#I can and WILL be annoying about this for the next month or so for sure

[trashytracktales]

hey gurlll first thing first id like to say that im IN LOVE with ur fics. not to be dramatic but im seriously on my knees whenever u post bcs how do u write them so GOODD😭😭😭😭 so i have a request hehe🤭 u can totally ignore this. no pressure!

if u would consider this, hear me out. lando and reader are childhood best friends. they are like two peas in a pot but something made them fought (nothing specific, u can write anything!) that had them not talking for almost 6 months which never happens. since they have the same circle of friends, they got invited to a vacation in portugal. the tension between them is like WOW. then one night, when everyone was already asleep, they had another argument maybe make it like an angry confession that leads them to ANGSTY HOT LONGING YEARNING MINDBLOWING SEX but turns out it was one sided where reader kinda disappeared the next morning lol idk u can imagine the rest. OK THANKS LOVE YA💋

Not quite us | LN⁴

🛥 summary ──── A cold winter fight shatters their friendship, but it’s the heat of the Portuguese sun that brings them back together, months later.

🛥 pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem best friend!reader

🛥 rating ──── explicit

🛥 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, angst and emotional tension, arguments, swearing, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, passive-aggressive behavior, pining, emotional miscommunication, past relationship dynamics.

🛥 word count ──── 8.6k

🛥 date ──── Apr. 23, 2025

🛥 a/n ──── Wrote this one straight off the vibes, just went with the flow and let the request guide me here and there. Sometimes the chaos cooks itself, so I hope you guys enjoy it either way ♥︎

IT’S NEW YEAR’S, and Lando would have a lot more fun if he stopped looking across the room every twenty seconds. But he can’t help himself. If someone looked at him right now, it would be so easy to read it in his body language: he is exasperated, beyond frustrated, and maybe a little drunk. His fingers encircle his glass so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and his jaw clenches every time he sees the way she flinches when her boyfriend talks back to her.

Suddenly, the music gets too loud, the champagne is too warm, and even if he’s trying his damn hardest to pretend otherwise, his night is completely ruined.

She’s sitting on the edge of a sectional couch with her phone clutched in one hand, refusing to look up at her man, her face carefully blank in a way that screams something is wrong. All it takes is a blink of an eye and he walks towards the exit, visibly annoyed, leaving her behind.

Lando frowns while taking another sip of his drink, forcing a smile as one of his friends says something he doesn’t quite register. Still, he nods along anyway. But all he can think about is her. The girl he’s known since he was seven years old. The one who always matched his chaotic energy. The only one who managed to beat him at Mario Kart and made fun of his haircuts and once almost peed herself laughing during a round of mini golf when they were thirteen.

His best friend.

Or at least, she used to be.

It has been different for a while. They only see each other at events now, like birthday parties and New Year’s gatherings. It sucks, but it’s better than not seeing her at all.

It started shifting the day she met her boyfriend — some guy from uni, older than her, quieter, a bit too polished for Lando’s liking. She said he made her feel seen. Lando didn’t say anything then, just nodded, smiled and pretended he wasn’t dying a little inside.

He told himself he was just being protective, but truth is, he never liked the guy. Something about him felt off, and Lando noticed it in the way he was too controlling and dismissive at times. But Lando had no proof, therefore, no real reason to speak up. So, he stayed quiet. Let the distance grow. Let the invites slow. Let her disappear into another life that didn’t include him the way it used to.

There are a few minutes left until midnight, and he’s still watching her. She smoothes her dress with the palm of her hand, breathes slowly a few times, then gets up from the couch, apologizing with a small smile every time she bumps into other people in her path. Then, she disappears down the hallway, shoulders hunched, phone still in her hand. Her head is down, like she’s trying to avoid any potential encounter. At that sight, something in Lando twists and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going after her boyfriend, his body instinctively tensing. But he relaxes when he realizes she’s just turned right instead, stepping out onto the balcony.

Without thinking, he sets his empty glass down and slips away from the crowd, past the streamers and glitter and flickering lights, heading in the same direction she went. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds her deep in thought, typing on her phone then shoving it angrily into her purse.

Her back is facing him, arms folded over the railing now, the cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. She must be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s also not turning when she hears more steps, then the door closing.

She lets out a breath, but it’s not relief. More like she’s trying not to cry. “Hey, Lan.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. They’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that she’s memorized his footsteps, the sound of his sigh and the hesitation in his voice before he speaks whenever he’s unsure of his words.

Lando pauses a few feet behind her, careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s too loud. “You alright?”

Without waiting for her to answer, Lando just shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders from behind. The girl stiffens for a second, then lets his scent settle around her like a familiar comfort.

She knows things that no one knows about him, like the way his laugh changes depending on who he’s with, but the real one, the high-pitched one that sounds like a hyena giving birth, only comes out when he’s with his friends. She can tell when he’s nervous just by the way he starts tapping his fingers against his thigh. She knows he prefers sleeping with the fan on, even during the winter, that he can’t eat spicy food without tearing up, and that he pretends to like certain people just to keep the peace.

Her best friend.

Or at least, he used to be.

“He left,” she finally says, her voice just a whisper.

Lando moves to stand beside her, copying her posture. “What happened?”

“He said he was going home, but I don’t know.”

He blinks, confused. “Midnight’s in, like… five minutes?”

She shrugs, wiping under her eye with a knuckle, trying to be discreet. “Yeah, well. Apparently I was laughing too loud and drinking too much and fooling around. I was embarrassing him. So he left.”

Lando stares at her, stunned. “It’s a party. What the fuck is he expecting you to do? Sit quietly in the corner and sip water?”

Her laugh is short and sad around the edges, “No, but I know he doesn’t like it when I’m loud or hyper or… whatever.”

There’s a long pause in which she reconsiders her behavior, thinking that maybe her boyfriend is right. Meanwhile, Lando tries to find the right words to counter every single lie that asshole has fed her, the annoyance flooding back in. He turns his head to look at her, and her profile knocks the wind out of him. Her eyes are wet and tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together for longer than just tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” says Lando quietly, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers, “I love your loud laugh.”

She looks over at him then, a warm wave of safety covering her from head to toe, despite the cold that feels like it cuts across the skin of her face. The words settle heavy between them: I love your laugh. Not ‘it’s nice’. Not ‘it suits you’. I love it. It means more than he probably meant it to. Or maybe it means exactly what he’s never had the guts to say out loud. Until now.

Lando swallows before continuing, “I don’t get it,” he says, “You should be with someone who wants to hear you, no matter how loud or hyper you are. Who knows how lucky they are to be in your presence.” She laughs, as if dismissing his words, but Lando insists, “I’m serious. I still don’t understand why you’re with him.”

The girl lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I know.”

Lando’s answer sounds a little too sarcastic and, in response, the silence stretches between them once again. But it’s not empty this time. It’s charged. Heavy with everything they’ve never talked about, and all the months they spent apart.

She turns her eyes back to the view, but her fingers tug his jacket tighter around her body. And then, without looking at him, she speaks again, “No, you don’t. We didn’t talk much lately, so you wouldn’t know.”

Lando wastes no time, “And whose fault is it?”

She shifts her body towards him abruptly, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a question.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about it. I guess I just… needed my friend for a minute.”

Lando nods too, and steps close enough that their arms brush. Before she can say anything else, he leans in, uncertain but determined, and wraps his arms around her. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, seeking his comfort. The only problem is that there’s nothing casual about how Lando’s heart starts to race. His arms come around her tightly, holding her like his life depends on it, even though she’s the one that’s been ditched by her boyfriend on New Year’s.

They stay like that for a while, their breaths fogging between them in the cold night air. The space they share gets warmer, which makes her snuggle into his chest. She smells like citrus and champagne and every memory he’s ever tried not to think about too hard when he was missing her.

The girl pulls back slightly, enough that her face is tilted up toward his. And when he reaches to cup her cheek, her skin is smooth beneath his palm, her lips slightly parted like she might say something, but doesn’t. They just stare at each other, the same way you only look at someone when you’ve missed them for too long, and you’re finally close enough to touch but terrified to move any further, thinking that maybe they’re not even real.

The countdown begins in the background, a little muffled through the glass door, people shouting numbers like a slow drumbeat from the inside.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

“Break up with him,” Lando’s voice cuts through the haze, rougher than he intended.

One.

The cheers erupt from every direction. The sky bursts into a sea of light above them, fireworks flaring gold, silver, and pink. The noise is distant, like it’s happening on another planet. They wouldn’t know, because they don’t even look. Instead, her eyes are still searching his, confused and a little broken.

He could lean in and take it all, just this once, and blame it on the alcohol.

But she blinks, breaking the ephemeral magic of the moment. She takes a step back, then another, slow and cautious, until she’s out of his arms. “What?”

Lando doesn’t move. “You deserve better.”

“Lando…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He treats you like shit,” his voice rises gradually, dipped in more emotion than he probably wants to show, “And I don’t know what’s worse: that you know it or that you allow it.”

She looks at him as if Lando is shapeshifting right before her eyes, and he does it far too quickly for her to have time to process.

“Stop assuming things about me,” she warns, all the warmth between them dissolving in an instant. “You don’t know.”

“I know he should’ve been here, kissing you right now. I know he made you cry instead,” he says, stepping forward, closing the distance that she put between them earlier. “I know he left you at a party alone because you were laughing too loud,” he continues, mockingly. “Do you hear how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You don’t know the full story, Lando. He asked me to go home with him, but—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts her. “Looks like he ditches you whenever you’re too much for him. And I can bet this isn’t the first time he’s made you cry, is it?”

She scoffs, “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?” she asks, adopting a defensive attitude. “It’s been months since you’ve shown any interest in me.”

Lando flinches like she just slapped him. “You’re the one who stopped showing up. It’s cause you’ve gotten busier. With him, eh?”

“Smooth, Lando,” she fires back in a disappointed voice. “You pulled away first,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at his chest; tears threaten her eyes again, but she blinks rapidly to clear them away.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he says, his voice cracking around the edge of frustration. “You were always with him. Always defending him. I didn’t want to be that friend who hovered too close or some asshole that oversteps your boundaries. Because, believe me, I was so close to cross a lot of those before deciding to back the fuck up.”

She stares at him, incredulous, as if all the months they have been apart have completely changed her childhood best friend. “So, instead of talking to me, you just ghosted me? Very mature.”

Lando’s jaw tightens before replying, “I needed space.”

“You disappeared,” she corrects him. “You didn’t just take space. You shut me out.”

“That was me respecting your sorry ass relationship.”

“No,” she laughs dryly. “You were trying to make a point.”

Maybe, Lando thinks, looking away. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s painful, not to mention frustrating, to watch someone you care about being treated badly. It may have been selfish on his part, but Lando couldn’t stand by and watch the girl who deserved it all get only a piece of it.

“You don’t like him,” she continues, voice quieter now. “I get that. But instead of saying it, you just judged me from a distance.”

“No, I don’t like him,” he admits. “Matter of fact, I despise the guy. But not just because of who he is. It’s because he changes you.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not true.”

Lando laughs, but he’s not amused in the slighlest. “You went from having fun to crying in a matter of minutes. Because of him. How many times has this happened before?”

“He never—” she tries to warn him, before Lando cuts her off again.

“Keep defending him,” he says, irritated. “Because God forbid someone call you out when you’re being steamrolled by someone who doesn’t see your worth.”

“And God forbid you admit that maybe you’re not always right!” she snaps. “You don’t get to parachute in and act like some moral compass. If that’s the case, where the hell have you been all this time?”

The question silences them both. He can’t say too much without saying it all, and she’s waiting for something that won’t get to her. Not yet.

Disappointed, hurt, and extremely tired, she shrugs his jacket off and throws it at his chest. “Happy fucking New Year.”

𝟳 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Somewhere off the Algarve coast, Portugal

AFTER THE HECTIC life she’s lived in the past few months, a weeklong yacht trip along the Portuguese coast is all she needs. Blue water, rosé on deck, and most importantly, no drama.

She says yes before she even checks the guest list, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Everybody in their group knows about the social distancing between her and Lando. Plus, she always checks his calendar, keeping an eye out for the weekends he’s away, racing, meaning she can tag along without stressing that they’re going to bump into each other.

Of course, she still watches his races. Just because they stop talking that doesn’t mean she stopped caring about the dream that Lando has been striving for since childhood. That’s also why she knows that Lando will be in the UK for at least another week, as he mentioned in the post-race interview, which won’t interfere with their little getaway.

By Friday, however, things change drastically. It’s only when she’s already halfway to the marina — after spending the entire afternoon shopping with the girls — that Max texts her.

BTW, just so you’re not surprised… Lando is flying in tonight. I know things aren’t great between you two right now, but he’s still my friend as much as you are, and I didn’t wanna lie or make it weird :D

You okay?

For a moment, everything seems to slow down, including her heartbeat. All the sounds that surrounds her fade into the background, while she tries to steady herself against the sudden rush of emotions.

Is she okay? Well, for the most part yes. But that’s because she haven’t seen Lando in months. There are many ways she can react when they’ll finally be face to face again, and she can’t decide which is worse. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because she simply doesn’t have the time to analyze every scenario.

I’ll survive, she texts back.

She will.

She has to.

It gets dark pretty late, but the night is warm, balmy with salt and wine in the air. They decorated the boat’s upper deck with a string of lanterns, their golden glow flickering against the white hull, gently illuminating the space. The music thumps lazily from a speaker somewhere, low enough not to overwhelm the sea’s waves but steady enough to pulse through bare feet on smooth wood.

Someone’s uncorking another bottle of vinho verde, and a few of the girls are still in their swimsuits, legs tucked beneath oversized linen shirts as they lounge across sun-warmed cushions.

She’s also barefoot, her skin kissed pink from the day, a loose skirt swaying at her thighs as she spins around one of the support poles, smiling wide; she decided, hours ago, that she won’t let anything ruin her vacation. It’s the first time in months she’s felt this light, and has no intention to let the feeling be washed away by the waves of a past so distant.

Only when she realizes that she is, in fact, invincible and that nothing can shake her confidence, she hears a familiar laugh, the same one she’ll recognize anywhere. But she doesn’t turn to it immediately. Instead, her body stiffens as fast as if it’s controlled by a remote.

He’s here and, suddenly, the breeze curling in from the sea feels somehow cooler. It’s just a voice, but it’s his, and it sounds so melodic in her ears, even after all this time.

When she finally turns around, all the noise dials down.

Lando’s standing on the deck like he’s never been gone, a duffel thrown over one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from the flight or the heat or the mist. He’s in a loose, black tank top and shorts, his sneakers untied like he didn’t even bother to fix them. He’s already smiling when he sees Max coming to greet him with a drink in hand, sliding easily into hugs and handshakes. Everything is so normal that she almost rushes to the stairs to jump into his arms.

