#I can't spell ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭

[lymtw]

Toji and his shy girl cuddle fucking WHO SAID THAT

A/N: EEHEE I heard it too 🤭 Even if the echo took a while to reach me 😔 No, but really, I loved this! It's been a while since i've written out a request 😅 I'm excited to start trying some of these, again :)

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

"Hey, you," Toji says, grinning like a menace at the way your body minimally jolts, like he scared you. "You don't like me or something?"

You turn to look at him, a barely there crease between your brows. "What? I do. What do you mean?"

"I mean, why don't you wanna be with me? You're sitting on your own island over there, while i'm over here... all alone... feeling like chopped liver."

He's cute, you think. Playfully dramatic enough to make you giggle. It's always nice to know he wants you around, too, when you keep your distance to give him that choice.

"I just thought you would want some space, is all," you explain. "This is a pretty long movie, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Would sitting with me make you uncomfortable?" Toji asks.

"No," you respond, though the thought of sitting next to him or on him, has your heart rate picking up. Most of the time, Toji wants it to be the latter, and when this happens, it feels like he's peeking af your soul. You feel like every nerve in your body is tingling and like your skeleton is buzzing. You know he can sense your nervousness, most of the time, and yet he doesn't take it easy on you. His patience, his charm, and his irresistible way of trying to seduce you—none of it ever gets easier to withstand without you feeling flustered.

"You're comfortable, I'm comfortable. We're both comfortable, so, come closer, sweetheart." He sees hesitance flash through your features, before you finally give in and start inching closer.

"Come on. Closer, baby," Toji instructs, watching as you continue to inch towards him. "Look at all this space. Get rid of it."

He chuckles at the properness of your folded hands in your lap, when you sit on the edge of the couch cushion, in front of his legs. "You're gonna stop there and keep watching the movie all uncomfortable?"

"It's fine," you say, smiling at him before facing forward, again. You can feel him staring at you as you try to focus on the movie. His hand goes to your thigh, an act that has your heart beating rapidly in your chest, close to being heard in your ears. He tugs at your sweatpants, earning your attention.

"I'll spell it out for you, doll. I want you here, lying right in front of me. Wanna cuddle with you and shit." You return your gaze to the screen and though anybody would think that it's rude, because it seems like you're ignoring him, Toji knows what it means. He knows it's hard for you to hold eye contact with him, sometimes, and that you looking away gives you time to collect your thoughts and prepare what you want to respond with.

"But you won't be able to see the movie," you say, as a last ditch effort to let him enjoy the movie without obstructing his view and invading his personal space.

"We'll make it work. Just come here. Please?" He pats the spot in front of him, directing you to lie right where he wants you.

"Okay," you say, more to yourself than to him. You scoot down a little more, before lying down on your side, on the exact spot he said he was wanted you. In an instant, you're swallowed up by him. He pulls you in so that you're pressed up against him, his leg overlaps yours, and his face goes straight for your neck.

"T-Toji, I know you can't see the movie. I can go back, if you want."

"Mm-mm. Nope. It's all good. Got what I need," he assures, low against your neck, a hand planted on your stomach. "Pretty baby," he murmurs, pressing kisses onto your skin. "You smell so fucking good."

You feel like some sort of soothing toy for him, with the way any time you sit with him, you end up stealing his focus and withstanding the way he mouths at your skin and runs his hands all over you.

"You comfortable? Have enough space?" He asks, kissing your earlobe. You nod in response and he hums, a click of his tongue and a couple pats to your stomach, expressing his disapproval of the nonverbal confirmation. "Say it, baby. Yes or no?"

"Sorry. Yes, i'm comfortable," you confirm, in a manner more to his liking.

"Mm... you're so good to me, doll," Toji praises, adding a kiss to the appreciation.

He understands that sometimes it's difficult for you to say things out loud and you'll dismiss your own discomfort for the sake of not having to verbalize what is bothering you. It's why he's so adamant on hearing you talk, over seeing you nod or shake your head in response to things. He's working on this with you. He's heard 'sorry' so many times, now, and each time, he rejects your apology, deeming it unnecessary, because he knows you're trying.

Things are still for a few moments. You get fully comfortable, lying there on the couch, with Toji spooning you, and manage to refocus on the movie. His hand goes under your shirt, meeting the warmth of your skin. It's a gesture that disturbs the calmness of your heart, as well as your focus on the TV, again.

"This okay?" He asks, caressing your stomach, occasionally pinching it, gently.

"Mhm," you hum, in response, before pretending to pay attention to the movie. You're too distracted by the dragging of his fingertips and the goosebumps he lures onto your skin. You're sure he can feel them, too, because his hand starts wandering higher up your torso, like he wants to get more reactions from you. You shift minimally when his fingers slide beneath the elastic band of your sports bra, grazing the bottom part of your breast.

"Still comfortable?" Toji asks, keeping his hand still until he receives a response from you.

"Yeah... you're okay," you assure, once again, resting your hand on his forearm. Your breath hitches when his fingertips brush against your nipple. Toji grins at the involuntarily squeeze you offered his arm, finding amusement in the way your body reacts to his touch.

Toji chuckles, lowly, at all your sudden fidgeting. "Does that feel good, mama? Want me to keep going?" He asks, planting a kiss on your shoulder. You're not stopping him. If anything, he can feel you gently pushing his arm so that his entire hand goes up your bra. "It's alright. You can tell me," he says, encouraging you to respond.

"It feels good. Please..." Your soft voice halts, a shuddered exhale released through your nose.

"Mhm, give me more. Please, what?" He says, baiting a more elaborate response from you. "Just saying 'please' doesn't tell me what you need, pretty."

"Please... keep touching me." You cringe, internally, the second the words come out. You don't even realize how proud Toji is or get to indulge in the praise he offers, because you're too busy overthinking what you just said.

"That was perfect," Toji murmurs, scattering light kisses onto your neck. His enormous hand stretches your bra, and grabs ahold of your breast. "I'll give you anything you want, sweetheart. Anything. The trick is... you gotta ask for it."

That alone is enough to teach you another lesson on not always being able to get what you want. It's not always so easy for you to ask Toji for things. He's seen you get frustrated, because of this. It happens, even if your frustration is never loud and you don't raise your voice or throw a tantrum. It's quite the opposite. Too many questions to your initial request, results in you shaking your head, as if to say, 'never mind. I'll do it myself'. Having to repeat yourself too many times, gets a similar result. Even in times when he's just asking you to describe something more, you lose patience with yourself and your inability to communicate what you need, efficiently, and essentially give up on explaining it to him, doing it yourself, instead.

It's times like these that really help you out in that aspect. You want something that you can make yourself feel, but receiving it from Toji makes it so much better, because of the element of surprise. You give him access to your entire body and he gives you everything you could ever want in terms of pleasure. You never know where he's going to touch you and what he's going to touch you with.

"You understand?" Toji asks, seeking comprehension from you. A small whimper interrupts the silence of an expected response. "I know. Tell me," he encourages.

Your grip on his arm gets tighter and more of your restrained soft sounds reach his ears as he keeps rolling your stiffened peak between his fingers. You gasp when he shifts his attention to your other breast and writhe in his arms. "Y-Yes—please—yes, Toji. I understand."

"Sensitive thing." He chuckles. "Look at that little arch. Bet you're soaked, already, huh?"

"Oh... god, i'm sorry," you mumble, relaxing your back against him, again. You feel like you could implode with how much attention you're being given. You just want to shrink and hide under the couch, and just watch the rest of the movie from there.

"You're fine, doll. I know the slightest touch does a lot to you," he says, brushing over your nipple, knowing that your reaction will emphasize his point. "You nervous?"

You groan in response to the question and turn your head so that your face is planted in the pillow, earning another deep chuckle from Toji.

"I'm not gonna eat you, mama," he jokes, grinning at the way your body trembles with contained amusement. "I mean... I can't lie and say I haven't thought about it before. You're sweeter than any candy or cookie—even cake. You're sweeter than all of it, but I need you here with me, so I can't... I won't eat you, alright?" His method of getting you to lighten up worked enough to lure giggles from you. "Yeah, there you go. Relax. Just wanna love on you," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your shoulder. "Wanna make you feel good. You want that, gorgeous?"

Throughout your time with Toji, you've learned that he's a very hands on man. He's constantly seeking your warmth and softness, because physical touch is his love language and he'll put in the work to get you to comfortably connect with him that way, too. You find that sometimes when you're lying in his bed, ready for the sleep part of sleeping over, he'll stick his head up your shirt and just fall asleep like that on your chest. It's easy for him to relax when he can hear your heart wildly beating in your chest. Sometimes, randomly, when you're just sitting next to him, he'll pick you up and set you down on him, just to watch you get flustered when he starts talking to you within such a close proximity. He loves the way you scramble to escape his sight, always ending up with your face buried in his neck.

"Aw, don't go all quiet on me, now, pretty. You know better. Say what's on your mind." His hand slides out of your bra and goes back down to your stomach, the roughness of his palm rubbing your soft skin. You don't like making him beg for you. He's patient enough with your nervous tendencies, you know he doesn't deserve it.

"I want you, Toji," you say, softly. It's a huge contrast to the hammering going on in your chest and the annoying rhythm in your ears.

"Yeah? Keep fucking going, baby. How do you want me?"

"Please," you mumble, reverting back to the familiarity of simplicity.

"No, not like that. Give me a little more," Toji clarifies.

"I... I want you to touch me... and make me feel good. Want you to feel good, too."

You feel and hear the rumble of his laugh behind you, a sound that makes your fingertips tingle and your stomach erupt with butterflies all over again.

"You precious angel. You want me to fuck you?"

You don't know how long you can last with your heart beating so fast. It's a miracle that it hasn't exploded, with how it's almost always racing when you're around Toji.

You feel like your face is on fire, but you nod, and offer a soft, yet, clear, "yes, please," giving Toji the consenting words he's been listening closely for.

"Alright, ma. You just focus on the rest of the movie and i'll take care of you, 'kay?"

"Mhm," you hum, in response. You pull on the drawstring of your pajama bottoms and begin pulling them down with one hand. Toji watches with a sly smirk on his face as he feels you shift around, more of your skin coming into view. This is your effort. This is what makes him love you so damn much. You try for him. He knows your heart is probably shambles, as you kick the article off and wait for what's to come, but you're showing him that you want this, and that means beyond everything to him.

"You're so perfect, my girl," he says, pressing kisses to your ear. "So, so perfect..." he trails off when his fingers meet the wetness of your panties. He was right. You're utterly soaked. His hand dips into your underwear, instantly greeted by your warmth as he keeps digging. Two fingers drag through your slit, back and forth, for just long enough to have you fidgeting as he collects a sample of your sweetness. Once your thighs attempt to shut around his hand, craving more, he pulls it out and admires the glossy coating on his fingers. Without hesitation, he brings the digits into his mouth, a low hum of satisfaction leaving him as he licks them clean. His cock is throbbing in his pants, straining mercilessly against his boxers as he savors the aftertaste of you on his tongue.

"Straight up fucking sugar," Toji murmurs, as he hastily starts pulling down his own pants, ready to get a feel of what he just tasted. There's a breathiness in his voice, urgency that you can't process, because you can barely believe he sounds that way after tasting you. Then you feel it—the monster he packs, pressing against you.

"I'm all hard, just for you, pretty," he murmurs in your ear, as he starts grinding his bulge against your ass. "Feel that?" He groans. "It's all for you. All yours." He plants a kiss on your neck and halts the movement of his hips against you. His hand returns beneath your shirt, a slow drag up your abdomen, towards your chest. His fingers dip beneath the elastic once more and splay over your breast, squeezing. He can feel the stutter in your chest as he feels up the entirety of it. You keep fidgeting against him, and he recognizes this as your way of saying you need more.

"You ready for me?" He asks, still toying with your stiffened, sensitive peaks.

"Ready," you respond, maintaining your voice as steady and clear as possible. You squeeze his hand through your shirt for deeper assurance.

Toji smiles softly at your little gesture and pulls his hand out of your shirt. Just as he did when he was directing his touch towards your chest, he follows the same path down, tracing your curves until his hand makes it way between your legs. He moves the gusset of your underwear aside, an act that has you shaking your foot against the couch cushion.

"Relax, sweet girl," Toji hums, a low chuckle following. He lowers his boxers enough to pull his throbbing, drooling cock out and smears the precum that beads on his tip all over his length. Once it's all covered he guides his tip to the warm, slick ridden space between your legs. After running it through your slit a few times, to hear the squelching sounds and your little whimpers when he catches your clit, he slowly starts sinking into you.

"There, baby," Toji murmurs. His warm palm rubs the softness of your stomach and he scatters wet little kisses on your shoulder and your neck, all while he continues feeding your cunt his inches. "You're so fucking cute," he coos, listening closely to the sound of your little whimpers and gasps. "Fuck..." he groans, once his hips are flush against you. He can feel the way you clench and flutter around his pulsing cock, making the fit even more snug for seconds at a time.

"All good, little lady?" He asks, pinching your goosebump covered stomach.

"Mhm," you hum, a chime of your giggle following.

Toji's hold on you is secure. He has you. Warm and gentle caresses and brushes of his fingers on your skin prove it, along with the way he languidly grinds his hips against you, as if to remind you that you're connected in the most physically intimate way. It's not like you could ignore it, anyway. You feel all of him. His warmth, his strength, his company. It's impossible to ignore Toji.

"This movie's pretty boring, huh?" He asks, not even paying attention to what's going on, like he hasn't been since you crawled into his arms.

"You're not even watching," you reason, smiling at the kisses he presses to your ear.

"Got a reaaally good distraction right in front of me." He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. "So warm and pretty and mmm... Can't focus on anything else," he purrs.

"It's okay. You can choose the next... the next one, too..." you gasp at the slow thrusts he offers. With every roll of his hips, his cock slides out just about halfway before sheathing back into the velvety warmth of your walls.

"I don't want to watch TV, anymore. Wanna watch you," he murmurs, monitoring your reactions to his movement. Every twitch, every shift of your legs against his. It's adorable, the way you push your face just a little bit more into the pillow when he tries to get a peek at you.

"Like that, baby?" He murmurs, a deep groan following. "Mhm? Yeah, I know," he says, like he's responding to your moan.

"Toji," you hum out, an unintentional amount of sultriness dripping off his name.

"Fucking- god,you sound so pretty, mama. Let me hear that again. Do it again."

His hips pick up the pace a little, just enough to coax more of those melodic sounds of yours. His hand dips lower, proceeding down the front of your underwear, his thick fingers gliding down towards your slippery clit. It doesn't take much of this electric addition to your pleasure to have you squirming and writhing against him. It's hard not to want to squish his hand between your thighs.

You whimper, a slight arch curving your back. Your clammy, shaky hands grip onto the couch cushion beneath you, your knuckles protruding from the force you put into your hold. You think he's on the brink of devouring you—absorbing you— with how he's holding you like you'll teleport into space if he lets go for a second.

"Say my name," he says, calmly, directly in your ear. "Call for me, sweetheart. Who's touching you? Who's making you feel like this?"

"T-Toji," you obediently pronounce, meekly, yet, to the man's utmost satisfaction.

"Again—fuck, baby—again," he groans, speeding up his fingers on your clit. He knows the motions spiked your pleasure because of how your body tensed up against him.

Sloppy kisses are pressed to your nape, as well as the side of your neck, where you know fully well that he must have left a plethora of marks already. You can hear the consistent sharp breaths he releases through his nose as he begins to desperately roll his hips into you, chasing what's coming up on him ridiculously fast. He's not aggressive—not entirely soft—but there's just enough movement to where you can hear a slight creak in the couch.

"Toji," you croon, softly. "T-Toji, Toji," you repeat, a high pitched whimper ending your little chain of his name.

"Oh, you're so fucking sweet, doll. So fucking sweet..." he mutters, his voice deep enough to make goosebumps spread anew, all over you. He hums at the feeling of your cunt erratically clenching around him. It's a tell tale sign—along with the frequency of your precious little sounds—of how you're right there, about to cum all over his twitching cock.

