#(morphs from wall) Hello.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Second Time's The Charm X

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: Your wife has always been frowny

She'd always been fairly stoic, your Ale.

With her frowny little face, holding onto the straps of her backpack on her first day of school.

You'd spotted her from across the yard instantly as your mother shepherded you and your brother out of the car.

"Don't go towards her," Your brother said. Older and wiser than you, you nodded.

"Why?"

"Because she's wearing a Barcelona shirt," He said decisively," We like Real Madrid."

"We do?"

"Yes."

He stalked off to his own class and your mother held your hand as she walked you to your line.

"Don't listen to him," She said to you," You can be friends with whoever you want. Football is silly anyway."

Older and wiser than you, your brother may have been but your mother was even older and even wiser so you trusted her opinions more.

So, you went up to the frowny little girl in a Barcelona jersey.

Going up to her transformed into marrying her on the first day of school, under the slide with a kiss on the lips like you'd seen Mami and Papa do when Papa came home from work.

"Amor," Your frowny little wife said the next day when you came into school," There you are!"

She'd taken your hand then and led you into class herself, waving goodbye to both of your parents as she took you inside.

'Amor', she called you.

Never your name.

Sometimes, you would feel a pencil in your back and you'd turn around at your desk, where your frowny Ale would show you her worksheet and say in her monotone voice 'help me please, Amor'.

You'd helped her every time.

Childhood graduated into being teenagers and Alexia finally started to smile more.

Only a little bit.

Only for you.

She lingered outside of your classes, hand already out for you to take when you came out of the room. You walked to school together. You walked back from school together.

She gave you those secret smiles when it was just the two of you, the smiles she never gave to anyone else that would drop the moment someone else arrived.

Straight back to your frowny Alexia who didn't want anyone to know she had a heart.

Your frowny Alexia who still called you her 'Amor' and still held your hand and still looked for you in the crowd.

Your frowny Alexia who frowned all through your (admittedly rushed) wedding ceremony until you two were kissing and went to a fast food place for your first meal as a married couple.

Your frowny Alexia who had Mr Stinky in her arms right now, not noticing that you'd come home from your overnight shift at the hospital.

"You are a stinky boy," She said to him, still blissfully unaware of your presence leaning against the wall. Her voice was as serious and monotone as it was in all of her press conferences but still tinged with affection as your old, senior cat mewed in answer. "Yes. You are. Very stinky."

Mr Stinky mewed again.

"But that's okay because we can give you a bath. I don't mind that you're stinky."

Mr Stinky tilted his head to the side.

"Because you are our son and I love you."

She pulled him closer, cradling your cranky old cat like he was a baby, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

"Well," You said, fully stepping into the room," It's nice to know that you've finally accepted him as our son."

Alexia's cute little frowny face morphed into a smile.

"You're home!"

"I am home," You said, moving towards your wife and Mr Stinky," Hello. I missed you."

You pressed kisses to Alexia's lips, hand coming up to stroke Mr Stinky's fuzzy head.

"Missed you too," She mumbled against you and you smiled.

"Well, I'm home now. Movies and takeout?"

"Takeout for lunch?"

"And dinner."

"And nap time here," Ale insisted," With our stinky son."

Mr Stinky mewed his outrage.

"Alright," You said," I'll order lunch. You can get the blankets."

Alexia was up like a shot, still holding Mr Stinky like a little baby.

"When we have human children," She said," I hope we can all have naps together, amor."

"We will, Ale," You promised," We will."

[ticklygiggles]

Lunch break | Asaba Harumasa x Mocha [n$fw]

Commissioner's OC | PPYMIA COMCO

A/N: Collab with always precious and beautiful @ppystkposts commissioned by @kusuguricafe! We hope you enjoy this, thank you for your support!

Big thanks to always wonderful @lovelynim for beta reading this fic and also for providing the images used in this fic hehe mwah love

Friendly reminder that we still have two free slots!

Summary: Harumasa has a little visit during lunch break.

Words: 2.7k

Reports, reports, and more reports.

This was, without a doubt, the most mind-numbing and soul-crushingly dull aspect of his job, and, of course, the one he detested the most. As he sat there, staring blankly at the endless stream of paperwork, his mind inevitably wandered to his stunning girlfriend.

A goofy, soft grin spread across Harumasa's face at the mere thought of her, his heart skipping a beat that sent a delightful shiver coursing through his chest and down to his stomach. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he felt embarrassed for behaving like a smitten schoolboy with his first crush, unable to shake off the silly, lovesick feeling that had taken hold of him.

As he glanced at the clock on the wall, he realized that lunchtime was fast approaching, and a wild, impulsive idea suddenly came to his mind. He swiftly grabbed his phone and opened the messaging app, his fingers flying across the screen as he navigated to her chat, a sense of excitement and anticipation building in his chest.

He chuckled to himself, feeling exactly like an excited kid. He quickly glanced behind him, making sure the Deputy Chief wasn't around and that Soukaku and Miyabi had their nose buried in their own work, (something he should be doing as well), and quickly answered her again:

Boosted… well, it didn't matter. He quickly typed again:

His heart pounded against his chest; somehow he felt the exact nervous anticipation he had felt when he mustered the courage to ask Mocha to be his girlfriend. There was really no reason to feel so terribly nervous, but he was desperate to see her and get away from the stress these annoying reports were causing him. His heart skipped a beat as his phone vibrated in his hand with a new notification. He straightened his back and read the new message, letting out a sigh of relief. 

Those five minutes, followed by the agonizing wait until lunch time, felt like eons to Harumasa. The clock's hands seemed frozen in place, refusing to move. He would glance up, convinced that a good ten minutes had elapsed, only to discover with great horror that a mere sixty seconds had ticked by. He fought against a loud whine, frustrated to the core. 

Finally, after three eternities, it was lunchtime and Harumasa jumped up from his chair, making it spin. 

“Ah, Harumasamasa!” Soukaku’s voice stopped him. “Are you having lunch with us?” 

He groaned internally as he turned around to look at her and Miyabi, smiling the kindest smile he could muster. “Not today. I'm having a little visit over lunch break, I need to go pick them up now– I'll see you later!” 

He dashed out of the office and the building, quickly spotting Mocha near the entrance. A warm, loving smile spread across his lips as he approached her with silent steps, almost tiptoeing, her back facing him. Grinning mischievously to himself, he stopped just a couple of steps away from her and leaned close.

“Did I make you wait long, beautiful?” He whispered against her ear, making it twitch, and he laughed loudly as Mocha jumped nearly out of the stratosphere. Mocha's tail hairs stood on end as she quickly turned around and hit him in the chest. “Ouch?” Harumasa said with a smirk.

“You scared me!” She said with a pout that Harumasa couldn't resist pinching tenderly, making her whine. “Is this how you say hello?” 

He grinned, leaning down to steal a tender kiss to her lips. “Hello, beautiful. You look stunning today, what's new~” he purred and seeing her adorable pout morph into a shy smile, he knew he had won her over again, his heart fluttered. 

He laced his fingers through hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and guiding her into the building and into the empty office. Mocha had been there a couple of times before, but she always seemed adorably surprised by it all. 

“That truly looks boring,” she said as she checked a few forms piled up over Harumasa’s desk. “Now I understand why you always procrastinate.” 

He chuckled softly, sitting back in his chair and reaching out to grasp her wrists, gently pulling her onto his lap. Mocha's soft giggles filled the air as she wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, her tail wrapping around his waist. Harumasa gazed at her adoringly as she took in every nook and cranny of the empty office.

“It's quite scary with just the two of us here,” she said in almost a whisper and Harumasa chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle his face against her neck. 

“It's not as loud and fast paced as your cafe, is it?” She shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she felt a tender kiss being pressed to the side of her neck. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. Harumasa smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“N-Now now…," she giggled, her voice trembling as his hand caressed up her thigh, slipping under her skirt to tease the soft skin. "Masa~ we're in your office," she reminded him, her voice laced with laughter as his fingers lightly tickled her thigh.

Harumasa mumbled against her neck, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Hmm, doesn't matter," he whispered, pressing his body flush against hers. "They're all having lunch somewhere."

A soft little mewl escaped her lips as another kiss was pressed to her neck and Harumasa felt a shudder run down his spine. 

“There are cameras, though, we better-” 

She began, but her words abruptly cut off as she suddenly jumped off Harumasa’s lap, catching him off guard. To his surprise, Mocha grasped one of his wrists and dragged him towards a closet in one of the corners of the office. Harumasa’s confusion deepened, but he didn't resist her. Instead, he extended his other hand, giving her a playful spank that made her squeal and blush. Mocha shot him a playful glare over her shoulder as she opened the closet door and unceremoniously pushed Harumasa inside. He chuckled, still confused. 

“What are you- mff-!” Mocha slipped inside as well, closing the door behind her and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss.

Harumasa hummed in approval, moaning softly against her lips as his hands grasped her waist, pulling her close against him. Their hips met, rubbing slightly against each other, filling the little closer with soft sighs, whimpers and moans. 

“This is so naughty,” Harumasa said breathlessly, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. When he woke up that morning, he would never have imagined that he’d spend his lunch break satisfying another kind of hunger with Mocha in a closet in his office. 

She grinned, her eyes half-closed in pleasure, as she pressed herself closer to him, their bodies flush against each other. Her breasts crushed against his chest, sending a flush of embarrassment through Harumasa's cheeks. 

“Don't pretend you don't love it,” she whispered against his lips as she started to unbutton his shirt, each button revealing a silver of Harumasa's skin to her gentle, teasing touch. His skin erupted in goosebumps as her fingers danced across his chest.

Harumasa's heart pounded against his chest as he looked at Mocha's beautiful face, her delicate fingers undoing each button. His eyes were filled with affection and dark with lust. Mocha could make him feel a hundred emotions all at once with just a simple glance. He wanted to cherish and protect her, almost possessively, and, at the same time, wanted to take her, to claim her as his own in every single chance he got. 

His fingers, trembling slightly as if this was his first time with her, sneaked under the hem of her shirt and she grinned, visibly shuddering as he squeezed her waist, digging into the flesh, making her bite her lip in a vain attempt to stifle a moan. 

“Someone's been very naughty today,” she purred, her tail lazily swishing from side to side as she started to untie his tie.

Harumasa smirked, leaning down to place a soft peck to her lips. “Don't pretend you don't love it,” he teased, grinning. Mocha chuckled, her cheeks blushing pink.

“I do love it,” she admitted with a nod. “But I also think you need a little punishment.”

Harumasa's eyes sparkled with lust and amusement. “Oh? Don't threaten me with a good time, kitten,” he whispered, blowing cool air against her ear, making her squeal and her ear twitch.

She glared at him playfully, seizing his wrists from her waist and binding them with his tie. Harumasa gasped, looking at the door of the closet out of instinct before he looked back at the cute bow she had created.

Mocha grinned mischievously at him as she lifted  his arms, hooking them around her neck. Harumasa sighed, blushing as her eyes roamed over his exposed skin. She licked her lips like a hungry lion. 

This certainly was… new. She really wasn't one to try different things during their intimate times, but he couldn't say he was against it.

Harumasa chuckled softly, shuddering when her fingernails grazed the skin of his stomach, his flesh waking up with goosebumps as she traced the contours of his abs. He squirmed slightly, choking on a soft squeal as she circled his belly button. 

“It tickles,” he mumbled with a soft gasp, his body jerking away from her touch. 

Mocha grinned, tracing the curve of Harumasa's hip bones. “It does, doesn't it?”

His heart jumped and his eyes widened in realization. He shook his head. “N-No! Not that, M-Mocha, please!” 

“Shh shh shh.” She tiptoed to reach his lips, kissing them once. “Someone might hear you,” she purred, her fingernails dragging up and down his sides, making him arch with gasps and whimpers that eventually morphed into giggles and soft squeals.

Her touch was gentle, just like the caresse of a soft feather, almost itchy– tortuous, yet, somehow, kind of nice. A sudden burst of laughter escaped Harumasa's lips as her nails danced along his waist, sending shivers down his spine. 

He wanted to lower his arms, but he knew that would put pressure on her neck and he understood why she had chosen that position. Mocha knew he would do his best to not hurt her with any harsh movement. Harumasa whined, giggling again as her nails dragged against the back of his ribs.

“Thihis is so unfahahair, Mocha! Why are you even- ahahaha! Wait! Wahahahit!” 

Ugh, he really was too ticklish for his own good, it was almost embarrassing. Some simple squeezes to his waist were enough to have him giggling like a stupid kid, and twisting his body from side to side, trying to shake off her teasing, wiggling fingers.

“Does it tickle, baby?” She asked teasingly, giggling along with him as he jolted and squealed. “You're so terribly ticklish, are you not?” 

Harumasa whined again, the volume and desperation of his laughter increasing as she moved lower, her thumbs rubbing deep, maddening and so horrendously ticklish circles into his hips that nearly had him shrieking with laughter. 

“Stahahap! I'm seheherious! I fuhuhucking- ahahahaha! Plehehease!” 

“Oh my, oh my, what language is that?” she teased, squeezing his hips in a frantic pace that had Harumasa throwing his head back with loud bouts of laughter. 

Mocha's random ideas always seem to catch him off guard. Instead of the steamy moment he was expecting to have with her, she'd chosen to torment him with tickles, knowing full well that he–

“AHAHAHA! NO! No, nohohot thehehere! PLEHEHEASE!” He leaned against the cold metal wall of the closet, shifting back and forth, trying to get away from Mocha's wicked fingers that had found a place under his arms, tickling his poor armpits as if her life depended on it. 

Harumasa laughed nearly in hysterics, the back of his head banging against the closet wall, as if he wanted to distract himself from the overwhelming sensation. Mocha laughed, but her fingers didn't stop for a second. 

"Stop that! You'll hurt yourself!" she scolded him, but her lips were spread in a wide, playful and mischievous smile as she pinched the ticklish never right in the middle of Harumasa's armpits. 

Harumasa shook his head, his cheeks bright red and his tears twinkling in his eyelashes. “STAHAHAP! You k-knohohow I'm sihihick! Thihis wihill mahahake mehehe- AHAHA! Plehehease!” 

Mocha rolled her eyes fondly, pressing herself a bit more against him to pin him against the wall, but a soft gasp escaped her lips when something poked at her thigh. 

Harumasa widened his eyes, looking down at the same time Mocha did, her fingers coming to a sudden stop as they both looked down between their bodies. 

He gasped in horror and Mocha's mouth fell open. “Ohoho~ do you want me to take care of that?” 

Harumasa shook his head almost desperately, finding a way to unhook his arms from around her neck and reaching down to try and catch Mocha's hands that were starting to unbutton and unzip his pants. Why on earth was be hard?!

“M-Mocha!” He pleaded. “B-Baby, I don't think- oh, fuck~”

Mocha giggled softly. “Oh yeah, that feels so good right?” Her hands had pulled down his clothes in the blink of an eye, his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles. Harumasa threw his head back as she began to stroke his hard cock slowly, so painfully slowly. Shivers of pressure ran down his spine, causing him to arch his back and slowly roll his hips. 

“M-My lovely, ngh! Oh shit, faster please, faster- ack! N-No! Nohoho, wahahait! Nohot tihihickling!”

While her strokes became faster just as he had asked, her other hand had also sprung into action. Harumasa squirmed, trying to press his arms to his body as much as possible. But Mocha's fingers were slender and deft and she didn't struggle to sneak back under his arm to tickle his armpit once more.

Harumasa's voice was a combination of hysterical laughter, broken moans, ragged breathing and the occasional whimper, he was a complete mess. Hating the tickling, but loving it at the same time, his hips moving quickly as he fucked himself into her hand. 

“Fuhuhuck~! Angh! More, more~” he begged, tears of laughter, pleasure and desperation streaming down his cheeks. 

Mocha giggled softly, her cheeks flushed as her eyes studied Harumasa's expression. He cried softly as her thumb swept against his tip, teasing the glands just as she knew he loved it. 

Harumasa moaned loudly, his mind overwhelmed with the sensations that seemed to come from all sides. The tickles moving from his armpit to his ribs and then to his hip, Mocha's hand jerking him off, and even her lips, which had begun to move on his neck, leaving wet kisses on all the places she had memorized were sensitive. 

He felt his body tense, his breathing becoming more frantic, his eyes crossing. He was on the edge, it only took a small push to be able to cum in Mocha's hand. Just a little– 

Two knocks on the door. “Asaba-kun.” It was Yanagi. “Lunch break is almost better cut it out before…” 

Yanagi's voice faded as his eyes rolled back, cumming hard. Mocha pressed a hand against his mouth to muffle the moans as he came undone under her ministrations. Harumasa trembled with pleasure, his cum dripping from Mocha's hand as she milked the last drop of his release. 

Yanagi's heels softly faded away. Of course, she didn't want to be there when Harumasa and Mocha came out of the closet in a mess. Harumasa gasped as Mocha slowly pulled her hand away from his mouth, a trickle of saliva connecting his lips to her palm. 

As he returned from his high, his eyes met Mocha's and he grinned lazily. 

"I think I'll get an administrative report," he said with no concern in his eyes and Mocha laughed lightly. 

“I think you're going to be in a lot of trouble," she said with a bit of empathy in her voice. 

Harumasa hummed. “Maybe…” He looked at the watch on his wrist and then looked at Mocha with a mischievous smile. “Untie me. We still have five minutes.” 

Mocha blinked. “Five minutes for what- ah~!” 

Feeling Mocha's wetness on his fingers almost made him cum again. Five minutes was definitely more than enough. 

[hysteria-things]

PLEASE MAKE A MEET AND GREET PART 2

♛ TWO ° •

ʚ♡ɞ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ʚ♡ɞ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you miss matt like crazy, and can’t help but to send a dirty photo to him…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, suggestive, masturbation (female), there might be more idk

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 751

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i swear ghost and BFB part two will be coming soon🫡

thank you for 2.6K btw i love you all very much :)

texting your celebrity crush is like what happens in movies or wattpad, but the fact that you're doing just that still blows your mind. however, it's not as mindblowing when you had sex with said celebrity crush three days ago.

biting your lip, you giggle and tap on your phone like there's no tomorrow.

“are you even watching the movie? you seem to be more intrigued with your phone instead.” hannah says, leaning to the coffee table to grab the remote and pause the TV. “you’re never so glued to your phone. is it a boy? do i know him? what does— is that a hickey?”

pausing mid-type, you place your phone down and try to cover the healing hickey on your neck with your hair. “…no.”

“oh my god, it so is!” she gasps, smiling wide. “who the hell are you fucking? is it the person you're texting? when did it happen?”

“you ask a lot of questions, you know that?” you joke, trying to maneuver this conversation.

“y/n, come on. i’m your best friend. best friends tell each other everything.”

you sigh. she’s right, you guys do tell each other everything. clearing your throat and fidgeting with your hands, you try to find words to explain the recent events in your life.

“so… remember when i went to the bathroom at the sturniolo’s tour? and left you standing outside for an hour?”

she rolls her eyes. “yeah.”

“what if i told you that i actually didn’t go to the bathroom, and matt snuck me on the tour bus and… bentmeoverthetableandfuckedtheshitoutofme?”

she looks at you with eyebrows furrowed, confused as hell. “what?”

you exhale. “matt bent me over the table and may or may not have fucked the shit out of me?”

her face now morphs to shock, trying to read your body language to see if you’re lying. “what the fuck? is that why you came out limping and looking like you got manhandled?”

“yes.”

she blinks, shaking her head to take in this sudden information. “was the dick at least good?”

biting your lip, you nod. “duh.”

“hello?” you say innocently into the phone, running your hand from your stomach into your underwear.

matt’s leaning against the wall in a hallway that the venue has, far away so nobody can see nor hear him. “hi, y/n.” he chuckles.

you pout, rubbing your clit hard to get some sort of sensation rubbing through your body. “hi, matt.”

he licks his teeth and smiles smugly, knowing exactly why you wanted him to call. “whatcha doing?”

with fluttering eyes, your finger moves to your folds, moving up and down on your slit slowly. your breath hitches. “t-touching myself.” you whine. “thinking about you.”

as much as matt wants to do it himself, he can’t. the ache in his pants will last until after the show, that’s for sure.

