#(is that how you spell that. is there another a?)

[gonkaccino]

hey hey another thing. Everyone noticed how subdued movie Elphaba is relative to book/musical Elphaba, right? Book Elphaba's whole thing is being loudly independent and making her own bold choices (then getting [metaphorically] pushed down 5 flights of stairs for having the gall to exist). Musical Elphaba is less of a reddit atheist than her book counterpart, but still plenty abrasive and, ultimately, forges her own path (with its own relatively less tragic consequences).

Movie Elphaba? She doesn't choose to go to Shiz. Her father's planning on keeping her tucked away in their family home until the day she dies, where she can't hurt anyone or further embarrass the Thropp name. Morrible's the one who gets her enrolled, fully aware that Elphaba has no choice if she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life stuck at home, only ever leaving to accompany Nessa. This Elphaba doesn't choose to go to school, she doesn't choose to go to the Emerald City, and, really, she doesn't even choose to defy gravity -- there is no alternative, she can't live if she stays with the Wizard, especially not after Morrible's preemptive announcement of her wickedness. Movie Elphaba's trapped by her destiny, walking the path laid out for her. With one crucial exception, of course: Glinda, baby, that's right, the only thing this Elphie's ever chosen for herself, the only thing she's been allowed to choose, is to have Glinda at her side!

This softer, more noticeably scared Elphaba creates the extremely juicy dynamic of visibly relying on Glinda for support. As soon as they become pals, Elphaba's latched onto her, the only person who isn't scared of her magic, the first person to care for Elphaba's well-being. She chooses to befriend Glinda, she chooses to bring Glinda to the Emerald City, she chooses to ask Glinda to defy gravity with her. This is what makes this version of Defying Gravity so delicious: Elphaba's never truly believed in herself! The only reason she ever started was because Glinda was there to encourage her, and now, at this crucial moment, this Elphaba, who has lived her life so terrified of the harm she could cause others, has the confidence to not only risk her own life with a spell she's never tried, but the life of her one and only friend!

And Glinda refuses! And it's totally understandable now! Of course this Glinda would say no -- she's not scared of what could happen to her, she's scared of what will happen to Elphie, and standing there, she gets it. She understands the role she's played in Elphaba's life. Glinda knows Elphaba wouldn't be there, ready to declare war on the Wizard, if Glinda hadn't been by her side the entire time, and she has to refuse. She has to. Elphaba's request isn't come with me, we're stronger together, it's I can't do this without you, I'm not strong enough, and Glinda KNOWS that's not true. The only way she can express this is by sending Elphie off on her own, to straighten her hat and wish her luck. It's the only way Elphie will take flight and finally realize that she's got the power to do anything she wants, if she just tries.

[dindjarindiaries]

Clueless

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “Are you flirting with me?” “Have been for years, but thanks for noticing.”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You tapped around the usual controls you could reach from the chair behind Din's as the cockpit of the Razor Crest groaned to life around you. "How's the hyperdrive looking?"

Din kept moving his gloved hands along the main console as he answered. "It's online." He gave his helmet a quick tilt as he pushed one more button above his head. "For now."

Din exhaled a heavy breath and wrapped his hands around the joysticks, giving them a squeeze before he maneuvered the gunship off the ground. The breath you let out was one of relief; the two of you had certainly been trapped on worse planets before, but you were glad to see the sight of it fading below you.

"Glad you're confident in your work." You failed to hide your growing smile as you relaxed and let Din take care of the rest.

"This isn't a confidence problem." Din spared a look at you over his shoulder before he lifted his hands to grasp the hyperspace levers. "The Crest just manages to surprise me from time to time."

With that, Din pulled back, and the stars stretched out before you. They then burst into the familiar plethora of blue and white swirling lights, beginning yet another long journey through hyperspace.

Hopefully one that you wouldn't get forcefully pulled out of. Again.

But you were still stuck on what Din had said: This isn't a confidence problem. That drew a pleased hum from you, one that you didn't bother to keep hidden from him. It wasn't like he'd get it, anyway. Not if he hadn't the other countless times you'd done it.

"I like that."

Din, now leaning back in his chair, swiveled in his seat to face you. His helmet was tilted in genuine confusion. "Like what?"

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you instead gestured to him with your chin. "The confidence."

Din shrugged. "Comes from experience."

You smirked and kept your arms crossed over your chest. "I'd like to see what kind of experience."

Din didn't move, but his tone spelled out all the confusion you likely would have seen on his face if it wasn't covered by his helmet. "Was getting pulled out of hyperspace hours ago not enough experience for you?"

That time, you really did let yourself roll your eyes as you laughed and stood to your feet. Honestly, the tally of your advances versus Din's own cluelessness was getting difficult to keep track of. "Fair point."

You stepped over to Din and set a hand on his armored shoulder.

"It's been a long day. I'd say it's time for some beauty sleep, but you've already got the first part covered." You gave his pauldron a squeeze and turned around. "And no, rest isn't an option this time."

You could only get a few steps away, however, when you suddenly heard Din stand up behind you. "Wait."

You froze in place and looked at him over your shoulder, lifting your brow as you awaited him to retaliate with some kind of meaningless yet humorous joke.

Instead, you saw him nervously shifting his weight between his feet. Even his gloved hands were pulling tight into fists before he asked a question you never thought you'd hear.

"Are you flirting with me?"

As surprised as you were to hear the words, you didn't miss a beat with your response. "Have been for years, but thanks for noticing." You flashed him a wink and started walking forward again, letting your sudden adrenaline carry you. "See you in a few hours."

You had only just started to cross the cockpit's threshold when Din found his voice again. "What?"

You laughed to yourself but didn't stop your stride as you stepped over the ladder towards the storage space you had claimed as your own private bunk. The door slid open for you, but before it could close, something—or someone—stood in the way.

"Hold on."

Din sounded out of breath, and when you turned around, you saw him leaning against the metal material of the storage room's threshold. His body was still rigid, the same way it looked when he was preparing to leap into battle.

"You can't just... after you..." Din gestured absently behind himself, to the open cockpit.

You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest again as you fully faced him. "I know this incredibly obvious revelation is somehow news to you, but it's not to me, and I'd really like to get some sleep."

Din just shook his helmet in pure disbelief. His modulated voice was lower than usual when he spoke again. "All this time?"

You huffed and looked down at your boots. "What did you think I was doing?"

Din's tone with thick with embarrassment. "Being nice."

You laughed again. You couldn't help it. "Of course you did." You reached forward and tapped your knuckles against his helmet. "Your skull must be as thick as your beskar."

You stood back where you were before and watched Din carefully. His visor was focused on the floor, and his gloved fingertips were fluttering thoughtfully on the hand he had propped up by his head.

You closed your eyes and sighed. His cluelessness was even worse than you thought it was.

"Listen, Din, you clearly need some rest. Just... go to sleep and we can talk about this later. Okay?"

Din's helmet snapped back up to you at that. "No. I'm sorry, let me just..."

He leaned off the threshold but continued to stand in it, keeping the door open for himself. His gloved hand palmed his helmet as his chest rose and fell with a frustrated breath.

"Kriff."

You chuckled and shook your head at him. "Din, it's really not that big of a deal."

Din stared at you before his armored shoulders deflated. "It isn't?"

You let out a softer breath as your chest squeezed. "I didn't mean..." Now you were the one palming your face. "Not like that. I just meant that I'm not offended or anything."

Din tilted his helmet. "Offended by what?"

You shrugged, too overcome by your newfound embarrassment to look at him as your stare returned to your boots. "You not reciprocating."

Din let out a sigh so heavy that you had no choice but to look up at him again. He had changed his position so that his hands were set on his hips as he shook his helmet.

"That's the thing." His visor found your gaze before he nodded. "I've been trying to."

Now, it was really your turn to be shocked. You blinked at him a few times as your heart somersaulted in your chest. All this time, you thought your flirting was just a vain effort to get the attention of a man who would never be open to you or what you had to offer. You were starting to wonder if you had somehow managed to miss something.

You found your voice, but it was only a squeak. "What?"

Din gestured with a gloved hand behind you. "I'm not good with words, so I tried to do things. Like helping you set up this room. And cleaning your weapons." The next part was a mumble you nearly missed. "And making you that blanket."

You whipped around, spotting the blanket—your favorite, by the way—that had just shown up one day on your makeshift bunk. You huffed in disbelief and turned back around to face him. "That was you?"

"Who else?"

It was Din's turn to laugh, though it was only a raspy chuckle for him. He even turned your own question back on you.

"What did you think I was doing?"

And your answer was nothing different. "Being nice."

Din let out the biggest sigh you'd ever heard from him, and you couldn't even blame him.

Oh, the irony of it all. Maybe you were actually the clueless one.

"So..." You clasped your hands behind your back and rocked on your heels. " What now?"

Din shrugged. "Hell if I know." He gestured with his helmet behind him. "I think I just proved I'm not the most qualified in this area."

You spared another glance at the blanket. "Clearly, I'm not much better."

Din looked off to the side the way he always did when he was planning something. After a few heartbeats, he nodded to himself and looked at you again. "I might have an idea."

You lifted your brow. "Yeah?"

Din nodded again. "We should switch."

"Switch what?"

Din shifted his weight and used his finger to gesture between the two of you. "Techniques?" The suggestion came out as a question. "I'll try words, and you try actions."

You hummed in consideration before ultimately nodding. "Okay, yeah. I like that idea." You smirked at him. "You first."

Din, for once in his life, stammered. "What? I—Well, I can't just..."

"You can." You took a step closer to him. "You have something to say to me. I know you do."

It was then that something overcame Din, and you could see it in the way his posture relaxed into something much more familiar and comfortable. His visor gave you a steady once-over as he took a smaller step closer to you.

"I have a lot of things I want to say to you."

You let yourself embrace the flustered feeling even as you let out an impressed whistle. "That was good, Djarin! You're learning." You gave his armored shoulder a pat.

Din gave his helmet a soft tilt. "Your turn."

You grinned, letting your hand fall from his shoulder to instead grasp his arm. You other hand rose to meet it, and gently, you pulled him further into the room, causing the door to slide shut behind him. Din looked back at it in surprise, but when he looked at you again, he didn't seem displeased.

"I'm offering you my bunk." You gestured back towards it. "Because I want you here, but also because I don't want you sleeping on that sorry excuse for a bed down in the hold anymore."

Din chuckled at that, the sound thick with both amusement and admiration as he nodded. "Fair enough."

You helped him get settled into the bunk with you, draping the blanket he had apparently made over both of you as the final touch. Your face was the closest it had ever been to his visor as you laid beside him. Surprisingly, he was the one to break the brief silence.

"This is a good start."

You smiled, humming once more before getting close enough to rest your face against his cowl. "I agree."

The gloved hand you felt on your back was enough evidence of the fact that he was just as comfortable, now, and not as clueless as you had thought him to be.

[strixcattus]

Gosh Darn Kids and their Gosh Darn Summoning Spells

You are an apprentice wizard who has just learned how to cast Summoning. Not well, mind, but you do know how to cast it.

Players have two kinds of actions: Free Actions and Summoning. Free Actions are things a normal human can do without any special powers or training, and with the mundane objects they have on hand. These actions always succeed, unless they are opposed (by a rival wizard, a special lock, a big frog, etc.), in which case they always fail.

Summoning costs one Summon. Players start with ten Summons, which are recharged each scene. For each Summon, open a random Wikipedia article. This is the thing that you summon. If you don’t want to summon it, you may spend another Summon to reroll until you either run out of Summons or give up. Actions involving Summoning always succeed, as long as most players agree they make sense. Debate on whether something "makes sense" is encouraged.

One person (a dedicated GM or a player who sits out the scene) sets the scene and describes the obstacles and NPCs. Play until the scene’s conflict is resolved or everyone is out of Summons and ideas, then start a new scene.

Again, exactly 200 words sans title. I feel like this has been done before, possibly better... but it's funny, so. No idea if ten is a good number of Summons or not.

Permission granted to archive offsite.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Thanks for Giving Your Body

"You really should've joined us to Miami rather than seeking for your family's acceptance this Thanksgiving. Damian really got a trick on his sleeve,"

Johnny read the chat from Rick with his eyebrow furrowed. What the fuck was that chat all about? Suddenly, another message slides in, this time it's a picture, and Johnny's eyes instantly goes incredibly wide

"WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT SITE DID DAMIAN SHOWN TO YOU GUYS THAT HAS COACH COMBS BUTT-NAKED PICTURE?"

"Duh, are you purposefully being dumb or what? It's me dummy, we met Coach Combs on the beach and I slid into his fit hairy body. This is Damian and Lee now by the way, they met quite a hottie older friendship duo that they just turned gay for each other after one swift possession,"

Johnny's hand trembled in surprise. Is this for real? Fuck, he really should've ditched his family's Thanksgiving and just jet himself away with his fellas to Miami instead. His dick strained his short grey pants as he replayed the hint that Damian dropped about the spell he found online. But then his ear caught the voice of his most-awaited uncle downstairs and seemingly just arrived after his 8 hours drive from the other state and Johnny's eyes suddenly twinkled a rather mischievous smile

"Tell Damian to share the spell to me ASAP. I think I have just the plan and I will come join you three during the weekend,"

"No need, I have it in my notebook. Here, read the pics I just sent you,"

Johnny grinned and then quickly recited the spell. As his body instantly went limp, Johnny's astral form quickly dashed through the wooden floor and descended to the en-suite bathroom inside the bedroom designated for his Uncle Louis. As expected, the fit hunk instantly stripped himself for a shower as he has this habit of instantly showering upon arriving at his residences after every travel, and Johnny takes that isolation as a chance.

The studly man is all alone inside his bedroom with the door locked so Johnny knows no one will disturb this process. As his uncle undressed himself fully and started to round the towel around his waist, looking shredded as fuck yet a bit fatigued, that's when Johnny slides in smoothly with no resistance whatsoever into his uncle's physique. The invasion caused the massive stud to tremble a bit as Johnny's invading soul pressed and locked his own uncle's soul away into his own unconsciousness and mere seconds later, "Uncle Louis" is back to normal

"Happy Thanksgiving, Uncle Louis. Thanks for giving me access to this body so easily," he said with a smirk to the mirror as he then sniffed a rather peculiar smell wafting from his now massive body. Johnny then quickly raised his pit and grinned like a maniac as he then lick and huff his uncle's almost hairless yet sweaty pits as he found the source of the musky deliciousness that surrounded him.

