#THE LIGHT STREAKS FROM HER TAIL

[a-trash-artist]

WAKE UP GHOST POSTED

Nightcore

[sceletaflores]

ghosts, ghouls, goblins, and other things that go bump in the night!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, drinking, resident bestie diva wade wilson, matching costumes ofc, established relationship, p in v, semi-public sex (bathroom), rough sex, mirror sex, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, light degradation, light hair pulling, light choking, nasty dirty breeding kink (@guiltyasdave infected me with the breeding kink disease...it's all her fault), 4k words for straight up porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: happy halloween! sort of...i obvi couldn't wait to post this until the actual day cause i have absolutely zero patience so here you go! i thought up this idea in the middle of the night and literally got out of bed to start it. it's a nasty self indulgent mess...hope you love it! kisses <3

cutie divider by icon @saradika-graphics!

you and logan have some fun at wade's halloween party...

Unsurprising to no one, Wade Wilson knows how to throw a party. 

Every year since the two of you became neighbors, you’ve gotten a gaudy invitation decorated with cartoon bats and devils slipped under your door just in time for Halloween.

Of course, it’s always in some cheesy font, red and glittery. A crappy pun about “scaring up some fun with your favorite mercenary” with a return address listed as ‘Hell’s Playground’ inscribed on the front.

It's awful. You haven’t missed one yet.

And not just because you’re a sucker for free booze and cheap decorations. It’s like tradition now, you can't have your perfect attendance streak cut off four years in. That's just bad manners.

Besides, this is the first year you’ve gotten to do a couples costume.

“I look fuckin’ ridiculous,” Logan mutters, deep voice laced with irritation as he messes with the wolf ears perched awkwardly on his head. “Can’t believe I let you drag me to this thing.”

You don’t turn to face him, but you can still see the frown tugging his lips down in your mind. Logan’s never been one for costumes, but his options were either dress up or stay home while you went and had fun without him.

He was dead set on staying at home for most of the day.

One look at the frilly white bloomers that came with your costume and he changed his tune.

“Quit being such a baby,” you toss over your shoulder, pouring your second cup of whatever Wade mixed together in the mini cauldron sitting on his bar. “You look great, babe.”

He really shouldn’t complain, his costume is barely a costume. An old flannel with the sleeves ripped off and some mangy jeans.

The fake ears and tail were a struggle and a half to get him on board with, but Logan’s all bark and no bite. He was more than willing to roll over and show you his belly after enough begging.

Logan scoffs, big hand pawing at your hip to drag you to his side. “You owe me for this,” he rumbles low in your ear, the playful threat sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’ll survive,” you tease, a smug grin spreading across your face as you tug playfully on the tail clipped to his belt loop. “Unless you wanted to switch?”

Logan’s eyes drag over your body shamelessly, all the way from the floppy sheep ears sitting on your head to the lacy white corset and matching bloomers that do little to hide your curves. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken, how he runs his tongue along the sharp point of his canines like he wants to sink his teeth into you.

It sends a familiar heat coursing through your veins, warming your insides just as much as the vodka with a hint of mixer you’ve been sipping at.

You start to wish you shelled out for the fake fangs at the party store.

Logan tugs you closer, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smirk. “Not a chance in hell,” he rasps, voice dipping a couple octaves lower. “Looks better on you, baby.”

You hum idly as his arm snakes around your waist, fingers splayed along your lower back, inching dangerously close to the swell of your ass.

“You better behave,” you chastise, though it’s more playful than stern as you look up at him through your lashes. “We’re in public.”

Logan’s grip tightens, a soft grunt leaving him as he leans in, nosing along the side of your face. “Doesn’t seem like much of a party when all I’m thinkin’ about is how fast I can get you outta this damn costume.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, the warm puff of his breath over your skin makes your knees feel weak. You try to keep your cool, but it’s hard when he’s practically radiating heat and that intoxicating scent of leather and pine fills your senses. 

Before you can respond, a loud call of your name grabs your attention. 

"There you are!" Wade shouts from across the room, already making his way towards you.

All six foot two and half inches of him is wrapped in blue and white lace, paired with a matching hoop skirt that bounces with every step he takes. His shepherd's staff thuds against the floor when he comes to a stop in front of you. “Fashionably late, I see.”

“We’ve been here for thirty minutes,” you point out, brow cocked as you take in his costume. “Where’ve you been?”

“I’m the hostess with the mostest, honey bunny,” he says, throwing his arm out to gesture towards all the dressed up guests crammed into his living room. “Can’t spread myself too thin.”

He eyes Logan's wolf ears and fake tail, then turns back to you, wiggling his brows suggestively. 

"Kinky,” he comments, flicking the little gold bell hanging from the choker around your neck. “You two just couldn’t resist a little predator-prey roleplay, huh? Should I be worried about you getting all ‘Animal Planet’ on my couch?”

Logan’s grip on your waist tightens, his mouth brushing your ear as he mutters, “I’m gonna kill him before midnight.”

“Now, now, big bad wolf, no need to huff and puff and blow my skirt up. We’re all here to have a howl of a time!” Wade continues, undeterred. “Plus, if you behave, I might just let you keep your sheep when the night’s over.”

You can practically feel Logan’s eye twitch, but you snicker, leaning into him just a little more. “Play nice, Wade,” you say, trying to smother your laugh. “The wolf might eat you first.”

“Please,’ Wade snorts, twirling his shepherd's staff deftly in his hand. “If that’s on the table, I’ll lay out the fucking fine china.”

Logan lets out a huff of air, dropping his hold on you and brushing past Wade with a grunt. "I'm gettin' another beer."

“Try not to stab anyone!” Wade shouts after him, loud enough to be heard over the Monster Mash blaring from the speakers. “Al might blow the whole complex if any more blood gets on the linoleum!”

Logan throws a middle finger over his shoulder as he disappears into the kitchen. 

You watch him go, a grin plastered to your face at the way the tail swings with every step he takes. Something warm and fuzzy settles in your chest, blooming in the empty space of your ribcage.

You know Logan hates this–the people, the lights, the music, the costumes.

But he’s here anyway, for you.

Here wearing the stupid wolf costume you bought for him, surrounded by drunk people in inflatable dinosaur costumes and witches with dollar-store broomsticks. And despite all the grumbling, he hasn’t bolted for the door once.

All for you. And that makes your heart thump a little harder in your chest, your smirk softening into something sweeter.

"You’ve got him whipped," Wade deadpans, crossing his arms, the lace of his sleeves rustling as he does. “It’s really disgusting.”

You snort, shaking your head softly. "More like he's got a soft spot."

Wade eyes you skeptically. "Same thing, toots."

You hum noncommittally, turning back to him. “Cute outfit,” you comment, eyeing the white bonnet secured by a neat little bow under his chin.