“is that so?” he teases. you feel your wetness start to pool. “what’re thinking about, hm?”

“about the other night.” you squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip. after a few long strokes, you’re wet enough to slip a finger inside.

he sighs, adjusting the phone on his ear. “you mean when i bent you over the table and bred you? or when i tongue-fucked you to where you couldn’t stand?”

moaning loudly, you insert a second finger and move them rapidly. “b-both. god, i miss the way you feel.”

“i wish i could fuck you dumb again.” he says lowly, hearing your pants and arousal all in one. “screaming so pathetically beneath me. isn’t that right?”

even though he can’t hear you, you still nod your head, arching your back when that spot gets hit at just the right angle. “yes, matt!” you moan loudly. “i miss you. i miss you so much! fuck, i’m going to cum. please let me cum.”

you ramble on as he stands there quietly to listen. the way your sounds get louder and faster the more your orgasm builds. “go ahead. nobody’s stopping you.”

clawing at the sheets with your eyes rolling back, you rut your hips on your fingers when you feel your release coat them.

“good luck tonight,” you mumble, trying to catch your breath.

he laughs, checking the time with a sigh. “i have to go. i’ll make sure to win for you.”

you hang up the phone, and not even a minute later, a picture comes rolling in. you love that he’s acting like you didn’t just cum to his voice.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings

[velvetwyrme]

hello! biologist here :] I love cybugs a lot, and wanted to say your taxonomy is pretty good. It can be an absolute pain to tackle for speculative projects and you are applying it to tiny vehicle people. My heart goes out to you

I'm no entomologist but there are a few terms that might help with cybug classification. Subspecies usually applies to somewhat minor differences in a species that typically don't live in the same area, where the subspecies interbreeding creates offspring with a mix of both parent's traits. For the seekers though there's also such a thing as morphs and breeds. Morphs of the same species can appear very different physically from the wildtype (like glaucus tiger swallowtails) and offspring will either have the morph of their parents or present wildtype. Breeds on the other hand are a lot like subspecies but imply human selection. They can interbreed and the result could be either like a morph or a subspecies depending on the genes involved.

(didn't expect to be sending an ask about breeding seekers on a Friday morning, but here we are)

As for Jeetle a better word than subspecies would probably be caste/sub-caste. A queen/worker/drone is a caste, while differences between workers is called a subcaste. If a colony needs more protectors -> chemical signals or special foods can alter grub development. (Though, if there is no physical change only a behavioral one, it might not even be considered a subcaste, it might just be a Job. Like honey bees have.)

And usually with mimics, the better of a mimic they are the less likely theyre a subspecies and the more likely they're their own species. That's never a certainty though and bug genetics are weird. Heck, a mimic could even end up being just a morph. It happens in butterflies (like with the dark swallowtails)

Sorry for the word wall 🙏 Hope you're having a great day and thank you for bug

*nods and takes notes* !!!!!

I LOVE THE WALL OF TEXT :DD thank you so much for your input as a biologist, its very fun learning things <3333

Also, image comparison of the mentioned tiger swallowtails and the different morphs for others who are interested:

(source // A is a male with standard colouration, B is a female with the darker morph [a mimic!], and C is a female with the yellow [non mimicking] morph!)

I've mentioned elsewhere that I've been using "subspecies" as more of an easily understood shorthand (essentially just. [subcategory of "species"/larger grouping that can interbreed*] ...as such, the somewhat inaccurate usage at times. i try not to think too hard about it >>) which is why after getting that ask I was like. huh. I wonder what the actual taxonomy would look like... and now I'm here :^]

*as far as I'm aware, animals of the same genera can also interbreed but their resulting offspring are considered hybrids and/or tend to run into issues with being infertile? idk, i know a more abt breeding plants LMAO. plant hybridization is pretty common!

but yes!! onwards! taxonomy chatter under the cut.

For Readability purposes there are headers.

SEEKERS

👀!! Seekers having different morphs and breeds...

There's been mention of Thundercracker being a domesticated Seeker cybug (i agree!!) so that's interesting to think about that in context of breeds having a human influence... Seekers like TC are bred to be bigger and more easy to handle, with focus on large, pretty wings and bright colours...

I did consider the fact that one of the criteria for subspecies is that they are geographically distinct (e.g. the Bengal tiger vs the Siberian tiger) and when I was making my taxonomy chart I was actually debating shifting Seekers category-wise (either up to genus, or down to subspecies) which also got me thinking about breeds when writing that other post (as such, the debate of shifting Seeker to subspecies**) but forgot to mention it because researching the differences between how species/subspecies/breeds are defined was making my head spin and I gave up on taxonomy GDKFBSK,,

(**Like domestic dogs and cats!! I think they're currently taxonomically defined as their own subspecies (?) but some people still argue that they are their own species...? taxonomy </3)

As for Starscream and Skywarp, I was thinking that Skywarp is uh. very very far from his typical environment (whereas Starscream is native to this region), which is why I was considering whether or not subspecies would be actually applicable here... buuuut also there's inherently something very funny to me thinking about Skywarp being the "goth" morph thskfhfkfndb,,,

I'm still not entirely sure where they actually would fit in taxonomically, but thinking of the variation in Seekers like how different breeds of dog exist is the most accurate :] (although without specifically a human influence in many cases. While Starscream and Skywarp may seem feral, that implies previous domestication– *i am forcibly shunted into the next section*)

PROWL / PEETLE

OOOH... caste/subcaste is the word I was looking for for sure!! In Prowl's case there are physical differences, but just not as obviously dramatic as solider ants :D! Enforcers tend to have different colour schemes (black and white, with blue and/or red highlights) as well as the addition of sirens and lights. I also think they'd have thicker armour and sharper chevrons!

AND YESS... chemical signals/differing food alters grub development!!!! I also hinted at that in my notes here!!

Colonies will increase the amount of Enforcers if under strain (much like many irl ant colonies do) >:3c

Playing with specbio in terms of funny little bug robots that also. turn into vehicles allows for some leeway in terms of realism (for. obvious reasons) but I like rooting some aspects in reality where I can :D! (also presumably obvious, considering I tried to work out potential taxonomy largely unprompted)

(SLIGHT SPOILER FOR UPCOMING STUFF, skip next paragraph if you don't want to know)

That being said, I don't think that the process (of defining caste within a colony) can be stopped once it's started in irl cases, buuuut imo that's why The Grub will look so similar to Prowl colour-wise once they pupate :] They were originally going to be an Enforcer (caused by colony under stress) but since they got taken in by J+P they got a little mixed up and don't end up as an Enforcer, despite looking the part (Monochrome sorta colours, but no sirens/lights)

SPOILERS OVER

JAZZ / JEETLE

I waffled over where to put Mimics the most LMAO. I also considered categorising them under being their own species, but ended up sticking with subspecies at the time because I imagine that they can interbreed with others of their frametype.

HOWEVER now you've brought up morphs... that probably fits what's going on with Jazz the most! Maybe? He's meant to be mimicking the general look of an Enforcer just at a glance. I imagine he's got the ability to mimic their sirens as well, but that's probably more of an overall species thing where they can mimic sounds (like some birds can).

anyhow. TAXONOMY. YAY. im not going to remake my diagram (... yet) but thank you so much for your input and discussion <33!!

[cloversnstrawberries]

Can you make a part two of platonic yan wesker with B.O.W teen reader??? It has to be one of the best fics I have ever read

HELLO YES!! I AM ACTUALLY WORKING ON IT AS WE SPEAK :)) and i have,,, a little teaser to share since it's taking a little while longer,, nyehehehe...

"eschatological hope" platonic!yandere!albert wesker & B.O.W!teen!reader [pt 2 teaser] ! !

part 1 !

warnings; mentions of child/human experiments, guns, canon typical violence + body horror, non-consensual body modification (the scientists altered reader with a virus strain </3), and there might be more i missed, if so, please lmk!!

w/c; 416

It could be... worse, you've decided. You could've ended up in much worse conditions-- for starters, you could've ended up dead, or mutated beyond recognition. Apparently, you're the only one in that facility to have considered anywhere near a success.

Still, your life was far from good-- if it could even be called that at this point. It was far from what the life of a normal person your age should be experiencing. You should be outside, sitting under a big tree and reading a book (like they do in movies), or staying inside and playing on your family's SNES (like you realistically know teenagers do).

But here you were, stuck in yet another facility. You'll at least admit that this was a massive upgrade from where you'd previously been, sure,

Deep down, you knew that-- no matter how pretty the cage is, even if it's covered in jewels and gilded gold; even if it sparkled in the sun and let you have a view of the outside world...

It was still a cage. Even if the sterile white tiles of the lab were replaced with lacquered hardwood floors, and the madness-inducingly white walls at every turn were replaced with different wallpapers and paint colors from room to room.

There were no other kids here-- you never saw anyone except the man who'd... rescued you. Even if it doesn't seem like much of an improvement, going from captivity in one place to the other, this was living like royalty compared to what you'd experienced prior.

Cramped bunkrooms, guns pressed to your back at any chance-- kids coming in and out, making friends only to never see them again; or witness them transform into something entirely unlike themselves. For their bodies to tear and morph, until they no longer looked like your friends.

Until they no longer looked human.

...And you guess, in the end, you don't like quite human either. You're much better off then any of the other kids, and on the surface you could almost pass as entirely human--

Except for your eyes.

They were reflective, like a nocturnal animal's were. Like the critters that sometimes rifled through your trashcans, and you mom would hand you a broom and tell them to get out of there.

But for a placed called Raccoon City, there was a hell of lot more opossums then there every were raccoons. You'd only every shooed away raccoons a couple of times-- hardly saw them for the most part, actually.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: those vacation blues

[part two of karma is my boyfriend's dad]

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit 18+ MDNI

word count: 2k

summary:

It's the last day of vacation and Joel intends to make it count.

dear reader:

back by popular demand, boyfriend's dad!joel. inspired by this anon. banners below by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, dirty talk, praise, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, shower sex, joel miller having feelings. let me know if there are any that i've missed!

Joel has been dreading the last night of this vacation. He’s been sneaking around with you the last two days, fucking you at every opportunity and in every conceivable way. Sean continues to make the rare appearance before disappearing off to the bars and clubs to party, leaving Joel plenty of time to spend with you before the vacation bubble bursts and you return home and inevitably walk out of his life.

He’s supposed to be packing and getting an early night’s sleep since the flight back to Texas is another 4 am wake-up call, but all he can think about is you. He thinks about the squeeze of your thighs around his hips, the warmth of your pussy or mouth wrapped around his cock, the sweet way your voice sounds panting, moaning, or crying out his name. He’s shamefully hard as he tries to focus on folding his clothes and fitting everything back into his carry on bag with the addition of some souvenir cups he’s collected going to restaurants with you.

After adjusting himself in his shorts for a third time, he can’t take it anymore. He has to taste you, has to feel you one more time.

Joel grabs the extra key to your room he had made and crosses the hall, knocking on your door. If Sean answers, he figures he can spin some lie about just wanting to make sure you’re both packed. But if you answer, he’s going to fuck you senseless.

After a moment of no response to his knock, he lets himself in with the key. He can hear the shower running from the bathroom and the sound of your voice singing a song out of tune.

“I’m drunk in the back of the car and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar! Oh!”

Joel smiles, stripping himself of his shirt and shorts and quietly entering the bathroom.

“I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you!”

He wonders if there’s a reason you’re singing that specific song. Is that how you feel about him?

A man can only hope.

Joel slides the curtain aside and your head whips toward him, eyes wide with surprise that morphs quickly into happiness, your lips stretching into a matching grin.

“Well, hello,” you say, stepping back to give him room to join you. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he murmurs, sliding his hands over your wet body, mapping the now familiar curves until he reaches your ass, his fingers digging into your cheeks and pulling you close. He flexes his hips, his hard cock dragging over the soft skin of your tummy.

You reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him, pumping him slowly. Joel tilts his head to capture your lips with his in kiss that makes his blood run hot and his pulse beat frantically. A traitorous part his mind tells him that this is it, this is the last moment he’ll get with you.

He better make it count.

He pulls back, reaching up for the detachable shower head he’s grateful the resort has in all of its bathrooms. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

As you turn, Joel adjusts the settings on the shower head to the massage function, a steady jet of water hitting the opposite wall. Your back is pressed to his chest and you lean your head back on his shoulder, grinding your ass against his cock and making him groan.

“Behave,” he warns. “Put your foot up on that ledge.”

________

Your heart feels like it’s going to break free from your chest as you lift your leg and rest your foot on the edge of the tub, Joel’s solid body at your back has a shiver running down your spine despite the heat of the water clinging to your skin.

One of Joel’s broad hands palms your breast, squeezing roughly and pinching your nipple until you gasp. He runs the stream up your leg, the water pressure strong but not unbearable.

“I’m gonna get you nice n’ wet,” he says, the water creeping closer to your sex, “And then I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin this little pussy.”

He holds the shower head a few inches away, aiming the fierce jet of water just above your clit so that the pulse of water brings you pleasure without being too overwhelming.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, voice a low rumble next to your ear. You nod your head quickly, chest heaving with labored breaths as water of all things has to you barreling towards release so quickly it’s making your head spin.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you sob, writhing against him as the water continues to pound against your clit. “Joel, I’m gonna cum!”

Your muscles go tense as your release hits you like a strike of lightning, every nerve lighting up deliciously. Joel pulls the water away slowly as your orgasm subsides, setting it back in its cradle while you catch your breath. He’s supporting your body with a strong arm wrapped around your middle, his other hand coming up to your cheek to turn your face so that he can give you a sweet kiss.

“Bend forward for me, put your hands on the wall,” he says. You follow his instruction, your back arched and hips pushed back. He runs his hands over your ass, the soft caress almost reverent but quickly turning dirty as he grips each cheek and spreads them. “Wish I could’a had you here, too,” he says, rubbing a quick circle over the pucker of your ass.

Your face feels hot from the foreign but not unpleasant sensation. “There’s always later,” you reply.

Joel clears his throat, his hands leaving your abruptly and for a moment you wonder if you said something wrong, like you weren’t supposed to suggest that something could happen between the two of you beyond the days spent together in Florida, but just as quickly you feel the thick head of his cock pressing to your entrance, the tip breaching you with ease as you gasp.

He grips your hips tightly, the spots beneath his fingertips aching from his strength as he slips his full length into your tight heat with a groan. He holds himself still, hips pressed to your ass for a long moment before he draws back, the head of his cock dragging across a spot inside of you that makes fireworks burst across your vision.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Joel groans. He thrusts his hips sharply and you cry out, flexing onto the tips of your toes at the sudden rush of pleasure. “How am I supposed to go back home and pretend I’ve never felt heaven like this?”

You moan, your cunt pulsing around him as he pounds into you. The water is starting to go cold but you hardly care with how hot your blood is running.

Joel brings a hand to your clit, rough fingers rubbing quick circles on the over sensitive bundle of nerves, his pace growing more frantic as he chases his own release.

“Give me one more,” he growls, “Be a good girl, baby, cum around my cock one more time.”

Your eyes roll back as you do just as he commands, the combination of his hard thrusts and his quick fingers, along with his dirty words, making you break for a second time. He groans, pulling out to finish over the curve of your ass, warm cum painting your skin before being washed away by the lukewarm water.

Joel urges you to turn around, pulling you close and kissing you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that feels like a goodbye you’re not ready to say. You pull back and search his face, finding a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw that makes your chest go tight.

“Joel—“

The door opens, uncoordinated steps entering the bathroom, followed by a loud, “Babyyyyy! I need to shower.”

“I’m almost done! Can you wait in the room, you’re letting out all the warm air!”

Sean leaves the bathroom with a mumbled curse, slamming the door shut behind him. Joel takes his first breath since the door opened.

“What the fuck do I do?” He hisses.

“Give him three minutes, he’s going to pass out,” you say confidently.

“How do you know?” He asks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Trust me, Joel, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

He huffs in exasperation but remains still and quiet as you count down in your head to the window of opportunity to get Joel back to his room. You exit the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body.

“Wait here,” you instruct Joel before carefully opening the bathroom door and peeking through the crack.

Sean is lying face down on one of the beds, messy brown hair the only thing you can see with his face turned away from you. One leg dangles over the edge of the bed and his chest rises and falls with even breaths, punctuated by loud snores. Turning back to Joel, you hold a towel out to him.

“Like clockwork,” you whisper smugly. His lips pinch together like he’s fighting a laugh while he wraps the towels around his waist. You open the door and he dashes across the room quickly, hand gripping the towel for dear life.

You spot his discarded clothing on the floor and gather it in your arms and rush after him, catching him as he opens the door to the hall.

“Here,” you whisper, handing over the bundle of clothes. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug his face to yours for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Joel looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening like a reply is on the tip of his tongue, but something passes over him and a wall goes up instead, words dead on arrival. Instead, you receive a curt nod before he crosses the hall and disappears into his room.

________

It’s just after 7 a.m. when Joel pulls his truck up to the curb outside of your apartment. Sean is once again asleep in the back seat while you’ve been riding shotgun in tense silence, your hands twisting in your lap. Joel wants to say something, wants to ask what you’re thinking and whether this is the end of the line for him, but he can’t. He can’t find the words, he can’t find the courage, he just…can’t.

When you open the door, Sean startles awake, looking around briefly in confusion before realizing he’s not at home. “You’re not comin’ back to the house, babe?”

“No, Sean, it’s over,” you say with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” His son replies. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I mean, I’m done faking orgasms and pretending that I don’t know you’ve been cheating on me.” You slam the door shut with finality and Sean slumps back in the seat with a pout.

Joel exits the truck and helps you with your bag, carrying it up to your door. When you unlock your apartment and cross the threshold, he remains rooted in the hall on the other side.

“Thank you for the trip, Mr. Miller,” you murmur. He hands you the suitcase, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “And…if you need anythin’…let me know, alright?”

You smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, your lips lingering there. “You’ll be the first person I call.”

Joel feels his heavy heart lighten the tiniest bit.

________

Three days later, a text comes through to Joel’s phone when he’s just getting home from work.

It’s a photo of a new shower fixture with a detachable head, still in the box, set on a bathroom counter in front of a vanity mirror. In the reflection, he can see the curves of your body hugged by black panties and a matching bra.

Know anyone who could install this for me?

Joel grins.

Be right there, sweetheart.

Joel Miller masterlist.

[lnbeep-art]

"A favor for a favor."

It is the Year of the Snake, which means Cam gets some love and attention before the month of MerMay for once... In this house we love an enemies to lovers dynamic, even if only Ari sees him as an enemy. Cam's just the trickster who likes the attention, negative or positive. Doesn't matter when he thinks he's in control of a situation.

Bonus little short story in the "Read More" below! Lots of lore building for the world, size stuff in the halfway mark. Consider it a companion piece to this.

TLDR: Ari finds a way to wound primordials and gods, but at the cost of it cursing him. Cameron offers to help alleviate it at no expense, just because he likes him.

Ari’s arm had morphed into a black and stinging limb, spreading farther and farther toward his chest. How much longer before the curse would claim his heart? 

Time and time again he’d tried to rid the curse, but not even his half-divine blood empowered his magic enough to extract it. He considered himself a relatively competent healer, and he had lifted quite a number of curses from others before during his wandering through the mortal realm. Was this curse simply out of his depth? A wall he’d slammed into in his current ability level?

Ari clicked his tongue, dropped his unmarred hand, and let the pink magic in his palm fade. 

No, he thought and grimaced. The curse just didn’t want to leave. Just like that other presence that haunted the recesses of his mind, waiting to make due on the mark bitten in his skin. 

Pulling his sleeve down, Ari sighed, then mussed up his bangs in frustration. When he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror, he saw it again; the golden twin snake tattoo on his shoulder. Surprisingly, it was not the same shoulder which bore his curse, although he would have been remiss to ignore he had two arms where marks miraculously tainted them. When he’d first received the snake tattoo, his skin had been raised and irritated. Now, it blended in like any of the other golden decals he’d paint on his body. At times, however, the mark would glitter as if brimming with the sun god’s light itself. 