"Hmmmm......8 hours of just driving inside an air-conditioned car yet you smelled this good? Fuck....imagine a 1 hour intense workout,"

Johnny then take it one step further as his mind raced with all sorts of scenario, hands rubbing the towel that covered his uncle's hard-on

"Oh how I wish my sweet otter of a gay nephew can come to my room and massaged my sore body after that lonely and tiring drive before I fuck his ass.....Oh dear God, wow, from where is this kind of thinking cumming? I'm such a perverted stud, ughhhh I really can use a warm hole to breed,"

He laughed a bit hearing his own uncle speaking like that and the reflection captured all sorts of the depravity he enacted using his uncle's body, but then he stared at the mirror with a serious gaze

"But I think he's sleeping now, because if he's awake, he will be coming down the stairs upon hearing my voice just like last Christmas, or even last year's Fourth of July when he went by my cabin. Heck, I was so oblivious that the gay nerd has a crush on me all this time! That long hug everytime we met or we have to separate to our own way, the way he always wanted to be in my car with me everytime the whole families went out, that queer wanted me to fuck his ass bad! Well you know what, maybe I should then fulfill his wish, fuck showering, I'll make his ass come down to my room so I can fuck him here, this is the only room with soundproof wall after all,"

He grabbed his uncle's phone and took a couple selfie of the massive stud and Airdrop it to his phone before eventually ejecting himself out from the body. Upon returning to his own body, he quickly send a picture to Rick

"Spare a room for this stud and don't get out yet, he'll come by on the weekend. But first, he's been driving all the way to fuck some sweet ass of his nephew on Thanksgiving, so please stay there until this weekend,"

Happy Thanksgiving week, folks! Rather than scouring the stores for Black Friday promos, why not thank yourselves for surviving this year with a good body to possess, control or shapeshift into?

[naffeclipse]

Bloody Mess

Reader x Sebastian Solace

Commission Info

I'm rattling @o-cinnamonstickz so hard right now for requesting Sebastian with an injured reader! This is my jam, and I'm eating it up! The hot fish continues to plague us both. After an unfortunate turret encounter, the reader requires serious medical attention. It's a good thing Sebastian's shop isn't too far. A medkit or a helping hand could do the trick.

Content Warnings: Injury, blood, and stitches.

———

You hobble down the hallway with a hand pressed to your side. Sanguine oozes between your fingers, shining in the harsh light of the Hadal Blacksite. Every breath draws out a searing shot through your ribs. Every exhale teases your vision with blots of black. 

A mindless urge draws you forward. The room spins and dips as if rocked by waves. Another ribbon of agony cuts deep through your side, lacing through your rib cage and back to the bloody hole taking up your jumpsuit. Dark crimson freely soaks into the fabric. 

Turrets. Why did it have to be turrets in the other room?

You heard the mechanical whir as it trained its barrel on you, the red dot marking its target. The split moment you had to run and escape the line of sight was followed by several ear-drum-shattering discharges. 

The soft metallic fall of shell casings echoed like the drizzle of rain. 

Lacking a medkit on hand, you do, however, have dozens of flash drives and a few thick documents tucked into the pocket opposite your wound. What little good it does you now.

You stumble, almost dropping to your knees but you grit your teeth. A locker brushes your shoulder as you titter dangerously close to collapse. Your hand clenches over your slick and hot injury, wondering how much blood loss is too much. 

If you go down now, you’re not getting back up.

You attempt to push your hair out of your face but only succeed in smearing blood along your temple. Growling quietly, you endure another searing strike. It radiates through your torso as if the bullet had a fine time ping-ponging off of your internal organs.

The tremors working down your limbs spell an inevitable outcome. You force yourself to straighten. A dollop of blood falls to the floor by your feet and you stare down at the splatter for a moment too long.

You are not expected to return. The sharp and constant legal print pierces you with a narrow-straight tip.

A loud, high-pitched sound echoes distantly. Your heart stalls, caught between reserves of adrenaline and what pulsing fear assaults your waning consciousness. 

Pinkie.

The screaming grows. Surging with the last of your strength, you drop your hand from your bleeding side. One step after the other, you throw yourself into forward momentum, fueled only by the absolute terror locked in your veins. Your boot almost catches on your other in your dizzying dash.

Your eyes land upon a vent. The opening emits a light and muscle memory takes hold. 

The wail climbs until a ringing in your eardrums. The world whirls between red and gray and pink. Throwing yourself to the floor, you dive headfirst into the ventilation shaft. Knocking your injured side, a wretched gasp leaves you as stars burst across your vision. Pain roars and gouges at your bullet wound in time with Pinkie’s scream. The lockers lining the hall rattle with the angler fish's force before you scramble the last of the distance into Sebastian’s shop.

Dropping to the cold, gray floor, you sprawl out much in the way a chalk outline of a murder victim would be drawn. The pain rolls over you, pushing you deeper and deeper down. The heat of fresh blood spills over your side and onto the floor, freely flowing into a slowly expanding puddle. Your lungs heave to catch your breath. The darkness spreading around your vision threatens to take you completely under.

You can’t pay the ferryman again. There are only so many coins you can find in this abysmal place. Your life is worth only how much jingles in your pocket, and you’re starting to become dirt cheap. 

A deep snort echoes. Using the last of your strength, you turn your head to the one responsible for the sound, and glower.

Sebastian Solace stands tall in the corner of his shop. His anglerfish lure brightens the gray and gloom with a warm flare. His hands clasped together in front of him. His third waves his claws in a flippant greeting.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not much safer here with me.” He surveys you, his teal eyes glowing sharp. They upturn with equal disgust and amusement. “Nice diving technique. Ten outta ten.”

If it were any other moment, you would be roiling with anger and offer a rebuttal of preparing him to be made into a fillet. Furious, you have no energy to give to his usual taunts and threats. 

The floor is the most gracious safe haven you have known. The hot spread of blood along your ribcage continues to grow. Deep gulps fill you, but every motion of taking in air tears at the pain digging between your ribs. Silently, you lie in your own crimson.

A mighty shift of Sebastian’s tail slips along the wall. He peers closer, his third eye crinkling while he regards you like a toad that happened to get run over in the street. Repulsion sweeps across his features.

“You’re bleeding in my shop,” he growls low in his throat. “Do you mind?”

Exhaustion clings heavy to your skull. The weight of your eyelids grows tenfold. The wound racks your body until a groan threatens to slip past your lips. 

A scoff of abhorrence leaves him. The heavy thump of a trail begins to drag over the floor. The light shifts, and you stare upwards. Sebastian looms over you, his hands pressing in on either side of you, carefully avoiding the pool of blood your body is making on the floor of his shop.

Good. If nothing else, he’ll remember you by the stains you left behind. You’ll win by being the final nuisance. Hah.

You tense with a tsunami-level crash of agony against your nerves. Everything burns every last sensation. The heat and sear go on endlessly through your bones and along your flesh. 

“Hey, are you going to buy a medkit and fix up the mess you’re making?” his voice comes from far away and all too close as if your head is submerged in water. The tip of a large finger prods at your jumpsuit. “You’re making me hungry.”

Your fuzzy brain finds it funny how the anglerfish lure upon his head douses him in a halo-like glow. As if he’s anything less than a devilish fish coming to torment you in your personal purgatory. 

Not that even angelic light could wash out his disgust with you. 

You try to speak. A faint moan trickles from your lips, “You’re… not gonna… eat me.”

A chuckle echoes, raspy and mischievous. The urge to smack him sends tingles down your hand, but no strength.

“You’re looking pretty tasty.” Sebastian, however, grunts a noise of aversion. 

If you had the strength to laugh derisively, you would.

Flukes swish just in the corner of your dark vision. 

“What happened?” Sebastians’ gaze turns downward. You become aware of more hands roaming your jumpsuit. A large, slick palm presses to your wound. The pressure ignites every pain factor you thought might have settled with rest, and you flail fruitlessly before weakness pins you in place.

“Turret,” you utter, barely coherent. 

“Idiot.” He rolls his tongue. “Should I put you out of your misery? I will charge you for the bullet.”

You groan again. Your hands, slick with red and cold, try reaching for the arms moving you from the floor. 

“Bite… me,” you utter. Your head grows heavy with fog. The fish merchant falls farther away from you as your vision becomes long tunnels.

Light touches you. Warm and yellow, then teal of an unnatural glow. 

“On second thought,” Sebastian declares mockingly, “shooting you would make a bigger mess. I have a well-reputed establishment to run.”

The gurgles of disagreement flowing from you are met with a dismissive wave of claws. His hands, however, fall underneath you. Keeping away from the gaping hole in your body, he secures you in his grasp. In a haze of agony, you float, lighter than air as Sebastian lifts you off the floor. 

“This costs extra,” he mutters.

Your fingers weakly slip off of his arms. The argument in your mouth stays behind your teeth as you watch the shop bleed into grays and slants of light. The blots of warm yellow grow bigger and bigger until darkness inflicts the center. Then, all you understand is a black hole eating all.

Consciousness is fickle. It visits you only to slip out the door just when you think you are now well acquainted.

You hear movement, heavy and slow. The briefest breaths. You even feel a sigh against your temple as someone rubs away dry blood from your face.

Occasionally, you hear yourself. Pained moans fill the room like the hauntings of a ghost. An answering voice shushes you gently. You’re being too loud. Someone thinks so, anyway.

The hands upon your body never leave. They shift, lifting away from the injury that has sent you on this downward spiral into a black nightmare or drawing over your rib cage to secure something tight around you.

Two small pills are pressed to your lips. A voice urges you to be good and take it. You struggle, your eyelids too heavy as if drizzled in sticky sap to open, but your defiance is useless. Claw-tipped fingers clamp your nostrils shut. The immediate need for air answers, and someone shoves the medicine into your open mouth. Despite your incoherent panic, you swallow and gasp.

In a blissful immersion of relief, whatever it was takes hold. You dream of blood and Pinkie’s screaming face, intermingling into one, brightly hued nightmare. Then a void takes its place, and you drift endlessly in a dark sea.

For one brief moment, you truly wake.

Your eyes hardly open. Peering between your eyelashes, you find the light. The warm glow of Sebastian’s anglerfish lure, and his eyes. The teal pierces the darkness beyond where he and you are. He’s bowed low, tucked close to your torso. You lie flat on a cool surface. 

In half-consciousness, you find where his hands touch your side, prodding delicately with a thread and needle at your torn-apart flesh. You don’t feel a thing. Most of the blood is cleared away with an ever-attentive third hand clutching a rag now smeared in crimson. His gaze locks onto your bullet wound. A few mutters fall from his mouth. Curses, you think, for you.

Why would he bother with this charade? He should have left you to die for the simple fact of bleeding all over his shop.

You can come back. You’ve done it before: died, that is. You have been torn apart and chewed up and drowned. Each time didn’t take anything less than a ferryman coin. But each time, you awoke with a dread deep in your chest and a heaviness in your middle.

Does death linger? Sebastian didn’t say either way, but he frowned when you did manage to reach his shop again, and you mentioned how wrong it feels to remember dying.

This must be another dream. Strange but not so horrifying, if not a touch too raw for your heart.

Whatever exhaustion holds you down is back once again, and you slip away without a sound.

The next time your eyelids flutter open, you’re strangely still in Sebastian’s shop. You are curled into the coil of his tail, leaning on your uninjured side. The smooth, blue-gray scales touch you with a warmth you didn’t think the experimented fish guy was capable of giving.

Groggy and slow, you come to in the soft light. You squint up at the shopkeeper. He casually flips through a document, but a flick of his finned ear gives away his awareness of you. A low hum rolls in his chest. The faintest vibrations slip down his serpentine body and touch you. 

A needy want infiltrates you. How long could you stay here, pretending to rest? Maybe it’s not safe here, but it’s safer. You could sleep for a few more minutes.

The dull ache in your side gradually sharpens to a piercing, acute point. Less so than before. It's more contained, and less frightening to feel the hole in your side.

Slowly, you draw your hand down to your jumpsuit. To your amazement, your jumpsuit is still bloody and torn through with a bullet, but through the hole in the fabric is a white bandage. Your fingers roam in a crawl. Bandages wrap over your chest, concentrating on a thick wad pressed directly against your wound. 

You turn a squinted gaze upon Sebastian. He lowers the document with a huff. Faintly, you can smell iron and a strange cleaner. A disinfectant maybe. A glance down to the floor where you previously laid and let your blood spill everywhere is now spotless. 

“Welcome back,” Sebastian cocks his head in your direction. Teal eyes search your expression in a lingering look. “I thought you would never wake up. The sweet sound of your insults was beginning to fade in my memory.”

Your answering groan is all you can give. Stretching your arms slowly and wiggling your toes, you realize you are, in fact, alive. 

And not one ferryman coin is lost from your pocket. A strange concoction of relief and confusion pools into your middle.

Sebastian’s third arm unfurls its claws. The bandages wrapped around the appendage are fresh and less bloody. You suppose he must know a thing or two about medical procedures.

“What did you do?” you ask, less accusatory than perhaps you intended, but all the same, curious. 

“Let’s not worry your pretty head about what I did,” Sebastian growls low. A warning sits in between his teeth. “Next time, don’t get shot.”

You glare up at him. “Not even gonna charge me, huh?”

A wicked grin crosses his mouth, set like a shark about to catch a minnow in its mouth. You stiffen, then cringe at the slight pain. You look down to find a medkit tucked into the waistband of your jumpsuit. Interesting. You haven’t bought one recently. There must be a painkiller or two in there, right? You’re starting to mercilessly spin with pain. 

Popping open the lid, you find just what you hoped for—worth far more than buried treasure. You quickly pop two pills into your mouth and swallow them dry. The weight of Sebastian’s eyes is inescapable. He follows the gulp down your throat.

“Unless you're going to buy anything else, you should get going, sweetheart. Shop’s closed.” His flukes slowly slip along the floor, unwinding his tail from where it keeps you secure in his grasp.

“Right.” A weariness clings to your edges, but your mind is aware. How long have you been resting?

Before you can truly pick yourself off the ground, Sebastian uses the flat of his flukes to scoot you across the floor and into the vent—all without aggravating your bandaged wound.

You don’t offer resistance, too bewildered by how he all but tosses you out. You scurry through the vent and out into the hallway. For one moment, almost breathlessly, you smile smugly.

What a soft-hearted bastard.

You straighten and take a step down the hallway, patting your pockets. Perhaps you’ll give him a few extra documents as a thank you—

But your pockets are empty, and your documents and every single last USB drive are gone.

[ghouljams]

Ceo!price is driving me nuts so I'm sorry I'm brain dumping rn please forgive me

How about another CEO offers reader a job? A higher paying job with a much better work load by some dream come true. Maybe Price found out about this offer for spice reasons. (Heheh)

Does Price finally pull his head out of his ass? Does he threaten the other CEO? The petty bastard would probably cut all business deals with the other man. Maybe he uses his giant brain to "charm" reader. Which includes a mass amount of gifts and dinner invitations to places that cost more than your damn apartment.

Reader walks in and there's a vase of flowers larger than their head sitting on their desk, along with a dinner invitation to a restaurants name they can't pronounce. Price wants to "talk things over" which mostly means attempting to seduce slight obvious and completely tired reader.

Here's the thing.

You're not oblivious. You're fully, painfully, aware that your boss is trying to fuck you. Even if he hadn't flat out told you that he wants to "eat you like a Sunday roast" the shameless amount of sex toys, and porno mag subscriptions that he orders to the office on his company card would have tipped you off. You would have to be blind and deaf not to know he was trying to fuck you and even then you're sure he'd find some way to spell it out for you. Probably would put his dick in your hands while you were signing at him to fuck off.

You also know that every single other assistant he's had he slept with. All of them were hired specifically to be a work in sex toy, and all of them absolutely fucked over the company because of it. The only condition for your ludicrously high salary and thorough benefits package was that you not fuck your boss, and you gotta say: you don't want to.