As if he hears her thinking about him, Lando looks up and their eyes catch mid-movement.

The music doesn’t stop. No one freezes. The conversation continues. And yet something just between them shifts, making Lando still for a moment. His smile falters slightly. The duffel slides off his shoulder and drops at his feet. His gaze lingers longer than it should, because he seems genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she does — lighter, freer, happier than the last time he saw her.

Like a low-budget movie, they just look at each other for a while and then, barely perceptible, Lando nods once. It is a subtle, tired gesture. Not warm, but not hostile either. More like: I see you. I’ll behave.

And she nods back: I see you too. I’ll try.

That’s all that it is. A small breath of peace in the warzone. Because they both know that this vacation isn’t about them. There are too many people they both love here, too many memories tied up in this group to be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s fun.

With that, Lando disappears below deck with a few of the guys, and the party continues as if nothing happened.

SOMEHOW, THEY’VE MANAGED.

It’s the last night on the boat together, and not once have they really spoken. Just kept on with the civil nods and carefully timed appearances. She took the mornings on the upper deck with a book and her sunglasses pulled low, while he suck to afternoons with Max and Keegan, sunbathing and pretending not to look over when she passed by.

Every time they went out for dinner, they sat at opposite ends of the table, pretending to be invested in conversations that barely held their attention.

When they went to explore the nearby cliffs and hidden beaches, they naturally split into smaller groups, Lando ending up with the boys, as usual, taking the off-road buggy trails that wind through dusty hills, while she tagged along with a few of the girls. They didn’t walk near each other. Didn’t even end up in the same group photo.

But the glances were a constant, and all of them have carried them both here, almost at the end.

There’s a bizzare quiet in the air tonight, the kind that only the sea can create — so deep, violent, and alive at the same time.

After soaking in her own heat for hours, she decides to step out of her cabin for a breath of fresh air.

They’ve ordered seafood for dinner, and her relationship with it is not exactly good. A small breeze brushes across her face, lifting her hair slightly, carrying with it the clean scent of salt. The boat rocks gently beneath her, and the stars above are strewn carelessly across the sky like spilled sugar.

The second she steps into the dark of the corridor and turns toward the small galley, her heart skips a beat. For good reason. Lando’s already there, barefoot and shirtless and deep in thought in the low light, leaning against the railing like he belongs in the night. One of his hands is resting on the cool metal, while the other is wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

His head turns when he hears her cat-like steps, eyes catching hers in the dark.

The only sounds are the gentle hush of the waves against the hull, and the occasional creak of the boat. Neither of them says anything, as if they don’t even know how to speak to each other after throwing cutting words at each other, all those months ago. The silence between them doesn’t make them feel awkward. Maybe just a little guarded. However, it’s very depressing, really, not having anything to say to the person who once knew absolutely everything about you.

It would be very easy for her to turn on her heels and walk back into her cabin, avoiding Lando, just like she has done all these days. But then she hears his whispered voice, and his mellow intonation is enough to make the entire planet stop from spinning.

“Everything okay?”

She swallows, caught in the stillness of the night as if she’s a thief. “Yeah,” she whispers back, even though it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Felt a bit sick.”

He nods slowly. “The shrimp?”

“The fucking shrimp,” she agrees.

Lando shrugs. “Ew.”

His reaction triggers a wave of warmth that washes over her, forcing a smile while thinking about the past. The memory flashes rudely uninvited. Still, she weclomes it with nothing but nostalgia in her heart. They were eight, crammed into a bed on a family vacation, and she’d eaten her weight in shrimp and clams at dinner, proudly declaring herself a seafood queen. Hours later, she threw it all up, right there, in bed, all over him. Lando woke up screaming, drenched in the smell of stomach acid, fish and betrayal and, ever since, he couldn’t even stand near a fish without gagging.

Cautious, she edges forward, bracing her arms on the railing only a couple feet apart from him, eyes fixed on the black stretch of sea. The moon paints a silver path across the water, waves shifting like oil under its light. For a few minutes, they just stand there like two ghosts, side by side, watching the view, but probably stuck in different memories.

“So, I’ll go back inside,” she says a little unsure.

His voice cuts through the quiet, “Stay,” says Lando without hesitation.

It’s not just the gentle plea that catches her off guard, but the way he says it. Like he means it more than he means anything else right now. Possibly more than he meant anything else ever.

Awkwardly, she moves forward, letting herself lean closer to him. That’s how she finds out that physical distance means absolutely nothing when it’s the emotional distance that kept them apart. More than that, there are many things left unsaid that fill that void.

Out of sheer curiosity — or plain stupidity, she’s not sure yet — the girl begins to walk uncertainly towards the edge of the space that separates them.

“You remember New Year’s?” she asks, the words coming out softer than she expects.

There is no trace of hatred or resentment behind her voice, which surprises her. She understands that she has, without realizing it, moved beyond their most tensed moment so far. And all that’s left now, besides her curiosity, is the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the two of them still know each other on a level they haven’t reached with anyone else.

Lando doesn’t look at her, but his jaw flexes. “Hard to forget.”

“I threw your jacket at you,” she continues with a small laugh.

“And stormed off like you were in a romcom.”

“To be fair, you were being a dick.”

He chuckles then, and the sound is gentle yet painfully nostalgic. “I probably was.”

“You talked like you knew everything. It was…” she hesitates, fingers tightening slightly on the rail, “A bit cruel. Even if it came from a good place.”

Lado nods. “I know,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know how to talk without sounding like some immature tantrum just because I was missing my friend.”

She glances at him then, studying the curve of his profile in the moonlight. The familiar slope of his perfect sculpted nose. The way his curls fall just a little longer then she remembered. The way he speaks but seems so deeply forgotten in the memory of that winter night.

“I broke up with him the next day,” she admits.

He turns, his eyes searching for hers. “Yeah,” says Lando, “I figured.”

Even though she tries her best, she can’t read his demeanor. He seems tense, even though their conversation isn’t hostile in any way. Not yet, at least. Still, Lando looks as if he’s bracing for some sort of impact that she’s not aware of. There something softer in his expression, though. Something hesitant that encourages her to keep him in that memory.

“I think about it sometimes,” she continues. “That night. All of it.”

He nods again. “Me too. ”

She looks over, eyes wide and cautious, but Lando doesn’t look away.

“But,” he continues, “I won’t apologize for what I said. Because I wasn’t wrong. You do deserve better. And maybe I had no right to say it the way I did, but I’d rather have fought with you than keep watchig you shrink yourself for someone who didn’t even appreciate you.”

His words hit like the waves, tightening her throat. “I get that. But in the moment, it made me feel…” she begins, eyes filling up with tears, “Like you stopped respecting me because of him. And I felt stupid for being so blinded that I lost sight of all the things that were the most important to me.”

The way Lando looks at her now makes her heart sink. Not with pity. Not even with regret. Just a dull ache, like he’s been carrying it with him for months, and he’s too tired to hold it tightly anymore.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says. “I was just irritated and drunk. Watching you disappear like that wasn’t easy, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like a selfish prick. I should’ve just said something,” adds Lando. “Instead of sulking and keeping score and acting like you betrayed me for living your life,” he looks away then, back to the endless sea, eyes half-lidded like the movement of the waves might offer him something easier to face. Anything but this.

He had time to think and weigh his actions. But it all came down to those last few minutes, when it suddenly became too much for both of them.

“I missed you, Lando,” she confesses after a while, letting the words out in a small voice.

The silence that follows is no longer heavy with avoidance, but an intimate warmth that somehow infiltrates under her skin. It merges with all the sadness caused by the time they spent apart and, together, they create a new kind of feeling that she doesn’t yet know how to name. And, for some reason, she’s in no hurry to do so.

Uncertain yet courageous after hearing her admission, Lando’s hand finds hers along the railing and, to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through his, like she was already waiting for it. For him.

It’s weird, she thinks, how their hands fit together like the end of a sentence that finally makes sense. So she keeps it there, feeling his pulse in her palm like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They can’t look at each other, though. And suddenly, the waves are so much more interesting than the mess they’ve created, their soft undulation bewitching them both, mirroring their feelings in a sick, twisted way; tamed at the surface, yet storming somewhere deeper.

In the chaos of her mind, she can feel the gentle way his thumb brushes the side of her hand. The way he squeezes her afterwards. Like a promise. And she knows, without either of them saying it, that this was always going to happen. That they are inevitable, like gravity pulling them toward the center of each other.

“Are we gonna go back to being cold in the morning?” he finds the strength to ask, voice barely above the hush of the tide.

Truth is, she doesn’t even know what the next few minutes will bring, let alone the next morning.

The girl turns her head slightly, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know how to be your friend nowadays,” she admits, not to make him feel bad, but because that’s the only thing she’s sure of. Her truth.

Lando sighs, “Yeah, that’s not quite us anymore, hm?”

It takes another crushing silence before Lando turns to her completely. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter they can’t be friends anymore, because they’re way past that. Lando is way past that. All he wants is one chance to show her how much it means to him; every word, every touch and every single thought that’s been haunting him for days on end.

He looks like he’s on autopilot when he brings his other hand up to brush her jaw. After his movement, she takes the next step and leans into his touch. She opens her mouth, maybe to say his name, but the words don’t get the chance to get out, because Lando grabs her firmly and pulls her toward him. Hard. Like he can’t take the distance anymore.

His mouth crashes into hers without any warning. It isn’t careful. It isn’t sweet. It’s the result of months of silence, of aching, of watching and wanting and never having. It’s teeth clashing, breath catching, fingers curling so hard into skin that it’ll leave marks.

She gasps into his mouth, as if the ground is crumbling beneath her feet, but at the same time, it’s the most exciting feeling she’s ever felt. Her arms are instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer like she’s been just as consumed by what they didn’t say. Lando fists a hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He’s all fire, hot and desperate, and there’s not enough water that surrounds them to cool what’s raging in his chest.

He gives her the kind of kiss that says I missed you too and I’m sorry and I never stopped thinking of you all at once. Her hand constricts around his bicep, grounding herself in the feel of him: his salty lips and the way he exhales with a relieved sigh like she’s air after being underwater for far too long. It’s impossible not to feel how much he needed this, because there’s nothing left unsaid in the way he holds her. The truth — his truth — was always there, waiting for the moment they’d both be brave enough to let in.

The kiss deepens before either of them realizes what’s happening. And it’s her who leans in a bit further. That brings him back to the present moment, not because she is just as desperate, but because of how much she means it. How much she wants this. It’s right there, in the way her mouth moves over his, open and urgent, like a need that’s been burning for too long. It makes Lando groan silently when her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue flicking against his like a dare. A dare that he answers to, meeting her halfway, teasing, then licking into her mouth with a skilled confidence that makes her head spin.

Oh, he’s a good kisser.

Dizzy from the sudden intensity, she clings to his neck, tilting her head as he takes control, his hands finding their way back to her waist after roaming up and down her body, guiding her back a few steps until her spine presses lightly to the railing. The breeze kisses across her bare legs, her thin nightdress doing nothing to hide the way her body shivers. Or how hard he gets against her. She feels it instantly, like a sharp contrast between his swim trunks and her body, and it sends a jolt of heat right between her thighs.

Her breath hitches once they stop, glancing up at him, caught between amusement and want. “What are you so excited for?”

Lando meets her gaze with an innocent grin twitching at his lips as he shrugs, “Sorry.”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in. Loud. The kind of laugh that throws her head back a little and makes her cover her mouth when she realizes its heat.

Lando just watches her, enchanted by her mere existence. And, without thinking twice, he asks, “How can anyone be embarrassed by that laugh?”

The sudden comment silences both of them. Lando, because he just heard himself saying it out loud. And her, because of how sincere he sounds. How tender.

Still grinning, he lets his forehead fall against hers. They may never encounter such a moment of peace again, so neither of them hesitates to take it where it’s supposed to go to: her tiny cabin. The narrow door clicks shut behind them, and the space is barely big enough for one person, let alone the two of them tangled in something so close it’s hard to tell where tension ends and need begins.

She backs into the bed, and Lando follows, eyes fixed to her like she’s the only girl ever. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, it creaks under their weight. Their knees bump. Shoulders brush. Lando’s arm wraps around her waist in an instant, and she fits there like it’s hers. That grip. Him.

Somehow, he’s bigger than she remembers. Or maybe she’s just never noticed how broad his chest is, how his legs stretch past the foot of her bed, how small her frame feels when she pulls him into her. And now, in the closeness of their embrace, it’s impossible not to feel it.

It intimidates her, but she keeps her hands all over him, warm skin meeting her palms. Her eyes roam without shame, wandering from his abdomen up to his pecs and then stop on his freshly kissed lips. Her fingers trail along his arms, feeling the strength carved into muscle by years of racing and tension. She watches the way goosebumps rise under her touch, and when her hand flattens over his chest, just above his heart, Lando exhales heavily, with a slight shudder.

He doesn’t look away, though. He doesn’t have the heart or enough willpower. He simply looks back at her, eyes burning, as if seeing her underneath him like this is the only normal thing in their messed up lifes.

“I need to know where’s your head at,” he says, his long fingers brushing the outside of her thigh.

She closes her eyes for a moment. Mostly because she finds it hard to pay attention when her childhood friend — the skinny little boy who used to be blown away by the slightest breeze — is now on top of her in the flesh, displaying groups of muscles she’s never seen on his body before, let alone touched.

Her hand stays on his chest, “Am I ever going to get my best friend back?”

His hearts breaks a little, because he realizes that both of them know the implications of her question. The answer, too, but she still wants to hear him saying it, because that’s the only thing that’ll make it true.

Lando’s eyes search hers for a moment too long, and something in him rearrange, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he leans in. “No,” he simply replies.

She figured. Still, it is not necessarily the answer itself that makes her emotional, but the way Lando said it, as if it is torture for him to even admit it.

“I can’t ruin myself over and over again, pretending that what I feel for you is small. It never was.”

She nods, lifting her hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him down until their lips are barely brushing. Lando’s hands are pulling at her, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down. He takes his time, undressing her like he’s unwrapping a present he’s waited far too long to touch. And when she’s standing there, bare and warm and only for him to see, he sits back to stare and take as many mental pictures as he can.

“You’re…” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “So fucking beautiful.”

She presses closer, hands moving to his shorts with urgency. Lando lets her, barely breathing and, when the last layer falls away, she looks down at him. All of him. His golden skin that glows in the dim light filtering through the porthole, muscles tightening under her hungry touch.