A few robes and overcoats were all Ari required to hide the blight. The challenge came instead when he’d returned to the Summer Court. Like bloodhounds, the High Order of Summer Elves’  long-lived lives could detect primordial stench on him. “It was just a product of seeing the Luck Devourer face to face,” Ari had reassured them at the time. He was a being born from the gods themselves, the first of their kind. Of course his comparative power and essence would linger on Ari, especially when he’d had his claws on him. A split moment was all it took. 

That explanation allayed their suspicions, and he’d had no further questions since. This time? They might unearth the secret faster unless he vanquished Cameron himself. Until then, Ari would not allow the order to relieve him of this duty.

“You’re welcome to try smiting me as many times as you like,” Cameron’s words echoed. “I’m sure you’re itching to cover up this blunder of yours, aren’t you? Same time next week then?”

Ari growled under his breath and clenched his good hand. Arrogant bastard. Why couldn’t he have just stayed smote? 

Several sunrises had passed since Ari’s visit to Zahn and the Solona Ocean depths, pushing ahead on the rumors of Cameron’s whereabouts. The primordial had spoken as if he knew Ari’s return was immediate, but Ari refused the serpent that satisfaction. Why? Let him stew. Exchanging words was no greeting Ari wanted to partake in, but his twin sabers would be the best “hello” he could give. One for the primordial’s tongue, the other to carve off his shoulder’s mark with his own blade. 

It had likely vexed Cameron—the fact of how long Ari had waited to cross his shores again—and the thought delighted him at least a bit. However, that was not his sole motive; some of the mortal realm’s regions had the best libraries known across the realms, holding ancient wisdom from the war. Accounts of those who had managed to slay lesser monsters, and stories of champions who had felled ones even greater than Cameron. Knowledge like that was often difficult to come by, if only not to disrupt the current balance of their post-war world.   

Yet if he read between the lines long enough, a method would reveal itself to him. He had to find it. How many centuries had elapsed of Cameron spiriting away interesting finds, transforming them into nymphs to belong to his underwater dominion? The Order of Elves had failed to wrangle him in, and they were eager to repay the torment he’d enacted over time. It had been the gods’ mistake to leave Cameron surfing through mortal waters, unbidden and uninhibited. More would see injury in the reign of his whims.

Their greatest question had always been Cameron’s aim. In their lengthy diatribes, the oldest elves on the order stated primordial beings’ actions were devoid of reason; they took because they wanted, and they intended to keep whatever they possessed. Cameron’s kinship to dragons meant, of all the discorded primordial beings left to walk among the realms, coveting and hoarding burned stronger within him. Maybe he felt he deserved what he took because the pantheon had given his kind the shorter stick. It was why the Order found his greed insatiable. 

Eldritch horrors, primordial beings—they went beyond mortal reason. Cameron’s true form should have been incomprehensible, yet the Luck Devourer’s features were instead easy on the eyes. “Beautiful,” as many stories depicted him. And it was that beauty that Cameron lured in to surround himself with. He had created sirens from his desires to roam the seas. That was one interest most recorded of Cameron; what other reasons he had to act with the freedom he pleased was lost on Ari. Truly as mysterious and deep as the Solona Ocean itself.

When he’d laid on the shore of Zahn’s capital, Rimerock—spit out by Cameron’s promise and left to catch his breath—he’d been struck with the wonder: what side did he fall on? Was he of interest to Cameron because he was beautiful, or because he amused him? The curiosity had vanished just as quickly. After all, it wouldn’t change the mark Cameron etched on him. And with how vibrant the color was against his skin, pulsing intermittently, he certainly hadn’t forgotten Ari either. Unfortunately. 

He had no intention of becoming another item on the Luck Devourer’s lengthy menu, and he would not allow a mark he could not remove, nor a curse that refused to lift, to best him. There must have been a detail they’d yet learned, Ari told himself. A clue from the unturned stones. 

That was when he’d found it. A spell which enhanced the sword, cutting not bone and marrow, but what mattered to any divine being. Their essence. To kill a god, you killed not the god itself but the many threads of belief tethering them to the realms. And since Cameron thought himself one, the same method would work just as well.

What felt like molten fire surged through his arm and Ari winced, clutching it. Was this his punishment because he’d ignored Cameron’s call? Times like these, Ari almost wished he had not vowed to be his own battery. Mother Nature’s blood was his own, which allowed Ari to use his own power to supplicate his cleric needs. A half breed, Cameron had called him. 

I’ll show you ‘half breed,’ you snake. 

The ratta-tatt of knuckles wrapping against his personal chamber’s door distracted him. Ari’s long ears twitched, and after adjusting the billowing sleeves a second time, he answered, “Come in.” 

The sound of nails clicked against the tile floor, and Ari caught a flash of pink and white wings in the mirror. Varys? he thought. What was the messenger of love visiting him for? It wasn’t that the two were unfriendly—hard to dislike Varys when he was his sister’s confidant. But love did not stop, so Ari and Varys rarely spent leisure time together. 

“I thought you might still be here,” Varys said, and as he spoke, his gaze snagged on Ari’s arm. Instinctively, Ari tensed, which only made Varys sigh. “I wasn’t going to say anything since your business isn’t my business, but I can smell the stench of that as far as the palace gates. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

“How long have you known?”

A tired expression darkened Varys’ features. He snorted. “I know that it’s newer than the other trinket you have on you.” Varys tapped his own shoulder, the one that mirrored Ari’s primordial eyesore. “But you probably didn’t think I knew about that either.”

The archangel rank Varys held slipped Ari’s mind at times. The man often took the form of a werefox human instead of that of an angel, wielding digitigrade paws; furred, clawed hands; pink paw pads the color of blush; and the ears and tail of a fox, always alert. With the many tales mortals spread about Ivory and her herald of love, Varys had always said he’d play into the role of vixen. It seemed he quietly enjoyed it too. Ari thought it suited him. 

However, Varys was less keen to display his angelic lineage. Sometimes he brandished his wings in full view, and other times he hid them. Yet whether they were visible to the eye or not did not erase the angel in him. If anyone could sense evil on another, it would have been a holier being like Varys. And it had been Ari’s mistake in thinking he would stay completely under the radar. Had Ivory not noticed either? Unless she’d specifically asked Varys to pay Ari a visit, as was always the case for his equally busy sister. 

Ah, Ari thought. Varys’ visit made sense now. 

Ari turned to his work desk, clearing off the notebooks with their half-turned pages. He’d already demolished four of them in the past week, all filled with scrawls and his condensed versions of raving madmen, who believed they held the key to erasing divine creatures’ existence entirely. He scowled down at the notebook—how the light red cover became more stark under his pitch black hand. “I’m handling it,” he said. 

Varys crossed his arms. “Are you?”

“I will be. It’s his work, isn’t it?” As Ari spun to look at Varys, he paused at the way Varys’ brows furrowed. “...can you not tell?” 

Varys hesitated. “It’s old—I know that much. But it doesn’t exactly work like that, Ari. I’d have to know the caster well to know that it’s their magic.” He pointed a claw at Ari’s arm. “And both are relatively the same age, so the nature of your curse is foreign to me. …Have you thought of asking Cordelia about it?”

Ari’s mouth ticked downward. No matter if he was a son to Mother Nature or not, he would not burden the goddess with trivial problems he could solve on his own. It was the same reason he hadn’t sought out Ivory. “No need,” Ari said, his hand clasping the notebook and then the satchel hanging off the desk’s corner edge. He slung the strap across his shoulders and tucked the notebook inside. “I’ll be taking a short trip to Zahn. Ask the nymphs to prepare the Gate for me.”

Although Varys’ gaze needled his back, he didn’t bother blocking Ari’s exit at least. Slid away from it, in fact. “And what will you tell your court?”

Ari glared at the twin snakes on his left shoulder. “I have nothing to say to them until I’ve finished what I started.” Once he reached the Gate, he would ferry himself across the realms. If that monster wanted his visit, then he would have it. 

… 

… 

…

…

The midday sun captivated Zahn in its amber hue and sparkled like fairy lights across the horizon, the capital of Rimerock especially. Saltwater and ocean spray left a refreshing sea flavor in the air. As both a mineral city and vast trading port hub, Zahn’s nation thrived beside the great Solona Ocean. It was one of the most prosperous nations the mortal realm had to offer.

Yet neither trading ports nor the mountain peaks interested Ari. Instead, he stayed the course until he reached Zahn’s coastal edges, where the gap of water between Solona Ocean and the Blue Tides was tightest. Here, ships and creatures and scores of people had been aptly devoured, either to reappear in another region, or plane, entirely—or to never be heard from again. No mortal dared test the waters during a thunderstorm. 

Maybe this space of water had another name once. Now, it was known only as The Swallows.

Below the rocks, the rapids swirled and swirled to form a vicious, hungry whirlpool, one whose radius spanned as wide as a small village. The last time Ari visited, he’d been armed with a boat and first-timer’s bravado. He almost missed that naivety. Now he had a broken promise on one arm, and a time limit on the other. 

Light caught his periphery; the snake mark, brighter now as he stood at the water’s precipice, vibrated against Ari’s skin. When he retreated a few steps, the glow dimmed. Ari scowled at it before turning his gaze toward Rimerock again. Like newborn infants, the waves beside the docks cradled the boat’s tiny shapes. People were lucky to return intact at all, much less with their boat accompanying them. Surely no one could complain about a lost boat when they knew the risk they lived beside.

Ari took a single step toward the docks when a voice, coming distinctly from his left side, whispered at him. “Jump,” it said.

He froze. In spite of the region’s warm air, a chill accosted him from the top of his neck all the way down, tracing his spine. It was how he would have imagined Cameron’s claws raking his back if given the opportunity. 

More voices compounded upon the first, coupled with a mounting pressure in his cursed arm. Ari grit his teeth against the pain.

“Jump jump jump jump!” 

“Blessed child of the Fey.”

“Champion!” 

“Trust the process. Give yourself to the ocean, and it will guide you.” 

“Surrender!”

“Down down down!”

Hissing, Ari covered his ears. Had he finally lost it? The path he’d chosen specifically avoided any sirens’ games, but perhaps he had made a mistake. Sirens did not stray far from Cameron, because he loved them so, but not a single tail or melody carried over the waters. Now that the voices had quietened, only Ari in his silence remained, and the roaring whirlpool in front. That vortex could have easily wasted twenty ships alone. 

The water rolled closer, lapping the shoreline.

This was insane—he shouldn’t consider this. Not when it was undoubtedly another of Cameron’s tricks coaxing him to his demise. While the primordial released him initially, nowhere did that suggest he’d be as kind the next. So was this what Cameron wanted? For Ari to drown? Willingly? 

Ari squeezed his hands into fists, head inclined as he scorned The Swallows. His magic begged for release—spiked through him as a reminder not to forget what he possessed. Finally, Ari touched his throat and closed his eyes. 

Expand. 

His lungs ballooned with a thin layer of magical film, and three slices of the same pink glow cut across the sides of his neck. The first encounter with Cameron happened so hastily that Ari hadn’t enchanted an aquatic blessing unto himself before. Now, if circumstances necessitated he return home, the risk of drowning when he spoke was minimized. 

“Fine,” Ari said, the word a hiss between his teeth. “But I’ll make this your mistake.”

He plunged. 

When he resurfaced, arms akimbo and keeping him afloat, the current drew him toward the whirlpool. It was slow at first—taunting—until it yanked him. Ari’s heartbeat jumped like the waves. Why were the currents not taking him on a spin cycle? Rather, his body cut straight through, the single path available being the beeline toward The Swallows’ epicenter. And only a void greeted him at the end of that long, twisting cyclone. 

The voice returned in his right ear, deeper in its inflection this time—and steadier. Almost a tiger’s growl in his ear. “Closer.” 

It didn’t sound like how he remembered Cameron’s voice. What in the world was that? 

Once Ari reached the center, his body plummeted no differently than a ship torn apart by the waves. His yells became trapped in the bubbles flying from his mouth. The magical slits along his neck opened, extracting oxygen from the ocean and circulating it into his body. It was what allowed him to open his eyes sooner.  

Underwater, Mother Nature had dropped her bucket of paint to smear color that the surface’s sunlight could still capture. Except the color came not from an artisan’s tools, but scales. Fish—fish as far as the eye could see; eels, tuna, bass, mackerel, blue sharks. Yet none dared approach the cyclone containing him. He swore he saw a green light glint off of their scales too, but it could have been caused by his shoulder. The snake tattoo’s light had become so intense the farther he fell that it was the only light possible to see the fish. No natural sunlight could penetrate the depths of The Swallows. 

Had seconds passed? Minutes? Hours? His descent some several hundreds of feet below sea level pressed on, and eventually, the tendrils of light on Ari’s shoulder lost the fight against the ocean’s darkness. Even when he knew he’d thrust his hand outward, his fingers remained invisible to his eyes. It was only a matter of time before every bit of his senses faded.

However, Ari caught a sight in the distance: two green spots, electrified by the flecks of yellow in them. Split by those slit pupils. Watching, and waiting. Sharp white fangs hung underneath those eyes in a curved shape.

“Found you,” the familiar voice sang in his head just before his consciousness cut short. 

Ari had actually jumped. The audacious elven prince had actually done it. 

If a naga could be on the edge of their seat, Cameron had mastered the balancing act while his attentions were otherwise trained on Ari. He needed no mind-reading tricks to know Ari hated every bit of the decision—the prince’s frame had been riddled with tension and barely restrained frustration as he stood over Rimerock’s coast. In that state, he appeared so easy to ruffle—how could Cameron resist poking him? After all, what better game was there to play than the game of chicken? 

Yet life could still give Cameron surprises, apparently, as he’d watched the elven prince dive feet first into the waters. Cracking that stubborn self-respect Ari held impressed him enough to greet the elf personally. Not many held the honor. 

His uncoiled tail stretched on for miles as he moved through the scattered sands, making treasure ship bottles and coinstacks rattle. Trinkets he had collected over the centuries, dating every age of progress the cycles underwent. It was no palace like the pantheon, but it was his home—this little demiplane tucked in the corner of the mortal realm’s bounds. 

And now, as he bore down on Ari, the delight of finally putting eyes on him again simmered. Cameron tilted his head. “That’s a shame,” he murmured, eyeing Ari’s right arm. “Seems someone else got to you before I could, hmm?” 

Their time apart had created idle hands out of Ari, and during the absence, the elven prince had poked his nose where it did not belong. Old magic encased him, centralized in that blackened arm of his, and steadily tore through his essence. Cameron could taste it on the tip of his tongue—an acrid flavor, but all too familiar. Perhaps the prince assumed his half-divine blood would protect him, yet he failed to understand it only hastened the process.

Cameron had been so bored waiting for him, and when he finally returned, it was with a time limit on his life? Truly a travesty. At least the blessing he’d stamped onto Ari remained. He eyed it with a pleased hum.

Blessing of the trickster; that was what mortals called his snake tattoo when bound to him temporarily. The mark itself was fairly harmless, a way of saying Cameron had his eye on someone he liked well enough and had piqued his curiosity. It wouldn’t pain the wearer, and once Cameron stayed a permanent thought on their mind, he removed the mark and let nature take its course. If he wanted to become a god as well, belief in what he could give and accomplish was tantamount to his influence. He didn’t want to remain confined to Zahn alone. He wanted to travel the lands like the old days.

However, his blessing did come with a caveat. It was how Ari had found this new magic, but also where he had picked up his curse.

As his fingers encroached on the small figure, Ari immediately sprung to his feet like a jack-in-the-box. A bladed sickle appeared in the fey’s grasp and lanced forward. Cameron tutted, withdrawing and staring at fresh laceration where Ari had struck his fingers. 

“Straight to business as always, I see,” Cameron said. He pouted. “Really—after all this time, and not even a hello?” 

“What do you mean ‘someone else’ found me?” Ari demanded, keeping the blade level with Cameron. He backpedaled a few paces, glanced at the serpentine tail surrounding him, then slanted Cameron with an unamused glare. It must have been Ari’s default expression. “You won’t keep me here like the rest of your nymphs, Luck Devourer.” 

Cameron sighed and shook his head. The first words to come out of Ari’s mouth, and they were so vitriolic. Regardless, a smile curled on the corners of his lips. Ari had been silent as stone the first time they’d met, aside from when he’d cast his spell. He would take goading him to speak as an achievement. “You’ll come around.” 

Ari scoffed and jutted the scepter forward. “Talk. Or the next won’t let you staunch the bleeding.” 

Yes, Cameron thought; thanks to the time Ari had kept busy, he’d discovered some nasty tricks. Bleeding from a cut a mortal had inflicted had always been part of Cameron’s theatrics. It wouldn’t take long for him to wave his hand and dispel the wound with no blemish to find on his skin. That was the consequence of primordials, the gods had said—they made their first creations a little too powerful. 

Honestly? Cameron didn’t see the problem with it. What was the harm in having regenerative capabilities? They were a piece of the gods and titans that helped create them. Of course they should be entitled to that influence. And mortal beings only sought to attain the same power. Ironic, wasn’t it? If nothing else connected primordials and mortals, the color of their blood did—dark, red and vivid. 

This magic wasn’t nearly as humorous as Ari smiting him, but no matter. 

He turned his hand and fingers over, letting the trickle caress his arm too. Once enough time had passed, Cameron reversed the blood, sucking it back into the wound and closing the cut on his finger. When he turned back to Ari, his pupils thinned. Sweat had accumulated on Ari’s face, and though he tried to conceal it, his shoulders bobbed. He was panting. 

Cameron dropped his elbows on either side of the man and balanced his chin on his interlaced fingertips. “I can ease the burden you bear, you know. All you have to do is ask.”

“You mean the burden you put on me?” Ari rolled his shoulder, the one containing Cameron’s snakes, to better face him. “Don’t bother. I’ll do that myself when I cut out your lying tongue.” 

Cameron laughed. “I thought you were supposed to be the expert, love? All that research and you don’t know the difference between my mark and another’s?”

“Please. Spare me your lies, Luck Devourer. You leave this on my arm—” Ari tossed his hand toward his left shoulder “—and suddenly I’m magically cursed three and a half weeks later. I’m just supposed to believe that’s all a coincidence?” 

The elven man had wit, he would concede that. Most wouldn’t have drawn that conclusion. But he wasn’t wrong so much as he wasn’t right either. 

Cameron’s lips curled. Dropping one of his hands from his chin, he crept his fingers toward Ari. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed, however, as Ari sidestepped his hand, blade trained and poised to inflict another bite. 

“Do you think finding that research was coincidence too?” Cameron asked. “Equivalent exchange, my friend. Fate needs balance at some point, because the worst life can change for the better, while the opposite is true. The same applies for luck. Eventually you’ll run out of good luck, and all that’s left is the worst of it. Do you know that that is?” His voice fell to a whisper. “Karma.” 

Ari’s eyes widened and Cameron regarded him impassively. Karma was under Cameron’s eldest brother’s control, and no one wanted to gain Rayne’s ire—not even Cameron himself. A bitter reminder of how many leagues apart they were now that Rayne had ascended to control the storms and left behind his own kin, changing from primordial to the god of retribution. Cameron hated him for the loneliness it had brought. 

But perhaps the one memento Rayne had left had been the magical stopgap, preventing any divine beings from destroying primordials. Few gods wanted to reignite the Divisionary War—none such who hadn’t already been exiled, stripped of power, or banished to the outer realms.

Cameron had never been much invested in the war, finding it more fun to collect warriors, clerics, and warlocks who wished for something, or someone, to grant them powers. To take matters into their own hands and change. Was it really his fault if change meant both good and bad deeds? 

So, all of the gods had banded together to create a failsafe, one that would come at a cost. That was the exchange to end the war, and what led to Rayne’s ascension to begin with. The knowledge to kill a god’s essence was out there, but it was a race to the goalpost to reach it in time. 