The man is a shameless flirt, he's a pervert, and it's a wonder he manages to run the company when he's out golfing with his buddies every other day. You hate him for dumping his work load on your desk and then offering to dump a load in your cunt as well. You hate him for crowding your desk with flowers and Tiffany jewelry boxes, and for inviting you out to dinners that are worth more than your rent because you're not a fucking escort and you're not playing hard to get, you're just trying to do your fucking job.

His attempts at seduction are almost insulting and his presumption that he can buy you definitely is. If anything all of his attempts to get in your pants just make you hate him more. If someone offered you another job you'd take it in an instant and forget this whole nightmare.

Except you aren't getting any job offers and despite your impressive resume you're not getting even a nibble. The job market sure is a lot harder when you know your boss is sabotaging you, huh?

[mantis-lizbian]

okay, y'know what? let's go into this same. ignoring all the rules in 5e that i think are dumb, an itemized list with explanations. obviously, my list won't necessarily be the same as everyone's, but it'll illustrate the problem with suggestion in a practical sense, not just as a structural critique from the standpoint of game design, which i know a lot of people don't actually care about.

bare in mind that these are going to be criticisms with regards to the kind of game D&D 5e is and wants to be, and are largely going to use other editions of D&D as points of comparison, rather than other TTRPGs as a whole, just because to do so i feel could easily approach "i want a game about a witch looking for lost pets in the Alps" type stuff. no sense in criticizing D&D for not being Monsterhearts or GURPS, after all.

classes are too simple. any given berserker barbarian is functionally indistinguishable from another. for some classes, even different archetypes don't offer enough variation from each other to feel meaningfully distinct. here's a challenge: take your party of four and make an entire 6th-level party using only one class in each of 3.x, 4e, and 5e. depending on the class you choose, you may have more or less difficulty, but in two of those, you generally can manage to make four characters who can all function in a party together without feeling like clones of each other, and perhaps even able to actually complement each other.

classes are too complicated. for the most part, AD&D, BECMI, OD&D and the like, classes only have a couple of fairly basic features, most of which are granted from 1st level. this means that if a character dies, you can roll up a brand new one and jump straight back into play that same session. not being able to do this makes everyone, even the GM, resistant to allowing a character to die, defanging one of the only meaningful consequences to losing combat inherent to the mechanics.

battle master fighters restrict everyone's options in combat. if you're playing a melee combatant, there's very little you can do apart from run up to your chosen enemy and smack them in the face with your weapon until they die. disarming, feinting, tripping... these were all things any character could do in 3e, as outlined by the rules, and these things were possible in AD&D and the like because they weren't explicitly spelled out in the mechanics. the GM is free to adjudicate how to handle these maneuvers as they see fit, but because they aren't explicitly granted to a specific kind of character, they aren't implicitly denied to everyone else.

ability scores do not matter outside of Dexterity and whichever one your class cares about, and specific circumstances dependent on which saves are being targeted. 4e did start this, but even it made a conscious effort to make every class care about at least two scores alongside Dexterity, outside of saves. in AD&D, every score determined a number of things independent of your class (with the exception of Intelligence and Wisdom, if you weren't a spellcaster). and 3e required you to spend character resources (feats, specifically) to do things like use Dexterity on melee attack rolls, and even then it couldn't be added to damage, so there was still value to Strength even if you fought exclusively using daggers. all of this results in making it so that if you're using point-buy to determine ability scores, there is no meaningful mechanical consequence you can count on having to contend with for dropping every score to 8 so you can pump the ones you care about up to their maximum (in fact, i suspect that 5e makes point-buy cap out at 15 specifically to prevent players from doing exactly this to pump their two important scores to 18). unless you're a barbarian, even Constitution isn't as important as it should be, given the ingrained hesitancy 5e's design creates towards letting characters die.

only a couple of feats are actually better than taking the ability score boost, until you hit that cap of 20. even fewer are ever going to be meaningfully applicable to the same character as another, meaning that altogether, depending on what you were able to boost your class's main ability score to, by level 12 or so... you're likely to feel like meaningful pickings are slim for what to do with your remaining ASIs. it also becomes clearly apparent that the reason feats are an optional replacement for an ASI isn't so much an attempt to simplify the game compared to 3.x's notorious endless ocean of feats to wade through, and more about just having something to do with those ASIs after reaching 20 in your main score.

due to free Dex-to-damage, the only reliable consequence of a low Strength score left is encumbrance. which is often the first rule players choose to ignore, and even if they don't... an 8 Strength is still enough to wear full plate, and carry a pike and heavy crossbow and still having plenty of carrying capacity for a decent amount of random loot. so yeah... this is a rule that even if you aren't ignoring it, the rules are doing plenty to avoid it ever coming up anyway.

skills offer a great way to flesh out who your character is outside of "someone who rages" or "someone who chucks fireballs". unfortunately, your class still fully defines these things, outside of the two you get from your background, or if you choose to spend one of your feats/ASIs on gaining another three. at which point, you're probably going to have proficiency in more than half of all the available skills.

several excellent designers have gone into a number of other issues with D&D 5e's skills, from how overwhelmingly important ones like Perception are, how laughably irrelevant others are, and the issues in figuring out how to make good use of the knowledge and Investigation skills.

resting is... so... a lot of classes have nothing to do with a short rest. one time, i was playing as a warlock in a group that only ever took long rests because no one else got anything from just taking a short rest. which meant that the warlock essentially only had 2 spells per day. granted, this didn't mean nearly as much as it should thanks to cantrips, but i'll get to that later. so yeah, short rests were introduced in 4e where every class got equal value from them, and so they were more reliably used.

crafting is pointless. the example it gives of making a suit of plate armor taking 300 days means that it would take an entire year to make something that you're likely to find or at least afford with easily a month of adventuring. there's also no accounting for how good a craftsman you are. in 3e, that same suit of plate armor will take (assuming no failed checks along the way, to be fair) at most a month and a half. even assuming you fail half the checks, that's still only a quarter the time it takes to make that armor in 5e. this is still a decent time investment, but especially when you consider how having a higher Craft skill bonus (or even just a good roll) means you may be able to shorten that time, it brings it into the realm of "okay, that could be worth it, if i really wanted to".

bonus actions are only usable by a handful of classes, and may as well not exist for the rest, outside a couple of feats. with only one other action, alongside moving, that makes the kind of tactical combat built on the same principles of 3.x and 4e drag and feel incredibly monotonous (especially when, see #3). 3.x and 4e have alternative things you can do with your move action, which - especially alongside full-round actions - just as a way to open up design space means that there are a lot of ways to expand your options in combat. while AD&D also only features an action and movement - and doesn't even have a bonus action - combat is much smoother due to the overall simplicity of the game, and the fact that rounds represent a whole minute, not just 6 seconds.

cantrips are broken. they're usable at-will all day, which is fine. definitely an improvement i like over 3.x, and it gives your spellcasters something spellcastery they can reliably do any time. that's cool. but when they deal as much damage as a crossbow, and are based on your spellcasting score, it adds to the aforementioned thing about how most classes don't need to worry about more than one or two ability scores. why bother carrying around a crossbow when your fingers can shoot infinite crossbow bolts, possibly even targeting something other than AC and not dealing physical damage?

...oh wow. there's a character limit in posts...

im confused about the dnd 5e hatred. yall arent just ignoring rules that are dumb? ur dm actually follows every single thing in the book for real?

if you have to ignore some of the rules for the game to be good then the game is not good

[jollyhunter]

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings! MDNI, explicit sexual content (light), fluffy smut, but also cuddling and lots of teasing, Dean being needy and touchy and soft!dom

EDIT: Whoa!! I just woke up to 100+ likes and I am speechless! I never found the courage to post any of my stuff, until yesterday. Thank you all so so much - you have no idea how much this means to me, especially since I just joined tumblr and felt a bit intimidated and lost. You’re all amazing <3

Now enjoy! …already sorry for the damn tease kishishi 🦊

A/N: Heya! This is my first fanfic post- woohzaa [throws glitter and anxiety across the post]. English isn't my native language but I tried to make up for it with spell-checking? Also, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger sweethearts! Let me know if you liked it <3

Word count: 1,700

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

The smell of musky sweat still hung in the thick air and the sheets around you looked like a strangled mess. So your sleep was deep, exhausted but also feeling all spent and fuzzy from the several rounds you and Dean had a couple of hours ago. Your breathing was serene, your nose nuzzled into Dean‘s arm which worked as a makeshift pillow. The other one was tightly wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, holding your back against his slowly moving chest, keeping you warm and save in his tight locked arms.

A sudden bump against your butt stirred you slightly, but you assumed Dean was just being restless again. His arm tightened around you when you pressed your body further into him in a reassuring gesture, your hand meanwhile untangling itself from the sheets to interlace your slender fingers with his calloused ones.

Then the broad shoulders that were glued to your back, suddenly shift. His breath against your neck coming in short little excited puffs. And his hips gently rock against your arse, slowly and almost testing. You grumble in response and give his hand a little warning squeeze. „You have to sleep, Dean…“ you remind him with a dozily slurred voice. He��d have to get up in an hour or so, as he and Sam were going to investigate a case somewhere up in Nebraska. It would probably take at least a couple of days, and you already knew he’d miss you just as much as you’d miss him, because he was always especially needy and touch-deprived before he left the bunker for longer.

Another bump against your back. You curl up into a ball, not wanting to leave his comfortable warmth but still trying to get your point across without having to use your voice.

When you cuddled up against him like a kitten, Dean stilled his movements. And you left a soft exhale of something like relief, snuggling under his strong arm, loving the feeling of his shielding presence all around you.

But Dean was not done. And you curling up like a cat didn’t help either - if anything, it just made his hidden sly smirk widen. Just when you went back to dreamland, you felt something brush against your knee. Then your thighs. Dean snaked his leg over yours, trapping you against the mattress. „Dean…“ you grumble again, your eyes still shut and your face buried under his arm while you tried to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine. He doesn’t reply. Instead his foot slips between your knees and he now slowly pushes your legs apart, parking his thigh between them to keep them spread for him. He brushed his nose against your neck, taking in your sweet scent, his fingers slowly dancing down your body, tracing every curve like he knew them by heart. Another shiver went through your body and it became harder to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the sleepiness somehow just accelerating your arousal. You wiggle under him when you suddenly feel his hot breath waft against your ear, „uh-uh-uh…“ His gravelly voice earns him a little shaky exhale from your parted lips while he quickly pins you further down.

Dean traced the rim of your pajamas pants with his fingers, teasingly slow while his other hand tightened its grip around yours, to keep you from slipping away. „Just lemme take care of you, baby…“ he murmured with his lips pressed against your ear, his head keeping you flush against the mattress. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, stay sleepy, just relax and enjoy.

Not sure anymore whether you were dreaming or not, you found yourself nodding against his side, and that quite eagerly despite your half-asleep state. Satisfied with your answer, he slipped his fingers under the rim of your pants, taking his sweet time as his hand traveled down between your legs.

Just when his fingertip brushed against your clit, a loud knock at the door made you startle from your half-sleep-half-needy state.

„Dean? Come on man- we gotta go. Get your arse moving!“ Sam called out from the other side of the door, knocking again just to make sure he’d not ignore him.

Dean’s finger still idly circled your clit, torn between ignoring him or getting out of bed. After a moment he groans, his arms and legs still tightly in position around you, as he opens his mouth to bark back - but then is cut short by your lips on his cheek.

He turns back to look down at your curled up sleepy form, your cheeks flushed and goddamn you‘re already wet between your legs. ��’tis okay” You reassure him, although you had to really force yourself to not sound frustrated and needy.

Dean grunted, knowing exactly that you were just trying to get him out of bed and out of trouble for being too late. But man he could have kicked his brother in the arse right about now.

He gave you a quick peck on the forehead and with a reluctant movement pulled his hand from your pants and untangled himself from your body. When he kicked his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, he suddenly turned around again, his eyes darkening and his lips curling into a sly smile.

“C’mere” he said gruffly, making it sound like an order. But you just looked up at him with bleary eyes, blinking in confusion as your mind was still half asleep. “On your knees.” He patted the spot in front of him with an air of authority.

You weren’t sure where this was going but were curious enough to play along. So you sat up, swaying a bit as you scooted closer to the edge on your knees. “Uh-uh,” you stopped and tilted your head in confusion, giving him that befuddled puppy look. He circled his index finger, gesturing for you to turn around. “On your hands and knees.” He said with that iconic deep and firm voice.

You swallowed, a little shiver running down your spine again. Without any protest you did as you were told and backed up against the edge of the bed again, this time facing away from him.

“Wanna get a look again.” He began, while his hands suddenly cupped your arse, squeezing them. „Wanna memorize what I’ll miss.“ You bit your lower lip, glad he couldn’t see your needy eyes right now. With a swift motion, his fingers hooked under the rim of your pants and he pulled them all the way down to your knees. The moment the air hit your bare skin, you were suddenly fully aware of how exposed you felt, unable to see what he was doing, where his eyes were going and what his next move would be. Without a word his hands immediately went back to your hips, slipping up to the back of your waist and pressing you down with a certain strength that made you follow each of his movements like a tamed horse. He ran one hand up between your shoulder blades and pushed down there as well until your tilted head and your chest were flush against the mattress, drawing a small whimper from your mouth. God how he loved seeing you comply like this, exposed, open and vulnerable to him, filling his heart with pride.

He kept one hand on your back to pin you down while his other went to tug at your lowered pants. “Jesus… you’re dripping, sweetheart.” He mutters almost in awe when you felt his eyes roaming your wetted thighs and pants. Suddenly he slides his hand back up along your spine until each of them grabs your hips. He angles them so your butt would point more up for him, pushing you even further into the bed, just the way he wanted you. Then out of nowhere his firm hands grab your arse cheeks and without a warning he pulled them apart, getting a real nice look on your slick folds. „I want to remember this view…“ He mutters, spreading your arse even more while you felt him bend down, his hot breath hitting the inside of your thighs, „Want to think of that beautiful pussy when I‘m alone…“

And then you suddenly feel the tip of his tongue flick against your clit, the unexpected sensation almost making you buckle while a shuddering moan slips your lips. Dean chuckles, relishing the effect he’s having on you. „Hold still, baby.“ He ordered while his one hand trailed over your hip and to the small of your back, holding you down, and his other started to rub your arse cheek, affectionately and proudly. „God… you’re so beautiful… Want to remember your taste…“ He continued before his tongue flicked across your folds this time, wetting his lips with your sweet juice, followed by a deep groan, "God you taste so fucking good...". He pulled the stroking hand back, and then brought it down again with a sharp swat to your arse. You yelped and your legs trembled, which made Dean grin proudly that he managed to surprise you with that move. „You a good girl until I‘m back?“

He didn’t wait for an answer but swats your arse again, this time definitely leaving a red mark he knew you wouldn’t mind. „You be good?“ He asks again, his voice taking that gravely tone which always made you squirm.

