slept over at your apartment, at a point in your relationship where you can't even remember how long you've known each other because the answer always seems to be "since always". You had spent the entire evening watching movies and anime, sitting on the couch, so close that you could feel each other's body heat, yet miles apart. By the time you realized, as it had happened so many times before, instead of a few moments Minho had been there all day, and it was too late for him to return home, so you offered him to spend the night with you even though you wanted to beg him to stay. And he, unable to refuse you anything, accepts. And waits for you looking at his phone while you take a shower, seemingly calm, although once outside you fear you have made him uncomfortable because he locks himself almost instantly in the bathroom, mumbling an excuse between his teeth. You sit on the couch, taking the spot where he had been, your favorite sweater slipping its sneaky black fabric over your shoulder, but by the time he sits down next to you again that distance is more present than ever.

And the memory of his touch, which you spend longing for every time you allow yourself to think about it, a dangerous recurring thought in his presence. It is unusual for him to hug you, only two or three times that you keep in your heart as the greatest of treasures, and at such occasions when he only wrapped his arms around you to keep you from breaking into pieces, because you had asked him to, because he was able to make you forget what it was that had made you suffer so much. And the first time you were the one who witnessed that vulnerable side of Minho, that night when your phone rang before the hand of the clock brushed midnight, when Chan begged you to come, and before he finished talking you were already on your way out the door, your heart in your throat.

The way you hadn't bothered to put on a coat, and you knew Minho would scold you, but you couldn't think, not when he was suffering. So you drove to his home, your badly knotted converse stepping on the gas pedal to the legal maximum, and rushed up the stairs, throwing yourself at him the instant he opened the door for you, his face hiding in the crook of your neck, the strands of his hair brushing against your nose. And you had both closed your eyes, him fearing that by parting you everything would collapse, that it would all be a dream, you tightening your grip as if the magnitude of the force you used would be enough to free Minho from his grief. And when you heard the first sob you didn't move, a warm, soft statue he could trust and lean on, until he was ready to speak.

But when hearing the mewing of one of his cats you noticed him twitch, and you let him go, his absence heavier than the worst of regrets in your mind, waiting for him to tell you what he wanted you to do. You don't leave him, you don't push him away, you just stand by his side, trying to figure out what his condition was due to. When he explains it to you, his teary eyes exuding exhaustion, you decide to take the lead, finishing preparing the dinner he had left half made. You make sure he's fed, that he doesn't go into a trance, while you fetch Soonie's carrier, the sick kitten that had alerted Minho, and carefully lay him down inside, stroking his fur as you hear him cry out. And then you accompany his owner to the vet, staying beside him while they examine the cat, letting him nap on your lap while they operate his pet in the adjacent room, moving in for a few days to his apartment to take care of the little family Minho has formed.

And during those days you come to understand how deep the bond you share is, when you see his toothbrush next to yours and it seems like the most normal thing in the world. When you wake up in the mornings and find him sitting next to you on the couch, staring at his kitten, slowly recovering but certain that he will be fine, and you gently pull him up, whispering silly nothings to him and accompanying him to his bed to rest, always staying out of his room, respecting his personal space. When hours later he wakes up, and even with his eyes clouded by sleep he mumbles a "thank you", his raspy voice talking about your caring nature and the plate of food you've just left in his hands. From the first moment you had fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, and you had never wanted to develop that sense of familiarity, too busy forgetting your surroundings and losing yourself in each other.

But there is something that has changed in his gaze, and there is something that has changed inside you, and in the loneliest moments of the night you realize that this routine you have developed while living with him is too inherent in you, and that you need him to need you in that way. Not broken, not sick, just that he wants to have you close, that he can't breathe knowing you're not there, that he longs for your presence even when you're just a few feet away from him. Because that's the way you love him, and if it's not reciprocated the pain may be too much for you. You need him, because it's him, because Minho has made his way deep into your soul, and has decided to stay. And because if at any moment he had to leave you, you would lose a part of what makes you who you are.

That's why you think you are dreaming the night you fall asleep on the couch, while watching a movie. And it's a beautiful dream, because amidst the haze of sleep you are able to hear Minho's tentative voice whisper a quiet "I love you", almost as if it had slipped out. You don't know if it's real because it's not the first time you've dreamed it, because the certainty that you're in love with him warms your heart and makes you smile even in your worst moments. But the trembling lilt in his voice as he utters those three words sounds different that time, and it hurts you to suggest the idea that he really told you, but it hurts you more to think that he would never be able to say it, not even in the privacy of his living room.

But the next day you decide you don't care. Because you've always felt that genuine connection with him, and his nervous gesture has never changed since he's known you, but mostly because you need to know it's true. When you wake up, the blanket you had laid out anyway the night before is carefully draped over you, and Minho is gone, but the space next to you that is shaped like his body is still warm, so you make your way with clumsy steps to the kitchen, sitting down in one of the chairs. You watch him prepare breakfast with quick movements, and you stare at him with that love-struck silly face you know you only make when your eyes fall on him. And just as it had happened to him the night before, it slips out.

"I love you" you say, almost a chuckle, as if you can't believe you're really blurting it out. And you see the expression on his features change, and for a moment you think it was a mistake, that you should have swallowed the words. But then he scoops you up with a half angry scowl on his face and places you on his lap, the hopeful gleam in his eye accompanying that question he asks you, wanting to know if you're serious, if you're not joking with him. And like every time you feel his touch against your skin you melt, nodding quickly, your heart pounding. You hear him mumble something about how you shouldn't be throwing those things out like that, to protect your heart, but you couldn't care less because then he whispers "I love you too" and you feel his lips against yours. And you kiss him like you need him to breathe, you kiss him because you know he's all you need in your life.

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[cobaltperun]

i have a request if possible ? for a tara carpenter x reader , or any jo character as you see fit , but in my head , it’s always been tara and no gf au-

so basically , if you’re familiar with 5 seconds of summer , every time i listen to them (their self titled album, specifically heartbreak girl) i always come up with like scenarios of r, mindy, amber and wes being 5sos basically and having r write that song about tara and how she’s always calling/texting r about the problems she’s having with chad without realizing that r is in love with her

which ofc leads r to go to amber, mindy and wes to write that song together and having them preform at a local bar/club or something because they’re locally known and tara, sam, chad and the rest of the friend group is in the crowd, being supportive- but once they hear the song , they immediately know who it’s about and just look at tara awkwardly , and- that’s as far as i’ve gotten

Heartbreak Girl

Tara Carpenter x gn!Reader (Request)

First of all, thank you for the request, it kind of just flowed out and here it is. I went with gender-neutral Reader since you didn't specify the gender. I hope you'll enjoy reading this.

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k

It was happening again, your only saving grace being the fact you weren't there with Tara as she sobbed. You could almost see her, sobbing into her pillow to make sure Sam couldn't hear her.

And it broke your heart to hear you cry. It shattered it even more that she kept putting you through it again and again. Always for the same reason.

"I know I should have seen it coming, but it still hurts, you know? I still love Chad, I just can't get over him," she sobbed and you stopped pacing your room to lean back and rest your head against the wall. You knew the story, you heard it from Tara countless times. Tara and Chad were in a relationship, they worked the summer job together and met Liv. Chad fell in love and broke up with Tara. The rest was history, and Tara, sharing Chad's circle of friends, and still being in love with him, couldn't move on.

One time Tara told you she figured it would be easier if he cheated on her. He didn't. He just sat down with her one day and said how he felt. Two weeks later Chad and Liv went on their first date and the circumstances kept Tara and Chad as somewhat friends.

"I'm sorry for being a bother, Y/N," she must have noticed your silence.

"You're not being a bother, Tara, I just don't know what to say that I already didn't tell you before," you bit your bottom lip, knowing full well you were lying. You knew what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell her you loved her, that in her heartbreak she kept breaking your heart too. Another sob made you speak before you could think things through. "Let's go out, just the two of us," you suggest, realizing too late what you were saying. "As friends, of course, just to get your mind off of everything," you quickly backtracked, hoping the explanation was sufficient enough, hoping she couldn't hear the nervous tapping of your foot against the floor, or the crack in your voice when you said 'friends' or anything else that could give you away.

Because, as much as you loved her, as much as you wanted to be with her, you didn't want to push her into another relationship when she was vulnerable and still heartbroken. You also didn't want to be her way of getting over Chad and nothing more.

"I'd love to, Y/N," it sounded like she stopped crying. "Thanks for being my friend and always being there to cheer me up," her words, even if you just encouraged them yourself, still hurt you.

"Don't mention it, I'm here for you," you brush it off, subconsciously hoping maybe, just maybe, she'd realize how you feel on her own. You had no idea how mixed the signals you were sending her looked every now and then. In less than a minute you went from proclaiming friendly hanging out to promising to be there for her. "When do you want to meet up?"

Tara paused for a moment. "I'll call you tomorrow at ten to figure that out. Is that okay?"

You nodded and then frowned when you realized a moment later you were on the phone with her. "Of course."

And so you said your goodbyes, and you just slumped into the chair and dropped your head down to the table. A bit recklessly you tossed the phone to the bed on your side and silently expressed gratitude that it didn't hit the wall or drop to the floor. You sighed and placed your hands over your head, feeling like you were stuck in a never-ending cycle with Tara Carpenter.

Against your better judgment, you grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and began writing.

~X~

The friend date went well, better than you imagined it would and you and Tara hung out an hour longer than either of you anticipated. It was a nice change of pace and for a moment you actually convinced yourself you didn't feel anything romantic for her. For a moment, you were reminded of simpler times, when Tara really was just a friend in your eyes.

The paper waiting for you at your table broke that illusion and you grabbed your guitar, maybe you had something here after all. As you sat down to try different tunes you sent a message to the band, Mindy, Wes, and Amber, asking to meet up tomorrow for an additional practice.

~X~

The four of you met up in your garage where you kept your instruments, the guitars, and drums, anything else you needed you would just rent out for a couple of days. You were still a local band, so renting still saved you money.

"Let me see if I got everything right. You," Amber pointed at you, almost accusingly. "wrote this song about Tara and you don't want to confess how you feel?" she asked incredulously.

"Come on, it's not that obvious," you defended yourself and pointed at a line in the song. "See? Chad didn't exactly treat her bad, he just broke up with her."

"Yeah, sure, one line is going to convince everyone it isn't about Tara," Mindy added sarcastically and threw her arms up. "It's there for the dramatic effect, Y/N! Remember?"

"She got you there," Wes wasn't helping.

You picked up your guitar and began playing the tune you thought would work well with the song. "Listen, I think we got something good here," you tried to focus on the song itself. "Regardless of who it was written for," you muttered.

"You're kidding, right? A sad tune? You're making this a ballad? No way," Mindy went to her drums. "This needs more energy," judging by the tone of her voice she wasn't budging on this. Well, at least she was on board.

"We are totally adding 'Thanks for being a friend' to the lyrics," Amber teased and you just groaned and buried your face in your hands.

"Don't forget being a sucker for anything Tara does," Wes joined in, causing all three of them to laugh at you.

"You're the worst," you muttered, too embarrassed to look at them.

~X~

Over the next month and a half, you and Tara fell into a bit of a habit. The first two weeks she continued sobbing, and you'd ask her to hang out. The week after that she just complained and you still asked her to hang out. The past few weeks she rarely even mentioned Chad during your calls, but she still insisted you were friends.

Honestly, just the fact that she seemed to be moving on as weeks went by mended your own heart. Somewhere along the line, you found out you were fine with the way things were.

You walked her to her house, the backs of your hands occasionally brushing as you walked. The accidental touches became something both of you were comfortable with, as neither of you moved away from each other.

"You'll be performing tomorrow night, right?" Tara asked out of the blue.

You glanced at her and your eyes met. "Yeah. Are you going to come?" it wouldn't be the first time Tara would be in the crowd. Tara, Sam, Chad, Danny, Anika, and Liv were all supportive of your band, so they regularly came to your performances.

"You're not really asking that, are you? Of course, I'm going to come," she lightly jabbed your arm. "Besides, Mindy might have told me you guys have a new song you'll be performing for the first time in front of a crowd."

That little traitor.

With the way things were going between you and Tara, you were almost tempted to scrap the song, but the other three voted against it. "No pressure then, it's not like we haven't had a new song in almost four months now," what could you say, it was a bit of a drought period as far as creativity went.

Tara laughed and just for a moment you thought you saw something else in her eyes, something similar to the way you would so often look at her. "You'll do great," she offered a much-needed encouragement as the two of you stopped in front of her house.

"Guess this is it for tonight," you smiled at her.

"Mhm, I'm glad I was the one to ask you out tonight, as friends, of course," she took a step closer and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. And then you froze when she got on her tiptoes and kissed your cheek. "Thank you, for always being there for me," somehow, this time she omitted the friend part.

"I," you cleared your throat. "did say I'd be here for you, didn't I?" you tried to brush it off as you usually did for months now.

The intensity of Tara's gaze captured all of your attention and for a moment you even considered leaning in. You didn't though, you weren't sure she felt the same, or that she actually moved on.

"I'll see you tomorrow night, then?" she asked, lowering her gaze to your lips before quickly looking away.

You noticed it, and you wondered if Tara could hear how loud your heart was drumming in your chest. "Y-yeah," you finally stepped back from her, and the tension you were trying so hard to ignore began fading.

~X~

Tara pretty much threw herself on her bed and buried her face in her pillow. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. What was wrong with her? Falling in love with you so quickly and almost out of nowhere. Especially when you so explicitly insisted on hanging out as friends. Perhaps you were insisting too hard to cover your own feelings? A girl could hope, right?

She turned her playlist on, hoping to find some peace in music. As if to spite her, the first song that played was Brian Fallon's You Have Stolen My Heart and she nearly chucked her phone into a wall. Groaning she turned around and tucked herself into a blanket. It was entirely your fault. With your charming smile and clumsy mixed signals, she could never entirely get a good read on them.

~X~

You were amazing on that improvised stage, just mesmerizing to watch and listen to and Tara found herself falling even harder. She also found herself ignoring Sam's teasing smile.

"Thank you, thank you! You are too kind! We'll wrap up the night with a premiere of our new song!" Wes yelled, hyping up the crowd.

"Let's hear an applause for Heartbreak Girl!" Mindy demanded, encouraging the crowd to interact with the four of you.

Tara was pulled to her feet by Anika and they both cheered. The name of the song, however, made Tara's heart skip a beat. Or was it the way you looked at her from the stage?

"You call me up, it's like a broken record, saying that your heart hurts. That you'll never get over him getting over you, and you end up crying. And I end up lying, 'cause I'm just a sucker for anything that you do," you sang, your eyes never leaving Tara's. It felt like there was no one else in the club but the two of you. But you weren't alone and Tara felt the awkward stares directed at the back of her head.

Did you actually write a song for her?

"And when then phone call finally ends, you say "Thanks for being a friend" and I'm going in circles again and again," now she had no doubt, that the song really was about her. She stopped cheering and just stood there, taking the lyrics in.

She saw you hesitating, probably since you noticed her reaction, and she just smiled. You smiled back and continued.

"I dedicate this song to you, the one who never sees the truth, that I can take away you hurt, Heartbreak girl. Hold you tight straight through the daylight, I'm right here, when you gonna realize that I'm your cure, Heartbreak girl?" did you...? Were you saying what she thought you were saying?

She wasn't reading this wrong, was she?

"I bite my tongue, but I wanna scream out, you could be with me now. But I end up telling you what you wanna hear, but you're not ready. And it's so frustrating, he treats you so bad and I'm so good to you, it's not fair," her heart skips a beat as you continue, quoting the promise to call you tomorrow at ten and once again singing the chorus.

"I know someday it's gonna happen, and you'll finally forget the day you met him. Sometimes I'm so close to confession, I gotta get it through your head, that you belong with me instead," the look in your eyes, the eyes that told her 'This is it, I can't take it back now' it vanquished any doubt she may have had about how you felt.

She just wondered how long you felt that way about her without saying anything? Definitely before you first asked her to hang out as friends, but how long before that?

~X~

The moment you ended the song and without any idea where the sudden boldness was coming from you jumped down from the stage and went over to Tara. You took a few deep breaths as you closed the distance and offered her your hand, the guitar still in your other hand.

Yeah, you didn't quite think that through.

Tara raised an eyebrow, clearly looking at the guitar, but then shrugged and took your hand.

"Uh, what now?" you asked sheepishly.

"Isn't that something you were supposed to figure out? Before you jumped down and came over?" she gave you a cheeky, teasing smile.

"I didn't think I'd get this far," you admitted, causing Tara to laugh.

"Just go behind the stage dumbass!" Mindy yelled, with the microphone still on. "And leave the guitar there while you're at it!"

You lowered your head and winced, trying to hide the blush on your face. Tara wasn't doing much better as she quickly pulled you behind the stage to escape the teasing.

You packed the guitar as both of you took time to compose yourself and catch a breath. "I really didn't think this through, did I?" you asked.

"No," Tara sat down on the chair near you. "You really didn't," she was fiddling with the loose thread on her shirt.

"I meant it, the song. Well, at least when I wrote it a month and a half ago," you decided to just be honest with her.

Tara raised her head to look at you, you could see hopefulness and uncertainty in her gaze. "What changed?"

You approached and sat down next to her. "I don't think you are still heartbroken," you took her hand.

Tara smiled. "I'm not. I'm in love with a clumsy musician that sucks at flirting," she leaned closer to you.

"Hey, it worked," you closed the distance, capturing her lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

"Mhm, how about we go on a proper date then?" she asked when the kiss ended and you couldn't think of any better idea.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x gn!reader #scream #no ghostface au #band au #jenna ortega x reader

[manicpixiefelix]

love the hand that feeds you {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

One-Shot for head, heart, hand. but can be read as a stand-alone.

Summary: Everyone's always called you Felix's Dog. Felix has always had a problem with this. You've always wished that he didn't. Oliver's never been much of a cat person anyways.

Need to Know: They/Them. NB!Reader. Oliver's POV. Set after the Summer at Saltburn but with a happy, poly ending. Established Felix/Reader/Oliver. Reader's AGAB/sex is never made explicitly clear so hopefully all of y'all can enjoy.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with plot. Pet play, obviously. Demeaning language (dog is the main one, obviously), oral, threesome, unprotected sex, d/s dynamics (all three of you go back and forth but there's mostly Dominant!Oliver), teasing, praise kink (and praise kink by proxy), pet names (ha). Felix & Reader being horny puppies who love Oliver Quick (and each other) very much.

A/N: 9494 words. i told my girlfriend about this fic and how long it is and she said 'at that point is it a oneshot or a cry for help' and idk man it's definitely a cry for something 👀

----

It starts because Felix likes having his hair played with.

Actually, it starts the week before with you, drunk and giggling at a house party, playing with the chain Oliver's always wearing with more fascination than usual, when you admit that Venetia once bought you a collar. Of course you provide the caveat that it was more to piss Felix off, which it had, and that it had been thrown into the fire before you ever got to wear it. Oliver, who'd been watching Felix playing beer pong across the room, has to take a moment to process what you'd said.

"Wish she didn't make it all weird," you sighed a little forlornly, and you give the chain a faint tug, "I'm such a good dog, everyone says so," then you huffed a faint, flustered laugh, "not everyone. Not you and Fi, you guys are lovely, but sometimes I am a bit like a dog; I'm okay with that."