And now Ari was cursed by that knowledge. All this because he couldn’t bother to visit sooner. If he’d stuck to simply smiting him, his good luck wouldn’t have soured nearly as quickly. 

Again, Cameron’s hand neared Ari, undeterred by the elf’s retreating footsteps. It wasn’t like he had very far to move—not with Cameron’s tail looped around the space. “It’s not my magic that’s eating away at you, little wanderer. As long as you carry that curse, you can’t even begin to make good on your promise,” Cameron said and smiled. “Unless you’ve given up trying to keep me out of the mortal planes? I surely hope not. You were just getting somewhere!” 

Ari clutched his head. “Stop talking.” 

Yet Cameron saw the thoughts churning behind Ari’s eyes in the way he stared at the ground. Risk. Each mortal, and demimortal, Cameron had crossed underwent the same weighing process. Were all of his words a lie? Or was there truth in them? Underestimating either side by even a hair could dramatically tip the scale. It made the tip of Cameron’s tail wiggle.

“My offer still stands,” Cameron added patiently. “Do so, and the curse won’t trouble you any longer.”

“And make it that much easier for you to put another one of your things on me like the last time?” Ari spat. “I’m not your fool to toy with, Cameron, and I’m not giving you another opportunity.” His hand glowed pink. “I’ll—”

All at once, Ari’s body seized up. The man dropped onto his knees, but despite his collapse, his black fist remained clutched on the handle of his scepter. Humming, Cameron leaned forward, close enough where his breath could tease strands of Ari’s brown hair. The sleeve covered a significant portion of Ari’s arm, but he noticed the nerves beneath the silk convulsed. It gave off the smell of soot and tar, markedly divine and twisted. 

For good measure, Ari took a swipe at Cameron, yet the blade did not connect. The one thing Cameron would not allow him to touch was his face. 

“You may have found the secret to wound me, but you’ll cut your own life short before you cut me,” Cameron said. “Why do you think you’ve been cursed? You could kill me, but you’re discovering it’s not so easy, aren’t you?”

“I’d rather die than accept your so-called ‘help.’”

“And yet you came to me, willingly, and chose this path for yourself! Make no mistake—I’m flattered, truly. But you didn’t have better things to do than put me on trial? That really hurts my feelings, you know. I’ve been minding my business.”

Ari growled quietly, and the sound of it made Cameron chuckle. The longer this went on, the greater his intrigue. Some of Ari’s peers were equally mouthy, but they’d crumbled faster under his ministrations. Ari, however, was stubborn. He might actually have let himself perish instead if it meant taking Cameron down with him.

Placing a claw-tipped finger against Ari’s blade, Cameron restricted him from lifting it a third time. He felt the blade twitch and wiggle under his nail from Ari’s effort to free it, then heard the slow-building sizzle the longer his nail touched. 

“Is your pride worth more than your life, Fey champion?” he asked softly, enough so that it made Ari’s ears twitch. He upturned his other hand’s palm to Ari and leaned over him. “Do you want it to end here and now when you’ve been the closest one of your circle?” Ari stared at him, and although he glared, shock belied those fiery pink eyes of his. Cameron tilted his head. “Did you think I didn’t know who you were, prince? I study all of my guests. The interesting ones anyway,” he added.

“Your tricks—”

“I speak only the truth this time.” The space around them shrunk bit by bit as Cameron added more coils to wrap around them. The shhff of sand carried across his entrance room. “I know my brother’s magic, well enough to know how to undo it too. Do you really wish to die with failure in your heart? That doesn’t seem befitting of the summer elves’ prince, wouldn’t you say?”

Those rose quartz eyes of Ari’s stayed locked on Cameron’s hand, distrustful and scathing. The only sound permeating the room then became that of sliding glass. Cameron’s zoetrope had shifted to display yet another realm of the fey. That didn’t matter now—he had the fey he’d been watching here with him now. No need to see Ari through a glass any longer. 

The tip of Cameron’s tail wiggled again when Ari reached his hand out, hesitated, then connected with one of the large fingers before him. His expression spoke nothing short of frustrated. Giving no room for second thoughts, Cameron slid his fingers underneath Ari’s body and into his palm, where he held him to his eyes. 

“A wise choice, love. Now let’s get this curse off, shall we? You’ll be untouched…mostly.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ari snapped. His gaze was transfixed by the dark wisps rising from out of his sleeve and into the air, coated in a green layer of mist that matched Cameron’s eyes. His heavy breaths slowed. “What do you mean ‘mostly’?”

“There’s more than just Rayne’s magic in this, I’m afraid! Such a thing happens when the whole of the pantheon wants to show off their skills.” Cameron hummed. “You’ll have to figure out the rest on your own. But at least you won’t die, so what’s there to sulk about?” He gingerly traced his nail against Ari’s head, stopping at his chin and tilting it to meet his gaze. “And I get to see more of this pretty face.” 

Although Ari shoved his finger away, the faintest hint of red stained his cheeks. “This doesn’t change anything else—know that.” 

Maybe not now, Cameron thought. But luck and fortune's favor were his specialties. 

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 15: Powerless

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: It's time to make the fight on your terms.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.4k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence, violence with superpowers, murder, this is the most violent one, swearing, injuries, discussion of homelessness, discussion of crime

a/n: If you didn't read the warnings!! Or even if you did! This is your warning for on-screen murder. It's not very gory, but it is very much there. (spoiler, but) we kill our villains in this one lads, it was kind of the whole point of this thing :))) also most of the word count on this one is the fight so help me lmao, why do I do this to myself🤣 With that out of the way, I am super excited for this chapter!! Protective Jungkook now applies to yn maybe more than anyone and hello yes I am here for it (ofc bc I wrote it ksdfghfl) Enjoy!! And do let me know if you like it!💜💜

Jungkook’s hand was still clutched in yours as you crept together through alleyways. Far, now, from your usual haunt, you recognised none of these streets, but Jungkook never hesitated in his steps.

Sure enough, he led you round a cluster of dustbins on one corner and stopped at last in front of a heavy door. Graffiti was scrawled over the entrance and across the entire wall. If you were to arrive here in the dark, you may not have noticed the seam marking out a doorway at all.

“I thought he might choose this place,” Jungkook muttered to you, “this is where Namjoon first picked me up, after I got my powers. He operated from here until his partnerships brought in enough money for the place in town.”

He turned to knock on the door. All you could do was squeeze his hand, eyeing the surroundings. Things must have changed from before. This was where your team had begun, long before you came into the picture.

The door swung open. Jin’s face emerged, morphing instantly from hostility to relief when he saw you.

Then his eyes moved down, and lingered on your clasped hands.

If you weren’t mistaken, a faint smirk lifted his mouth, but he closed his lips matter-of-factly and forced it away. Only a telltale raise of his eyebrows made you chew your lip as he let you both past him and inside.

A murky corridor led to another sturdy door, and then you were in a larger room. It was bare of furniture, the most notable features the peeling paint and a threadbare carpet lining the space. The walls either side of you sported large windows, but the curtains remained drawn; Yoongi could be the only explanation for the room being fully lit regardless. There were no bulbs in the fixtures.

Something in your chest loosened at the sight of your whole team gathered inside. Everyone had got here before you. Namjoon was pacing in the centre. Hobi slumped against the far wall, Jimin beside him, clothes bloody but a beaming smile on his face.

At the clunk of the door, Namjoon whirled around, finally stopping his impatient strides.

All eyes fell on you. A similar reaction to Jin’s outside swept the room. Reluctantly, you and Jungkook let your fingers slide apart, although you shifted a little closer to him.

Namjoon’s stare, intense and unreadable as always, left you in such suspense that you had to look away. Unfortunately, it brought you eye-to-eye with Jimin, who was being the least subtle of them all. His cheeks were plump with the force of his smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You bit back your own grin.

Namjoon, for his part, shook his head and resolved to ignore it. Or deal with it later, at least.

“What did you guys do?”

Or maybe not. Clamping your mouth shut, your eyes widened a fraction. What were you supposed to tell him?

“We, uh-” Jungkook stammered out, before Namjoon pinched his brow.

“I mean with the monster that attacked us,” he cut you off.

You sighed in relief.

“Oh, that…” Jungkook laughed, sheepish.

In three brusque strides, Namjoon marched closer, towards an old television in the corner behind you. A red glow surrounded it as he rapped on the top, and then images flickered to life on the screen.

Blue lights and smoke washed over vehicles rammed haphazardly into a street. Your street.

You didn’t bother reading the fast-scrolling banner below the picture, letting the voiceover fill you in.

“Reports were made of Bolt heading to stop a creature, which he claimed to have escaped from within an operating villain base…” the reporter read, “but on arrival, the beast appears to have been tamed. No damage was sustained to surrounding properties, and a team is working to sedate and control it…”

The screen flashed to a blurry close-up of Frank as you had left him, snoring among the wreckage.

“How the hell did you stop it?” Namjoon demanded, the device blinking back to silence as he turned back to you and Jungkook.

“Well, Y/N, um…” Jungkook gestured for you to take over.

“It’s one of Kuyang’s,” you explained, “there’s this patch behind his ear, it sends him right to sleep. It’s just… a bit difficult to get to.”

“That thing has ears?” Jin echoed.

Namjoon folded his arms and took in the both of you.

“Good work, then. That was lucky. At least it’s lessened some of what Bolt’s trying to pin on us. But this was more than a simple attack.”

He paced again to the centre of the room.

“Bolt doesn’t act on accident; he’s showed us that much. He tried to take us out directly today. He wants to eradicate us. That’s his message, and it’s final. He’ll keep coming for us until one side is destroyed.”

His words bristled around the room, but not with fear. You sensed the rage and determination you shared with your brothers.

You weren’t backing down.

If Bolt was going to make it us vs them, you would just have to win that fight.

Turning, Namjoon met eyes with Jin, who stepped forward to stand beside him.

“At least we know what Bolt has at his disposal,” Jin said, “and what he doesn’t. We know the weapons we’re up against, so I think we can take on any fighters he sends our way. What really counts is the man himself.”

“We’re going to him, right?” Yoongi spoke from his place leaning against the curtain. “I don’t want to wait for him to come after us again. He wants the fight; we make it on our terms.”

Regarding him seriously, Namjoon nodded.

Meanwhile, Jin’s words were stirring something else in your mind. Something you had forgotten in the blur of defeat and panic that had ensued since your fight with Monsoon.

We know what weapons we’re up against…

“Wait,” you breathed. It was enough to snag the group’s attention, tense gazes all finding you. Closest was Jungkook, frowning down at you.

You gulped, and met their eyes.

“When I went after Monsoon,” you began, “I found the shield ray, even if I didn’t get hold of it. But that wasn’t all… He had a collection. And I recognised another one, too. I thought I had burned it up, in the parking lot, but there was another one.”

You had to admit that some nerves crept in at the unsettled silence that followed. Namjoon stared.

“No…” he shook his head, “you’re saying they have the Razer?”

“The one that takes your powers…” you replied, “yes.”

Namjoon swore.

“You definitely destroyed it?”

“Without a doubt,” Jungkook cut in, “I felt the shockwaves in that fight.”

You nodded along with him. Namjoon wasn’t asking to doubt you, though, and took you at your word. You had seen the broken, lifeless shell of that awful gun. No, they had gained another somehow.

“They must have got hold of a blueprint, or a prototype, somehow,” Jin suggested.

“However they did it, it’s best we know what we’re going up against,” Namjoon resolved. He looked around, meeting everyone’s eyes. “You all know what it looks like?”

Nods met him.

“Then watch your backs. We’re still doing this.”

“What was it like?”

By now, you were acquainted with the view from this spot, sitting against the wall in a corner of this place. But how different had it been, when the boys still lived here?

“Hm?”

Jungkook turned to you, resting his head back against the wall. The two of you sat not far from the others, all of you sitting around waiting for Hobi to heal up and for Jin to get whatever results he was hoping for from a beat-up laptop he had pulled from somewhere. You had no idea if he had brought it with him, found it in here, or stolen it. You wouldn’t ask, either.

Though the room was wide open now, you still sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook like you had in that cramped hallway. It was difficult to keep the same feeling at bay too. His presence lit you up where you touched, but in front of the others you had to keep up some semblance of sanity, and keep from pouncing on him.

“When you first came here,” you forced your eyes away from his softly quirked lips, and to the room. “What was it like?”

To your dismay, his brows pinched into a frown. He eyed the walls, traced them up to the ceiling with its patches of damp.

He shifted his arm against yours in a shrug.

“It was a roof over my head,” he murmured, “at first.”

“Oh,” you stammered, quiet in your shock, “sorry…”

With a blink and a shake of his head, you watched him pull himself back to you. He shot you a disarmingly genuine smile, albeit small.

“Not your fault,” he assured you, “I never told you.”

Instantly, you knew what he was talking about. Just like you, Jungkook must have first moved in after he got his powers. Of course, the balm of the support from (most of) the others had eventually smoothed over the wounds that heralded your arrival.

They wouldn’t be forgotten though.

Nor would you forget your brothers’ wounds. Jungkook had yet to entrust you with his story, the knowledge of those probably painful moments. He had hardly let you near it, all this time.

“You don’t have to-” you said hastily, but he surprised you.

You spotted his jaw tighten, but his voice was level.

“After my dad… I had nothing. The first time I met Namjoon, I didn’t have powers. I did a job for him. I used to steal; it was about the only thing I could do. My dad taught me to fight, once, after he was home late and some older kids tried to break into our place. I fell in with a certain crowd, but half of them were backstabbing sneaks.”

You weren’t sure he even knew he was scowling as he said that. Despite your horror, you couldn’t break your gaze away from Jungkook as he told the story, spelling out what you had always wondered.

He looked over to Namjoon then, snarl easing.

“I guess he thought I was good. He gave me more jobs, paid good money. It wasn’t one of his where it happened. We were taking some kind of reactor – I can hardly remember the plan. Someone wanted power out to rob a string of banks, I think… All that matters is it went wrong. It wasn’t safe, and it… blew up.”

Your chest tightened along with his voice, hearing him straining to keep his throat from closing.

He slumped back against the wall then. Fixed his eyes on yours.

“I got the brunt of it. Two of the others died. One of them ran away when I woke up and asked him to help me. And there was this… this burning I didn’t understand…”

“I remember,” you whispered.

Slowly, he closed his lips. His eyes bled with recognition. You felt it too, conflict constricting your chest. Appreciation that you could share the feeling, understand one another without the need for explanation, mingled with the strain in your heart of knowing he had been subjected to the same torture.

Here you both were, on the other side of it.

Jungkook took a bracing breath, shifted up where he had sagged down the wall – towards you.

“Namjoon found me.”

His voice brightened almost immediately, and he was looking around the room with new eyes of the old memories.

“V came along not too long after I did… It was the boys that made it home. They still do.”

A soft smile took your lips without thought, and you followed his gaze fondly.

The moment your eyes fell on Jin, you saw him perk up, straightening his back. Then he let out a cheerful “Aha!”.

He was the centre of attention that instant, and went on without prompting, fingers still clacking away at the laptop.

“I managed to get into our own system – and Bolt’s taken something!”

“And that’s… good?” you questioned his jubilant tone.

Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, he quirked his head.

“It means I can see where he’s taking it.”

Namjoon came to hover over Jin’s shoulder until they were satisfied. Soon enough, you found yourself refreshing the mental list of what you were about to go up against.

“If he even manages to get it up and running before we get there, it only has three charges per round. This is the first time I’m glad I haven’t improved it yet,” Jin chuckled, telling you about the newest addition to Bolt’s arsenal, the one he took right from your lab. “Jungkook or YN’s powers will take it out easily.”

And so he went on, through power-extending shurikens to the shield rifle Monsoon had stolen, all the things that had slipped through your fingers and how to defeat them.

“And the Razer…” Jin landed on the last one, but tailed off and exchanged a look with Namjoon.

“Just don’t get hit,” the leader said.

Several eyebrows raised in trepidation. You shuddered with an echoing memory of the gun’s piercing cold.

“Hobi,” Namjoon turned away from the subject, “how are you healing up?”

Shifting to sit away from the wall, Hope pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the skin where Frank had slashed him. It was still pink, but completely closed by now.

“Better,” he beamed.

“Okay,” Namjoon fixed him with a stern eye, “but check in. If it’s putting you at a disadvantage, I want you out of there.”

“Yes boss,” Hobi replied with a grin and a mock salute.

From that alone, you were sure he was feeling better.

“I say” – Jin shut the laptop with a clack – “we’ve waited long enough.”

You couldn’t help but agree. It felt good to get on your feet again. Inside your chest, the warmth of your powers bubbled alongside your bristling determination. Just enough for you to feel them, to assure you.

A private smile stole across your face, and you turned towards Jungkook.

He found you first. A gentle touch on your wrist made you glance down. His thumb ran firmly, softly, over the skin there, and when you looked up his eyes were dark and affirming.

You realised then, that his defensive ring of fire had never burnt away. You were only on the other side of it, one of the ones he accepted in. His look was one of complete trust. When he nodded, you nodded back.

Let’s do this.

Having been inside for some time, the lot of you know marched out to find it night, the city drenched in the darkness of who-knew-what hour. Your ‘march’ was actually more of a light-footed sneaking. Setting off any alarm bells just yet would blow the operation. Together, your group wove through shadows out of this part of town, unnoticed thanks to the camouflage Yoongi effortlessly provided.

Up ahead, Jin checked around corners and led you on, the buildings rising further above you at every turn. Neon screens flashed through the night in these neighbourhoods, where the inhabitants had money to spare.

The walk couldn’t have been long, but you were a world away from the run-down hideout by the time Jin stopped, facing one of many high buildings of polished glass and chrome.

“So this is it?” Jimin asked, head tilting back.

Your eyes, instead of trailing up the building like Jimin’s, found a looming structure beside it. A pylon planted firm in the ground, standing just taller than the building itself, up to a spidery convergence of wires webbed over the city rooves.

“Well, that sure is handy for someone like him,” Jin scoffed.

Hobi rolled his neck, already striding towards it.

“And now it’s handy for us.”

His leap up three rungs was unnecessary, really. The rest of you followed behind like the mere mortals you were, clambering as silently as you could between the intersecting beams, the metal cold beneath your hands.

You looked back once, finding Namjoon and Jin still on the ground.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” Namjoon was telling him grimly, “all of us have to fight.”

“I know,” Jin agreed. Then he punched him in the arm. “And I had better, alright? See you afterwards, I mean.”

Your leader nodded, then stepped forward to the pylon. You looked ahead and pushed on upwards.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to find Bolt in a penthouse. Following the others, you hopped from the pylon onto the skyscraper’s rooftop; only Namjoon stayed behind. It wasn’t so tall as Kuyang’s lab had been, but it felt miles above. In the darkness, a few glimmering lights dotted the edges of what appeared to be an eerie garden of sorts, although no plants were in sight. Dark tile slabs ran underfoot, broken up by sculptures you couldn’t discern beyond shadows.

The rooftop was halved, your group gathering on the lower segment while a set of stairs rose another floor to more of the same; Bolt’s viewpoint over the city.  Though your eyes darted between the statues, each one playing tricks on you as if they were people watching, your gaze rested eventually on two large glass doors beside the stairway.

A distant light from further inside showed just enough for you to see beyond the glass. An entire wall was decked in little plates, things you vaguely recognised as city awards, only seen on the screens and papers.

A trophy for each life Bolt had taken would have filled the whole building, let alone a feature wall, you thought.

The small huddle of you poised still, hunters, waiting. In the last few seconds before that silence would be broken, you felt Jungkook step behind you.

“This ends now.”

The voice coming over your shoulder was made of everything he was. Electricity, cold and bitter like metal, aflame with determination. The rows, fists and shouting, the tentative midnight whispers, his kisses.

His hurt and all the things he covered it with.

Namjoon didn’t even have to ask his soldiers if they were ready. He raised his arms and slammed palms back down against metal, and a red glow silhouetted you all like a sinister halo.