„Mhm,“ you mutter against the mattress, trying to hold still for him. „I‘ll be good.“

„That’s my girl.“ He patted your red arse cheek, his lips widening into that cheshire grin of his, „Now you get some rest.“

Before you could protest, he wiggled the soaked pants up your legs and over your hips again. You stifled a soft whine but knew it was no use, he‘d need to go now. Dean chuckled at the needy sound that slipped your perfect cute lips and it took all of his willpower to not just take you right there. He leaned over you to kiss you on the neck, his lips lingering there for a little longer than usual before he whispered in a low rumbling voice, „We‘ll continue right here when I‘m back, sweetheart... and 'till then... I‘ll always think of you.“

[dorabellingham]

Kissing in the rain

warning: none

characters: jude x reader

summary: when in the middle of the night he shows up at your house to confess his feelings

may contain spelling and translation errors!

That rainy night, the typical English rain was punishing the city with intensity. You were at home, trying to drown your thoughts in some reading, but Jude's name persisted in every line. He dominated your mind in a way you couldn't understand, and the thought that he might not see you in the same way made you anxious. Trying to push these emotions away, you went up to your room and lay down, listening to the rain beating against the window, imagining that the sound of it might be your only companion on that lonely night.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Jude was anxiously waiting in the passenger seat of a taxi, ignoring the heavy rain that obscured his view. The conversation with Bukayo had touched him deeply. Knowing that you liked him the same way he liked you made his heart beat faster, and he couldn't wait to tell you and finally show you how he felt. He stared at the wet sidewalks, deciding that nothing — not even the storm — would stop him from seeing you.

Finally, Jude’s taxi pulled up in front of your grandparents’ house. The house lights were still on, indicating that someone was awake. He took a deep breath, feeling his heart racing, and headed for the door, quickly getting wet by the heavy rain, but not caring about it. Before he even knocked, he saw your silhouette through the glass of the door. You seemed surprised to see him, and for a moment, you hesitated to open it. But then, as if something prompted you, you turned the handle and unlocked the door.

—Jude, what are you doing here? With all this rain…

You began, surprised and confused, your voice low and almost hesitant. Your hair slightly messed up by the wind and your look between relief and anxiety revealed that perhaps you were happier to see him than you wanted to admit.

He barely waited for you to finish your sentence. Without a single word, he took a step towards you, grabbed you by the waist and leaned forward. Before you could question or protest, you felt his lips on yours, in a kiss that carried all the pent-up emotions of the last few months. The initial shock soon dissolved, and you kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, as if you had finally found what you were waiting for.

The rain continued to fall around you, the drops hitting Jude's back and dampening the entrance to the house, but neither of you seemed to care. It was as if the whole world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you, finally sharing that moment that you both wanted so much, but were afraid to admit.

When you finally pulled away, Bellingham smiled, still breathless, and looked at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

—Sorry to show up like this... I just... I couldn't wait any longer.

He confessed, running a hand through his own wet hair, trying to process what had just happened.

You smiled, still a little surprised and breathless, but with your eyes shining.

—I... I thought you only saw me as a friend.

You said, your voice almost a whisper, as if you were still trying to understand everything.

—Just a friend? —He repeated, shaking his head. —Y/n, you are everything to me. I just… I was just stupid enough not to realize that you felt the same.

You smiled, trying to contain the happiness that overflowed in your every expression.

—So, you came here in the rain, just to tell me that?

Jude shrugged, with a playful smile.

—Yes, but it was much better than I imagined. Did you finally believe me, sweetheart?

You nodded, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you in for another kiss, this time slower, full of tenderness. You felt warm and safe in his arms, as if all your fears and insecurities had disappeared.

There, under the English rain, you and Jude gave in to that moment that seemed to have been expected for so long. It was the beginning of something that, deep down, you both already knew would be much more than just a friendship.

[saphiccarma]

Can I request a Rio x Reader one shot where Reader gets hurt during her trial and Rio takes care of her afterwards ? Just some sweet hurt/ comfort 😭

- Did you get enough love, my little dove?

Relationships: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: After Alice's trial, comes yours. You weren't prepared to deal with past memories of pain.

Warnings: Violence. Angst. Fluff

A/N: I'm sorry that the requests are taking so long for me to get through! I promise I'm working on them.

The New Moon was high in the sky, its light shining down through the trees. You meandered at the back of the group, Rio lingering next to you, her hand brushing against yours, soft and gentle. Rio wasn't often a kind person, often preferring to hide her care behind teasing remarks, but when she caught sight of the moon in the sky she knew who's trial it would be.

The coven approached a little cabin that stood there, bright grass blooming around it and flowers blossoming in the front. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the familiar building, your steps halting. Rio glanced back at you, a brow raised in a challenge, and your pride flared. You huffed before moving forward and marching towards the house.

"Who's trial is this?" Teen asked, examining the door that was locked. It had runes carved onto the front; ones meticulously carved out after days of work. You remember working them onto the door by hand, a project you devoted yourself to for days. You had carved runes all over the walls of the house, preventing other witches from using their magic, but the runes on the door were for a special reason alone.

Agatha hummed as she examined the runes before turning back to you with an expectant brow. The witch had visited you once while you lived here, searching for another gullible victim before moving on. You stepped up to the house, muttering a small spell and pressed your hand up to the door. The runes glowed a soft blue before it opened with a click. Jen muttered something to Alice behind you.

The coven entered the door and the minute they did, everyone disappeared. It seems this was a trial meant for you alone. While it struck you as odd, since the Road was intended for the coven, you let it slide. You scanned your old house, taking it in. The fireplace was lit with a few logs burning inside it. A book was set on the table in the center of the room, it's cover from having read it over and over.

You picked it up, reading over the pages as a soft smile crossed your face - peace washing over you. It was a book your mother had read to you as a child, an old book, and you could still hear her soft words as she stroked your hair. You didn't have the exact copy, it had been burned by witch hunters years ago, but this was close enough.

Just as you were about to settle on the couch, lost in the world of the book, the door burst open, shouts filling the room. You leapt up, hands poised to fight as you caught sight of familiar faces. Men, with masks on their face, and knives in their hands. Modern witch hunters. No guns, guns were too loud, too avoidable with magic. Backing up, your hands pressed into the wall. Their eyes were alight with sinister intent.

You glanced down at your hands as blue magic glowed, but also noticed that you were devoid of the scars you had received many years ago. The men approached, slowly, cornering you, and then one lunged. The minute he lunged, you copied your movements from the past, not learning from your mistakes, and tried to blast him. He flew back, hitting the wall, slumped and lifeless. It was one of the only times you had taken a life.

Even if you knew it happened, you stared horrified at his hollowed chest. You magic had created the gaping whole that tore all the way through him, burnt so that no blood could come out. It was a horrifying sight, one you would never get used to, no matter how many times you had killed.

While you were stunned another one of the men lunged, his hands securing a rope around yours.

Your magic was incapacitated.

You fought as he grabbed your wrists, hauling you close to the fire. Memories of the first time this happened were seared into your brain, but there was nothing you could do. No matter how hard you thrashed, no matter how much you kicked and screamed. Even as you cried for Rio, for anyone in the coven, it did nothing. The man pulled you down to the ground and so close to the fire that the heat licked your skin.

Taking a hold of your forearms, the witch hunter shoved your hands into fire. You clenched your teeth as it burned your fingers, refusing to let the pain escaped in the form of screams.

"You use these hands to hurt so many people, don't you?" he snarled into your ear, the words cutting deep into your chest. And before you had time to process them, there was a cold metal pressed against your back as the hem of your shirt was lifted up.

You knew what was coming. The blade pressed into your skin as you hands began to go numb into the fire. Words were carved into your back, painful and slow and tedious. Before he could finish both of the men were torn away. Rio had thrown one of them into the wall with Teen and Agatha tearing the other away from you.

Rio rushed forward after killing the man swiftly with her knife, rushing forward towards you. You scrambled back, wrists held tight to your chest and eyes frantically scanning the area. Pausing, Rio took in your state, and her face softened.

"My love," she cooed, crouching down and reaching out, but not touching, "It's Rio."

Your eyes met hers, and although it took you a moment to recognize her, you threw yourself at her, regardless of the pain, clinging to her desperately. With numb fingers, you sobbed into her shirt - hardly noticing that the back door slid open, revealing the road. Teen and Agatha stood away, the latter eyeing you with an odd mix of disdain and pity.

"Sweetheart, we have to leave." Rio gently helped you up, ignoring your whimper of pain and guided you out the door and onto the road once more. Once that was done your wounds vanished, disappearing completely.

You nearly sobbed in relief, until you noticed the scars still lingered. Some part of you had hoped they would be gone. Teen and Alice tried to approach you. He reached his hand out to touch your arm, a thing meant to be comforting, but Rio had her knife out as you flinched.

"Touch her and I will fucking kill you." She snarled, pulling you close, ignoring Agatha's scoff and Jen's annoyed sound. Rio dragged the two of you further away and set you down on the ground, gently sitting next to you.

You curled into her, resting your head on her lap as she stroked her hands through your hair. It felt divine to have her fingers tracing your jaw and slipping up and down your neck. Sighing, you pushed back into her stomach so that your face was buried. Her outfit allowed for skin-to-skin contact, and her cold skin was a nice contrast to the heat of the fire you had felt moments ago. Rio chuckled slightly, her fingers pausing, and she bent down to give place a tender kiss onto your head.

You were shaking in her gentle hold, eyes trained forward as you tried to push away the dull phantom pain and the lingering memories that danced beneath your eyes. Rio's fingers were soothing as they stroked your chin. A steady movement - up and down, tracing back up into your hair before going back down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," she whispered. You shook your head into her stomach, non-verbally telling her it wasn't her fault. Slowly, your body stopped shaking, but you still clung to her desperately. Her presence was grounding. She made you feel safe even though you felt like witch hunters would pop around the corner and attack you.

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, your head pressed into her stomach while she soothed your worried mind.

"You won't ever leave, right?" Your words were broken and raw, vulnerability at its truest form. At least for you.

Rio's hands froze in your hair, but she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, "Never."

[jackiezenauthor]

Someone mentioned a furry becoming a werewolf and it got me chuckling. Of course, I made it worse.

Cw:

furry shenanigans.

No 'action'

single take

"Feel them! They're so fluffy I could die!" the giant wolf squealed like a teenage girl... which she used to be, right before Matilda's summon got lured away from its intended target and decided to sink its demonic fangs into the wrong person.

She looked past the giant furred jugs that were meant to be breasts, trying to figure out what the beast meant. Always hard to tell with animal heads, but this one looked rather... Pleased?

"And I have toe beans too!" the werewolf squealed again, staring at her own paws. "And look at this cake!" she turned around and showed her butt, her tail swinging past Matilda's nose.

The witch stepped backwards, doing her best impression of that smell didn't just insta-kill half of my olfactory cells, and thank Lilith for that. Sometimes people took some time to tease her before finally complaining, and this time she couldn't rush into it either. That wretched demon had messed up, but it was she who summoned it to begin with. For something this irreversible too...

"Nobody believes me, though." the werewolf whined and dropped on the floor, taking a number of books and ingredient jars down with her tail. "For some reason, whenever I open the camera to show them, it cuts off. No matter what I do. And I can't take any pictures either."

Was that crying? Her ears were flat along the line of her head.

Cursing people into lycanthropy was not Matilda's favorite spell, but she'd done it a few times before. This was the first time one had adapted to their new body in a matter of... She checked the clock... Three hours. Usually it took about a week until they even figured out how to stand up on just their hind legs. This one even folowed her summon's smell all the way back to her...

"I am so sorry that you got mixed up into this." Matilda spoke slowly, as peacefully as she could. "You really didn't deserve it."

The beast's eyes widened and a wailing howl broke from her throat.

"You mean, you're going to take it away?" she sobbed.

"Take it awa...? You mean, remove your curse?" Matilda scratched her head. "I... I really can't." she admitted. "BUT! I can make you some potions that will help you keep it in control! Most of the days..." she rushed to the back of her shop, the brew that she'd been working on almost ready. "If you can wait until the moon starts waning."

"You can't?" the werewolf sounded... cheerful?

Yes. The tap on the floor behind her was definitely her tail wagging.

"You don't want the curse removed?" Matilda asked slowly, one hand in her pocket, ready to unravel the silver thread she kept for self defense, just in case the beast exploded on her. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"God, no!" she answered, her tail-wag making a worrisome number of ingredient jars jump on their shelf. "I love being a wolf!" she revealed a worrisome amount of white, sharp fangs, in what could be suspected for being a smile.

Matilda went back to stir her brew one more time, counter-clockwise, then three times clockwise. She reviewed the entire conversation in her mind. No. There had been no real shade of sarcasm, if she accepted the idea that this girl was not, in fact, trying to complain or take revenge... But then...

"Why are you here?" Matilda returned to the main room.

The werewolf got up carefully, holding her tail with one hand and stretching a tote bag to the witch with the other.

"Can you do some kind of spell or curse, so that I can record and take pictures of myself?" she said.

"You want to be on camera?" Matilda looked inside the bag: a phone, a laptop and a webcam...

"Yes, please!" the werewolf flashed her another view of all her fangs.

"I can enchant you a collar..." the witch returned the tote bag. It felt like a very strange fever dream.

The beast squealed and clapped her paws, her tail wrecking havoc through the ingredient jars behind her. She startled and grabbed her tail again, her ears flopping up and down in what could only be... bashfulness?

"I'm so sorry for your jars!" she said. "I'll pay for what can be bought and help gather the others, anytime, just teach me how!"

Matilda nodded, watching the beast cradle her twitching tail to her chest. She really was happy with this situation...

After so many centuries in the craft, she really didn't think anything could surprise her any longer. How wrong she'd been...

"Can it be the pink one?" the werewolf perked up when the witch opened her leather binds cabinet. "And do you need those cuffs anytime soon?" her tail swiped yet another row of jars.

Yeah... There were still mysteries left in the world...

A witch found out to her horror that she had somehow cursed the wrong person. Expecting retribution when the victim came knocking at her doorstep, she was surprised to find them rather pleased with the curse's effects.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I'm back with another au! Enjoy! :)

This au picks up at the battle of Camlann, where Morgana uses a spell to deactivate Merlin's aging spell. All of Camelot's forces look on in horror as the old sorcerer on the ridge turns out to be Merlin. Merlin himself looks devastated by this.

Morgana then begins goading Merlin by loudly revealing all his secrets to Arthur, Gwen, and all the knights on the battlefield, intending to make sure that he could never return to Camelot. She reveals that he is Emrys, all-powerful, magic incarnate, the son of the Triple Goddess, and a god of the Old Religion in human form. He is the the most feared creature in all of Camelot, and they never even knew it.

Merlin, enraged by this, viciously fights Morgana with his magic. Mordred abandons his goal of battling Arthur to rush over to Morgana's side, trying to defend her from Emrys's wrath.

Merlin, still carving a path of destruction and death through the battlefield, doesn't hesitate to strike Mordred down with lightning. While Morgana was too busy being stunned and horrified by what just happened, Merlin takes Mordred's fallen dragon-forged blade and runs Morgana through with it, ending her for good.

The remaining soldiers in Morgana's Saxon army, now decimated and seeing that their leader is dead, killed by a force far more powerful than she herself, turn around and flee, desperate to avoid being slaughtered at the hands of a god.

With the Saxons gone, the battlefield of Camlann goes quiet, with the only sounds being the quiet whistling of the wind blowing through the valley. Camelot's knights are frozen in fear and shock, looking at Arthur for guidance for what to do next.