Impatient, his hand slides between her legs while maintaining eye contact, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin at her inner thigh before he presses just lightly against her entrance. The reaction is immediate, a sharp breath followed by a soft whimper that catches in her throat. Her hips instinctively lift toward him, and his own breath wavers at the sound.

“So wet,” he breaks off, almost spiraling from the realization, from finding out just how much she wants him. Just like he wants her.

For a moment, there’s something feral in his gaze, something that won’t let her move her eyes. Like he’s balancing on a tightrope of restraint, and she’s the drop waiting to pull him under.

“It kills me,” he admits. Then he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “But you need to be quiet, darling.”

She nods, her breath still uneven, knowing it’s going to be anything but easy.

Lando presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone before he continues, “Even though I love it when you’re loud, you’ll have to save that for later.”

Just the thought of her, waiting for his next move all warm and wanting, has his cock already pulsing in his palm. He strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on her as she shifts beneath him, spreading wider with a shaky inhale.

As curious as ever, she glances down between them, eyes filled with want, and he watches her bite her lower lip at the sight of him, so hard and ready. The gap between them closes quickly, suspended in that final moment before everything changes. Her fingers curl into the sheets, watching Lando lining himself up, just barely brushing against her clit. Then, he pushes in with a whimper that sounds like it’s been clawing at his throat for months. Like this moment has been sitting just under his skin, waiting to become real.

“Fuck,” he pants, silently. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

Right now, all her senses are inhibited by him. The weight, the stretch, the warmth, the way his hands frame her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him in check, and she’s the only reason why Lando isn’t unleashing hell yet. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, as if her body already knows what her heart won’t let her say.

Lando. Lando. Lando!

But he shakes his head, his voice going lower than normal, “No, baby, Let me.”

The bed is laughably small, making Lando huff out a frustrated breath, one arm sliding under her thigh as he shifts them both, gripping her firmly to guide her where he needs her. It’s not graceful in any way, but there’s something about the way he manhandles her, lifting, adjusting, controlling the angle until it’s perfect, that makes her head fall back with a gasp.

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing in a thin line to avoid making sounds that could get them both into trouble. “There. That’s it.”

She lets him move her, pliant and trusting, her breath getting heavier when their skin brushes in all the right places. Every thrust is slow at first, drawing soft moans from her mouth that only make him harder. The way her body reacts only fuels him, encouraged by the way her lashes flutter, and the way her hands slide into his hair when she can’t find the words. She couldn’t say it anyway. Can’t give voice to what’s blooming and breaking inside her.

But Lando feels it in the way she moves with him, and how her body opens like it was always meant to. That pushes him to thrust harder, feeling like the entire boat shakes at the force.

“Easy. You’re gonna break the bed,” she says against his jaw, her voice a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve broken over you,” he mutters back, but there’s no malice in his tone, except a dangerous affection that’s always lived under his skin when it came to her.

It makes her curious to know what he means, but just as she’s about to ask, Lando finds that angle where their bodies align like puzzle pieces that should’ve never fit but somehow do. He rocks into her so sweetly, and that’s enough to silence her. The answer is in the way her breath stutters. The way her fingers grip his arms. The way her body pulls him in and clenches around his length like it’s never known anything else.

“Shit. Again, please,” Lando breathes wetly against her skin. “Do that again,” he repeats, already buried to the hilt, grinding against that perfect spot inside her, that once he found it, it’s impossible to stop. “Mhm. Let me make it right.”

“You said you can’t,” she challanges him, barely able to speak. “So stop taking your sweet time, Norris,” she pants, breathless but defiant, smirking even as her thighs tremble around his hips.

Lando lifts his head, curls damp against his forehead, eyes dark with a sudden annoyance. “Yeah? That’s how he’s had you all this time? Quick, in and out, job done?”

Her smirk drops into a scoff, her hands pressing against his chest like she might shove him off. But she arches into him instead, loving the way her back rubs against the mattress with each push.

“If anything, he had the balls to be honest with me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he thrusts deeper, making her gasp mid-retort. “Stop defending him, will ya?”

The sheets are already half off the bed, twisted and forgotten, heat pulsing like a heartbeat between them. Lando starts moving inside her with a relentless rhythm, as if trying to erase anyone who came before him with every shove. But she won’t give him the silence he craves.

Not anymore.

Her head tilts back, sweat glistening at her collarbone, but her eyes are sharp, ready to catch his reaction. “No wonder you drive like that. Always trying to prove you’re better than the last guy, aren’t you?”

His hips slam forward, hard enough to make her gasp again, fingers bruising against her waist. “That’s rich coming from the girl who settled for someone who didn’t even know how to fuck her, let alone treat her right.”

She bites her lip, not in surrender but to hide the moan that slips out anyway. Her nails dig into his back, dragging down like a punishment until he grunts. “You’re such a coward,” she snaps. “At least he didn’t treat every conversation like a race he had to win.”

All of a sudden, Lando slows his movements, grinding deep, making her eyes roll before he fucks back into her harder than before. Only to make a point. Only to see all the places he takes her to.

“‘Cause he had the habit of abandoning before it even started, isn’t it? How many times did you have to fake it?”

Her eyes snap to his, speechless, but Lando doesn’t blink. He grins at her, knowing he is waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

She kisses him then, hard and angry, pouring all the emotions she never thought Lando, of all people, would ever awaken in her. Then she pushes him, her legs squeezing around his waist, her action emphasizing the duality of the thoughts going through her mind.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re not the first to try and fuck me into forgetting,” she finally replies.

At that, Lando stops for a breath, not from exhaustion but from the way her words claw straight through his big ego. He slams into her again, smiling at her, hand catching her thigh to spread her wider. “But I’m the one who’s going to succeed.”

She’s so close, he can feel it in the way her body aches to keep his cock inside and how her insults start to blend with moans. What amazes him, though, is the strength she has to continue their little argument, as if they’re not in the middle of something else right now.

“Never thought you could be such an asshole, it’s unbelievable.”

Lando doesn’t even blink when he speaks again, “He made you cry on New Year’s,” he growls, voice sharp, like a blade slipping between her ribs. “And I’m the asshole?”

Before she can throw a retort back, he tilts his hips, changing the angle, and drives into her so sudden that it knocks the breath from her lungs. Her back arches, while her hips are lifting to meet every punishing thrust.

“Lando,” she moans his name, arms winding around his shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

She can feel him in places she didn’t even know could feel. He’s fucking her with such intensity it turns into a blur of slick skin and strangled whimpers, the bed creaking beneath them.

The banter dies somewhere along the way, and all that’s left behind is the heat, the pounding rhythm, the kind of pleasure that makes thoughts disappear and stars dance behind their eyes. Her brows are scrunched, eyes glazed, and she realizes she’s about to scream. Actually scream.

Luckily, Lando places a hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the broken sounds pouring out of her throat. It takes her by surprise, realizing how well he knows all her signals without ever telling him. But it’s easy for him. Especially when he sees the way her body’s trembling under his weight, and the way her eyes plead and challenge all at once.

He nods, hips pistoning into her, watching her come apart beneath him, a quiet, shaking mess.

“Yeah,” he grunts as quiet as possible through gritted teeth, “That’s it. Just me now.”

The words hang in the sweat-soaked air as she comes around his length, clenching so tight it nearly takes him with her. Lando doesn’t stop moving. Instead, he talks her through it, his voice breathless against her ear.

“That’s my girl, let it all out. So fucking perfect.”

Her nails sink further into his back, riding the aftershocks with his cock still buried deep, stretching her in all the ways she was craving. It brings him right on the edge, and with a frustrated cry, Lando pulls out, the head of his cock flushed and swollen as it rests hot and heavy against her thigh. He lets himself go at the sight, thick ropes spilling messily onto her skin. Sticky. Warm. Heavenly.

“Lan,” she breathes, half a protest, half a moan, reaching up to drag him back on top of her.

Lando can’t resist the pull. Not when her touch unravels him with every glide of her fingers over his skin. He used to dream of it, but the reality is always better. He kisses her again, softer this time, letting the moment stretch before his hand finds the curve of her breast, fingers teasing with just enough pressure to make her arch against him. Patiently, his thumb sweeps over her nipple, circling, pressing, feeling it harden under his touch.

It makes her whimper, her hands fisting in his hair. Lando’s lips find the column of her throat then, biting gently just beneath her jaw. Her sounds light him up like the fireworks they didn’t witness that night. He trails his kisses down to her collarbone, one palm flattening over her stomach before traveling back up.

Somehow, the chaos has slowed, but the heat is still there.

Their bodies are tangled in ways that no one could tell where she starts and where he ends, the mess between them so satisfying. When their eyes meet again, he sees her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and her chest heaving. Her eyes are so vulnerable as she looks back at him — her Lando, stripped down and completely wrecked.

And without a single word, he slides back in.

No sharp words, no angry breathing. Just the sound of their pants, the wet glide of his cock moving inside her, the weight of emotion that neither of them dares to name. Every thrust is unhurried this time around, his sweaty forehead resting against hers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her walls fluttering around him, the way her thighs lock around his waist with each roll of his hips.

It’s not just sex anymore. Is so much more than that, something that will linger for a quite some time after they part tonight. And they both know it.

When the pressure builds again, it’s different. There’s less fire. More ache. She blinks up at him, and her lips tremble. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, not from physical pain, but from the overwhelming closeness of it all.

Lando sees it, and kisses them away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

And when he comes again, it’s with a quiet groan right against her lips, buried deep as her body pulls him in, taking every drop of his pleasure and keeping him as if he belongs to her from now on. All of it. All of him.

The silence that surrounds them afterwards feels too full. She lets him stay there, wrapped around her, her fingers idly tracing his back. But her gaze is distant, fixed on the ceiling, already somewhere else.

For now, at least, they can coexist in the same world, breathing each other in until the reality will catch them from behind.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[hearts4hughes]

rafechella where rafe nd reader get stopped by an influencer just to interview for tt asking couple questions and they go viral bc rafe literally worships the ground reader walks on nd theyre just cute overall (add some cute fun moments😭)

RAFECHELLA 2025

you’re mid-sway, half-drunk off tequila, music, and the desert sun when a girl with a mic stops you.

“hi! are you up for a quick couple interview for tiktok?”

you’re already nodding before rafe can say no. a he sighs, visibly annoyed, but doesn’t let go of your hand. “c’mon,” you whisper, grinning. “you’ll survive.”

“not the point,” he mutters, but he doesn’t leave either.

the camera rolls.

“names?”

“y/n.” your voice is sweet as honey, smiling cheekily towards the camera.

“rafe.” his voice is gruff and short, his eyes glued to you.

“and how long have you been together?” the girl smiles, asking the question to you.

“almost two years,” you say.

rafe tilts his head. “one year, seven months.” you blink up at him dumfounded. he shrugs, eyes still on you. “i remember shit.”

“first impression of each other?”

you grin while your fingers dance along his bicep. “i thought he was super hot…and also a dick.”

he huffs a laugh. “i thought you talked too much.”

you elbow him.

he smirks. “still do.” but his hand is resting low on your back, fingers slipping under the hem of your top.

“favorite thing about her?”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. his jaw works and his thumb traces circles into your skin.

“she’s…herself,” he finally says, voice lower. “loud, messy, stubborn, but she’s real. she doesn’t try to be anything she’s not.”

your heart stutters and the interviewer actually sighs.

you blink up at him. “you like that i’m annoying?”

“i like that you’re mine.”

the interviewer pouts, “ok, this is making me feel extra single.”

you choke on a laugh, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“biggest ick?”

you smirk, hitting him lightly. “be careful.”

rafe doesn’t even hesitate. “she leaves half-full drinks everywhere. like…every surface; car, nightstand, kitchen, bathroom.”

you gasp. “you literally do that too.”

“yeah, but mine aren’t in wine glasses at 9 a.m.”

you glare. “it was one time.”

he raises a brow but you glare harder. he grins, just barely.

the video ends with you dancing off, pulling him back into the crowd. he doesn’t smile for the camera, doesn’t say much. just walks behind you, hand tucked in your back pocket, sunglasses low, jaw sharp, attention completely on you.

and it blows up.

the comments are going insane:

“the way he looks at her omggggg”

“this is peak ‘grumpy bf, sunshine gf’”

“he said so little but i’m SWEATING”

“he looks like he’d kill someone for her and then carry her purse after”

“how do i apply for one like him??”

you show him the tiktok the next morning, scrolling through the comments while you sit in his lap, your phone between both of you.

“they think you’re obsessed with me,” you tease. he doesn’t look up. just presses his lips to your shoulder.

“they’re not wrong.”

[gotham-mockingbird]

It started as a simple little promise I made to myself after watching some silly time travel movie where the main character had to sneakily get information on the time he was in and it always took him so long to actually get to his mission.

I promised to myself and my empty Toyota Corolla that if I met a suspected time traveler I’d be really polite and quick to help them.

Of course I never expected to actually meet a time traveler but I believe in ghosts and aliens and different dimensions and kangaroos so is time travel really out of the question?

I just went about my day as usual and didn’t really think of it much afterwards. That is until I met Xrey (pronounced Zer-ee).

He was dressed in something that looked like it was straight out of 90s television and looking around confused before we bumped into each other. He laughed kind of nervously before apologizing in an accent I didn’t recognize.

Then he asked the question that I was not prepared for one bit, “Kind of an odd question, sweetheart, but uhm what year is it?”

He looked sheepish as if this is the first time he’s actually had to ask, and I was shocked, but I shook it off and smiled, “It’s 2019, and you seem to be a bit lost. There’s an old phone booth that no one really walks past down that way if you need to take a moment to figure yourself out.”

His eyes light up and he smiles, “Oh that’s perfect thank you. I haven’t come this far back before and I got a bit turned around. Thank you!”

Then he was off.

I smiled as he paced off into n search of the phone booth I told him of before turning around myself to head to work.

My head was racing all day, did I really just meet a time traveler? Maybe he was an alien? Time traveling alien? Perry the time traveling alien?

That last one was just my ADHD.

Anyways when I got home there was a post it note on my fridge. The handwriting was messy but i could read it.

‘Thank you, we consider you safe now. Made it home safe. -Xrey’

I smiled, a little bit freaked out, but happy that I could help. And a little happy that I got a more personalized thank you.

I was expecting to meet a couple more time travelers, probably have been put on a list of safe people, but the amount I wasn’t expecting.

I honestly didn’t even think of meeting another until maybe a couple months after the incident, but about a week and a half later I’m at work sweeping the outdoor area when a jogger comes up to me.

“Hey uh, weird question, but can you tell me a little bit about this time?”

He lowers his voice and leans in a bit when asking the actual question so I do the same when I respond.