In the next moment you're humming along to whatever trashy pop is playing, and Oliver's pretty sure you've already forgotten what you'd just said, but even in his own state of inebriation, he can't.

The next day, on one of the many lawns across Oxford's beautiful campus, Oliver's sitting with Felix's head in his lap, fingers running through his hair as you and Felix are brainstorming gifts for Venetia's upcoming birthday. Felix has his eyes closed, enjoying the warm afternoon and the sensation of Oliver's gentle petting, while you're splayed out on the grass beside them both, focusing on your notebook.

Yes, you've always been a good dog, but you'd been well trained; the more Oliver thinks about it, the more he finds himself also drawing comparisons between Felix and an excitable, affectionate, pampered pup himself. But there was potential there, Oliver could see it clear as day.

So he'd started to come up with a plan. A simple plan, thankfully; knowing you both it wouldn't require anything too complicated, it wouldn't be particularly manipulative. At least not maliciously.

A simple, two step plan to show the impossibly beautiful, rich, loving heirs how much he loved and appreciated them for all their qualities, especially the dog-like ones, in certain circumstances. Really it's not even his idea; Felix's whole family had drawn the comparison with you before it had even really occurred to him. He couldn't be blamed for being intrigued about following it to its logical end, and showing you both it's not the negative it usually comes across as. At least, that's how he phrases it in his mind when he's justifying it to himself.

And if he thinks you and Felix would both look pretty in a collar, well that's just a perk he keeps to himself.

The first step is submission.

All three of you fluctuated between dominance and submission on any given day, an enthusiastic ebb and flow of control amongst the three of you, in every combination imaginable. Except Felix seems unable to fully commit himself to submitting to Oliver alone; oh he plays along without hesitation, will get on his knees for Oliver at the slightest firm tone, but he always seems more thrilled knowing your hand is on his metaphorical leash.

So Oliver takes his time figuring out what exactly will make Felix long for Oliver's hand on his throat. The solution is shockingly simple.

Praise.

It couldn't be just any praise. He'd lived his life hearing sweet words about how good he looks, or how lovely he was, it had to be deeper than that. Praise only you or Oliver could give, praise that he craved to hear, praise for the parts of himself he quietly put effort into.

Praise for being helpful, for being diligent, for being caring and genuinely thoughtful to the two of you, for being good.

"God, you're so good to me, Felix," Oliver groans in the bathroom of a house party, back pressed against the door while Felix was on his knees, Oliver's cock in his mouth. When Oliver looks down, sees Felix with a faint blush on his cheeks that's far sweeter than the rest of the debauchery of their situation, Oliver cards a hand through his hair, giving him a look that radiated just as much love as he felt for the man himself, "always so fuckin' good to me," he murmurs this time.

Felix, now bright red, all kinds of flustered, pulls back for half a second, unable to fight back a smile as he swears under his breath, but Oliver's hand in his hair tightens. Felix eyes flutter closed as Oliver, tone on his voice like a warning, tells Felix that he didn't say stop.

And Felix seems more than delighted to obey, to be as good to Oliver as he'd just been deemed.

Praise like this always made Felix all smitten and obedient and eager to please. Of course Oliver had always been quick to praise Felix, but this was different, was concentrated and specific. Once Oliver had started with these efforts, Felix seemed to grow more relaxed and eager to let Oliver become dominant over him when the mood struck him, even without the specific praise. Though the praise always helped.

The second step is acceptance.

Considering everything that had happened at Saltburn - the voyeuristic games you'd played with Oliver, the adventurous ways and places in which you and Felix would fuck, the handjob you'd given him after you caught him drinking the bath water that Felix had gotten off into that ended with you also managing to come untouched while Oliver moaned Felix's name in your ear, just to name a few - Oliver knew your sex lives would be more than a little kinky before he even officially joined this relationship. He was not disappointed.

Both you and Felix seemed more than willing to try anything, though Oliver was delighted to discover just how much you'd both already done, and were more than eager to do again.

All this to say that pet play was barely a step removed from roleplay, so he shouldn't have been surprised that you jump at the chance. At first it stays between you and Oliver, for obvious reasons that have everything to do with Felix's hangups about the derogatory way other people had often called you a dog. But when Oliver calls you 'pretty pup' for the first time, you react just the same way Felix does when praised.

Flustered. Bashful. Obedient.

Except Oliver quickly learns that you react far stronger than Felix. It seems not only were you telling the truth about being okay with the title, simply hearing it said so lovingly by Oliver, even in the most innocent situations, was enough to turn you on. It was validation you so desperately wanted, craved, your efforts and constant place by their side acknowledged and appreciated. There are times even when you're in control where you demand praise, and the words slip out.

"You're a good dog," Oliver gasps out, your legs over his shoulders, his head between your thighs. A pleased noises rumbles from somewhere in your chest and you laugh low and heady.

"You're fucking lucky to have a dog like me, Oliver Quick," comes out all lazy and confident, but his nose of agreement isn't enough for you, clearly, as your thighs momentarily tighten around him, trapping him, and he feels one of your heels press insistently against his back, "aren't you lucky," you say pointedly, warning in your voice, "to have such a good dog?" Echoing your words in agreement, they come out sounding like a breathless prayer, one he's eager to chant to see the heady, powerful smile you wear when you hear it.

Fuck he feels dizzy with lust in this moment, desperate to devour you, have his mouth on you, like his life depends on it, hoping you'll grant him the chance to fuck you - there's something about you in control that will always drive Oliver utterly mad. Actually, no matter the situation or who's in control, knowing you and Felix continue to want him, love him, choose him to share these moments with... sometimes he still can't believe he got here in the end.

He never thought he'd hear you beg, let alone for him. It's like fucking music.

When he's got you like this, under him, desperate, eager to please, mind a messy haze caught up in this fantasy being played out with you as his perfect pup - so good, so loyal, fuck you're precious, pet - where he can do or say practically anything to you, where you want him to.

"Fuck I love how pathetic you sound, pet," he mumbled into your ear, pressed against you, thrusting slow and deep, "can't even form a proper thought, can you?" He teases. Your hips stutter up into his in an inconsistent rhythm, desperate. Chiding you for it, he sits back, even as a disappointed mewl escapes you. As if moving out of instinct, you reach out, as if to try and pull him back in, and your fingers catch on the chain he still wears around his neck.

"Drop it," he orders immediately, to which you let go as if the metal had burned you. However, Oliver can feel you clench around his cock, hips rolling, pressing close to him, instinctively, "good dog," he purred, pleased, deciding to reward you by finally fucking you with intent.

So it's not you who still has to come to accept this concept. But Oliver's fairly confident you will be the main reason when Felix does come to accept it. In fact, he doesn't even bring the concept up to Felix himself; he knows you well enough that it will only be a matter of time.

It doesn't take long.

One night at the club, all three of you drunk and feeling indulgent under the lights and haze, you hear a resentful -

"Felix really can't go anywhere without his dog -"

You have to hold Felix back from searching for the girl who said it to start shouting at her, assuring him it's fine, but Oliver then has to drag you both of the dancefloor when you start unexpectedly arguing with each other. He actually genuinely can't pick exactly what the argument is about until he's got you both in one of the marginally quieter side rooms, you and Felix still arguing animatedly -

"- shouldn't even be talking about you like that, they don't even know you -" Felix snapped, while you stepped up into his space, having him in the chest.

"When the fuck have I ever cared what anyone but you thinks of me?!"

"I don't think of you as my dog!"

"How many times do I have to say that I don't mind being called your dog before you figure out that maybe I want you to call me that?!" You glare up at him, watching the confusion and mixed emotions about the idea pass over his face in rapid succession, "I'm getting sick of you taking issue with the title, and refusing to understand why I don't; am I not every fucking thing the perfect dog is to you? I am loyal," with each descriptor you gave an instant push against his chest, as if to punctuate each point, "diligent, protective, you know I'd follow you to hell and back, it makes me happy to make you happy, and yes, Felix, just like a dog, I can be obedient," Felix's gaze is shocked as you lay it all out before him. Your voice lowers, Oliver can barely hear you over the music in the next room, "but unlike a dog, I was not trained to love you, to stick by you like I do; that is a choice I made. That is a choice I continue to make happily every single day of my life. Every other asshole who calls me a dog can see it, most of them are fucking jealous because I am the one you choose to keep by your side. Why would I ever take issue with being called that? What do I have to be jealous of? I am the dog, Felix Catton, and I am yours."

It's... reductive, Oliver thinks, but it has to be to get your point across, so he keeps that to himself. He knows all too well how old this sore spot is between you two, far older than his place in your relationship. Perhaps if things hadn't worked out quite so well for him, or if he weren't so secure in his relationship with you both, perhaps he'd worry, be jealous of how you're speaking once more like you and Felix only have each other. But her knows you're not, knows that you're speaking to the version of Felix who can't let go of his discomfort at the title's implications. Part of Felix would always listen to you above all others, even Oliver, but Oliver himself had in part fallen for the way you two loved each other, he lives seeing that connection still strong, bright and alive, and knowing that you've both still chosen to love him too.

Felix, a few feet away, looks suddenly conflicted, almost upset as he tries to process and reconcile your words. However, when Felix can't seem to give a proper reaction, a look of disappointment crosses over your face, and you turn sharply, stalking from the room, from the club entirely.

"It still feels demeaning to them," Felix has been sulking the entire walk back to campus, he and Oliver having left not too long after you. Oliver bites his tongue on the fact that he knows you get off on being demeaned in the right circumstances; Felix is off course aware of this, but not the true extent. Instead, all Oliver offers is a non-committal hum. Felix pouts, still mostly talking to himself, "'s rude," he mumbled, "'s a mean thing to call someone; dog..." Though it sounds almost like a question.

"So you'd be mad if someone called you Y/N's dog?" Oliver says with a surprising amount of casualness considering he has no idea where his boldness came from. Beside him, Felix goes very quiet. Oliver pointedly doesn't look at him.

"That's different," Felix finally managed after several long, strained moments in which he'd thoroughly considered Oliver's words. Except Felix hasn't managed to sound nearly as casual as Oliver, the poor boy sounds rather abashed at the thought, though he still tries to play it off, albeit unsuccessfully, "Ollie, that's- that's completely different."

"How's it different?" Oliver needles him subtly, still giving Felix a modicum of privacy from his ever watchful eyes.

"Because it is," Felix insists, before blurring out - "because it's never happened!"

When Oliver finally looks over at Felix, he keeps his expression just on the positive side of neutral, only to be met with the sight of Felix, wide eyed, and faintly flush. Oliver blinks.

"But you are," he says easily. Felix's lips press into a thin line, face turning steadily darker with his blush as he finally stops walking. Oliver can read the 'the fuck do you mean by that?' all across Felix's flustered, intoxicated features before the man can even open his mouth to ask, so Oliver stops walking too, elaborating without hesitation, "if we're going by Y/N's metrics for what a good dog is, aren't you one too?"

This conversation was completely unexpected for Oliver too, despite how he was the one who pushed it in this direction. Beautiful, expressive Felix is already growing less tense as he turns the thoughts over in his mind. Oliver, eager to help him along on his path to acceptance, reiterates the values you'd laid out in the club -

"Loyal, diligent, protective," he lists easily, "you know you'd follow them anywhere, and do anything to make them happy," he doesn't have to say that Felix can be obedient to you to know they're both thinking it. Instead, Oliver shrugs, "but you're Felix Catton, of course no-ones going to call you a dog."

"What?" Felix's deliberation finally gives way in the face of confusion.

"Everyone knows Y/N loves you, but they don't want to think about you loving Y/N back."

"But I do," Felix's soft voice sounds so hurt by the very idea, "everyone knows I do." Oliver's own expression softens as he steps forward. Felix's brow creases in what can only be described as disappointed confusion.

"I know," he assures smoothly, "that's other people's problem, its not fair on either of you." Oliver's hand is gentle on Felix's shoulder, but Felix is still clearly bothered, even as they start walking again.

"Maybe that's why it bothered you so much," Oliver finally speaks again when they're back on campus. Felix doesn't speak, but does look to Oliver with an expression of clear confusion, "because you didn't like the idea of people thinking Y/N loved you more than you loved them." After a moment, Felix sighs, making a faint, disappointed hum of agreement.

"Did you think that?" Felix asked softly after a moment, "before you really knew us, is that what you thought of us too?" He sounds almost disappointed at the thought. Oliver, however, has to fight back a smile.

"Not even for a fuckin' second," he admits with a sharp laugh, and Felix immediately perks up with intrigue and something almost like relief, though Oliver's tone is amused as he continues, "I honestly couldn't believe no-one else could see it; never seen anyone quite so dedicated to taking care of their dog as Y/N was to looking out for you."

Felix turns bright red once more, but he's wearing that big, bashful grin Oliver's always loved.

"I am, aren't I?" Felix sounds almost giddy at the thought. Oliver feels like there's fireworks going off in his chest.

"Y/N really can't go anywhere without their dog either," Oliver teases, lovingly parroting the words that had been so cruelly overheard at the club. If Felix were any drunker or happier, he probably would have started actually skipping. As it was, however, the two of them approaching Felix's dorm building, he wraps an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"You know all that stuff they said, all that stuff about being a good dog, you know that's how we feel about you too, Ollie," Felix can clearly tell the minute Oliver's brain short circuits, because he laughs and plants a kiss on Oliver's cheek, "sorry if you're more of a cat person, mate," he teases, as if he hadn't just suddenly rewired something in his boyfriend's brain.

You and Felix. YouAndFelix. Both love him the way a dog loves their owner. It goes beyond even any lewd fantasies he'd had; a year ago he was watching you both through his window, talking and laughing in the afternoon sun, wishing desperately that he could work up the courage to talk to either of you, befriend you.

But you and Felix - YouAndFelix, together, individually, in every single way Oliver can conceive the idea of you - both love him. Our Ollie, the way he's heard spoken so lovingly, sounds so much sweeter than he'd ever even imagined.

"You're both very sweet to me," Oliver hears himself mumble as he and Felix finally find themselves outside of Felix's door. Everything feels like it's spinning, in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and everything to do with the way Felix is smiling at him. Instead of answering, though Oliver's sure there's half a dozen teasing or sappy comments trapped in the tip of Felix's tongue, he kisses him instead. Felix always seemed to know exactly when Oliver was overwhelmed with their shared reality, and always took his time to admire that look in Oliver's eyes. Now was no different.

He's always thought Oliver was so strange, so queer, so different from everyone else in his life, and so clearly loved him for it.

Felix finally is the one to break the moment, knocking lightly on the door, knowing you well enough to anticipate where you'd be despite your earlier anger. As if on cue, you sighed heavily on the other side of the door, before inviting them in.

While Felix barely gives you time to react where you're in your pyjamas, sitting in his bed in the lamp light, not even kicking off his shoes before he throws himself into your lap, wrapping his arm around your waist as he pressed his face against your thigh, Oliver hovers by the door.

"Hi, sorry, hi, love you," escapes Felix in a rush. Despite your conflicted expression, the way your hand comes to rest on his head, carding through his hair is automatic. It's an endearing, amusing sight to Oliver, considering the night that had just passed. He knows you're looking at him, questioning gaze searching for some kind of explanation for Felix's change of behaviour, but Oliver lets himself linger a few moments longer on watching Felix's almost childishly clingy behaviour.

He struggles to kick off his shoes for a moment before he finally managed, and hitch a leg up, over both of yours, still in his jeans and jacket but refusing to be anything but wrapped up in you.

"I'm not staying," is what Oliver finally says, despite the gentle affection in his voice. You frown faintly, but still seem more confused than upset, "I think you two need to talk," he explains. Despite the way your mouth flattens into a thin line, you're still gently petting Felix's hair. Still, Oliver steels himself, giving you a strange little smile, "you're a good dog, Y/N," he says pointedly. This seems to surprise you, but not as much as Felix's sitting echo.

"Such a good dog," he agrees with a fond sigh, half muffled against you. Immediately your confusion, your concern drops in favour of sweet, hopeful shock. But Oliver continues before he shuts the door, smile growing into a grin.

"So are you, Felix," and Felix's head shoots up so he can level a bright, sunny smile over his shoulder at Oliver. Christ, Oliver can practically see his tail wagging.

"Love you, Ollie," Felix beams cheerfully. While Oliver echoes the sentiment back at you both as he closes the door, you can't seem to look away from Felix.

Something warm and pleased and satisfied curls itself comfortably in Oliver's chest on the brief walk back to his own room. It goes beyond any selfish, sexual desires he's had, not that there wasn't an element of that, of course, but he can't stop thinking about the joy in Felix's expression, or the way you'd disbelieving smile you'd been wearing when Oliver had closed the door. An old ache beginning to heal.

The change is subtle at first. At least, from the outside.

After that fateful summer, the three of you had made no secret of your relationship. Felix had always been tactile and clingy and prone to shows of affection, you had always made a point to make Oliver feel included and welcome and like you craved his company, while Oliver himself had never made any secret of whose attention and contact he preferred in any group setting. So he's sure, to their friends, the three of you seem to be the same as you've always been.

Farleigh had once scoffed at the pub that the three of you were insufferably gross, and while the rest of the group at the table had agreed, it had been more teasing than malicious; on one side of Oliver, you'd pressed your laughter into his shoulder, while Felix had throw his arm around Oliver and chided Farleigh not to be jealous, wearing a wide, easy smile.

Oliver and Farleigh still may not exactly see eye to eye, but things had gotten easier between them. Across the table, Farleigh met Oliver's bashful gaze and though he'd rolled his eyes, though he seemed exasperated by all three of you, there was warmth in his eyes. He may not love Oliver, but he still loved you and Felix; baby steps.

So all that to say that at first the change is so subtle that even the ever-watchful Farleigh, who knows you and Felix better than any of your other friends, doesn't even notice.

But oh, Oliver feels the change right away.

He honestly thought the three of you weren't able to get closer, but he's never been more thrilled to be wrong. Never afraid or jealous of each other living your own lives, it just seemed that when you're around each other, you weren't interested in being seen as an individual. More possessive in the most affectionate way. Always in some kind of obvious contact, arguably too close for the comfort of others, not that any of you cared. Oliver, always shadowed by his beautiful guard dogs.

"Can I wear this?" You ask casually one evening, drinking cheap vodka and juice as you waited for Oliver to get ready to go out. When Oliver turns, half dressed after a shower, he sees you holding one of the chains he always found himself wearing. He doesn't think twice before agreeing, doesn't even think much of the request at the time. The significance is missed on him until the two of you meet up with Felix in the line for the club and he pulls you by the chain, in for a kiss. You're still holding Oliver's hand, fingers linked with his. Reading Felix's kiss for the compliment it is, you grin sharply as you pull back, stepping up beside him in line.

"Thanks, it's Ollie's."

"I know," Felix snorts a laugh, throwing an arm around you as he gives Oliver himself a sly smile, "you look good too, mate, how're you going?" You squeeze Oliver's hand, leaning into him for a moment with a coy smile. Your free hand is playing with his chain around your throat. Like you know exactly where his mind has suddenly gone.

Oliver already knows how this night will end, and it doesn't disappoint.

Neither he nor Felix can seem to leave you or the chain around your neck well enough alone, and you're clearly love it. You let yourself be lead around, let them lavish you with affection in dark corners, wearing a smile that's all teeth when you meet the surprised, scandalised gazes of those who gawked rather than averted their gaze.