Toji loves how flustered you get when he has you tell him that you're about to cum, but he also loves the abruptness that comes with you being so overwhelmed by his touch and how he handles you, that for a few seconds you tense up and release all the sounds that bubble up in your chest, caving to the relentless amount of pleasure you feel without a warning.

"You're my pretty girl," Toji says, lowly, grinning when that's all it takes for you to gasp and arch off his front. Your body trembles and your thighs squeeze around his hand when his fingers continue to rub your clit. His tip just continues to prod at the sensitive spot within you, further intensify the sensation coursing through you. You're aware of how your moans have gotten louder and attempt to muffle them with the pillow, but your breathy little cries can be heard, regardless.

They spur on Toji's own release. His hand comes out of your underwear to avoid overstimulating you and glides up your abdomen, aiming towards your chest. He grabs ahold of one of your breasts, his hand smothering the entire thing as he squeezes and kneads it. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, his thrusts more punctuated, and a little faster in pace. The creaking of the couch is more frequent, as are his groans in your ear. His hold on you is tight. With his forearm having brought you back as close as you can be to him, you're locked in. With a few more thrusts, into your dripping wet warmth, he's spilling his load into you, breathy, deep voiced expletives tumbling off his lips as smears your gooey walls with all the warm, creamy substance.

"F-Fuck..." he groans, slowing the roll of his hips to a languid grind. "I got you," he says, chuckling at the gasp you let out from being filled even more. He drags unfocused, wet kisses over your shoulder and stills his hips entirely with a heavy breath. "Got you, mama." He loosens his hold on you, allowing you to breathe and move a little more freely. "Good?"

"Mhm. Good," you assure.

"Good. Gimme a kiss," he requests, smirking at the sound of your tittering. "What? You laughing at me 'cause I want a little smooch?"

"No," you say, through soft, but, more audible giggling.

"You promise?" He says, grinning at the slight tremble of your shoulders as your twinkles of laughter continue. "I'll let it slide, just this once. Now, give me a kiss, baby."

With a smile lingering on your face—the aftermath of your short giggle fit—you lie back a little and crane your neck as much as you comfortably can. Toji leans in the rest of the way and presses his lips to your sweet, lip balm layered ones, brushing them over and over as if he's parched and you're a glass of water. Both of your bodies react to the spark of desire reigniting through the gentle gesture. You can feel him throbbing inside you, while he can feel you clenching around him. His hand pawing at your chest makes butterflies swarm in your stomach and fuels the fluttering going on below.

You hear the dramatic background music of the movie's end credits and break the kiss, facing forward. You realize now that you paid just as much attention as he did—almost none—even when you agreed to keep watching as he touched you.

"Play another boring one," Toji says, behind you, already nipping at your ear, because your attention isn't solely on him anymore.

"But you won't watch it," you say, shuddering at the chill that runs down your spine, when you feel his lips behind your ear.

"That's the point."

[jebunkle]

sleepy time with chrysos heirs heh, gn!reader, written before finishing 3.0 ahaaa

imagine aglaea sitting on her velvet sofa, threading her nimble fingers through your scalp, combing through your hair. her loving gaze is locked on your restful face, a look of pure admiration. she lifts one of her hands to slide over your cheek, circling the pad of her thumb over your soft skin.

as you slowly stir from her gentle caresses, she whispers a soft command to you. “my dear,” she looks into your barely opened eyes, “return to your slumber. i am right here.” her sultry voice flows through your ears, placing what seems to be a sleepy spell over you. your hand reaches up to graze aglaea's, her jade colored eyes soften at your tired touch.

think of the airy chuckle that phainon emits after accidentally waking you up for the third time. he can't help how ethereally peaceful you look while asleep, he can't help the way his hands automatically drift to cup your face, and he can't help how his stomach does flips by just looking at you. the early dawn shines through the curtains of you and phainon's abode, signaling that it was now morning and there was work to be completed;

despite this, phainon didn't have the heart to shake you awake. he knew that there were duties for both you and him to carry out, but isn't it so much nicer to lay at home with his sweetheart? “go back to sleep, love.”

mydei's typical intense gaze is abnormally gentle as he stares at you. the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest against his torso is practically a lullaby to him, yet he can't fall into slumber, due to the fact that he'd rather die again then pry his eyes from your tranquil form.

why can't he seem to rest normally when with you?

instead of his answer coming as he ponders, he hears the slightest mumble from you. mydei immediately glares at your face, searching for a hint of awakeness, but finds himself to be oddly relieved when he sums it up as sleep talking. hesitantly, he brings his hand to your back, massaging soft patterns into the skin. “what're you doing to me?” he mutters in a false annoyance.

thank u @/enchanthings-a & @/hyuneskkami for the dividers :p

if you enjoyed this, like/reblog so i know if i should make more!!! experimenting rn

[queenoftsage]

Actually it's 'too' easy to .... and yeah it's 'safe' space.

I mean, people on the right can't seem to understand grammar or spelling... for shit.

... go figure.

[strwbrychffoncke]

"tell me why would we be here if this ain't meant to be?,, <1k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: your souls tethered together in an invisible bond ,words aren't always needed to spell out your shared feelings for one another contains: fluff! lnds sylus x mc!reader ,established relationship ,soft!sylus ,minimal dialogue ,cozy atmosphere ,kissing ,making out ,napping together ,v vague reference to sylus myth ,i think thats it note: (mostly edited!) something short and simple since i spoiled sylus the other day....

-

you liked it like this.

the base was quiet this time around. the twins handled some small errands today while mephisto was sent out to gather any notable intel in preparation for an upcoming auction. sylus had his work cut out for him to check over before the day in several weeks to come.

despite this, you found yourself in the warm embrace of none other than the onychinus leader himself— sleeved arms wrapped snuggly around your center, holding you close to his slowly rising and falling chest, nose nestled above your head, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair care products. he sighs in contentment.

you liked it like this.

you were curled up close against him, his warmth seeping through his loungewear into your fingertips and further down your body, calm breaths mingling together in the quiet of the room— save for one of sylus' many, many records spinning on the nearby record player, needle dragging across the thin indented lines of the large flat disk, the slight skip it makes going unnoticed by you, but sylus makes a mental note to clean it thoroughly later.

you liked it like this.

no words needed to be exchanged in this moment between the two of you. the momentary solace of being with each other like this, consumed within each others space, safe within the others' arms— even if you wanted to chastise sylus for putting off his work, you couldn't bring yourself to chase him away from the comfort he held you in right now. you tighten your hold on him, nuzzling your face deeper into his chest.

you liked it like this.

you feel the rumble of his laughter through his chest, his body shaking slightly with the action as his hands begin to caress your head in a steady pattern, one after the other, further coaxing you closer to him if that were even possible.

"holding me hostage here? how will i ever get back to work?"

his tone is a mix of teasing and amused, affectionately petting your hair as one would the soft head of an affectionate cat.

"you can't, you're not allowed to," you declare, peeking up at him, eyes creased in amusement and promise.

"i'd never even consider it, sweetie," he muses, eyes meeting yours before leaning down to plant a sweet kiss onto your head.

you like it like this.

you could feel his heartbeat at this proximity, rhythm quick yet steady— a measure of his feelings for you, his contentedness in having you with him here, just like this, together in his dim bedroom, the moon casting its glow on the two entangled lovers in their moment of respite. you can't help but to tug on the fabric of his soft sleep shirt suddenly, pulling back slightly only to lean up when he peers down at you and capturing his lips with yours.

you like it like this.

your lips mesh and meld together easily, instinctually, slow and loving, in no rush for anything in this sacred space for two where the concept of time itself ceases to exist, leaning closer into each other, your hands gripping the shirt covering his chest and one of sylus' hands coming up to cup your cheek, tilting your head while coaxing you flat onto your back as he deepens the affection, swallowing your breaths and pouring everything he has to offer right into you.

you like it like this.

after who knows how long, he finally pulls back, hands planted on each side of your head, watching you from his angle above as you pant out into the air, catching your breath and peering back into his shimmering gaze, nothing but adoration glowing within his irises taking in your messy hair, bare face, loose clothes splayed across your figure, eyes reflecting the same shine back into his. he lifts a hand to hold your cheek, watching you nuzzle into it as his thumb caresses the soft flesh.

you like it like this.

in no time at all, you're both laying back on your sides, facing each other as his large arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him once more. your legs entangle together as he pecks your cheek and feels your smile against him, arms hugging his waist, head resting against his beating heart once again. with the lull of the music seeping back into the space, you feel the grips of sleeping tugging at your consciousness, eyes fluttering shut and breaths evening out.

you like it like this.

and sylus keeps you there, close to him, in this loving space for two, caressing your hair until he feels the even inhale and exhale, peeking down at your sleeping face and planting one more kiss onto it before he allows his own eyes slip shut. he can adapt to any place so long as he was willing, but the unspoken truth beneath that certainty was that was only so long as it was with you. and he's satisfied having you here, just like this, secured against him.

he likes it like this.

he allows himself this moment of respite with you, in his bedroom, slowly slipping into slumber himself to indulge in this nap with you, not a care in the world for the work he has to deal with— when he has you in his arms like this, he thinks that can wait for later. the last of his consciousness leaves him and a small smile graces his lips as he enters a beautiful dream.

from back in his sacred cave to now, he wouldn't want it any other way.

-

a/n: another experimental(?) writing style; the vibes of the song helped me paint this picture thank u kali uchis

-

[kunareads]

who's the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes?

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

in which you, pop princess, and satoru gojo, hollywood's favorite menace, start to discover your bed chem.

next

series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

part one!!! bring back PDA interrupted by circumstance!!!!!!!!!!!! maybe part 2 by the weekend

content: tension, fluff, mutual pining, some smau, they make out, PDA, reader and satoru match each other's freak publicly

18+ please i block children <3

+++

the red carpet is chaos as usual. cameras flash in satoru's face, photographers shout for his attention, reporters talk over one another. he eats it up, flashing that easy, blinding grin, soaking up the energy like he was made for it. he's always been good at this, turning attention into a performance, a game he never loses.

but something's different tonight.

his attention catches onto a figure across the carpet, and for the first time all evening, the noise fades to static.

you.

draped in something sheer, delicate but dangerous, dripping in light like you were meant to be stared at. not just ethereal, but untouchable, in the way that makes people want to reach for you anyway. you're working the cameras, holding their attention easily. every turn of your head, every flicker of your gaze is intentional, calculated. you know what you're doing and you do it well.

satoru doesn't realize he's staring until suguru elbows him.

"you've been looking at her for a full minute," suguru says, barely suppressing a grin. "are you making a move or just writing poetry in your head?"

satoru huffs a laugh, rolling his shoulders back as if to shake off whatever spell he's under. "please. you think i need to make a move?"

suguru gives him a look that says yes, actually.

satoru hums, considering. he rarely hesitates, especially when it comes to people. but he finds himself debating his approach.

does he bump into you? send suguru to get you? just stand here, watching, until you come to him?

then you glance his way.

he thinks it's an accident at first, a passing sweep of your gaze, but it lingers a second too long. a flicker of awareness, like you felt him looking. like you know exactly what you're doing when your eyes catch his and hold, when your lips part slightly like you have something to say.

for the first time in a long time, satoru gojo wonders if he's about to be outplayed.

+++

the moment you step onto the carpet, you own it.

you know how to work a camera, how to shift just enough for the light to hit perfectly, how to let the gown drape over your frame like it was made just for you (it was). the flashes go off like they can't get enough of you, and they can't. you smile just enough, turn a little, hold their attention before moving on. you've done this a thousand times, but tonight, something feels different.

it's a prickle at the back of your neck, a sensation you can't quite place until your gaze sweeps across the carpet and locks onto him.

satoru gojo.

white jacket, dark sunglasses, bright grin, standing there like he's been waiting for you to notice him. you meet his gaze head-on, unhurried, letting him know you see him.

you're used to attention. you know how to handle it. and you've admired him in passing, maybe entertained a fleeting what-if. but standing here now, with his eyes on you, the energy shifts. he's not just a name, a face, or a headline. he's here, watching, waiting. and for the first time tonight, you feel entertained.

he stops in front of you, hands in his pockets, like this was inevitable.

"if we keep staring at each other like this," he says, head tilting, voice all amusement, "someone's gonna write an article about it."

you don't miss a beat. "then maybe you should stop looking."

his grin widens, shameless. "you overestimate my self-control."

it's immediate, the way you fall into it. playful, effortless, a push and pull that neither of you really wants to stop. his presence is overwhelming but not unwelcome, and for the first time tonight, you feel entertained.

you hold his gaze for just a second longer than necessary before turning away, moving down the carpet like you have somewhere to be. but even as you walk, you can feel his eyes on you, can hear the barely-there chuckle he lets out, like he's already made a decision.

and you're sure that before the night is over, you'll make one too.

+++

the interviewers don't waste time. the moment they catch you separately, the questions start coming. you're used to answering on autopilot, smiling like you mean it, keeping things just interesting enough to be quotable. but tonight, you already know which soundbite is about to take off.

"you and satoru gojo seemed to hit it off on the carpet," a journalist says, mic tilted towards you, eyes glinting with interest. "anything we should know?"

you let out a soft laugh, measured but warm. "he's charming, i'll give him that."

the interviewer's eyebrows raise like she's just struck gold. you don't offer anything else, just a tiny, knowing smile before moving on.

across the venue, satoru's doing what he does best: playing into it. the moment someone asks about you, he's grinning, easy and unbothered.

"she might be my new favorite distraction," he says, his voice teasing, smooth. the reporter practically beams, watching the headlines write themselves.

and sure enough, the internet gets to work before the event is even over.

@/celebritea: "he's charming, i'll give him that" / "she's my new favorite distraction" PINERS WE ARE SO BACK

@/fathergojo: "my new favorite distraction" is INSANE work for someone you just met

@/ynglow: "charming" and "favorite distraction"… yeah i'm seated

edits appear in record time. slow-motion close-ups of lingering eye contact, captions dissecting every micro-expression, fan cams set to inappropriate music. by the time the event is over, the internet has already decided: this is a developing situation.

and you don't mind one bit.

+++

the afterparty is a different world.

gone are the blinding flashes and choreography of the red carpet. here, the lighting is low, the music is loud, and the air is thick with the kind of energy that turns fleeting moments into industry legends.

it's kento nanami's party—expensive and exclusive. invitations aren't sent, they're granted. and a lot of people are still waiting for theirs.

satoru walks in like he owns the place. and to be fair, he might as well. he's in a sheer black shirt, his sleeves casually rolled up, the collar undone just enough to hint at something. his usual ease is intact, but there's a sharpness to his presence, like he's playing a game no one else knows about.

you're already there when he spots you, haloed by light, draped in something different from before but just as devastating. the dress is shorter now, clings in ways that demand attention, and the way your jewelry catches the light makes it impossible to look away.

satoru doesn't bother pretending he's not watching. the space bends for him as he he makes his way over, weaving through industry elites and familiar faces, his focus locked in place.

you feel him before you see him, the shift in the air unmistakable. when you turn, he's already close.