“You like it?” Wade does a quick twirl, the blonde curls of his wig nearly slap you across the face as he does. “The guy at party city kept giving me weird looks, but I think he was just jealous of how well I fill in the blouse.”

You rake your gaze over him slowly, taking another slow sip from your cup. “The stockings are a nice touch, but don’t you think running around as Little Bo Peep will send some confusing messages.”

“Well, duh. That’s only the whole point, Sherlock.” Wade snorts, shaking his head like it’s obvious. “I’m way too emotionally invested in this relationship to not try and wiggle my way into throuple territory.”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. “A throuple? Hate to break it to you, Peep, but Logan doesn’t really strike me as the sharing type.”

Wade leans in conspiratorially, cupping a hand around his mouth like he’s letting you in on a secret. “That’s why I’m playing the long game. Gotta wear him down with my irresistible charm, and when he finally snaps, I’ll swoop in with a bottle of Jack and a promise of no strings attached.”

You shake your head, chuckling into your drink. “You’ve got it all figured out, don't you?”

“Oh, honey,” Wade purrs, winking at you with a dramatic flutter of his lashes, “I've got a five-year plan.”

You roll your head to the side lazily, sheep ears swaying as you do. “I’ll give you points for persistence.”

"Damn straight," he says with a grin, straightening his bonnet proudly. “This level of commitment takes stamina. And by the way, I’ve got great stamina. My record is thirteen.”

You raise your brow, intrigued. “Thirteen what? Rounds? Hours?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” he scoffs indignantly, rolling his eyes. “I’m more than just a pretty face in a killer dress, thank you very much.”

You groan, giving him a light push. "You’re impossible."

Wade grins, leaning closer to throw an arm around your shoulders. “I’m just pulling your tail, Wooly. You know I’d never come between you and your beefy boy toy. I mean, look at him. He’s practically pacing the kitchen like a caged animal just looking at you in your slutty nursery rhyme getup. How pathetic.”

You turn to steal a glance at Logan, who’s leaned against the counter scanning the room from behind his beer bottle. You feel a thrill at the idea that he’s watching over you like a hawk, making sure no one gets too close, slowly working himself up over the mere sight of you. 

But more than that, it’s the slight reluctant smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the party. You can tell he’s managing to find some enjoyment in all this, even if he’d never admit it.

“Well,” Wade starts, dragging the word out slowly. “Since you’re all cozy over here with your alpha male, I’m gonna go find someone to share these…”

He holds up two shot glasses filled with some unidentifiable neon liquid, “…artisanal beverages with. Maybe that guy dressed like a merman. I’ve always wanted to see what's going on under those tails.”

You snort, raising your own cup to your lips. "You're awful."

“Only on the outside, sugar,” he says leaning down to kiss your cheek with a wet smack before flouncing away into the crowd, his skirt swishing as he goes. “Don’t fuck in my house without at least inviting me to watch!”

You laugh to yourself, watching as Wade fades into the crowd of gyrating bodies. You take another long sip, relishing in the familiar burn as it slips down your throat.

The laughter, the music, the chaotic energy of the party—it’s all intoxicating in its own right, but it’s nothing compared to the way Logan’s eyes are boring a hole through the back of your head.

You can feel his gaze like a tangible force, wrapping around you and drawing you in. Logan’s not just watching; he’s assessing, hungry for something that goes far beyond the Halloween festivities surrounding you.

The heat radiating from his gaze only intensifies your already buzzing anticipation, mixing dangerously with the two drinks swirling in your stomach, making you bolder.

You throw back the rest of your drink, setting the empty cup on the bar and making your way across the room. You weave through the crowd seamlessly, the music pulses around you, drowning out the laughter and chatter.

You feel a daring grin spread across your face as you saunter closer, reveling in the way Logan tracks your every move like a predator zeroing in on its prey. 

When you’re finally standing in front of him, you lean against the counter, giving him a good view of the way your corset dips lower. The fabric hugs you in all the right places, teasing him with glimpses of your skin beneath the delicate lace. 

"Looks like Little Bo Peep lost his sheep," he mutters, voice like gravel drenched in honey.

You smirk, tilting your head to the side innocently as you step around the counter. “Maybe I was already planning to run away, to go looking for a big bad wolf to play with.”

You slip two fingers through the belt loop at the front of his jeans, tugging him closer with a rough yank.

Logan’s goes willingly, taking a step closer. His breath hitches as he does, the hazel of his eyes darkening as you press your body against his, not letting an inch of space between you.

“You're really pushin it,” he warns lowly, hands finding your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to send a shiver cascading down your spine. "Makin’ me watch you run around in this fuckin’ thing.”

“Am I?” you reply coyly, fingers toying with the button of his jeans. “I’m just—” you start, but the words are swallowed by the thumping bass of the music as Logan’s lips crash against yours, silencing you with a hungry kiss.

His mouth moves against yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but melt into him, feeling the world around you fade away.

The taste of beer mingles with the vodka on your tongue as you sink into the kiss, his hands tightening around you as he pulls you even closer.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how hard it is keepin’ my hands to myself,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. 

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” you tease, biting your lip as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. You can see the fire smoldering in his eyes, the predatory glint that makes your stomach flutter with excitement. “But maybe you could show me just how hard it really is.”

Logan lets out a low growl, and before you can blink, he’s snatching your wrist up and dragging you through the kitchen. 

Laughter bubbles out from your chest as you trip over your own feet in an attempt to keep up with him. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, the warmth in your stomach dipping lower to leak sticky and wet between your thighs.

He’s not rushing, but there’s an undeniable urgency in his step, a raw need that makes your pulse race in sync with his heavy stride. Weaving you through the crowd and out into the hallway until the noise of the party gets lower and lower. 

You’re familiar enough with the layout of Wade’s place to know where Logan’s taking you, the bathroom.

The door is hardly shut before Logan’s spinning you around and crowding you against the sink. His lips are on you before you can even catch your breath, rough and possessive, as if he’s been starving for this all night. 

The kiss is rougher than before, dirty and all consuming as he claims your mouth. A mess of teeth and tongue and spit that sends your head spinning, body arching off the counter and into his instinctively. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he growls, trailing his lips down your neck, kissing and biting his way to your collarbone. “Drivin’ me so crazy, baby.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his calloused fingers trace over the swell of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a possessive grip that makes your breath hitch. 

Your arms circle his neck, dragging him down for more filthy kisses. The thick length of his cock pressing against your stomach insistently has you keening, a hard plane of scalding warmth even through the thick material of his jeans.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers brush against your inner thigh, and he grins at your reaction.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you?" His voice drops even lower, a filthy rasp that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because Logan’s already got his hand between your thighs, fingers teasing over the soft fabric of your bloomers.