In the back of the taxi on the way to campus, you're impossibly affectionate, like an excited puppy as you try and split your attention to your boyfriends either side of you.

"Settle down, love," Felix takes your hand in his, keeping you momentarily still, even as you pout.

"We'll be home soon," Oliver murmurs quietly, trying to act casual as he looks out the window, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. A faint, impatient whine escapes you, but you acquiesce, leaning your head on Felix's shoulder even as a fond laugh rumbles from his chest.

The cabbie has the radio on in the front, pointedly ignoring the three of you. But the music is loud enough that he doesn't hear the soft, approving way Felix mutters in your ear -

"Good dog."

But Oliver hears, feels the way your thighs momentarily clench together, hears the breathless, needy 'fucking hell, Fi' that escapes you. His grin grows wider.

On the walk back to your room - always cleaner than Felix's, and with a bigger, nicer bed than Oliver's - you're quiet, seemingly focusing very hard on staying that way, even as Oliver and Felix are bantering easily either side of you. Hands to yourself - well, metaphorically, Oliver and Felix are both holding one of your hands, Felix, feeling particularly joyful swings your linked hands in wide arcs between you - you listen diligently, and chime in whenever you felt your input was needed. Oliver thinks you're being incredibly endearing, but once the door is closed and the rest of the world is cut off from the three of you, Felix softly asks if you're okay.

Surprise lights up across your face the minute the question is spoken. It hadn't even occurred to you that Felix wouldn't understand your behaviour in this moment; this is far newer to him than it is to you. But then you look to Oliver, almost like you're afraid that he wouldn't understand either.

But he does, of course.

There's a faint thrill that courses through him realising that for what is perhaps the first time since he'd met you, he can read you better than Felix. That Felix was yet to understand how far from reluctant or uncomfortable you were in that moment.

Felix had told you to settle, called you a good dog when you had. So now you were trying your hardest to remain settled, to remain good. How delightfully obedient you were in these moments, in this headspace.

Oliver finally gave you a warm smile, shrugging off his jacket.

"They're being good is all," he says casually, drawing Felix's confused attention as you broke out into a wide smile at the praise. Again, Oliver has a flash, a mental image of a tail wagging with joy behind you.

"I'm being good, I'm being settled," you reiterated pointedly, standing carefully by the foot of the bed. Once more, however, you've started fussing with the chain around your neck. Felix looks back to you, as if he still can't quite grasp the full scope of what's happening, and laughs lightly.

"You're so fucking cute," he grinned, "love, you didn't have to stay settled all the way back here."

"I didn't?" Your eyes go wide with confusion, and you look again to Oliver, as if for confirmation, "but I..."

Oliver can feel his heart beating in his throat. Oh, right, he's the one who's done this before, he's the one who started this all, at least this version of this dynamic. You aren't Felix's dog in this moment, you are his.

"You did good, pet, don't worry" Oliver assures you, soothing you with a gentle tone as he steps towards you and takes your face in his hands, kissing you on the forehead. Wearing a grateful little smile, you regard him lovingly for a few moments, before he steps away and you turn your focus back to Felix. There's a hungry kind of intrigue in his big, brown eyes now as he takes the scene in with newfound understanding.

"You really are a good dog," Felix marvels approvingly. Your whole face lights up at that, stumbling a few steps forwards, as if you hadn't meant to move but needed to be close to him. Nodding furiously in agreement, your fingers fidget like you're trying desperately not to reach for him. Felix steps towards you, his smile growing wider as he does so, "mine- ours?" He corrects, wrapping his arms around you, and finally your resolve breaks.

"Both," you assure in a rushed breath before you're pulling him in, kissing him frantically, as all the longing you'd held back since you'd been told to settle floods through you. Once fidgeting hands now start frantically tugging at clothing, both yours and his, but Felix is matching your energy entirely. Oliver gets hit in the face with your jacket as it's flung across the room but neither you nor Felix notices. In his enthusiastic haste several of the buttons on your nice, expensive shirt are ripped off, pinging around the room.

Not that Oliver actually minds.

Still in his jeans, he leans his hip against your desk and watches for a few long moments with both a lewd appreciation, and amusement. Perhaps another day, or when it was just the two of you, Felix would invest himself properly in a version of this fantasy where you truly are his dog. Tonight, however, Oliver sees opportunity in the obvious, messy, needy way Felix is pawing at you. An opportunity for his plan to finally be realised, and he's not letting it pass him by.

When you fall back on the bed, Felix braced over you, your hand finding his fly while the two of you still haven't stopped to really breathe, Oliver sticks two fingers in his mouth to let out a sharp whistle.

Immediately there's silence, the attention of both of you having immediately snapped to Oliver. Shaking his head with faux exasperation, Oliver sighs loudly, as if terribly put upon.

"Can't take you two anywhere," he tsked, crossing his arms over his chest, "pair of naughty fuckin' puppies, you can't leave each other alone."

Felix blinks quickly, as if caught of guard by the shift in tension, the dynamic.

"Ollie, what are you -"

"Ollie, don't be mean, Fi's the best dog, take that back!" You chided despite your wide grin.

"Is he now?" Oliver asks archly, smirking at you both. Felix isn't quite looking at him, expression drawn and thoughtful as he processed this change, turned it over in his mind. Slowly, he looks down at you, at your soft, warm smile. A silent conversation between you both, one of many that Oliver will only ever be able to guess at, and you close your eyes as you sit up enough to press your forehead to Felix's.

Felix visibly relaxed, which you must feel judging by the way you grin.

"It's fun, I promise," your whisper, though in the cool, quiet night, Oliver can still hear it clearly.

"But he called me naughty, I can't believe it," Felix whined playfully, causing you to laugh as the two of you sank back down on the bed. Felix tucked himself up beside you, face half hidden where he was pressing his lips to your shoulder to hide his little smile, "you're so mean to me, Ollie." It sounded as though he was pouting, but his eyes betrayed him, nervous and tentative to be adapting and playing along with the bit, but clearly more than a little excited too. There's also something tearing, almost challenging about the way Felix was running his fingertips up and down the side of your chest.

"You are being naughty," Oliver finally pushes off of the desk, sauntering over to the bed, "both of you acting like I didn't exist."

"Can you blame me?" You actually giggled, sounding downright gleeful, "look at who we get to play with!" Felix flushed at that, pressing his bashful smile against your shoulder. Oliver finds himself really quite taken with how you've chosen to adapt to having Felix by your side in this fantasy.

"If I can't blame you," Oliver says with faint notes of faux warning in his voice as he sits by you both on the bed, "are you saying I should blame Felix? Is our new pet a bad influence." You stumble over your words for moment, searching for a denial, but Felix's head shoots up at that, his eyes wide as he props himself up on the bed beside you.

"Hey, I'm a good influence! I'm good!" He insists, the words coming to him so automatically that it seems to startle even him before he properly focuses back on Oliver's fond amusement. Felix grins sheepishly at his own enthusiasm, ducking his head to look instead at you as he reiterated with a soft giggle, "I'm good."

"I think you're very good," there's love on your tongue, in your eyes as you gaze up at him. Then, in the next moment, you wriggle yourself over to rest your head against Oliver's thighs, gazing up at him with a pout, "come on, Ollie, don't be mean," you practically whined, while Felix himself half draped himself across your middle, his head resting on your belly as he turned his full attention and hopeful brown eyes upon your boyfriend. It was far more convincing than Oliver had been expecting, and he actually feels his hard resolve beginning to falter under the combined force of both your longing gazes.

"We're sorry for neglecting you," you add sweetly, expression earnest as your fingers begin to card through Felix's hair. For a moment, Oliver watches the way Felix's eyes fall closed, leaning into the sensation.

"Can we make it up to you?" Despite Felix's soft voice, his smile was already all kinds of pleased and contented, "we're good at that," he insists. God, Oliver knows all too well that you both are; fucking hell, part of him may never believe this isn't a dream. Except he knows his definitely not dreaming when he feels the delicate touch of your free hand on his knee, moving higher - or as high as you're able given the awkward angle your arm is at.

"Play with us, let us make it up to you," giving Oliver thigh a squeeze you grinned up at him. Without giving him a moment to respond, however, you made a tsk noise in the back of your throat, "you're so overdressed. Fi -" you tap Felix's head gently to get his attention once more, and Felix's eyes open, alight and at attention, "he's so overdressed, don't you think?" Immediately Felix is sitting up, agreeing.

"Think we should help him with that," Felix says frankly, wearing a pleased little grin like he's excited to be helpful. All over-eager and enthusiastic, both you and Felix are suddenly all over Oliver, working together to get him out of his jeans before he can even wonder where he'd lost control of the situation.

Playfully victorious, you're peppering Oliver's face with excited kisses as Felix is kneeling by the bed, tugging the now free jeans down his thighs. Despite the chaos of it all, Oliver's laughing loud and bright, trying his best to get his arms around you to still some of the kinetic love you're showering him with.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix, however, gets caught up halfway through his own job, and presses a kiss to his knee, hands coming to rest, flat and warm on Oliver's thighs, "how'd you expect to get off with those on?" But he sounds so light and joyful; Oliver's heart is fucking singing in this moment.

"Oi, sit," Oliver tries to order between his own laughter and your lips on his every few moments. It takes him another second to claw back some of his composure, "both of you, sit," at least this time you both listen, despite him still radiating breathless amusement.

Felix looks to you for a moment, watches the way you settle yourself, cross-legged and hands in your lap as you fought back a smile, and sits back on his heels, wearing a sheepish grin of his own as he looks back to Oliver. Oliver has to take a moment to compose himself, barely restraining his own laughter, before he kick his pants off from around his ankles. Felix takes the opportunity to then lean in and rest his chin on Oliver's knee, wide, affectionate grin on his face that Oliver practically melts at. He can't help himself -

"Who's a good boy?" He teases Felix, reaching over to scratch at Felix's scalp lightly. Again, Felix eyes close at his nose scrunches with a strange little smile.

"If it's not me I'm actually going to be so upset," he mutters, sounding almost embarrassed by the thought. It takes a moment for his words to sink, and he followed it with a snort of amusement, before all three of you are laughing in the warm privacy of your bedroom, and this moment.

"Of course it's you," Oliver reassures him, coaxing him up onto the bed, shifting to sit back against the headboard with room for you both on either side. Felix looks far less embarrassed and far more pleased now, leaning in when Oliver coaxes him in for a kiss, "my helpful, good boy," Oliver murmurs against his lips, and Felix lets out a breathless, pleased noise as he wraps an arm around Oliver's neck, kissing him back almost desperately. Oliver would always love how Felix was so wonderfully consistent when it came to his praise kink.

Beside him, he can feel you shift on the bed, and in the next moment, your hand is on his thigh. When he and Felix both look to you, breaking their focus on one another, you've settled yourself by Oliver's thighs. Leaning in, you gently nudge at his cock where it's staining against the material of his boxers with your nose, before proceeding to kiss softly up his shaft through the material. Sing when you reach the head, you sit back a little, giving pause as two of your fingers hooked into the elastic of his waistband. Finally met his gaze, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly, want in your eyes that has Oliver's already quick heartrate thundering in his chest.

"Thought I told you to sit," he says wryly. You wet your lips, hips shifting a little.

"I am sitting," you pointed out, which set Felix off, had him pressing his amused chuckle against Oliver's shoulder. You did, however, remain obediently still. Except for the challenging smile that graced your lips, "wanted to make up for ignoring you."

Felix's laughter, however, had died down at that, and the hand that had been around Oliver was now trailing feather-light down his bare chest, past your own, to wrap around Oliver's aching hard cock, still trapped behind a thin layer of cotton.

"Just gotta say the word," Felix murmurs into his ear. His hand begins to slowly work up and down Oliver's cock. Oliver watches you lean down and press a kiss to the soft skin of his belly, by his hip, just above his waistband, while Felix was pressing languid kisses along his jaw.

"Both so good to me," Oliver groaned, gently pushing at Felix's shoulder, though he takes the hint and joins you by Oliver's thighs.

A moment passes between you both, Felix taking your face in his free hand and pulling you in for an intense kiss that only somehow manages to make Oliver even more painfully turned on than he already was. Both still half dressed, you're both practically overflowing with love for each other and Oliver in this moment. The kiss breaks and youre both grinning foreheads pressed together; Oliver's never been truly able to read the exact things that pass between you in these moments of silent communication, but he thinks he sees 'see, I told you this was fun' in the way you smile.

And as much as he adores this moment, he's pretty sure if someone doesn't actually touch his dick soon he's going to die.

"'s there a reason you're keeping me waiting?" Oliver asks archly; Felix's grin grows wider, while you give him a faintly guilty smile, apologising softly before you pull down his boxers. Finally.

Oliver's hips buck the second your fingers wrap around him, leaning down with intent to -

"Hey!" Felix almost sounds indignant that you'd taken his place, a thought which sends a thrill through Oliver. You look up at this, but the minute you're distracted Felix has bent down to run his tongue along the head of Oliver's cock, tasting the precum beading there before he's taking Oliver into his mouth.

"Fi, that's cheating!" You whined, pouting with your free hand braced against Oliver's thigh - "Ollie, Fi's cheating!" You pouted, to which Felix raised his head to defend himself, gleefully and entirely submersed in this roleplay.

"I'm not cheating," he tried to declare, however you dipped down in an attempt to usurp him. Felix, seemingly anticipating this, refuses to move, instead letting you headbutt him, the two of you in a playful stalemate while you attempted to keep up a consistent rhythm with your hand still on Oliver's cock. Tension, with neither of you backing down, breaks only when one of you - though Oliver's genuinely not sure which - seems to realise the reality of the situation, and how close you both are, and suddenly you're aggressively making out.

Not in Oliver's wildest dreams would he ever have imagined that he could have the two of you fighting over who gets the privilege of going down on him. It's going to take all of his willpower if he wants to last much longer. But he needs to last at least a bit longer, needs to take back control, to make sure this plays out well for both of you too.

So Oliver calls your name, and you and Felix break apart. Your eyes are on Oliver, wide eyed and breathing hard.

"No fighting," he chided, and you wet your lips, sitting back a little as Felix takes this as his victory. Oliver coaxes you up to him, part of him sad to lose the feeling of your talented fingers around him, but Felix is more than capable, and more than makes up for it. Oliver wraps an arm around you, his free hand guiding one of yours to Felix's head as it bobbed up and down between Oliver's thighs, "you're going to help him, you can do that, can't you?" His words are gentle, commanding, and even as you still seem to be playing at sulking, you give a small nod. Felix groans appreciatively as your grip tightens on his hair, which Oliver echoes as he feels it himself.

You're beginning to squirm. Good. He's been utterly thrilled by how tonight has been playing out, but Oliver always enjoys when you finally fall into being desperately obedient. He wants to show Felix how good of a dog you really are.

Oliver pulls you in closer, nose to nose, smirking as the playful fight in you was giving way quickly to pure desire.

"Our good boy, isn't he? Our Felix," Oliver's voice is loud enough for you both to hear; Felix moans around his cock, shifting to get a better angle, to take Oliver deeper, as deep as he can. Your breath catches, pupils blown wide. There was something truly, almost sickeningly fascinating about what he could only describe as your Praise-Kink-By-Proxy; you clearly got off to the way Oliver lusted over Felix, that much was made clear that night in the bathtub at Saltburn, and Oliver could see it in your eyes again now.

"Our Felix," you'd mumbled breathlessly, casting your gaze to him as Oliver lazily trialled kisses down your jaw and throat. Felix doesn't stop, your hand on his head still making sure he keeps a consistent rhythm, but he does look up, does meet your lust-filled gaze, does see how your hips and thigh are shifting. Oliver brings your gaze back to him by tugging at his chain around your throat, and it's all you need to kiss him. He doesn't let it go. Sloppy and passionate, he moans Felix's name into your mouth and you whimper desperately at the sound. His hips are rolling, matching Felix's rhythm as his cockhead presses insistently against the back of his throat, and you're panting and whining and unable to find any real relief -

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" Oliver murmured sharply the minute he feels you reaching for the waistband of your own pants with your free hand. You whimpered, and his grip on the chain around your neck grows tighter. Squeezing your eyes closed as you shook your head, traitorous hand moving to dig your fingernails into your thigh, "are you going to settle down for me?" He whispered, lips brushing yours as you squirmed helplessly.

"This is unfair," you moaned, and Oliver's grip around you grew tighter, "Ollie, please -"

"You fucking love when I'm unfair to you," he hissed with an almost cruel smugness as you gasped, hips beginning to roll and rutt against nothing.

"Ollie, don't be mean," Felix raised his head, hand going still on Oliver's desperately twitching cock, an actual note of warning in his voice. Oliver smirks at him, all lazy, arrogant confidence. He maneuvers you, pulls you back from him to let Felix properly see the way your lip is beginning to tremble with how desperate you were for satisfaction or even just a hint of relief. Still, you tried to press yourself against him, even as your back arched wantonly and your thighs pressed together, shifting in search of friction that was still upsetting absent from where you desired it most.

"You think I'm being too mean right now?" Oliver whispered in your ear; unfortunately for you, Oliver knows all too well how much you love this game. After a moment of hesitation, your gaze locked with Felix's. It's as if you're embarrassed to be seen in this state, the way you'd so willingly let Oliver drive you mad with desire. Averting your gaze from Felix's, you swallow hard.

"No," the single word comes out as a sulky kind of whimper.

"And why's that?" Oliver prompted, adding slyly, "you made Felix worry." He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

"He's -" you tired your head back with a desperate groan as Oliver raked the nails of his free hand up your side, "he's always good to me in the end." You pouted, clearly still thinking it was unfair being denied in the moment.

"You promise?" Felix asks firmly, looking Oliver in the eyes now.

"Promise," Oliver smirks back, whispering against your skin that if you're a good for him, he'll let Felix play with you. The desperate noise that escapes you is incredibly telling, and one Oliver knows all too well as the indication that you were on the edge of being incoherent. Good, he loves getting you to this point, and loves even more the way Felix is looking at you right now.

"You're doing so well, Felix, don't keep them waiting," Oliver insisted. At that you reached out once more, hand coming to rest on Felix's head, petting him gently before he allowed you to guide him back down to Oliver's spit-slicked and waiting cock. Oliver's grip on the chain shifts, the metal loose between his fingers as he carefully, delicately, wraps his hand around your throat. Your pleading expression is so deliciously needy when Oliver pulls you back in against him.

"Good dog," he presses the praise against your trembling lips.

It's like a beautiful symphony, better than any wet dream or fantasy he'd ever had, and he hadn't even fucked either of you yet. He moans Felix's name into your mouth when he finally comes undone, his hand resting on yours atop Felix's hair as he takes it all and swallows every last drop.

"So fucking good, Felix," Oliver's breathing hard as he comes down from the euphoric high he'd just experienced, scratching gently at Felix's scalp as he raised his head, pleased grin on his face. When Felix sits up, out of both of your grips, your hand immediately goes between your thighs, desperate to touch yourself but still fighting the urge, trapping it while still making your intent obvious.

But while Oliver is more than satisfied, you, tucked up against him, are all but a mess as he cradled you close.

"Come on, Ollie," Felix climbs over his legs to be by your side. His smile is warm and fond, and when Felix's hand comes to rest on your hip, your soft, whining noises become more audible, "the poor thing deserves a treat."

Oliver feels the way you shiver and tense with anticipation at Felix's words, nose then bumping insistently against Oliver's jaw, keening noises catching in your throat. You were begging in the only way you have left, now that you'd found yourself deep enough in this headspace.