"you know they think we already fucked, right?" he says, voice smooth and teasing.

your lips curve. "that sounds like a them problem."

his grin widens, flashing white in the dim light. "could be an us problem."

the song changes, but the beat stays the same.

the music pulses through the space, a slow, heady bass line that seems to move through your bones. there are people everywhere, but you can only focus on the weight of his gaze.

his fingers brush yours, questioning, before curling around your hand fully. without a word, he leads you past the crowd through the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, slipping into a quieter corner. low lighting, no people. out of sight, but not out of reach.

his hand settles at your waist, light at first, just the suggestion of touch.

you don't pull away. instead, you lean in, just enough to test the tension, to see how far it'll stretch before it snaps.

it doesn't take long.

one step, then another, until your back finds a wall and his body follows, heat and intent pressed against you. the breath you take is steady, but the way he looks at you isn't—teasing, sharp edges wrapped in amusement. his thigh slots between yours, firm and deliberate, and your fingers fist into the thin fabric of his shirt.

his lips brush your ear when he speaks, teasing and effortless. "you should stop me," he murmurs, but you can already hear the grin in his voice, like he's hoping you won't.

you don't.

and he doesn't.

his mouth finds yours, testing, like he's discovered something new. you match him easily, fingers sliding into his hair, teasing at the roots, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make him hum against your lips. you commit the sound to memory, make a note to pull it from him again.

your hips roll against his leg, slow and deliberate, and he mirrors you, savoring the friction like it's a game you're both intent on playing. the tension builds, heady and unhurried, each movement a tease of more, but only if either of you decides to take it there. but right now? the fun is in the waiting.

the bass thrums through the floor, threading through the moment like a quiet underscore, a pulse that syncs with your own. there are no cameras, no audience. just the two of you, caught in the moment you've made for yourselves.

your fingers skim along the buttons of his shirt, undoing one, then another, knuckles brushing against the heat of his skin. his lips brush against your neck, featherlight, and you let out a sigh.

his hands are confident and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to figure you out. his mouth traces over your skin, a slow, deliberate path from your neck to your jaw and down, pausing at the hollow of your throat and then back up.

it's slow, but there's a hunger to it, an energy that makes itself known as his hand slides down the curve of your ass, squeezing enough to pull a soft noise from you.

you arch into the touch, a silent encouragement that makes him smile against your skin.

the moment lingers, stretching between breaths, until a voice cuts through, cool and unimpressed.

"try not to cause headlines under my roof," kento says, barely sparing you both a glance.

satoru huffs a laugh, stepping back just enough to be appropriate. but the look you give each other promises this isn't over.

not even close.

+++

you wake up to the relentless buzz of your phone, notifications stacked so high they bleed past the preview limit. the first thing you process is the sheer volume of them: texts, missed calls, headlines. the second thing is the realization that they're all about last night.

you blink against the morning light, head foggy with sleep, before rolling over and unlocking your phone. big mistake.

the group chat is already on fire.

and then you start scrolling through headlines.

are we witnessing the start of hollywood’s next power couple?

satoru gojo and y/n: met gala’s most talked-about pair takes it to the afterparty!

y/n and satoru gojo: just friends or something more?

and the tweets.

@/gojo4president: not to be dramatic but these afterparty photos feel like something i shouldn’t be seeing with my own two eyes

@/ynuniverse: satoru gojo has spent YEARS as hollywood’s most eligible menace and now he’s looking at y/n like she personally invented desire. we are witnessing a collapse

@/trendwatcher: insiders say satoru gojo and y/n were ‘inseparable’ at the met gala afterparty before parting ways for the night. no comments from either camp.

you scroll through the notifications, eyes skimming over the headlines, the tweets, the texts. you exhale, then lock your phone.

people are going to talk. they always do. you may as well go about your day.

you’ve already brushed your teeth and made your coffee when your phone buzzes again, and this time, you’re not surprised.

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie

[overtaken-stream]

Sweet Mornings

Kang Dae-ho x Gn!Reader

I did try to keep the reader gender neutral, but if you spot anything that's not GN please tell me so that I can fix it!

Summary: Dae-ho never fails to notice the beauty in something he has seen hundreds of times.

Warnings: No squid game, no debt, just bliss and mostly fluff, but watch out for a tiny explicit portion at the end.

Dae-ho is the kind of partner who calls you beautiful no matter how you look. To him, your appearance doesn’t matter—what truly matters is that he sees your beauty in every shape, outfit, style, and moment. Due to his inability to see you as anything but perfect, Dae-ho is considered unreliable to ask if something you're wearing looks good on you.

Every time he wakes up in your apartment, he can get drunk off the sheets that carry your perfume. The lingering body heat under the soft covers, even if one of you started the day early, lulls him back to sleep. Despite regaining consciousness just moments ago, his eyelids always feel heavier when left alone in bed. The sleeping spell can only be broken if his quiet mornings are interrupted—say, by you trying to put your clothes on in the dark, waking him up for a hot breakfast, or reminding him to lock the door when you leave for work.

His favorite, however, has to be when the blinds aren’t pulled all the way, leaving a long vertical gap for sunlight to peek through. On those mornings, he’s wide awake, feeling like a child too excited to sleep before a long-awaited school trip. And can he really be blamed? Can he be judged for staying awake to witness the domesticity of waking up by your side and watching you slowly come to your senses with the help of an alarm?

He can’t help but feel desperate when you sit upright in bed, yawning and stretching before getting up, half-naked, to put on your clothes. Your fingers firmly grasp the waistband of your trousers as you slide your legs in—completely oblivious to the view you've given him. Or perhaps you do it on purpose, just to tease him afterward (He patiently awaits the day you're bold enough to do it).

In any case, he thinks of himself as better than your average man who might gawk at a strangers bum, since it is your body and movements that always leave Dae-ho mesmerized, you, his one and only.

Sometimes, he can't help but smirk and bite down on his bottom lip, all to just to stop himself from jumping on you and taking you to a certain town, which both of you visit often.

He loves every part of you. The long and soft, the battered and sensitive ones.

It was on one of those golden mornings when Dae-ho's mind came to a conclusion.

No matter how often he gets to see you, it will never be enough. His eyes trace every movement, memorizing the curve of your body, the way the morning light kisses your skin, giving it a shine like no other, the sleepy sway of your hips as you stretch. It’s almost unfair—how effortlessly you captivate him, how easily you turn an ordinary morning into something intoxicating.

And if the way his dick pulses every morning at the sight of your ass isn’t proof enough, then maybe it’s the way his breath catches when you bend over to grab your shirt. Or the way his fingers twitch with the urge to pull you back into bed, to make you forget whatever plans you had for the day and softly caress you to your most vulnerable of places.

Because no matter how many times he gets to have you, watch you, wake up next to you—it will never, ever be enough.

He’ll wake up even when he’s old and wrinkled, watching you sleep beside him, and he’ll always be grateful for the chance to witness the same beauty he’s admired his entire life. Hundreds, if not thousands, of times, he’s seen you like this—peaceful, serene, effortlessly captivating. And yet, not once has he failed to notice. Not once has he taken it for granted.

[limnaia]

Create or Destroy Water. I am going to wreak unholy havoc. Let's take a look, shall we?

1st level transmutation

Casting Time: 1 action

Range: 30 feet

Components: V S M (A drop of water if creating water or a few grains of sand if destroying it)

Duration: Instantaneous

Classes: Cleric, Druid

You either create or destroy water.

Create Water: You create up to 10 gallons of clean water within range in an open container. Alternatively, the water falls as rain in a 30-foot cube within range, extinguishing exposed flames in the area.

Destroy Water: You destroy up to 10 gallons of water in an open container within range. Alternatively, you destroy fog in a 30-foot cube within range.

At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, you create or destroy 10 additional gallons of water, or the size of the cube increases by 5 feet, for each slot level above 1st.

Alright, so:

I need a drop of water in order to cast it, which is easily done if I start carrying some around with me like Katara.

10 gallons is a reasonable, but not enormous amount, so flooding things would take a great deal of time and effort and recasting, and doesn't seem terribly practical. It also specifies that the water I produce is clean - meaning I can't decide to create water from an oil spill, and then set it on fire. (There is no rule saying I can't keep a small bottle of petrol and a lighter on me for this kind of eventuality, however.)

So I think the phrase 'an open container' is what is going to be doing the heavy lifting, here. It does not specify that the container must be intended to be used to hold water, nor does it specify that the container must be *good* at holding water. The upturned brim of someone's hat could constitute a container, albeit one that is not water resistant and going to soak the person underneath.

Similarly, it does not specify that you need to see the dimensions of the container in order to fill it. After all, if one wished to add some water to a local reservoir that was low, this would be a reasonable use of the spell, no? You don't need to be able to see the whole reservoir to recognise it as a container of sorts - you just need to see the mouth of the container. Arguably, therefore, the human body, provided the mouth is open, is a viable target for this. Either you overfill the lungs and drown someone, or you overfill the stomach and cause them, at best, a severe medical emergency.

It also doesn't specify that you cannot *create* the container beforehand. Say you need to get through a wall - if you can poke a small hole in the mortar, you have made a (poor) container. The effects of the spell are instantaneous - so the instant appearance of 10 gallons of water in a space that is barely able to hold ten drops is going to cause a rather dramatic pressure change and the wall is liable to burst.

If someone has central heating in their home and it's on - that is an open container. What does a sudden extra 10 gallons of (presumably room temperature) water do to the pipes and the boiler? Break them, at the very least, potentially explosively. Likewise their plumbing - arguably a toilet is an always open container, provided you put the seat up.

If you need to stop someone's technology from working - a sudden, magically induced rainstorm indoors over their servers is liable to do the job, I'd wager.

Water destroys everything, in the end. It wears away stone, extinguishes fire, pushes out air. It is needed by all life on the planet, but not too much. The entirety of human architecture is based around keeping water out of certain places. You don't need to pull a Katara and form a whip out of it in order to make yourself a profound nuisance with this spell.

The Randomizer

[maretinelli]

CRYING FOR EVERYTHING

Lando Norris X fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n is the most soft and crybaby person and this makes Lando laugh, but ends up comforting her when she cries over silly things.

Words: 4.1K+

Warnings: Nothing (??) Just cute and romantic.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This can be funny but also sad because she cries over everything hahaha

MASTERLIST

Lando turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to the apartment he shared with Y/n. A sweet, slightly buttery scent hung in the air, but he didn't comment on it right away.

He just smiled as he felt the warmth of home and called out in a light, excited voice: "Honey, I'm home!"

No response.

He frowned slightly and walked into the kitchen, where he found Y/n standing at the counter, staring at a cake. So absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice his presence until she felt Lando's arms close around her waist, his chest warm against her back.

"What's going on here?" He asked quietly, peering over her shoulder at the cake, which looked perfectly baked.

Y/n blinked a few times, her eyes brimming with tears. "I asked for the recipe for the cake my grandmother made..." Her choked voice revealed how much it meant to her. "And I tried to recreate it, but it didn't work."

Lando stepped back a little, positioning himself next to her. He looked intently at the cake before turning his gentle eyes to his girlfriend.

"But he looks great."

She took a deep breath, fighting back tears, but when she pointed to the cut piece, she murmured, "It didn't turn out like Grandma's... And it even sank when it came out of the oven..."

The first tear fell silently.

Lando smiled slightly and took a slice of the cake, tasting it without hesitation. He chewed slowly, enjoying the taste, and then looked at her with a sincere smile.

"It's delicious."

But Y/n just quivered her pout before starting to cry again. "But it's not like Grandma's..." She sniffed, sobbing softly. "I wish you could have the experience of tasting her cake, but she died a long time ago and I don't know how to recreate the family recipes!"

Lando felt his chest tighten.

Without thinking twice, he dropped the slice of cake on the counter and pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping her completely, feeling her small sobs against his chest as she hid her face in her hands.

He stroked her hair lovingly and whispered, in a tender voice: "I know I can't taste your grandmother's cake, but I have something much better..."

Y/n moved slightly, looking at him with moist eyes. "What?"

Lando smiled, gently wiping away a tear with his thumb.

"The amazing experience of tasting all the wonderful cakes you make."

She sniffed, giving a weak smile through her tears, and Lando took the opportunity to hold her even tighter against him.

"And I will taste them all, every time."

Y/n chuckled softly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Lando continued to cradle her in his cozy embrace.

•••••••••••••••••••••

The light rain beat against the apartment window, a comforting sound that filled the room amidst the soft dim light of the lamp. It was a quiet night, perfect for cozy moments.

Lando and Y/n had spent the day together, enjoying his day off and her vacation. In the late afternoon, they decided to ride their bikes around the city, returning just before the rain started. By now, Y/n had already showered and was comfortable on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, while Lando was still in the shower.

Before leaving, he had told her to start watching the series they were watching together for the third time.

Time passed, and Lando appeared in the living room, drying his messy hair with a towel. He was wearing only sweatpants, leaving his chest exposed to the night's cold.

"Honey, I hope you didn't watch too much without me, or else-"

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Y/n crying softly, wrapped in layers of blankets. The box of tissues rested on her lap, and her eyes were red and watery as she stared at the TV with a devastated expression.

Lando smiled, holding back a laugh. But then he put the towel he was using to dry his hair aside and approached his girlfriend.

"Crying over O'Malley's death again?" He said, gently pulling the blanket from her hair and leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.

Y/n looked up at him, sobbing. "He... he, he..." She tried to speak, but her voice failed.

Lando crouched down beside her on the couch and wiped away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

"Breathe, love" Lando said softly, patiently waiting for the outburst he knew was coming.

Y/n sniffed, pulling out a tissue and wiping her nose before continuing, "He was treated like a nobody, and when he was dying, he managed to say he was 007. He... he died to save someone else, Lan..." Her voice wavered, and she looked at him, her eyes bright with emotion. "He died."

Lando bit his lip to contain his laughter.

"Honey... you knew this was going to happen. This is the third time we've seen it."

"But it doesn't make it any less sad!" Y/n retorted, crying softly.

Lando sighed fondly and pulled her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his bare shoulder, sobbing softly as he stroked her sweatshirt-covered back.

"I know, love. But it's just a series. He's fine in real life, filming another movie or something." He murmured against her hair.

Y/n sniffed again, lifting her face and looking at him. "You're cold. So cold." She said with a small sob, looking at his bare chest.

Lando chuckled at the observation and let her pull the blanket away, making room for him. He settled in beside her, pulling her down onto his chest as he slowly ran his fingers through the soft strands of her hair.

"There, now I'm warmed up" Lando joked.

Y/n sighed against him, relaxing a little.

Without saying anything, Lando grabbed the remote and skipped the episode, putting on the next one to avoid more tears.

"Hey!" Y/n protested softly.

"Pretty girls don't cry," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

And, between one caress and another, Lando smiled as he realized that, little by little, Y/n's breathing was returning to normal, and the sadness of the episode already seemed a little more distant.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lando spent the afternoon organizing the apartment. It was rare to have a day off with Y/n, and he wanted to make the most of it. He cleaned every corner, straightened the couch cushions, washed the dishes, and even wiped the floor with a scented cloth. He wanted her to be able to just throw themselves on the couch and cuddle for the rest of the night when she got home from work.

It wasn't long before Y/n arrived, so he lit some scented candles, the same ones she loved and had been buying since before they started dating. The soft aroma filled the room, and he smiled contentedly as he saved the rest to use in the next few days.

As soon as he heard the key in the door, Lando came down the stairs excitedly, ready to surprise her.

"Honey, I cleaned the whole apartment!" He announced proudly, turning to her.

The smile disappeared as soon as he saw her face. Y/n was slowly taking off her shoes, her shoulders slumped, her expression dejected. She left her bag on the table, and Lando knew immediately that something was wrong.

If he knew his girlfriend well, he knew that if he spoke first, she would break down without being able to tell him what had happened. So he waited.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes watery and her lips trembling before she murmured,

“When I was driving here, I saw two kitten brothers abandoned on the street…” Her voice broke, and a few tears escaped. “I thought about taking them in, but our building doesn’t allow pets, and my parents aren’t home to drop them off…” Her breath hitched, and she nervously picked at her nail polish. “I had to leave them there and just walk by…”

Lando felt lighter. For a second, he feared it was something work-related. But still, seeing Y/n so shaken broke his heart.

"Oh, love, come here" He said, opening his arms.

Y/n threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and crying softly into his shoulder. Lando wrapped her in a tight hug, running his hands comfortingly down her back.

"How could someone do this?" She sobbed. "To abandon two helpless puppies to die in the street..."

Lando sighed, hearing the pain in her voice. "I don't know, love. But we can do something." Y/n pulled her face away to look at him, and he took the opportunity to wipe the tears that were running down her cheeks. "We can go there and get them!" He suggested.