His touch is feather-light, but it’s enough to have you gasping, head lolling back to expose even more of your neck to his fever hot lips.

He groans when he feels how soaked you are, his breath coming out in a rough exhale.

“Figures,” he grunts, his fingers pressing harder, rubbing slow circles over the slick fabric. “Could smell it on you from across the room. You’re fuckin’ drippin’ for me, baby.”

You whine, high in the back of your throat, chest heaving with every quick breath. Your legs spread, thighs widening like you can’t help it. His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, fanning the fire of need festering inside you. 

“Next year we’ll get you in a skirt,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip teasingly. His fingers slip under your bloomers, running through your slick folds teasingly. “Easy access.”

You let out a breathless moan, your hips bucking against his hand, begging for more.

“Logan,” you whimper, but he just smirks, applying more pressure with his palm as he leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your ear.

“You like that, don’t you?” Logan rasps, his voice thick with desire. Dark tone laced with satisfaction as he dips one finger inside you, making your breath catch in your throat. “Look at you, drippin’ down my hand. You want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod frantically, your breath coming in shallow pants as he continues working you with skilled, relentless touches.

Two thick fingers plunged in your aching pussy, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. "Please," you whimper, gripping the edge of the sink so tight your knuckles turn with it, needing more, needing him to ruin you. 

“Please what, honey?” he rasps, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You gotta be more specific.”

You grind against his hand faster, desperate for any kind of relief from the unbearable heat building between your legs. “I need you,” you breathe out, your voice trembling. “Need you to fuck me.”

Logan’s response is immediate. A low growl tearing its way from his throat as he gives your bottoms a rough tug, letting them fall down the length of your legs to pool at your ankles.

He slips his fingers out of you, ignoring your displeased whine and spinning you around to face the mirror, hands gripping your hips as he roughly bends you over the sink.

You find his eyes in the reflection, and the hunger there makes your pulse quicken. His lips are swollen, red and slick just like your own. Hazel eyes blown out and stormy, as he meets your gaze.

The fake whiskers and nose you drew on him before the party using an old eyeliner pen are smudged across the lower half of his face along with the red remnants of your lipstick. You have matching black marks scuffed along your cheeks.

"You’re gonna watch while I fuck you," he growls, popping the button of his jeans and pulling them down just enough to free his cock. He strokes himself once, twice, before lining up behind you, dragging the blunt head along your soaked entrance. "Don’t take your eyes off the mirror, baby. I want you to see what you do to me, what I get to see every fuckin’ time."

You nod breathlessly, eyes locked on his in the mirror as he pushes into you with one hard thrust. You gasp at the stretch, head falling to your chin at the pleasant burn of his cock.

"Fuck," Logan groans, his eyes glued to your reflection as he bottoms out inside you, the sheer size of him making your body tremble.

"Tight little fuckin’ pussy," he mutters, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to move, setting a brutal, unrelenting pace. "You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take my cock."

You can’t stop the moans that fall from your slack lips, pathetic little uh uh uh sounds that get punched out of you with every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Take me so fuckin’ well,” he growls, one hand coming up to grip around your throat, tugging meanly at the bell of your choker that rings as he pounds into you, each thrust harder than the last. “Such a good little sheep, lettin’ your mean old wolf fuck you like this.”

 "Fuck," you moan, the sound broken and desperate as he drives deeper, the thick length of him hitting that spot that has your knees buckling beneath you. “God, Logan…”

“Look,” Logan commands softly, reverently. His lips brushing your shoulder with every word as he tilts your head back up to the mirror, making yourself watch as you take his cock. “Look at how fuckin’ pretty you are getting wrecked on my cock.”

Your reflection in the mirror is a mess—flushed cheeks, eyes glassy with lust, your lips parted in a constant stream of breathless moans. You feel embarrassment mixing with the arousal swirling through your stomach, thighs shaking wildly from the onslaught of pleasure.

The loud slap of skin on skin rings through the tiny bathroom, underscored by the wet gush of your pussy around him each time he buries himself in you.

If anyone were to walk by, they’d surely hear it. They’d know someone was getting fucked, really taking it. The thought alone has you tightening around Logan’s cock, velvety walls clenching around him desperately. 

Logan notices, because of course he does, clever eyes picking up on the way your own drift to the door, lingering.

He threads his fingers through your hair, meanly yanking your head back to the mirror, a feral grin stretching across his face as he watches the way you fall apart for him. 

“Want me to howl for you, baby?” he teases, breath hot against the shell of your ear. You can feel the way his lips curve into an evil grin at the pathetic whine that bursts from your lips, at the feel of your pussy drooling around him even more than before.  

“She likes that, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his thumb finds your throbbing clit, rubbing tight circles as his hips speed up impossibly faster. “Dirty fuckin’ girl, you want everyone to know how good I’m givin’ it to you?”

You whimper, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his words and the rhythm of his thrusts. Your thighs are trembling, barely able to hold you up as Logan takes you apart, piece by piece, with every deep, punishing stroke.

"Answer me," he growls, voice dripping with dominance as his hips snap against you, the head of his cock slamming into that perfect spot inside you again and again. "You want everyone to hear what a dirty little slut you are for me, huh? You want them to know how much you love being fucked like this?"

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice shaky and breathless as pleasure floods your system. "Yes, Logan, fuck—ah! Just—just don’t stop."

Logan growls, low and feral deep in his chest. It shakes through your body, rattling your bones just as much as the heavy smack of his metal laced pelvis against the raw skin of your ass.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy, I can feel the way she’s sucking me in, baby,” he grits out, hips stuttering slightly. “She want my come, darlin’?"

You’re a mess of gasps and whimpers, nodding frantically as his words push you closer to the edge. Throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts as the spring inside you coils tighter and tighter, a hair's breadth away from snapping.

"Yes, please, Logan," you moan, your fingers digging into the counter as you brace yourself for the relentless onslaught of his cock. "I want it, want you to come inside me." 

Logan’s hips stutter as he slams into you, his cock buried so deep inside you it feels like he’s splitting you in half. He’s close, his breath coming out in ragged pants as his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pressing against your pulse just hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growls, heavy balls slapping against your ass lewdly. “Gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? And then I’m gonna fill you up. Gonna fuck my come so deep inside you, you’ll be beggin’ me to give you more.”

That’s all it takes for the coil in your belly to snap, pleasure surging through you in hot, uncontrollable waves. You cry out, your vision blurring as your body clenches around him, and Logan lets out a rough growl, driving into you harder, faster. 

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, dragging out every last second of your orgasm until you’re shaking, your voice hoarse from how loud you’re moaning.

“Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust as he keeps fucking into your trembling body. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—gonna come so deep in you.”