"Look at him," Oliver murmured, sounding almost proud as you turned your desperate, hopeful gaze upon Felix, "he's even being good to you."

Taking it as a blessing, you're immediately scrambling to your knees by Felix, no longer whining, and clearly overjoyed. One hand pulling him in for a kiss, your other was frantically trying to remove your pants.

"Not ignoring you," Felix insisted to Oliver as you'd broken the kiss if only to pitch yourself back on the bed in an effort to wriggle desperately out of your pants, "just -"

"Settle down," Oliver ordered suddenly, and you suddenly went still, ceasing the way you'd been fighting with your pants around your ankles, "help them, Felix," she sighs with fond exasperation. Of course Felix does, but it's like a switch has flipped; he's back on board, a good dog still, just like you. Once your pants are off, Felix is trailing kisses up your legs, much to your clear glee -

"You puppies are so stupid," Oliver shakes his head, affection in his words, "you're lucky you're cute," but still both of you turn to him with a a sad kind of confusion. Oliver tries not to laugh, he really tries, you're both somehow hot and adorable at the same time, "Felix, you're still wearing pants."

Somehow, this seems to surprise both of you, and again you're up 'I can help, I can help, I can help' radiating enthusiastically from you as you make quick work of finally undoing Felix's fly, as you'd attempted to earlier in the evening. The two of you share soft giggles as Felix's hard cock is freed and his pants are tossed to the side, leaving him standing on the floor at the edge of the bed where you're up on your knees, looking up at him. Like this, he still manages to dwarf you, and Oliver watches with an aroused fascination as this moment plays out.

Felix doesn't speak, it's as if he's matching your energy, understanding your headspace, he's confident and even cocky in a way that Oliver doesn't often see from him. He remembers saying 'if you're good, I'll let Felix play with you' and it seemed some primative part of Felix's mind has taken that to heart as he held tight to the chain around your throat, leaning in with an unmistakable huger in his eyes. It has you practically melting, hands on his hips, not daring to stray further without his approval. He doesn't even kiss you, he holds you at bay with his lips inches from yours and a hand firm on your collar, drinking in your desperation. You begin to whimper again, shifting your weight back and forth, hips rocking in anticipation; Oliver's sure he'll be able to see the marks your nails leave on Felix's hips when you finally let go.

Another silent conversation between you both, but so clear, so loud, so simple Oliver can hear it loud and clear. Felix is telling you, in no uncertain terms, that in this moment you are his, and every part of you agrees. Yet Oliver knows with a smug, self satisfaction, that he with one word you would both be by his side. So he'll let you both have this.

A year ago, he would have paid his entire life savings and then some to get to see you two in a moment like this. Already, he's getting hard again; a familiar, voyeuristic thrill runs through him as he drinks you both in, taking his cock in hand.

Felix barely has to tip his head, letting go of your necklace, before you're moving quickly, a moment vague and indecipherable to anyone else is a clear directive for you to turn. It's a flurry of movement after that, of Felix's hands on you, on your hips to pull you close, your lower back to have you bending, face pressed to the mattress. Your ass in the air, presented to him perfectly, he slides into you, drawing unholy noises from you both after so long spent waiting already that night.

Oliver basks in this moment, can only imagine how good you must feel right now, all tight and warm and completely and utterly desperate to be filled. Felix's groan is its own kind of beautiful, finally finding his voice again as absolutely filthy praise spills from his lips. Hips rocking back to meet each of Felix's slow, deep thrusts, your breathing is shaky amid the low, pleased noises that escape you. Beautiful, a creature of mindless want and desire, you've got one shaking hand between your thighs as the other reaches out, searching blindly for Oliver.

Face pressed into the plush duvet, you link your fingers with Oliver's the moment he reaches out to you. Your grip is tight, and he runs his thumbs in comforting rhythms against your hands, something pleased, loving, and so fucking turned on as Felix was quickly coming to fuck you like an absolute animal. The way you so desperately craved.

"Perfect," Felix moaned, "god you're so fucking perfect for us, pet, aren't you?" Nodding weakly, as much as your able, you clutch at Oliver's hand; his teasing had clearly already worked you up, brought you close. Both of you.

"Our good dog," Oliver murmurs, just to hear you whimper.

Fuck, he can't wait to watch you come undone.

Can't wait to make you both sit, roll over, beg.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #felix catton x y/n #oliver quick x y/n #felix catton smut #oliver quick smut #head heart hand fic #manic writer #okay so i got a bit drunk before writing the last few paragraphs don't judge me

[vrisrezis]

Comfort with atsv characters <3

Warnings?: reader is Latino/Latina, reader is a spider person, can you tell I wrote this at like 2 AM? (Spoilers for atsv). Is it obvious I don’t read the comics based off of hobie and pav? Also all the spiders are able to understand Spanish so 👍🏾 reader is hinted to be bisexual in Peter B’s (they also cannot have children), reader isn’t gendered but in Jessica’s they certainly are not a male,

Gwen is quiet, but you allow it. Miguel didn’t tell you much of what happened in Gwen’s dimension, but it clearly bothered her, whatever it was. It was just one of those very nights where she was bothered about her situation. She didn’t ever talk about it, rather she just sat in silence for awhile and then you’d make her some tea in hopes of easing any nerves or pain. She felt bad crashing at your place all the time like this, so much so she tried bothering hobie every once in awhile so that her staying at your home wasn’t as constant. You tried to remind her that this is what partners do, they look out for eachother when they need it the most. Staying at eachothers places when one of them is pretty much homeless is included in that.

Honestly though? Selfishly she enjoyed it. Maybe it was because she simply enjoyed your company, or because you were sweet enough to let her share a bed with you and she got to watch you sleep. She got to see all your features up close in your most peaceful moments. But of course, she missed her home. She missed her dad. She missed when things didn’t suck. She missed Peter too.

You’re both on the roof of your house. She’s thinking about things, deeply. She thinks about her life, her place in the world, She almost starts to cry, but she’s still holding back, holding back as much as she possibly can right now. It’s the first time you see her like this, and you feel relieved. You’re relieved because you know she’s been going through so much, but has been trying so hard to keep it inside.

“Mi amor, por favor, no reprimas tus sentimientos. Está bien llorar, somos tú y yo.” you say, putting your hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Not wanting to be too intimate in case she became uncomfortable in such a state. But you don’t have to worry as she grabs the hand on her shoulder and intertwines your fingers.

She finally allows her tears to flow. More then flow, they stream down like a ocean of tears. In the midst of it, she hugs you and you hug her back. Pulling her into your chest and she can’t help but feel safe in your arms.

“I’m so sorry.” she says in between sobs

“Don’t be. Te Amo. I will always be here for you, yknow? No need to hold back for me.”

Miles puts his head on your shoulder. He’s quiet, and unsure what he should say next. But you don’t say anything, and you decide he should be the one to speak first. He wraps his arms around your middle, and you change positions so his cheek is smushed on your chest now, your arms wrap around his waist. You could fall asleep like this, but you’re determined to stay up until miles tells you what’s on his mind. Even if you already know, he should let it out and talk about it. He always ends up telling you what’s bothering him, he’s practically an open book. At least in your mind, though you do suppose he is good at keeping secrets from others. Not the point though, you were there when it all transpired. You know what he’s upset about.

“How are we gonna get home?” miles finally asks, confirming your suspicions. He truly had no idea what he was doing, and what either of you were going to do. You’re both stuck in the wrong dimension with no way to get home. “How am I gonna save my dad?” he wonders aloud. You’re not sure yourself, you opt for one of your hands reaching for his back and rubbing his back in a circular motion as a means to comfort him.

“I don’t know.” you admit, but you continue before he could say anything, “but what I do know, is that you can do anything. Even the impossible. Eres el hombre más increíble que conozco. You’ll figure it out.”

miles shakily sighs, “I don’t know.” he says, so unsure of himself. “You don’t have to.” you say, “give yourself a moment. Recollect yourself. Cry if you need. Te protegeré.”

He truly doesn’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for him, continue to do for him. The support and love you’ve always given him, the advice you’ve given him, he knows there’s truly nobody quite like you.

There’s a moment of silence between you and hobie. While this wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence when the two of you just chilling out, this time felt very different. Instead of a rather calm and tired expression at this time of night he seemed so defeated, though that tiredness seemed more like exhaustion. And you come to the conclusion a canon event had to have happened for him to wear such a sad expression. It was only recently he had taken upon the role as spiderman in his dimension, or as everyone called him, spiderpunk. You know the whole spider thing is new to him, how stressful it can be to be on your own like this. You’ve been there too, and not that long ago. In your dimension you’ve only been a spider person for a couple months.

You stand up from your place on the couch, walking up to him. You want to feign surprise, not knowing what’s happening. But you know. And you know that he knows, as he always does. Spider people typically aren’t good at lying. “You know, dontcha.” he simple says, voice rather quiet for somebody like him. “Yeah.” you eventually say, “it happens to all of us.” you admit. “For Miguel it was his wife, his daughter. For Peter it was his uncle. For me it was my mother. This is just.. part of the course.” you say, as if it’s just something to shrug off. Hobie can’t help but feel sick to his stomach upon you doing that, cause it doesn’t feel like the you he knows. The you he knows wouldn’t stand for some… cycle, some faux destiny. It’s not like you to just give up and treat something like this as just… it.

But he’s too upset to press you about it, so he rests his forehead on your shoulder and no longer says any words. You wrap your arms around him in an embrace and he allows it. “I know you probably have a lot of questions.” you say, and he’s always taken aback at how you’re the only person he’s ever met that can read him like a book. Then again, spider people are not good liars.

“For now, what I’ll tell you is this.” you start, “you’re going to lose people. It’s going to happen if you continue this line of work. The hard lesson to learn about this job is that we can’t save everyone. At least, not alone.” you continue, “but together, we can.” you say, and upon these words he feels a bit more relieved that you hadn’t fallen down some algorithm. You haven’t given up nor are you falling in line with some dumbass rules Miguel has set up.

“I can’t exactly provide you the best advice.” you admit, “pero siempre estaré aquí apoyándote. Puedes contar con ello.” you say, and hobie smiles for the first time that day.

Pavitr has never been like this, but it’s to be expected. At least, in your mind.

He clutches you like a lifeline, and if it weren’t for your super amazing spider strength you think you’d be in a ton of pain right now with the way pav is holding onto you.

You’re not even the one that nearly died. Pav nearly lost his best friend, gayatri as well as her father who also seemed to mean a lot to him. You don’t know much about him and singhs relationship, but you know it’s rather complex. Pretty hard on Pav and his friendship with his daughter, assuming they have a romantic relationship or something along the line. But this very man seems to adore Spider-Man. So naturally, complicated. But didn’t change the fact he meant a lot to Pavitr. He almost lost him. He almost lost two important people in his life. And if he almost lost them, could he have lost you?

He tries to reason with himself, you’re strong and can handle yourself fine but what if…?

“¡Basta!” you say, and it’s the first time he’s ever heard you yell at him. Because of this it’s quick to snap him out of the daze he seemed to be in. He can’t help but let a few tears slip out. You put your hands on his cheeks, worry seeping through your eyes. “Odio cuando haces eso. No me va a pasar nada, cariño. Puedo protegerme así que no te atrevas a preocuparte por mí.”

You wipe away his tears with your thumbs. “Mi amor, we’re gonna be okay.”

Peter sighs, and from that moment you know somethings wrong. You’ve known this Peter in particular a long time, there’s something obviously weighing on him. It certainly helps you’ve gotten to know so many versions of him, so many peters and so many of them are horrible liars. He is no exception.

You can’t help but wonder if it’s MJ related, which tugs are your heartstrings a bit. But you understand him, he lost his love. His first love in fact, and he’s not willing to let her go. You understand. You remember your first love, Gwen. Just a pretty blonde in your science class, but you fell hard. And so did she. To her death, that is.

You sit next to him on the balcony, “wanna talk about it?” you offer, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him. “I don’t know.” he admits, but as soon as he says that he feels himself leaning on you.

“Have you ever thought of becoming a parent?” he asks, and you can’t help but be surprised by his question.

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “Yeah, I suppose.” you shrug, “not that I’d be able to have one, but yeah.”

“Really?” he wonders, and you nod. “Both me and Gwen, at least in my dimension, were physically unable to have kids. The same went for me and my own Peter.” you shrug, “not that I was interested at the time though. It’s moreso a ‘what if I could’ situation.”

“I want a kid.” he admits.

“So did MJ, and she still wants a kid.”

You feel your heart sink for a moment, before deciding it was his time of need, not yours. You’re both far too old for shit like this. You’ll move on. Like you always do.

“I could give her what she wants.” he continues.

“But I don’t know if… I can? I guess?”

“What do you mean?” You inquire.

“It’s a lot of things. I mean, what if I’m a bad dad? What if I’m not there enough? And besides that point, even if I do go through with this, the kid would have to deal with having parents that aren’t even together.”

It takes a minute for you to process his words, especially the last part. “Wait… why wouldn’t you two be together?” he shrugs, “because she deserves better.” he says, but it doesn’t seem like the full truth. “And besides I wanna be with somebody else.”

He tries to be subtle with his next words, “they can’t have kids, so I think this is a next best option. At least, when I’m ready and they’re ready and we’ve been dating long enough where it wouldn’t be weird to ask.”

You can’t help but wonder if it’s you he’s talking about.

But for the time being, you ignore it and put an arm around his shoulder, “Pues deja de preocuparte. Serías un gran padre.”

he cracks a smile and thanks you.

Jessica is always well put together, it’s something you’ve always known about her. But there’s something off about her.

You think you know what’s up, but you know better than to think you know everything going on with Jess. She’s not exactly an open book, only is when she wants to be.

She kept a lot of her personal life away from you, as a means to protect you from that. Either that or she wanted her privacy, which you also understood.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to touch her stomach, admire it, the excitement of a new life was adorable in your eyes. But her relationship with her husband was something she never relayed to you, she never talked about him and if she ever did it was briefly. A part of you wondered if it was because she knew how you felt and wanted to spare you. A part of you hoped that was all it was, and that there was nothing else going on.

But you’d be wrong, as you often were.

She lets a few tears shed, and it’s the first time you’ve seen her cry.

“I don’t think I love him anymore.” she finally admits, and you have a feeling it’s the first time she’s admitted this to anyone, even herself.

“I don’t think I ever did.”

“I don’t even think I like men, period.”

And this puts you into a even bigger state of shock, woah.

“I think I just wanted a baby.” she continues, “and it didn’t matter who it was with as long as I got one.”

“I thought, it was because I loved him so much I wanted to start a family but…” she turns her head away from you, “I don’t think I ever felt a damn thing for him and I’m scared and I feel so guilty.”

All you can do is wrap a comforting arm around her,

“No pasa nada. Siempre estaré aquí Jessica, lo sabes. Podemos resolver las cosas juntos.”

she leans into you despite her mind telling her to pull away, don’t be soft, don’t give in.

But she does.

She gives in to her deepest desire.

She gives into you.

Miguel is never this clingy. Something is wrong, and you feel it. It’s not just his aura, it’s his body language. It’s the fact that his face is shoved into your stomach, desperate for you to not only not hear him at all, but not see him. You feel his sorrow, his shame, his guilt, his anguish. But most of all you feel his regret and his grief and you automatically know what’s wrong.

You run your fingers through his hair, something he normally hated but in times like these truly loved more than anything and it calmed him down so quickly. He still doesn’t know how you do it, honestly. You make him putty in his hands without even trying and honestly that terrified him. To be so weak, so soft, when it comes to you.

“Vamos, cariño.” you say, “let me see you.”

He’s not quick to comply, but he eventually does with enough head scratching. You sigh at how distraught he looks. You hate this, you really do. You hate seeing him upset, that one injury of yours could send him spiraling like this.

“No voy a morir tan fácilmente, sabes. Ten un poco de fe en mí, ¿quieres?”

“Lo sé.” he replies, shakily.

“I’m just scared of losing you too.”

You kiss the crown of his head, “I know. But trust me when I say a little injury is not going to kill me. I’ll be okay.” you try to reassure him.

He nods, but you have a feeling he doesn’t believe you.

Even after all these years, you don’t know how to help him.

#miguel x y/n #Miguel x reader #Miguel x you #miguel o hara x reader #jessica x reader #jessica drew x reader #atsv x y/n #atsv x you #atsv x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #peter b parker x reader #peter parker x reader #peter x reader #Spider-Man x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderwoman x reader #spidergwen x reader #Gwen x reader #Gwen Stacy x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #spiderpunk x reader

[raineandsky]

#43

It’s been three weeks since the hero saw their villain. None of the other heroes have arrested them, none of the superheroes have killed them—or at least not that they’re admitting. It’s been long enough to make the hero restless, and they figure they’ll have to be the one to find out where they’ve gone.

The hero isn’t proud of the fact they know where the villain lives. They found out by pure coincidence, honestly, and once they had the information it refused to leave their mind no matter how unprofessional they knew it was. They’ve never been here before—work stays at work, and they’re not coming all the way out here just for one villain—and today marks the first of them knocking on the door.

A hero announcing their arrival is clearly unexpected, since the villain answers the door looking mildly startled. The hero never imagined them to be so casual; their usual flowing coats and all-black, slender outfits are replaced with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of loose joggers. 

“Oh my god,” is the opening the villain graces them with.

“Where the hell have you been?” the hero demands, and it’s only now that they’re saying it that they realise that it’s a little weird to ask. Why would they care?

“Why do you care?” the villain snaps like they read their nemesis’s mind. “It’s none of your business where I’ve been.”

“It is when my job is on the line because the city’s most prolific criminal is missing,” they retort shortly, and the villain scoffs.

“Well, you know I’m here now, so you’re welcome. Bye.” The villain starts to swing the door shut but the hero catches it, their foot caught between the door and the frame. They don’t want to admit how heavy the door is. They can feel the bruise forming already.

“Absolutely not.” The hero shoves themself through the doorway a little in an effort to stop the villain from their valiant attempts to shut them out. “Why’d you disappear for so long? What kind of evil scheme are you planning?”

“Just wanted some time off!” the villain cries with a surprising amount of dismay as the hero slips into their house. “I don’t know why you’re coming in, there’s nothing to see in here.”

The place is oddly domestic and well-kept. It seems that the villain is strangely… tidy. “And that makes me suspicious. There’s definitely something in here.” The hero beelines for the door across the hall from them and the villain tries desperately to stop them.

“God, I should’ve answered the door with my knife like I usually do.” The villain makes a last ditch effort to pull the hero away as they slowly push the door open. “I need my dignity intact, please don’t—”

The door creaks on its hinges, and the noise is met with small, heartfelt shrieks. It takes the hero a moment to realise the sound is coming from below them, and a glance down reveals several tiny, ferociously meowing kittens.

“Jesus Christ,” the villain mutters as the hero takes in the sight. One of the kittens is already attempting to climb their leg, sharp claws digging into their thigh.

“Is… is this where you’ve been?” the hero asks uncertainly. It feels like they’ve come to the wrong house—the place is so nice, and home to a flurry of kittens who’ve all decided to hop on the trend of climbing the hero like a tower. The only indicator that they did get it right is the fact the villain is here at all, looking particularly flustered as they try and pull some of the claws out of the hero’s suit.

“That’s none of your business,” the villain snaps coldly over the racket of kittens yowling for attention, “but maybe.”