I tell him the exact date and time, the latest iPhone, what changes to do to his outfit, and the president of the US.

He thanks me before jogging off again.

I smile and resume sweeping wondering when my next encounter will be.

I wasn’t expecting anything when I got home, but there was a single flower on the table, laying right to my cat who likes to lay on the table for pets. This time I wasn’t creeped out, realizing it’s just their silent way of saying thank you without fucking things up too bad.

From then on I met dozens of other time travelers, one shapeshifter, and I believe three aliens, although that’s still a speculation. I did have to have a chat with a Man in Black once though, but it was really chill.

Also its pronouns were it/its, I asked.

From what I can gather from what I’ve seen the future is amazing.

The distant future.

The far distant future.

The very far dista- y’know what that’s getting annoying.

Point is, I’ve been helping lost time travelers for a while now, I’ve made friends who visit every once in a while or drop gifts off, but this is my first time making an enemy.

You once made a promise to yourself: if you ever met a time traveler, it wouldn't be a big deal. You’d tell them the date, the most important political conflict, a recent technology, and send them on their way. You now encounter a time traveler nearly every week.

[ccazimi]

cw: crack, fluff, smut, dubcon, panty sniffing/stealing, scent kink, etc. (he's literally part animal what do you expect)

tiger hybrid!sukuna who's prissy and sassy, much like an actual housecat. picky about everything, from the temperature and consistency of his food to the way his water tastes to what a light sleeper he is. sometimes you talk to him, and if he doesn't feel like responding, he literally won't even turn his head to you - all you'll get is an annoyed flick of his ear to tell you that he does hear you, he's just actively choosing to ignore you.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a serious issue with boundaries. he's allowed to ignore you if he feels like it, but you dare try and do the same thing back? unacceptable. will be extremely miffed if your attention isn't on him at all times. yes, even when he actively acts like he doesn't want it.

not to mention you need to deal with him literally getting offended at the fact that you wear clothes around him even though "it's just you two in the house" and on more than one occasion will you be absolutely mortified when you find he’s been stealing your dirty panties- he, of course, doesn’t get the big deal.

oh, you thought that was bad? wait till you find that he insists that you sleep naked with him, and your nightly ritual includes him not only licking you clean (at least your face and neck) but sniffing down your entire body. yes, the entire thing. the part where he gets to your pussy is the worst for you, and the best for him. and whenever he gets down between your thighs to smell you, he makes this weird face almost automatically, with his lips pulled back to show off those fangs and mouth a bit open somewhere between a snarl and a smirk, like he’s trying to taste the scent

tiger hybrid!sukuna who has a special vomeronasal organ at the roof of his mouth that can pick up pheromones—and that weird thing he does, when he opens his mouth while sniffing your pussy? yeah, that’s him drawing the scent in deeper, some focused, instinctual decoding process of your sexual health

"you're ovulating, probably peaked this morning. also you're kinda stressed...maybe you need to sleep more," he graciously informs you of his findings between your spread thighs. "oh and your pH is a little off. maybe skip that stupid new soap you got next time."

he looks up at you expectantly—clearly waiting for your gratitude. and you know he won’t finish this whole ridiculous routine until you sigh and say, flat as ever, "thanks for that. can we sleep now?"

"you've got two days left if you're trying to get pregnant, by the way."

you shoot him something between a glare and a grimace.

tiger hybrid!sukuna can pick up everything, but there are two times of the month when he can pick up those smells even with just his normal nostrils. the first one -obviously- is when you’re ovulating. but the only thing worse than the scent of you ovulating, is the smell that envelops you right before you get your period. “worse” in the sense that it drives him completely insane. sweet, cloyingly thick, warm. in fact he blames you for tempting him. you'll be innocently doing the dishes or something when suddenly it's too much for him and he pounces on you from behind, wrapping his arms around you to keep you in place, claws instinctively pushing out to dig into your skin so tight it hurts.

of course you panic, squirming as he begins rutting into the curve of your ass, his cock quickly swelling up till it's very noticeable. and the scent of him that becomes so much stronger when he's...excited like this - warm, musky, all iron and spice, wrapping around you.

"sukuna- let me- go!" you try as you struggle in his grasp, but it's too late he's too far gone, just mindlessly grunting and growling as he chases his release, too desperate to even fuck you properly. "almost there, just a bit more," he pants, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. "it's your fault anyway, walking around like -hah- i can't smell your pussy fucking begging for me." and right as you're about to splash some cold water on him, you hear him groan filthy, and guttural, as he finishes in his pants just from grinding against you.

and that's when he finally comes to his senses, trying to retract his claws to let go of you. unfortunately they get stuck in the fabric of your clothing, and he just panics making them get even more tangled while you yell at him to stop moving so that you can unhook his claws. finally you turn with your arms crossed, giving him the coldest, and most stern look of all time. he stares at you guiltily, a large wet patch forming on the crotch of his pants where his cum seeps through.

it's not his fault -not exactly- like any good hybrid he needs to be trained, and soon enough you've corrected that little problem of his (mostly)

tiger hybrid!sukuna is intensely territorial, especially when it comes to you. so when you come home smelling even faintly like another man? he’s agitated to no end — not even jealous, exactly, he just feels like it’s wrong. soon after come several arguments his way about “how he can’t piss around your house to mark his territory” or about how “it’s completely unacceptable to leave long clawed scratch marks on the walls or furniture”

tiger hybrid!sukuna who simply cannot keep his hands off you when you're on your period. this time he doesn't touch you (too much) without your permission, but he will beg you incessantly till you finally give in. and that's how you end up with your clothes shredded, and him biting and sucking every inch of your body hungrily as he makes his way down, tail wrapping possessively around you to keep you in place

tiger hybrid!sukuna with long sharp fangs that make his kisses hurt just a little, especially when gets too excited and nips your skin, drawing just a bit of blood that he happily licks up. he loves when they scar a bit too, just so that you’re marked as his.

tiger hybrid!sukuna with rough, spiked papillae on his tongue meant for cleaning raw flesh off bone that are now scraping against the bud of your stiff nipple. you gasp and writhe, and he knows he can't lick you nipples too much (as much he wants to) or it'll really start to hurt.

tiger hybrid!sukuna eats you out like he eats wild prey, teeth just shy of nipping your clit as he laps at your cunt. and of course the rough sandpaper texture of his tongue against your swollen nub feels like nothing else - a bit painful, borderline overstimulating, but so good at the same time. but just like with your nipples he has to be carefully so he doesn't seriously hurt you down there.

tiger hybrid!sukuna who just can't help himself from pinning your thighs open almost painfully as you cum, just to stick his tongue inside your hole and finally taste the leaking sweetness that's been teasing him for days. even when you're done, he continues to lick your pussy gently, almost affectionately. you squirm a little from the slight overstimulation but just let him do his thing as he laps your folds clean, deep purrs rumbling from inside his chest as he does so

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[berryblosom]

SO TELL ME IS THIS LOVE ? •·.·''·.·•

Summary: your friend is convinced Satoru is in love with you, you think she’s crazy.

You’re insane.”

You’re in your usual seat at your favorite coffee place, tucked into the corner booth with your drink and your best friend across from you. As always, she’s on one of her rants, topic of choice? You and Satoru.

“What’s insane.” she says, pointing her straw at you, “is how blind you are. That man is down bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you hear yourself? In what world is Satoru Gojo in love with me?”

This has been going on for months. She’s got this wild theory that Satoru’s endless teasing and constant presence in your life means he’s secretly in love with you. And she won’t let it go. You’ve explained it to her a million times. Satoru is a flirt. It’s like second nature to that man . He’s like that with everyone. You never took his flirty comments seriously, because why would you?

“In the world where he drove an hour just to pick you up from work and take you home,” she counters, sipping her drink like she’s got all the evidence in the world.

You shrug, trying to sound unbothered. “He offered. Said he was already heading home.”

She gives you a deadpan look. “Right. Sure. What about those concert tickets you couldn’t find anywhere?”

“He said his friend didn’t want them. It wasn’t a big deal.”

You can almost hear her brain working, the way her eyes narrow and her fingers drum against her cup. She was not done.

“What about when your cat died, and he stayed over the whole weekend? Then got you a new one just because you just mentioned missing having a cat around?”

Okay. That one’s… a little harder to dismiss.

You were a wreck when your cat passed. Satoru just showed up, no questions asked, and didn’t leave your side for two days. Then, a week later, he handed you the cutest kitten with a bow around its neck.

But still. That didn’t mean anything. Right?

“Will you stop?” you sigh, setting your cup down. “Satoru is not in love with me. He’s just my friend.”

Rei throws her hands up like she’s about to strangle you. You could tell she’s losing her patience with your excuses.

“I don’t get why you’re so adamant he doesn’t like you.”

“Because he doesn’t. I just know. I’m pretty sure he has a date this weekend, anyway.”

She squints at you like you’ve grown two heads. “That’s just a load of shit. He’s gonna do what he always does.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean ‘what he always does’?”

Now she’s looking at you like the answer is obvious.

“He goes on dates to get a reaction out of you. He dates the girl for like a week, tells you all about it, and when it doesn’t get to you? He breaks up her.”

“He does not do that.”

“He definitely does. Remember that girl from his gym last month? She asked him out, and he complained to you about how annoying she was. And when you told him not to lead her on, breakup the next day.”

“He told me she dumped him,” you mutter, frowning.

Your friend just snorts and shakes her head.

“You could tell Satoru to fly to France to get you a single rose, and he’d be on the next flight out. He hangs on your every word.”

You stare at her, heart doing something weird and fluttery in your chest. Could she be right?

“You really think he… likes me?”

But she doesn’t answer. Her gaze shifts to something, or someone behind you.

“Well, let’s find out. Satoru!”

You whip your head around so fast, you’re pretty sure something cracked. And of course, there he was. Satoru Gojo in all his smug, infuriating glory, walking straight toward you.

“Ladies,” he greets, his tone dripping with charm as he slides into the booth beside you.

“Toru, this isn’t your usual coffee spot,” you say, trying to sound casual as you scoot over to give him space.

“Yeah, Rei invited me. Said the cakes here was to die for.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. Traitor.

“Oh, definitely,” she says sweetly. “You know, Y/N was just saying how much she misses those muffins from that bakery that closed down last year.”

Your eyes widen. “I did not say that—”

“Really?” Satoru interrupts, eyes locked on yours. “You want them?”

His arm is draped casually behind your seat, but he’s a lot closer than he was a second ago. You can feel the heat radiating off him. And the way he’s looking at you right now?

It’s not how a friend looks at someone. Your heart is not behaving. Not even a little.

“I-I just said they were good.”

“But do you want them?” His voice is lower now, more serious. Like he’s offering to track down the bakery’s owner and revive the business or even bake them for your himself.

“The place is closed. It doesn’t matter.” You nudge your friend under the table when you hear her snickering.

“It does matter.”

“Why?” The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it and you’re afraid of the answer.

You know Satoru. You’ve known him your whole life. He’s not the boyfriend type. Never has been. He’s dated plenty of girls, all through high school to university, none of them ever lasting longer than a month. You’d always told yourself he saw you like a little sister and nothing more

But then he’s looking at you like this? Like he wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for.

“Because I like doing things for you,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, then starts doing full sprints in your chest. You drop your gaze, staring down at your half-eaten cake on the table.

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Rei says, standing up and gathering her stuff. “I’d hate to leave, believe me, but I’ve got plans.”

You narrow your eyes. “What plans?”

“Dress shopping. Two of my favorite people are gonna get married soon.” She winks, blows a kiss, and practically skips out of the café.

You gape after her. She’s dead. So dead.

“What was that about?” Satoru asks.

“Nothing.” You scramble for a distraction. “So, uh… any special plans for your date this weekend?”

He leans back slightly but stays close. Still on your side of the booth. He casually pulls your plate toward him and takes a bite of your cake.

“Nah. Gonna cancel.”

Your eyes flick to him. “What? Why?”

He glances at you with a small smirk. “I’d rather be with you.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Really?”

He grins, licking frosting off his fork. “Yeah. Really.”

[stychu-stych]

-CW: talking about death of family member-

First of all I wanted to thank everyone who showed me support when I was freshly after the funeral. This post is about my personal feelings and how I was coping with the situation

My grandma was really close to me, she still is, I can't even delete her phone number from my contacts, not yet. Her death wasn't something I didn't expect, she fought with cancer for a long time. So when she passed away in mid February I didn't felt that much grief as the rest of my family and I thought it's because I was mentally ready for what happened

I was trying to be strong for my mom and sisters (I'm the oldest one), but even after the funeral I tried to stay focused on my work - there was a convention the next day I came back home, a lot of friends came to visit us (me and my fiancée), I didn't really had time to feel sad - or at least I tried to convince myself to think this way.

One thing that I learned on therapy about my ADHD is that it usually comes with some extra things (because adhd itself is apparently not annoying enough JSBSJSHSH). In my case one of those things it's perfectionism. I learned I can be too harsh for myself, expect from me things that I shouldn't expect, fall into workaholism, think that my worth is based on what I can give to others. So all those things didn't help me during the first weeks of grief. Even if I knew how my brain works, I didn't have enough strength to fight with it or to be patient with myself.

All feelings hit me about two months later, after the River Boy passed away, and I cried almost day after day, I couldn't control myself. I know I said right after the funeral that I was okay as a coping mechanism, but I started to feel that now this is the right time when I can say I'm getting better. Not "I'm better" now, I'm just getting to it.

I never been good with words, especially in English, but I decided to write that down anyway and publish, mostly because I wanted to fight with my way of thinking about keeping everything to myself. Or maybe there is someone who experienced a similar situation, who will read it and feel a little bit better

Some personal art this time

My grandma, that I was very close with, passed away few days ago. I'm still in grief, even if I knew what's about to happen (she was diagnosed with very nasty cancer), it still hurts. For the last few months I was less active and didn't draw as much as I wanted, also I'm sorry I didn't take part in fandom projects with mutuals even if I really wanted and I promised them I would do that, I wasn't mentally able to finish any of it.

I'm a little better now, first few days after my grandma's death were the worst. Now I'm coming home through the country, the funeral had place in my family town about 5 hours away. My fiancée and friends are waiting for me so I won't be alone. I'm not expecting anyone to react to that post or comment it, I just want to share what was happening in my life recently. Also I want to thank everyone who wrote me nice messages about me, my artworks, artbook, it helped me a lot knowing people are still here, appreciate my art, even if I post less than usual

[kpop-reactions-povs]

Stray kids- Pregnant wife insists on keeping her independence

⸻

Bang Chan

Chan understands independence — it’s part of what he loves about you. But the first time he finds you on a step stool trying to clean a cabinet at 7 months pregnant, his heart drops.