Your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps, your entire body still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm. But Logan isn’t finished. He used the fistful of your hair still trapped in his hand, tugging your head back to meet his wild gaze in the mirror. 

“Eyes on me,” he commands, his pace growing erratic. “You want me to fill you up? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?”

“Yes, Logan,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “Please—I need it.”

With a deep, broken groan of your name, Logan slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick. His fingers tighten on your throat, and you moan at the feeling of his cock pulsing, filling you up to the brim. 

You can’t stop the whine that falls from your lips at the feel of his come spraying your insides, completely drenching you with it. So much that it just has to take.

A shudder runs through you at the idea, pussy clenching around his spent cock weakly.

Logan sighs contently, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he catches his breath, hands falling to your waist like it's the only anchor keeping him from floating away entirely.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are your ragged breaths and the faint thump of the music outside bleeding through the walls.

Logan tips his head back up, meeting your hazy eyes in the fogged up glass of the mirror with a shit-eating grin. “Happy fuckin’ Halloween,” he says smugly, dropping a kiss to the sweaty skin of your shoulder. 

You huff, rolling your eyes with a reluctant fondness. The thought of walking back out there makes your stomach turn, nerves and arousal churning together at the chance that everyone knows what you two were doing after disappearing for so long.

You only hope the white fabric of your bloomers is good enough at hiding the come already leaking from your pussy.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[hello-sweetheart]

Dog Groomer Eddie

Eddie who faces the facts that he needs a skill besides music to make money because he loves the band, loves playing, but man the pay is shit. And he’s a dog person, never been able to have a dog and his apartment doesn’t allow pets either so he tries his hand at dog grooming.

He’s actually like, really good at it. Works at a groomers for a couple of years, wins contest that rewards him with some cash and the notoriety needed to find an investor and start his own dog salon.

Fast forward, Steve is visits a dog groomer that was recommended to him by a friend called Metalhead Groomers. The place has metal playing from the speakers which is a weird choice, but it sticks true to the name. The guy at the front has the name tag ‘Jeff’ who has piercing and tattoos, large guy, very intimidating.

But the place looks clean, it has 5 stars, and when Jeff checks in Antoinette he’s actually super nice, like a gentle giant. So Steve’s like, “I don’t particularly care for a cut, you can do whatever.”

“Do you want the full package? It includes a bath, full hygiene routine, dye job, and a specialized cut.”

And steve does not process the ‘dye’ part and agrees.

So see, Eddie, and by extension Metalhead Groomers, is known for their really eccentric and creative work. It’s how Eddie won his first contest after all. And the best worst thing you can give an artist is full reign. But free rein of a standard poodle?? A dog groomers dream come true.

When Steve goes to pick up Antoinette, Eddie hands her over and…

Her ears are curled and dyed in pastel colors with bows and sparkles. Stands of hair above her eyes are streaked pink and look as if they’re some type of falsie lash. Her legs and tail have been dyed a pastel blue ombré. The rest of her body shaved down except for some plush detailed work of large light pink hearts on her sides and a detailed bow on her lower back . Her tail is fluffed and cut into the shape of a heart.

“What the fuck did you do??”

“Dude, you asked for the full package and said ‘do whatever you want’ so… tada! I took some inspiration from her name, but this is kinda mild compared to my other work tbh.”

It takes Eddie explaining that that it’s pet safe dye, she wasn’t hurt, and actually enjoyed all the attention she received for Steve to calm down.

Fast forward a week and Steve comes back into the shop to apologize for blowing up on Eddie. Turns out Antoinette (Nettie for short) is a service dog and her look actually helps people be more aware of her. Steve also feels safer that she’s more identified cuz apparently there’s actually people that steal service animals?? Eddie was not aware of that. Plus, Steve works with young kids and they love Nettie’s look, it makes them more comfortable and engage more.

[deepspacenova]

𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒

4500 words | Dragon!Sylus. Banter. Sexual tension. Smut. (aka the holy trifecta)

Note: Basically written based on headcanons and vibes. Because no, I am not okay about this myth card. Let’s all be not okay together xx

The icy air prickled on her skin as she scrambled her way through the rocky terrain that led down to the cavern system. 

She couldn’t help but feel a thrum of adrenaline-infused excitement as she crept into the darkness, the fissures in the rock overhead illuminating the tunnel with speckled moonlight as she slipped through the silent shadows. 

She paused for a moment, her breath curling into silver mist in front of her. The stars were high, and the cave ahead was quiet and blissfully unaware of her presence; she had time for a moment of indulgence. She took a deep breath, the intense chill of the night air revitalizing her. 

She had certainly seen worse.

Once upon a time she’d loathed heights, but she’d experienced far worse things over the years than being a few extra metres from the ground. After the war she’d thought it would be easy to fall back into her life, thought it would feel like being back on solid ground, but she’d been wrong, so caught up in changing the world that she didn’t even realise that she had changed too. Now…

Now she had to get back to work.

She hugged the jagged rock walls, her boots crunching softly against the gritty floor of the cave as she crept deeper into the shadows. Overhead, the roof of the cavern became higher and darker, glittering with faint streaks of quartz that caught the dim light filtering through unseen cracks above. 

What would her younger self think of this? Sneaking into a monster’s lair to pilfer his treasure? She imagined that naive girl, horrified beyond belief, clinging to ideals about honor and fairness. But those ideals didn’t pay for food, for shelter. The truth was simple: wealth changed the world. And if she had to steal it from the claws of a monster, then so be it. 

The path curved sharply, and just ahead, the faintest glint of gold sparkled in the dim light. Her heart skipped, her pulse quickening. 

Something was wrong. 

The chamber’s massive iron door, usually sealed tight, was cracked open, its hinges groaning faintly as a draft stirred the cavern air.

Damn it. She’d been so close. So close she could taste it. But now—

The faintest sound reached her ears—a low scrape, like claws dragging across stone. It was so subtle she almost missed it over the hammering of her heart as she gripped the dagger at her side.

Carefully, she tilted her head to peek around the corner.

The chamber opened into a vast expanse of shimmering treasure. Gold coins, goblets, gems, and gilded weapons spilled across the cavern floor in glittering piles. But her attention wasn’t on the wealth — it was on the hulking figure sprawled atop the stone mound.

The dragon. 

His massive form was sprawled on the pedestal, onyx scales glinting in the faint light like shards of obsidian. Smoke curled lazily around him as he rested its head on a palm, like a domesticated creature in repose.

Her stomach twisted. She’d expected him to be there, of course, but seeing him in the flesh was another thing entirely. The beast was impossibly large, his spiked wings resting behind him like folds of a midnight curtain. His tail swished idly, the tip flicking lazily as it held his prize, her prize. The Thread of Celestia, the sparkling necklace she’d set out to retrieve.