“Why’s there so many of them?” The hero gasps like they just put the pieces together. “Wait, the cats are going to be part of whatever plan you’re putting together!”

“That’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. Glad you think so highly of me.” The villain dumps a kitten on the floor, which immediately starts its climb again. “But no. I’m a villain, not an immoral freak. The kittens are just fosters for a few weeks.”

A couple of the kittens have taken to trying to climb the villain now, and they just let it happen. “I can’t believe this. You put everything aside for cats?”

“Yeah, they need feeding every few hours.” One of the kittens has reached their shoulder in record-breaking time, snuggling into the crook of their neck. “Can’t exactly go and whoop your ass in that kind of time. I have to be here until I send them off again.”

The hero can only stare as the villain gives the cat on their shoulder a scratch under its chin, and it purrs so loud it sounds like TV static. “This one’s my favourite,” the villain continues idly. “He’s called Beanie, but I think Harbinger of the Apocalypse suits him better.”

The cat’s purr somehow gets louder as if he agrees, and the hero raises their eyebrows. “Okay, there is still villainy at play here. Naming an animal like that is cruel.”

“He likes it!” the villain defends, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness to their tone. “I might keep him anyway, so I’ll get to name him whatever I want.”

The hero hates this. The sight of the villain, dressed down, normally, with a tiny kitten perched on their shoulder and leaning into their fingers, it’s—Jesus, it’s making them soft. They can’t believe this is making them reconsider how they see the villain.

“It’s kind of unfair that you stay here while I do the dirty work in the city,” the hero points out, and the villain frowns slightly, finally tearing their gaze from the kitten. “I’ll go half and half on the care with you if you actually go back out and let the agency know you’re not planning to end the world.”

The villain squints at them suspiciously. “Is this an excuse to rummage through my house?”

“You have a pretty good security system.” The hero gestures to the kittens clamouring over them. “I just need you to save my job, please. I know you keep everything at your lair, anyway.”

The villain scowls as if this is somehow a bad thing, but after a moment they nod. “Alright. I’ll write down everything they need and when, and we’ll take it in turns. I need a break, anyway—they’re needy.”

The hero smiles, and the relief that they don’t have to worry about the agency’s paranoia anymore is overwhelming. The kittens might even provide some much needed stress relief. “Perfect.”

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writblr #heroes and villains #hero x villain #i wrote this from the bottom of a pit of creative burnout can you tell lmao #also!!! graduated on tuesday babey!!!! ya bitch got a degree!!!!! #tragically i will Not be using it but hey. cool to put one extra sentence on my cv ayyyyyy

[astroyongie]

Ateez February Reading 2024

note: please take it lightly

Seonghwa

Love: I believe that Seonghwa had been in a relationship the past few months and that during January there was a huge fight that broke out and they had separated since. However it does seem like him and his partner have reconciled 

Career: expect new things coming for Seonghwa. This man has been signing some exclusive contracts for his personal gains and if everything goes as planned he will have some nice activities upcoming for himself 

Self: he has been way better lately, less worried about things and his mind is clearer. He is leading a healthy life 

Hongjoong

Love: My man is in a relationship and damn he seems like he has hot quite a person. We are talking about someone who comes from a wealthy background and with whom he has already planned a long term successful relationship 

Career: he lacks foresight. I believe that Hongjoong is not sure of what he is doing at the moment concerning his career. He has many ideas and many opportunities but he doesnt know how to put them out there and if the fans will enjoy a new side of him

Self: he has been okay, solving a few issues between the group 8because yes there was some beef between some members). Bu he has been taking justice seriously 

Yunho

Love: the chaos keeps going and for now Yunho is single and he hasn’t been going out with people, probably for self choice. I think he has been reflecting a lot on his past mistakes and he needs some time out 

Career: he is on a very good period of his career, mostly because he has the good sponsorship with him and they are willing to bet a lot of money on Yunho. His career is flowing and stable 

Self: he is progressing as a human being, taking a step at the time with the intuition of wanting to be a better person and reflecting on his mistakes of the past 

Yeosang

Love: I think that Yeosang is still single since the person he had a crush on isnt someone he can have a long successful relationship with for a long period of time. He has accepted it tho, so it seems

Career: he had been through a ver rough period when it comes to his career, mostly because his health was playing a lot but so was many arguments with fellow members. Things are slowly getting better 

Self: his energy is still clouded due to this huge argument he had with (spoil alert, Wooyoung and Mingi). At the moment he has no trust whatsoever on them

San

Love: San is lovesick, to a point were he is totally in love with this person but also completely delulu about them. So he is single (kinda), his heart totally devoted to this person who has yet to accept his confessions and his hard work 

Career: he is focused, he has the clarity and the strength needed for this year to be his best yet. Recognition will keep going for him and San also been taking a more authoritative figure in the group 

Self: overall he is okay, he is very focused on all the spheres of his life and balancing everything nicely. Its a good thing he is able to be in sync with everything 

 Mingi

Love: Mingi is dating with the same person, their relationship being a completely wreck of being a co-dependency thing. Although he is aware of it, he isnt willing to change it because he cares too much for his partner 

Career: the conflits that have happened were huge, I have a feeling that Mingi was the one bringing it up (whatever it was) and the disagreement became competition and competition became a huge argument 

Self: his mental health keeps being so low, and very poor. He has got so many inner turmoil, so much fear and depressive episodes that it is concerning 

Wooyoung

Love: call him Don Juan, because Wooyoung is the type to be free as water and air and still be able to pull whoever he wants. So he does have many flings going on but nothing hat is official to him

Career: he is very burdened by the conflicts that have happened and he feel like its his fault in a way but at the same way he feels like he works way too much for people to be nagging him 

Self: his communication with both Yeosang and Mingi is very limited and only used during public appearances as during their private time, he ignores them mostly because he doesnt know how to deal with the problem 

Jongho

Love: the way I want to scream because it seems like jongho and his partner (the idol he has been dating for about 2 years) have broken up. I dont know the reasons, all I can say is that Jongho needed time to reflect on his own life 

Career: he wasn’t directly on the conflit with the other members but I feel like he had been involved somehow and that it also brought him some issues with the managers

Self: at the moment he is just focusing on himself and on his inner peace, he doesnt want to deal with the members on his private time in order to come back with clarity 

#Ateez #Ateez astrology #Ateez headcanons #Ateez imagines #Ateez scenarios #Ateez tarot #Ateez reading

[sparkledfirecracker]

One Night Lasts Forever

One Night Lasts Forever

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: What was supposed to be a routine job ended up in your biggest nightmare.

Words: 2125

Warnings: dark content, 18+ only, explicit sexual content, explicit language, fingering, anal by finger, dub-con, non-con, BDSM elements, restraints, spanking, mention and use of alcohol, mention of forging documents, unprotective sex, choking, ragdoll army, overstimulation, crying from pleasure. To be sure: degrading, sociopath, humiliation and kidnapping. If I missed any, please feel free to let me know

A/N: @wakingbeauty​ here is your requested idea, hopefully, you like the end result. This is not beta’d, all mistake are my own. Happy birthday to our new villain! Enjoy reading, all comments, reblogs and likes are welcome - prefer to ghost read, no problem, have fun. LaurentGroup is taken from the book, there are mild character/language spoilers.

Divider by the ever so lovely and beautiful @firefly-graphics​

I do not consent to have my works copied, reposted or translated on any other platform. Reposts on any given platforms have been posted without my permission or consent.

BY CLICKING KEEP READING YOU AGREE TO BE 18+ OR OVER!!!

Gif by @lilacevans found in this post here

With your head buzzing from the alcohol you wandered the streets of the German city of Hamburg. Suzanne had taken you out to dinner after you had curated and assessed the possessed paintings of LaurentGroup. Forging the documents and making sure everything was in order for shipment elsewhere. 

You had learned quickly not to ask questions but would not complain about the perks and the pay. Little had you known you’d end up locked and chained in a dark room. Writhing on a mattress, as the metal shackles around your ankles would rattle. 

You greeted the doorman of the hotel and gave the receptionist a wave as you made your way toward the bar. A nightcap wouldn’t hurt anyone, but your own head in the morning. 

“The usual Miss Sunshine?” The bartender asked and placed a few sweet olives and assorted nuts on the bar. 

Nodding your confirmation as you took a seat on the barstool. Taking a few nuts between your fingers, smiling at the given nickname and it probably all was due to your yellow accented dress. The hotel was part of LaurentGroup and Suzanne always ensured you were taken care of for every visit.

Looking over your shoulder you observed the thinned-out crowd. Two men still conversing in a pair of seats. You made eye contact with one of them, returning your gaze with a lopsided smirk. There was something entrancing about his presence. Darkness beckoned surrounded by charisma. His moustache and hair were groomed to perfection not a single hair out of place. 

It hadn’t been long until the man had introduced himself. Lloyd Hansen introduced himself as a freelance legal entrepreneur for LaurentGroup. A common ground since both of you indirectly worked for the company. Accepting another drink since the conversation seemed to flow nicely with no worries on your mind. 

You groaned, your head pounding. Alcohol was not going to be your friend today. You tried to roll over but noticed your ankles and wrists cuffed. What had happened? It was hard to remember what had happened, but one thing was certain - this was not the room you had gone to bed in. 

Damn Suzanne for having fed you drunk already during dinner. So many thoughts going through your head, trying to retrace your steps from the night before. Wait. You had met a guy. Lloyd. The two of you enjoyed some drinks together at the bar and later he walked you up to your room. 

For a moment you relished in the thoughts that had flooded your brain. The way his tongue had felt against your swollen pussy. How you had begged and pleaded for him not to stop. The way he had forcefully kept you spread open. The luscious orgasms he had pulled from your body. The thought brought you back to consciousness, your current reality, it all seemed like a dream now and the panic bubbled up.

“HELLO!” You screamed loudly, chest heaving uncomfortably whilst the sounds of your scream echoed off the walls turning into nothing. 

You hadn’t expected anything to happen and were surprised when the metal door opened. A silhouette stood in the doorway, tall and masculine, perfectly outlined by the bright light that made you squint. It took a few groans and seconds for your sight to adjust. 

“Lloyd? Please help me.”

“Morning Sunshine, and why would I help you exactly?” He asked, walking into the room, holding a plate and sitting down on chair. He held an amused look, while he plucked a grape from the stem with his teeth. He almost made it look like he was Julius Ceasar, the only difference, he was feeding himself. 

The thought of food made your stomach grumble angrily. The way his eyes took in your body made you look down. Only to find out you were completely naked, trying to cross your legs to feel less exposed. The shackles around your wrists did not allow you to go the distance.

“Are you going to kill me?” The shaky tone of your voice gave away your fear.

His laugh almost sounded appreciative of the question while he picked a piece of cheese from his charcuterie board. The rumbling coming from his chest made clear you had amused him.

“No, as long as you behave, I’m not going to kill you.” He spoke with a mouth full. “I’d rather end this in a happy ending.”

“I decline that offer.” 

You flinched when he threw the plate against one of the walls, he lunged forward. The porcelain shattered into a million pieces with his hand firmly around your throat. You wanted to clutch onto him and make him stop only the restraints keeping you from making it end. Lloyd seemed to enjoy watching you struggle to breathe. 

“The scared look only adds to your mystique, Sunshine.” You almost blacked out from the vice grip on your neck, but the sudden allowance of air made you choke on the sharp inhale. He had made quick work of the fact that you were gasping for the much-needed air. Before you knew it he had taken off the shackles around your ankles and flipped your body. 

With your knees pulled up to your chest it was hard to gain a balance on your hands. Instead, you gripped the metal chain that led to your wrists. His bruising grip made you feel his fingers digging into the skin of your upper leg. 

Feeling his body pressing against yours, almost hovering over you. You whimpered when his fingers feathered over the plumpness of your core. A sob resulted in a needy pout, an amused rumble from his chest revelling in your agony. The unwanted pleasure was what was turning him on and he was good at working you up.

You felt your pussy drip when he inserted one finger inside your walls for a second. The squelched noises followed as he filled you up with two fingers. A comfortable stretch while you could still feel his thumb having a crushing grip on your ass while his index finger tapped along with the rhythm of his pumps. 

A sobbing mess when he had inserted his pinky into the tight puckered hole. The coolness of his signet ring added more to your excitement. Hating yourself for enjoying it so much.

“Please?” You begged, not even knowing what exactly you were begging for. Maybe for him to not stop as when he fucked you with just his tongue last night. Leaving you aching and wanting him. 

“Your sweet taste has gotten me addicted.” He husked. “Your sweet taste made me realize I never want to let you go. You’ll be all mine. Forever.” 

You shivered at the dark tone, crying at the right stroke of his fingers against the glorious spot that was going to give you the release of the build-up sexual frustration.

“Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” The sinister sound was blurred out by your rising high. Fuck he was good at what he was doing. Stars clouded your vision while your muscles tensed and fought back the crouched position. 

He had retracted his fingers for a split second, letting his palm collide with your ass. You gasped at the impact, trembling a little in his tightened hold. “You’re not going anywhere and I will fuck you in any position I like and you’ll have to take it.” 

“Yes-yes. I’ll be good.” You sobbed at the rough plunge of his fingers back into your cunt. Feeling the burn at the sudden stretch from your dripping pussy and mewling when his pinky found the place again at the rim of your other hole. “Please, Lloyd.” 

It was a beg that was needy for a release. Your pussy throbbing around his fingers. Aching at the blood rapidly pulsating. The vicious pounds fed on the rippling pleasure that sparked through your body. 

Unsolicited moans at his attack on your cunt, almost like his life depended on it for a moment. The sobs turned into soft screams every time he stroked the right spots. Chest heaving heavily under the assault. For a moment forgot who was putting you through it and wandered off and let everything be as it was.

Lewd noises filled the air. The way your sopping core squelched around his fingers. His cool breath felt nice against your heated skin. Entirely surrendering to the enchanted sex noises administered by the monster.

“Scream for me, Pumpkin, I know you want to.” 

His spoken words made you gain back focus, knowing who was doing this to you. Fighting the urge of the ecstasy building. The wanting need for release, your body not being able to resist him anymore. It felt illegal and wrong yet so good the way he fingered you. Curling against your walls with every pump and retraction.

You panted through the attack as your body writhed in his hold wanting to stop the building delightful feeling, but you were too far into cumming on his fingers. 

Rapid movements made your sobs louder with every thrust. The restraint on your body and crunched-up position was uncomfortable at the intense feel of the orgasm. Screaming with glee as he continued to fuck you and pulled out multiple climaxes back to back. Every orgasm was more intense than the previous one, making you scream louder for him.

Lloyd removed his hand from your core and let go of the vice grip. Your body couldn't take no more and you trembled at the exhaustion. For a moment you closed your eyes, taking in the buzzing from the blood rush. 

Your eyes opened feeling his cock drag through your slit, you whimpered at the contact. Sore and trembling from his earlier admission. It wasn’t what you wanted, not this way. Only wanting to go back to last night, remaining one night only. 

“So eager for my cock aren't you, Pumpkin?” He grabbed your throat, breaking your downward gaze where he kept pressing his hard length against your lips. “Got to get it nicely coated and soaked with your slick.”

His grin made you want to throw up as you looked back at him. Unhinged and unpleasant is how this encounter had turned out to be. A tear slipping down your cheek as he pushed himself inside you filling you up entirely.

“You’ll come to love my dark side.” His thumb stroking your cheek, following the slipped tear gathering it all. You watched him bring his thumb to his mouth and suck off the salty liquid. A dark smile smeared across his face. “I’m going to break you and build you back up the way I want to or you can hate me forever, that would work for me too.”

The way his hips rolled and thrashed back into you made you aware of his. He was going to ravish your body in a way you had never been taken before. Nothing was going to be sweet about this. Just Lloyd fulfilling his own pleasure while he used your cunt to drown himself into. 

Soft mewls escaped your throat at the rapid building highs from the intense thrusts. Skin slapping while his cock drilled your soaked core. You clenched around him unwillingly and he gave you the smallest wink, knowing you were much closer than you would want to admit. Eyes welling up again at the force of the delight. 

The overstimulation made you cry, beg and plead with Lloyd to keep going. The width of his cock filled you entirely and the rim of his tip was wide enough for the perfect stroked inside your walls. Your whimpering requests only seemed to make him fuck you harder. A thin layer of sweat formed on your body trying to keep the orgasm from coming. 

Being used by Lloyd as his own personal ragdoll might not be as bad as it sounded if this was how he would make you feel every single time. You couldn’t hold out any longer and could only let the euphoric state of mind overtake your body and soul. 

“You’re my favourite sex puppet, Sunshine.” He slapped your ass making you wince. “No one will ever know you even existed when I’m done wiping out every single trace of you.”

For a moment you were sad that he stepped away from your body. Zipping himself back up, he pulled your sated body back into its original position and made sure the ankle weights were back on. It only made your reality hit harder than you had wanted. He was leaving you behind alone in this dark box once again. Naked, vulnerable and dripping with his cum, letting you roam in disgust and shame. Hating every part of what you would slowly become. His.

Taglist: @tumblin-theworldaway​ @dreamlessinparis​ @chase-your-dreams-away​

#lilos writing #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen smut #chris evans smut #spoilers #dark content

[hockybish]

Bedtime Blues

l West Winds au l dad!trevor l masterlist l blurb l

"Do you trust me?"

"No Trevor, not when you don't-"

"Stop, Tallulah, just stop" Trevor cut her off

There was pause in the conversation. The couple looking anywhere but at each other, both not wanting to break the silence.

"I um, I think I should go home tonight"

Bean replayed the argument in her mind. It was stupid really a simple breakdown in communication that lead to her questioning him and him angrily leaving for the night.

If only he had talked to about the thing and maybe -

"Mommy! Daddy! I'm ready!" Zephyr's voice rang through their home.

He had been doing his nightly routine, which included a bath tonight. And now he was done and ready for his parents to read him a story and give him hugs and kisses.

"Hey baby" She kissed the top of his head, sitting in the bed next to him, pretending nothing was different from any other night. "What book are we reading tonight?"

"This one. I want Daddy to do the funny voices." The child proudly held out the book he chose.

"Is it alright if Mommy does them tonight?" Bean knew she was no where near the story reader that Trevor was, but she hoped and prayed that for one night, it would be okay.

"No, you don't do it right, only Daddy."

"I know baby, but Daddy had to leave, so Mommy has to do it."

"Daddy gone?" Bean nodded at her confused child. She could see the gears turning and a meltdown coming.

"But he didn't tell me goodbye." Zephyr's face turned from confusion to sadness when his lip started quivering and tears started flowing from his eyes.

"I'm sorry"

"No!" Zephyr started to get upset, throwing his favorite book and pushing his mother away before tossing himself on the floor crying. "I want my Daddy!"

~

Trevor knew leaving probably wasn't the best idea and most definitely wasn't going to solve whatever issue they were having. He just needed a moment, so spending the night in his own home was the best solution.

He was almost home when his phone went off, Bean's name popping up on the screen. He almost declined it by letting ring, but a gut feeling told him to answer it.

"What?" His voice came off a little more harsh than he intended.

"You never said goodnight." There was a lot of commotion in the background he could hardly understand what she was saying.

"What?" Trevor asked again, this time his voice changing becoming a little softer.

"You never said goodnight, you weren't here to read the story and do the funny voices." Bean's voice cracked over the phone. "He won't stop crying for you."