“Babe,” he says quietly, taking you by the waist. “What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to get it done before you got home—”

“No,” he breathes, voice shaking slightly. “I can’t let you do things that put you or our baby at risk. Please.”

You start to argue, but he cups your face. “I know you’re strong. But part of being strong is letting someone help. And I need you to let me help. It’s all I ever wanna do.”

⸻

Lee Know

Minho gets passive-aggressively soft. Not angry — just… overly helpful.

You reach for a bag. He’s already taking it from your hands.

You start sweeping. He appears with the vacuum.

Finally, you snap, “I can still do things!”

He blinks. “And I’m still going to stop you.”

You huff. “You’re so annoying.”

He leans in, smirking, “You’re carrying my kid. That means you’ve been upgraded to queen status. Queens don’t mop floors.”

He pulls you into his chest. “Let me take care of you. You already do everything else.”

⸻

Changbin

Changbin sees you carrying groceries and immediately rushes over.

“You should’ve called me!”

“It was just a few things,” you say, brushing him off.

“Still too much for my precious girl and my baby,” he pouts, unloading the bags.

Later, he sits you down and gently cups your hands. “I know you want to be independent. I love that about you. But when it comes to your safety? I won’t ever be chill. I just won’t.”

He kisses your knuckles. “Let me spoil you. Please.”

⸻

Hyunjin

Hyunjin is half dramatic, half whipped. He catches you on your knees scrubbing the floor and gasps like it’s the end of the world.

“WHAT are you doing?”

“Cleaning!”

“You’re pregnant, not Cinderella!”

You laugh, but he’s dead serious. He pulls you up and sits you on the couch.

“I admire your fire,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. “But I need you to save your energy for growing our baby, not fighting the dust bunnies.”

From then on, he makes every task a joint effort — chore time becomes cuddle breaks, cleaning turns into dancing, and you never scrub floors alone again.

⸻

Han

Han is a mess. He walks in on you lifting a box and goes full panic mode.

“NOPE. Nope nope nope.”

“Jisung, chill.”

“You’re not a forklift! You’re growing a baby! That’s your only job now!”

He takes over, still muttering under his breath like a cartoon character. Later that night, he apologizes, arms around you.

“I know I overreact. But I just… I love you so much, I can’t take any risks. I need you both safe.”

You kiss his cheek, and he melts.

“I’ll try not to panic next time,” he says, “but you gotta let me help sometimes too, okay?”

⸻

Felix

Felix is the softest. He sees you doing something — anything — and gently pulls you away without a word.

You frown. “I was fine.”

“I know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “But why do things alone when I want to do them with you?”

You start to protest, and he smiles. “You’re the strongest person I know. But strong people still deserve rest. And you, my angel, deserve the world.”

That night, he makes your favorite meal, rubs your feet, and whispers, “You’ve done enough. Let me take care of you now.”

( Felix without makeup 🔛🔝)

Seungmin

Seungmin pretends to be chill. Until he catches you lifting a full laundry basket.

“Oh? So we’re carrying bricks now?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s laundry.”

He takes it from you anyway, giving you the look. “You can glare all you want. You’re banned from lifting anything that’s not a fork or a baby name list.”

Later, when you’re snuggled in bed, he rubs your back and says, “I know you don’t want to feel useless. But to me? You’re doing the most important job in the world. Let me do the rest.”

I.N (Jeongin)

Jeongin doesn’t fight you. He outsmarts you.

“Oh, you’re going to mop? Cool. I already did it.”

“You were going to vacuum? Done.”

“You wanted to walk to the store? Too bad. I already ordered snacks.”

Eventually, you call him out. “Stop babying me!”

He pauses, then cups your cheeks. “I’m not babying you. I’m loving you. And our baby. And this whole little life we’re building.”

He kisses your forehead. “Let me do it all, just for a little while. You’ve done enough.”

[biteyoubiteme]

Making out with yeonjun!! Nothing more just a hot make out session 😍

an: i dont know how this came out so long ;-; its not the best lmao i feel so stuck when i write kissing lmao but you know what making out with yeonjun would fix me and now its all i can think of. [m.list] wc: 1.1k warnings: rivals? to lovers, kissing, uuumm i think that's it lol

“You know you don't have to act like you hate me when no one else is around,” the sound of his voice cut through the rhythmic tapping of your shoe. 

You had known not to take the elevator, the constant reminder of the steady on and off out-of-service light blinking had been for well over two months. One day working, only to be caught halfway between floors the next. It had become a habit now to walk around to the other side of the building if you wanted a ride, or just to take the climb up the flights of stairs. It would burn your legs, but it would be better than being stuck here with yeonjun. 

The clock had only just hit the final hour in your overtime schedule. The city lights bright through the glass windows lining the back of your office. It had been in a moment of weakness, tired enough not to care if the elevator got stuck, if it meant you didn't have to walk down all the steps. You had almost been in the clear for the lone ride, the doors just an inch from closing, before yeonjun stuck his hand in to reel the doors back open. 

Your back had straightened, eyes narrowing as he gave you that cocky grin, “room for one more?” he knew the affect he had on you, knew it the moment he had joined your sales team and started to match your numbers and annoyingly surpass them on occasion. 

It wouldn't have bothered you much; you still hit quotas and pulled in more money than the company needed, but it was his arrogance that tipped you over the edge. So when the elevator stopped, jerking to a halt only a floor before the lobby, you couldn't help but sigh, foot tapping in annoyance the second the button for maintenance was pressed. 

“I never said I hated you,” You didn't have to look back to know he was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets like he couldn't care less about the situation, “I do find you irritating.” 

He let out a short loud laugh like the sound had been pulled from him without him even realizing it. “Most people find me charming and charismatic,” 

“Most people, the less irritating type, don't go around listing their supposed qualities when no one asked for them,” and it was in the next laugh that you decided to shut him up. The way he found your annoyance funny ticked that internal clock of yours, counting down the seconds to blowing up. 

You didn't even listen to what he came back with. The words cut off the second you turned and leaned into him, his surprised hum caught right on the edge of your mouth. And he didn't even push you away, one hand coming up, ghosting over your cheek before you pulled away. “Now, will you shut up?” 

The kiss had effectively worked to quiet him, his eyes hazy and blinking at you like he was coming back from somewhere he never expected to go. In the half-second move to turn back around, yeonjun had caught you like he had the elevator, hand swift in pulling you back to him. 

He gave you no time to breathe, his mouth on yours, stealing your muffled shock. It had never crossed your mind if yeonjun would or would not be a good kisser; it was written into everyone's mind that he must be, especially when he always kept that teasing smirk right on the edge of his mouth. 

It was on instinct to want to reach out to you, his hands finding your waist, sliding along the smooth material of your work shirt. The elevator was too small to go anywhere but up against the wall. Yeonjun was effortlessly addictive in seconds, a hit that melted your body against his, destroying your inhibitions. 

Only a moment ago, you were annoyed, tired, and wished to be anywhere but here with him. Now your hands were curling along his neatly placed hair, tangling up in the strands while he chased your lips for more with every breath you pulled away to take. 

It was easily passed as a moment of weakness if it had stayed with nothing more than a fleeting lapse in judgment. But neither of you pulled away, not when he gave you the opportunity and started to kiss down your jaw, down your neck. His lips leave a trail over your pulse, your soft whine so loud in the cramped space. Yeonjun pressed his hips closer to you, locking you in place as if he could trap you right there, as if he could keep the sounds you made for him alone. 

When he pulled away, fingers still digging into your hips, your tucked shirt half pulled from the waistband of your skirt, the two of you blinked back in silent shock. His lips a deeper red, soft and flushed from the kissing, his eyes tracing over your features as the two of you looked back at what you had done. 

And neither of you cared, not when you tugged him back to you. The entirety of him devouring you up, trying to savor the moment as if you would push him away at any second. Because kissing you had been on his mind for longer than he'd care to admit, and even if you had done it to shut him up he would only get worse with annoying you if this was his reward disguised as nothing more than a petty punishment. 

But it was over too soon, the elevator jumping back ot life, pouring a bucket of ice water over the two of you. Caught in front of no one but each other. Both of you mess, silently agreeing to ignore what had happened as you pushed your hand back through his hair, only this time to put all the strands back into place. His fingers were steadily helping to tuck back in your shirt as if he wasn't doing the opposite of what he wanted. 

“Back to pretending you hate me?” his brows jumping up in question as you rolled your eyes. 

“Still undeniably annoying, people like you shouldn't be so good at kissing.” You smoothed your hand over his tie, needing some distraction as the elevator dinged right at the lobby. 

“People who are charming, charismatic, and handso-” he was leaning back in, nose dipping just enough to pull you back in before you pushed him away. He knew the trick to your weakness now, and it was hard to resist him when knowing the outcome. 

“Still annoying, goodnight yeonjun,” casually thrown over your shoulder as you tried to rush right out the door.

[reesereadsalot]

𝐹𝒶𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶

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Pairings: Finnick x pregnant!reader Johanna x reader (platonic)

Warnings: refer to series masterlist

Desc: Your 7 months pregnant with Finnicks baby. When your the happiest you were in your life, your whole world comes crashing down. You were reaped for the 3rd Quarter Quell.

｡𖦹°‧masterlist

a/n: I actually had to rewrite most of this because I thought the JabberJays was before the spinning cornucopia. *cries* Also I released a blurb called “Fish out of Water” which is in the same universe as “Facing the Arena” and is placed after readers games.

“Get up. Get up, we have to move now.” Katniss says while grabbing our stuff quickly.

Katniss quickly explains that the arena is a clock. The clock has twelve sections. Each is a horror that will either kill you or mess you up completely. You can see the confusion on Finnick and Johanna’s face. Maybe they didn’t catch all of that. Funny. You chuckle to youself.

“What?” Finnick asks slightly amused but mostly confused as to why you’re laughing to yourself.

“Nothing. Just a joke I made up in my head.” You say gesturing to your head with a smile on your face. You felt like your in on a joke but it’s weird because only you know the joke. You feel like your going crazy.

You try to reach down to grab your spear, when you realize you can’t you groan loud enough for Finnick to hear. He is behind you in seconds.

“What’s wrong?” He asks his deep green eyes search your face and body to see if you’re injured. He places his hand on the small of your back and the other on your belly.

“I can’t grab my spear.” You half groan half whine while trying to grab your spear again.

“Don’t exert yourself. You don’t want to hurt the baby, I’ll grab it.” He says patting your stomach with a smirk. He swiftly grabs your spear and hands it to you. You and Finnick notice Katniss lingering by you. “Same goes for you, Karniss.” Finnick says smirking and gesturing to Katniss’ stomach. You snort and Katniss rolls her eyes. Finnick just winks at you.

“I want to get a better look at the arena. We should go to the Cornucopia.” Katniss says.

“What about the careers?” Asks Finnick

“It’s fine. We out number them anyway, Finn.” You say “That’s a good idea, Katniss.”.

“And how do you know?” Finnick says in a teasing tone.

“Because I know everything.” You retort playfully.

“Are you sure?” Finnick asks raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure you want to ask that question to the mother of your child?” You put a hand on your belly and the other slaps him playfully in the bicep.

“Touche. Touche.” Finnick mumbles and you grin.

Peeta grabs Beetee’s blood soaked wire. It’s as thin as a hair so it must be really long since it’s a big bundle of coil. Wiress starts singing a song about a mouse a clock. It’s annoying but you don’t say anything. She’s still in shock. You have to step between Johanna and Katniss. They are getting on each other’s nerves. That’s annoying too.

You feel like you’re going to snap from frustration and annoyance. Your joints are aching and you start to notice how your ankles are swelling. You feel embarrassed. Yes, joints hurting and ankles swelling are normal pregnancy events but you feel weak. You could do more to help the group bust instead you’re pulling the group down.

“Stay by me.” Finnick says when you get to the cornucopia. You grab his hand and walk with him. Wiress is now giddy that we figured out the clock.

“I need to sit down.” You say. You’re clearly out of breath. You go to sit down by Wiress as she washes the wire that Katniss handed to her.

Finnick looks at you warily before talking with the others. Peeta makes a map of the arena on a leaf. We don’t know all the sectors but we know some. Like the blood rain and fog. You get up to inspect the weapons. You’re tired of carrying around a belt of knives.

You start to get goosebumps. Wiress has stopped singing. Before you realize, you’re swinging around and pulling a knife out of your belt. You see Gloss slitting Wiress’ neck. You throw your knife and it lands directly into his skull with a crack. Huh. Guess the knife belt was handy. You thought trying to distract yourself from the fact you just took another life.

Finnick is at your side at once. The careers are attacking. Cashmere filled with rage over her dead brother charges at you but Finnick throws his trident, hitting her directly into the heart.

You feel the ground shift below you. The Cornucopia starts to spin violently. You don’t get a chance to hold on to the Cornucopia before you’re flung into the water. The current tries to drown you but being from District 4 you’re strong enough to fight it. Katniss flies off the Cornucopia flying directly into you. She hits you and you feel the pain in your head immediately. You help eachother stay above water.

Then, the Cornucopia comes to an immediate stop. Everyone lands on the ground with a groan. Brutus and Enobaria have already run away. You and Katniss emerge out of the water and climb back onto the Cornucopia. Well, she climbs back on but you struggle. Finnick runs to you, pulling you up. He inspects you.

“Are you okay?” He says frantically. He touches a spot on your forehead and you wince. You touch it a notice blood.

“I’m fine. Just a little scratch.” You say with a sad smile.

The group gets back to the beach. You and Finnick are making a big net while playing eye tag. It’s a fun game you both play in a crowded room to make each other laugh. You’re on a streak though. You haven’t laughed before him in ages and he is obviously frustrated. You’re about to break and laugh when you hear a girl scream. It’s unrecognizable.

“Prim! Prim!” Katniss yells running into the jungle. Peeta didn’t register where Katniss had gone before she was halfway to the jungle. He couldn’t stop her.

“Katniss!” Finnick screams before following in after her.

You tried to stop him but he was too fast. You hear another scream of a man this time. You’re unfamiliar with it. Then you hear it. Your scream. You, Johanna and Peeta rush into the jungle. You—obviously—are behind because you can’t run fast.

Peeta runs into an invisible wall. A force field. Not as strong as the one that literally killed Peeta but strong enough to hold back tributes. You can’t hear the screams anymore. You try to spot Finnick or Katniss but you can’t. You start to get worried. You’re breathing heavily when Peeta notices.

“Here sit down.” Peeta says helping you sit down.