The very sight of him irked her. The sheer arrogance of him. No disguise, no armor, no clothing, he wasn’t even sticking to the shadows, the cocky, brutish– 

“Your stealth skills could use some work.” He called, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the quiet night like a blade through silk.

She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck and gripped her dagger. 

She stepped out into the moonlight, allowing the glow to illuminate her silhouette. His massive form shifted, but he didn’t move to hide. No, he continued to lay upon his perch insolently, as if daring her to try something. His gaze narrowed as he took in her figure fully. 

A few moments of silent stalemate, then, a long-suffering sigh.

“Again, little one?”

“Apparently.”

“How have we ended up here again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who sent you this time? I doubt we move in the same circles,” he said with a pretentious little sniff.

“No one hired me, Sylus.”

“Oh?” he inquired, eyes glittering like rubies. “Just for the fun of it then?”

“This isn’t for fun.” She lied. It wasn’t just for fun anyway… “Just because you don’t care about anything but yourself–”

“You know that’s not true,” he said, sitting up. The Thread of Celestia disappeared somewhere on his person with a smoothness that made her wonder just how many secrets his body held. 

Sylus continued, “I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have a little giggle to yourself thinking of the look on your master’s face when he realises his favorite… toy is being played with.” His gaze sluiced like warm water over her body and she knew he didn’t mean the necklace. She took another step toward him, palm tensing around the dagger behind her back. “And before you start waxing poetic about causes, I’ll remind you that last time we were in this position, you told me that cretins like him get what they deserve.”

“They do,” she said lightly, taking a few more steps forward.

“If you’re waiting for me to fall prey to the dagger behind your back, little one, you’re going to be disappointed.”

She shrugged, using the action to subtly shift her stance.

“I’m always disappointed in you.”

“Careful, sweetie, you’ll make me cry,” he drawled, his lip curling. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

She stopped less than a foot away from him. “I think we should.”

“Then, we don’t have all night.”

“No we don’t.”

There was a moment of perfect stillness, perfect silence. Then the tension snapped.

She sprung forward like an arrow from a bow, lunging towards him through the thin gap between them, and at the very same instant he leapt off the ledge, conjuring a cloud of thick smoke that swamped her vision. She expelled it with a slash of her arm and as the fog cleared she tried to glimpse him to no avail. He’d disappeared.

She may well have changed a great deal over the years, but she still hated losing.

She prowled around the cavern, her lungs burning as she fought to catch her breath each time she felt a claw poke her back, a tail stagger her step, or his melodic chuckle reverberate through her chest. She was fast but so was he, and in terms of size, strength, and supernatural ability he had her beat tenfold. 

He was almost close enough to grab now, but still an elusive flash of body parts her blasted human eyes could barely make out. It was now or never, though. With a grimace and a grunt of exertion, whipped around, hands outstretched–

And caught nothing but air.

She heard the soft thump of his tail behind the gold pile next to her and, not one to be easily deterred, she followed. 

This wasn’t over until she said it was over.

But she felt his heartbeat too late, alarmingly close, and she didn’t even have time to turn around before the tip of his claw was denting into the delicate flesh at the side of her neck.

“Found me,” he whispered into her ear as his arm came around her. He chuckled under his breath as she shuddered involuntarily against his front. “I forgot we’d added ear-whispering to the list of dirty tricks. I know how much it… affects you.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, cursing her treacherous body.

“Really? Here?” he said, and she could practically hear the arrogance in his grin.

Well. One dirty trick begets another.

Angling her hips just so, she pushed her arse backward until she heard the sharp intake of breath she knew so well. Then she snapped her head back, and heard a satisfying grunt as it connected with his face.

She spun around as his tail replaced his arm when the tip of his middle finger brush a small drop of blood from the corner of his lip — ideally, she’d have aimed for his nose, but he was at least a head taller than her so she’d take what she could reach — and drew her fist back.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sylus growled, grabbing her fist in his hand and twisting her arm toward the small of her back. “Don’t you dare give me another black eye, little one.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, drawing her dagger with her unrestrained hand and aiming it at his face.

Sylus released her fist from his grip, then used her moment of unbalance to tighten his tail around the back of her knees, but she was still fast and trained. She dropped her entire weight onto his tail and tackled him to the ground while he was still regaining his balance.

“If you don’t want a black eye, then you should be faster,” she panted, wriggling on top of him as she attempted to pin his arms to his sides with her knees. “Now where is it?”

“You don’t already know?” he asked silkily, with an utterly shameless grin and a roll of his hips. And yes, of course she could feel the effect the friction was having on him, of course, she knew she was squeezing him with her thighs so it was hardly an unexpected outcome, of course, his ridiculous leather ensemble really did leave very little to the imagination, but–

“I’m not interested in that,” she said coolly. “Where’s the necklace? And don’t you dare tell me to search for it.”

“Why should I tell you anything, sweetie? I’m rather enjoying myself if I’m honest.” She felt his erection twitch beneath her as if it was agreeing with him.

“So help me, Sylus, I will search for it, and depending on which crevice you’ve stashed it in, that could be quite uncomfortable for you.”

“Why are you so damn insistent anyway?” he asked blandly. “This thing is a novelty at best.”

“An expensive novelty,”

“Well obviously, but surely a rock that supposedly prevents hangovers is beneath your exalted notice?”

“It just means I’m selling something harmless,” she said with a shrug, “Now where-”

A loud crack of thunder above them split the quiet of the night, startling her.

Sylus immediately bucked his hips up, destabilizing her just enough that he could pull his hands up from where she’d been pinning them. He grabbed the back of her thighs and flipped them over, managing to catch one hand but she was too quick for him to catch the one that mattered, and then they were still again.

Her dagger under his chin, his claw digging into the space above her heart, tail pinning her in place, their chests heaving.

“Now why do we always have to solve our problems with violence, little one?” he purred, his voice barely more than a wisp of air. “Can’t we act civilized for once?”

“Maybe.”

“Fancy moving your little blade then?” he murmured, leaning forward a touch so she could feel the soft vibration of his voice humming through the length of her weapon into her hand.

“No,” she said stubbornly, “Why don’t you move your- your talon?”

“Because if I move mine you’ll cut my cheek, take the jewelry, and leave me,” he bit out, scowling, “Like last time.”

“Last time was different.”

“I wouldn’t have cared, you know,” he whispered, moving a fraction closer. She kept her blade against his throat, and he pressed his a little harder into her ribs. “I would have let you take that amethyst too, but waking empty handed and alone? That did sting a bit, sweetie.”

“So sorry,” she muttered sarcastically.

“No you’re not,” Sylus growled.

“No,” she said, almost breathless now, “I’m not.”