That's what the noise was. Zephyr crying.

"Please come back"

Bean didn't have to ask him twice. Once it was safe, Trevor turned the car around and sped off back towards his family.

Zephyr launched himself into Trevor's arms the moment he saw him. He wasn't too happy with his mother right now and just wants his daddy.

"What's wrong Zeph?"

"I don't love Mommy right now. Hate Mommy. Want you." Zeph rubbed his blanket over his tired eyes.

"Hey now, that's not very nice. Mommy loves you very much. She's trying okay buddy?"

Trevor could tell he didn't mean it, it was the sleep deprivation talking. In the morning after a good night sleep he could change his mind.

"Do you want to come home with Daddy?" He could feel Zeph's heading nodding against his chest. It was decided they'll have a little sleepover.

~

Zephyr fell asleep at some point in time on the drive to Trevor's. Exhaustion finally taking over and lull of the car convincing him to close his eyes.

Trevor laid him in his bed and snapped a photo, sending it to Bean, letting her know that they got to their destination and someone was already asleep.

tilly bean: im sorry about the fight Z: well talk about it tomorrow

tilly bean: i love you z Z: i love you more bean

They were going to be alright. She's his endgame after all.

#west winds au #trevor x bean #trevor zegras #zephyr zegras #dad!trevor au

[kotias]

Writers Guild Cock Fight - Do I wanna know?

This is a retaliation piece against @lauramoon1987 ! You have been warned, Laura!! 🫵🫵🫵🫵

For the smut war going on on @goodomensafterdark !

Song to listen to while reading: Do I Wanna Know? By Arctic Monkeys

Tumblr excerpt word count: 721

Total word count: 1 957

Trigger warnings: consumption of alcohol

Type of smut: angsty post-season 2

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the tide

That sticks around like something in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week

How many secrets can you keep?

'Cause there's this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee

Alcohol. That’s what he was missing. He extracted himself from his chair and walked to his kitchen, where an infinite variety of beautiful liquors, wines, beers, distilled alcohols were displayed. He did not even bother taking a glass out of the pantry and drank directly from the whisky bottle.

It took him about an hour to down the entire bottle, scorching the inside of his throat.

Not enough.

He raided his kitchen again, and found his bottle of absinthe. That should do the trick…

The taste of it on his lips was already enough to feel submerged with a fire that very much agreed with his demon body, and he filled a glass to the rim with it before storing it away. He took a large gulp out, shivered from it overwhelming his senses and coughed out the discomfort.

(Do I wanna know?) If this feeling flows both ways?

(Sad to see you go) Was sorta hoping that you'd stay

(Baby, we both know) That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

He did not allow himself to think about the last memories he had collected before going to sleep, refused to let his mind wonder to the feeling of those soft, plump lips on his ow-

He finished his glass and threw it at a wall.

“Damn it!”

He did not want to think about it, it was too painful! Too fresh! Too- too- “FUCK!”

Those hands on his back, clutching at his vest like he was on a lifeline, the little gasp he let out, the conflict and storm of emotions in his eyes-

“FUCKING STOP IT!” he yelled, crashing into his couch. His mind was replaying it, again and again, never stopping, looping that memory until he was dizzy with it.

Soft lips, desperate gesture, clutching his lapel, hands on his back, gasp-

I forgive you.

“Oh, fuck you,” he grumbled at the universe at large after the second bottle of whisky had been downed, and let his body lie down.

Crawling back to you

The angel’s hand, clutching to his back for just a moment, the tip of his tongue pressing against his mouth, his wheezes as he touched him… the softness of his skin, the smell of old books surrounding him, the taste of sweet black tea in his breath-

Ever thought of calling when

You've had a few?

'Cause I always do

Maybe I'm too

Busy being yours

To fall for somebody new

Now, I've thought it through

“Actually, that ain’t that bad of an idea, is it?” Crowley mumbled with a weak crooked smile, his voice breaking in his throat. “I’ll give you something to forgive me over, Ô Supreme Archangel Aziraphale.” He put the bottle down on the lower table and reached down his stomach, grazing the fabric with his long nails. “You’d better hear my voice as I pray up to you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed as his cold fingers passed under his shirt and touched the line of crimson hairs coming up from his crotch.

Click. His snake belt fell open, the buttons of his slim jeans quickly followed. His left hand raised to his chest, pressed against it, forcing the air out of him in a soft growl. The tips of his fingers slithered under his collar, sending waves of scalding desire through his limbs.

Crawling back to you

The angel’s tongue pushing into his own, pulling him closer, hungry, hungry, so ravenous for him-

He moaned into the hollow of his mouth, his legs weakening under his love. Aziraphale’s lips, descending on his chin, on his throat, ripping his shirt open, and oh how mellow his voice was, rippling against his collarbone, penetrating his chest and pulling at his heart like it belonged to him.

Fic continuation on AO3

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #aziracrow #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable smut war #good omens after dark #goad #good omens fanfic

[universe-friday]

EXCERPT #19:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

[…]

Old sport! Ah! I have such a story to tell you!

You must remember that Thalia is a DJ, right? Which is so cool! …Even if I don’t often visit clubs personally.

Well, we were hanging out again recently and she tells me she managed to book a gig as a supporting act!

I was so, so excited. I told her I was going to buy flowers, toss them on the stage as she gives her final bow, cheer the loudest, and be the biggest supporter in that crowd.

But when she told me when it was…Oh, old sport, I felt so bad when I had to tell her I was busy.

I apologised over and over. I reassured her over and over, that I will still be that biggest supporter… I’ll just have to give her the flowers after the show…

Being Thalia, she laughs and tells me not to stress so hard. Which, as she should know by now, is something I have no idea how to do.

I told her she was right. Because there would always be a next show, and maybe someday, even her headliner. It was only until I said that when she told me off…

[…]

When the day of the show came, I made sure to wish Thalia the best of luck when I could, before I set off on my own plans that day… To a concert!

This band that I have been obsessed with from day one, the first ever time they played at this carnival. Since that day, they have grown to be so much popular, so, of course, it gets harder day by day to talk to them.

Let me tell you, old sport, I would just talk their ears off… about how much their music has inspired me, how much it just lifts me up every time I listen to it. Never mind whenever the opportunity to hear them live strikes, I swear, I could ascend to heaven every time.

I’m lucky to get a good spot in the crowd, second or third row, though I remember when it used to be so easy to get barrier… I start to wonder if they ever remembered my face.

The lines dimmed and everyone starts screaming. It’s funny, old sport, how people scream at any small movements at concerts, knowing full well the main act doesn’t come on for another hour.

I’ve always enjoyed the openers for this band, as they choose artists they really enjoy personally, and they have an undoubtedly good taste in music.

Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised when I saw a very familiar pink head of hair enter the stage…

I scream Thalia’s name in amongst the varied cheers from the crowd, and she looks up right at me. Her face reads of total confusion, as well as mine, yet we were equally as overjoyed as one another.

[…]

After Thalia’s set, I get a message from her. A rare occasion, as we both agree against trusting these forms of communication, since the City monitors it 24/7.

She tells me to meet her at the bar. Despite my good space in the crowd, I decided to head back to talk to her. Really, old sport, I wanted to tell her how good her set was. She really knew how to hype up a crowd.

Instead of talking, however, Thalia nods her head towards a door. Before I get to say anything, she’s already walked through.

As we walk down this hallway, I am asking Thalia so many questions.

‘How did you do this?’ and, ‘You know this is my favourite band, right?’ and, ‘How!?’

Yet, Thalia just stayed silent. The whole time we’re walking, I’m asking and asking, and only do I stop in my tracks when we make our way to the door at the end of the hallway.

The door lies halfway open, and within seconds, I saw them all.

The band I have adored for years, all sitting right in front of me. Even the drummer, my favourite in the group, was laying on the couch with his boyfriend; who himself is an infamous professional rugby player.

Thalia introduces me, but I have no clue what to say. I had so many questions, so many thoughts. Yet, all of them at once leave my head in that very moment.

As I muster up the courage, I eventually got to talk to them. Questions came back to me, and these were truly lovely people; who did recognise me!

I thanked Thalia for hours and hours after the gig. And yes, she did get her flowers.

[…]

If only I could find the right people to meet you again, February. I’d queue for hours to see you again. Wait at the stage door even just to see you in passing, to get a glimpse of you again…

Yet, I also have so many questions for you too, February. But when will we ever have the time to talk? I’m running out of time, even now…

♪ There’s nothing left for us anymore Why aren’t you listening? Why aren’t you listening to me? There’s nothing left. ♪

NOTE: as inspired by the week #4 prompts of february friday events as organised by @februaryfridayevents! this week's themes were minor characters / rarepairs / crossovers! so i decided to feature a certain band in this excerpt.... wonder who...!

thank you for joining and supporting the blog throughout the february friday festivities! and thank you to @februaryfridayevents for hosting! as always, i will be back again next week <3

#aled last #alice oseman #osemanverse #frances janvier #radio silence #universe city #carys last #universe city podcast #february friday #original work #universe friday excerpts #universe city excerpt #letters to february #universe friday #daniel jun #hstv #aled and frances #original fiction #original story

[gryphis-eyes]

⊙ Message from spirits

⊙ Welcome to this very simple but (I hope) useful pick a card, I know its been a while and here is my last attempt to get back to tumblr haha.I don’t have more to say , hope you’ll get the message that will light the fire in your !

⊙ How to pick a pile ? There are differents ways to do it, you can do a little meditation while thinking about the 3 images, you can also use a pendulum, remember to listen to your intuition while chosing and reading the messages those are general reading so not everything will be for you or it will ask you to interpret it based on your situation

◇ Deck used : Rider Waite, Shakespeare Oracle, Phenix Oracle

⊙ Pile 1 : The Cat

Cards ; 3 of cups, 6 of swords R " Tis true. The wheel is come full circle; I am here. ”

One day things go up and one day things go down, such is the nature of Fortuna’s actions. The cards are showing me those 3 muses singing with their cups full of sweet beverage while on the other side of the reading someone is struggling on their boat, going against this raging river’s flow. Some of you seems to be tired of life, you're always fighting, barely resting while other people seems to roam freely through life. Its not fair isn’t it ? I feel like the main issue here is that you're going through a though period and it affect your mental a lot, so of course our brain’s first move is to look at others and be like ”damn look at them, so happy and relaxed while im in this burning house”. Do not throw yourself heartlessly into this path which seems to be the only one, do not look at other, look at you. You might be afraid to do a specific thing (new project ?) Because others seems to do it better or the idea you got already have been done but listen to me ; nobody is doing things better than someone else, succes doesn’t mean its better it just mean it touch more people but it doesn’t mean it is made of quality. That’s why we always got people talking about underated movies, music etc, nothing is better, things are just different. What matter isn’t how amazing you'll do but rather how you will do it because you are not anyone else’s mind, look at the story of the hero with a thousand faces it has been done so so many times in fictions but people dont always realise it, why ? Because all of those fictions have been done by different people so that’s why lord of the ring is so different from star wars. To be honest I was thinking about telling you to go slower but the phenix cards are really telling you to move and just do it ! Be serious about this project wether it mean actually writing a story and publishing it or starting writing it, you got nothing to lose.

⊙ Pile 2 : The Owl

Cards ; 3 of swords R, hangedman ” for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.To me it is a prison. ”

Ive heard ”a haunted heart” part from on the fence by tv girl in mind while reading your cards. I have no contexte about what happened to you but I can tell that it was a wild ride isn t it ? Sit down my dear its time to rest and listen. Whatever happened didnt happen out of the ”univers” cruelty or a ”blessing in disguise” what happened felt like an attack toward you (from your pov) wether its truly the case or not I dont know but I truly think the cards are reminding you to focus on the present since they are hiding the past from me. Do not search for the why, do not search for a blessing coming from it, what was good what was bad do not try to listen to thousand of readers who will tell you how to act (I mostly got those ”forgiveness” speech that every new ager are repeating). You dont need to focus on that past thing you need to focus on yourself and your needs from the present, not the needs you had 5 month ago. You should let your life calm down, put less effort in the world and put more effort for yourself wether its forcing you to have a self care moment or allowing yourself to have a lazy day or just sit down and do nothing but listen to music. The lyrics from ”after the storm” it carry the whole message im trying to give you. Basically, yes what happened suck but its not an excuse to give up on yourself.

⊙ Pile 3 ; The Snake

The lover, 3 of swords R

" The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline.There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. "

It's time to risk it all my friend. I have no idea if It's a project, a ritual/spell (I get that most of you are into witchcraft or spiritual thing). See this snake going for the butterfly even if It's small and can avoid the snake’s strike easily, the reptile still go for it. It even look like the snake is using the obstacle in order to jump higher to catch the butterfly. (Idk why I get that you should try to watch samurai champloo). The advice here, is to look at everything that went bad or didn’t work in the past and ask yourself ”why” so now you'll be able to make your action more effective because you have grown a lot since the last time you try that thing or something similar. I feel a big burst of energy so its like everything is here, you just have to act. Like the snake, do not chase your goal or just walk around it until you saw the opportunity. Just go in front of it and strike ! With the Lover I see that this thing is dear to your heart or will light the fire in yourself again. You can do it, you have the power to do so, you can only gain good thing from this situation that will (above of making you happy) will heal something in yourself.

⊙

#pick a card #gryphis #⊙

[starseneyes]

Spock / Nurse Christine Chapel - Star Trek: Strange New Worlds S2 Eps 4 & 5

Folks, this is a wild time to be alive. Since we had bits and pieces leading up to 2x05, I'll touch on those first, and then we can get into the meet of a super uncomfortable, yet hilarious episode.

SPOILER ALERT: If you're looking for a friendly non-spoiler glimpse at this ep, please do not click through! I am a spoiler queen, and I go deep.

There's a tiny sliver of 4, so I included it in this recap, but it's primarily episode 5 in all its cringey, hilarious glory.

Everyone squared away and ready to play? Let's dive in!

"Among the Lotus Eaters" AKA "Who Am I, Again?"

"Hi, Spock. What's happening?"

He's the lieutenant currently in charge of the Enterprise, but she's totally conversational with him, here. She's got bigger things on her mind, which is why I think the formality escapes her.

Una Fumbles for Words

Spock looks to Christine to see if she's on the same page, but she's way ahead of him. I love these little wordless interactions of theirs. It shows that they're still them under these complicated emotions flowing between and through them.

"Charades" AKA "Hijinks Part Deux"

After watching the sneak peek, the promo, and reading the episode description, I came up with what I thought was going to happen:

Spock/Christine crash near beginning of episode

Spock loses his Vulcanness because some alien wants him and Christine to match like collector dolls

Spock's "What the F-" leads into main credits

Christine spends the whole ep working the problem

Spock has very little interaction with her, all things considered, as a human

Christine has to appeal to an alien entity to get Spock back to himself

Spock and Christine share a moment of truth before he is returned to himself

Possible Spock/Christine kiss to end the episode

IF Spock/Christine kiss, they were kissing before "What does this mean?" from preview

How did I do? Well, if you watched the episode, you know already. And while I didn't get all the details right (you'd have to be inside my brain for that bit), I think I did petty well!

Chistine's Log

It's great that we're getting a look into her mind, what she values, and how she organizes her thoughts. And I have to applaud Jess Bush on the voice work on this one, because her inflection on her lines has always been a treat, and it's just as wonderful via VO.

Christine is excited about the Kherkovians and excited about her possible fellowship. What I love most about the montage is how we see everyone rallying and supporting her.

This is Christine's "Elle Woods Studies for the LSATS" montage. And as we go through matching cuts (this director seems to be a huge fan of them), we eventually arrive at a table with friends... and shots!

And can we talk about these three boss ass bitches hanging out together and drinking together? Like, I love that we're back to that idea that a starship is a family, and that these people are the people you actually like and want to be around. It's so bloody glorious.

"I don't get it. Your interview is with a Vulcan. So why aren't you practicing with Mr. Spock?"

Yeah, Christine. Why aren't you spending alone time with Mr. Spock? Of course, that's not what La'an means, but you can see how Christine blanches at the mention of their pointy-eared friend.

"Oh, things are kind of weird between them."

Erica. Ortegas. You did not just do that! M'Benga would never.

But, I'm personally glad Christine opened up at least a little to one of her best friends. We saw her hesitating back in S1 to tell Erica about her crush on Spock.

So, at some point, Christine opened up enough to Erica that now her friend's spreading her messy maybe-relationship to their mutual friend.

"Weird how?"

Erica's smirking while Christine's in shock. Christine doesn't talk about her feelings. She shoves them deep down where she doesn't have to deal with them and pretends they don't exist.

Friendships are great for Christine. Friends-with-benefits? Hell, yeah! But talk about the potential for a relationship? Or having feelings rather than simple attraction? This is outside of Christine's comfort zone.

She buries herself in her drink, much as she did in the first season with Erica when she said, "It would have to be the right man."

Well, honey, I don't know if he's the right man, but he's definitely the man in your mind right now.

A Scientist, A Doctor, A Nurse, And a Turbolift

The turbolift scene is brief, but impactful. Christine tries to catch his eye because she wants to assure herself they can get back in their boxes. But Spock cracked open Pandora's box of emotions. There is no going back.

Spock is praising himself for his emotional control. But he was almost tripped up by crumbs. Crumbs. What would he do if he was face-to-face with the woman he wept over right now?

As Spock leaves without a single word to the two of them, M'Benga and Christine look at one another.

And I thank God I was watching this on my bed at 3 in the morning and not during my lunch break, per usual, because I'm pretty sure my drink would've shot through my nose at M'Benga's face.

Seriously. If you haven't rewatched this brief scene, go back and do it if only for his look after Spock leaves. It's hilarious.

Spock's Log

The temperature firmly established on Christine's present goals (prep for interview/avoid Spock), we now get a glimpse into Spock's mind and life via montage.

He is hanging out with friends, cooking with Pike, and trying not to murder Kirk for crumbs. In short, we're getting a glimpse at status-quo Spock so we can later compare and contrast.

Spock has always enjoyed being around his friends. I think of Spock in his later yeas camping with Kirk and McCoy (my personal favorite classic Trek character). He has always enjoyed being surrounded by people he trusts.

And I posit that's part of why he's so committed to Starfleet. On Vulcan, he is reminded of his father's disappointment in him, the conflict with his older sister (though they resolved it), how Vulcan children bullied him, and how he must perform as a full-blooded Vulcan despite being half-human or face derision and discrimination.

In Short: It's a lot.

But as a member of Starfleet, he spends time with people from many backgrounds, cultures, languages, and creeds. He doesn't have to be the perfect version of anything. In general, his friends take him as he is without asking him to be anyone or anything. He can simply be.

Though there is one notable exception, now. And it's not her fault. It's simply a necessity of reality—Spock feels he can no longer be himself around Christine.

Nearly losing her in 2x01 when his emotions were still quite raw and exposed was devastating. He literally wept over her lifeless body and had to endure the agony of potentially ordering her death.

Spock is trying to fit himself back in the Vulcan box because he's worried about what he'll say or do around her. He wants to be true to his fiancée and everything he's promised her. He knows to do this, he must suppress everything he feels for Christine.

But this isn't like a fresh herb he's never smelled (see next scene) and can't miss through his suppression. He knows what it is to kiss her, to taste her, to hold her, to want her, to mourn her, to save her, to hold vigil over her.

In short: He's so screwed.