You can’t speak. It feels like your throat is closing in on itself. You continue to hyperventilate getting more and more anxious. Peeta and Johanna are both trying to soothe you but nothing works. You try to find Finnick but you can’t. He could be dead. You thought. No, you would have heard a cannon. You start to fight with yourself in your mind. You feel yourself retreating into the other world. The world where you, Finnick and your baby live peacefully.

Then you spot Katniss. A second later, Finnick follows her. He’s running from something. You look up to see blue and black birds swarming them. JabberJays. That’s what was making the screaming noises. It’s not real but it’s still torturing them. You heart feels as if it will break into tiny fragments. They’re torturing Finnick. You look at his face thats filled with sorrow and confusion. You realize how this must look. We are standing here, not doing anything to help them. Katniss must think this because she looks quite angry.

Peeta tries to yell at her, telling her not to run into the invisible barrier but she can’t hear him. Just like how you can’t hear them. Katniss runs into the force field hitting her shoulder. She looks as if she’s crying out in pain and sorrow. Finnick sees you. You’re no longer hyperventilating but instead you have a hand on the barrier. He outs his hand in the same place before curling up into a ball—shrinking himself—then covering his ears.

The hour feels like days. Days until you can hug Finnick. Days until you can talk to him. Peeta is still trying to reassure Katniss who can’t hear him. He knows that but he doesn’t care. Katniss shot a few birds before following what Finnick did.

When the hour is over, the barrier comes down. You rush to Finnick. He is stuck in a fetal position and visibly shaking. You pull him up cupping his face in your hands.

“Hey. Hey. You’re okay. It was just JabberJays. It was fake.” You say lifting one hand to brush a blonde wave out of his sweaty face. He leans into your touch.

“I-I heard you.” He said, tears forming on his already puffy face.

“I’m okay. We’re okay.” You say placing one of his hands on your belly.

He rubs your belly as you whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Just as he did for you when you used to wake up screaming from a nightmare. Eventually, he walks with you down to the beach. It’s now your turn to take care of him. You weave 12 bowls so each person had two bowls. You filled the multiple bowls with water for everyone. You delivered water to Katniss and Peeta first, then Finnick, then Beetee. Lastly, you filled your own bowls of water.

The waves crash over each other. The sound relaxing you and Finnick. His head is in your lap as one hand plays with his hair and the other helps bring fish to your mouth. Finnick’s amazing net caught it as always but that didn’t cheer him up. He hasn’t spoken much or ate since the JabberJays. You’re worried about him.

“Hey remember that time when I forgot to clean the fish fully and ate a bone.” You say trying to make conversation. That actually did happen and you broke a tooth. He laughed at you like always.

“Yes.” He said plainly.

“My tooth is still rigid.” You say feeling around for the broken molar with your tongue.

“What made you bring that up.” He asks you can tell he’s playing the memory in his head again. He turns his head to look up at you, sea green eyes staring at you.

“I’m eating fish.” You say matter of factly sticking the fish in his face.

“Okay, no need to shove things in my face.” He says laughing and swatting your hand away.

“Hey don’t attack the woman carrying your child.” You say crossing your arms.

“I am so, so sorry.” He says sarcastically. You smile and continue to play with his beautiful blonde waves. He turns back to face the ocean.

You guys go into a peaceful silence after that. You realize that these might be your last moments with him. You are both going to die here. I’m not letting him leave me and our child alone. You thought while a tear rolled down your cheek.

Part 5

[microwavesaferat]

I've seen multiple hcs of English Teacher Jason Todd, I've also seen multiple teacher aus in general. I would like to propose a 3rd Option:

Secret Day Jobs

All the Robins and Batfam extended universe (aka, until I get bored) have started doing day jobs as they get older, but they are all worried Bruce will bench them if they find out they're burning the candle at both ends, so they keep it secret.

We all know Dick is a cop in some comics, but I would like to propose they all go into teaching in some way. They don't tell the others, and gradually all end up transferring to the same school. We're also assuming they are all adults here.

We have:

Jason Todd - English Lit Professor. Doesn't like dealing with college kids, so moves to high school literature. Sometimes covers drama lessons if it's Shakespeare plays.

Dick Grayson - Health and Wellbeing (don't know if this is just a UK thing, sometimes called PSE). Basically teaches kids the dangers of smoking and how to stay healthy mentally and physically. He also runs the schools gymnastics club and helps at some other sports clubs.

Tim Drake - Computing. One of those teachers that doesn't care if you swear or call him the proper title. Does not care if you are misusing the school computers. He figured out the others are all teachers and hacked himself onto the payroll cause he thought it would be funny. Hacking emails to change names to see how long he can keep the others from figuring out they all work in the same place.

Damian Wayne - Biology. He kind of wishes he went into chemistry, because he despises the giggles and childish behaviour whenever something mentioned in the course is even mildly sexual. Refuses to do the frog dissection and nearly gets into a physical fight with the head of department. This event is what clues Dick into his presence, "Did you hear the new biology teacher threatened to kill Mr Smith over something? Apparently had a Katana or something in his desk".

Cassandra Cain - Guidance Councilor. Very good at interpreting the body language of the kids. Also does some work with ASL interpretation when needed. Thought everyone was aware of each other and isn't really trying to hide. Tim still has no idea she's here. Dick gets jumpscared when Cass shows up to one of the after school clubs he helps at.

Stephanie Brown - Somehow in a different position everyday. She appears as a janitor one day, then she's doing the school bus run the next. On Fridays she works in the Canteen cause the food is good on Fridays. There explicitly to annoy Tim who knows she's there, but can't find her in the payroll.

Duke Thomas - Politics/Modern Studies. The sort of teacher to say he's putting on a documentary, then pauses every 30 secs to go on a tangent about something. Disagrees with half the shit in the curriculum, so does his own thing. The projector in his classroom hasn't worked for months, but no one needs to know that.

Also, the moment they all figured out they are all there.

Dick hears about the frog incident and very quickly catches on.

Duke goes to the office to pick up jotters and Stephanie is working there.

Jason used the guidance councilor's room to take a minute and chill. Cass was on top of a cupboard for 10 mins before revealing herself.

Dick goes to grab the first aid kit after a kid falls at gymnastics and Stephanie is the Custodian in today.

Damian needs some supplies and the lab tech is Stephanie.

An Arkham breakout happens during a parents night and all of them run to change into costume. Issue is they all hid their costumes in the janitors closet.

WE runs a scholarship fund for students and Bruce has to show up to the awards ceremony for successful students. He gets a tour of the school only to slowly run into all of his kids. To start with, the tour is run by Stephanie who is refusing to break character.

Stephanie: Thank you for coming Mr Wayne

Bruce: Stephanie wha-

Stephanie: Please, Miss Brown, Stephanie was my father.

Steph: Anyway, here is our lovely new labs that WE do graciously funded.

Damian: *Yelling at a child to follow safety procedures*

Bruce: What? Dames?

Stephanie: and down to the left is our English department.

Jason Todd: *Animatedly discussing the influences of Romeo and Juliet in modern culture*

Steph: This is our lit teacher Mr Todd Peters

Bruce: *makes a note to remind his kids on good undercover names*

Well I'm tired but will probably add to this at some point.

[tearsofdiamonds]

🔥🔥🙏🙏🙏🙏 im losing ym shit

sorry girl but that picture of jennifer and needy + the pictures of youngliz gave me other thoughts 😵‍💫

wonyoung and liz as jennifer and needy is a concept that i love. i can see them as the typical best friends that are about the popular pretty girl duo that has all the guys in the palm of her hand + loser friend who is a virgin and doesn’t even use Instagram to try to flirt or get guys but just because she likes to support her friend’s posts… type of friendship where liz’s parents would say that wonyoung is a bad influence and that they should look for better options for friendships, little knowing that liz loves this type of dynamics.

also the friendship between two girls that looks like a toxic lesbian situationship. they don’t date or anything like that, but the behavior of both is always like a relationship full of jealousy and obsessive acts even when wonyoung claims to be straight and half the school is after her while liz stays like her virgin loser best friend who never leaves the house because she prefers to stay in her room and read all day rather than come out of her cave and enjoy life like any average teenager would.

and the heated conversations with a certain amount of tension were always present. being best friends since they were children, they already have a habit of having sleepovers every weekend, leaving school on friday afternoon and heading to someone’s house to spend the whole weekend together and then going to school together on monday morning.

“hello?” wonyoung, who was barely entering her teens, gently touched the blonde’s forehead, giving liz a gentle tap on the forehead, as she always enjoyed doing. “we turned thirteen last month! we’ll be starting high school soon. we have to be prepared~”

and liz didn’t understand what her best friend was referring to! “prepared for…?”

“for boys, right? we’ll have to be prepared for tongue kissing and sex. don’t tell me you feel like we’re not ready for that yet.”

and well, that was the first time there was a weird moment between them! wonyoung teaching liz how to kiss using her tongue and her whole mouth wasn’t something liz had ever thought about... she hadn’t even had a crush on a guy, so kissing was something that was so far from her thoughts, but it’s good that wonyoung is a great friend who wouldn’t allow her best friend to look like a silly brat who doesn’t know how to behave once the opportunity presents itself with a guy, so spending almost the entire night sticking her tongue almost down liz’s throat was both of their favorite activities for a long time <3

that hasn’t changed until now. both in wonyoung’s room, talking about the upcoming party one of the school’s athletes was planning. liz wasn’t the going–out type, only accepting invitations when she knew her best friend would be attending.

“we have to prepare you for when a guy wants to take the next step with you.”

and liz is more than fed up with hearing that! wonyoung constantly seems to want to try to get her to have something with some guy because ut seems to bother her that liz keeps her social status at the same level, but at the same time she seems to get annoyed when some guy gets too close to liz, even if he’s a classmate being kind to liz and managing to get a smile out of her.

but the words get stuck in liz’s throat when wonyoung instead of starting to give advice like always chooses to crawl over to where she is in bed… liz would say something if it weren’t for wonyoung taking her jaw and making her listen instead of saying something stupid.

“you’re gorgeous, liz. beautiful face, nice tits, big ass… i don’t understand how no guy has asked you out yet.” liz’s face changes to shades of red.

how could i say that this ends with wonyoung training liz for when she finally sleeps with a man? liz is so dumb that she doesn’t have a voice of her own that she doesn’t even dare to refuse when her best friend tells her that she’ll fuck her to prepare her when she gets the chance with a guy :( choosing the strap with a considerable size, big and thick enough to get liz used to the moment she has to take a real cock she doesn’t feel uncomfortable and don’t try to give up the moment you feel full and be a little sissy about it.

“first you have to give him head. the vast majority of guys like their cocks sucked. then you’ll learn how to do it so you don’t suck the first time.” wonyoung would say sweetly, looking at liz with loving eyes and a mocking smile as she notices how the blonde looks with big doubtful eyes at the silicone cock that gives her the feeling that it will be a difficult task to do…

wonyoung guiding liz at all times <3 showing her how she has to tease a little first because sometimes it’s better to tease first with kitten licks, asking her to maintain eye contact with her as liz slowly inserts the dildo into her mouth because in wonyoung’s words, “that’s what guys like,” telling her to use one of her hands to pump the shaft of her cock while she in turn bobs her head up and down on the other half of her cock… she even dares to take liz’s soft and silky blond locks in one hand, holding them in a ponytail and using it to move liz’s head and simultaneously moving her hips against her face to fuck her mouth properly. liz is so wrapped up in her task and following the advice her friend is giving her that the poor fool doesn’t realize that this stopped being just help and tips for her future a long time ago…

and wonyoung training liz’s pussy so she can take a real cock tomorrow, only liz is now about to collapse because if she struggles to take wonyoung’s cock in her mouth, she doesn’t want to imagine how hard it will be for her pussy to do it this time!

wony giving words of encouragement to liz as she slides the silicone cock into her best friend :( awww she is showering liz with sweet words, taking advantage of the small moment where liz seems to be “okay” to instruct her to place her hands on the back of her knees and push them against her chest because, again, “that’s what boys like,”

[midnightwind]

Clipped Wings

Summary: One Year. Lucanis Dellamorte has been imprisoned for a whole year. If he had to guess. Desperate, almost hopeless, rescue has finally arrived in the guise of two excitable elves, but his saviors might be too late. Who would want a demon to come home? (Lucanis and Spite PoV)

Word Count: 6743

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Chapter Four: Demon in the Depths

It was cold when the haze of unconsciousness finally faded, his body sluggish. Flashes of what had happened played like the hitched scenes of a stage play. They had brought the accursed vial of his blood to the cell, had wound the strings of their vile magic around his limbs, and contorted his motions to suit their needs. The demon had thrashed in his bones at it, throwing himself against his ribs painfully and clawing behind his eyes as he screamed in fury. They had returned his leathers, a baffling action, and had him cast aside the prisoner's rags he had worn for almost a year. His gear hung loosely around him, the torture and confinement hollowing him out. Spite hissed at the ugly feeling it caused, sinking teeth into the soft meat of his soul.

Struggling against the magic’s hold, he had to simply watch as another mage approached. The man held a comb in one hand and scissors in the other. The sight was so absurd he wanted to laugh, but the spell only allowed him a vicious smile. The man's hands shook, the tremor worsening as the assassin glared him down with naked bloodlust the closer he got. A year at their mercy and they still were terrified to approach him. It was one of the only pleasures left to him here. Spite had lodged himself in his throat, gripping his vocal chords and begging for blood. It caused an almost feral growl to crawl from his lips, his would-be barber jumping at the noise.

They were making him presentable, he realized. Dressing him up for someone or something. It caused a drowning panic to rise in him like a vile tide. Spite howled, seizing his limbs with his own phantom versions and thrashing. His fingers twitched and the man stumbled backwards, away from him at the motion. No one stopped the cultist as he fled out of the cell, though the mage with the phylactery did bark orders at him. When they weren't met with obedience, he scoffed. Fear always won. Instead of trying to finish his twisted spa day, they trapped his hands behind his back and clapped iron around his wrists and ankles. The mage in charge had muttered something about having other subjects to prepare and he was soon being led through the facility as his phylactery was spirited back into the depths.

He had waited until the searing pull of the thing faded before launching into action. A simple jump to pull his hands back in front of himself, using the shackles to bludgeon one cultist to the ground. When another swung their magic imbued daggers at him, he caught the blades with the chain between his hands. The enchantment cut through it like a hot knife through butter. If nothing else, the Venatori were deft hands at crafting weapons to draw blood from even the most armored victims. He still had to dodge the rest of the swing, but his hands were free and that changed everything. Now the familiar rhythm of work was settling into his frame, every movement and swing of blades like a beloved symphony he had almost forgotten. His body sang with each kill. He carved a bloody trail through the halls, using another cultist blade to cut the shackles free completely during a brief reprieve. He had searched the bodies for keys, whatever relic or weird device would allow him to finally leave the prison.