He let out a huff of exasperation, and they surged together. The kiss was hot and hard and vicious, and it stole the air from her lungs. She could taste the blood on his lips, and resisted the urge to bite it harder, oddly proud she was the one who’d put the mark there, who made the great beast bleed in the first place. He had no such qualms, and he nipped sharply at her lower lip, grunting in satisfaction when he felt her shudder beneath him.

“We can’t,” she gasped as he turned his attention to her neck. 

“If you want to leave then move your damn knife out of my face,” he rumbled into her jaw, and she realised that she had instinctually kept her weapon stuck firmly under his chin. His claws had moved to wrap around her throat. 

“Fine.” The sound of metal hitting metal echoed around them as the blade landed into a small pile of gold. 

They lay there, their faces a hair’s breadth apart for several seconds before she yanked the silvery-white hair at his nape and kissed him as if she wasn’t expected to be back in the city soon. 

Sylus didn’t complain. On the contrary, he growled into her mouth and his tail constricted harder around her hips, keeping her flush against him. Gods, she really did wish he wasn’t quite so attractive. She could feel every muscle through her clothes, smell the comforting scent of smoke on his warm breath, see every piece of white and black that covered this man who lived in the grey. 

“Every time,” she murmured as he kissed and nipped his way down her chest. “Every time I say it's the last time.”

“You did last time.” He hummed. 

She flicked her tongue against the pulse point she’d wanted to press her dagger into a few moments ago, “That’s why I left.”

He roughly shoved his thigh between hers and smirking at the way she gasped and tightened her grip on his shoulders, she could feel every wrinkle of fabric brush against her sensitive skin. “I’m sure that’s why,” he whispered in her ear sardonically.

“Dirty tricks,” she managed to pant out.

“Have I missed something, little one?” Sylus asked, pushing his thigh harder into her so she was practically rocking on his leg, “I thought we were well into the list? My lip’s still healing by the way.” 

“I need to get out of here, you beast,” she said, uncomfortably aware of how thin and unconvincing her voice sounded. “You can have all the dirty tricks you want once I–”

“That a promise?” he asked with a wolfish grin. 

She couldn’t help but smile back, even as she felt her cheeks heat. “Just a few hundred metres to the exit of the cave”

“Hm, winner keeps the necklace?”

“Wait, that’s not–”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth, then pulled away with an unbearably arrogant smirk, getting up and vanishing from her sight.

“Sylus!” She shouted in frustration before sprinting after him.

That confusing, adrenaline-fueled joy was back as they chased each other around the cave. 

She had no clue if she was really gaining on him, or if he was letting her for the fun of it, but in that moment she didn’t care a bit. When she spotted his tail from the corner of her eye she leapt forward and this time she caught more than air. She barreled into his chest like a warrior. Her light build was mitigated by the sheer momentum and together they tumbled onto the stone-cold floor.

They tussled clumsily for a few moments, rolling over and over without either one getting the upper hand. 

She saw a tantalising glint in her peripheral vision.

He was dangling the Thread of Celestia over her head from his tail — she didn’t even want to know which unholy nook or cranny he’d produced it from — and even in a gilded room it glittered, almost as if it was producing its own light. 

Then she realised that while she had been staring at the jewel, Sylus was staring at her, eyelids lowered, gaze soft. He cocked his head, questioning, and she couldn’t help but smile.

She reached out and gently closed her hand over the necklace, removed it from his tail, and flung it away from them.

“The usual rules?” Sylus murmured.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t wake me last time.”

“Last time we’d already agreed on the course of action.”

“You mean you’d agreed on the course of action,”

“Don’t pout, dragon. It’s not my fault all your attention had rushed south.”

“You were half-naked, sweetie.”

“So were you. That’s how I know where all your attention was.”

“Just… promise you won’t do it again,” he said, more serious than she’d heard him tonight.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I promise.”

“I’ll make you pay if you break this one,” Sylus rumbled, his voice low and dangerous.

She opened her mouth to retort, but he surged forwards with a low moan, their lips met, and her brain went blank for several wonderful seconds.

They were panting when they broke apart, but there was only a split second of stillness before they were back at each other, fingers and claws tearing at their garments between kisses. Eventually the clothing battle was won, and Sylus pressed his naked torso to hers as he brushed her hair over her shoulder with one sharp finger.

She ran her hands indulgently down the length of his back and he shuddered under her fingertips, sinking his teeth into the soft skin between her shoulder and neck.

She gasped and he chuckled. “Tit for tat,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, running his hands down the outside of her arms all the way down to her hips, where he hooked his thumbs inside her underwear. 

She tore them down her legs, the tease of real touch not nearly enough.

“So impatient,” he tutted, his lips brushing her jaw with every syllable.

In answer she slid her hand back up to palm him and grinning smugly to herself when she felt him shudder.

“You are always so-” he pulled one bra-strap down off her shoulder, “-demanding-” he slipped the other strap down, dragging his tongue over her collarbone, “-and greedy.”

“Tease,” she managed, trying and failing to disguise the growing desperation in her voice.

He pulled back and smiled slowly, the dusting of pink on his cheekbones and the soft grinding into her palm the only signs he might be as overwrought as she was. 

He dragged a fingertip across her lips, just barely grazing her tongue for the smallest second, and then it was too late to stop herself. She sucked it into her mouth, and for that moment every shred of composure vanished from his expression.

Apparently all his patience vanished too, because he let out a hoarse groan and grabbed her, flipping her around so her front was pressed against the gold-splattered floor. She longed to feel his heated skin against hers, so when he flicked open her bra she scrambled to shrug it off, gasping when her nipples brushed the cold metal of his treasures.

“You know how I know you like me here?” he growled into her ear, running his sharp finger down her spine. 

“How?” she panted, and he laughed quietly, a soft vibration against her neck.

“Because, little one,” he purred, “You’ve already headbutted me once this evening. I don’t believe for a second you wouldn’t do it again if you wanted to,” he nuzzled the nape of her neck, an oddly tender action given the way he was gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, “So logically I have to conclude that you’re letting me do this… but why is that, sweetie?”

He trailed off and his tail lowered around her thighs, leaving her exposed but still constrained. He swept his hand down her arse and the inside of her thigh, and then back up again to dip one finger into her. She tried to arch into his touch, but he’d already pulled away, and she huffed in frustration.

“Tell me why you’re letting me do this,” he commanded softly.

She bit her lip to stop herself from moaning. How was he so good at this?

The first time it happened it had been a fight from start to finish, brutal and frantic and without the smallest trace of softness, and she’d screamed so loud they’d had very nearly brought the cave down. The second time was more of a negotiation. He’d trapped her here for a few days, and after the first time had been so successful, it seemed like there were certainly worse ways to pass the time.