She shook her head, sniffling. "Lan... I've thought about that. But our building doesn't allow pets, and my parents don't get back from their trip until next week..."

Lando smiled slightly, shaking his head. "No, no, love. You know we're visiting my parents this weekend, right? We can take the kittens there."

Y/n frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

Lando gently ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the last traces of tears, and smiled. "We can take them there. Flo will love taking care of them, and they'll have a home." Y/n's eyes filled with emotion again. "They only need to spend two days here, the building manager won't even notice. We can buy a carrier. The plane is animal-friendly, and they'll be well taken care of."

Y/n hesitated for a second, hope rising in her chest. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

The tears flowed again, but now they were of relief.

"Oh, okay. Tears again." Lando laughed, pretending to be dramatic.

Y/n lightly slapped his chest, sniffling. "I'm happy now, idiot."

Lando laughed and grabbed Y/n's hand, grabbing the car and apartment keys. "Then let's go, before they run away."

Y/n smiled and hurriedly put on her sneakers. Within minutes, the two of them left the apartment, ready to give their two little kittens a happy ending.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n stopped by her parents' house after work just to say hi, but ended up staying a little longer than planned. They were doing a big cleaning and, among boxes and boxes of souvenirs, they separated some things for her to take to the apartment she shared with Lando.

"This is something nice for you to share with Lando" Her mother said, handing over a large box.

Curious, Y/n took the box without asking much. She didn't know exactly what was in there, but she decided it would be more fun to open it with Lando.

When she got home, she was excited, balancing the box with her computer bag, trying to unlock the door without knocking anything over.

Lando appeared quickly, taking the box from her hands before any disaster could happen.

"Wow, what's this?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

"I have no idea," Y/n laughed, setting her bag on the table. "I stopped by my parents' house after work and they were cleaning out the attic. They gave me this box and said it was something cool to share with you."

Lando arched his eyebrow curiously. "Okay, now I'm interested too."

He followed Y/n into the living room, where she sat down on the rug and pulled the box closer. Carefully, she opened the lid and was greeted by a burst of memories.

Inside were several objects from her childhood: old dolls, her favorite shoe as a child, drawings scribbled with crayons and even a small notebook that looked like a diary.

"Oh my God!" Y/n exclaimed, picking up one of the dolls. "I played with this doll every day!"

Lando sat beside her, watching with a smile as she rummaged through the box, each new object bringing back a new memory.

"That shoe..." She picked up the little shoe in her hands, laughing. "I wore it for everything! My mother said I refused to take it off."

"Sounds like something you would do," Lando teased, making her roll her eyes.

She picked up a drawing and laughed.

“Okay, this is a little embarrassing.” She turned the paper toward him. It was a scribbled drawing, clearly made by a child. “I used to say I was going to be an artist, but looking back on it now, I think I was right to choose another profession.”

"I don't know..." Lando picked up the drawing, pretending to study it seriously. "I see great potential here."

Y/n lightly slapped his arm, laughing. But soon the laughter turned into something else.

Every new object I picked up brought a tightness to my chest. She thought her parents had gotten rid of those things years ago. Seeing everything there, intact, as if your childhood was preserved inside that box, was so moving.

Tears began to well up before she could stop them.

Lando noticed immediately and frowned, gently touching her arm.

"Hey... what's up?"

Y/n sniffed and smiled, even as tears fell. "I'm just... I'm happy." She ran a hand over her eyes. "I thought my parents had thrown all this away years ago... but they kept it."

Lando chuckled softly and pulled her into a side hug. "Are you crying because you're happy?"

"Yes!" She laughed between sobs, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He thought it was adorable. He wanted to laugh, because it was cute to see her so emotional, but he held back.

Y/n took the small journal from the box and ran her fingers over the worn cover. "This..." She sniffed. "I wrote about everything. My childhood crushes, my dreams..."

Lando took the diary from her hands and opened it to a random page.

"Today I saw a little dog on the street and I really wanted to take him home, but Mommy said I couldn't." He read it out loud and laughed. "Well, some things never change, do they?"

Y/n laughed, slapping his arm again. "You're insufferable."

"I'm a great boyfriend, actually."

She picked another drawing out of the box and laughed when she saw what it was. "Okay, you'll like this one."

Lando took the paper and widened his eyes when he saw a car scribbled on it. "Don't tell me..."

"Yes. That was my "dream race car" when I was five years old."

He looked at the drawing and then at her. "Can I say something?"

"What?"

"You definitely did well to choose another profession."

Y/n let out a laugh and threw herself at him, making Lando fall backwards onto the carpet with her on top. He laughed and held her tight, looking at her face still wet with tears, but now lit up with a smile.

"I love you" He said, running his thumb across her cheek.

"I love you too."

They stood there, surrounded by the memories of her childhood, while Lando knew that, from that moment on, he was also part of the best memories of Y/n's life.

The Silverstone race has always been special for Lando. Racing at home, with the British fans behind him, was indescribable. But that Sunday was even more magical. He didn't just race, he won.

With an impeccable strategy and aggressive driving, Lando held the lead in the final laps, crossing the finish line first. McLaren erupted in celebration. The fans chanted his name, the car radio filled with the team's cheers and the excitement took over.

In the garage, Y/n watched the moment alongside Cisca and Adam, Lando's parents. They treated her like a daughter, and nothing seemed more right than being there, celebrating with them.

"He did it!" Adam exclaimed, clapping his hands proudly.

"Our boy!" Cisca smiled, her eyes shining.

Y/n laughed, feeling her heart beat faster. She always knew Lando was capable of this. Since the first years in karting, since the difficult days, the doubts, the criticisms, she always believed.

Then the podium ceremony began. As Lando stepped onto the top step and raised the trophy to the British sky, something inside Yin broke. She began to cry softly, overcome with overwhelming pride.

Cisca, who already knew her daughter-in-law well, smiled and pulled her into a side hug. "He deserves it, doesn't he?" The mother-in-law said affectionately.

Y/n nodded through tears. "Very!!"

Without hesitation, she turned around and hugged Cisca tightly, crying on her mother-in-law's shoulder.

"Oh, honey" Cisca murmured, stroking Y/n's back. "He's so lucky to have you."

When Lando returned to the garage, still covered in champagne and with a giant smile on his face, Y/n was still crying.

Adam approached his son and murmured softly, somewhat worried. "She's been like this ever since you stepped onto the podium... And your mother hasn't been able to calm her down."

Lando chuckled, nodding in agreement.

He walked towards them, seeing Cisca still hugging Y/n, who was sobbing discreetly. Her mother also had tears in her eyes, but she tried to stay strong.

Cisca smiled when she saw her son and reached out her free hand to hug him. "I'm so proud of you, my dear" She said, squeezing him.

Lando returned the hug, closing his eyes for a moment. "Thank you for everything, Mom."

Cisca then looked at Y/n lying on her shoulder and made a comment to Lando. "I knew she was going to cry, but I thought she would stop before you arrived."

Lando laughed, approaching his girlfriend's side. "Love..." He ran his fingers through her hair, making Y/n look up with red, teary eyes.

She smiled at him, still crying. "You won at home, Lan..." She said, emotionally. "I always knew you were capable. All your effort paid off. I saw this potential in you from the beginning. I'm so proud of the man you've become, and I can say that because I've been with you for years. Years of being happy by your side and celebrating every victory."

Y/n's words hit Lando in a way he didn't expect. Suddenly, he felt his eyes burn as well.

"Thank you, love" He said, his voice breaking. "Thank you for always being here... I'm also proud of this strong, incredible woman you've become." He pulled her into a tight hug, and now they were both crying together.

Adam, who was watching the scene, widened his eyes. "Ah, there. Now we have two crybabies."

Cisca laughed, wiping away her own tears. "At least they cry with happiness."

Lando and Y/n pulled away a little, laughing through their tears. But when they looked at Cisca and Adam, they realized that Y/n's in-laws were watching them fondly.

"Those two are still going to get married," Adam commented quietly, crossing his arms. But the couple listened.

Cisca looked at her husband and nodded. "Yes, they will. Their love is true. Everyone can see that."

Lando looked at Y/n, who smiled at him. He didn't say anything, but at that moment,

They both knew: One day, this would really happen.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The apartment was silent, except for the sound of the TV playing some series. Lando was snuggled up on the couch, with Y/n lying on his lap. Her legs were propped up on the back of the couch, while her boyfriend stroked her hair absentmindedly. It was a quiet night, just the way they liked it.

Y/n was on her phone, swiping her fingers aimlessly across the screen, until she found a folder of photos that she kept dearly. A folder full of photos of the two of them since the beginning of their relationship, when they were still 18 years old.

She began to scroll through the images slowly, looking at the younger versions of them. Some were silly selfies, others moments captured by friends. One in particular made her smile—Lando trying to make a face as she kissed his cheek.

Her smile quickly gave way to a tightness in her chest. Tears began to well up in her eyes as memories flooded back. Each photo told a story, a phase of their relationship, and the weight of their years together hit her hard.

Until she stopped at a photo. From the quality, you could tell it was old. They were hugging each other in the middle of the racetrack after Norris' F2 race, both smiling at the camera. Lando held his helmet under his arm, and Y/n's cheeks were flushed, as if she had just laughed.

A sob escaped before she could hold it back.

Lando, who was still running his fingers through her hair, noticed the sound and smiled. "Honey, you don't have to cry just because I stopped stroking your hair for a moment." He joked, without taking his eyes off the TV.

But when another sob came, he frowned and finally looked at her. Y/n bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, but she couldn't.

Lando paused the series. "Hey, what happened?" He asked softly.

Y/n sat up slowly and handed him her phone. Lando looked at the photo and, as soon as he recognized it, he smiled.

"Hey, our first picture together as boyfriend and girlfriend." He chuckled a little, his eyes filled with nostalgia. "Look how we were still teenagers."

Y/n smiled through her tears and snuggled closer to him, peeking at her phone screen as Lando handed the device back to her.

"I have more" She said, sliding to the side.

Lando watched as she scrolled through each photo, pausing for long seconds on some. Her eyes were shining, full of emotion. Until, upon reaching a specific image, Y/n dropped the phone on her lap and cried.

It was a normal night in Lando's room, when they were still in their twenties. The picture showed Y/n lying on the bed, wearing one of his baggy t-shirts and sweatpants, her hair messy on the pillow. She was laughing, her eyes shining with joy, while Lando held the camera with one hand and stretched his arm out to capture the moment. He was smiling too, his face close to hers, his cheeks flushed as if he had just laughed along with her.

It was one of those spontaneous photos, without poses or worries. Just the two of them, young and in love, living a peaceful and happy moment.

Lando chuckled, turning to her. "Baby, why are you crying like that?"

Y/n raised her head, her eyes red and teary. "Because I love you," she said with a choked voice. "You're the love of my life, Lan. I'm so happy to have been with you for so many years... I... I'm just crying with happiness."

Lando's heart melted. He ran his fingers down her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling. "We'll spend many, many years together," he promised. "I don't want any other life than with you, Y/n. You're my best friend, my companion... The person who knows me better than I know myself. I'm so grateful that you're with me."

Y/n cried harder, hiding her face in his shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I love you so much, love" He murmured, holding her close.

After a few minutes, she picked up her phone again and looked at the photos. Now, between one funny comment and another, Lando laughed at her reactions.

"Honey, why are you crying now?"

"Because this picture is perfect! Look how beautiful you are!"

In it, Lando was in overalls, still sweaty and disheveled, sitting on the step of the McLaren motorhome. His smile was huge, radiant, as he held a bottle of water in his hand and smiled at his girlfriend. But the most special detail was Y/n, sitting one step below him, holding his face between her hands and looking at him with a sparkle in her eyes.

Lando hadn't even realized that photo existed. Probably someone on the team had recorded the moment without them knowing.

"You cry over everything, you know that?" He laughed, shaking his head. "And I'm all sweaty in this picture. Far from looking good."

"Oh, mind your own business!" Y/n laughs, pushing him lightly on the couch and making him laugh out loud.

But Lando was already used to that. Since he was 18, he had been dating the sweet girl who cried at everything. At first, he thought it was because of those female hormones, but he soon discovered that Y/n was, in fact, a sentimental girl who valued every detail.

At the beginning of their relationship, her parents had to help him understand this. They said that their daughter had been like this since she was a baby and that when she started crying, it was best to let her get it all out.

Over time, Lando learned his own ways to soothe her. He knew that holding her tight helped. That whispering sweet words in her ear made her sobs lessen. And that sometimes she just wanted to know he was there.

And Lando always would be.

He wouldn't change a thing about her. Because he loved Y/n exactly the way she was.

[azrielbrainrot]

Moonlit Shadows - Act II

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old forgotten ruins, if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: hints of angst, tiny bit suggestive, making out?

Word Count: 8,7k

Rating: 18+

Notes: This part was running even longer than the first one so I split it into two parts and my plans for this story to only have 3 parts have changed into 4. I can't help myself in adding little details to this story, I love these two so much. Also just realized how long it has been since the first part, I'm so sorry for how long it took. Hope you enjoy!

Act I

It's almost unbelievable how much life can change within two weeks, to the point Azriel can hardly remember what it was like to live without a mate, without you. This is only the third time he has come to the temple after you agreed to give the bond a try, and he's already eternally glad you did. Sitting on the steps to the temple, watching the sun set over the mountain while his mate told him about her life was now a normal occurrence. He truly couldn't believe his luck.

Not even a month ago, Azriel would have spent the time he had between missions either training himself to exhaustion or simply doing some more spy work behind his High Lord's back. Every family dinner or outing was plagued by his cruel thoughts, always murmuring about his unworthiness while he watched his friends happy and in love, never allowing him a moment of reprieve. But now he got to meet his mate, talk to her for hours and learn her innermost thoughts. By the Mother, he was even contemplating asking Rhys for some time off for the first time in his life so he could see you more often.

“It's impossible to get tired of this view,” you murmur, taking in the barely visible sun rays as the sky turns different shades of pink and orange. As cliché as it sounds, Azriel thought the same thing as he watched you.

He manages to drag his eyes away from your beautiful, peaceful face, studying the view you'd shared with him. You were right, this view could easily rival Velaris at night. Since the temple sat at the top of the mountain, you could see the entire forest from here, and, as beautiful as the sunset had been, he knows the moonlight brings out the true beauty of this place, and yours as well. It's almost unbelievable how you could become even more captivating than you already were, he could hardly take his eyes off you when the moon rays were shining down on you, reflecting on your white hair and adding an even more intense twinkle to your white, silvery eyes.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Almost four hundred years,” you say, nibbling on the biscuits the temple provided at the wave of your hand. He had learned the temple shared a similar spell to the House of Wind and Rhys' cabin. “I was almost thirty when I came.”

The thought of you locked in this temple for that long brings up memories of the dark cell his father kept him in when he was a child, but he tries to shake them away quickly. You were here of your own free will, and as far as he could tell you rather enjoyed living in the temple. This place couldn't be compared to the cell he'd been in any way.

He hopes you didn't catch where his thoughts went, this bond is hard to control most of the time and feelings often filter through unattended. It's because of the feelings the bond brings up that he often finds himself thinking of those moments he has been trying to forget for centuries as well. It almost feels like the bond is prying open everything he has kept locked away, wanting to lay him bare before his mate.

Still, it was hard to believe that you would be completely satisfied living hidden away, no matter how shiny your cage or how fulfilling your role in the temple was. He enjoys his quiet time a lot more than the average person, something even his family doesn't understand at times, but he can't imagine what it's like to live alone for centuries, with no one's company but your own. Azriel couldn't have survived with only his thoughts as company, not when his mind is such an ugly place, even his duty wouldn't keep him alive then.

You smile up at him before he has the chance to put his worries into the right words. “I know what you're thinking. It gets lonely up here, I can't deny that, and I know I've missed a lot of experiences over the course of my life, some that I might never get the chance to relive, but I've always been happy up here.”

“Do you have any family left? Friends?”