However, Arthur himself is frozen still too, unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin, the man who he trusted more than anyone, who was never even a man to begin with. His manservant, who was secretly a god the entire time!

But Merlin has his back turned to Arthur, and is simply gazing out into the distance. He turns around though, and he meets Arthur's eyes for a split second, before vanishing into thin air.

A second later, Arthur could swear that he heard Merlin's voice whisper along with the wind, "I'm sorry."

Staring out across the now empty battlefield, Arthur had no choice but to shakily order the knights to pack up and return to Camelot. There was nothing left for them here.

They returned to camp and started the journey back to Camelot in silence, everyone's minds reeling from what had just happened. The sudden revelation of Merlin's true nature had left Arthur, Gwen, and the knights terrified and unsure of everything.

Once back in the safety of Camelot, Arthur has a huge breakdown, wondering how the hell he's even alive if the man he's bossed around for the past ten years was actually capable of brutally destroying an entire army with a wave of his hand the entire time. How had he survived if he had been humiliating a god every day for years, a god whose followers had been slaughtered by his hand!

Their return to Camelot had been stressful to say the least, all of them on edge despite their victory. Yes, Merlin Emrys had ensured their victory, but who knew what plans the god had for Camelot now that his true nature was revealed?! What revenge would he enact on the kingdom responsible for the purge?!

These thoughts haunted Arthur even as he returned to his chambers, changed himself into his nightclothes (and ignoring the fact that the god of magic had been dressing him for the past decade), and fell into a fitful sleep.

Arthur was shocked and terrified when, in the morning, he was awoken with a very familiar "Rise and shine, dollophead! You have a full schedule today!"

His heart stuttered with terror as his eyes shot open and beheld the sight of Merlin, smiling and looking as he always did, as if nothing had changed. His heart pounded with sudden fear as he leapt out of bed, scrambling for something, anything to defend himself with against the man who had once been his closest friend. But, Arthur's mind hissed at him, what good would any sword do against a god?! He was as good as dead already!

Merlin Emrys, to Arthur's shock, didn't even bat an eye at Arthur pulling a blade on him and set the tray full of breakfast on the table, completely unphased.

"Come on, we don't have time for this, Arthur! Just sit down and eat your breakfast while I pick out your clothes for the day."

Arthur's however, didn't move from his place against the wall. Did he really think Arthur was stupid enough to fall for something like that?

Well, Arthur's mind hissed again, you were stupid enough to mistake a god for an manservant for ten years.

Emrys simply rolled his eyes, his impatience now showing, and Arthur braced himself to be hit with the full force of divine wrath.

Something in the air shifted, and Arthur suddenly found himself sitting at the table without having moved a muscle, with the breakfast tray in front of him.

"There we go! Now, please hurry up and eat. I didn't even steal one of your sausages this time! So, for today, do you want to wear your training gambeson or your more formal set?"

Arthur said nothing in response, too busy staring, petrified by fear and bewildered beyond words, at the god of magic lay out his clothes for the day.

The rest of the day goes on like this, with Merlin pretending like everything's normal while Arthur, and everyone else in the castle, is completely terrified by Merlin's presence alone. But, they can't really make him to leave.

Knights who draw their swords at the sight of Merlin find that their blades turn to dust as soon as he looks at them. The servants who see him, who have no doubt heard the disturbing news about his true nature as Emrys, scream in terror and run away at the sight of him.

Even Guinevere, who was sitting on her throne next to Arthur when she saw Merlin out of the corner of her eye, holding a pitcher of watered down wine like it was an ordinary day, tensed up with fright, her hands gripping the arms of her throne and her breathing picking up as her mind replayed memories of Merlin, her dearest friend, raining death down upon Camlann.

Eventually, Arthur gathers enough courage to ask Merlin why he's still here, what he wants from Camelot, and what it will take to have him spare Arthur's people.

And Merlin's response is to simply smile and tell Arthur that he will not leave. He is Arthur's servant, and there's nothing Arthur can do about that other than accept it.

TL;DR:

Arthur, fearing for his entire kingdom: Please, Emrys, just tell me what you want! I'm sorry about treating you like a servant! I'll do anything, just please spare my people!

Merlin, doing laundry and desperate to avoid his life changing in any way: I'm :) your :) servant :)

[storiesfromafan]

He's Not So Bad (18+) - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: I bring you the awaited follow up to He's So Annoying 😊

I hope this ain't too bad. I finished writing it this morning before work. And just finished revising, so forgive me if there is any spelling/grammer mistakes.

Also, today wasn't such a good day at work, would appreciate some love 😅

Warnings: spelling/grammer mistakes, public sex, p in v

Prompt/s: “Can you feel how much I want you?” and “You’re mine"

Tag list: @moorningvoice @legobookstore @revesephemeres

After Potion’s class, you found Mattheo flirting and annoying you more with every shared class for the last few days. And every time you do your best to ignore him or put him in his place, he continued to drag up that night. You began to think he enjoyed remembering it, and like if he mentioned it, you’d jump back into bed with him. And you wanted too. But your better judgement told you no, he just wanted you physically.

Unfortunately this day was the day he’d followed you out of your last class – Divination – and was adamant on giving lost puppy energy. And that was even with people around.

“Honestly, why do you keep chasing me, when there are so many willing females that would gladly be your bed buddy?” You sighed turning down a hallway that looked to be deserted.

Mattheo shrugged. “I like the chase with you. It’s a challenge, love”.

“Don’t called me love!” You shot back, sending him a glare. Which made him smile.

Mattheo thought it was funny how you hadn’t clued on. How he was infatuated with you. His constant presence, annoyance and the nickname – love – were tell-tale signs of his affection for you. Hell, he’d even gotten detention the other day for hexing a Hufflepuff guy who Mattheo overheard planning to ask you out. You were his. And that meant you were off limits.

Mattheo chuckled. “Deny all you like, love, but I know you enjoy it".

Rolling your eyes while you picked up the pace, wanting to put distance between you too, as well as get back to the Ravenclaw house. The only place you could be free of the menace on your heels. If only you know what was about to come.

You felt a hand wrap around your wrist, then being pulled down a dead end of the hallway. Your body being pressed against the wall, hidden behind a statue and pillar. Another hand was pressed against you mouth before you could even make a noise. Before you was Mattheo, the person who had dragged you down here and pressed you against the wall.

Your shock expression turned to that of a glare. Which told him that you weren’t going to scream, probably tell him off, but he could handle that. So with a small, sweet smile on his lips, Mattheo removed his hand. Instantly you let him have it.

“What the hell! What are you thinking!?” You voiced, tone sharp and annoyed.

Mattheo remained quiet, admiring the fire in you. He moved the hand that had been over your mouth, to push back your hair so it was over your shoulder. Before running it along your jaw and down your neck. You shuddered. You told yourself you had to be mad, and not show how his simple actions affected you. Because they did. His touch was electric, the pads of his fingers running slowly over your skin, sending your heart a flutter.

Mattheo of course noticed the shudder, and the slight change in you. He’d been studying for so long, he knew the signs. The hand holding your wrist moved to rest against the wall next to your head, almost completely caging you in. His warm chocolate brown orbs had darkened with the thought of what was to come. So long as you let him, of course. Mattheo wouldn’t do anything you didn’t beg for. And he’d have you beginning.

Leaning in, Mattheo ran his nose along your jaw, taking in the faint smell of your perfume. Which he noted he needed to find out what it was, so he could buy you more, for it was his new favourite scent when mixed with your own smell. You stiffened at his action. You didn’t expect Mattheo to be this forward. Sure, he liked to flirt and bring up that night, maybe even tell you what else he’d like to do to you. But actually do it? This surprised you.

“You smell so good" Mattheo softly groaned before nipping your jaw, making you jump. “Jumpy, love?” He chuckled.

You shot him a dirty look, which he enjoyed oh so much. “N-no" you retorted.

Once more Mattheo chuckled, before kissing your jaw and then nipping once more. Again you jumped, but not as much as the first time. “Hmmm, you are jumpy" he commented teasingly.

You placed your hands against Mattheo's chest and push, hoping he’d get the hint and back up. But no. He only moved closer, your strength nothing for him. Before your hands could be trapped, you moved them to his shoulder. Bad move. It not only allowed Mattheo to press his body completely against yours, against the wall. But also gave him the idea you wanted him. Which you did, but tried to fight the spark between you both.

His lips moved to your neck. Kissing and nipping. You fought the rising moan that so badly wanted to be freed from your lips. No, you couldn’t let Mattheo win. Yet the moment his free hand skimmed up your side, coming to rest under your breast, you wanted to whine, wanting him to touch you there. And you know he wanted to, the way his hand slightly shaked against you, his restraint impressive. But he wouldn’t just do it, not without permission, your submission and begging.

The hands on his shoulders grasped at his white button up shirt, your nails would have dug into his flesh if not for that item of clothing. The memory of how your nails felt on and digging into his flesh flooding both of your memories. Recalling how Mattheo moan and groaned from the scrapping down his back, and the reminder he had for a few days. He wanted your mark on him always. But that would be another time.

Yet you were holding back, and he couldn’t have that. He needed you to give in to him. Mattheo pressed his lower half closer to you, his arousal pressing into your hip.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He groaned lips having moved to your ear, his hot breath tickling. “So badly I need you, love”.

Your breath caught in your throat from the feel of him and his admission. Which hit straight in the pit of your stomach, adding to your arousal. You pressed your legs together trying to will it away, but the embers were lit. From here it would just grow to an all-consuming fire. Against your better judgement, and senses, you moved a hand to the back of Mattheo's head. You grasped his brown curls, before pulling his head back so you could look at his gorgeous face. Expecting a knowing smirk upon his lips, you would have been surprised by the dark look on his face, if you weren’t lost by desire. Which mirrored in his eyes.

You pulled him in so that your lips collided in a hard, messy kiss. Giving all in. Which Mattheo accepted. The hand resting under your breast moved to cup your mound, that you sighed at. Taking his opportunity, Mattheo slipped his tongue into your mouth, claiming it and your tongue for himself. Feverishly his tongue moved with your own, a frantic dance.

While you lost yourselves in the kiss, Mattheo moved both hands down your sides. Moving over your hips and down your thighs. He moved down and you continued to move with him in the kiss. Mattheo then moved his hands back up your thighs, under your skirt, to the back of your thighs. Before you knew it, he had lifted you, bringing your legs up around his waist. His hands groping your behind, while he pushes you further against the wall. His arousal pressed against your aching core, both clothing separating those intimate places. With a hard, slow grind against your body from Mattheo, you pulled back from the kiss and moaned. Instantly he moved to sloppily kiss your neck.

“W-we shouldn’t b-be doing this h-here" you managed to choke out, as he kept grinding against you.

Mattheo groaned against your neck. “But I need you now, love. I can’t wait" he retorted. “No one will know, as long as you’re quiet".

The way his voice lowered and had this desperate tone to it, it just added to the fire. With those words and tone your last shred of sense left you. Too far gone now to back out. You bucked your core against his arousal, solidifying you heard and understood him. And that pleased Mattheo so much.

One of his hands moved to your clothed sex, fingers finding your bundle of nerves and pressing it over your panties. You groaned softly, before you mewed when he moved those fingers in circles over the nub. You rested your head against the wall, eyes closed while your hand gripped Mattheo’s hair. He moved his head back, drinking in the sight of your face and his hand pleasuring you.

When he abruptly stopped his ministrations, you shot him a dirty look. He chuckled. “Patience, love. It’s just beginning".

He placed a long, chaste kiss to your lips. While his hand moved to his slacks, he pulled down his zipped and managed to free himself. It was a moment of relief for Mattheo, for his hard member had been in torture being confined. Using his hand he pumped himself a few times before feeling the over whelming need to be inside you. So, letting himself go, Mattheo moved his hand to your panties. Pushing the clothing a side, he jostled you up the wall a little move, hand firm on your behind.

Moving himself to your entrance, Mattheo ran the tip along your folds, gathering your slick. When the tip nudged your bundle of nerves, you groaned, feeling a jolt in the pit of your stomach. He did that a few more times, enjoying the noises and how your face looked from his actions.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be in you" he sighed, lining himself up at your entrance.

You didn’t say anything, or get the chance too. For Mattheo began to push into you. Slowly the tip entered you, followed by inch after inch. He growled at how tight you were around him. But eventually he pushed all the way in, bottoming out, fully inside you. He waited a few minutes, letting you adjust to him and relax.

After a few minutes Mattheo started to pull out till the tip was just inside you, and with a snap of his hips, he pushed back inside. Over and over he did this at a slow pace. Your hands gripped his hair and shoulder, back arching, clothed breasts pushing up against him. You felt so good, like heaven, just like he remembered but better.

There you were, in a dead end of a deserted hall, with Mattheo fucking you up against a wall that was just concealed from sight. You should have protested the public setting, but when he felt so good, and made you feel so good, you couldn’t do anything but take it.

With a harsh snap of his hips, you bit back a loud moan, for he’d reached that spot with in you. And with every second or third thrust, Mattheo was hitting it repeatedly. You buried your face in his shoulder, holding onto him tighter, a small whimper leaving your lips. Knowing how good he was making you feel, Mattheo picked up his pace, chasing your releases.

You felt that coil in your pit tightening with each thrust, your sex tightening around him every time after hitting that spot deep within you. You both were a panting and sweating mess, lost in this moment and the other.

“You're mine" Mattheo groaned, thrust harsher into you. “Tell me you’re mine!”

You moaned against his shoulder, from his thrust and words. Being so sex drunk, your better judgement was out the window. “I-I'm yours" you moaned.

“I can’t hear you" he groaned, gripping your ass with both hands as he thrust deeply and moaning.

You let out a small cry when he did that. “I-I'm yours!”

Hearing you better, Mattheo grinned. Pleased with your answer. Without saying anything else, he focused on getting you both over the edge. He focused on his thrusts, long and hard, and trying to hit that spot over and over. That coil in your pit tightened with every thrust. You found yourself tell him you were close. So he worked harder. Soon his thrusts got sloppy, but he kept at it.

When you finally came, you told him just before that coil in your snapped. You tightened around him, moaning Mattheo's name and riding out your release. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Mattheo finally hit his own release, a groan leaving his throat. He thrusted a few more times as he coats your insides with his release. Mattheo buried himself inside you, body leaning against you as you both tried to catch your breathes.

It was silence, except for your soft panting. Mattheo rest his forehead against your shoulder, while the hand in his locks ran through them. He was savouring this moment. While you wondered what this meant. You were confused by his want for you to say you were his. Was it something to help him get off? Yet you were unsure of voicing that question.

After a while Mattheo pulled back, and he removed himself from you, covering you back up with your panties. He helped lower you to your feet, which were a bit shaky. But once he was sure you were standing, he put himself back in his pants and zipped them back up. It was silent between you both, for you, you were unsure while Mattheo was satisfied and content.

Feeling self-conscious, you picked up your bag and were about to leave. “Um, a-alright" you stuttered. Unsure of what to say after a quickie in the hall.

You had just moved past Mattheo, when he grabbed your wrist. “Where are you running off to love?”

You sighed. “I told you, I’m not your love”.