Every time they both agreed it was the last. Sometimes she told him to shut up, wrestled him to the floor, and made him shut up. Sometimes it was the other way around. But every time it became just a little harder to convince herself that this time really was the last.

“Tell me, little one,” he breathed, grinding each ridge of his cock slowly against her backside.

And every time, they would get to this point, the point where her resistance would evaporate, she’d say fuck it.

“Because I love it,” she gasped.

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward again to reach between her legs, cupping her but not pushing inside. She groaned and arched into him again, and the arrogant bastard laughed. The worst thing was that his brazenness only riled her even more. “Now, are you going to be good for me, sweetie?”

“Don’t push it,” she snapped, and he laughed again.

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, and as much as she was enjoying this, his hand between her legs and his warm weight pressing her bare front against the floor, it didn’t do to let his ego run amok.

She moved to turn around, and surprisingly he didn’t try to stop her, just pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. For once there was no fight for dominance, no semblance of a struggle, just a frenzy of movement as they both scrambled to devour each other.

She traced his scales with her tongue. He stamped hot, open mouthed kisses on the bruises that were beginning to bloom from their escapades. Skin to skin, it was like a moment out of time, a bubble where nothing outside this underground cavern existed.

A sigh of satisfaction vibrated from his chest, when he slid a finger inside her and choked on a gasp of pleasure. His tongue swirled around her nipple and his thumb found her clitoris, and suddenly what she’d thought would be a marathon became a sprint.

“Sylus, I- I’m-”

He withdrew his hand and she groaned in disappointment, but her thighs were already cradling him and his cock was already teasing at her entrance. She ground down, desperate for friction, but he tightened his tail around her and before she could even blink he had flipped her over again. She had wanted to watch him unravel above her but now he was pushing her knees apart, and pushing further and further into her and- well, actually, this was fine too.

The moment the tip of his cock bottomed out she arched up into him as if she’d been electrocuted. Even so, it wasn’t enough. She squirmed for more.

“So demanding,” he purred, his hot breath torturous against the curve of her cheek.

“Stop stopping!” she growled, grabbing his hair to push his face into her neck and pushing back into him.

He chuckled against her and flexed his hips once, just once, and she was so close she felt like a live wire, her skin buzzing with the anticipation of it. Without warning he punched her clit and she screamed into the top of her own hand.

Sylus caught her wrist and pinned it to the ground.

“Don’t you dare,” he grunted, pushing in further, “I want- fuck- I want to hear every single sound.”

She moaned loudly. Much as she hated to admit it, she really did love his voice like this.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she clenched around him involuntarily as he began to move. “Oh fuck- I fucking love-”

“Gods, I’m going to-”

“Yes, come on my cock,” he snarled, thrusting harder and tightening his grip on her wrist.

Her other hand fisted around his nape, her whole body clenched, and her awareness narrowed past this room, even past him, and all she could do was hold on for dear life as her orgasm claimed her.

In the fuzzy edges of her perception she heard her name, his voice low and rough, almost reverential, and finally he came with a wordless moan, his body shuddering against her. As the waves of pleasure began to recede, she thought distantly how strange it was that this was so good. It didn’t make any sense at all. They didn’t make any sense. This couldn’t ever work.

But there was something profoundly, sinfully delightful about taking something you were never meant to have. And in that moment, she thought she understood this dragon more than she ever had.

There weren’t any more words. This part was always oddly quiet for how much they both loved to talk. They just silently curled their exhausted bodies around each other. There wasn’t anything left to say, they both knew that, all too quickly, dawn would arrive, and reality would catch up with them once again.

As the tendrils of sleep coiled around her mind, the last thought in her head was that maybe she would quite like to do this one day without any of the usual shit. Maybe they could fall asleep together and wake up together. Maybe they would… maybe……

When she awoke, she felt unusually comfortable. She hummed in contentment and stretched, and let out a little sigh of disappointment when she realised that she was alone. Then the context caught up with her, and all the sleepy indulgence evaporated.

She bolted upright, ignoring the twinges of protest from her limbs and the rush of lightheadedness at getting up so quickly. She’d half expected him to be lounging there next to her, waiting for her with the necklace dangling from his tail like an insolent bastard, but no. The cave was as empty as the silks she’d been lain on, and her heart sank.

She should have known this would happen, especially since she’d done it to him last time. She shook her head in exasperation at herself. This couldn’t keep happening, it was-

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a small package on the bedside table, a leather pouch with a folded note propped up in front. She reached for the pouch, undoing the drawstring and peering inside.

And there it was. The necklace. The very thing that had brought her to him in the first place.

She pulled the drawstring tight, as if looking at it too long might make it disappear, and reached blindly for the note. It was just a few scrawled words.

Just this once, sweetie. I have a monstrous reputation to maintain. -S

[suguwu]

WOULD THAT I: PROLOGUE

The Gojo boy doesn't have a soulmate.

When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.

You forget, but Gojo—

Gojo never does.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

pairing: gn!reader x gojo

wc: 2.6k

notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!

content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate.

You don’t think you’re supposed to know; it’s only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterfly’s wing as it flutters from their mouths.

The servants, however, are louder.

One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings. 

“There’s something wrong with the Gojo heir,” she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. “Those eyes of his—it’s like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesn’t have a soulmark.” 

Another servant hushes her. “Don’t gossip,” she chides. 

“It’s true, though!”

“That doesn’t mean you should repeat it.” 

She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji. 

You return to your coloring book.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Not yet. 

—

There’s a boy in the courtyard.

He’s hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun. 

You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. You’ve never seen him before, and you’d remember him, with his starlight hair. 

“Who’re you?” he asks, not turning around.

You stay quiet.

“I know you’re there,” he says. “You can’t hide from me.”

He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.

It’s the cold burn of a comet’s tail streaking through the velvet night. It’s oceantide, relentless and unyielding. It’s a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.

Then he blinks, and he’s just a boy again. 

“Who’re you?” you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa. 

He lifts his chin. “I asked you first.”

You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly. 

He scoffs. “You’re not even from the main clan.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not part of your stupid clan.”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. “I’m Gojo Satoru.” 

You tilt your head. The servants’ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, but—

“You’re just a boy,” you say. 

He scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.” 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmo’s fire, a lightning strike of blue. “I have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. I’m not just a boy.”

You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. You’re about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.

When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.

The Gojo boy is gone.

—

Your mother is hovering. 

She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadn’t been time to change; she’d pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate. 

“Bow low when you meet him,” she tells you, though she hasn’t bothered to tell you who ‘he’ is. “Understand?”

You nod. 

There’s a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your mother’s nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.

The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji. 

You blink. “What’re you doing here?” you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath. 

Gojo shrugs. “Dunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.”