“No. Any friends I had before coming here have probably long forgotten about me, some might not even be alive anymore,” you look at him then, hesitation making itself known in your tone and mannerisms. He might have overstepped without meaning to.

“My parents passed away a few decades ago. They came to visit me as much as they could, and we'd send each other letters every few weeks. They came by to spend every Solstice and birthday with me.” You let out a small laugh, “Once they had a little fight and my mom just showed up here with a bag full of clothes and a couple boxes of cupcakes.” You look down at your hands, a lump forming in your throat, “They're the ones I miss the most.”

“I'm sorry.”

There was a tight feeling coiling around his chest, but he can't quite pinpoint if it was his own response to you being sad or if your feelings were bleeding into his own. All he knew is that he wanted to put a smile back on your face.

“It's okay. They were both close to a millennia old and lived their life to the fullest. I would have liked to be with them in their final moments, but it wouldn't have changed anything.”

“Is it really impossible for you to leave? Even at times like those?”

You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the emotion talking about your parents' deaths evoked. “Yes, being bound to the temple is part of the oath I made. I'm not entirely sure what would happen if I actually managed to break the wards, but I would lose my powers and wouldn't be able to come back at the very least.”

The emphasis you put into the final words told him you thought more would happen. Breaking an oath with a God could very well be fatal, since even a regular bargain made between fae can take someone's life if not fulfilled. He feels a string tightening around his heart as it usually does when he's reminded of your predicament. You will never leave this temple, and, as much as he wants to respect your wishes, he can't help but mourn what your life could have been, what the two of you could have been. There's so much he wishes he could show you, beautiful places he wants to take you to, and people he wishes you could meet.

“There were times when it was hard to be stuck here.” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts, finding you've turned around, sitting cross-legged as you face him. “Obviously it was hard when my parents died, though the Goddess allowed their ashes to be brought to me so I could scatter them on this mountain,” your eyes travel to his wings, lingering on a few scars that will never leave the leathery skin, “I think it was even harder to bear when Amarantha came into Prythian and imprisoned the High Lords, and then when the war with Hybern broke out.”

You let silence fall between you for a few moments, eyes falling down onto your hands, kneading your left palm with your thumb as the first rays of moonlight made the aura around you more noticeable, a faint white light glowing around your entire body. He hopes it's not sacrilegious to think so, but you truly looked like a Goddess in this moment. His eyes fall onto your hands as well, debating on reaching to hold them in his warm ones when you resume your explanation.

“This power the Goddess shared with me has made me very strong, enough so that She leaves the protection of the temple entirely to me, but the biggest downside is that I can't help outside these wards,” you look up into his eyes then, regret lacing into your words, “I could have helped you. If the oath that gave me these powers didn't include staying in this temple, I could have tried to placate Amarantha before she could take everyone Under the Mountain, or at the very least fight alongside you during the war. A lot of people wouldn't have lost their lives if I could have helped.”

He understands what you mean, he has fought even while injured multiple times, during this war even, not willing to stop when he knows he can help even if it cost him his life, so he knows that watching from afar knowing you could have made a difference had to have been extremely frustrating, but he also can't help but feel selfishly glad you weren't there. The war had been bloody and cruel, if he could he would shield you from that sight if it was the last thing he did.

“You said it was Fate that decided you were supposed to live in this temple and protect it, right?” You nod, confusion written on your face. “Then it wasn't your place to be in the war. The temple was written into your life, and the war was written into ours. There's nothing we can do to change our fate.”

He seems to have said the right thing as you watch his face, the pained expression you previously wore slowly being replaced with a happier one, a smile even making its way into your lips, not quite as bright as before but a good start nonetheless.

“I still wish I could have gone,” you say, a twinkle in your eye, “maybe then you would have been written into my life sooner.”

Azriel had never found himself blushing as often as he does when he's around you in the five hundred years he's been alive. The worst part is it seems like you're not doing it on purpose. You keep complimenting him, showing him how much you enjoy having him in your life effortlessly, as if it's simply in your nature. Still, he can clearly see how much you enjoy the fact that you can bring him to this state so easily, a proud expression obvious on your face as you watch color take over the tips of his ears. Luckily for him, it's extremely easy to turn you into a bashful mess as well.

He shifts his weight onto his palm, leaning closer to you, a swift and fast movement, that of a trained soldier. Your sweet, intoxicating scent assaults him instantly, images of how he would let it intertwine with his own invading his mind for a treacherous moment - the mating bond seldom lets him have a moment of peace. Your breath hitches under his attention, wide eyes locked onto his.

“We've been written into each other's lives from the moment we were born, before our world was created even.” Your eyes travel down to his lips for a beat, the movement was quick enough that he might have mistaken it if it weren't for your proximity. It brings a satisfied smile to his lips as he adds, “whether at the temple or on that battlefield I would have found my way to you. That I can promise you.”

The reaction you give him is nothing short of delicious. Mouth slightly agape as you struggle to maintain eye contact at his confession, the wild rhythm of your heartbeat ringing in his ears and down the bond. He decides to push his luck a bit and test the waters, leaning even closer, enough so that your warm breath meets his skin, eyes dropping to your lips before stealing a cookie from the plate that sat beside you, straightening up as he brings it to his mouth, giving you space once more. He can't help the smile from growing when he hears your intake of breath, eyes dropping to your lap and hands smoothing down your skirt as you try to regain composure.

On one hand, he almost feels bad for teasing you like this, knowing there's a big difference in how you have both led your lives up to this point, even if you're relatively close in age. He would also hate to make you feel actually uncomfortable in any way. But, on the other hand, he wants nothing more than to whisper the most depraved things he wants to do to you so he can watch desire take over your face, so he can erase any semblance of innocence away. Although knowing exactly how experienced or not you are will end up being pertinent information if you both choose to keep chasing this bond, Azriel decides to take mercy on you tonight and change the subject.

“What was your life like before coming here?”

Looking up at him with tinted cheeks and wide eyes, you blink a few times, taking you a moment to answer, probably not expecting him to ask you a question so soon or too lost in your thoughts - he briefly wonders if they're any similar to his. Azriel can almost feel the bond purring, that ancient, inexplicable tether delighted at both your reaction and his playfulness, at your closeness.

“I'd say I used to live a pretty normal life,” you start, focusing on his shadows as they played over the steps, still too embarrassed to keep his gaze, “I used to live in a fairly small town, one of those where everyone knows each other and nothing too exciting ever happens,” a nostalgic smile takes over your lips, remembering your childhood. Azriel wishes he could take you back there, have you show him around the place where you grew up.

“My parents owned a small bakery so I helped them around before coming here. I liked baking with them, I wasn't too bad at it either, though the early schedule wasn't my favorite, I always liked sleeping in.” You seem lost in thought for a moment before shrugging and continuing, “Outside of that I had a few friends and a couple of lovers… nothing special.”

Azriel tries to ignore the sick twist of jealousy he feels at the mention of past lovers, knowing it's completely unfair to you, and irrelevant to your relationship now, but that damned bond doesn't know the first thing about rationality. Rhysand wasn't kidding when he said the mating bond grates, at times it was almost suffocating.

“One of the things I miss the most from those times are my parents' pastries,” you pout slightly, a playful glint in your eyes, “I may be biased but they were delicious.”

“It might not be the same, but I can bring you some from Velaris,” he offers. “The bakeries in town are always putting out new delicious things. I'm sure you would love them.”

“I'd like that very much, Azriel,” you say, that blinding smile he loves so much returning to your lips, a smile of his own mirroring yours. His name sounds like heaven, hell, and everything in between falling from your lips.

“Next time I'll bring you some of my favorites,” he pauses, a thought occurring to him as he tilts his head, “Actually, I don't have too much of a sweet tooth so I'll bring you Cassian's favorites instead. I think you would much prefer the chocolate covered cakes he likes to eat than my lemon tarts.”

“It's a deal then,” you nod at him, extending your hand for him to take, Azriel doesn't resist even for a second, letting you shake his hand as if you were in fact making a business transaction. “And if you come empty-handed I might put in a word with the Goddess and not let you in.” He lets out a chuckle, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting go, missing the warmth of your palm against his immediately. To think there would come a day where he would actually want someone to keep holding his hand.

“You can bring some of your lemon tarts too, I want to try what you like first,” you tilt your head, “but you're right, my favorite is always chocolate.”

Azriel chuckles, “Both it is.”

The rest of your time together is spent much like this, talking for hours about any and everything. By the time he forces himself to tell you he needs to go back to Velaris, the moon was already ready to make its way for the sun once more, and your eyelids were significantly heavier, trying your hardest to ignore your fatigue in favor of staying with him for as long as possible.

He never knows what to do or say when it's time to say goodbye to you. It's abundantly clear that neither of you want him to leave. There's also always a part of him that fears he won't be able to come back, that for whatever reason the Goddess decides he's not in need of the temple anymore and the wards keep him out of your reach.

Aside from that, your relationship has been walking the line between platonic and romantic from the first day. You wanted to keep your heart and his as safe as possible given the entire situation. He couldn't fault you for that, but that meant you were stuck acting like friends, as if a mating bond wasn't connecting your bodies and souls, and because of it Azriel couldn't grab your cheeks and kiss you like he's been desperately dreaming of, even though your eyes find themselves entranced by his lips as often as the other way around.

As he gets lost in thought, wondering how your lips would taste, your eyes drop to his shadows, unaware of it all. Dark wisps moving from his own natural shadow cast by the moonlight to yours, some of the bravest, more disobedient ones even swirling up to your ankles tentatively. At least they were still being respectful.

“They like me,” you smile brightly down at them.

Like is not a strong enough word to describe his shadows' feelings when it comes to you. At times it's even hard to make them focus on their job as they sit and wonder what you're up to in the temple. Part of this might be his fault since he has always used them to spy on anyone he needed to, and now he's finding it hard to explain to these beings, who struggle with social cues as it is, that spying is a breach of privacy, something he only does because it's his job, and the last thing he would ever do to you, so they can't go and check on you simply because he misses you every second of the day.

Apart from that they've also taken to giving him romantic advice - which has been disturbing to say the least, - whispering words into his ear that they think you would like to hear, trying to guide him to the flowers or pastries they somehow know you prefer as he passes by the market street, even pushing him to sing to you. They go as far as trying to convey their own feelings to you through him, whispering praises in his ear, and in turn making the bond inside him wish he could send his own shadows on a trip to the bottom of the ocean never to return.

“Yes, I think they do,” he says defeatedly as he watches one of his impertinent shadows travel up to your hand, swirling around it as you bring it up closer to your face for inspection. He can't wait to hear how delighted it is of gaining your attention.

“Shouldn't they hide from the light?”

Azriel takes a step closer, holding your hand and ordering the shadows to cross over to his body so he can have this moment with you. Raising his hand up to your cheek, scarred thumb caressing your soft skin as he murmurs, “Not from yours.”

The irony of his mate being someone who quite literally glowed in the dark wasn't lost on him. For some reason, the fact only further proved you were made for each other in his mind. It's almost like the Mother was telling him that no matter how dark his soul was, it would never diminish your light as it glowed ever eternal alongside your Goddess.

“I really have to go now.”

It pains him to say it, but he's already going to be late and that'll raise questions he's been trying very hard to avoid. It was enough of a miracle that Rhys hadn't told anyone - outside of Feyre of course - that Azriel had found his mate, and he would like to keep it that way for as long as possible. They would ask him too many questions he wouldn't know how to answer, and, admittedly, he also wants to avoid the teasing comments while the bond is so fresh - nothing good can come out of giving Cassian and Nesta a way to make him blush with only a couple of words.

“Alright,” you smile up at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. Every time he has to leave you behind, he considers giving up everything and moving to this temple with you.

You raise on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, his eyes closing as a shudder runs through him, wings coiling tighter into his back. His other hand comes up to the other side of your face, his lips falling upon your forehead as a wave of satisfaction rushes his side of the bond. Both of your hearts beating wildly as he steps away slowly and starts walking closer to the edge of the stairs.

“I'll come back as soon as possible,” he promises one more time before taking flight.

“I know, Azriel. I'll be waiting.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The unmistakable feeling of someone passing through the barrier rushes over you, sending your heart racing immediately. For a moment you think it's Azriel coming by unannounced, a smile breaking out on your lips as you get up to your feet, but a quick look into the bond that lays dormant inside you is enough to tell you he's still in Velaris, far away from the temple.

Your smile drops and a wave of sadness washes over you, freezing you in place, heart dropping at the reminder of the distance that lays between you and your mate, of the days you'll still have to endure alone before his next visit.

You feel movement again, now closer to the top steps, and shake yourself out of unwanted thoughts, pushing them all to the back of your mind as you shake any stray cookie crumbs from your trousers. If it isn't Azriel coming to see you then it's definitely someone coming to visit the temple, and you have a duty to fulfill.

It's only been a few weeks since Azriel first came looking for the temple, you've never had visitors showing up so close together. They're usually few and far in between, leaving you on your own atop the mountain for years at a time as the rumors about the temple die off among most of the population. The prospect of seeing someone again so soon has excitement rushing through your veins, completely overshadowing the solemn feelings from before.

You walk to the mirror, quickly checking your appearance before winnowing straight to the top of the stairs, catching your new visitor by surprise as she walks towards the temple slowly. The gasp she lets out when she spots you waiting for her brings a bigger smile to your lips, making you almost giddy as you cross your hands behind your back.

“Welcome to the Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple and I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats as well as helping anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just like you have.”

The well rehearsed speech comes to you naturally, the words flowing effortlessly from your mouth as you take in your visitor's wonder, curious eyes taking in the beautiful place. Of course she didn't have any speech rehearsed but it might as well have been since her next words mirror everyone else's when they arrive.

“I never knew there was a temple here,” the awe in her face brings you the usual sense of pride.

“It's a bit of a secret,” you wink at her, walking closer to the temple, motioning with your hand for her to follow you.

“My grandmother used to say these mountains were the most beautiful place in Prythian so I wanted to spread her ashes here, but I always thought she meant the actual mountains,” she muses. “This place is breathtaking.”

“The temple is hidden behind a powerful spell. I'm afraid when talking about this day your memories will be somewhat limited,” you explain softly as you lead her to the gardens in the back, the perfect view for her grandmother's final resting place.

As you go through the usual explanation, you realize you truly skipped most of it when it came to Azriel's first visit, though you still think you did better than expected given the circumstances. It's easy to forget your own name or any rehearsed speeches when you find yourself face to face with your mate.

The rest of the visit goes by fairly quickly. You lead her to the gardens and let her choose the perfect place among the flowers and trees, helping her spread the ashes as instructed, saying a quick prayer and then allowing her a moment to grieve, standing off to the side while still keeping a watchful eye over everything.

You can't help but let your eyes wander to the spot where you had spread your parents' ashes, the tears lining the young fae's eyes reminding you of the countless ones you had spilled as you went through the same. Over the years you've grown somewhat accustomed to their absence, - never fully, you've long since accepted that would be impossible, - but recent events have made you bitterly aware of it.

You wished you could tell your parents you had found your mate, would give anything to feel the anxiety of introducing them to Azriel. Now you can only imagine nervously writing them a letter, telling them all about the charming fae the Mother had chosen for you. They would show up at the temple the next day, not even the Goddess would be able to keep your mother from meeting her daughter's fated mate. Gods, they would have loved him.

A weak sigh escapes you. Nothing could take away the pain of losing a loved one, but you hope that the thought that her grandmother now lies within the temple's walls will lessen her grief even if just for a moment.

It's time to accompany her back to the stairs in no time, her tearful thanks and goodbyes echoing over the entrance hall. Watching the young fae descend the steps brings you a sense of accomplishment as usual, but this time there's an annoyingly acute emptiness growing inside you, tainting it.

Most visitors don't linger in the temple, only getting what they came for before going on their way, before going back to their busy lives, but as you watch her disappear between the trees, you're left wishing she would have stayed longer, sat with you and talked for a moment.