Everything went dark.

The meagre light inside the property blinked off. The glare of signs across the road plunged away to nothing. Only the dotted perimeter lights, which must run on for emergencies, remained.

Footsteps behind you brought Namjoon through the pack to its head.

Ahead, something moved beyond the glass. Your gaze sharpened on it as the handle turned, the door swinging soundlessly outwards.

While not in full gear, as he had been when he first attacked you, Bolt’s blue mask was in place. Otherwise, he wore dark, comfortable clothes. Internally, you celebrated the small evidence that you really had caught him unawares.

“I should have known,” his voice carried over to you, inflated with arrogance. “Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

In your ear, a sharp inhale sent your eyes to Jungkook for a second. His fists tightened at his sides.

“You’ve taken enough, Bolt,” Namjoon spoke. If you didn’t know him, you may not have caught the dark rage burning below his even words.

Then he raised his arms, stretched them towards the man in blue.

A great gust whisked from behind you, snatching at your hair, but you stood firm. In front of you, Bolt was thrown backwards by the air, colliding with the glass behind him.

The starting gun had been fired.

As your enemy crashed through a shower of glass, you began to run. Shards of it scattered, glittering, under your pounding feet. You skidded to the doorway just as Bolt drew back to his feet in the shadows.

Raising your arms to continue the offensive, you were cut short. A startling flash blazed in your vision. In that split-second, it illuminated a smiling Bolt, gun ready at his hip. Just long enough for your heart to sink.

The shield rifle, the very one you had failed to protect.

It seemed only right that you should pay the price.

Its impact slammed against you, wrenching your outstretched arm backwards. The pale sphere it had fired, glowing and crackling, caught hold and took you with it, ensnaring your wrist like a constricting snake. Helpless to detach yourself, your body flailed through the air behind it.

Someone called your name.

Just as fast, you jerked to a stop. Below you, your feet flung out above nothing. Your heart jumped.

Looking around wildly, you found the forcefield had snagged on the wall, stuck fast to it just like it did your arm. It was the only thing holding you here.

Somewhere behind you, above you, grunts and thuds assured you that the fight continued. For now, you had to get out of this trap before Bolt could reach you again, attack you in this helpless position.

“Y/N!”

Jimin’s voice rushed closer. It was an effort to crane your head up to see him. Pale pink hair poked over the ledge.

“Grab on!” he called.

You didn’t hesitate. Swinging yourself up with a kick, you grabbed desperately for the hand he reached out. Finding it clumsily, you clutched to his wrist with clammy fingers. Next moment, he hauled you up, clamping both hands around yours until you rolled over the wall and your feet stumbled against solid ground.

But you still weren’t free.

The forcefield bit at your arm when you tried to drag it free. You cursed.

“It’s just energy,” Jimin spoke, frowning at the luminescent mass.

Then he took a breath, frowning in concentration. With one push of his hand, the sphere shifted, as if it was simply a ball from training.

Resisting, you pulled the other way. For a second, it constricted harder, making your heart clench in dread of following it. Then all at once you were falling free, tumbling to the floor as the forcefield rolled out of sight over the edge.

Hurried hands tugged you up and you were wheeling around to face the battle.

“Thanks,” you quickly clapped Jimin on the shoulder. A brief grin from him, and you dived together back towards the fray.

More shining energy fields pulsed against one wall, but it seemed the others had dodged them. You ran past the discarded weapon on the floor. But there were more where it had come from.

A bright blue jet, just like your own, fizzled against a statue and sent it thundering to the floor. Behind it, Yoongi leapt out of the way just in time. He came sprinting towards Bolt, eyes burning white.

In an instant, the hero let out a yell, clutching his eyes. Staggering, he slipped onto one knee. But in his blind panic, he whirled around, lashing out again even without a target to aim at.

Blazing blue roared outwards. Namjoon had been marching towards the fallen Bolt, but was forced to duck for cover. The lightning sliced clean through the top of the stone figure he hid behind.

Even as Bolt’s attack died, something else caught your eye. Fast as a spark from a flame, he tossed a blade into the air. It whistled, carving a streak of seething blue through the night.

A shout shot echoed across the rooftop, straight to your veins. Yoongi.

Falling from his invisible cloak of darkness, you saw a glowing blue shuriken whizz along his back. The current flew outwards across his body, throwing his pained grimace into haunting relief. The blade skittered, useless, to the ground, having wreaked its injury.

“Yoongi!” you screamed as he fell, blue light dancing over his spasming body.

Staring in horror as you were, the next flash of blue nearly caught you. Running on pure instinct, your body retaliated before you did. Snarling, your powers leapt from your palms, clashing against Bolt’s in mid-air. Blue on blue.

In the flare of sparks, Bolt smiled slowly. Never breaking the connection, he took a step forwards, cocking his head.

“So it’s true,” he spoke, “I heard about you.”

Heart hammering now, you pushed back with all your might, feeling his hostile powers wrestle with yours. They may look the same, but they felt all wrong.

“Tell me,” he took a step closer. You barely resisted the urge to draw back. “How did you do this?”

Steeling yourself with a breath, you unleashed a surge of rage, your electricity hissing through the air. It should have satisfied you to feel his power startle, stutter at the sudden attack.

All you could do was glare. He had no idea. He never thought twice about who he killed, what he took.

But as you stared, there was movement behind him. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on Bolt, willing his attention to stay on you. As it was, he had no idea that Jungkook was stalking towards him.

“I didn’t do this,” you blurted out, needing to keep him focussed. Buying Jungkook time as his face came into sharper focus, closer to the battling blue lights between you and Bolt. “You did this to me.”

You spat your words with all the venom locked inside, ready for one last push as you watched Jungkook raise both arms-

WHOOSH.

You snapped the connection, staggering backwards as Bolt whirled around.

It had not been gold that fired. In a blur, Jungkook was slammed to the ground by a column of water crashing into him.

Everyone on the rooftop turned to its source.

“Shit-” you heard someone curse.

“No,” you breathed.

Feet touching to the rooftop up ahead, among a flood of water, was Monsoon.

Another cold, arrogant grin met you all. You stared in horror. Only Bolt laughed, stepping forwards to climb to his ally’s side. They faced you all from the staircase, looking down.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jungkook’s eyes blazed gold beneath dripping strands of hair.

“Jungkook! No!” you cried, but too late.

Gold split the night, but against Monsoon there was no use. Water surged instantly towards him again, and though your powers protested, burning in your chest with the need to act, you could only stand by. You couldn’t fight him.

Shimmering water engulfed the gold strands. Soon they would immobilise Jungkook, the moment it made contact…

Instead, a red glow sprung up in front of Jungkook with only a split-second to spare, sending the deluge spraying around the shield.

“Let’s start with you, then,” Monsoon smirked.

When you looked back to him, you swore your heart stopped beating.

Raised in one hand, pointing straight at Jungkook, was the Razer. Its eerie white form stood out starkly against the night sky.

The dead white light at its centre jumped to life. A whirring began, menacing and low. It rose at the same rate the strands of light started spinning within the sphere, preparing to drain its victim of all power.

It was stupid. It was stupid, you had already failed once before. You had watched Jungkook fail just seconds ago. There was nothing you could do, yet you had to do something.

You fired at Monsoon.

Easily, he raised his free hand to deflect.

But as the water rushed towards you, Jimin sprinted towards Monsoon. Thrusting an arm forward, he sent a fallen statue flying between you, a silhouette. Your eyes widened in realisation.

The inundation hit the stone with such force, you almost thought it would crack. But no – it sent the writhing water shooting straight back at its commander.

Darting forward, you shot without hesitation. Blue burst from you. The bright tendrils wove into the stream, flying like darts through the current and towards Monsoon. There was no time for him to react; only a fleeting shadow of shock stole over his face before the electricity caught him and his eyes rolled back.

You knew how it felt for your muscles to lock in place, for your body to leave your control entirely. You watched as it took hold of him, too, and smiled.

The force of the water, with no way to resist it, knocked him backwards until the floor no longer held him. A blond blur flew past you, just before the white-clad figure that was Monsoon dropped out of sight forever.

Lowering your palms, your chest heaved. Adrenaline rushed through you; this still wasn’t over.

Your eyes narrowed in on Hobi, whose feet made impact with the roof on landing. Clutched in his arms was the Razer, scooped from Monsoon’s arms just in time.

Bolt, apparently, had got over his ally’s demise already. His grief lasted the space of one step, away from the edge, before he swung round. Like you, he honed straight in on the weapon.

And then everyone moved at once.

Diving out of the path of a sinister blue bolt, Hobi rolled away on the floor. Bolt himself thudded closer, making your friend dodge again, leaping up and out of his reach. The air crackled by Bolt’s hand, but before he could summon electricity to chase Hobi down, a sheet of purple fire swept like a curtain in front of him, the fleeting shadow of V disappearing within the flames.

You were already sprinting at the enemy when Hobi touched down next to you. Stumbling around, he glanced behind him with a curse.

Confused, your eyes first darted over your friend. He didn’t seem to be more hurt, so then what-?

A clatter of metal rung through the spitting flames. Frantically searching, you quickly found the deathly white streak of the Razer on the ground, spinning away. In the desperate fumble to escape Bolt, Hobi must have dropped it.

It didn't matter how it got there. Darting to the side, you changed course towards the weapon. But you weren’t the only pursuer.

Bolt was a silhouette in front of the fire, growing rapidly in the corner of your vision. Your feet thudded as fast as you could make them, heart pounding out the same rhythm, and you were almost there, but Bolt was coming in fast-

A flash of blue. Instinctively, you pulled back, letting it cut through the air in front of your nose. Precious distance you couldn’t afford to waste.

Throwing your weight back further, you followed your body’s momentum. Your hip met the tile and you let your speed carry you, sliding over the tiles and kicking out-

Your toes met the weapon hard, snatching it from right under Bolt’s fingertips as he lunged down. His furious glare shifted to you, but he did not stay to fight. Both of you watched, panting, as the white gun hurtled over the staircase, resounding against each step out of sight.

Then Bolt was off again with you not far behind, jumping to your feet. Stairs flew beneath you as you surveyed the scene.

Bolt charged a decisive line towards the still-falling gun. Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook assembled on the lower part of the rooftop, ready to strike.

With relief, you saw Jimin move first. Raising one hand, he brought the gun arcing through the night. Though you kept running, something loosened in your chest the closer it came to the hands of your leader.

So focussed on the gun as you were, you almost missed it. Just as the Razer landed firmly in Namjoon’s grip, something glinted in Bolt’s hand, inches ahead of you.

A sizzle of blue. Another shuriken sliced through the air. Namjoon dodged to one side, the blade sailing past him, a spark of blue losing itself in the darkness of the city.

But another blade followed.

Namjoon clearly decided not to hang around. The low whirring began again, piercing your senses straight away as if it was a chainsaw roaring. White light pounced against the glass containing it. Close as you were to Bolt, you couldn’t help the jolt of nerves fizzling in your chest.

Lifting his gaze from the weapon, Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction. There wasn’t enough time to react. The blue lightning raced straight for his heart.

The image of Yoongi, stricken and fallen, flashed through your mind then. Helplessness burned through every part of you – even as you pushed yourself to sprint, there was no catching it.

Until a shadow leapt in the way. Obscuring your view of Namjoon, they turned in mid-air to face the shuriken.

Jungkook.

Your heart punched into your throat. In a single beat, the blade found its target.

A twitch of pain spasmed across Jungkook’s face. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your trembling heart choked you, the world falling silent for a deathly second.

Then his feet thumped onto the roof, the clatter of the thin blade following a beat later. Though he stumbled against the outer wall, he remained standing. Utter, blank shock painted on his face, he brought a hand up to his chest.

There, a thin red line was spreading where he had been cut. Nothing more.

Heart still hanging on a precipice, you were suspended in your shock. Numbly, you glanced down to the still-spinning shuriken lying powerless on the floor. Powerless. No more sparks surrounded it. No hint of blue, no colour at all.

Where a heartbeat ago there had been panic, now came no movement at all. Your lungs ached for air after your short race, but you hardly dared to touch the silence by breathing. Shakily, you drew in cool air, turning, as you all did, towards Bolt.

Standing in front of the shattered entrance to his home, he was equally still.

You expected some kind of joke. For him to laugh in your faces, or lash out again.

Instead, he looked down in horror. His hands steadily rose, tuning over in front of him. A downwards turn tugged at his mouth when he raised his face.

Then it turned into a snarl, and he lunged, flinging a hand straight towards you. Everyone on the rooftop jumped.

To your shame, you almost stepped back. Phantom burning, from months ago as you fell from a skyscraper like this one, rocketed through your mind. But the pain you braced for never came. No flash of blue. You stayed rooted there, disbelieving eyes tracing the air which should have been ablaze, and instead was dead and dark.

And you noticed another thing: the whirring had stopped.

Glancing to one side, you saw Namjoon lowering the Razer, face hard and a grim glint in his eye.

“You!”

Bolt’s voice brought you sharply back to him. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and his voice was sharp.

To your alarm, his rage-filled eyes, though devoid of blue, were fixed right on you.

“Give them back to me! Right now!”

With a sudden start, he marched towards you. You actually stepped back this time, in no hurry to be the target of his new warpath.

“You- I gave you those powers!” He ranted, “My powers! You can give them back to me the same way. Do it now!”

Disgusted, you could only shake your head.

Another step and he was right in front of you, reaching for you. That same face which hadn’t looked at you twice when he sent you hurtling to your intended death. The man that had since become the face of your elusive fear, sending others to attack you, never getting his hands dirty unless for a media-worthy cause.

His hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

“I made you what you were,” he pleaded – you saw it now for what it was – “you were nothing before I gave them to you-”

“Get off me!” you snapped, yanking your arm roughly from his grip. When he made to reach for you again, you barely kept control of your powers. You were sure to let just enough slip through that your eyes would light up blue with a reminder.

It clearly found its mark. He stilled, stunned. He had never been in this position before, unable to fight, and he would do well to remember it.

“I was someone before you,” you spoke, low and level.

Bolt seemed robbed of words.

Then his glare flicked to the side. Jungkook stalked up to stand beside you, drawing himself up to his full height. There was a special venom in his eyes, reserved only for the man who had ruined his life.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat.

Something in Bolt snapped. Closing his mouth, his feet scrambled beneath him. He hurried in the opposite direction, staggering a few desperate steps backwards before wheeling around, racing to get inside.

You didn’t move. Any one of you could easily kill him from where you stood – in any case, it wasn’t needed.

Someone was waiting for him.

Stepping from the dark hallway, broken glass crunching underfoot, Jin emerged into the dim light of the rooftop.

He reared back a fist, and brought it down in a blur to collide with Bolt’s face. The moment the fallen hero hit the ground, Jungkook strode forwards. Bolt’s usually vivid mask was finally dislodged, lying dull against the tiles where Jungkook’s boot crushed it against the floor.

Calmly lifting a hand, he fired gold, but not right at Bolt. Instead, you watched the molten light latch around a large shard of glass. The burning ring made dappled gold ripple in the glass, a golden dagger, the brightest thing on this dark rooftop.

Unsteadily, Bolt was getting his hands beneath him again. His ragged panting almost stirred pity in your chest. Almost.

Jungkook pushed his palm forwards, his power moving with him. The dagger struck Bolt’s back. You did not smile, but watched as it plunged ruthlessly into him, making his back arch and drawing a pitiful cry from his mouth.

No one was around to hear it, or to care. Tonight was as desolate as the night you had woken, alone and afraid, in a dark alley, left to die.

It wasn’t painless, but it was quick. Looking to Jungkook as Bolt fell silent, you found his hardened face awash with gold, like it was made of the metal itself. Only the twitch of his jaw as he yanked the glass from its victim belied the impression.

A thump as the body slumped among a soft chorus of grating glass.

The gold faded from Jungkook’s eyes. They turned to you, and you took his hand.

Thank you for reading this far into the series and sticking with it!!💜💜

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[milaisreading]

could you do a sae itoshi x isagi sister where she sprained her ankle and sae was very worried and overprotective of her please

🌱🩷: Here you go! Thanks for the request 🩷🌱

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

Sae Itoshi was usually someone who trusted his gut instincts the best, they were right all the time. So, when he woke up that morning feeling like something bad had happened to someone, or will happen, he felt odd. He barely paid attention to others, aside from a few close people, so why would he be worried for no reason? Sae shook those thoughts away in the beginning and did his usual morning routine. He was back in Japan for the next 2 weeks, so he planned on enjoying the time he had with his family, and try to make amends with Rin.

'Aww! Look at how cute that big brother is with his little brother. So adorable.' Sae blushed and glared at the wall as he remembered (Y/n)'s gushing over the duo they noticed in the park the other day.

'There is no way a nobody will outdo me.' He huffed and grabbed his phone, expecting a message or two from (Y/n),but to his surprise there was nothing. Sae sighed and put the phone away, thinking that maybe it was still too early for her to be awake.

'She needs as much sleep as possible.'

"Why is she not sending me anything? It's already 11." Sae sighed in frustration as he scrolled through his phone, hoping he might have missed a notification, but nothing. So, without really thinking the boy dialed her phone number and waited for a while for (Y/n) to pick up his call. And, after 7 rings, the older Isagi finally answered.

"Hello? Sae?"

"(Y/n), hey! How have you been?" The boy cleared his throat, waiting for an answer from her.

"I have been fine. And you? Did you need something?"

"Good, good. Uhm, say do you want to hang out today?" Sae asked nervously, waiting for an answer.

"I am sorry, Sae. I really can't walk around much for the next few days. Maybe another time."

Her explanation caused the boy's alarm bells to ring, already thinking the worst.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah... this is embarrassing. But, I was helping a neighbor carry something inside and hurt my ankle in the process. Don't worry though, it's nothing serious-"

(Y/n) stopped talking as she heard the line go silent, realizing Sae had ended the call. It was weird, but she didn't think much of it.

'Maybe his mom called him for something.'

"Sis! Don't walk around like that, I could have brought you the water." Yoichi said as he saw (Y/n) in the kitchen.

"Don't worry, Yo-chan. It's nothing serious."

2 hours later, (Y/n) had forgotten about her phone call with Sae and was just watching TV while Yoichi was in his room while her parents  were out buying something. It was a peaceful afternoon, that is until she heard the doorbell ring.

"Hm? We aren't expecting anyone as far as I know." She muttered while slowly walking to the door and opening it.

"Sae? What are you doing all the way in Saitama? And what's with the flowers and bags." The boy looked at her in confusion before that slowly morphed into panic.

"Why are you standing?! You could injure yourself even more!" Sae said as he took off his shoes and walked inside.

"You are worrying too much. I will be fine. Besides, I need to move to get my things-"

"Not anymore! We need to get you to bed." Sae grumbled as he put the stuff down, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom.

"I am not in life threatening conditions, Sae. I will be fine." (Y/n) grumbled, face red in embarrassment. Sae ignored her protest as he put her in bed.

"Now, stay in here while I get you something to eat. Do you want anything to drink?" (Y/n) sighed at his persistence.

"You won't leave any time soon, right?"

"Nope." Sae nodded his head.

"I am fine with a glass of water, then."

She watched as the boy nodded his head and walked out of her bedroom.

"He is so dramatic. It's just a minor injury."

Sae was now in the kitchen preparing some of the snacks he brought, millions of thoughts racing through his head.

'What would have happened if I didn't come? She could have fallen down and hurt her foot again. She could have hurt her cute face. She could be crying now in pain with nobody to help her.' Sae shuddered as he brought the food and drinks to (Y/n)'s room, only to nearly have a heart attack when he saw her out of bed.

"Why are you not in bed?" Sae asked as (Y/n) looked at him in surprise as she stood near her desk.

"I just wanted to get my phone, I got a message on it- Where did all the food come from?" (Y/n) asked in surprise, unfamiliar with a lot of the snacks he brought. Sae, not happy with the answer, put the tray down and walked to where she was and carried her to her bed.

"Should have waited for me to get it for you. You might get hurt."