Not hearing a retort or him releasing your wrist, you turned to see a knowing smirk on Mattheo's face. He moved closer to you, hand moving to lock with yours, as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, but you are love” he said in that overly sweet tone. “You said it yourself, you’re mine”.

Your face flushed. While all words left you. That was the moment you realised you had unknowingly given yourself to Mattheo Riddle. You were his. And he was completely yours. Slowly a smile crossed your lips. You decided to accept your fate. He’s not so bad.

[profundcherrylady]

SINGLE DAD!SAE ITOSHI

A/N: This isn't my usual content, but I was thinking about this scenario and I had huge baby fever so I couldn't NOT write it. I love Sae too much y'all. Also sorry for any spelling mistakes english ain't my first language.

Warnings: Mentions of death and grieving, Sae tries forcing his daughter to either eat her vegetables or go to school hungry (he doesn't go through with it)(this is a very brief scene but it could still be triggering to some people). STILL MOSTLY FLUFF I SWEAR.

Contents: Sae being a girl dad fr, y'all can't change my mind on this one, also Rin being an uncle. That's pretty much it. A little ooc (Rin mostly)

"Papaaaa" Mao complained, her voice echoing across the house and making Sae drop the dishes he was washing and walk across the house into her room to see what was going on... this time. Although he had a pretty good idea given her recent tantrums.

"Can't sleep?" he inquired, but he knew the answer as soon as she saw her curling up in her little bed and pouting, her doe teal eyes looking up to him as if to give him pity. "No, Mao, you cannot come sleep in my room."

"Why not?!"

"You've already been sleeping there all week... come on, you're a big girl, you can sleep on your own room."

"But I wanna be with you..." he sighed. It had seemed she had inherited his stubbornness, because sometimes it felt like there was just no way of making her change her mind when she was set on something. He leaned against the door a little, thinking about what to say that may change her mind.

"I know I was away for a while the last couple of weeks and I understand you missed me, but I can't have this conversation with you every single night."

"Why do you go away in the first place..."

"You know why, I have to for work." he countered, "And do not ask me why I can't bring you along, we've talked about this countless of times before. I don't go away for fun. If I bring you with me, you'll want to go everywhere with me and then you'll get fussy and mad because I'll be working all the time, or worse, you'll get bored to death in the hotel. Believe me, staying here is best for you when I go on business trips."

"But I just wanna be with you!!" his eye almost twitched in annoyance at the sight; he knew that tone of voice all too well. It was another tantrum coming his way, but still, he tried to remain calm for her sake.

"You're with me now."

"So can I sleep in your room?"

"No." then she threatened to start crying. He let out a low, defeated huff, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. She just wasn't giving up, was she? Pushing himself off the doorframe, he looked back at her before speaking. "Fine. Come on."

"This is the last time." he knew damn well that was a fat lie, but he still had to at least pretend to be firm. She would grow up to be a spoiled child otherwise, or at least that's what he was used to tell himself.

The little girl beamed, quickly jumping out of bed and running towards her father. She hopped with her arms up towards him asking to be carried, to which he complied. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and lifted her up, watching as she clung onto him as if he just came back from war or something. Could he really blame her, though? She had lost her mother and he was away all the time; it would be strange if she wasn't feeling lonely.

"Papa, sing me a song." Sae reconsidered his life decisions for a moment there, not gonna lie, but how could he honestly say no to those pleading eyes?

"Fine..." he sighed, his voice soft and low as he began humming whatever song he could think of on the top of his head. Still keeping a secure hold on her, Sae began rocking his daughter to further lure her to sleep. He held her with one arm so that he could close the door of her room, the soft click assuring him that everything was in order, and then started walking a few steps towards his.

By this point, little Mao was sound asleep on his arms, and he almost chuckled at the thought of his daughter refusing to sleep until she was with him. He carefully opened the door a few meters away and walked quitely to the bed, trying his best to not wake up the sleeping child on his arms, and set her down to rest. Once tucked in and comfortable, he let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the brat was asleep and he could be at peace. She could be so clingly and energetic sometimes... not that he cared that much, even though her restlessness was exhausting, it showed that she felt safe and loved enough to be her enthusiastic self around him without any regrets.

It was weird to him, like an unfamiliar sense of pride that surged at the sight of her young daughter bouncing around and playing endlessly. He would often look at her and think about how different her personality was from his, and how much it reminded him of her mother. Sae tried not to though, as he despised comparing his daughter to his late wife over and over again, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. From the way she smiled to the color of her hair... they were just so alike each other. He still kept all the memories from her close to his heart, which in a way made him feel guilty. Sae knew just how much his daughter yearned for a maternal figure; someone to talk to and educate her about girly stuff that he may not understand. He would watch her staring at the other kids with their moms and act like it really wasn't a big deal to avoid making him feel like he wasn't enough, but Sae knew better. It was obvious to him that his daughter absolutely adored him, and he was sure she thought he was enough, but he also knew that she missed having a mom. She missed her mom. He missed her mom too.

Normally he would avoid talking about it. It had been hard enough trying to explain to this small child that her mom wasn't coming home that night, or ever, let alone process his own grief at the loss of the only woman he once loved. If he cried, he had to do it when his daughter wasn't looking, because the last thing he needed to add to his worries was worrying his daughter to the point of avoiding everything that may set off a bad mood on him. It wasn't her fault, he just felt his heart break everytime he took her home and she pointed at a framed picture of her mom exclaiming 'Mama!' Or 'Hey mama', 'I'm back, mama', 'Miss you, mama'. He would hold back his tears and take a deep breath whenever she tried asking if she could visit her mom in the place she was at (as he initially had told her it was a place where she couldn't come back), having to explain carefully that she couldn't. She would get mad and ask why a bunch of times, but he didn't have the heart to tell her 'She's dead' straight up. He really tried to just give her an excuse like that she was sleeping forever or something, as if she was in the sleeping beauty, but then she just began asking if a true love kiss from him would wake her up. She was a child, after all, and she hadn't quite grassped the concept of death yet.

He let himself watch her sleep for a few moments, sinking in the stillness of the night. Taking care of a young child made this moments rare, and he treasured whatever rest he could get. He reached out to the nightstand and picked up the heater remote, pressing a couple of buttons to turn it on a bit; just enough to keep the room warm, as he knew nights at that time of the year could become fairly cold and he didn't want his daughter getting sick. And as expected, she got very evidently more comfortable as the room became warmer, falling into a deeper state of sleep. She had only carried her favorite bunny plushie from her room to hold onto and apparently that was all she needed to fall asleep. He plopped himself onto the bed as well and fell asleep almost instantly from the exhaustion of the day, not even caring about closing the door or the half-washed dishes he left on the sink or even the fact that he hadn't even changed his clothes. He was DONE for the day.

Although, the next day he most definitely regretted it.

He had to wake up early and finish cleaning all the mess his daughter had left throughout the day, plus now he had to make breakfast, wake her up and get her to school. Sae was a rather organized person and he would normally not find himself in this type of situation, but it seemed like ever since he became a father he was running short of time for everything no matter how much he tried to plan in advance.

"Morning." Sae greeted his still somewhat sleepy child as she yawned and climbed the chair infront of her to eat. "Slept well?"

"Mhm..." Mao mumbled, rubbing her eyes with one arm while she still clung to her favorite plushie with the other. He placed a plate on the table for her and then one for him, along with his usual morning coffee and the only damned brand of juice that she liked for some reason and that he had to drive for an hour to buy.

"Come on, eat. You have preschool today."

"Can't I skip? It's snowing so muuuuch." the kid dropped her head onto the table and sighed, clearly displeased about going to school.

"Apparently it's not snowing enough to cancel your classes. Now, please, eat."

He watched intently as his daughter took a close look at the food, pouting and feeling now rather down since she wasn't allowed to skip school. She took a couple of bites of her breakfast and she had a few sips of her juice, then she pushed her plate a little to indicate she was done.

"Thanks for the food." she was about to get off the table when she was interrupted by her father's stern voice.

"Not so fast. There is no way you're full with just that."

"Yeah I am..." such an obvious lie.

"Why aren't you eating? And I want the truth."

She pouted, AGAIN, before reluctantly giving an answer.

"It has green peppers on it..." and there you have it; this was the real challenge of Sae's day.

"I told you, they're good for you."

"But they're gross! Can I eat something else please?" this is Sae's life now. Even winning a soccer match was easier than getting his daughter to eat her vegetables.

"Mao, I spent a lot of time making breakfast for you, can you please finish your food? You still need to get ready to go to school. I don't have any time to make you more breakfeast; I have to go work."

"But... I really don't like them... please?" that was the last straw for him. He didn't mean to sound cruel, but he was tired and didn't know what else to say.

"Mao Itoshi, you're staying on this table until the last bite of food on your plate is GONE. If you don't, you'll go to school hungry and I'm not making you anything else after I pick you up. You are eating this one way or another." he almost instantly regretted the harsh tone of voice he had used, as he saw his kid's eyes begin watering. He passed his hands through his face in exasperation, took a deep breath, and walked around the table to pick her up. He exhaled, trying his best to remain calm before speaking to her again, as he could feel Mao's tears on his clothes and the little shudders she made at the effort to hold back tears. Sae patted and passed his fingers through his daughter's hair in a poor attempt to soothe her, but the damage was already done. She was holding thay bunny plush in her arms like a lifeline. "Sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be so hard on you. I woke up early to make your breakfast and you just took a few bites of it... I got frustrated, but that wasn't a reason to force you to eat something you don't like. I'm just saying, green peppers aren't the end of the world; they can be tasty."

"I guess I can eat them..." he sighed.

"No, you'll just be eating them out of guilt. You shouldn't do things you don't want to just because you're afraid of someone's bad mood." he thought for a moment. Mao eating the green peppers wasn't the ideal result now, she was hurt and vulnerable and that would only teach her that she should fear and comply which wouldn't end well on the long run... still, he did spend his time making her breakfast and didn't want it to go to waste. "Tell you what. I'll eat the green peppers for today, if you promise you'll at least try them next time, and I'll find another recipe to try to make them taste better. Sound good?" she nodded, still hiding her face from him by pressing it against his clothes. "Good. Now, I really don't have more time to make you more breakfast, so let's pick out the stuff you don't like just this once, and only this one time. I seriously need you to try to learn to eat your vegetables."

"...'kay."

"Let's hurry then; you still need to get ready for school."

Sae for sure was missing having some help on the raising of his daughter. He would never admit it though, he would try and pretend parenting was the easiest thing in the world when in reality he was fighting for his life everyday trying to shape this little human into a good person, and refraining from helping her while she failed at tying her shoe countless of times before admiting she didn't know how to do it (this is why he only buys her velcro).

He left the tiny sparkling pink shoes on the ground as he heard the doorbell, then looked at the clock hanging from the wall nearby. 8:14am, who in the world was it this early? Sae indicated his daughter to stay still on the couch before walking towards the door, and right after seeing the face on the other side he furrowed his eyebrows in surprise.

"Rin? What are you doing here?" his little brother then proceeded to push him aside and step inside as if it were his own house.

"Move, I didn't come here for you." his eyes traveled the room and eventually fell on the little girl sitting on the couch, and in a blink of an eye he had lifted the little girl up and hugged her tightly. Despite her surprise, she could obviously recognize her only favorite uncle.

To everyone's surprise, Rin absolutely adored his niece. Sure he had problems with his older brother but he didn't have to take it out on an innocent child that had done nothing to him. Besides, she was so adorable and bubbly and so NOT like Sae. Rin sometimes would stare at her in amazement, wondering how it was possible that this was truly Sae's spawn; yet the teal eyes and lower lashes were unmistakable. She was an Itoshi alright.

"Umclw Rwin!" her voice came out muffled, as she was currently being burried on his chest, but the sentiment was there.

"What are you doing here?" Sae was straight to the point, not caring about his cold tone of voice this time. And he says he doesn't have favorites.

"I just came back from my morning run." the younger Itoshi explained, still not looking at him in the eye. "Thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"To her."

"Yes, I didn't want to talk to your pathetic-"

"Language."

"Shut up."

"Don't hug her when you're still sweaty and gross, she just took a bath." he continued scolding Rin, earning a groan of frustration from him.

"Your dad is so annoying." his niece giggled at the obvious beef between his dad and uncle. She didn't really understand it but it was funny from her point of view. "Such lukewarm rules he has."

"Lukewarm!" she repeated.

"Rin, stop teaching her those words. Mao, say bye to your uncle; we have to get you to school."

"Awwwwww, can he come with?"

"Fine, whatever will get you to actually go to school. Rin, let's go."

"Don't boss me around." he complained, walking with his niece on his arms towards the door and setting her down. "Let's put on our shoes, shall we?" he took the shoes Sae had set down earlier and helped the kid put them on with ease. Of course, he had dealt with this countless of times before. Sae had the bad habit of using him as a free nanny for whenever he had to travel, which was often.

"Uncle Rin, how do you go running with all this snow? It's so cold!"

"When you run, you sweat and then it doesn't feel so cold." he finished tying the kid's shoelaces and took her by the hand, then Sae picked up a scarf wrapped it carefully around her neck.

"Don't take it off." he warned, watching as she began squirming to get away from the scratchy scarf. "It's cold out, I don't want you getting sick."

"Okay, papa." he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before taking her free hand and not so subtly making Rin let go of her as he finally opened the front door. They were quickly hit by the cold winter air, and Mao shuddered a little at the sudden change in temperature.

Stil, Sae made sure his hand was holding hers tight and that she kept herself on his field of vision. There would be someday in the future where she wouldn't need him to hold her hand; he had to treasure these moments and not let her go while he still could.

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter four a whirlwind of chaos and laughter turns into something much more when Miss Journalist and Hiori Yo can't ignore the spark between them any longer. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader angst, fluff, slightly suggestive (if you squint) masterlist

"And action!"

The marketing manager’s voice slices through the steady crackle of sizzling chicken nuggets.

You’re back in Bastard Munchen’s pristine kitchen. Instead of lounging by the marble island sharing a plate of pot stickers with the players, you’re seated across from Hiori Yo—your favorite football player turned late-night gaming buddy.

For someone who admitted to staying up late last night (because he had to try that newly released game he’s been raving on about), he looks annoyingly refreshed. 

And, frankly, annoyingly fine.

A small round table separates the two of you, modestly set for a casual meal for two, like something out of a cozy café. The kitchen hasn’t changed much for this setup, save for the table serving as an odd centerpiece amidst its sleek, curated kitchen backdrop. The savory aroma of frying chicken nuggets fills the air, mingling with a faint whiff of rain you’re convinced is coming from Hiori.

Your "date" shifts in his seat, snapping you out of your thoughts. He flashes you an easy smile—the kind that promises everything’s going to be just fine. Behind him, the camera crew hovers, accompanied by the marketing manager.

“Hi,” Hiori says softly, his voice charming you like a spell, as if this really is some kind of meet-cute.

“Hello,” you reply, stifling a laugh. But your lips betray you, curling into a smile you can’t quite suppress.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The silence melts into shared giggles—like kids conspiring over a secret.

And maybe, in a way, you are.

“Ya look great today,” Hiori says, his gaze unwavering. He doesn’t give your outfit a once-over; instead, his eyes stay locked on your face, as though that’s all he needs to confirm your beauty.