It wouldn't be fair not to acknowledge that this feeling had always manifested inside you after every visit you've received over the centuries, especially back when your parents were the ones stopping by and leaving you with hesitant glances over their shoulders, but you know that it had only grown more noticeable after Azriel first arrived.

Becoming familiar with someone's presence once again had made you more aware of your situation, more aware of just how many words and thoughts you had been keeping to yourself in your years of seclusion. It reminded you of how alone you truly were up in this temple. Before, the silence had been part of your routine, something you had no problem falling back onto after the rare visitor came and disturbed it. Now it felt like a consistently harder task, the silence ringing too loud in your ears, making you too aware of the echo that followed your footsteps.

Sitting down on the first step, you let out a sigh from deep in your chest, stretching your legs out, only noticing then that you had not changed out of your slippers in your rush earlier. It's a shame, you only really wear your nicer shoes when you have guests, which even with Azriel's more regular visits doesn't happen nearly often enough.

You feel yet another stab through your heart when you realize your first instinct is wanting to share the news with your mate, tell him about your visitor and your silly mistake, tell him how it reminded you of your parents and maybe even confide in him how lonely it all had made you feel.

You've been alone for so long that you had forgotten what wanting to share every exciting thing that happens with someone felt like. What is quickly becoming a familiar ache settles over you at the cold reminder that Azriel isn't within your reach. You'll have to wait until he visits again to share these news with him and see the smile on his face.

It's been over a week since he last came by, which wouldn't be much time at all if he weren't your mate and you couldn't feel him through the bond, so close but so far away. He warned you he would be busy with an assignment, even promised he would make it up to you when he was finished with it, but you can't rationalize how much you miss him or how much you wish he was by your side, and so you keep sitting on those steps well into the night, waiting for someone who isn't coming.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

With delectable excitement running through his veins, the kind that only you could bring out of him, Azriel takes one last look in the mirror, fixing his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, making sure everything looks perfect and in place before entrusting yet another box of pastries to his shadows. He has been on the hunt for the best chocolate cookies in Velaris ever since you told him they were your favorite, but he also can't stop himself from trying to spoil you in any way he can.

It's been over a week since he last saw you, and Azriel has been counting down the days for your next meeting ever since he left your side. He couldn't help but feel uncharacteristically annoyed whenever he remembered the mission that ended up keeping him away from home, and in turn from you, for several days. Deep down he knew Rhys had actually been giving him more free time to go visit you than he usually would have in other circumstances, even covering for him when he disappeared for hours on end so the others didn't find it too suspicious. Unfortunately, the bond often spoke louder, and with it came a moodiness that Azriel only felt lifting up earlier today, when he started getting ready to see you.

He makes his way downstairs, already worrying about how the flight will mess up the hair he had just been combing through so carefully. If it weren't for the wards surrounding the House of Wind, he would have winnowed straight to the temple.

“You took a bath.”

A voice coming from the sitting room calls after him, effectively stopping him in his tracks, shadows crawling up his tense body. He curses himself, some spymaster he was, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice he had company nor the forethought to avoid it. It seems he won't be able to leave without anyone noticing after all.

Azriel hesitates for a moment, unwilling to linger and lose even a second of precious time with his mate. Leaving would only make him appear more suspicious though, so he takes a couple steps into the room instead, finding the oldest and the youngest Archeron sisters looking back at him with amusement written in their eyes.

“I bathe.”

“You don't usually use any of the smelling washes.” Nesta's tone sounds nothing short of accusatory, glancing at Feyre while she talks as if trying to prove a point. “Not since recently at least.”

Azriel was never one to overthink about his appearance, perfectly content with keeping things simple, so it really doesn't come as a surprise that his best friend would notice his newly found appreciation for it. He had also not only accepted a few of Mor's invites to go shopping but also started using the clothes, fragrances and even accessories her and Rhys had gifted him over the years - something that unfortunately the High Lord had picked up on too and teased him relentlessly for whenever they were alone.

And, even in his recent distracted state, he would have to be a fool not to notice Nesta's curiosity towards his whereabouts and sudden mood changes. She has even been asking him about his missions, feigning interest in his spymaster duties just so she can catch him in a lie, knowing he would never dress like this to go spy on their enemies.

“Are you suggesting I smell, Nesta?”

“No, you smell amazing,” she clarifies quickly, sounding so sincere that he feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. Now he almost wishes Cassian was here.

“Then what's the problem?”

Knowing Feyre as well he does, it's extremely commendable that she's managing to keep quiet through this whole conversation, even more so that she hasn't said anything when Nesta surely came asking her what she knew. It also sends a certain warmth through him that she's going against her instincts to keep his secret - even though she and Rhysand have probably been gossiping about him every chance they get.

“There's no problem. I'm simply curious,” she says, clearing her throat before adding with a wicked glint in her eye, “you can't tell me you used your best smelling cologne to go on a mission.”

“I didn't say I was going on a mission,” he says, humoring her for a bit.

As amusing as this unexpected back and forth was turning out to be, it was, at the same time, stealing some of the precious time he had with you. He should have already made it out of Velaris, over the mountains where he would winnow straight to you.

“Then where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I'm going to have dinner with my mother,” Azriel offers, tone not wavering around the lie even for a moment.

“Oh.”

He feels a little bad for lying, especially since he's using his mother of all people as an excuse, but he knows that if he explained the situation to her she wouldn't mind at all. In fact, this reminded him to make some time to visit his mom, not only had it been quite a while since he last went, but he also wanted to tell her all about you.

Hiding the truth from Nesta and the rest of his family wasn't something he was content with either. Azriel knows they would all be overjoyed with the fact that he had found his Mother blessed mate, but he wanted to make sense of the situation before telling them. As things stand you're simply his friend, even with the shimmering bond between you, and you're still up in your temple, far away from everyone. He wouldn't even be able to properly explain the situation or his feelings on it, Gods know he tries whenever Rhys asks. He probably wouldn't even be able to take them to meet you.

Talking to his mother was always easier though. She never expected answers or explanations, she truly only wanted him to be happy. He can imagine the load off her shoulders it would be to find out her son had found a mate. Yes, he needs to make time to tell her, if no one else.

“I hope you have a lovely dinner, Az,” Feyre says, hiding a knowing smile behind her teacup, apparently not helping herself in at least getting a word in.

“Yes, I hope it all goes well,” Nesta adds, recovering rather quickly, the glint returning to her eyes as she likely reminds herself that one dinner with his mother doesn't explain all his strange recent behavior. Maybe he could still make a spy out of her, she's definitely determined.

Azriel simply nods and bids them a quick goodbye, doing his best to walk at a normal place to the front door, a relieved sigh escaping him when he shoots up into the air, passing the wards keeping the House of Wind safe, feeling himself get engulfed by his shadows as they take him closer to you.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

“When you first showed up I thought you weren't a good flier,” you reminisce, leaning back further into the cushions propped at your back, a smile playing at your lips. “Or that maybe you were still young.”

Azriel's gaze darts around the library at your words, a breath escaping him before his beautiful hazel eyes meet yours once again. Biting your lip, you try to stop your smile from growing as you watch a flush traveling across his skin, crawling up his delectable neck until his rounded ears become tinted with a pinkish color.

“My wings froze in place,” he admits with a soft smile of his own. “It's a miracle I landed on my feet at all.”

A giggle escapes you then, followed by a breathy chuckle from him, remembering the way his knees had buckled under his weight, how your own felt equally as weak in the face of the all-consuming mating bond. The sound echoes around the library for a moment, carrying around the bookshelves and artifacts laying about, a delighted sound that these walls have not been privy to too often, so used to the silence as they were, as you were.

This was the first time you've brought him into the library since his first visit and the initial tour of the temple you had given him. You usually stay outside whenever Azriel comes to visit, either sitting by the steps watching the moon and the stars, or in the garden, on a bench by the flowers; under a tree, taking advantage of the soft grass that grows here with the Goddess' blessing. But as time passes and his visits become more frequent, you suddenly felt the urge to show him different parts of the temple, to have these little dates - if you could even call them that - in different places to make up for the fact that you couldn't leave the temple's grounds. The light rain that fell today, signaling the end of summer, had been the perfect opportunity.

What you didn't expect was for it to feel so much more intimate. It shouldn't have come as a surprise honestly, this is your house after all and even if he had been here multiple times he had never really lingered inside so now bringing him to the room you spend most of your days in feels different, it made your heart beat faster as soon as he walked in, the bond screaming in elation when he sat in the sofa you're curled in almost every day, taking his place by your side. You don't think you'll ever be able to sit here without this image popping up into your mind.

“I think you did good under the circumstances,” you offer, hand twitching at your side, wanting to reach out and touch the flush covering his cheek, reaching for another cookie instead to keep your treacherous fingers occupied.

Azriel had made good on his promise to bring you every pastry and sweet from Velaris, never arriving at the temple without carrying something delicious within his shadows. Today he brought you various cookies of different shapes, sizes and flavors. They were all delicious, their rich taste blooming in your mouth when you bit into them, but it seems he overestimates just how much you can eat, especially since he barely helps you at all - you swear you've only seen him eat one singular cookie since you opened this box.

“It sounds like you're just saying that to make me feel better.” You shake your head in denial, you really weren't, but he continues before you can say anything else. “Us Illyrians take a lot of pride in our flying abilities, you know? I'm not sure I can let this go so easily.” The teasing smile that blooms on his face is completely mesmerizing, it almost makes you forget yourself. “You'll have to let me show you.”

It takes you a moment too long to process his words, your silver eyes too caught up on his inviting lips to pay any attention to what he said. You'd like to blame these moments where your thoughts stray when you look at Azriel on the bond, but you're not so sure it was all its doing. If he notices he doesn't let it show, allowing you to meet his eyes again like nothing had happened.

“You want to take me flying?”

“If you let me,” he murmurs softly. The excitement written in his eyes was contagious, and if you didn't know any better you'd say he had been waiting on a chance to ask you.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of the possibility ever since you first laid eyes on Azriel. You had never seen a winged fae before so flying always seemed like a childish dream, but now you couldn't help feeling a hint of wistfulness every time you saw him land swiftly on top of the steps. Who wouldn't want to fly? The thought of the wind caressing your skin as you cut through the clouds sounded heavenly, not to mention Azriel's arms wrapped around you as he held you against him. The thought summons warmth to your chest, and lower.

“I'd like that,” you say, “but I'm not sure if it will work because of my oath. We would not be able to go far.”

“Around the temple should be fine, right?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“It's a promise then,” he smiles brightly down at you. “Next time I'll take you flying. I would take you right now but it's still raining.”

“Do you know when the next time will be?”

The words escape you before your brain catches up to them. The way his smile falters, and some of his shadows rush to him from where they had been lazily swirling around the library makes you want to take them back immediately. You know they do that when he's upset or sad, something you rarely see when he comes to the temple. The thought that you were the one to make him so makes you want to rip out your heart and beg for his forgiveness.

“I'm only curious. I didn't mean anything by it,” you rush to explain, the last thing you wanted was for him to think you blamed him, or expected more of him. Azriel had been nothing short of perfect and understanding given your limitations.

“I would come every day if I could.”

“I know, Azriel.” You can hear the longing in his voice, filtering in through the bond as well, even if he tries to hide it. “I would go to you if I could too.”

Thankfully this brings the smile back to his lips, even if still somewhat overshadowed by the reality of your relationship. You've noticed Azriel has a hard time believing he's wanted, and you probably only make it worse since you have not accepted the bond.

“I'm not sure when the next time will be. I should be free in a couple of days, but if Rhys and Feyre need me in the meantime it might be longer, and I don't want to keep your hopes up if I might not be able to show up after all,” he explains as he reaches out for your hand tentatively, holding it delicately in his as his thumb starts drawing circles over your open palm, sending a tingling feeling shooting up your arm and straight to your chest. Shouldn't you be the one comforting him?

“I'll be here waiting either way, Azriel. I don't want you to neglect your work because of me,” you say, squeezing his hand, holding it tighter in yours.

“I'm not. There's no immediate threats on the court so things have been relatively calm, and I think I've earned some time off for all the years I worked without it.” The two of you were similar in a lot of ways, how focused you could be on your work and loyal to your duty was one of them. “Rhys has been easier on me too,” he adds.

“Does he know?”

“Since the first night,” Azriel nods, “I tried to hide it but he saw right through me. I haven't told anyone else though.”

You frown softly as his words settle between you, biting your lip softly and hopefully hiding it before he notices. You didn't know how to feel about Azriel having to hide you from his family, having to sneak around whenever he visits you. The way your chest constricted as soon as the words left his mouth told you what the bond felt immediately though. Your eyes drop to your still intertwined hands, the sight making your heart flutter despite your inner turmoil.

A mating bond was an extremely rare and beautiful thing, something you would be proud to tell your friends and family all about, the whole world even, but you can't blame him for not telling them anything when there's no guarantee this will work, when you made it clear from the first day that you didn't think it would work. All he had to do was explain the situation for the expected congratulations and joyous smiles to turn into pity and sympathetic words instead.

“I'm sorry.”

Now it was Azriel's turn to frown, leaning closer to you and squeezing your hand, trying to meet your eyes as you focused on his hand, on the shimmering silver string that kept you eternally bound to each other.

“What are you sorry for?”

“It's my fault you have to hide it.”

“Of course not-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, tugging on his hand. You were tired of him making excuses for you, of acting like nothing was wrong. If his mate were anyone else, he would have probably at least started dating them regularly by now, might have even already accepted the bond.

“I need you to know,” you look up at him, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with every word even when it becomes too much to bear, “if it weren't for the oath I made and if I could leave the temple, if we could live a normal life, I would accept the bond in a heartbeat.”

You can't quite read the expression that falls over his face, and your nerves are making it impossible to keep a cool head. As the silence stretches on, his hand frozen in yours and his hazel eyes staring right into your soul with unwavering intensity, your heart starts beating extremely loud, pouding at your eardrums as the thought that you said the wrong thing invades your mind.

“Azriel-”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please,” he breathes out, a desperately needy sound coming from deep in his chest. Scarred hands come up to hold your cheeks as he leans down, touching his forehead to yours, hazel eyes closing. “I really want to kiss you.”

You're unsure why he thought you could ever deny him such a request. Leaning in the rest of the way, your lips find his in a soft kiss before you lose your courage. It had been entirely too long since you've felt someone's lips on yours and the fact that it was Azriel, your mate, only made the fire starting inside you burn brighter.

A moan crawls up your throat before you even have a chance to think to keep it down. Azriel swallows it gladly, offering you a deep, satisfied groan of his own as the kiss turns more desperate. All the want you've both tried to keep locked away rising up uninterrupted as teeth and tongues clash, your hands tugging at his soft hair while his fall to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You have no idea how long you're tangled up in each other, the world falling silent while his hands roam your body, but by the time your mind finally clears and you manage to get a grasp on your instincts and on the bond, you find yourself straddling his lap, your dress pushed up to your hips and his shirt half unbuttoned.

Your entire body was glued to him. You could feel every breath he took, the low purring in his chest rumbling against yours, and the evidence of just how much he wanted you pressing against your core. It's as if you had been trying to crawl under his skin, maybe you were, it's not like that would be enough.

Even as you pull apart, chests rising and falling together as you catch your breaths, you don't move away from him, your eyes still closed as you keep your foreheads pressed together. You think it might be impossible to, just the thought makes you want to chain yourself to him, the bond making it difficult to even think at how adamant it is on you keeping your mate as close as possible.

Azriel seems to be of the same mind as he lets out a soft groan, strong arms tightening around you, the sweet pressure pushing an embarrassingly needy and breathy moan past your lips. He leans into your neck, a shiver running through his body as he takes in your scent, the way it deepened with arousal and mixes in with his sending his mind into a frenzy the same way it does yours. If anyone were to walk into this room, they wouldn't be able to tell them apart at all, there wouldn't be any doubts that you were his.

You feel him drop an otherwise chaste kiss to the overheated and sensitive skin of your neck, the way his body tenses at the harsh breath you take in telling you he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it instead. With how out of practice and needy you are at this moment, you think you'd come undone on his lap if he did, the thought sobering you somewhat.