"I am not dying-"

"I don't care. You need to rest. Eat now." Sae said, handing her a random snack item to get the phone.

"You really worry too much. Shouldn't you focus on resting before you return to Spain?" (Y/n) asked in worry as the boy shook his head.

"I rested enough. Do you need anything else?"

"N-no." She stuttered out, still embarrassed by the attention he was giving her.

And that was pretty much how the rest of her day went on. Sae would sit near the bed as (Y/n) talked about random things, with the footballer chiming in from time to time. If she needed to get anything or go somewhere, Sae would either pick it up or carry her to the spot. Yoichi, who walked into the room a few times was greeted with a warning glare by Sae and the older observing his interactions with (Y/n).

'He acts like I will hurt her.' Yoichi would think to himself, but he knew his sister was safe with Sae, so he didn't say much.

"This is so adorable." Iyo squealed silently as she, Yoichi, and Issei spied on the duo. Issei and Yoichi said nothing, looking at each other in confusion.

"Do you think it's ok to leave them alone?" Issei asked, earning a nod from Iyo.

"Sae is a good kid. (Y/n) is safe with him. He reminds me of a worried mother hen." Iyo giggled as Yoichi held back a laughter.

'More like a guard dog.' The youngest thought.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Sweet Caroline

Pairing: Don Hume x OC (Caroline)

Warnings: Creepy guy, being pulled into a situation you can't get out of

A/N: This has been a long time coming. I couldn't quite figure out how I wanted to end it, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

This is not meant to be a reflection of the real person that was portrayed in the Boys in the Boat. It is a work of fiction.

Caroline was going to absolutely murder her roommate the second that she saw her again. It had been Annie's idea to come to the party held in honor of the rowing crew, something that Caroline hadn't paid much attention to before the evening had begun.

"You have to come with me," Annie had pleaded. Placing her hands on her hips, she twirled around on one heel to face Caroline, almost bumping into the dresser in their shared room. "You never come to these things with me and I am desperate for a night out with my best friend."

Caroline had immediately folded much to her own dismay. It was true that she didn't normally go out the way that Annie did, not nearly as social as she was, but also because she was focused on earning her degree.

Annie had clapped her hands excitedly and proceeded to dress Caroline up in her cutest dress, going so far as to apply her makeup for her so it looked pristine. Now, as she stood along the wall of the party she regretted agreeing to Annie for a plethora of reasons.

Reason one, her friend was on the other side of the room talking to one of the crew whose name Caroline couldn't remember, not beside Caroline.

Reason two, the boy who she had politely declined multiple times for a date had seen her and was making a bee-line in her direction.

Caroline arched her neck trying to make eye contact with Annie and motion that she was in need of assistance but Annie was too wrapped up in her own conversation to see past the taller man.

She contemplated making a run for the exit as the boy from her class stood directly in front of her with a bright smile. She tried to force her expression into something pleasant as she tried to remember his name.

"Caroline!" He greeted loudly, throwing his arms out wide and causing the liquid in his cup to slosh over the side and onto the floor.

"Hello," she returned with what she hoped was a smile and not a grimace. His own expression faltered with her failure before brightening again through his building confidence.

"How are you?" He continued, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I feel like I never see you outside of class. Do you normally come to these? Or are you here just to see me?"

Caroline forced a laugh out of her dry throat and took a small step out of his touch, "I'm here with my roommate, Annie."

"Oh, really?" He took a step closer to her as he pulled his arm back to himself. "I don't see her."

She looked up quickly to the last place she'd seen her friend and sure enough, Annie's distinct form had disappeared in the morphing crowd.

"Oh, well she is-"

"Say, do you want to dance with me?" He asked, interrupting her.

She blinked.

Taking her silence as a yes, he grabbed at her wrist and went to pull her after him onto the dance floor. Somewhere along the way, he'd rid himself of his glass and used the extra hand to twirl her into his embrace with a flourish.

As he did, Caroline felt her heel catch and she tripped slightly. It placed her much closer to him than she had ever wanted to be. He tightened his grip on her waist and began leading her in a dance that she didn't recognize. She searched each face for Annie but had to glance at him as he tightened his grip on her again.

"You know, you never did tell me why you couldn't go on that date with me. I think we'd get along really well together and obviously it would look really good for me to have a woman that looks like you do by my side with the career that I'm going into," He said, his gaze crawling all over her skin. "After this dance how about you and I go someplace quiter and -"

"Excuse me."

Caroline's gaze locked onto the man beside her. He was tall, much taller than the boy from her class. His eyes were soft on hers but hardened as he turned to look at the boy.

"Mind if I cut in?" He didn't wait for the boy to answer, instead gently moving Caroline out of the boy's tight grip and into his secure one.

"You're the stroke seat for that boat from today." The boy from her class paled slightly as she was pulled from his grasp. The man said nothing, looking to her instead and searching her gaze. "Listen bud, I didn't realize she was with you."

The man looked away from her for a moment as the boy from her class continued to ramble on about not wanting any trouble. He stared at him for a moment until the boys eyes widened and he stumbled away from them.

He turned back to face her, pulling her into a slow sway to match the other couples on the dance floor. "Are you alright?"

Caroline nodded, suddenly unable to meet his brown eyes and instead focusing on the dark strands of his hair that fell forward as he tipped his head down closer to hers. His expression twisted, seemingly unsatisfied with her response.

He'd seemed large in comparison to the boy from her class, but left alone with him she seemed all too aware of how much bigger he was physically than she. But, when their eyes met again, she noticed how he seemed to be making himself smaller while talking to her, so as to make her more comfortable she realized.

"I'm Don," he offered after a moment.

"The stroke seat?" She commented, remembering what the boy from earlier had mentioned. "I'm Caroline."

"Caroline," he repeated. Her name swirling around in his voice and filling something inside of her. "I apologize if I overstepped, you just seemed uncomfortable."

The heat from his hand at her waist spread up her spine and she shivered with the pleasure of it. "Was I so obvious?" She asked.

"Not to him," he huffed, his lips twisting up on one side.

She laughed softly and looked away. "Can I tell you something?" She asked after a moment of gentle swaying.

"Hmm?"

"I couldn't remember his name for the life of me and by the time I found myself out here, it was too late to ask." Caroline drank in the sight of Don's smirk growing into a full smile as he smothered a laugh between his lips.

"His name's Jim," he managed out.

Caroline shrugged, "I don't really know that it matters any more."

"No?" Don's eyes lit up. "Why's that?"

"I'm dancing with you, aren't I?" She asked, looking between the space between them that had shrunk during their conversation.

"You are," he agreed, squeezing her waist softly in his hands.

Caroline had a feeling as he twirled her around at the start of the next song, that she'd be in his arms for a long time to come.

----

The Boys in the Boat Masterlist

[marthawrites]

Congrats Martha!! 🎉🎉

Could I request Rhaenyra x reader with the prompt “Spread your legs for me, I want to see all of you” pretty please?

Thank you 😍

Absolutely, Fae my darling! I hope I brought your prompt to life and gave it justice! 💖

Honeyed Promises

Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.8k+

About: While visiting your great uncle, Lyman Beesbury, at King's Landing, you weren't expecting secondhand stress to affect your lord husband so. Princess Rhaenyra takes notice and is happy to steal moments away with you.

Includes: Unhappy political marriage, mentions of verbal fighting, and smut. Featuring reader's first sexual experience with a woman, oral sex, vaginal fingering, and scissoring

Note: Hello lovely reader ❤️ This is my very first time writing a wlw fic - ahh! It's a complete honor to do it as a request for Fae! Story takes place during Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor. It is implied she hasn't had children yet. Reader is nondescript. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Cross posted on ao3 too!

-

Little had changed since your last visit to King’s Landing when you were a young girl. The Red Keep, in all its sprawling glory, loomed just as large as you remembered. A rarity, you were beginning to understand – for things you thought grand as a child were all but normal to you, now. The Keep was a being of its own, however. Almost a living, breathing, sentient thing. For an outsider its walls seemed to morph into the dark; changing, shifting… holding onto its secrets like the dragons its Kings bonded with.

You weren’t a stranger to politics. But, you were a stranger to the volume of aristocrats which surrounded the Targaryen dynasty. Lyman Beesbury, your great uncle, served as master of coin on King Viserys’ small council, and before him, King Jaehaerys, and was as deep into politics as a man of a smaller House could be.

A great honor.

-

Uncle Beesbury extended an invasion to his nephew, your lord husband, to attend a royal affair at the capital. He gladly accepted. Using it for not only an excuse to get out of Honeyholt for a while, but also to catch up with family, the long journey felt worth it.

Your marriage had yet to bear fruit. Little love bloomed between you and your husband. It was a marriage of duty rather than love, and it showed it more ways than you two cared to admit. If only you could swell with his child to put an end to all the talk of furthering the bloodline.

Each passing day at King’s Landing showed you a different side to your husband. Whatever he and his uncle conversed about in private soured his mood, and his harsh tongue somehow grew harsher towards you. No matter how you tried to soften him with gentle touches, tender words, and initiating marital affections, he was unsatisfied and dour.

“Your lord husband seems quite the ray of sunshine, my lady,” princess Rhaenyra whispered to you one night during dinner. Her voice lilted with sarcasm and her violet eyes dazzled with amusement when she met your gaze. She held it with confidence. With a softness. Knowing.

“Is it that obvious, princess?” You asked with some of her same amusement. “He was so excited to come here. I thought he’d be happier than…,” you waved your hand in a sweeping gesture, adding, “this.”

She smiled softly. “Have you had the chance to explore? There are many wonderful things here to distract you from tetchy husbands,” she said and tipped her goblet towards you, sipping to hide her smirk.

“Perhaps on the morrow I will,” you said, heat and butterflies filling your blood at her tone and implication. Could the princess be… flirting? Your heart quickened a tick. Surely you’re mistaken. Your bedtime stories of suave knights must be getting to you.

“I’ll gladly show you around. I too could use a distraction from the small council.”

She didn’t touch you, but the way her gaze lingered from your neck, up to your lips, and down to the exposed swath of your chest, made gooseflesh pebble your skin as if she had.

-

Nearly a week went by and unfortunately Rhaenyra had yet to keep true to her word. You couldn’t blame her, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Each day passed with a sting. The only thing that made it better was the conversations you were able to steal at dinner. The lingering looks, the briefest of touches, Rhaenyra reaching to brush away dust from your gowns… you thought your heart might truly leap from your throat when she wetted the corner of her napkin with her mouth to clean a drop of sauce from your chest. 

And, all the while, she sat by her husband, Laenor Velaryon, and you sat by your lord husband; the men either uncaring or none the wiser to the simmering attraction and tension between you and the princess.

The following day, after a particularly curt argument in hissed voices, you stomped away from your lord husband and left him in one of the numerous corridors. You didn’t stop your angry pace until you were standing in the gardens. Unchaperoned, unguarded, and completely alone. Just how you wanted to be. Heavy gray clouds began to gather over the castle. It didn’t deter you from wanting to make the most out of the remaining blue sky.

Your mood lightened by the minute. Flowers, shrubs, and trees bloomed everywhere. Heady scents filled your nose and it made you yearn for home. King’s Landing was lovely. But, to you, there truly was no place like home. 

Akin to your married name, you quietly followed a trail of honeybees until you found their hive. Deep and hidden in the gardens, you wanted nothing more than to simply stay there for the remainder of the day. Perhaps even the rest of your stay. Honeybees were busy and gentle creatures. As long as you didn’t disturb them or their hive, the working girls were unbothered by your presence.

Finally, with one final whisper of goodbye to the bees, you left the secret spot and began to make your way back to the Keep. Raindrops started to fall and you knew a full on downpour wasn’t far behind.

Then, right there in your path, stood Rhaenyra. Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed, and her palms were open up towards the sky as if in prayer. You felt like you were interrupting something sacred. Excitement jumped to your throat and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “princess…?” 

She turned to look at you with partially lidded eyes. “What ever are you doing out here right now?” She asked with genuine confusion.

“I needed a breath of air. My husband, he…” 

Before you could finish she held a hand up and offered a small shake of her head. “Needn’t worry to explain, then,” she said, appearing to come back to herself. “If the storm didn’t brew out of nowhere, and if I knew I’d run into you, I’d insist on taking you astride Syrax with me,” she said as she stepped into your space, eyes bright and dark alike. She freely reached for your hands and grabbed both of them. “There’s nothing quite as thrilling as dragon flying.”

This is more thrill than I’ve felt in a long time, you wanted to say. You wondered if the words flashed across your face. Briefly flustered, you smiled. “I, uhm… thank you, truly, princess. But I much prefer the ground.”

“That’s because you’ve never tried being in the sky,” she said, voice soft, so soft, as she leaned into you. “You cannot deny something so quickly if you haven’t tried it…”

Desire, excitement, and wonder filled her pretty eyes. Violet, and silver, and always donned in the loveliest gowns, you understood how the rumors of Targaryens being closer to Gods than men traveled all over the Seven Kingdoms. She was close enough that you felt her breath tickle your face. Smelled the oils of her skin. Something electric pulsed between your almost pressing bodies. “This is the closest I’ve been to a dragon and I am positively thrilled,” you whispered in reply, gently squeezing her hands.

“Sweet girl…,” she cooed as she tilted her head and pressed a delicate kiss to your waiting lips. Whatever pulsed between you before thrummed to life like a wardrum, now. You returned her kiss and that’s all she needed. Both her hands cupped your face as she deepened the affection, savoring the smoothness of your lips. Your tongue.

Just then the sky opened and emptied warm rain on the city. Within moments you were both soaked. Shock led to laughter as you both ran to find cover. Rain water dripped from your nose as you looked at Rhaenyra with renewed delight. “It came out of nowhere!” You said once in the dry safety of the Red Keep’s walls.

“Which part?” Asked the princess, mischievousness alighting all her features. She pulled you along, now, looking over her shoulder and daring you to keep pace with her. 

Challenge accepted.

Arm in arm, you kept pace with Rhaenyra and paid little mind to any onlookers who might be giving you curious glances. She was light and quick on her feet and you were beginning to have a hard time keeping up with her. Still, the light air of playfulness danced around both of you.

An ornate door was guarded by a single man and the princess was quick to say, “you may be relieved from your post for now, ser.” He offered a bow before turning to leave. She opened the door and latched it once you were both inside. Locking it, she turned to face you with a smirk that had you giddy.

“What of your husband, princess? And mine?” Despite it only being the two of you in her private bedchamber, you whispered.

“Laenor and I have… we have found common ground with a pact, you see. He would be happy that I found joy and thrill in chasing you. No one will know of our kiss. That, I promise,” she said, mirroring your tone, as she traced the backs of her fingers along your jaw. Your neck. Whispering them over your collarbone. “As for your husband? Well… I haven’t even seen him kiss your cheek since you’ve been here. Such a shame.”

Your heart was doing flips in your belly. Your lord husband never made you feel like this. Not even on your wedding night. “Th-this–,” you started, uncharacteristically stammering, “–I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only ever been with my husband.” Heat warmed your cheeks and you hoped she didn’t see it.

“That’s okay,” she purred. “Let me show you, my lady.” Her eyes searched yours. As soon as consent passed between you, she began to help you out of your wet gown. You helped her out of hers, too, and before too long you stood in front of each other in only your chemises; thin material doing little to hide your bodies.

Now on her bed, your curious fingers trembled over her skin as you explored her body. Your lips shuddered atop her flesh as you grazed tentative kisses along her. Your breath caught in your throat when she did all the same, and more, to you. She was so soft, and so warm, and so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Her hands on any and every part of your body had you melting further into her mattress. “Can you.. Can I…,” you said dreamily. “Can I feel your skin on mine?”

Grinning like a cat, Rhaenyra pulled your chemise over your head. She tugged hers off too. Leaning down, she balanced her weight atop you as she crashed her mouth to yours in the neediest hungriest kiss you’d ever experienced. Your breasts squished together, and your bellies, too, and it was the single most exciting thing you’d ever felt. “Can I finish taking all your clothes off?” She asked, half breathless, one hand snaking down to the ribbons of your smallclothes.

“Yes,” you panted. “Please,” you begged.

Having neither the will nor the want to keep you waiting, she obliged. She tugged the ribbons open before sliding the final garment down your legs. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she looked from the center of your body to your face, violet eyes dark with desire. “Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of you.”

A wave of shyness washed over you. Now, you were praying doubly that she didn’t see the blush of your face. Your legs parted with hesitation; butterflies roared from your scalp to your toes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing. It shouldn’t make you timid. But the intimacy, the lewdness, made your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

Rhaenyra watched all the while. Despite the clawing arousal in the pit of her own belly she let you go at your own pace and made no move to hasten or startle you. “Men often don’t appreciate the true beauty of a woman,” she said, low and gentle. “But I am no man and you are beautiful. Be a good girl and open them further. It will be worth it, I promise.”

Her words struck a chord in you. Before you fully realized what you were doing, your legs spilled open to expose the fullness of your eager cunt. It glistened with your arousal. The pink at your very center begged to be touched. To be spread. To welcome whatever Rhaenyra might bless you with. “Will you also take yours off?”

“Soon,” she answered all too quickly, already leaning forward between your parted thighs. “But first I want to kiss this pretty cunny.” And she did. She kissed the tender flesh at the inside of your thighs, your mound, your budded pearl. Her smooth mouth kissed again and again until you were squirming beneath her, and it was then, and only then, that she traced her warm tongue up your slit.

Your breathy gasps turned into a choking mewl at the sensation of her tongue. “Gods…!” You looked down at her and burned even hotter at the sight. “Please don’t stop, princess. Please don’t stop.”

Rhaenyra licked and lapped again and again, making no move to stop even as you shuddered beneath her. You were too warm, too lovely, and too responsive for her to even consider stopping. When she eventually ceased her licking, she instead sucked on your clit until she felt your entire cunt convulse and throb. Your sounds of pleasure were everything she imagined and more. As soon as you relaxed from your first peak she slid two fingers into your empty cunny. Working her tongue and digits in tandem, she gave you another climax. The natural tang of your body gave way to the sweetness of orgasm, and with that taste on her tongue she finally crashed her mouth to yours once again.

You whimpered into the affection, smiling and purring like a spoiled cat. “You’ve got a magical mouth, princess,” you said dreamily.

“How do you like your taste?” She asked, kissing you again, slower, deeper.

“Like I want more,” you said. “Let me taste you. You can guide me along. Show me how to make you feel good like you just did me.”

She giggled into your neck. “I know a way to make both of us feel good at the same time. Do you trust me?”

You nodded, the darkness of your eyes glittering with desire.

Rhaenyra discarded her smallclothes and positioned herself between your legs. “Relax and let me show you how to hold your legs, yes?” She spread yours a little wider while moving one of her own beneath your leg. She spread her other one wider and hooked it over your waist. 

It was an odd position, one you’d never been in before, but one that immediately sent your blood soaring. She rolled her hips once. Once. And that’s all it took for you to feel the slickness of her cunt slide against your own. If you thought her mouth was magical it was only because you hadn’t yet felt her cunny against yours. You gasped sharply. “More,” you croaked, eyes black with lust.

“Move your pelvis with me,” she said thickly, lust darkening her features just as much as yours. 

You happily obeyed. Your pleasure was her pleasure, and hers, yours, as you both rolled and ground your hips and pelvis in a delightfully obscene rhythm. Moans and whimpers were accented by the slick echoes of your centers. Your breasts started to bounce with the effort; both of your hands pressing and digging into any soft flesh it could find. You felt drunk. High. Buzzed on the saccharine scents of her skin and your combined arousal. 

The shared pace grew firmer, quicker, sloppier. Sweat sheened your bodies. You both chased your high on the other’s cunt. You tumbled into orgasm first, white hot fire exploding out from your belly to every nerve of your body. Rhaenyra quickly followed.

You both rode it out slowly. Intensely. Savoring every second that passed between you.

When your limbs finally managed to untangle, she collapsed beside you and smiled. After a few moments of breath catching, she asked, “which was your favorite, my lady?” Her words breathless, her tone playful.