“Thanks,” you reply, looking at your outfit consciously. “It’s nice to see you in normal clothes for once.”

Your confidence feels natural today, and you prop your head in one hand, soaking in the sight of him.

“Hmm... Ya make it sound like I wear a costume every time we meet,” he chuckles, tugging at the sleeve of his navy bomber jacket. His eyes flick away for a moment, and you catch the faintest hint of red at the tips of his ears.

Instead of his usual training jersey or the black-and-gold Bastard München kit, Hiori wears a simple black shirt beneath the jacket. It’s a casual choice that shifts his entire aura. You’ve seen him countless times, on and off the field, but almost always in his professional gear.

In your eyes, Hiori Yo has always been the football superstar—someone you interact with because of work, someone you talk to more than most because of work. Someone who probably sees you as just another face in the sea of media professionals.

But today feels different. This little illusion—the cozy setup, the way he leans into the role of your "date"—lets you live out a fantasy. For a moment, it feels like it could be real under different circumstances.

“And you,” you tease, leaning in slightly, “it’s nice to see how you’d dress for a date.”

“I am on a date.” His brows furrow slightly. “We’re on a date.” His voice is calm, his words spoken like an unshakable truth.

For a fleeting moment, he’s not a football superstar, not leagues out of your reach.

He’s just a guy across the table, someone you can picture sharing lazy Saturday afternoons with. Someone you could almost believe is sitting here because of you—and only you.

Before you can reply, Gagamaru steps in with impeccable timing. He sets down a plate of crispy chicken nuggets and furikake fries between you. The golden nuggets glisten under the kitchen lights as he places a bottle of ketchup and two cans of soda on the table.

Right. The shoot.

Just last week, Bastard München’s marketing manager emailed you about joining a new off-season content project. With the players finally on their mid-season break, the team plans a video series to spotlight individual players—to test their broader appeal to fans and potential sponsors.

Their words, not yours.

And the concept of the video you’re being invited for? A one-on-one interview styled like a date, featuring none other than their genius midfielder, Hiori Yo.

Apparently, your last collaboration—the behind-the-scenes “day in the life” video courtesy of JFA—had sparked unexpected chemistry.

It caught fans' attention, stirring days of chatter about you, Hiori, and Bastard München. It isn’t “worldwide trending,” but the buzz is undeniable. The fans just can’t get enough of the surprising, romcom-like moments between you and Hiori.

A lucky journalist interacting with one of the most elusive players of his generation. Shared moments as if it's straight out of a movie.

The dream for every fangirl.

This shoot was an experiment to explore Hiori’s broader appeal, pairing his quiet, understated charm with your relatable, approachable vibe. It’s also an opportunity to spotlight one of their more introverted players, someone who avoids the public eye as much as he can.

Your editor doesn’t hesitate to green-light the project. She’s all-in, shuffling your deadlines and clearing your schedule to make it happen. And her enthusiasm doesn’t even stop there. She nudged you more than once to “just go for it” with the charming midfielder. 

Because, as she so eloquently puts it, “What’s there to lose?”.

And now here you are, playing your part.

Your version of casual date attire: an oversized light-blue button-down (coincidentally matching Hiori’s eyes) left open over a white square-neck cami. It’s nothing flashy, just enough to look the part of someone on a date with someone they like.

“Hmmm, since this is a date, I guess I should start with some date questions,” you say, pursing your lips in mock contemplation. You pull out a small stack of cards the marketing manager handed you earlier and place them neatly beside the plate of food, within reach of both of you.

According to her, the cards are a mix of fun tweets and generic icebreakers designed to spark lighthearted conversation.

Across the table, Hiori munches on furikake fries, watching you with a small smile. His gaze catches yours mid-bite, and you feel a faint flush rise to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you decide to jump right into the questions, catching him just as he pops another fry into his mouth.

“Who’s your favorite player?” you ask.

“Easy—Mesut Özil,” he answers without a second’s hesitation.

“Favorite food?”

“Salt-grilled Pacific saury. I even like the bitter parts.”

“Favorite movie?”

“Ready Player One.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really? I didn’t peg you for the geek type.”

Hiori grins, a little sheepish. “Well... I am. Watchin’ it got my otaku heart racin’.”

He leans back, the humor in his tone shifting to something softer. “Shouldn’t ya know that already? I talked yer ear off about Warhammer last time we played together.” He scratches the back of his neck, glancing away as though embarrassed by the admission.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “I didn’t realize it was at that level. I just thought, ‘Oh, Hiori's talking about his interests, that’s cool.’ I didn’t even know what Warhammer was until you brought it up.” You tighten your lips into a sheepish grin, waving your hands in exaggerated defense.

Hiori chuckles, shaking his head.

The moment is interrupted by a sharp cough off-screen. Both of you whip your heads toward the sound, eyes landing on someone in the crew.

“You guys play games together off hours?” someone asks, voice edged with curiosity.

“Yes?” you and Hiori answer simultaneously, far too quickly. Your voices carry the same nervous uncertainty, the shared “yes” echoing awkwardly between you and Hiori.

A beat of silence stretches, and you can feel the marketing manager’s eyes darting between the two of you, brimming with a curiosity you’re sure they won’t voice—at least not now.

As the buzz of the set picks up again, Hiori leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Guess we’re both not so good at keepin’ secrets, huh?”

You clear your throat and push forward with the next question.

“What’s your strength?”

“As a person or as a player?”

You pause briefly. “Both, if you can.”

He leans back, thoughtful. “I guess… my ability to see things from a broader perspective.”

“And your weakness?”

“Playin’ too much.” He shrugs lightly. “Sometimes I get so caught up in it, I lose motivation for other stuff.”

You’re about to fire off another question when he raises a hand, laughing. “Whoa, slow down! This’s startin’ to feel like a job interview.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “Oh, sorry! Force of habit—y’know, journalist mode.” You laugh nervously, taking a sip of your soda to cover your embarrassment.

Hiori gives you a honest to goodness smile, as if amused. “So, this’s ya gettin’ to know me, huh?”

You set the cards down with a huff, deciding to switch gears. Inhaling deeply, you exhale a dramatic sigh. “Soooo… what’s your type?”

“Type of what?” he asks teasingly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Type of person, romantic partner, obviously.”

He tilts his head, giving the question some thought. “Someone who’s independent. I need space to do my own thing, especially when I’m gamin’. Ya know that already.” His gaze softens as it meets yours.

“But they should be there when it counts. Life as an athlete’s hectic—ya’ve seen how it is.”

You nod, pretending to jot down a mental note. “So… low-maintenance. Got it.”

Hiori chuckles, shaking his head. “Not low-maintenance—just someone who understands balance. And maybe someone who doesn’t mind long Monster Hunter sessions.” He smirks knowingly, and for a fleeting moment, the unspoken connection between you lingers in the air, understanding the inside joke.

Your bite your lips, trying not to smile too wide. “Well, that’s… oddly specific.”

Two months of Monster Hunter nights flash in your mind. Ever since Hiori casually suggested playing together, your evenings had been filled with wyvern hunts and co-op quests. He has an uncanny knack for strategy—always two steps ahead, always saving you when things got dicey.

And then there was that time he convinced you to try Nier: Automata. You’d never forget him backseating with a mixture of exasperation and amusement as you struggled to fend off machines as the stunning android 2B.

“No, no, dodge now! Okay, wait—parry—no, don’t roll off the edge!” His laughter still echoes in your mind.

Your expression softens as the memories linger, but you quickly rein yourself back into the present.

“Yer turn,” Hiori prompts, raising an eyebrow as if daring you. “What’s yer type?”

“Oh, uh…” You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, thinking. “I guess... someone kind, who can make me laugh. And…” You hesitate before adding, “Someone who respects my space and time, especially since I’m kind of a workaholic.”

Then, with a pointed glance, you add, “And someone who doesn’t put me on the spot during interviews.”

Hiori bursts out laughing, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Noted. I’ll behave.”

Before you can relax and skim through some of the cards, Hiori throws you a curveball. “What keeps ya goin’ when stuff gets rough?”

You blink, momentarily stunned by the weight of the question. His eyes lock on yours, searching. For a moment, you feel yourself slipping into those deep blue pools.

“Me? Oh, um…” You shift in your seat, unsure how to articulate your thoughts.

“I think it’s knowing I can tell stories that matter—stories that connect people.” You glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s kind of a cliché, I know—”

“It's not,” Hiori interjects, his voice soft but firm. His hand brushes yours briefly on the table, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your fingertips. The sincerity in his gaze holds you in place.

“It shows ya care about what ya do. And that’s what counts, right?”

The warmth in his voice and the light touch of his fingers send heat creeping up your neck. You let the sensation linger for a beat before pulling your hand back, pretending to tuck a nonexistent stray hair behind your ear. The gesture does little to calm your racing thoughts.

Hiori continues, his expression contemplative. “I remember readin’ yer article.”

“Yeah?” You’re genuinely surprised he's bringing it up.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice softening. “The team was in a bad place back then. Greisner wasn’t even talkin' to anyone.” He chuckles awkwardly, and you catch a muffled, annoyed Oi! from somewhere in the background.

“We were playin’ like crap. Everyone could see it—fans, other teams… even us. Felt like it was us against the world.” His gaze flickers to the side, as if embarrassed by his own admission.

You hold your breath, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But then someone sent me yer article,” he continues. “At first, I thought, ‘Great, another roast piece.’ But it wasn’t. Ya didn’t tear us apart. Ya saw something in me—”

“In us,” he corrects himself, covering it with a cough.

“It reminded us someone out there was in our corner. That meant somethin’.”

The weight of his words leaves you momentarily speechless. Your hands fly to your mouth as if to contain your shock. “Wow, I had no idea... I’m just... glad I could help in some way.”

“Ya did. More than ya could possibly imagine,” he says simply, his tone carrying a quiet gratitude. “That article reminded us—even when things feel impossible, there’s always a way forward. Whether it’s in football or anything else, progress happens if ya keep trying. Little by little.” He pauses, his eyes meeting yours again.

“Ya told that story.”

Your chest tightens at the honesty in his words. You nod slowly, letting them sink in. “That’s... really... I, uh... That's means a lot, Hiori.”

He shrugs lightly, a small smile playing on his lips as if to downplay the moment. “It’s just how I try to see things.”

A playful glint returns to his eyes as he adds, “Plus, without it, I guess we wouldn’t be here. On this date. Together.”

His sincerity catches you off guard, leaving a warmth blooming in your chest.

Being a journalist has always felt like existing in a strange limbo.

You’re a faceless name, sending your thoughts out into a void, never quite knowing if your words resonate with anyone—or if they even make a difference. It was that wishful thinking, that quiet hope of connection, that drove you to pursue this career despite the doubts you faced years ago.

Hearing Hiori’s words now, realizing that your article didn’t just touch lives but changed them—his team’s and his—fills you with a sense of pride and fulfillment that you rarely allow yourself to feel. It might seem small to others, but to you, it’s everything.

Your gaze drifts to him, gratitude softening your features. His earlier touch still lingers on your fingertips, a faint reminder of the unspoken connection building between you.

I wonder if this is what it feels like... to be in the right place at the right time. To have something just... click.

You clear your throat, shaking the cards in your hand. Loosening up by rolling your shoulders and stretching your arms, a big smile betrays your nonchalance over what you’ve heard.

“Okay, moving on! These are fan questions—filtered and curated, of course.”

Hiori raises an eyebrow. “Curated, huh?”

You shuffle the cards with a sheepish grin and glance at the first one. Without thinking, you read it aloud:

“Hiori, your hands look really nice. Are they soft like how they look in camera?”

Hiori chuckles, holding up his hands as if presenting evidence. “Guess I gotta ask ya.”

“Wha—?!” Your jaw drops. “Me?”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Ya’ve shaken hands with me before, haventcha? So, what’s the verdict? Are they soft?”

You laugh nervously, feeling your face heat up. “I—I am not answering that!”

“C’mon, just settle it.” Hiori laughs, holding his hands out toward you.

Hesitant but unable to resist, you gingerly take his left hand and give it a light squeeze. Your fingers trace his palm as you try to compose your thoughts.

“They’re… huh… I’m surprised. They look soft, but they’re a little rough. Probably because of football, but—”

You stop mid-sentence as Hiori’s playful smile grows wider. Realizing he’s enjoying hearing your thoughts, you let out a dramatic sigh and turn toward the camera.

“They’re soft,” you say flatly, rolling your eyes for effect.

You quickly pick up the next card, only to have your eyes widen in shock. A nervous laugh escapes you as you read it silently, trying to decide whether to skip it.

“Oh, wow. This one’s… bold,” you mutter, clearing your throat.

Finally, you muster the courage to read it out loud: “Bet Hiori is a dom.”

Your voice drops to a whisper by the end, and you dart a glance at Hiori. His expression is a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Do I… do we really have to answer this?” you ask, waving the card toward the marketing manager watching from the sidelines.

Hiori chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting into a teasing smile. “Ya already said it out loud. Too late to back out now.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I regret everything.”

Leaning closer, his voice drops to a playful murmur. “Whatcha think?”

Your head snaps up, and you feel your cheeks go impossibly hotter. “I—I am not answering that!” you stammer defensively.

Hiori leans back, feigning innocence, though his grin betrays him. “Suspicious. Very suspicious.”

Despite your flustered state, you blurt out, “Okay, fine! I guess you are a dom. An ultra sadist.” You pause for a second, biting your lip, wondering if you’ve said too much.

Did I really just say that out loud?

You can feel the heat rush to your face, but there's no going back now.

Hiori, caught mid-sip of his soda, chokes in surprise, coughing violently as he grabs for a tissue. You burst into laughter, hurriedly handing him more while apologizing between giggles.

“Sorry! Isagi told me to say it!” You point accusingly off-camera.

Hiori turns to see Isagi standing next to the monitor, a whiteboard in hand with Hiori = Ultra Sadist scrawled across it in big, bold letters. Behind him, Kurona, Raichi, and Igarashi are doubled over in laughter. Isagi gives an awkward thumbs-up, his boyish grin only making Hiori groan.

“M'going to have a long talk with him later,” he mutters under his breath, earning another round of laughter from you.

Eager to change the subject, you grab the next card, a smile lingering as you read aloud. “Ohh... This one’s fun... ‘Hiori Yo could read the phonebook to me, and I’d still swoon.’”

Tilting your head thoughtfully, you glance at him. “Now I kind of want to test that. Can you actually make a phonebook sound swoon-worthy?”

Hiori pauses in thought and sets his drink aside. His voice dips into a smooth, velvety tone as he says, “Tourist Information Center: 03-3201-3331. For general tourism inquiries, open from 9 AM to 5 PM.”

A small Oooooh escapes your lips. “That was way too good. Are you sure this isn’t your secret side hustle?” .

He chuckles, gaze soft but playful. “Think I should start a hotline? Late-night calls... reading lists... ASMR…” He pauses, his eyes flicking toward you with a teasing glint. “Or maybe something... more exclusive?”

The insinuation isn’t lost on you, and you chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, hoping the blush isn’t obvious.

“Maybe,” he replies casually in a singsong manner, his smile lingering as he props his face on his hands looking at you.