"I am afraid my nasal suppressants inhibit my perception of scent."

Forgive the fangirl flail, but my two favorite characters of Enterprise were Trip and T'Pol—apart and together. So, getting a bit of confirmation of the Vulcan's keen scent that we first learned via T'Pol made me kick and squeal a little.

Reminder to Self: Gotta read that fix-it book, at long last, to save Trip from his Enterprise fate.

A Passenger

The whole conversation with Pike reminds me of the last time Spock was having concentration issues—when T'Pring was busy looking up human sex.

I find it fascinating (sorry, Spock) how much T'Pring throws him off. Whether it's his human side or Vulcan side, she tends to spring things on him that send him spiraling.

"I am fine, Captain."

Why call this out? Because "I'm fine" is going to come back later in this episode, and I find it fascinating (again, apologies, Mr. Spock) that it first presents itself here—when Spock is decidedly not fine.

And now he's getting a passenger. Of course, we're gonna cut straight from the line to the person for impact. But, oy, Spock's having a rough day.

He's already distracted with his relationship issues. The last thing he thinks he's going to get is more relationship issues.

A Nice Day for a Shuttle Ride

Christine ides alongside Spock, both of them facing forward. But Spock can't help but catch a glimpse of her.

This isn't a short ride in the turbolift. This is an entire mission together, in an enclosed space, with nowhere to escape.

He tries to approach her as a Vulcan—with tact.

"It is good to see you, Nurse Chapel."

Ah, now he's going to try to be "normal" because they're in a forced professional situation, and not talking at all would be ridiculous considering they have to work together.

"We did see each other in the turbolift the other day. You seemed busy."

This is such a passive aggressive line from Christine. The dude literally stared at the doors the entire time. But, it's also an "out" that she's offering him.

She doesn't want to talk about this anymore than he does.

But a small part of her wants to know if she's imagining it. She doesn't think so (M'Benga's reaction is confirmation enough), but she wants to hear it from him.

"I have many duties. If I offended you, I apologize."

He speaks without emotion, without emphasis, straight facts. But it's still hurtful. And he knows it.

Watch how he closes his eyes, admonishing himself. Do better. He tries to talk to her, really talk to her, like he would before he realized he was falling for her.

"You are here for the fellowship you are applying to? Archeological medicine?"

Note how his cadence and timbre have changed. This is how he normally talks to her—honest and open. It's how he wants to talk to her, but he's afraid of what will come out of his mouth if he opens it to speak.

Remember, Vulcan emotions are reportedly stronger than human emotions. And he's removed some of his control when he fought the Gorn. So, while he is making progress on regaining control, he's still terrified of what emotions Christine Chapel might unleash.

But he's choosing to talk about work. That's safe.

"You know, the Vulcan Science Academy would be lucky to have someone of your experience."

I love the use of "You know". It's so... conversational. It's true Spock slipping through. And this is a true sentiment. He means it.

"Thanks. It's, um, it's nice of you to say."

Ah, yes. This is nice, right? Just two coworkers talking about coworkery things. No reason to get emotional, right?

But Christine's struggling with this whole thing, and it's hard for her to believe what he's saying. Is he saying it as a nicety? Does he believe it?

There's too much weirdness between them right now, and she feels pushed to clear the air.

"Spock? I don't usually read into this sort of thing much, but, uh, it's felt like you've been avoiding me." "Has it?"

Welp, the plan to keep it professional backfired. Because while Christine doesn't want to have this conversation, she can feel the shift in their dynamic. And she doesn't like it.

She had put them into a happy little box of Friendship, and until they started making out on the Bridge of the Enterprise, they were doing a pretty good job of staying thee. Even later in the season, they seemed to have regained their footing.

But Hemmer's death set off a tidal wave of emotions in Spock that are still churning under the surface. Christine isn't blind to that, but I don't think she understands how much this Vulcan man feels for her.

He almost started a war for you, honey. You gotta mean something to him, right?

Spock's fortunately saved by the scanner, but even then, it takes a second for him to switch back into work-mode.

"I should... initiate scans."

Christine acknowledges the shift, no longer pressing for answers. But, did you see the way she checked him out when he stopped close to him? I mean... hubba, hubba. Christine's jonesin' for her coworker.

And, look, I am not a supporter of adultery. I applaud how Spock has tried to keep his distance while Christine has tried to keep him in the friend box. Neither of them want to do something they'll regret.

But this tension's reaching a tipping point, pushed over that edge by two major events in this episode that overlap and intersect.

The tension in the room shifts from, "Wow, I want him/her and shouldn't" to "holy shit, we're gonna die" in a matter of seconds.

The first time watching it, I noticed how Spock reached for a dial at the last second. My first thought was, "Oh, that was an intentional movement, there, but I bet we'll never know what it was for."

Folks, I was so excited to be wrong.

We'll get into what Spock was doing in that moment, but I love that the last thing he heard was Christine saying his name.

There's an intimacy to how Jess Bush says it—putting so much emotion into a single syllable. What do you say when you're about to die next to the one person you wish you could tell everything, but can't?

Do you break that invisible barrier of civility to tell him how you feel? Do you lament you didn't have time to sort it out? What can you say?

Genetic Manipulation Steals Spock's Eyeliner

He does have it in other shots as a human, but for this closeup, it's very jarring to go from Spockliner to none. All part of the illusion, folks!

"I feel... strange."

I love that the first words out of his mouth as a human are, "I feel." We talk so much about Vulcan emotions and Vulcan feelings, and he knows from the first moment that something is off.

"What happened to me?" "We don't exactly know."

It's almost a question on "know" that is so much fun. Jess Bush really has some incredible deliveries as Christine, and I adore it. There's such a dynamism to her deliveries.

I love that one of the first details is Spock investigating his hands. Why? Vulcans are touch-telepaths. No doubt, his hands feel strange without that ability coursing through them, even if he's touching nothing.

"Remediation was made. The beings now match."

This. Says. So. Much. Because so often in the history of this blighted country, we've seen racism tell people they can't be together unless they're the same. Heck, I've seen it in faith, too.

And these beings have the idea that making them match is the right thing to do. But they miss that having differences is part of the joy of connection.

Yes, you can be from the same country/speak the same language/worship the same way and have a beautiful relationship. But that isn't required.

Sameness does not equal compatibility or value. As Star Trek says, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.

"Nurse Chapel is already working around the clock to find a way to reverse your genetic alteration."

Because she's the expert. Hell, yeah, that's my girl!

Now, we can play the "Christine's falling in love with Spock and that's why she's killing herself over this" all day. But the truth is that if this had happened to any member of the crew, Christine would be the one dealing with it because she's the expert.

It's simply juicier because she was the one with Spock when it happened, and she happens to be falling for him.

"Emotions must be new to you." "Vulcans have emotions. We learn to suppress them. These human feelings are different. They're intense and they never stop." "What you're going through, it sounds a lot like being a human teenager."

I love this whole explanation of what's happening with Spock. He hasn't changed who he is. We've watched him going through the exact same montage as before, but this time his control is gone—because human emotions work differently from Vulcan.

Through the Vulcan experience, he could suppress his emotions and box them up. Human emotions work differently. He lacks the chemicals in his brain to behave as he did before.

Remember, Vulcans are wired differently than humans, and while genetically Spock descends from one human and one Vulcan, dominant genes are at play.

For example, of my three children, only one looks like me with olive skin, dark brown eyes, and dark hair. My other two children take after my husband with strawberry and sandy blonde hair, pale skin that easily burns, and one even has hazel eyes!

Same parents. But different amounts of each of us and our genetics.

Spock's anatomy presents primarily as Vulcan, which would apply to the chemicals in his brain, as well. He's lacking those chemicals that retrained his brain to deal with emotion in a controlled and suppressed manor.

He is still the same person at his heart, but it's as though he were born entirely human in his genetics. Problem is, he didn't grow into them. They were thrown upon him as a grown man who was used to entirely different genetics.

It's not odd, to me, that while his core principles remain unaltered, how he approaches them is partially informed by the tools he has and/or lacks with an entirely human anatomy.

"Have you been here all night?"

Of course, Christine would do this for any member of the crew. But the pain she feels is amplified by her belief in her responsibility, and the fact that it's someone she cares about, deeply.

"If I hadn't been there, then maybe they wouldn't have done what they did to Spock."

Oh, there are so many layers to this. The obvious take is that she feels guilty that the aliens modified Spock's genetic code. But I think there could be another layer.

Because Christine was not initially on that mission with Spock. When La'an called her out on not talking to a Vulcan about the whole thing, I think she decided to prove that she could handle it, and requested to be added to the mission.

What if her ulterior motive for joining the mission was to prove to herself that they could be okay? That she could be okay around him? That it was all in her head that he was avoiding her, and that there really is nothing between them?

Because, that's what she wants. She wants for there to be nothing between them. She's tried to will it into being.

And what if her desire to prove they were nothing but platonic coworkers was what brought such pain to the person she truly cares for? What if it's her own hubris that brought this on?

Of course, we all know that M'Benga is right when he says that her presence might have been what preserved Spock's life at all. With "mixed instructions", who knows what the aliens might've done without Chapel's example.

And yet another example of just how biased our own medical system can be in this country. Did you know we are just now seeing medical diagrams and training materials that take different levels of melanin into consideration for bruising, bleeds, and reactions?

Sorry, back to the story—Christine's hurting.

"Survivor's guilt is easy to spot from the outside. But it's not fun from the inside."

I love their relationship. These two are deep friend who truly understand one another.

"Are you forgetting something important?"

Oh, shit! The interview!

"What? We're done?" "I have all I need. We will contact you."

I feel like all the other Vulcans in this episode are a reminder of why Spock is different, and special, and why we love him so much. It's not that he's a half-Vulcan. As Angel would say, that's not what this is really about. It's because of who he is.

No matter what version of himself he is, he cares about his friends. He loves his work, and he pours himself into it. He tries to do what is right, even if he sometimes gets it wrong. He's loyal, and patient, and kind.

Now, human Spock doesn't have impulse control, as we've seen. But if he were trapped in this state forever, I'd like to think that's something he could learn.

"Christine?"

First off, woah. Spock avoids saying her first name because of how intimate that is... and I have a theory...

See, Vulcan emotions are reportedly stronger than human, right? We saw what happened when Spock tried to let a little anger out with the Gorn... he went postal. He couldn't regain control. It was a flood that he couldn't stop.

What if he's kept such a tight rein on those emotions as of late because he's afraid of the flood to follow?

Spock's humanity is offering him the opportunity to talk to her, to engage with her, to be in the same space with her without losing all control.

His human emotions are a bit out of sorts, yes, but he can work in spurts and starts with them. Once a Vulcan emotion is unleashed, it won't easily be bottled up.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

She starts to say the canned line we're taught to say whenever someone asks how we are, "I'm fine." I hate "I'm fine."

Unless you're talking about how you look in your favorite outfit, when you say, "I'm fine" I wonder if you're telling the truth or bowing to society's standards.

"Vulcans can be such jerks."

The iron of that statement. Christine smiles at him, because she really needed that laugh. But it's also so strange a statement as she's working to restore his Vulcanness.

Insert Awkward Hug

In the history of awkward hugs, that might be one of the most cringe between two characters I actually adore together. He enters into it with the best of intentions, but once he's there, it's really awkward for both of them.

While Christine loves being near Spock, it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like him.

"It felt like you needed that. Did I read the moment wrong?"

This moment really struck me, but for very personal reasons. See, I have an Autistic son, and hugging is one of those things that, God bless him, is a big part of him.

He likes to go up to strangers and hug them. And while they all smile because he's a super cute 8-year-old, someday he'll be an adult and they might not think it's as cute. So, we work on asking permission and understanding situations.

I know sometimes people liken Spock to being Autistic-coded, and while I don't know if that's true, this moment really struck me.

"It was really nice. It wasn't typical for you." "Is that okay?"

As M'Benga would say, there's technically nothing wrong with it. But it's not him.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

He's echoing back her words to her, but it also feels like growth. At the top of the episode, he declared, "I'm fine" when he wasn't. This response is far more honest and realistic.

Also, my mind drifted back to my first Human/Vulcan lovers, Trip and T'Pol. Their mutual confession of feelings scene is one of the funniest, sexiest, and most beautifully written/performed scenes in Star Trek, to me.

It's Season 3, for anyone who wants to relive it, but I'd do so before Paramount+ removes it like they did Season 4.

Spock's Elle Woods LSAT Montage

Echoes of Christine and Spock.... and how the team all rally around him, now, to help.

"We better hope Dr. M'Benga and Nurse Chapel come up with a cure before the mind meld"

Fascinating that he's going professional on her name with his mother, and I think that makes sense in the moment.

Despite what Spock may feel for Christine, even in his human state he's trying to stay true to T'Pring and his Vulcan obligations related to their engagement. That's important.

Because Spock is still Spock. He's altered, but not gone.

"Yes, I'm way ahead of you."

I love this. We need the reminder of the Chapel we met on Day One, "I know I'm good at what I do". This is where she excels... and she can't make it work. And now she's on a time-clock of her own.

Also, I love how she and M'Benga talk as equals, here. There's no ego in what they're saying. He's trying to offer solutions, but she's already way ahead of him—because this is her speciality.

She respects his, and backs him up, and serves as an amazing assistant when needed. But right now he is the assistant, even though he carries the "Doctor" designation and she the "Nurse".

Let me tell you, I've often experienced Nurse Practitioners who were better in their field than Doctors. This is a nice reminder of that reality while also showing how it can work in a practical situation without bias. Ah, the utopian vision of this era of Star Trek's timeline.

Christine Interrupts Dinner

Look, these two just got their meals, and in comes their sweet-but-oblivious-to-her-feelings friend begging them to go on a mission with her to save her not-boyfriend.

And it makes sense that now that Spock is beyond the help of (most of) his friends the team swivels to helping Christine, again. This is their episode, after all.

"Look, I can't ask either of you to risk your lives for this. But if there's a chance to save Spock, I have to try."

She's willing to risk her life for him. Golly, they are so similar. Because she's in a shuttle craft on her way to the anomaly where he once chose to risk his life for her... but she doesn't know that, yet.

"He didn't choose to be live this."

I remember when I was guessing at what would happen in this episode that I really thought his choice was going to have more to do with it. I guess the writers thought it obvious that he wouldn't want to continue being human.

Yes, we've seen that being human is impacting his life in negative ways, but it could also impact it positively. That's the dichotomy of life in all its facets—it's beautiful and terrible.

"So, we're doing this?" *Uhura touches her shoulder* "We're doing this."

I really think those two bonded when Christine held Uhura after Hemmer sacrificed himself. But I also love this moment of Christine feeling the warmth of sacrificial friendship. She's growing closer to everyone with this civilian post.

We know that in childhood Christine didn't have a lot of friends. She was bullied. She was different, somehow. It's one of those points where she and Spock always related.

Christine also tends to rely upon herself rather than others. Trusting others means letting them in. Letting them in means opening herself up to potential pain.

But as she goes on this mission to help one friend, she's in the company of two others. And you see the moment their friendship washes over her and she relaxes into it.

"This is not going well. How is the cure coming?" "We've hit a roadblock. Nurse Chapel went to find the Kherkovians" "She what? And you just let her go?" "You and I both know that when Christine sets her mind to something, she is hard to stop."

I love the transition from professional to conversational, here. M'Benga is one of the few people—if not the only—privy to the fact that Christine's feelings aren't unrequited.

Yes, Christine's girlfriends have clearly picked up on how she feels about Spock. But even Christine is unsure about how he feels.

But that last line is so bloody powerful. Christine can be a bit like a bulldozer when she's locked onto something. What happens when she locks onto Spock? What happens if she locks onto something else and leaves him behind?

"What is your relationship to this being?" "Um... He's my friend." "Friends are not allowed complaints outside of the response period." "What? Why not?" "Because they do not have sufficient connection to the being in question."

Holy shit, they made HIPAA a character on Star Trek.

Think about it. My best friend can't go into the doctor's office and make decisions about my medical care if I'm unable to speak for myself. But my husband could.

Blue and Yellow might as well be documents you fill out when you show up in the waiting room. They're contractual, factual, literal, benevolent beings.

"You are each other's caregivers?" "No. Well, sort of." "This would answer a question we had. During the crash, the other being diverted shields away from himself to protect you." "He what?"

She finds out that he was willing to die to protect her. This is a huge shift for her. She had a malamute sticking up for her as a kid. A malamute, people! But now there's a man literally willing to die for her.

And he couldn't bear the thought of her dying, again. Rather than watch her die, he chose to increase her likelihood of survival, thus minimizing his.

When she was searching for last words, he was soaking in that last look at her knowing it might be the last thing he saw.

"What is your relationship to this being?" "I don't know." "Oh my God, Christine, come on!" "Seriously. You do know. Tell them." "Tell them what? I don't know what to say." "Tell them you like Spock, that you have feelings for him." "Are you so obtuse that you don't even see that?"

This is the line that broke me. Because Ortegas knows her. Erica has been through a lot with Christine, and knows how she handles relationships—poorly.

Also, Erica has a tendency to notice things before Christine—like the fact that Dever was going to become a problem for Christine's sensibilities.

So, I love that while Uhura is just as fed up with Christine's inability to put it into words (my husband beside me said, "It's now or never") with Spock's genetics on the line, it's Ortegas whose words strike me hardest.

Because Erica knows that Christine's not trying to be difficult. She's been hurt, before. She's afraid of relationships and love. She's tried so hard to follow her rules of dating. And with all that programming, it's difficult for her to realize what she's feeling.

"It's complicated." "Then make it simple. Because if you don't, he'll never be like how he was again."

Damnit. The future rests on Christine facing her feelings head-on. She soaks in Uhura's words, knowing they're true. If she can't convince the aliens that they have true connection, then she can't save Spock.

That means she has to tap into what she really feels. She has to acknowledge it. She has to allow herself to feel it.

But she can't do that with everybody watching.

She motions for Uhura and Ortegas to turn around, which they do with much eye-rolling. As much as Spock's dealing with the emotional maturity of a teenager, Christine's just as stunted, in some ways.

"Spock is..."

The emotions strike her before she can get out more than two words. Because, there's what he is... what he isn't... and what she wishes he could be in her life.

"He's my friend. And, maybe, sometimes, I wish that we had... more... connection."

She's reaching for the words the aliens use, trying to keep this controlled.

"But when you healed him, you changed him. You made him, um, easier to talk to. Someone who probably, um, understands my feelings a little better."

There it is. Her feelings. She's finally acknowledging her feelings. But in this heartbreaking realization of her feelings, she's admitting that Spock in his full self may never understand her feelings.

Restoring him to his former self means stripping his current understanding away. But it's the right thing to do. It's the right thing to restore Spock so he can live the life he was meant to—even if that means Chapel helps him complete his Engagement Dinner to another woman.

A tear slips out of Christine's right eye, and she wipes it away. And while I know these things are random, I can't help but smile to realize it's the same eye that Christine's tear fell from in TOS when Spock wiped it away.

"But, um it's not him. At least, it's not all of him because you took away the other part. A part I was connected to. And I miss him... as he was."

Connection. In the history of Starfleet and all our many stories within that world, connection is always emphasized. It doesn't have to be romantic. In Christine's case, she feels it never will be between her and Spock, no matter how she feels.

But they are still connected. Just as she's connected to everyone in her inner circle. As he is to his. They have found community and connection with one another.