You hummed in thought. “I don’t quite know… I think I’ll need a reminder again, just to be sure.”

“I think we can arrange that,” she said with a laugh.

“Can we do this again?”

“As many times as we can sneak away together, I am happy to explore with you.”

You laid together for as long as you could, until the golden hour summoned you to the day’s final meal where you both said next to your husbands; relaxed and sated.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess

[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Seventeen♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Seventeen Warnings: profanity, kind of sexual harassment but not really Visit the first tag on this post to see all other chapters.

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Seventeen]

At first all you could see was darkness, coating your vision and sending you into pits of despair. 

It took much of your quickly draining energy to blearily unglue your eyelids open. Your wrists burned with the scathing roughness of the rope that bound them together, and a sickeningly sweet scent burned in the back of your nostrils, spices and something malevolent you couldn’t place. A haze of pink smoke curled around you like snakes waiting to strike. The red city glowed from the huge windows, stretching from floor to ceiling on the left wall. 

“Well, what are we supposed to do with it?” The man’s voice sounded strained, crackling with electricity. Through your hazy vision you could see legs, moving across the cold floor. 

“I know just what to do with her, cariño, don’t worry,” came the reply, the curl of the owner’s lip laced through his voice. Red cloth trailed the floor. You shuddered and both feet turned to face you. 

“It’s awake,” the staticky voice said quickly, tensed up. You sluggishly tipped your head up. It was the TV and the creature, which towered over you as you shrunk back.

“Hello?” You rasped. It grinned again, showing all its- no, his teeth. 

“Hello there, sweetheart,” he said, crouching low to meet your eyes evenly. He held a cigar in his hand, the sweet pink smoke curling from it dangerously as his eyes brightened. “Do you know where you are?”

“Val,” said the TV.

“Hell,” you said, voice shaking as it stroked your cheek with a single finger.

“Val!” The TV snapped. The moth man looked up. The TV inhaled sharply, smoothing down his clothes as he yanked the moth man upright. Then cracked a smile. “Vox.” He pointed to himself. “Valentino.” He gestured to the moth man. “Pleasure to be meeting you, despite the…” he stared at the ropes binding you and his eyes narrowed. “Circumstances.”

“Pleasure.” You forced a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

The door burst open, and a shorter female demon tottered in, sharp eyes taking in the situation in one scathing swoop of a glance. 

“I came as soon as I could,” she said, immediately snapping out her phone. You grimaced again as her piercing eyes landed on you. “So. We’ve got the angel.”

“And my newest actor,” Valentino announced with a flourish. You stared at him, unaware of what he meant, yet catching onto the fact that it was most likely The doll’s eyebrows knitted together.

Vox cleared his throat. “Velvet.” He jerked his head subtly at Valentino. Velvet stared at him blankly, as if to say, ‘not my problem.’ 

“We haven’t decided what to do with her yet, Val. Especially whether or not she’s another one of your porn actors,” Vox said. His words sent you into a state of panic, going unnoticed as he forced another grin at Valentino, who rolled his eyes, opening his mouth with another retort which ended up descending into an argument. 

Velvet stepped over to you, crossing her arms as she looked down. “Hey,” she said. You didn’t reply, body frozen up.

What the fuck are they going to do to me?

Velvette nudged you with her shoe. “Hey.”

You looked up, heart in your throat. “H-hello.” Velvette bent down to your level, eyes tracing your face. Her phone reappeared in her hands, and she flashed the screen at you, a news channel. You saw a picture of you surrounded by the crowd, Valentino clutching a gun in his hands. The headline read: FALLEN ANGEL LANDS OUTSIDE VEES TOWER. The screen morphed as the topic changed. You couldn’t catch the headline but Lucifer’s face appeared, making your breath catch, before Velvet pulled the phone away. 

“You’re all over the news,” she grinned. “Not often we get such a dramatic entrance from a fallen angel. Definitely not in broad daylight.” 

“What about… the other thing?” You glanced at the phone in her hand. She looked at it.

“Oh, this. This is from weeks ago. I guess I’m not surprised they’re still talking about it.” She waved her hand. “But not the point.”

You nodded nervously.

“Look. Sign a contract with me, and I can keep you away from those two idiots.” She jerked her head at the sinners fighting behind her. “You don’t want Val to own you. Believe me.” A chuckle escaped her lips.

Your chest constricted. “What do you mean sign a contract?”

“I mean sell me your soul.” She grinned sharply, extending a hand. The air buzzed with energy. You stared at her hand in horror. 

“I- no.” You scrambled away from her, movements restricted by the rope around your wrists. “No. No.”

She scowled, snatching her hand away. “Jeez, bitch. Calm down.” She sighed, then straightened up. “Guess you asked for this.”

“What do you mean,” you forced out. She giggled and stepped to the side, beckoning at Valentino and Vox after turning to them. 

“I don’t want her. Do what you want.” And walked away to the corner of the room, watching the three of your with a glint in her eye.

You opened your mouth to talk but Valentino grabbed your arm, wrenching you up. His hands fell onto your shoulders, nails digging through your clothes and into your skin.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed as his hand went to your waist, then hips, holding you in place even as you jerked away, bile rising in your throat. 

“You’re perfect.” He looked at Vox, licking his lips. “She’s perfect.”

“Don’t touch me,” you repeated, feeling your eyes burn with tears.

“You don’t need her,” Valentino scoffed, his second hand tracing a path down your collarbone. Vox watched, eyes crazed as Valentino’s hands slipped beneath your shirt. “What would you use her for?”

Your eyes burned even harder, painful even. You realized it wasn’t from tears as your palms simmered. 

“I SAID DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

Valentino crashed to the floor, letting out a warbled scream as his chest sizzled where your power had hit him. The ropes tore away as your palms burned. 

“Get her!” Velvette growled.

Vox lunged for you, but you charged across the room, stepping purposefully on Valentino’s head and cracking it back against the floor before throwing yourself at the giant windows. 

Your shoulder slammed against the window, pain streaking through your arm, cracks searing through the glass and making the window crumble in a shower of twinkling shards. You fell through the crystalline rain, air tumbling through your hair as you fell into the red evening. Your wings burst from your back. You were free. 

You were in hell, and you were free. 

-

A/N: [name] really seems to have a knack for crashing through windows

[mysteria157]

Chapter Three

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Slight Angst (mentions of death), Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: ~5k

Summary:

Suffering from haunting dreams and a raging cold, you find solce in Toji's challenging yet comforting presence.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting so patiently! It took me weeks to finally get out of my perfectionist mindset and just...write so everything flows together. This chapter is shorter than my usual, but to me little moments help with character development. And this is going to be a very, very slow burn lol.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

Previous Chapter | Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Next Chapter

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

***You***

The cold air is deceptive; it nips at your skin, raising goosebumps despite the warm inviting appearance of your surroundings. Tall trees—oaks, hickories, and basswoods—clutter densely, forming a barrier that shields the land from the outside world and cages bittersweet memories of the past. You’ve followed your father through these woods before, navigating rocky hills and leaping over thick, ingrown branches to reach another unmarked spot for exploring.

Deep purple hues of the twilight sky cast elongated, eerie shadows over the forest, and they fold over the tall grass like dark, unnatural fingers. This definitely isn’t real. Everything around you right now brings painful memories—but they’re are not as sharp as what you feel in reality.

In reality, the ache is persistent, pulsing weakly in your veins, flaring up with every fleeting memory of your father—his infectious laugh, his hands putting you on his shoulders as you walked to football games, or the early mornings spent huddled together, his hand guiding your binoculars to focus on a bird in the distance.

This is definitely a dream.

You know it also from the feel of the grassy meadow beneath your toes, the blades soft and ticklish against your ankles, the usual worry of ticks far from your mind. Vivid wildflowers—yellows, pinks, and blues—sway in a nonexistent breeze. The dirt path that once led to your father’s house has vanished, taken over by the soil and grass, erasing years of footprints.

The house he dreamt of building, a two-story structure crafted by his own hands, now stands as nothing more than a decaying skeleton. There is no roof, only stretches of drywall reaching towards the twilight sky, as if trying to reach the heavens and falling short.

As you walk further across the foundation, the environment shifts around you, the air folding in on itself and twisting like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Your fingers trail along the phantom walls that spring up, and your feet glide over the conjured glossy finish of hardwood floors. This empty space is a blueprint nestled deep in your memory: bedrooms that will give privacy, a living room that will host family gatherings, a fireplace that is now roaring in orange and yellows.

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls to you, sending a jolt through your heart that tightens your chest as if you’re about to cough. As you turn the corner, reality morphs once again, unfolding into a meticulously designed kitchen with forest green cabinets adorned with brass knobs, a deep porcelain sink and shiny stainless-steel appliances. The surreal surroundings are dizzying, blurring and swirling in your vision. But the figure you know—his broad back turned to you, shoulders stretching and pulling as he wipes something in front of him—that grounds you, preventing you from drifting away.

“It finally came in, take a look.”

He radiates an intense warmth as you stand beside him. Even with your arms barely touching, the heat feels suffocating, instantly causing you to break into a sweat. Just being next to him makes your throat constrict, choked and searing, it’s nearly impossible to speak. But with each stroke of his hand on the new granite counter top, sweeping a fiberglass cloth, his love and comfort are palpable in the stiffing heat, settling on your skin to relax you.

“Looks good huh?” He’s proud, and even though you don’t have the strength to look up at his face, you know he’s beaming. “Once it all comes together, it’s gonna look beautiful.”

His words stir a deep-seated guilt within you, so fierce it makes you want to scratch at your own skin, as if to physically scrape away the emotional turmoil the festers beneath the layer of your dermis. You press your toes into the hardwood, cross your arms and dig your fingernails into your arms. It’s hotter now—god you’re burning up. Your body prickles with beads of moisture as you watch him tirelessly wipe over an already clean surface.

It’s incessant, and with each swipe the guilt rises further, urging you to flee from a conversation that will never happen. You don’t really know about an afterlife but if there is one, does he know what happened? Is he rooted in the present, watching you occasionally to see what you’ve failed to do? Is he disappointed in you?

Maybe if you focus on his steady motions, close your eyes, and just breathe, you might find yourself back in your room when you open them again. After all, none of this is real—it will never be real. This kitchen, these rooms, the wooden floorboards, and the beautiful roaring fireplace. The remnants of all of this are written on a blueprint somewhere, collecting dust for the last two decades.

He calls out to you again, his voice oddly distant though he stands right beside you. He sounds weary, as if he’s struggling to breathe, and when you glance at his hand moving across the counter, it’s no longer vibrant and almond-brown but ashen, marked by blown-out veins. Lifting your eyes, you meet not the father you remember, but his final, frail image—his sunken skin, his life slipping away too soon, anchored to the world only by the fragile thread of a nasal cannula.

“You okay, honey?” he croaks, concern etched in every syllable.

You open your mouth to speak, but fear grips your entire being, squeezing you like you’re a piece of fruit to be juiced. The terror is paralyzing, and you find yourself unable to face him any longer without crumbling into tears. A deep, ragged breath cuts through the silence, rasping painfully in your throat as you stammer, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—“

Your eyes snap open, sticky and heavy with exhaustion, wincing against the harsh glare of sunlight that peaks through your maroon curtains. The embers of your dream fade into nothingness and unforgiving reality slides into place with ease. The heat of the dream is replaced by a chilling dampness; the sheets cling to your sweaty skin, and the fiery soreness in your throat reminds you of your still raging cold. When you swallow, it feels like sandpaper across raw flesh.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve dreamt of your father. It’s not that you don’t like to dream about him; actually, you cherish every memory, even the painful ones. But dreaming of him in the house—his house that has remained untouched since his death—it consumes you with regret for the role you’ve been unable to fulfill. You don’t have the time. You don’t have the money. All things that are out of your control but still hold you by the throat.

It’s too much for your mother, and you don’t blame her. The love she has for your father never really left. It lingered in her second marriage and came back full force in her divorce. So she stays away from all things related to him when she can.

Your eyes wander to the corner of your office desk where the old property deed lies, rolled up and bound by a simple rubber band. The edges are brown and dusty, much like the blueprints in your dream.

Why do you even keep it there?

Maybe it’s a reminder of him, just something physical you can glance at every day even if it hurts. Maybe it’s there to spur you to make that thousandth trip to city hall—the one that always ends in tears. Maybe, with these next few days off, you can try again. You’ll be stronger this time, more aggressive with the bald-headed piece of shit that always gives you trouble.

Or maybe not.

The flare of your throat is harsh enough to push away any other thoughts. There’s a frustration that always comes with getting sick, it makes simple things extreme when there is no need for it. Your body is too hot and also too cold, your throat burns with every swallow no matter how many throat drops you take, your lungs spasm with the tiniest breath to cough, your nose is so congested that it makes you regret taking breathing for granted. It’s overstimulating as hell.

You wince against the harsh sun again, turning your head further into your pillow before your eyes fall on your nightstand. There’s a tall glass of water and two pills. You don’t remember setting them there, but you sit up to throw them back anyway and down the water quickly. The coolness soothes your throat and with each swallow, the haze of last night lifts.

You know Toji brought you home because your car is out of commission and he refused to let you take the bus. He helped you out last night—literally carrying you up to your apartment because you were so achy and exhausted you could hardly stand. You remember him leaning casually against the brick wall of your complex, that insufferably charming smirk playing on his lips as he watched you go through every stage of defiance for help.

“I’m not getting any younger, princess.”

That name. You hate that name.

It was a taunt that made you eventually give up, too damn tired to snap at him. You gave in to the warmth of strong muscles and the scent of detergent, cologne, and something that’s just Toji. You remember the lack of strain in his neck, the ease in which he breathed as he took step after step like you weighed nothing, and the analytical gaze of jade irises beaming in the night as he took in his surroundings. It almost felt like he was assessing the area, checking every corner when he hit another flight of steps to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

As you think back, your hands automatically press against your cheeks, warmed by the flush of memory as your blood pumps faster in your veins from the rising shock. Toji had drawn you an Epsom salt bath to soak your muscles, rolling his eyes as you feverishly barked at him for privacy to undress. That gruff attentiveness continued as he watched you like a hawk as you slurped down the bowl of canned soup he warmed, and then gently nudging you to bed with a press to the small of your back. Even his firm grip on your arm as he wielded a syringe of cough syrup—which you tried to refuse—is clear in your mind.

“You’re burning up, stop fucking fighting me! What kind of doctor won’t take medicine?”

“This doctor. I would rather lick the floor than taste cough syrup. It’s just a cold. Go away,” you remember protesting, delirious with a stubbornness that has only gotten worse with age.

He had pressed the tip of the syringe to the side of your mouth, eyes narrowed and annoyed. “Open your mouth and—OW, why are you biting people! Girl, what the hell?!”

“Fuck,” you groan now, your hands digging into your eye sockets as the memory plays like a broken record behind your eyelids. You bit him like a fucking maniac. Who does that?! You remember giving in because you felt bad but still…

As a kid, you were the same—so against the taste of medicine that your mother had to pin you down.

But now? At the ripe age of too damn grown? You’re mortified.

Your hands slide down your face as you sigh in the silence, which feels heavier than before. Did he leave last night? You can’t remember anything beyond smacking your lips to get rid of the cherry taste of cough medicine and rolling over to pass out.

Your body isn’t as achy as last night as you climb out of bed. You slip into dry clothes and throw off your bonnet, ruffling the curls loose before you snatch up your phone and leave the room in search of him. The air in your apartment, usually so familiar, now carries a subtle disturbance—a reminder of his increasing presence. Only the distant chirps of cardinals outside punctuate the silence. As you enter the living room, you notice Toji’s black jacket casually draped over a kitchen stool and his car keys abandoned on the counter.

Your fuzzy socks muffle your steps as you approach the counter, where a covered glass bowl sits alongside a small note. You hate the lurch of your heart skipping as you snatch it up, your movements fueled by a mix of dread and anticipation.

Make sure you eat it all.

You can practically hear his gruff voice through the words, rough and serious, a subtle layer of care that’s unique to him. The thought makes you snort softly, relief washing over you with the distant thought that…he didn’t leave. But that relief is a push and pull, it’s frustrating to you because you’re unsure of what you want, even though you want more and moreof it. More of him.

As you pop open the lid of the container, the steam hitting your nose, your phone rings, your eyes rolling on reflex as you look at the caller ID. It’s a work day for your cousin, you can tell by the sleek reading glasses she only wears to comb over legal documents. Her shiny kinky hair is pulled up into a neat bun with not a strand out of place, edges laid to perfection, dark lip liner with a clear gloss on full lips, and she looks professional and uniquely Rene. Dark brown eyes narrow at you, the corners pointed in a cat’s eye with fresh black eyeliner, her expression tightening. Your mind automatically conjures the phrase you know she’s about to say.

“What do I have to do—”

“—to make sure you’re not dead,” she finishes in real time, her voice a blend of concern and familiar exasperation. “I was texting you all night.”

This is a well-worn interaction between you both; you work for days on end and disappear from the world, Rene reels you back in with stern care that rivals your own mother.

Your fingernail idly traces Toji’s handwriting from his note. “It was a rough night. My car wouldn’t start, I had to catch the bus and it made me late, and then work was just a nightmare. I’m sick, everything hurts, and Toji had to pick me up—”

“Why don’t we back up a little bit,” she interjects, elegant eyebrows arching up in wicked surprise, your well-being entirely forgotten because your cousin is a nosy bitch. “Toji was there? Where is he?” You shoot her a glare, irritation flaring because you refuse to give in to her curiosity. She holds up her hands in defense, her full lips curving into a smile. “Damn, a bestie can’t ask a question these days? That’s tough.”

Your gaze holds firm, challenging her. She meets it in a well-known game you both play, her eyes widening comically and it’s enough to break you both, laughter filling the kitchen.

“This is why I don’t tell you things,” you lie, coughing into your elbow. “We are just taking it slow. Nothing crazy. I didn’t need his help anyway. I could have taken the bus and taken care of myself. It’s just a cold.”

She laughs again at your bullshit and you sigh in defeat. There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat things with her. Nothing crazy, you say even though can’t even get your thoughts together when it comes to him. You could easily hang up the phone, but annoying or not, you haven’t talked to Rene in days. It’s nice to hear her voice again. Your mother is overseas often for work so calls aren’t as frequent. As for the rest of your family? You’re just…not as close to them.

Rene’s still running cackling keeps your mind from wandering again.

“Alright, it’s not funny anymore,” you snap as you grab a spoon from a kitchen drawer, turning back to Toji’s leftover food with a frown.

“I’m sorry! Really! But come on, it’s just classic you—the baddest bitch I know, but here you are, refusing any chance of help even though you want it so bad. Hard-headed as hell,” she chuckles, her voice warming with the years of friendship between you.

You pause, spoon in hand over the steaming bowl of soup, struck by the truth in her words. Stubbornness is your armor and you rarely let it slip, only few know what’s behind it. Even though she teases, it hurts. It hurts because it carries history—reminders of every instance you’ve pushed help away. It wraps around those jabs from your family, from the men you’ve been with.

Mean because you demand respect so you can weed out those who aren’t worth your time.

Defensive because you’ve been hurt too often.

Uncompromising and fierce, and that’s anyone who tries to get too close—never stays.

You clench your teeth together. “Rene, I’m not—” you start to protest, but the latch of the front door opening makes you raise the spoon in alarm.

It's Toji.

He walks into your home as if he owns the place, his presence so commanding it seems to fill every corner, snuffing the lights and sucking the air from the room. His gaze sweeps through the space, and when his emerald eyes finally settle on you, you feel the weight of his attention.

His shirt is stained with grease, and raven locks, messy from the July humidity, sticks to his forehead and sides of his neck.

“You won’t get far if you’re trying to stab me with that,” he teases, nodding towards the spoon in your hand. Though his tone is light, the underlying seriousness suggests he’s not entirely joking. He’s strong enough to disarm you and you wouldn’t mind a big man like him trying to—

The spoon clatters against the granite counter top as you slap it down and force your mind to shut the hell up.