You take another bite of a chicken nugget, clearing your throat before reading the next card. “Can Hiori teach me football like he taught Y/N? Asking for a friend.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a playful grin. “Looks like you’re in high demand, Coach Hiori.”

Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, he grins. “M'flattered, but I might already have a favorite student.”

Caught off guard, you blink. “Wait, me?”

His smirk widens as he nods. “Who else?”

You feel heat rise to your face but brush it off quickly. Flipping to the next card, you snort as you read aloud, “Hiori Yo x Miss Journalist content is my new religion. Bless Bastard München’s marketing team.”

You groan dramatically. “Bless them? I think they’re trying to embarrass me!”

Hiori only shrugs, “Or maybe they’re just helping us make memories.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,”

Letting out a small laugh, you glance at the next card. “Okay, here’s another one. Do you guys realize how much chemistry you have?”

Hiori’s lips curl into a faint smile as he looks at you. “Chemistry, huh? Whatcha think?”

Flustered, you glance away, focusing on the cards as if they’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “That’s not for me to say! I’m just reading the questions.”

“But yer the expert, aintcha?” Hiori leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Observing players, analyzing dynamics…”

You hesitate, heart fluttering at his unexpected intensity.

For a moment, you can’t help but notice how earnest he looks behind his boyish smile. His eyes are warm, his posture leaning in slightly as though waiting for your answer—and it makes the air between you feel charged.

“Well,” you say carefully, your voice quieter now, “I do think we have chemistry. I mean, we wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t vibe, right?”

Grinning, you pick up the last nugget and offer it to him. His gaze follows your hand closely, and as he leans forward to take a bite, you forget just how tall he is and how he's able to reach you immediately,

The proximity catches you off guard, and his lips brush against your fingertips lightly. The brief contact sends a shiver through you, a subtle spark that lingers long after.

His smile widens, an innocent taunt in his expression, but there’s a flicker of something deeper beneath his teasing eyes.

For a moment, everything else fades into background.

Who knew he had such game?

But you don’t falter. Without breaking eye contact, you pop the rest into your mouth, making an exaggerated show of it. His eyes widen slightly, but that satisfied grin never leaves his face, his gaze still lingering on you as if the playful moment hadn’t quite ended.

“Y’know,” he says, settling back. “I almost didn’t do this. Not really a fan of the camera.”

“What made you reconsider?” you ask curiously, your tone light but intrigued.

“It’s work. I might get fired if I don’t do this occasionally, I guess,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck, clearly searching for a better excuse.

A loud snort from the sidelines catches your attention.

“That's bullshit! Hiori immediately said yes when they told him it’s a date with you!” Isagi’s voice cuts through the room, and he doubles over in laughter, clutching his stomach.

Behind him, Kurona and Raichi join in, while Ness and Kiyora peek from the hallway, clearly eavesdropping.

Hiori groans, muttering something about refusing to pass to Isagi in the next game unless he begs for forgiveness.

You smile, shaking your head at the chaos. 

A tap on your shoulder brings you back to the task at hand. The cameraman hands over a few more cards. With a glance at the marketing manager, who gestures for you to continue, you smile and read the next one aloud.

“I will riot if Hiori and Y/N don’t end up together. The ship has sailed whether they like it or not!”

You glance at Hiori with a mischievous smile. The urge to take your teasing to the next level is strong. You wanted to see how far this charade can go. Even if it's just for your own satisfaction.

“Wow, people are so invested. I feel responsible. How do we make sure this ship doesn’t sink?”

Hiori leans forward, his expression mock-serious, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, for starters, I think communication is key. Every ship needs a good captain and crew who trust each other.”

He pauses for effect, looking at you pointedly. “Think ya can handle being co-captain?”

Feigning deep thought, you tap your chin. “Hmm, I don’t know. Co-captains have to work really closely together, and I’m not sure if you’re up to my standards.”

A playful gasp escapes him. “Not up to yer standards? I’ll have ya know I’m an excellent team player. Just ask Isagi.”

You both turn to Isagi, who’s still recovering from his earlier fit of laughter. He straightens up, grinning. “Oh, absolutely. Hiori’s great—when he’s not plotting how to leave me stranded on the field.”

“Not helping, Isagi,” Hiori mutters, though his smile doesn’t falter.

The playful tension draws a chorus of cheers and mock whistles from the team. Isagi cups his hands around his mouth, yelling, “Let’s gooo, ship of the year!”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the smile spreading across your face as you glance at Hiori. “Looks like the crew is on board.”

Hiori chuckles, leaning back with a satisfied grin that hints at something deeper. “Then it’s settled. This ship is unsinkable.”

“You’re not allowed to say that!” you exclaim, laughing. “That’s a total jinx!”

The room fills with laughter again, the easy energy between the two of you now impossible to miss. The air feels lighter, but there’s an undeniable current that flows between you, unspoken but clearly present.

With every word, every glance, it feels like you’re navigating uncharted waters together—one small step closer to the edge, yet never quite willing to jump in.

“Miss Journalist, we’ve been friends for a while now, right?” Hiori's eyes narrowing with a suspicious gleam. He’s planning something.

“Yes?” you answer, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

He leans forward, the innocent yet sly smile never leaving his face. “So, you don’t mind me asking—who’s your favorite player on Bastard Munchen?”

You roll your eyes but keep your playful tone, already ready to play along. “That’s a tough one, but I guess... I’d have to say... Gagamaru?”

“Really? Gagamaru?” Hiori laughs, a teasing edge to his voice. “No offense, Gagamaru.”

You shrug with a mischievous grin, trying to keep up the act. 

“That’s not what other people are telling me, though.” Hiori’s eyes twinkle with something unreadable as he pulls out his phone and swipes through it, then shows you the Winstagram picture of you wearing his jersey. 

Oh, dear lord.

You groan inwardly, but there’s no escaping it now. 

“Fine! You’re... up there,” you admit, laughing but feeling the blush creeping in. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, you continue, “But I’m sure the other guys won’t be too happy to hear that.”

Hiori’s grin widens, clearly enjoying himself. “S'okay. Just wanted to make sure.”

Before you can say anything more, Isagi shuffles over with a mischievous grin and hands Hiori a card. Hiori glances at it, his brow raising slightly before that sly smile stretches across his face. 

Holding it up, he reads aloud. “Okay, last card! Due to popular demand, we dare Hiori to ask the journalist out on camera.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor. “Popular demand? Who’s making these demands?”

Hiori doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leans towards you, a playful smile on his lips, his gaze locked on you. “Should I?”

You try to laugh it off, waving your hands in mock protest. “You don’t have to entertain everything they write, you know!”

But his gaze never falters. In fact, it softens, turning a little more serious, as if he’s letting a moment of sincerity break through the playful tension. “Yeah, but... what if I want to?”

Your heart skips a beat. “W-wait,” you stammer, feeling your composure slip. “Are you serious?”

Hiori tries to close the distance a bit further, the air between you both growing warmer. “Dinner. Just us. No cameras. Whatcha think?”

You blink, entirely thrown off course, and quickly turn to the crew, desperately waving the cards in mock surrender. “C-can we cut this part out? Please?”

From off-screen, the marketing manager’s voice rings out in amusement. “Nope! This is gold—we’re keeping it.”

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands, a mix of embarrassment and disbelief filling you. “Why am I even here?” you mutter, half-laughing, half-horrified.

As the crew starts to wrap up, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The shoot has been a whirlwind of chaos and laughter—nothing like you expected. But in the midst of all the teasing and jokes, there have been moments.

Small, fleeting moments where the façade of “content shoot” cracks just enough to reveal something real. Something that makes your heart race.

And it scares you. Because as much as you’ve enjoyed... whatever this is, there’s that nagging thought at the back of your mind. This wasn’t part of the plan.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so... real.

For Hiori, it’s equally disarming. At first, this shoot was just another day on the job. But now, as he watches you—how you smile when you try to deflect a question, the way you talk about your work with such genuine passion, how you handle the “shipping” comments with a perfect blend of humor and grace—it hits him.

He’s drawn to you.

It’s not just the playful banter or the way you make him laugh. It’s the way you see things differently, the way you carry yourself with this unexpected blend of wit and intelligence, and how you’re not fazed by the chaos around you.

When you laugh, it’s not forced; it’s real. When you talk about your work, it’s not some canned response. It’s something you actually care about. He’s seen people like you before, but not like this. Not in a way that makes him feel this... interested.

There’s something about the way you navigate the awkward moments, how you’re not afraid to call him out or laugh at his expense, that makes him want to know more. It’s as if, for the first time in a long time, someone has seen beyond his persona—beyond Hiori Yo the athlete—and into the person he is.

And he likes what he sees.

As you gather your things, Hiori stands, his movements unhurried but deliberate, as if the moment has only just begun. The air between you both feels different now—lighter, yet somehow more significant.

For the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s in control, but also... a little unsure. And that feeling, surprisingly, excites him.

“So,” he says, his voice casual but his gaze never wavering from yours, “about that dinner...”

You look up at him, still flustered, but a faint smile creeping onto your lips. You try to deflect, make it sound casual. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

But his eyes are different now—softer, more sincere. “Not a chance.”

And in that moment, you see it. You see the shift in him, in the way he looks at you now—not as another journalist, but as someone he genuinely wants to know beyond the surface.

For a second, you can’t find the words. All you can do is laugh softly, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips as you shake your head.

He’s not asking because of a dare or because of a camera. It’s something real, something unspoken but undeniable. And for the first time today, you let yourself stop overthinking. You let yourself just feel the moment.

“Sure, why not?”

Maybe, just maybe, letting your guard down isn’t such a terrible idea after all.

amari's notes: i was kicking, giggling and smiling alone like crazy writing this! I really think these two have a great balance—neither too shy nor too teasing, just kind of testing the waters and seeing where things go. I’m here for it! If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Embers of Betrayal

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

AU: Knight 141 x Healer Reader

Warnings: There is a lot of fighting in this, mentions of the group getting attacked and the healer (aka you) as well as Soap will be hurt

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I’ve decided to kinda make the ‘Knight 141 x Healer! Reader’ kinda like a oneshot Story instead of how I’ve made Shadow and Paws, do enjoy this series!

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The crackle of the campfire echoed in the stillness of the forest, its embers dancing up into the ink-black sky. Around you, the 141 knights moved like shadows, their well-worn armor clinking softly as they secured the camp’s perimeter. Price stood near the fire, his gaze hard and vigilant, while Soap whistled a jaunty tune that failed to mask the tension in his shoulders.

The past weeks of travel had taken a toll on all of you, but tonight felt different. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but an ominous weight pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Soap plopped down beside you, breaking your spiraling thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight, lass. That’s not like you.”

You glanced up, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

“Aye, I’d believe that, but you’ve got a look about you—like you’re bracing for a fight that hasn’t started yet.” His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, reading you too easily.

You hesitated. “It’s just… a feeling. Something’s coming.”

Soap frowned, his playful demeanor fading. “A feeling? How long’ve you had it?”

“Since we made camp.” You rubbed your arms, as though trying to dispel the cold that seeped into your bones. “It’s like… I can’t explain it, but something bad is going to happen. To me, or to you. Maybe all of us.”

His jaw tightened. “And you’re only saying this now?”

“I didn’t want to worry anyone,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, too late for that,” he muttered, standing abruptly. “Price!”

“What is it?” Price’s voice was a steady rumble as he strode over, his sword sheathed but ready.

Soap explained your feeling, his voice low but urgent. Price’s brow furrowed, his expression unreadable.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Price asked, his tone gentler than you expected.

“I wasn’t sure if it meant anything,” you replied. “But now…”

Price nodded grimly. “We’ll stay sharp. Ghost, Gaz, double the perimeter watch. Soap, you stay close to her.”

Ghost and Gaz exchanged a glance before moving to obey. Soap sat back down, closer this time, and gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, lass. We’ve got your back.”

The attack came without warning.

You’d barely begun to relax when a sharp whistle pierced the night air. An arrow streaked toward the fire, embedding itself into a log with a hollow *thunk*.

“Ambush!” Price’s voice boomed as he unsheathed his sword, the firelight gleaming off the polished steel.

The camp erupted into chaos. Figures clad in dark cloaks surged from the treeline, their blades glinting in the dim light. The 141 moved as one, their weapons flashing as they met the attackers head-on.

Soap pushed you behind him, his dagger gleaming in the firelight. “Stay close, lass!”

But the enemy was relentless, and the camp was too small to avoid the fray. A soldier lunged at you, his sword arcing toward your head.

Your instincts kicked in before you had time to think. You raised your hands, a burst of golden light flaring between your palms. The spell struck the soldier square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Soap glanced back, his eyes wide with surprise. “That’s new.”

“No time for explanations!” you shouted, drawing the dagger he’d given you weeks ago.

Another attacker came at you, his blade slashing in a wild arc. You ducked under the swing, your dagger slicing across his leg. He crumpled with a scream, and you kicked him away before spinning to face the next threat.

You lost track of time, the world narrowing to a blur of steel and magic. Each spell you cast drained your energy, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins kept you moving. You were dimly aware of Ghost and Gaz fighting nearby, their movements precise and lethal, while Price barked orders to regroup.

A sudden blow to your side knocked the wind out of you. You stumbled, your vision swimming as a soldier grabbed your wrist, twisting it until the dagger fell from your grasp.

“You’re the healer,” he sneered, yanking you toward him. “Your friends will trade anything to get you back.”

Panic flared in your chest, but before you could react, the soldier was ripped away. Ghost loomed behind him, his blade slicing through the man’s armor with terrifying ease.

“You all right?” Ghost’s voice was low and urgent as he crouched beside you.

“I’m fine,” you gasped, clutching your side.

He helped you to your feet, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before he turned back to the fight.

By the time the last attacker fell, the camp was in ruins. The fire had been extinguished during the skirmish, and the only light came from the moon and the faint glow of your healing magic as you worked to patch up Soap’s shoulder.

“You’re full of surprises, lass,” he said with a wince. “Didn’t know you could fight like that.”

“I didn’t either,” you admitted, your hands trembling as you sealed the wound.

Price crouched beside you, his expression grim. “What the hell was that back there?”

You swallowed hard, still reeling from the battle. “I told you—I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.”

He studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes sharp. “And this feeling of yours… is it always this accurate?”

You hesitated. “It’s not always this strong. But when it is, I’ve learned not to ignore it.”

Gaz, who had been standing nearby, frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I didn’t want to alarm anyone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re part of this team now,” Gaz said firmly. “Next time, speak up.”

Soap nodded, his usual grin replaced by a rare seriousness. “Aye. If you’ve got a gift like that, we need to know about it.”

Ghost remained silent, his dark eyes unreadable. But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady and deliberate. “They were after you.”

The words hung in the air like a curse.

“Why would they target me?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

“You’re a healer,” Price said, his tone heavy. “In war, someone like you is worth more than gold.”

Soap’s hand landed on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “They won’t get another chance, lass. Not while we’re here.”

Gaz nodded in agreement. “We’ll protect you. No matter what.”

For a moment, the weight of their words pressed against your chest, threatening to overwhelm you. But as you looked around at the faces of the men who had fought tooth and nail to keep you safe, you felt something stronger than fear.

Hope.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