He never got far, another wave of Venatori descending on him. It was exhausting, but he was a Crow. He had trained for exhausting. The wave of demons was a surprise he should have been expecting. The surge of the tiny bastards nipped at his heels, pushing him away from the path to freedom with slashing claws and sharp teeth. Spite was hissing like a feral cat at them. It caused every hair on his body to prickle, an electric hum so intense it felt like his bones were vibrating. The creatures seemed to falter and as he surged forward into that hesitation with sharp blades, he barely noticed the large shape that crashed into his side. He was thrown against a crumbling wall, left scrambling in the sand for purchase before a large clawed hand wrapped around his chest. The demon squeezed, his ribs screaming as the air was forced from his lungs. He angled vicious stabs into the creature's flesh, but it didn't seem to phase it. It simply tightened its hold. His world spotted black as he wheezed for a breath, clawing at the iron grip. And then the world went dark.

Now he was in a new prison, cold ice steadily locking him in place. He thrashed, the desperate need to escape chasing the fatigue from his limbs. Wherever they planned to take him next would be worse than the Ossuary, he had no doubt. Spite was rousing at the sharp emotions, sinking sharp nails into his psyche as he clawed awake. The spell was winding closer and closer, alarm almost blinding the assassin now. And then it paused, wavering, as discordant voices cut in. The demon surged, a sharp snap heralding skeletal wings bursting into existence on his back. They lunged for freedom as one, the ice shattering as the spell failed. The familiar work of killing settled into his hands once more, his world narrowed down to the cultists trying to trap him and nothing else. He was a flurry of ruthless violence, each Venatori dead within seconds of the last. Pulling in a shivering breath, he turned to face whatever had interrupted the ritual and then paused in surprise. Those were not cultists.

Mage.

The demon’s voice curled at the edges of his thoughts, almost purring the word as he stared at the two women blocking his way out. There was a fascination to it, but also a hunger, a pull the spirit felt. He watched its ghostly form stalk around the tanned elf, pulling in huffing breaths. It pawed at her red hair, as if trying to capture a lock between its fingers. Frustration growled from the spirit, turning instead to stare into her slate eyes.

Smells sweet. New scent. What is it? So sweet…

He blinked in confusion, taken aback. In the year since the demon had been forced into him, it had expressed curiosity only a handful of times. The pure rage of being trapped usually took up most of their stay. It unsettled him how Spite was suddenly enamored with a stranger. It felt foreboding. Then the demon was twitching to look at the woman’s companion. Another elf, dressed in bright leathers with her dark hair gathered in a messy bun. She seemed to vibrate with nerves and energy in equal measure, with heavy looking metal… contraptions, for lack of a better word, wrapped over her arms.

Dusty. Reeks of magic. Stolen. Borrowed. Found. Smells of ancient.

And then it was back to prowling around the redhead, a starving grin cracking its face. It caused a scowl to crease his own. Anything or anyone that captured the demon's attention like this was trouble. He shouldn't have even given them pause. A few more knife flicks and he'd be on his way to freedom. The cold calculation of his work was washing through him, but then Spite was surging to stand in front of him, causing him to jump.

Smell good. Maybe help? Finally! Let us out! Free us! Outoutout!

The thoughts were a deluge, slamming into his mind like a tidal wave. It scattered him for a moment, causing his head to swirl. He tightened his grip on his daggers, leather and steel biting into his palm. The weight of his weapons centered him, but before he could pull himself into familiar, deadly action, Spite's fascination was speaking.

“You must be Lucanis Dellamorte.” It wasn't a question. Her eyes seemed to almost shine as she looked him over.

She knows you.

He narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?” And then his brain finally recognized the armor she wore. “You're a Crow.” She was sporting the leathers tailored for mages, loose sleeves trailing her motions. Had another House put a price on his head? Did this mean he had been properly abandoned here?

Before the doubts could work themselves into a proper panic, she was giving him a flourishing bow. “Of House de Riva. It's an honor.” It sounded almost genuine, voice tinged with a laugh. Then her head flicked up slightly, her gaze meeting his. “Caterina sent us. She’d like you home.”

Hope swelled in his chest, bittersweet and sickly. He hadn't been forgotten, but it was too late wasn't it? He was far too changed, now. A monster in human skin. It was a cruel twist of fate. He pulled in a long breath, finally sheathing his daggers. A member of Viago's House meant this was likely genuine. Rescue had come and he could trust that. So long as the other Crow led, he wouldn't have to worry about a poisoned blade nicking him. A second assassin would make his job easier, too.

“I still have a contract here. I need to kill Calivan, but before I can do that we need to find the vial of my blood they took.” He had to grind the words from his throat, disuse trying to choke them back down. “They can use it to control me otherwise.”

The other elf finally spoke up at that as she almost cowered behind the Crow. “Because of the demon.” Her voice was soft, empty of malice, but the single sentence cut him to the core.

This was where they'd leave him at best, or try to kill him at worst. He felt his fingers twitch, heartbeat leaping as adrenaline surged. He'd have to kill the mage first, that was fine. He knew how to do that. She sported a knife instead of a staff, so he'd have a few seconds to close the distance as her orb was summoned. That was plenty of time to slit her throat and collide with the archer before her bow could be nocked. He'd owe Viago an apology for killing one of his Crows, but it was par for the course.

“That’s fine, assuming you're still the Mage Killer the First Talon promised me.” The mage said brightly, smiling.

She didn't move for her weapon, her hands even clapping quietly in front of her. That was baffling. The word demon sent mages into a panic, usually, all fire and brimstone raining down at the thought. Why did she look almost gleeful?

“I can still work.” He answered carefully.

“Perfect!” Relief caused her shoulders to sag for a moment. “Once we clean up your contract, I have my own for two ancient elven mages pretending at godhood. If the stories I've heard about your work are even partially true, your help would really turn the tides.”

“I…” Gods? That was a new one. “I would owe you.”

“A favor between Crows.” She closed the distance in an instant, startlingly fast, and held a hand out to him.

The sweet scent that had fascinated Spite washed over him. Red berries and jasmine. It was pleasant enough, but strong. Hiding the acrid smell of poisons and venoms with perfume was a popular cover among assassins. Given her House, it made sense. The scent was simply dizzying after his year in this pit of the ocean smelling only rotting seaweed, blood, and burning flesh. It also made him hesitant to touch her at all. His reluctance must have been obvious because she laughed, pulling her hand back.

“You know Viago, huh? I don't coat myself in poison quite as enthusiastically as him. Perfectly safe to touch!” And then she was winking at him. “Kissing less so, but you look like a gentleman.” He wasn't sure what to do with that, but she was spinning on her heel and waving at him over her shoulder. “I’m Mirenna, by the way, though people are calling me Rook nowadays. Maybe Viago mentioned me?” There was a hopeful note in her voice, a desire for acknowledgement. When he remained quiet, she let out a disappointed sigh. “Likely not by name. If you ever had to listen to him rant about an annoying protege, I apologize. I exist to annoy him, apparently.”

That did stir some faint memories of the Fifth Talon muttering about a recruit causing nothing but trouble. His tone had never been properly angry or even particularly murderous. It had always read to him as a similar energy he reserved for Illario. A sibling that needed to be scolded, but whom you loved. Now he had a face for the many complaints. The reverie was interrupted as her companion popped into his view.

“Um, I’m Bellara, by the way. It's nice to meet you. I think?” She seemed to want to say more, mouth opening before snapping shut as she scurried after the mage. “Do you really have poison on your lips, Rook?”

Rook’s eyes crinkled as a devious smile curled across her face. “Would you like to find out?” 

Her voice was low, almost sultry. Tempting. It was familiar. Viago was close with Teia, it wasn't a far leap to assume that the elf would have had contact with House Cantori. The casual seduction had Teia written all over it. The perfume also made a little more sense, the initial allure of the honeytrap. His assumption that she was trouble only felt more vindicated.

Bellara tittered away from her, half laughing and half nerves. “No! I'm okay. I like not being poisoned.”

“Shame, it's a fun one.” Rook hummed. “I can give you the rundown back at the Lighthouse. We have Venatori to gut and a legendary assassin to free.”

Knows of you. Likes the idea. Spite was prowling behind her, head cocked. What would. Poison taste like?

“Not as pleasant as you want.” He muttered, voice quiet and leaden feet finally following his odd saviors.

Taste like smells? So sweet. What is scent?

“Red berries and jasmine.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. How loud had he said that? Turning on her heel, she walked backwards to face him.

“Offer stands for you, too.” Her voice was just as alluring as before, but she had dipped her head toward her chest, looking up at him through her lashes.

Cheeky! I like her!

He blinked blandly back at her, cursing himself for letting the demon bait him into this situation. “I'm familiar enough with what the Fifth and Seventh Talons may have taught you.”

She tilted her head to the side, mischief touching her features. “No curiosity for what their talents combined might create?”

Spite is! Let me talk. More fun.

“I am perfectly content as is.” His tone was flat, emotion scrubbed free.

Boring! Let me out! Let me talk. Spite was raking claws through his psyche, his shade looming before him as he screamed. Outoutout! You cage! You trap!

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked past her, trying not to think about the myriad of poisons she could sprinkle on his leathers at this distance. Dealing with the demon was exhausting enough, a second Teia would simply be too much. There was a quiet scuff of her boot on the rock floor as she turned back around. The silent speed that had her matching his pace shortly after was unnerving. She seemed on the verge of saying something when they finally emerged back into the facility.

A group of Venatori had been desperately trying to set up the wards again, the blood magic causing his eyes to ache. The two Crows were in motion instantly, his daggers almost leaping into his hands and a crackling orb sparking to life in hers. Lightning magic explained her speed. Bellara was a few seconds slow on shrugging her bow off her shoulder, each assassin removing a blood mage before she had an arrow loose. The smell of ozone filled the room, like the air before a storm. He had expected the mage to fight at a distance, but she peppered the Venatori with quick bolts before lunging forward with the mageknife. Her magic jolted through their bodies at the contact, their writhing forms easy prey for his blades. And then she was shooting off to swipe the enchanted blade at the next target, sweeping their legs and falling upon them with a ferocious stab.

It had been some time since he last saw a Crow mage in a melee. Watching her parry a bolt of energy back at the caster before letting loose a scorching ray from the orb, walking slowly forward as the magic ate the man alive, quashed any doubts he had about her training. She danced and dashed among swinging blades, hunted down any mage that dared to fire in her direction, and was careful to curve her dagger around his and Bellara's strikes as they navigated the field. She was skilled. By the time the Venatori were dead, he had a seed of respect for her taking root. He had been afraid the flippant energy had meant he'd be babysitting another Illario in a fight. He had been wrong.

Smells of blood. Metal and sharp. Powerful.

Wiping his daggers clean on the tunic of a dead mage, he watched her sheath her weapon and shake her hands. Almost like she was trying to regain feeling in them. When she caught his eye, she gave him another wink. He frowned, turning away to pluck the key for the door from a corpse. She followed two steps behind him, quiet for a moment.

“You don't like the tactic.” Again, not a question.

“I was never fond of Teia’s method. It is more my cousin's style.” He rested a hand on the pommel of a dagger. “I prefer being direct.”

“Oh.” There was a note of disappointment coating the word. “Teia took me for a ride. She promised it would be funny, but she meant for herself, didn't she.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, busying himself with unlocking the door. “What?”

“Told me to tease you. Said it would be hilarious.” Was she pouting? “Now I just feel like a jerk and like I made a terrible first impression.”

“Would you have preferred I swoon?” The door opened silently under his touch.

She made a noncommittal noise in her throat. “If it made you a little less gloomy, sure. Laughing would have worked, too.”

Gloomy? He imagined he would look a little worse for wear, but gloomy?

She wants. A smile?

Ah. That felt beyond him.

“Rook messes with everyone.” Bellara chimed in, hovering several steps behind him. It made him wonder how long it would take to slip a dagger between her ribs from this distance. A few seconds, just a handful of quick steps. “Usually means she likes you!”

“Should I be flattered?” There was an almost bright note to his voice as he led them through to the next dilapidated chamber, perhaps an overcorrection on his part.

“Only if she stays nice with it.” She continued, her steps gaining an almost bouncing quality as they walked.

“Don't give away all my tells, Bell!” The mage feigned injury, hand pressed her chest, but the wide smile betrayed her intent. “I'll only look cool and capable until we get back to the Diamond.”

“Oh, was Viago not done? He sure yelled at you for a long time already…” Bellara gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“He could berate me for a week straight and still have a bone to pick.” She shook her head sadly. “Such is my lot.”

The two continued their inane banter for a while longer, but he ceased to listen. Instead, he focused on the twisting pull of his would be phylactery. Normally its presence filled him with dread. It still did, as they drew closer, but there was a note of dizzying anticipation. The shedding of the final chain. Freedom. His steps quickened, pulling ahead of the two women. He led the duo toward his target, singular focus trained ahead. And then he stopped, staring at the wide chasm that yawned between him and a very enthusiastic stabbing. The path had collapsed at some point and he faltered. He didn't know the facility well enough to pick an alternative route, if one even still stood.

“Ah. Damn.” Rook muttered, chewing on her thumb. “I really hoped we wouldn't come back this way. I don't have a plan for this.”

Just walk? Path is right there.

“What?” He forgot to quiet his voice, too baffled by the suggestion.

Do you not see? Oh! A path. Just for Spite! Poor Lucanis. Needs help! The demon was definitely laughing at him. I can pull. The path through. Let me reach.

Rook had turned a confused eye to him and he groused under the gaze. “He says he can pull something through.”

“Who..?” She started, but he was already holding a hand out.

Spite had pressed itself into his body, the ghostly avatar layering over his skin. He felt the demon grab something, weighty and odd, and together they pulled. Phantasmal rubble sprang into being over the gap, an echo of what used to be. It felt draining in a strange way, an inkling that the path wouldn't stay forever.

“You can just do that?” The mage gasped.

“I'm as surprised as you.” He breathed before shaking his head. “I don't think it lasts, let's move.”

That seemed to light a fire under them as they quickly scrambled to the other side. The route grew more precarious as they went, large chunks of the facility sheared away from itself to form deadly chasms. Bellara had fallen silent, staring down at her feet as they shimmied along a crumbling wall. Rook for her part was almost trapezing along the rubble, lips curled faintly in a smile. She paused as they reached the next section of fractured flooring, head tilting.

“Demons.” Her voice was almost flat.