He takes only two steps before he’s standing in front of you, analytical eyes scanning you in seconds—a look so intense that it feels like he’s trying to memorize you and understand hidden layers you’d rather keep concealed. Alarmingly thorough and you’re still trying to process him being this close, his proximity bringing an electricity you feel even before his lips press a soft, almost possessive kiss on your cheek, like he’s been waiting—itching for contact.

Rene’s startled cough cracks through the phone, mirroring your own internal shock. Toji is making your fever worse because it’s hot as hell now, the hairs rising on your neck as you gape like a fish.

“W-what are you doing…” you begin to ask, but the words die in your dry mouth when he pulls back. His eyes linger close to yours—too close and sliding across your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He still smells like cologne, but now there’s sweat and a muskiness of exertion and outdoors that makes your head swim with dread and desire.

“Where’s your toolbox?” he asks, putting a leash on your thoughts before they run away from you.

You clear your throat and step back, trying to reclaim your space, to fortify your defenses, do anything so you don’t fall apart. “Um, coat closet down the hall. Top shelf.” Your tone is steadier than you feel, pointing mechanically to your hallway.

You look down at your phone when he walks away, exhaling a breath you don’t realize you’re holding. Rene’s watching you with an amused, knowing look, eyebrows rising and falling suggestively. You can’t stand her because you want to laugh and groan at the same time.

“Girl,” Rene chimes, voice dripping with insinuation and not low enough because she doesn’t care who hears her. “I’m sure if you take him for a ride again, you’ll feel a little better.”

“When she’s not sick,” Toji calls from the hallway, your eyes widening at the implication of him listening in. “That kind of ride takes a little work.”

You gawk at the empty space of your hallway. Rene hollers and you hope to god she gets written up for being too loud.

“I know that’s right, Toj—”

You hang up and slam the phone down with more force than necessary.

Toji returns with the toolbox, smirking and completely unphased by his remark and just how unsettled you look by it. He motions with his head to the bowl of soup in front of you.

“Eat.”

It’s a command, gentle but firm, and you bristle not just at the directive, but at your own conflicting impulses—to bare your teeth and snap at his attempt of care or to melt under his attention.

Toji doesn’t wait for an answer, just studies you a moment longer, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, and disappears out the front door. The quiet buzz of the cardinals outside fills the silence he leaves behind.

You’re left standing there, a hand squeezing your phone on the counter like a vice, your mind struggling to remain upright in a storm of emotions that he stirs up within you. Unsettling and soothing, your chest fluttering like butterflies wings against your rib cage. Maybe it’s just a heart palpitation, this intensity—this feeling. Nanami can do an EKG when you return to work in a few days. And he better be there, because he’s the very reason why you had to pick up so many shifts in the first place.

Rene’s giggles still echo in your ears as you exhale a shaky breath and grip the metal spoon in your hand again.

***

“What are you doing?”

Your question cuts through the ambient city hum and the rustle of trees surrounding the parking lot of your complex. Toji is hunched over the hood of your car, hands deep in it’s guts, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The summer sun beats down on you both, yet you’re wrapped in Toji’s jacket to cover your exposed legs. It was the first thing you grabbed when you rushed out of the apartment but it’s too big, the hem brushes against your knees, the sleeves dangling past your hands. You push them up again, feeling simultaneously protected and vulnerable under his gaze as he turns to face you. The jacket feels like a shield, but also a reminder of how much space he’s beginning to occupy in your life.

“Your starter is bad,” he grunts, showing you a car part smeared with oil. It looks expensive, way more than an oil change, and panic flares in your belly briefly as the numbers fluctuate in your mind. If it’s too much, it’ll probably be weeks before you can take your car to the shop.

You’re a doctor, but doctors don’t start making good money for…awhile.

“How much do you think it will be for a new one?” You sigh, mentally calculating the number of zeros the mechanic is going to throw at you. At least Toji saved you some money for a diagnostics test.

“I already ordered the part.”

The admission hits you like a truck.

You gape at him, fumbling and overwhelmed. “You didn’t—I could have done all of this myself. I don’t need your help, Toji.”

The words taste bitter as they drip from your tongue, a defensive reflex from years of self-reliance. Of course you’re grateful, but the frustration that he’s seen a need you hadn’t voiced, that he’s filled it without asking, that’s what stirs the deep discomfort. It’s not just the help—it’s the intimacy of it, the presumption that he can anticipate your needs.

The weight of his jacket on your shoulders no longer feels comforting.

His reaction is immediate, a flash of annoyance flickering over his features, the scar on the side of his lips twisting as he frowns and snatches a rag from the hood of the car.

“So, what, you were going to trust some corner-shop mechanic to rip you off?”

His accusation is justified, and almost instantly, that phrase parrots in your mind.

Let me be nice to you. Let me be nice to you.

“Yep, that was the plan,” you retort, your voice lacks conviction, weak and drowned out by the steady thump of your own heart as he walks closer. He drags the rag between his knuckles, collecting the dirt in the seams.

“You want me to let some old fuck tear your shit up? Even though I know what I’m doing? Not happening.”

His assurance should be overwhelming, but you find yourself irresistibly drawn to it. He moves closer, and instinctively, your muscles tense, your toes curling inside your fuzzy socks and blue Crocs. With every inch that disappears between you both, your mind fires with mixed signals: go back to the safety of your apartment or surrender to the magnetic pull of him. God, you’ve only been awake for two hours, but the emotional whiplash just might knock you back out.

“You told me to earn you, so I am. You need to let me.”

His directness, unyielding and raw, hits you harder than you expect. It’s not just his physical presence that’s imposing—it’s the sheer force of his will, loud and insisting that you realize he’s not leaving anytime soon.

Your reactions and reflexes are not completely intentional, but it isn’t easy to just change who you are. The defenses around you are lined with hard-learned lessons. Your armor and shields to keep yourself safe are all you know. Letting go is like disarming a trap designed to protect you—it requires careful, gentle hands. And you’re terrified that Toji’s large, scarred hands will be too rough.

But you recognize that you can’t tell him to try, and you not do the same. That’s not fair to him, or to whatever this dance is that you are both trying to learn the steps to.

As Toji wipes the sweat from his brow, he unwittingly smears a streak of grease across his forehead, drawing your attention. “If you really feel like you need to repay me, then I don’t know—spend a day with me.”

You lift an eyebrow, surprised at his suggestion. “A whole day?”

Toji nods. “When the part comes in and you’re feeling better. No long ass shifts. No PI cases. Just you and me.” He offers a half-smile, white teeth glimmering in the sun and the look is as disarming as it is dangerous.

Your interactions with Toji, even limited, have always been charged with an intensity you’ve avoided and craved. The meaning behind the car repairs and taking care of you, it’s not just surface level. There’s more to it…he’s trying. So now it’s your turn.

You sniff through a congested nose and clear your rough throat, grabbing the rag from his hands and standing on your toes to reach his forehead. You don’t get very far, but Toji leans down so his forehead is closer to you, holding back a snicker at the height difference. You wipe the grease away, locked on the task because you can feel his stare.

“An entire day with you sounds…ominous.”

“I’ll make sure to feed you,” Toji responds, a comforting rumble that unexpectedly makes you laugh. A small smile blooms across your face and the tension in your stomach eases. You feel a little better, still on a tightrope but you can see the other side. With the grease now gone, you sink back to your slightly achy heels, unable to look away now that you’re both eye-level. “I’ll throw in a thirty-minute lunch break.”

“Make it an hour. Don’t try to short change me,” you challenge, playfully. His eyes, emerald and sharp, scan your face with open curiosity, and you wonder if you’ll ever get used to his intense focus. You press the rag into his white shirt, deliberately looking to the dirt on the fabric to ground your thoughts. “How’s your finger?”

His laughter vibrates through him, a melodic bark that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, and you watch his abdomen tighten under his shirt from the motion. Toji’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the rag from your hand, his touch making your heart jump. The scars on his knuckles catch the sunlight, and you’re struck again with the curiosity of how they got there.

“I’ve had worse.”

You can’t tell if that’s a joke…or if he’s serious, but you don’t have time to ask because his lips press against your cheek, stealing another unasked kiss that leaves you momentarily off-balance. You swat at him in reflex as if he’s a fly in your ears, swallowing a stuttering response that you’re glad doesn’t filter into the air.

“You’re burning up. Go lay down,” he murmurs, almost gentle now. “I’ll finish up here and head out.”

You can stay.

It’s what you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue, pressing against the back of your teeth, but you curl the muscle back and purse your lips, offering a tight nod before you turn and walk away.

Your Crocs squeak against the concrete, your pace quickening because you can feel Toji’s eyes on your back, watching you. You’re burning up from the summer air and the jacket that’s around you. But there’s an underlying, electrifying warmth that pulls a small smile on your face, your hands rising to your cheeks to quell the heat flush that you know is not from your fever.

Thanks for reading!

[bloodmoonmuses]

gardenia (can't get you)- jeong jaehyun

warnings: slight body horror (mentions of bones, dismemberment as a metaphor), mentions of death, stalking

genre: florist!jaehyun x gn reader, mystery, drabble (one thousand words)

summary: jaehyun can't seem to get you out of his system.

The hairs on the back of your neck stick up and you know he’s watching you, as he had been for the past week or so, but you needed the energetic confirmation, to be in close proximity enough to feel his gaze descend upon you. You knock the slurry of snow and mud off your boots, bones chilled to the marrow, as you trudge down the sidewalk. 

Jeong Jaehyun. Florist. Botanist. Rumored mad scientist. The folklore shrouding him had gotten so wild, so absurd, that you’re not sure what’s true anymore; the most tame of the stories being that he goes by a fake name and the craziest being that he uses human remains to fertilize his flowers. A thicket of lies and convoluted jokes sputtered over drinks at the occasional after-work rendezvous. 

And you had passed his flower shop so many times, blissfully unaware of the intrigue that lay inside it, that it’s almost funny. An unassuming place really, with its chipped paint and signs scrawled with chalk- if anything, you’d have called it charming. Now, the sign that reads “J’s Flowers & Stationery” sends a shiver down your spine. 

Seven days ago, last Sunday, you had caught Jaehyun peeking at you through his blinds, his apartment window directly across from yours. At the time, you had written it off as having an active imagination- you hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. That was until he appeared at the grocery store. Then the dog park. And the post office. Each time vanishing as quickly as he had materialized. 

Surely it was just a coincidence, you had thought to yourself, stretching the truth in an attempt at assuaging your anxiety. He lives in the neighborhood and you hadn’t noticed him before. But when he starts appearing at your place of employment, glimpses of him flashing during your lunch break or as you leave the office, you knew the run-ins were intentional.

And thus here you are, parading around his establishment under the guise of searching for Gardenias, which Jaehyun tells you are not in season.

“Perhaps a Primrose or Pansy bouquet would tickle your fancy?” he asks. In lieu of words, you simply stare back at the man, eyes as icy as your fingertips currently are. “Who’s it for?”

You deny him the satisfaction of hearing your voice, an unearned reward for a man with a habit of stalking his neighbors. He’s probably aching for it, you figure- imagining what pitch and cadence your voice contains. 

So you give him one word to work with- not even a “hello” or “how’s your day”-  just “Gardenia". 

The word is clipped and curt as it escapes you, bouncing off the hollow walls with an unsettling warble. Jaehyun stands in the middle of the shop, a splotch of darkness surrounded by bright blooms, and the two of you wade in the uncomfortable silence, each passing minute a wave that jostles you just so. A stalemate of sorts, giving you an opportunity to drink up his visage.

The clashing of dark and light features make Jaehyun striking- stark even. Dark: his eyes, his hair, his clothes. Light: his fingers, deft and tactful, the linen fabric he’s clad in, his smile, airy and slight. 

The hunter is now predator and prey. You dissect him  with your eyes, dismembering his form; His twitching nose, his red ears, his nervous hands. The lines have been blurred. Who will break first? Bite first. Draw blood. And it’s a dance, a routine between the two of you, the way you walk in and deny him of everything except the word Gardenia. Its meaning morphs as it floats between the two of you, sweeter each time it graces your tongue. 

Monday: “Gardenias,” you mutter as a bell rings upon your entrance. 

Jaehyun’s eyes focus on the movement of your lips, licking his own in quiet hunger. “Yes, Gardenias.”

Tuesday. “Gardenia?” Jaehyun says before you can breathe out your one word greeting. He says it as though it’s your name. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, revealing a dimple.

Wednesday. Instead of a placard denoting an empty section of flowers as “Gardenias”, Jaehyun has replaced the small chalk sign with your name. “For when they’re in season,” he states.

Thursday. Jaehyun gives you a postcard with watercolor Gardenias adorning the front of it. His eyes are soft as he slides the paper across the counter. You wonder if he painted them himself.

Friday. Slowly, you’ve stopped looking over your shoulder every few minutes. In a twisted way, you look forward to seeing him. You shake off the feeling while quickening your pace to reach him before the shop closes for the evening. (An hour early on Fridays.) The bell rings and Jaehyun doesn’t even turn around. He just says, “Gardenia?” Again, like it’s your name. Your heart swells and you fight to temper the feeling.

“Stop following me,” you bite, finally breaking the week-long stalemate. Finally fed up with this game of passcode. At this, Jaehyun turns around, meeting your eyes with little hesitation, and you’re lost in the dark abyss of his, endless and vast.

Keys in hand, he walks up to the door in front of which you’re standing, the closest he’s ever been to you. His breath fans over your face as he leans into you, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He smells of smoke and cinnamon.

“Okay,” Jaehyun whispers, his deep timbre rattling your core. Then, without another word, he exits the shop, locking the door behind the two of you and vanishing into the night. 

You walk in the opposite direction, turning on the kitchen light after entering your apartment. 

Waiting on your dining room table, in a pristine bouquet wrapped in brown paper, is a bunch of Gardenias, so white and sterile that they look fake. They’re ice cold to the touch and slightly damp as if they’d been thawing from a frozen state. Instinctually, you look over your shoulder, jerking your head with such force that it hurts, only to find your own shadow. 

Beside the bouquet lays a note that simply reads: “J.” The dead of winter howls outside your window like a wounded puppy as you throw the flowers away. 

You never see Jaehyun again.

a/n: thx for reading, feedback is always appreciated! <3

[heavenlytouches]

Do you know who Leon Kennedy is? Can you make pov of treating his wounds? If you don't know just search Resident Evil

Hello love!! Ofc I know who Leon S. Kennedy is! Thank you so so much for this request and for waking up my gamer-mind. I hope you'll like this! El <3

Leon S. Kennedy- healing shadows

⋆｡°✩

GN reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- mentions of wounds and blood (nothing too bad)

Our favorite cop

Leon S. Kennedy

The dim light of the abandoned hospital flickered sporadically, casting eerie silhouettes against the peeling walls. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and antiseptic, a bittersweet reminder of the lives that once filled this place.

You felt every nerve in your body on edge, the anxious flutter in your stomach growing with every creak of the floorboards. Outside, the echoes of distant growls whispered tales of terror—reminders of what lay beyond these walls.

Leon leaned against a rusted gurney, his usual stoic demeanor cracked wide open. The gruffness in his voice was tinged with pain as he winced, trying to shift his weight away from the bandaged wound on his shoulder.

You couldn’t help but admire how resolute he looked, even in such a fragile state. Blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage, staining it crimson, a reminder of the battle he had fought just hours before.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

He asked, his rough voice barely above a whisper, his blue eyes scanning your anxious face. The weight of the world seemed to rest upon his shoulders, but his gaze softened as it settled on you.

You took a deep breath.

“You need help, Leon. I can’t just leave you like this.”

Your voice sounded steadier than you felt, that nervous flutter giving way to a sense of determination.

He gave you a faint smile, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite the pain.

“You’re… kind. It’s not something you see much in this world.”

You reached into your pack, extracting a roll of gauze and antiseptic.

“I’ve been lucky to learn a few things."

You replied, sincerity lacing your words. As you approached him, the gravity of the moment settled over you.

You had watched him fight against insurmountable odds, faced monsters that made the bravest shake. There was something undeniably sweet about his presence beneath that gruff exterior.

Gently, you moved closer, your heart racing. You took a moment to appreciate how he looked, even in his wounds.

His tousled hair and rugged features, marked by battles fought and lost, had an alluring quality that both frightened and fascinated you.

“This might sting a bit..”

You whispered, unwrapping the bandage and revealing the angry red wound beneath.

Leon hissed, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze focused on yours.

“I’ve had worse.”

The tenderness in his voice pulled you in deeper, and you couldn’t help but admire his resilience.

As you applied the antiseptic, focusing intently on your task, you could feel the tension in his body slowly start to ease.

“You’re good at this-”

He noted, the hint of admiration unmistakable in his tone.

You blushed slightly, your anxiety morphing into a sense of comfort.

“I’ve had to learn... to take care of myself and others. It's not easy, but it’s necessary.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, but the warmth of his gaze made your heart race.

He winced again as you tied the bandage, and you felt a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more gentle.”

Leon chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“Don’t hold back. I can handle it.”

Once you finished, you stepped back and admired your work. The bandages were secure, and you hoped they would at least offer him some relief. For a moment, silence enveloped the room, save for the low growls outside.

“Thank you.”

He said, sincerity filling the space between you.

“For everything. I don’t think I’d have made it without you.”

You felt your cheeks flush at his praise.

“I couldn’t just let you bleed out. You’re… you’re a hero, Leon.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you instantly regretted it. You were anxious enough without calling attention to how you felt.

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“I’m just a guy trying to survive. But maybe… just maybe, I have a hero beside me now.”

His gaze lingered on you, and the air crackled with a newfound tension that made your heart race.

“You’re not just a guy-”

You replied, a rush of courage filling you.

“You’re brave, and… you help people.”

Leon’s smile widened, revealing a tenderness that broke through his hardened exterior.

“Thanks to you, I might get to help a few more people. “

You felt your anxiety start to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through you like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“We’ll get out of here.”

You stated, feeling hopeful despite the darkness surrounding you.

Leon shifted slightly, pain crossing his features, but determination shimmered in his eyes.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He promised, the weight of his oath settling like a blanket of comfort over you both.

With your hearts beating in tandem, you couldn’t help but feel that this moment was just the beginning—a spark of hope amidst the chaos, hinting at a bond deeper than either of you had anticipated. In a world filled with shadows, you had found a kindred spirit, and together, perhaps you could navigate the darkness.

This was something else! I sooo loved this one, I can't even explain guys TwT. I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33

I love you guys so much

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[palfriendpatine66]

uh thanks for gracing us with your fics and drawings of obikin... as for your nsfw 5 sentences fill... Anakin realized he might have a bite kink upon seeing his master's sharper... fangs (vampire au (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)) when the man growls or scowls at him (and the other enemies or unruly senators

Send me, your pal, a nsfw prompt and I’ll write a five sentence ficlet

🫡 hi hello I managed to keep this to five sentences but also pretty sure it’s very quickly morphing into a smutty vampire one shot because I cannot resist 🧛🏻‍♂️

At the sound of a snarl Anakin rose in his cell, as much as his binders would allow, to await his rescue.

Durasteel shrieked in protest as the door was ripped away and Anakin was immediately flooded with relief and gratitude at the sight of his master before him with his signature sass; standing with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to the side with one arched eyebrow that clearly conveying they would be discussing the events that lead to his capture, later, at length.

But for all that the sight was familiar, it was also startling clear that Obi-Wan had changed since he emerged - alone - from the dark caverns he’d braved in search of the lost men of his battalion.

The fond amusement and snarky words of greeting and censure died on Obi-Wan’s lips, replaced by a wild snarl and the flash of fangs as his master whirled to grab the guard who rushed toward to cell with blaster in hand.

Anakin knew he probably shouldn’t have felt a pulse of arousal at the display of strength and the loss of Master Kenobi’s unshakable calm as the guard was thrown against the nearest wall, but he definitely shouldn’t have been almost dizzy with want and burning with need when Obi-Wan viciously sunk those inexplicably sharp teeth into the guards neck and let out the softest sigh as he crushed his throat.