Calling his name softly, surprised by how breathy and undeniably affected your own voice is, you wait for him to gather his own thoughts, abandoning your neck reluctantly, his half-lidded and blown out hazel eyes meeting yours. You know mating bonds are a lot harder to manage for the males so you can't even imagine what is going through his mind, how hard he has to hold himself back from claiming you as his own when you're soaked and pliable on top of him.

Even though you were the one who called his name, you find yourself at a loss for words in the face of his desire. You don't want to tell him to stop and you don't want to move away from him, but you have to, you both know that. And so you kiss him again instead, softly, apologetically.

[demonic0angel]

DC xDP

Via some form of magic, Danny gets split into six different emotions and can only communicate through some form of a vessel while visiting Gotham to check out the university. He unintentionally made a fae angry. Anxiety!Danny, who is pure white, finds a stuffed blue cat sitting on top of a pile of trash, it had a tear in it's chest, and phases into it and immediately approaches the nearest Bats for help tracking down the rest of his emotions that ran off after the spell hit Red Robin is wondering if he's hallucinating, and Robin is thinking this is some sort of trap, but he's also willing to help a person (read: Talking stuffed animal) in need. The remaining emotions and vessels are

Sadness- A purple dog plush

Pride- A golden lion plush

Love- A pink bunny plush with a red heart on it's stomach

Joy- An orange teddy bear

Anger- A green alligator plush

Nightwing almost shed a tear. "Do we have to try to find them so quickly? Look!" He whispered urgently as he gestured behind him.

Robin was sitting on the floor, talking to the plushy on the ground. The both of them were communicating in quiet tones, with Robin handing the plushy more crayons to write his thoughts with as the adorable cat stuffie struggled to hold its blue crayon.

Nightwing hurriedly took another picture and then looked at his other siblings and family with a desperate look in his eyes.

"It's so cute! Please, can you let me enjoy this some more??"

Red Robin and Red Hood shared a look. Clearly, their big brother was already going insane from cuteness induced fits.

"Hell no. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can sleep," Red Robin said, rubbing his temples. "I still can't tell if this is all a hallucination or not...."

Batman also took a picture with his phone, ignoring Red Robin and Red Hood's look of bewilderment and Nightwing's look of solidarity before he said, "For Danny's sake, I say that we should hurry. Who knows what will happen if he stays separated for too long?"

Nightwing sighed, drooping. "I guess you're right... but it's just so cute... Dami never gets to act like a kid..."

Red Robin sighed as well. "Fine! I'll take pictures for you, okay? And I'll make sure that Damian holds all of Danny's plushy selves so it'll be as cute as possible. So will you help us find all of him now?"

Nightwing beamed. "Deal! Where should we start? Danny told us that his sister was in town, so do you think we should contact this Jazz person first? Or— ooh! Do you think we can find Danny's joyful self first? I bet it'll be extra cute!"

Red Hood groaned, looking upwards at the ceiling for divine intervention, even though he was underground. "I should've just blocked B's phone number when he called me..."

[ilvfryends]

Everyone turns to me as my new apprentice dry-heaves the all of nothing left in his stomach. 3 people are slumped in various positions covered in various different colors and break-outs. "I mean bonus points for the variety but hell do you even understand the simplicity of long acting poison?! If you really wanted everyone here dead giving it a couple hours to kick in would be the best way to go about it." I am quite literally the house witch, it is literally my job to understand this and these idiots apparently hate their witches and have zero respect for them.

Some idiot in a grassy green jacket says "well I mean, what did you expect? We all hate each other" everyone else nodding in agreement.

"Honestly I respect all of you more for the blatancy, it's well respected at my home to say it how it is." That stupid girl from Tresstown says from the far side of the table, her pink gown matching her obnoxious voice.

"Oh shut it you Tressian, nobody gives a damn about what you respect, all you people ever do is talk about yourselves"

"Ya like you're any better Alador, all you do all day is pig out and chop off heads for fun"

Gods this is getting old, wouldn't it be fun to just kill them all, nobody likes them anyways. And as previously stated, a lot of them have an affinity for killing people. What if I just... "Well lets clear all this" I magic away the whole dinner "and drink. What are we feeling?" I pull open the hidden bar start lining the table with whatever is called out, ending with myself an expresso martini in hand. "To dirtbags doing the dirty work" which earns me one hell of a glare from Travis, my assigned Lord, before we all drink.

20 minutes later as I'm making round 2 the coughing begins, everyone looks around, specifically at my dear Lord Travis who is the only one not hacking up blood at this point. Eyes roll back, limbs twitch and more bodies end up lying slumped on and off the table. "Oh dear Drame, I never thought you to have the guts."

"In my defence they killed my apprentice, he was actually really good at his job." I hand him the fresh drink before sitting back at his side an apple-raspberry cocktail in mine, "they have heirs so relief will be short-lived."

He takes a long drink before starting "well sh-" and then dropping dead, he was alright, short and sweet worked for him.

""Hey guys, they're all dealt with, the heirs gone yet?""

I hear some screams and slashing before ""mine are done."" Oh so obviously Grace, being excessive as usual. ""Don't worry I'll shower before meeting y'all""

Everyone else confirms, ""welcome to the revolution ladies. Remember, we're meeting at the stones in an hour, let your crows in to clean up before you magic out."

1 hour later

"Lets get out of this hell already" Trish complains the second she appears.

"I swear to the gods if I have to hear anyone say that again I'm leaving you to do the spell on your own. Making a mass portal to the Fey realm is not quick and I've already been here for a half hour longer than the rest of you"

"Bitchy much?" She jokes to the others to which she receives eye rolls, we were all more than glad when she got assigned to the farthest province, sadly we can't leave her; all of us or none of us, that was the deal.

About 10 minutes later it's ready, all 26 of us stand in the circle, me at the center and spreading out by power level, the power is imbued, the words are spoken, and with a flash of light and then a wave of darkness we're pulled through space straight into the Dwarven citadel.

"….Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned?! Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!"

[breelandwalker]

The Web of Light - A Community Ritual

In late January of 2025, I joined a group of witches online to conduct a ritual for the protection and healing of our communities and for hope to sustain us though the weeks and months to come. Many wonderfully talented people contributed to this working, and I was honored to present an invocation of Brighid and to lead the portion of the ritual where we created the Web of Light.

With the permission of the rest of the circle from that evening, I want to share my portion of the ritual with all of you. (I'm not looking for notes or feedback - this was purpose-built and it exists as it was written.) The more strands in the web, the more lights in the dark, the more love and energy we can give this spell and others like it, the better.

If you feel comfortable doing so, I'd like to invite anyone who is willing to help to join in this working, either by yourself or with your circle. You can do the full blessing, invocation, and casting if you feel comfortable doing so, or just the casting alone. Feel free to invite any helpful spirits, ancestors, deities (especially fire-related), and so forth that you work with to lend their aid.

All you need for this spell is a quiet place to sit and a candle. (Live flame or LED, either is fine, and if you can't find either one, a flashlight will do.)

Perform whatever opening steps you usually do to begin a ritual (preparing the space, casting a circle, grounding and centering, etc) and when you're ready, begin.

WEB OF LIGHT

Suggested Music for the warmup:

"Brighid's Flame" and/or "Brighid" by Kellianna "Imbolc" by Lisa Thiel

[BLESSING]

Into this sacred space, I call the light of creation, the light of inspiration, the light of healing, the light of the forge, the light of the hearthfire, the light of hope, which neither wanes nor falters, but burns bright and perpetual within and around us all. Bless those who are gathered here and may the spirits, deities, ancestors, and powers almighty that we invoke here strengthen our resolve, shield us from harm, and guide us in our workings, as we gather to do what is RIGHT, not what is easy.

[INVOCATION]

With the consent of those assembled, I invoke the name of Brighid and invite her presence in this place. Holy Lady of Cill Dara (pron. Kill Dahrah), protector of hearth and home, teacher, poet, healer, forgemaiden, flamekeeper, living link between the old ways and the new, be with us and lend us your aid.

Brigid of brightness, I bid thee welcome, Brigid of blessing, come thou in. Brigid of strength, I bid thee welcome, This night and every night, this day and every day.

Brigid of the threshold, come thou in, Brigid of the hearthfire, take your ease, Brigid of the cook-pot, sup with us, Brigid of all comforts, live in our hearts.

Ancestors all, I embody your legacy, Ancestors all, I ask for your blessing, Ancestors all, I offer Brigid’s flame To light the needfires of deep memory.

Brigid of the timeless flame, bless your [children]: Those who keep the circle bright, Those whose faith has never failed, Those who keep your name ablaze.

Brigid, lend your righteous sword To those who work for justice, To those who speak the truth, To those who seek a better world.

In the name of Brigid, who empowers the oppressed, In the name of Brigid, who released the enslaved, In the name of Brigid, who lifts up the downtrodden, May all our people be honored and free.

[Casting]

Tonight, we come together with courage. Tonight, we come together with hope. Tonight, we come together in common purpose, to turn our combined strength to save what can be saved, to shield what can be shielded, to heal what can be healed, to burn away what must be cleansed, and to keep the darkness of despair and hatred at bay.

Tonight, each of us is a point of light. We are the tenders of the hearth. We are the bearers of the flame which lights the way. We are the workers at the forge. We are the spark before the fire, the dancing light upon the snow, the seekers of snowdrops, the keepers of the healer’s tent, the knowers of the promise of spring.

For even as summer fades into fall, and fall into winter, so the cold and dark must one day yield to warmth and renewal. Even the longest night must end and we will see the sun rise again.

(Light your candle.)

Hold the light within you. Warm, bright, everlasting, a fire which burns bright but does not consume or diminish. This is a fire which shields the helpless, which offers illumination to the lost, which gives hope to those in sorrow. Each of us alone is but a candle, but together, we are a conflagration. 

Picture the array of us, spread out across the sleeping world, a scattering of earthbound stars twinkling in the night. Physically, we are apart, but in our hearts and in our magic, we are all a part of each other and of this world. We are the weavers and keepers of this spell, a web that spans mighty distances and connects us all. We are the beacons which will hold the darkness at bay.

Let the light of your magic spread out from you like the lines of a spider’s web, like the roots of a tree, like the paths of a river, like the crackle of lightning. Picture it spreading across the distances between us, each strand connecting one working to another, and another, and another, strengthening with each bond, growing until the space is covered. Each of us holds a line and weaves a portion of the web, and we are blessed to know that none of us walks alone. 

Like the roots of the trees, like the mycelium of the mushrooms, this web of light is not visible to all. Those that seek to harm, to disrupt, to oppress, and diminish, let them be blind, let them be powerless, let them find nothing. We give them NOTHING. But those who have need of us, those who need healing or shelter or knowledge or hope, we give them eyes to see. And those that see, let them light beacons of their own, until the night is bright as day and the sun comes up again.

(Extinguish your candle. If you ever feel that you need strength or hope or the time feels right to further empower the spell, light it up again.)

Suggested Music for the cooldown:

“Star Maps” by S.J. Tucker

(If you choose to share this ritual elsewhere, please credit me. Thanks!)

[wisteria-lodge]

Why do you think Narcissa is the only one who looks different from her sisters? Bellatrix and Andromeda are said to look alike. Even her name is different from theirs

I knew a set of sisters named Violet, Rose, and Hannah. Which annoyed me too. 100% all three Black sisters should have Black family astronomy names. Doylist reason is probably - JKR introduced Narcissa in book 4 and picked a name that invoked "narcissistic" because she's pretty, but bad-guy aligned. And then only properly worked out the Black family tree in book 5.

Watsonian reason... I guess maybe 'Narcissa' could be a Rosier name?And it's coming from the distaff side of the family? I don't have a cute headcanon about that.

I DO have a headcanon about the hair though. See, I think it's fun if the dramatic Malfoy white-blonde hair isn't natural. It's something they achieve with the private family spells (imo ALL pureblood family should have a handful of spells that aren't exactly "public.") It's all about the ~*~aesthetic~*~ with Malfoys, after all. The branding. That's most of what Lucius Malfoy does, after all. He *looks* the part. Also, Harry is quite focused on Draco's hair. Maybe it's magic hair.

I think this goes with the Malfoys' metaphor. They're not true believers. They are not (in other words) *real.* So, a very deliberately constructed appearance underlines that in a nice way. They're hot in a much more high-maintenance way than the Blacks are... which is why Lucius' hair starts looking so terrible when he doesn't have his wand. Roots start looking a little brassy, now that he can't do his magical upkeep.

(Side note ~ I think it would also be fun if *white* hair has in-universe associations with like, fay ancestry or something. Increased magical power. The Malfoys enchant their hair white so people THINK they have fay ancestry... but the Lovegoods and the Olivanders actually do.)

So, if that's the case, then maybe Narcissa once had dark hair like her sisters, and has been lightening it ever since she married Lucius. It's a subtle allegiance marker: she's communicating that she's a Malfoy now, and loyal to the Malfoys. Which is of course, true.

(I mean, her chic half-and-half look from the FILMS clearly isn't natural. Why shouldn't she dye her hair in the books as well?)

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

mc just falling asleep on ominis's lap and he's like i can't move like ever now. sebastian please get me a book

Trust and Torment | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

ANON! Thank you sm for your ask, this was so cute ;.; gave me a few new HCs for Ominis as well that I included heheh :')

I got an ask not long ago ab how I go about writing and stuff, so with this one, I visualized my general thought process is for when I start (excuse my chicken scratch writing). Not sure how helpful it'll be but I thought why not! <3

Words: ~3,200

Tags: Mentions of Smut, Pining, Romance, Fluff, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The faint crackle of the torches filled the quiet space, their warmth radiating in uneven waves that brushed against the cool stone walls of the Undercroft. The scent of parchment mingled with ink and the smoky aftermath of spell-fire. Ominis sat on the couch next to you, relaxing into the softened edges of the cushions—a familiar, worn comfort shaped by years of use.

Your shoulder brushed against his, a fleeting touch, but it sent a ripple of warmth through the air between you, one that lingered beneath his skin long after the contact had passed. The faint sound of your fingers turning the pages of your book mingled with Sebastian's muttering and sighing from where he sat across the room, scratching at his Arithmancy homework.

Study sessions like this had become the norm for the three of you in seventh year. What used to be lively gatherings filled with procrastination and teasing in years past had quieted into focused companionship, the looming specter of N.E.W.T.s demanding most of your attention. Tonight was no different.

Ominis seemed, as always, the picture of calm. His steady fingers brushed the braille of his book, the other hand resting neatly in his lap. But beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts were fraying. Sitting this close to you, with the faint scent of your shampoo wrapping around him, your shoulder occasionally brushing his own, he was hopelessly distracted.

It was maddening, really, how easily you unraveled him—how the simple press of your body against his own could splinter his focus into something delicate and dangerous. Because the truth was, Ominis rarely wanted to touch anyone at all.

Touch was not something he easily welcomed. His family had made sure of that—cold, distant, cruel as they were, touch had only ever been associated with pain or control. Even with his friends, Ominis had never been particularly tactile. The exceptions had been Sebastian and Anne, the only ones who had ever felt safe enough to let close. And then, of course, there was you.

You, who had never asked permission outright, but whose touch had never been unwelcome. You, who reached for him in passing—soft brushes of your fingers against his sleeve when you wanted his attention, the warm press of your palm to his arm when laughter had made you lean into him, the absentminded way you tucked his hair behind his ear when he was too deep in thought to notice it falling forward. He had never stopped you.

He never wanted to.

Because the truth he could never voice—perhaps even to himself—was that he was painfully, desperately touch-starved. And when it came to you, your touch was the most desirable of all.

It was getting harder to pretend it didn’t affect him. Harder to keep himself from leaning into it, from seeking it out. Harder to ignore the way his heart beat faster whenever you shifted closer, the way his fingers itched to reach for you in return.

This was just studying. Just work. He told himself that over and over again.