He stole a peek, sizing up the several prowling shades. “Zara’s pets. That’s what success looks like.”

She gave a hum at that before tossing him a wild grin. “I’ll get their attention. Looking forward to seeing you work again!”

Before either he or Bellara could object, the mage was vaulting over a broken pillar. Lightning crackled as her orb materialized, her mageknife rolling once in her hand. She took bounding steps, running the outer ring of the platform as her weapons streamed magic. The demons swarmed towards her like moths to a flame. Lucanis cursed under his breath, sliding down the slight incline to try and close the distance. Bellara had begun nocking arrows, firing into the mass from her vantage point. He wasn’t going to make it before the creatures reached the elf. Why did all his jobs go south?

He loosed a handful of throwing daggers, downing one demon and staggering another. That earned him a few more seconds. It might actually be fine so long as she kept running. Except she turned on her heel without warning, her orb shimmering into a second dagger as she lunged into the mass of monsters. She planted the two blades into the heart of one demon and then pulled. The air sounded like it was torn apart violently, a violet maw cut open with electricity and lightning slicing free. It floored several demons, easy prey for his daggers. As the magic fizzled away she was throwing out another spell, a carpet of thunder that sent her jumping backwards with a cackle. For a split second, the magic almost looked like a cloud of feathers before it too evaporated.

When the creatures finally recovered, most of them were dissipating back to the Fade. The stragglers went down easily to the dancing blades and patient arrows. He huffed as he pulled a dagger free from the steadily disappearing corpse under his boot. Rook was back to shaking her hands, bouncing from foot to foot for a moment. The sounds of rocks being displaced announced Bellara joining them on the lower platform.

“You,” he started slowly, pointing a blade at the mage, “are reckless.”

“But it tends to work.” She gave him a lopsided smile.

“Until it doesn’t.” He clipped.

“S’why I have you guys!”

“Rook…” Bellara cut in, her tone scolding.

The mage sighed, holding her hands up in surrender. “Fine, sorry. Proper plan before the next fight.”

“With any luck, our ‘next fight’ is Calivan.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now as he started to pick his way further into the facility.

She was silently at his side again with no warning. “Was there a specific way you wanted to deal with him? It is your contract, after all.”

“Oh, do Crows not usually work together?” Bellara asked, popping up on his other side.

Rook hummed, shrugging. “If you belong to the same House and your Talon tells you to? Then sure. Between Houses is more rare, but poaching a contract is frowned upon. Unless they super fuck it up, anyways. Besides just being rude and an insult, the buyer can use it to try and weasel out of paying which causes all sorts of issues. But since I’m here on a contract for the First Talon, I think we’re good. I don’t plan on trying to cash in on the Calivan contract either.”

“If you help me take him down,” Lucanis cut in quietly, “you would be entitled to the reward.”

She gave him a queer look at that, head tilting slightly. “Viago would likely take any gold I make. Besides, your whole thing is killing mages. I don’t want to get in your way.”

“And here I thought you had a fondness for attention.” He mused.

A wide grin slowly stole across her face. “Is the Demon of Vyrantium teasing me?”

“Surely not, I’m gloomy after all.”

“Bell, I need you to pinch me.” She extended an arm behind his back, causing every alarm in his mind to scream. “This has to be a dream.”

The sound of the other elf gently slapping her hand away with a laugh had him quickening his steps. They responded well enough if he played along, good to know. It kept them distracted, but that had its uses. He didn't fully trust having another Crow from an ostensibly rival House at his back, but he could only dedicate so much worry towards her right now. If Caterina had truly given de Riva the contract to rescue him, she was maybe safe enough.

He had a bigger target to focus on. Confronting Calivan had a few ways to play out. If they were lucky, he was holed up in a chamber with deep shadows and high perches. Dropping on the man from above to crush the air from his lungs as daggers bit deep would be ideal. Quick but brutal. Given the state of the facility, however, it was far more likely the mage would be in an annoyingly open area with next to no cover. Getting to punch him into submission had its allure, but it was messy. Unreliable. Dangerous. He did have a mage and ranged support, so a head to head confrontation would likely go better than usual. It made him uneasy, but a little trust would go a long way.

“When we find Calivan,” he started suddenly, voice even, “if he's in a place where I can take him down from stealth, that works perfectly. I think it more likely he'll see us coming a mile away with the state the Ossuary is in. Which means I'll likely be the distraction whether I want to or not.”

“I'll make sure to shock him within an inch of his life for you.” Her grin had a hungry edge to it this time, the job bringing a sharp focus.

“Helping with a Crow contract…” Bellara sounded almost in awe at the idea. “The Jumpers won't believe me.”

“We gotta find him first.” Rook hummed before she stopped suddenly, catching the edge of his leathers and tugging gently to have him follow suit. He almost wrenched it violently from her grasp, a year of bad memories leaping up at the touch. “Lots of Fade activity ahead. It's a mage at the very least, could be Calivan though.”

“Quick and quiet, then.” He murmured the little mantra, blades snapping into his hands as he prowled forward.

It was, unfortunately, not their target or his blood vial. Instead it was an underling trying to fend off loose demons. They simply waited for the mage to finish killing off the monsters before quietly approaching and putting an end to the Venatori. The next few chambers were just as disappointing. More demons and abominations to be put down to clear the path, the facility seeming to hold an obnoxious amount of them. The tug was growing more incessant and there was a sense of familiarity to the area. He'd walk this path many times on the way to the Venatori lab. His stomach twisted at the thought. That singular room held many horrors for him.

For us. Spite hissed.

There was a nagging worry as they entered the large chamber that functioned as a torturous lab. If they didn't want to break his phylactery, if instead they wanted to use it, would he have time to stop them? Would it be better to lead the way, forcing them to pass him to seize control, or hover behind them, daggers hungry?

He was playing and replaying the scenario in his mind as they took in the remains of the less fortunate subjects. When they quietly destroyed the many Venatori crystals locking them out, he was favoring the plan that let him bury a knife in each back with one strike. He let them walk in first, eyes watching their weapons carefully as they beheld the sizable phylactery.

“I’m guessing the monstrous vial is yours?” Rook offered weakly, trying to force a note of mirth into the words and failing.

His daggers slipped silently from their sheaths. “Destroy it and let's move on.” His voice was level, not quite emotionless, but peaceful. Encouraging.

“Should we-” Bellara started, but she cut herself off with a yelp.

The vial exploded without warning as Rook flung her mageknife at it. The loud shattering was the most beautiful sound he had heard in his life. She shifted a foot back, bracing, as the fiery laser leapt from her hand again. The blood concoction ignited, burning any lingering connection to a crisp. His daggers were sheathed in the next instant, eyes fixed on the mage. There was a familiar cold calculation to her features, the Crow focus brushing aside the lopsided grin. There was a deeper emotion buried in it, almost like a fury. That was interesting.

Free. Spite seemed to breathe the word. She freed us. She hated. The final chain. Why?

Maybe she knew something about being controlled like that. Maybe as a mage she simply had a dislike for phylacteries. Maybe the mere thought of dominating someone like that sat ill with her. He didn't have an answer for the demon. So he remained quiet as they boarded the elevator, focusing instead on carving his path to Calivan. Killing the man wouldn't make up for what had been done to him, but it would feel good. He'd take the scrap of positivity.

His mind turned back to planning, imagining sinking a dagger to the hilt in his tormentor. If they gave him the time, there were several places he could plant a knife before finally killing the man. A little payback would be nice. Some kind of retribution for the cruelty.

“So,” Rook's voice sliced through his murderous fantasy abruptly as Bellara seemed to huff next to her, “what's Caterina like, usually?”

Was she trying to fill the time? Couldn't she have asked anything else? He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. “I've been gone so long, I fear I don't remember.”

She seemed to flinch, a quick hunching of her shoulders. “Right. Well… we’ll have you reunited soon enough it won't matter.”

The elevator thunking to a stop saved them both from trying to salvage the conversation. Rook led them down the crumbling hallway with quick steps, a sharp focus coming over her. She was almost darting forward, seemingly appearing on top of piles of rubble to look ahead. She had pulled the hood of her leathers up to hide her shocking red hair as she scouted. An unhappy hum escaped her as she bounded back to them.

“Big open space. Might be some side rooms, but… we should be ready for a fight with little cover.”

Iron and salt. Screams and curses. Blood for blood. Kill Calivan.

It felt like Spite was clawing at the world from behind his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, neck cracking. “Time to work. Ready?”

Bellara swallowed heavily, but gripped her bow tightly in hand and nodded. “If he doesn't know Rook and I are here, then that gives us an edge.”

Rook flicked her mageknife into hand, the blade glinting as her orb crackled to life. “Quick and quiet.” It was unto a prayer for their work, her features sharp and focused.

“Quick and quiet.” He echoed before he stepped into the open.

The Venatori mage was waiting for them, in a sense. A ritual circle was carved into the floor, a permanent fixture to the chamber. He had been turning a slow circle, observing the runes, when Lucanis stepped into the open. The jailer clicked his tongue in almost disgust, an exaggerated shrug lifting his shoulders.

“Of course it’s you.” He spat. “Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won’t this be ironic?’ We should have killed you months ago when the demon never manifested. Waste of time and effort.”

The Crow didn’t wait, daggers in hand as he sprinted towards the man. If the monster wanted to taunt, let him waste the air. The Fade fizzled as glaring red orbs sprang up around his target, forcing him to spend precious time dodging left and right. He caught a brief blur out of the corner of his eye as his knife lunged out. The blade caught against the mage’s staff, his offhand punching towards the man’s gut. The burn of magic in the air stung his eyes, his strike missing as the Venatori fade stepped away. The scream that followed from the mageknife biting into his back brought a ravenous grin to his lips.

Rook had used his initial rush to dart around the little piles of rubble and crumbling pillars. Calivan had positioned himself directly in front of her hiding place and she had wasted no time capitalizing on it. Her magic sparked along his body, shimmering as it pinged off the barrier so common to mages. Calivan spun with a snarl, swinging his staff towards her, but she tossed out her own spell. The carpet of electric feathers blinded the man as she darted back into the shadows.

“You made friends. Was the demon not enough?”

The taunt was met with two daggers swinging for his neck, the barrier cracking heavily under the dual strike. He snarled, a wave of red crystals erupting from under his feet that left a flaming trail. It forced Lucanis to leap backwards, daggers held defensively against a follow up attack that never came. An arrow cracked loudly against the barrier and it shattered as Calivan half turned with the strike, a red line cut into his cheek. Spite surged at the smell of blood, a fury and glee rushing through his limbs with such strength it caused his hands to shake.

Blood for blood! Screams and curses! Iron and salt!

The manic chanting caused his head to swim, his step faltering. It earned him a crimson bolt in the shoulder. The pain grounded him and he let the attack’s momentum spin him into a low crouch. A throwing dagger was plucked from his belt and loosed in the motion, gifting the mage a matching pain. Two more arrows arced towards Calivan, a zigzagging shadow rapidly approaching from behind. His angry summons sliced through the air, the force of the Fade bursting open throwing the two Crows back as a lumbering demon took the mage’s place. That… that was a problem. Lightning crackled along its body as it clawed into the physical realm. Lucanis took two steps back, assessing, trying to find the weak point, bracing for an attack. A familiar mad laugh reached his ears, his gaze stuttering over to Rook.

Her orb was streaming magic again, held aloft like a beacon as a wide grin split her lips. “Now there’s a challenge!”

She was taunting demons again. It turned on her with a starved hunger, blade lashing out. Lightning arced along her legs, the air burning with her magic and she seemed to blink around the strikes the demon aimed at her. Her cackle matched Spite’s own echoing laugh in his mind. She was weaving closer and closer to the demon before her orb seemed to snap out, snagging the demon’s blade mid strike. It flicked the weapon back into the creature’s face and it staggered backwards. Three daggers and a flurry of arrows descended in an instant, the thing screeching. The next exchange of blows it managed were weaker, scattered, and Bellara managed to bury two expertly shot arrows into its core. It died with the sound of dry wood cracking.

Victory was short as Calivan manifested where the demon had stood, a look of pure fury on his face. The shimmer of his barrier was back and as he fade stepped out of the way of more arrows, several copies of himself popped into existence. They all smiled with his sickening grin, but the gloating ended abruptly. Rook had lunged forward into the center of the clones, two magic daggers sparking. The air was rended, a loud cracking of lightning heralding the devastating tear she had used earlier. Calivan staggered, alone in the center of the room and cursing. The line of spikes he sent out with a furious growl did catch Rook before she could recover from her casting, sending her staggering over a pile of rubble.

Two more arrows thudded into the man before he could chase the downed Crow. He spun with a snarl, launching a barrage towards the archer. It was all the opening Lucanis needed. He was behind Calivan like a dark shadow, one dagger slipping easily between the ribs to puncture the heart, the other drawing a quick line across the throat. The mage sputtered, hand grasping uselessly at his neck before he crumpled. Lucanis let him slide off his blade with a heavy thud.

“The Crows send their regards.” Was all he offered, bending down to wipe the blood from his daggers on the rich robes of the Venatori.

Cold and quiet! Heavy chains, scraping metal, sharp edges! Silent and gone!

The demon's celebration felt like it was rattling his teeth. Bellara was sprinting to where Rook was struggling to sit up, the mage rubbing her legs gingerly. Her leathers were singed, but she appeared fine otherwise. She was wincing as the elf helped her to her feet. With wobbling steps, she joined Lucanis over the body.

“Well, one contract down.” A lopsided grin settled on her lips.

Lucanis nodded, his response drowned by Spite.

Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet!

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the demon manifesting at his side, to the point where he almost missed Rook's question.

“Lucanis? Are you good?”

Careful. They know. We're not right.

“You cannot see him. I had wondered…” His voice was tinged with weary curiosity.

“Alright, vaguely ominous. But more on all that later.” She waved it away. “I'm tired of the ocean, aren't you?”

An earnest laugh rumbled in his chest. “More than you know. Lead the way.”

She seemed to beam at his response. “Oh, does your plus one have a name or… title? How do demons like to be addressed…”

A wry smile tugged at his lips as they filed out of the chamber. “It's Spite.”

Requested Tags: @weaponizedvirtue

[orangedogsquad]

Mr gummybear had his final post dental checkup today. At long last, the one gum site that refused to heal has fully healed!

[ponyboi-69]

.Here we go. Send good vibes and wish me good luck.

[aerodaltonimperial]

I'm really not used to people paying attention to me, I just sort of lost most of my wrestle fandom friends in the past year or so, and I guess I just want to say hi? Thanks for being here? I've gotten more followers in the past week than I've gotten in several months. 💚