And Christine was able to bring her thoughts back around to save Spock. Because their connection—no matter how deep or shallow it will become—will always be there.

"Mr. Spock. I have your vitamins."

Spock's, of course, grateful. Christine is alive and she beat the clock (barely... thanks, Pike, for the charades!). As he joins Christine in the bathroom, T'Pring watches them thoughtfully. She's had suspicions that something was going on, but I think this is when she's almost sure.

Not that she thinks these two are going to hook up in the bathroom, or anything, but that she's on the outside, yet again, with her own fiancé.

"Uh, the Vulcan genome should start coming back immediately, and physical changes may take a couple hours."

We know that Christine can rearrange and manipulate genetics temporarily, but Spock's body is about to go through a massive change. His arteries and internal organs are going to shift. His ears are going to grow back to their normal state. His blood's gonna shift from red to green.

I'm gonna take a wild guess that those Kherkovians put some heavy painkillers in that cocktail Christine's about to shove in his neck.

"I'm glad to see you're okay. I was worried about you."

This is completely consistent with character, except that he would not have vocalized it before. We know Spock worries about her. We know that he's relieved when she's okay. We've seen it.

"Why did you do it? On the shuttle, you moved the shields to save my life." "I... it was the logical choice. As a Vulcan, I had a higher likelihood of survival." "Just logical, huh?"

She normally wouldn't call him out like this, especially when she should be rushing to give him these meds so he can get into that Mindmeld. But she's raw, and she's hurting, and she's confused.

Her nerves are exposed and a part of her needs to understand if she's reading too much into the situation.

"Christine, I feel many things. It's confusing." "Yeah, I know. For me, too."

Welp, they're both confused. There's something.

They both look down, and I'm grasping for what motivated it. I'm guessing he took her hand, but we're in a shoulders-up shot, so we can't actually see what's happening.

I'm going to go with him taking her hand. It makes the most sense. And it's fucking bold of Spock.

"I have to tell you-"

Christine shuts him up with the hypospray. Because, if you're going to hear a love confession from someone you care about, you want it to be when they have all their faculties. If they're under the influence or inhibited somehow by something outside their control, it's hard to know what they really think and feel.

So, Christine stops him. But, from Spock's perspective, it feels almost like rejection.

"Get back out there. You have people waiting."

But he's frozen in place. Vulcan emotions are rushing back in, and they have to be compartmentalized and suppressed because he feels the pain of that rejection.

Christine walks out, instead, but she's hurting just as badly as he is. Because even if he said all the things she wanted to hear, it wouldn't have been him. She might have lost her only chance at hearing what she wants, but it was the right thing to do.

Spock Decides to Talk with Christine

I have to call this out because of where we last left these two—heartbroken. Spock was opening up to Christine about how he felt when she stuck a hypospray in his neck to shut him up.

She did it because she felt she had to—to restore Spock, that meant restoring him to the "honest man" who wouldn't pursue her while he had a "girlfriend".

For Spock, he had to endure that moment of all his suppressive abilities sliding back into place while simultaneously recognizing Christine pushing him away.

And yet, here he is, making the decision to go to her.

Now, let's be clear that this would not have happened if T'Pring had not said she wanted time apart. Spock has done everything that he can to stay away from Christine, to avoid what he feels for her, to suppress what he feels.

In a strange twist, T'Pring's actions have created a scenario similar to the one he just experienced—freedom from expectation.

Now, I've seen the "we were on a break" arguments, and I think it's up to Spock and T'Pring to define what that means for them. I can only hope there's Vulcan precedent to help guide them on what is (and isn't) acceptable during their time apart.

Because I hate cheating.

I've had friends who were cheated on, and it was the bloody worst. I don't like it in media. So, I'm hoping my assumptions are correct in that this is accepted within the constructs of Spock and T'Pring's separation.

Spock has been stewing on the events of the day and his mother's last words to him. Despite Christine pushing him away earlier, he makes the decision to seek her out. He needs to talk to her.

"I'm here."

The way she says this is so adorable. There's such optimism and openness in it before her more cynical nature kicks in to shut it down.

And why is she here? She's the one who walked away from him, before, but I like to think her own emotions and feelings are swirling inside to the point she can't think.

As she finally had to be honest about it with herself, she's sought out Spock to be honest with him. She doesn't expect anything from him.

But Erica once told Christine that she should spend her next relationship being more honest from the start. So, she's going to be honest.

"What were you coming to see me about?"

Spock wordlessly steps into his quarters, inviting her in. As he stops, he turns sharply over his left shoulder to face her.

In the hallway after Hemmer's wake, he turned over that shoulder, away from her. In Sickbay as she slumbered he turned over that shoulder, away from her. But today, he turned over that shoulder to face her.

He's no longer avoiding her, and his body language tells us before his words.

"That T'Pring and I decided to take some time apart." "And how do you feel about that?"

Christine, the queen that you are. This reminds me of their conversation at dinner, of their chat in the hallway, of every time she makes space for him and how he's feeling.

She doesn't make any assumptions about what he's saying. She leaves space for him to speak, even though we can see her initial reaction was elation.

She tamps that down to be sure she's reading the room correctly, and give Spock the opportunity to correct her initial assumption, if needed.

"I feel badly."

Christine nods, ready to be in friend-mode.

"But also, it was necessary. I am conflicted because I have feelings for someone else."

He said it. He fucking said it.

"A Vulcan with feelings?"

Classic Christine to deflect. But it's also a flirt. You can hear the smile in her voice as she says it, because she knows he has feelings.

She's the one who's talked to him about his emotions, wiped the bloody tear from his cheek. She knows that Spock has emotions, but it's so her to deflect a little in this moment.

Nearly losing her forced him to confront his feelings in 2x01. In 2x05, Christine faced losing Spock, and it similarly forced her to face what she'd been avoiding.

But she didn't imagine he'd feel the same way.

"We do have them. They are more powerful than human feelings which is why we suppress them."

Translation: My feelings for you are so strong, I had to suppress them.

He's explaining why he's been MIA. Suppressing this emotion has meant avoiding the cause of it. This isn't a messy table he can clean up and forget.

Yes, I've talked about love being messy before. And I have a feeling this is about to get very messy. But I hope it'll be fun along the way.

"I don't want to suppress this one any longer. I want to feel this."

The emphasis on want is incredible. And he's telling her without doubt that he is choosing them in this moment. He's choosing to embrace whatever this is, without allowing logic to dictate it.

Christine watches him, and this time it's words failing her. Her lower lip is trembling as she listens to him. It's too good to be true.

And I swear there's a smile in Ethan Peck's eyes when he says that last bit.

Christine's lack of response isn't because she doesn't share his emotions. We know that she does. But I posit she's told herself so much this was never going to happen that even as it's happening, she's struggling to believe it.

It reminds me of my response to my husband when he proposed. I literally said, "Are you kidding?"

Folks, he planned a four-hour scavenger hunt through multiple cities, calling friends in England and California, finding hidden notes, all to end in a black box theater he rented with a bloody light plot, dozen roses, and a poem he read to me.

After all of that, I was still convinced it would never happen. So, as he knelt before me, I fumbled to believe... even then.

"What did you come here f-"

His voice drops to a whisper. So intimate. So afraid to hope that she's there because she feels the same way. He got a hint of that when she gave him the hypospray, but it's not the same as confirmation.

Christine launches herself at him. Her hands grab his face, drawing him to her, but he already sees her coming. His eyes close before her lips meet his. Christine's take a little more time to close, and I like to think she was watching to see if he was into this.

Christine, honey. He's so into this.

As they kiss, the camera swoops around them, and I mourn the tightness of the shot. I've never been a fan of tight shots for kisses, to be fair. This is purely personal preference. I want to see the hands.

I have two communications degrees, and as an ambivert who was quite introverted in grade school, I spent a lot of time observing people.

I feel like the lack of hands takes away from how I can rate Spock's true engagement in this snog-fest... which might be the strangest sentences I've ever written in a Meta.

For any Rose/The Doctor fans, you must remember the clone they made of him and how they kissed, right? That kiss looked emotionless and cold filmed as a head-shot to me. I never believed Rose was into it.

But the behind-the-scenes where we could see the hands!? Hubba, hubba!

I really wanted to see Spock's hands to better gauge his interest and response. Especially after reading an interview with Ethan Peck about how he had to determine if Spock kisses a human differently than a Vulcan. I wanna see that in action!

Christine drops off tip-toes as the camera settles, and Spock moves with her, his lips still locked on hers. They're already moving as one.

But the part that guts me in the best way is the little kiss after they start to pull away.

Remember their first kiss on the Bridge? Of course, you do. Who could forget that!?

Welp, I didn't notice until long after I wrote my first Spapel Meta that Christine lingers momentarily after they part—as though she wants to go back in for more.

This time, they both have that same instinct. And this time, they actually get it. That little micro-kiss is one of the hottest things in this scene to me.

Why? Because it's a fulfillment of an unspoken want to have such intimacy that you can share something so small and have it mean just as much as the big, sweeping kiss before.

And as they share this moment, Christine's fingers trail down Spock's Vulcan ear. And while I doubt Vulcan ears are as sensitive as Ferengi, I'm sure that felt pretty damn good, too.

Because Christine accepts all of him. She doesn't have to tell him, "I'm okay with you being Vulcan" because it's not a matter of her trying to convince him. It's implied. It's understood. It's apparent via their interactions.

And during this episode, Christine showed it in how she fought for him to regain his Vulcan half—even at her own expense.

Think about it... Christine spends a lot of her time helping Spock with T'Pring. And even though there was a countdown clock to the diminishment of genetic plasticity—Spock's biggest concern was his engagement dinner with his fiancée.

Christine fought to restore him not for her, but for him. Yes, she is attracted to Spock in his fullness of self, but she recognizes that restoring him meant restoring him to the half-Vulcan who has been avoiding her for weeks.

To be here, now, with him is beyond her wildest hopes. She's tasted him once, but this time there is no pretense. This time, their attraction is so much deeper. This time, it's all real and honest and open.

Christine opens her eyes almost immediately, but Spock's remain closed as he revels in the feelings he's experiencing. He's soaking it in. This time, there's no awkwardness. Nobody's watching (besides, well, us).

And the fist time I listened to this moment with headphones on, my heart about stopped. It's. Their. Song. The same theme that played during their first kiss on the bridge is playing as they kiss, now.

Our doomed lovers have their own theme.

Christine looks to Spock with new desire, her hands finally free to touch him, her mind finally free to wander to the places she didn't dare. Girl is ready to go! Look at how she's taking him in, letting her fingers explore his skin.

And Spock's taking the logical role of hoping to define what this means.

"What does this mean?" "I don't know. Shut up."

His eyes close before her lips meet his as she pushes him away from the door and deeper into his quarters.

Spock and Chapel are gonna get some tonight!

And, did I see this coming at the beginning of the season? Honestly, no. I thought they'd sleep together at some point in the run of the show. But definitely didn't call it this early! Especially when we all know it's going to implode/explode/end in tears.

I'd be remiss if I didn't at least address the separate-yet-similar arcs of our two lovers. Both of them are on arcs of understanding themselves better, just in different ways.

Spock has been made fully human. This has always been a part of him, but not something he could even imagine experiencing. He had the opportunity to see life through human eyes, to feel human emotions, to smell like a human, and to better understand his own mother.

And major props to whichever character decided they should meet in Pike's quarters with Pike present so the smell of humans might be explainable, even with Vulcan suppressants helping.

But in his journey to navigate life as a human, he started to see his mother's journey. He saw all the pain she suppressed over the years to give him a life of joy. And I'm not saying that we, as mothers, should have to suffer for our children. But I know all good parents often make decisions that are to the betterment of our Little ones, even at our own expense.

Spock finally understood the sacrifices she made. It reframed his own quest to be "Vulcan enough". His mother was never Vulcan. Could never be Vulcan. And yet, so much of what is good in him came from her.

I think that's part of what gave him the emotional freedom to declare himself to Christine in that final scene—freeing himself from the expectations of others. He realized he could thrive without compromising who he is. It's something Angel—for all their flaws—was trying to teach him.

And being released from his obligation to T'Pring by T'Pring freed him up to go after Christine. Again, I'm really hopeful that in the framework of Vulcan culture this is not cheating. I don't like cheating. But, I do like Christine and Spock.

Christine's arc is similarly about defining herself. Somewhere in the mess of the past year, she's lost a bit of her trademark confidence. And I think the problem of trying to solve Spock's genome issues was especially disheartening.

If you're the expert who can't expertly do the one thing in which you're supposed to excel, how much of an expert are you?

The initial rejection of the fellowship deals yet another blow to her psyche on a bad day. But after embracing who she is—a badass scientist, a loyal friend, an innovator, and even a woman capable of romantic love—she enters her second interview more confident in herself.

And I want to be clear that loving Spock doesn't make her who she is. But it's a part of her. It's a part of her she was denying and avoiding.

By releasing the burden she'd been carrying, she freed herself up to so many other things, including regaining her confidence in he prowess in her field. She's a badass. And now she's remembered that.

When they come together in that final scene, they've both been on journeys of self-discovery in their own ways.

Christine remembered that she was born to stand out in the best way, that she is capable and strong, but that she can also be vulnerable.

Spock learned what it is to be truly human, and finally understood the sacrifices his mother made for him.

And they were both surrounded by the love of their shipmates. In an episode all about connection, we witnessed so many different kinds: Familial. Friendship. Romantic.

Connection is more than tonsil hockey, despite what some media might say. Connection is when two hearts meet and feel kinship. That is what both Spock and Christine have found on Enterprise—with each other, and with their beautiful friends.

The over-arching theme of Season 2 thus far seems to be, "Who am I?" You can see it in different characters in every episode so far. It's a universal question—one that so many of us ask of ourselves at many points in our lives.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading! I hope you know that you are beautiful, have intrinsic value, and matter more than you know. May the next morning bring light and love into your life like never before. See you on the next.

#Star Trek: Strange New Worlds #Strange New Worlds #Spapel #Spock #Chapel #Ethan Peck #Jess Bush #Star Trek SNW #ST SNW #Meta #Christine Chapel #Nurse Chapel

[darknight3904]

Library Talks

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Asgard 2011 

Loki couldn't tell what Astri was thinking as the week flew by. He was kept busy with different kingly duties, primarily meetings and at one point he imparted his blessing on a noble family's newest child. His free time was divided between Astri and his mother. Frigga had only left Odin's side to bathe and change her clothes while Astri was spending most of her time as far away from the throne room as possible. He could tell she was uncomfortable talking to him whenever he was on the throne so they hadn't seen each other since their moment in the weapons vault.

He had spent much of his time today plotting. He wanted to be rid of Odin permanently. Thor was already out of the picture. Loki had visited him once on Earth and given him the news that their father had "passed". Thor's face indicated that he was distraught but, Loki only saw the emotion show when he lied about their mother's feelings towards Thor. His next step to being on the throne was rather simple. Laufey had agreed to kill Odin, of course, he had he hated the old man as much as Loki did. Now, all Loki had to do was follow all the way through with his plan, and Joutunheim and his true parentage would be gone for good. Then, he could truly be worthy. That was truly what he wanted. He wanted to feel less alone and more worthwhile. Most of all, he wanted to be someone Astri could be proud of growing up with. Tomorrow his plans would be set in motion and when they finished he'd finally be Thor's equal, someone worthy of his station in life. 

He had initially sworn he wouldn't visit Astri until after he was someone she'd be proud of but after his final council meeting his legs carried him to her. From his spot in the doorway of the library, she could see her. Her long hair was free-flowing and shone as the sun streamed into the room. He smiled when her nose scrunched slightly, the book on the desk in front of her the cause. 

   "What are you reading?" He asked taking the seat beside her 

   "Some of the the Kree's history. It's rather violent." Astri said shutting the book.  

Loki nodded slowly. Maybe coming here wasn't a good idea. Astri didn't seem exactly thrilled to see him in fact, she seemed rather tired and maybe a bit stressed.

   "How was ruling Asgard today?" She asked

   "It was fine. It would have been better if you had eaten lunch with me the way you normally do." He said 

   "I was busy," Astri mumbled 

   "With what? Reading your life away in this stuffy room?" He questioned, angered by her response 

   "Why does it even matter to you what I do with my time? You should be busy giving orders and kissing babies." Astri said 

   "It matters because we have spent the last thousand years together and all of a sudden you decide I am no longer worth your time because I have a new position. If anything you should be glad for me, celebrating that I am on the throne instead of that oaf." Loki spat 

   "God it's always about Thor!" Astri exclaimed springing from her chair and beginning to walk to the door 

   "It is not always about Thor." Loki said, blocking her escape route "I just...want..." 

   "What do you want Loki?" She asked avoiding his eyes. 

He thought about telling her his plans to get rid of the Joutuns about how he had lied to Thor about Odin. But then he thought about how she'd react. Her love for Thor would outweigh her love for him and he'd be met with nothing but judgment. 

   "Fine. Don't tell me anything. You never do anyway." Astri said before slamming the door in his face. 

Loki was left in the library just like that, alone and in deafening silence. In his mind, whatever reservations he had about his plans for tomorrow melted away as Astri ran away from him and his ideals. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

That night, Astri's dreams were particularly vivid. Maybe it was her fight with Loki or the fact that she missed Thor and his bad jokes and infinite appetite for ale but she found herself dreaming of her past. 

Asgard 2001 

The party had lasted long, even by Asgardian standards. Astri swore, Thor and Volstagg couldn't get any drunker as she snuck away from the hall. She had been invited to drink some more with them but she feared that if one more thing went into her stomach she'd explode. The night air of the gardens was perfectly refreshing as she walked and admired the flowers that were in bloom. 

   "Too much time with Thor?" a voice asked 

Astri turned to see Loki standing behind her, his usual armor was gone and he was in a much more comfortable version of his usual attire. 

   "Something like that." Astri smiled 

   "I'm glad you're here," Loki said falling into step with her 

   "Of course you are. I'm great." Astri bragged, laughing when Loki cast her a sideways glance. 

   "Anyway...I'm glad you're here because I've been wanting to give this to you." Loki said, his palm glowing suddenly and a silver necklace with soft green stones appeared. 

   "I saw this on Thor and I's trip to Xandar. I thought it would suit you nicely."Loki said holding it so the moonlight glinted off the stones. 

   "It's beautiful." Astri breathed 

   "Turn. I want to see it on you." Loki said 

The coolness of the metal was a stark contrast to her face which was going red as Loki fastened the necklace on her. Her hair was brushed slightly by his fingertips as the silver shone in the moonlight. 

   "There," Loki said proudly 

Astri turned back to him awaiting his opinion. 

   "It is perfect. I knew I had a good eye." He smiled  straightening the necklace 

   "Thank you, Loki. I love it." Astri said bringing him into a warm hug. 

Astri woke up, her ceiling stared back at her as she wrapped her fingers around the necklace that sat on her. She only removed it when she bathed, it was one of the few things she had that she truly treasured and Loki had given it to her. She wished she could time travel back to that moment to see the Loki she had grown up with not the one who was sitting on the throne now. She wished Loki would understand that she didn't want the king of Asgard. She just wanted him. Loki as he was before his ambitions truly got the better of him. 

Hello everyone Sorry this update is later than I had expected. I recently moved houses so things are crazy since there's stuff all over our new place. This chapter is a little short since I was preoccupied with the move. I promise to get back to better-quality chapters asap. 

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