But the longer you read, the slower your movements became, and Ominis didn’t miss the way your shoulder leaned just a little more heavily into his. At first, it was subtle—your head dipping slightly, then snapping back up. A small shift, barely noticeable. But then it happened again. And again.

Ominis barely had time to register what was happening before you gave in entirely, your head resting against his shoulder with a sigh so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

His entire body locked up.

Oh. Oh.

He didn’t dare move. He didn’t even breathe. His brain, usually sharp and composed, blanked completely, drowned out by the deafening drum of his heartbeat in his ears. Your weight was warm and solid against him, pressing into his side in a way that sent his thoughts spiraling.

Surely this was a mistake. You were tired. You hadn’t meant to—

Then you shifted again, tilting, your warmth slipping lower.

And before he could even begin to process what was happening, your head slipped from his shoulder entirely, settling against his lap.

Ominis nearly had a heart attack.

The book in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing on the couch beside him with a dull thud. His breath caught so sharply in his throat that he thought he might choke on it. Every muscle in his body tensed so violently that he might as well have been Petrified.

Your head. Was in. His lap.

His brain was screaming. His body was screaming. His entire existence was screaming.

The soft press of your cheek against his thigh burned hotter than fiendfyre, and he was terrified to move even a fraction of an inch, as if any shift might wake you—or worse, alert you to what you’d done.

A chair scraped against the stone floor, the sharp sound slicing through his unraveling thoughts. Ominis didn’t need to see Sebastian to know that he had just turned, and, judging by the way the air shifted, was now staring.

“Well, well,” Sebastian mused, and Ominis could hear the smirk in his voice. “Look at that.”

“Don’t,” Ominis hissed, his voice sharp but barely above a whisper. His entire being was already on the verge of short-circuiting, and Sebastian Sallow’s commentary was the last thing he needed.

Sebastian made a thoughtful sound, far too amused for Ominis’ liking. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so… flustered,” he drawled, clearly relishing every second of this. “It’s adorable, really.”

Ominis’ hands hovered uselessly in his lap, his fingers twitching, aching to move, but paralyzed by the sheer catastrophe of the situation.

“Sebastian,” Ominis bit out a warning, his voice low and laced with something dangerously close to desperation.

Sebastian, of course, did not care.

The scrape of his chair echoed again as he stood, his footsteps far too leisurely as he strolled across the room.

“So,” Sebastian continued, his voice all casual-like as he stood over where Ominis sat on the couch. “Have you told her yet?”

Ominis’s stomach plummeted. His head whipped toward Sebastian, his pale eyes narrowing in immediate alarm. “Told her what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know,” Sebastian said breezily, tone far too innocent to be anything but dangerous. “How you feel. How you’ve been pining for her for years, how the mere sound of her laugh sends you spiraling, how you—”

“Sebastian,” Ominis hissed, his entire body going rigid as heat flared up his neck, spreading fast. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, as if gripping onto whatever composure he had left. “Will you shut up?!” His voice dropped to a hushed, frantic whisper, sheer panic creeping in. “What if she hears you?!”

Sebastian snorted. “Trust me, she’s not hearing anything right now. She’s completely out.” A pause. Then, far too smugly, “Although, if she was awake, this would make for a fascinating conversation.”

Ominis groaned softly, dragging a trembling hand down his face. He couldn’t do this right now—he couldn’t. His mind was already in tatters, barely keeping him together beneath the searing weight of you pressed against him. His heart was hammering so hard he was convinced it was audible, each heavy beat a taunting reminder of just how doomed he was.

“Look—”

“I am looking,” Sebastian interrupted, entirely unrepentant. “And she looks very comfortable. Entirely content, all cozied up in your lap like that.” His voice dipped into mock sympathy. “Honestly, I think she’s found her new favorite spot. Looks like you’re stuck here, mate.”

Ominis’ lips parted, but nothing came out. His thoughts were too much—too loud, too scattered, an impossible mess of holy hell what do I do and I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move.

Sebastian, because he was insufferable, only continued.

“And look at you,” he mused, his tone brimming with pure mischief. “All flustered and red in the face—Merlin’s beard, Ominis, her face is practically on your di—”

“Enough!” Ominis snapped, his voice a desperate whisper, his entire body burning. His hands hovered uselessly above his lap, fingers twitching, aching to do something—anything—but he didn’t dare move. He turned his head away sharply, as if that might somehow shield him from Sebastian’s relentless torment.

Sebastian laughed, warm and unbothered. “Relax, Ominis. I’m only joking.” A beat. “Mostly.”

Ominis wanted to die.

Sebastian sighed, entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I suppose I could be a decent friend and leave you to your little—” he waved a hand vaguely, “—situation.”

Ominis felt the shift in the air as Sebastian moved, as Ominis heard the the lazy, purposeful way he strolled toward the exit. Finally.

But then—panic struck. He had no idea how long he'd be down here, now idea how long he'd be unable to move.

“Wait,” Ominis blurted, his voice sharper than he intended, but still quiet, tinged with something between resignation and pleading.

Sebastian paused. “Hmm?”

Ominis hesitated. He hated the way his fingers twitched at his sides, how stupidly vulnerable he felt, trapped in this moment, utterly helpless beneath the weight of something he wanted—ached for—but could not handle.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain even. “Could you… bring me something from dinner?”

Sebastian was silent.

For a moment, Ominis thought his friend was about to pounce on his uncharacteristic uncertainty, dig into it, use it to fluster him even more.

But then Sebastian chuckled, softer this time. Genuine.

“Of course,” he said, still teasing but gentler now. “Anything for the lap-bound prince.”

Ominis clenched his jaw. “I hate you.”

Sebastian only hummed, entirely unfazed. “I’ll make sure it’s something easy to eat,” he added, far too cheerfully. “Wouldn’t want you disturbing her.”

Ominis groaned, his face burning all over again. “Just go.”

With one last low chuckle, Sebastian finally turned and stepped out, the door creaking closed behind him.

Silence fell over the Undercroft once more.

Ominis exhaled a breath, but it did little to steady him. His thoughts were racing, still frayed beyond reason.

And you—blissfully unaware, still peacefully asleep in his lap—remained the greatest, most tormenting comfort of all.

Every part of him was acutely aware of you. It was overwhelming, like he’d been plunged into a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake from.

His fingers twitched at his side, his hand hovering uselessly in the air before retreating back to the couch, clenching into the fabric as if to anchor himself. He wanted—Merlin, he wanted so badly to touch you, just a simple brush of his fingers over your hair, something small, something to savor. But the thought sent a wave of panic crashing through him.

What if it woke you? What if it startled you? What if you looked up at him, bleary-eyed and confused, and he had to explain why his hands were trembling, why his breath was uneven, why he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

The mere idea of it made his stomach twist violently.

Yet his mind wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t let him rest. His thoughts churned, slipping into dangerous territory before he could stop them. Was this moment as perfect to you as it was to him?

No, of course not.

You were asleep, utterly unaware of the emotional devastation you had just unleashed upon him.

But still…

Sebastian, as infuriating as he was, was right. Your face was dangerously close to Ominis's pelvis, to the very peak of his torment.

Of course he had imagined you down there before. A million times. Your face, your mouth—Merlin, your mouth—and all the wicked ways he had dreamed of feeling it, of having it wrapped around him. It was a dangerous, recurring indulgence, one he had forced himself to bury, to ignore, to pretend didn’t exist.

But this wasn't that, he reminded himself sharply.

You weren’t here to torture him, to tease or tempt, to unravel him piece by trembling piece. You weren’t even aware of what you were doing to him—of how you had always done this to him, effortlessly, unknowingly. You were just… sleeping. Soft and trusting, warm and utterly oblivious, curled into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if you belonged there.

So even as his body betrayed him, as heat coiled low in his stomach and his blood turned traitorous, as the cruelest corners of his mind whispered every half-buried thought, every shameful fantasy he'd ever had of you—he could not let his mind wander further.

Ominis forced himself to exhale slowly, counting each breath in a desperate attempt to steady the erratic rhythm of his heart. In and out. In and out. But it wasn’t helping—nothing was. His body was taut with restraint, his nerves raw beneath the unbearable weight of you.

And then, another thought crept in, unbidden.

Was his lap even comfortable enough for you?

It was ridiculous, laughable even, that of all the things he should be worried about right now—his lack of control, the way his thoughts teetered on the edge of something dangerous, the sheer agony of wanting something he could never have—this was what took root in his mind.

But it did.

Because you were still there, still sleeping, still soft and warm and so impossibly close. And Ominis had never been… particularly built. He was lean, all sharp angles and bony joints, nothing like Sebastian, for example, who was solid in a way that made people feel secure when they leaned against him. Ominis, though?

Was he enough? Was he warm enough? Soft enough?

Did you even feel comfortable? Or were you simply too exhausted to move?

Ominis’ throat tightened. His jaw clenched.

Stop it.

He shook his head sharply, forcing the thought away before it could spiral further. It was ridiculous.

He let out a low, shaky sigh, tilting his head back against the worn fabric of the couch. His eyes fluttered closed, as if shutting them might help him breathe, might help him find some semblance of control.

Minutes passed—or maybe it was hours, he wasn’t sure—before his restraint began to crumble.

His fingers twitched at his side, brushing against the edge of his robe, as though testing his resolve. He swallowed hard, heart pounding in his chest.

Don’t do it. Don’t move. Just sit here. Be thankful she’s even this close.

But his hand betrayed him.

Slowly—hesitantly—he let his fingers lift from the couch, hovering for an agonizing moment before finally—finally—settling gently on your shoulder.

He froze. Held his breath. Waited.

You didn’t stir.

Encouraged by your lack of reaction, he let his hand shift, his fingertips ghosting over the curve of your shoulder, barely daring to make contact. He moved so carefully, as if even the air around you might betray him.

And then—

His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your cheek.

Ominis stopped breathing.

Oh, this was—this was worse. This was so much worse.

You were so warm. So soft.

It was unbearable. It was blissful.

It was a catastrophe.

His fingers lingered, just for a moment, before moving again, his touch impossibly light as he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His throat felt tight, his pulse hammering so hard he thought it might shatter him from the inside out.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that. He shouldn’t be indulging in something so selfish, so fleeting. And yet he couldn’t stop.

Being blind, Ominis had grown up with people making assumptions about him—about what he wanted, what he needed. One of the most common, most infuriating notions was that he must long to touch their faces, to “see” them with his hands. Strangers would offer their cheeks, their chins, without hesitation, as if they were gifting him something precious. He hated it.

To him, it had always felt invasive. Hollow. An empty gesture that lacked the intimacy people so foolishly believed it conveyed.

But you?

You had never offered. Never asked him to touch your face. Ominis wondered if it was out of politeness, or if you simply didn’t want him to. Maybe you thought he’d recoil at the idea.

And yet—selfishly, shamefully—Ominis had wished more times than he could count that you would bring it up. That you would offer, not out of pity, not because you felt you should, but because you trusted him enough to let him. To let him know you.

But you never had.

And now—

Now, he had his chance.

His fingers mapped the soft curve of your cheek, brushed against your jawline, and trailed down the delicate bridge of your nose. Every touch was feather-light, as if he was terrified he might shatter you, might shatter himself.

His fingertips ghosted over the curve of your chin, tracing the soft slope with a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed. Every tiny detail of you was being burned into his mind now: the smoothness of your skin, the faint warmth radiating from you, the way your breathing remained steady, peaceful, as though his touch didn’t disturb you in the slightest.

It was intoxicating. It was terrifying.

It was everything.

His thumb brushed against the edge of your jaw, and his chest ached with the weight of everything he'd never said, everything he secretly felt. A quiet storm of longing and guilt swirled inside him, tightening in his throat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

What would you think if you knew? Would you pull away? Would you be offended by his presumption? Or would you—

He refused to finish the thought.

Ominis let out a slow, trembling breath, his thumb tracing one last, fleeting touch before he forced himself to pull away. His hand drifted back to your shoulder, retreating to safer ground, while the other, still trembling faintly, lifted to cradle the back of your head.

And then you shifted slightly in your sleep.

A soft, barely-there sigh escaped your lips as you curled just the slightest bit closer to him, seeking out his warmth as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ominis's breath hitched. The tension bled from his frame, melting into something warmer, something deeper—something that made his heart ache in a completely different way.

Because you were here. With him. Safe and peaceful, trusting him enough to let your guard down in a way that left him utterly, completely speechless.

And finally—mercifully—the storm in his mind began to quiet.

Ominis let his head tip back against the couch again, his fingers brushing absently against your shoulder as his eyes slipped closed.

He didn’t realize when his breaths grew deeper, slower, or when the exhaustion that had been tugging at the edges of his mind finally overtook him.

All he knew was that you were there.

Safe. Close.

By the time Sebastian returned, juggling plates of dinner, Ominis was fast asleep—his head resting against the couch, one hand still gently cradling the back of yours.

[cricketcat9]

Yes, I very much agree, but can't we spell "abusive" anymore? If so, why?

found this today

Please use these terms correctly. Not doing so will deeply harm the people who actually have experienced trauma, gaslighting, triggers, and people who have NPD.

[thatnonameuser]

Ooh, do you feel like any of the yans would try to keep their darling ill by giving them minor poisons, so they can't go outside or try to escape? Like, they put it in their darling's water or food to make them feverish or lethargic.

(I can particularly picture this with Trey, Vil, or Jamil maybe Epel's family if they help him keep his darling captive at Harveston)

Absolutely!

There has to be some kind of mystique about you being sick and vulnerable. Being so helpless against whatever they could do to you, dependent on them for aid and, should you try to resist, they can make your sickness worse so that they can have more aforementioned.

To add, Munchausen by proxy might be a common occurrence in the yandereverse, though the disorder is warped to have the attention of the people they make ill, their darlings. It's surprisingly common, with such a wide variety of potions and over-the counter medications there are for weakening a darling, it’s very easy for some yanderes to attain the medicine and magic necessary to do so, like from pharmacies or being taught how to make them in schools.

With that being said, Trey is definitely one of them. (he’s kind of already done it before) Going on the current canon I’ve written, he’s already been using magic to cause you to have constant fainting spells and fatigue requires you to get help if it continues as much as it does, (It’ll get worse), Once you’re in his grasp, you won’t have a choice but to accept whatever he’s giving you and all it takes to start it is you trusting him enough to not think twice of him putting something into whatever you eat.

Vil is definitely another, with his UM and potion prowess, he’s able to make you debilitatingly ill without you even having to consume whatever he gives you. It also gives him the ability to help you become more ‘perfect’ under the guise of making you better, (There's also something beautiful about you being ‘pallid’ from sickness) I think he might not just do it for the reason of simply being obsessed with you. You being ill keeps you from interacting with his crazy fanbase, so the longer you’re ‘ill’ the safer you are from the public eye.

If Book 4 taught me anything, it’s that Jamil is very good at manipulating and sickness makes that easier. He’ll use his own knowledge on poison tasting to hide milder poisons into what you might eat or drink, and after that he can enjoy the effects of you being dependent. Best of all, in his case at least, should you attempt to fight/rebel against him (probably saying you can take care of yourself) he’ll give you what you ask for while making your ailment more debilitating. What better way to make you dependent and helpless than by tricking you into needing his aid, and turning you against yourself by tricking you into thinking that you are the one ‘in the wrong’.

Regarding Epel’s family, or families in general poisoning you, (originally a throw away line, but I can make it work) while the guys will probably need to earn your trust, you’re more comfortable around their families. Bad move, stupid even. But watching the sons deal with you being difficult is hard to watch.

For Epel’s meemaw, Marja probably used the old ‘spiked’ apple cider trick to marry his Peepaw, so of course she’s gonna help out where she can. And a warm cup of cider after being out in the freezing cold is usually a welcome and very innocuous way to trick someone into consuming something that will make them suddenly too sick to travel. Plus, her age and demeanour helps, making her seem like a caring old lady just worried for a cold houseguest (that just happens to be her grandson’s one true love) nothing for you to be suspicious about.