The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. “Gojo-sama,” she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, “they’re a candidate for you to train with.” 

He eyes you. “Why?” he asks. “They’re not very strong.”

“Hey!” 

“You aren’t, though,” he says. “I can tell.”

You throw yourself at him.

His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. He’s sturdier than you thought; he’s slight, but it’s all lean muscle, even though he can’t be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control. 

By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.

“My deepest apologies,” she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. “I don’t know what came over them.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “The child should be punished,” she says, and your mother stiffens. “I would suggest—”

“No.” 

Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth. 

“I’ll train with them,” he says.

“Gojo-sama—”

“I said I’d train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.” 

The woman sighs. “Yes, Gojo-sama.” 

Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. “You’re weak,” he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, “but at least you’re fun.”  

He’s out the shoji before you can respond.

—

Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadas’ sawing choir. 

“Catch it!” Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. “You’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. “I already caught one. It was easy.”

“You’re annoying.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. “You’re annoying.”  

“You’re the one who came over.”

He rolls his eyes. “We train at your estate.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come we train here? Your estate is probably better.”

He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. “I like it better here.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I just do,” he says, voice flat.

You don’t ask again.

—

“Why are we here?”

Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. “Why are you whispering?”

Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; you’ve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum. 

“We’ve just never trained here before,” you say, taking care to use your regular voice. “So why are we here now?”

He shrugs. “They insisted.”

“Who?”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianist’s fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon. 

You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around him—in the last few months, he’s gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when you’re his age, and he’s too tall to peer over his shoulder—and see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.

“Gojo-sama,” she says. “Please follow me. The elders are waiting.”

He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. “What do they want?”

“They didn’t specify.”

“Ugh.”

“Gojo-sama—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Go tell those geezers I’ll be there soon.” 

You wince right along with the servant. Gojo’s disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down. 

“C’mon,” Gojo says to you. “Let’s get it over with.”

The servant clears her throat. “Only you, Gojo-sama.”

He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. “No,” he says. “They’re coming.”

“They cannot.”

“I said they’re coming.” 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Really.” 

Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, it’s gone, frozen under a layer of ice.

“Fine.” 

You bite your lip, but he’s already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.

The servant turns to you. “This way,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral.

You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. There’s not much to take in; it’s wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.

You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancer’s back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky. 

You step out onto the engawa. It’s still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sun’s sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.

A voice wakes you.

“He’s an insolent brat!” a man hisses. “He needs to be taken in hand!”

“He’s too powerful,” another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. “We can only do what we’re already doing.”

You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; they’re drawing closer and closer.

“It’s not enough.” 

“He’s still young. Maybe we can mold him.” 

The first man snorts. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” the first man says. “Those eyes—that power—and not even a hint of a mark. He’s barely human.”

Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:

“I don’t think he’s human at all.”

Then they’re gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms. 

Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately. 

“C’mon,” he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. He’s heard them, you realize. You’ve never seen him bothered by other people’s opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find the words. 

He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Let’s go before those stupid geezers find me again.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“But my shoes—”

He glances back at you and you drown in blue. 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s go.” 

He doesn’t answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression you’d seen flash across his face before he’d turned around again. You can’t understand it, but you know one thing.

He’s never looked more human to you.

—

The next time you see him, you’re prepared.

You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojo’s arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Give me your arm.” 

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” 

He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.

You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo. 

“There,” you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. “Now you have a mark.”

Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do. 

You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training. 

You don’t know it yet, but it’s your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. You’ve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but you’ve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring. 

Life, ever unmoved, continues on. 

The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. It’s impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle. 

Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes. 

You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist. 

Gojo, though—

Gojo never does.

[hotchscoffeecup]

unstuck (pt.2 to stuck)

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 2.1k

genre: fluff

rating: e

summary: it’s been two weeks since you and hotch were stuck in an elevator together and two weeks since he’d nearly kissed you. unable to shake him from your mind, you’re pleasantly surprised when he shows up at your house with flowers and a plan.

“Well look who decided to show up?” Derek teases as he passes by your desk.

You flash him an amused smile and plop your bag down inside your bottom drawer. “Good morning to you too, Morgan.”

“Are you still on light duty?” Reid asks from his desk, which is parallel to yours.

You nod. “I have a follow up in a week with the doctor to get cleared to go back in the field, but I haven’t had any pain or headaches in several days now.”

“And look,” Derek says, perching on the side of your desk. “You even got a little bitty battle scar.” He inclines his head towards you, where the tail of your eyebrow is now severed; a pale pink line now traversing it.

You scoff, “Battle scar, please. Let’s just tell people I got tackled by an unsub or had to break through a window or anything that isn’t me falling face first into an elevator panel in front of my boss.”

“Speaking of…” Derek trails off and subtly points toward Hotch’s office, where JJ just finished dropping off a file.

Hotch moves swiftly out of his office and knocks on Rossi’s door, summoning him. With Rossi now trailing behind him, he leans over the railing. “Conference room,” he says, and it’s an order. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on yours for a second longer than he normally would.

“What was that?” Spencer asks as you grab your mug of coffee and head towards the conference room.

“What was what?” you ask, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Leave it to the boy genius to pick up on that which is imperceptible. Well, okay, that is your job after all, but still.

“The extended eye contact with Hotch. Are you in trouble?”

You let out an exasperated laugh. “Spencer, it’s my first day back. Why would I be in trouble?”

He frowns and shrugs, though there’s a curious glint in his eye. “Not sure.”

“Spencer,” you warn, drawing out his name. His lips twitch into a smile as he quickens his pace and dips into the conference room.

Damn that boy and his big giant brain. You settle in next to him at the round table, where you can keep an eye on him and whatever subtle antics he might try to employ to dig more meaning out of things.

Penelope struts into the room, her multi-colored pigtails streaked with blue and purple bouncing as she draws to a stop in front of the wide monitor.

“Good afternoon, Crime Fighters. Boy, do we have a doozy on our hands today…”

You feel Hotch’s eyes on you as Penelope flashes images across the screen of crime scene photos from the local PD down in Raleigh, North Carolina. It takes everything you have not to look up at him from your case file and listen to what Penelope is saying.

At the end of the briefing, you gather your belongings and swiftly exit the room. Dropping the file on your desk in passing, you dash into the restroom and lean over the sink. You exhale a deep breath and swipe a hand through your hair. “What are you doing?” you whisper to your reflection. “You’re acting like a middle schooler.”

“What’s this about middle school?”

You startle at the sound of Emily’s voice. The door creaks as it shuts behind her.

“Nothing!” you answer quickly, too quickly.

One of Emily’s perfectly manicured eyebrows arches toward her hairline. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the wall. “Spill.”

You do, and you don’t hold back. The words tumble out of your mouth in an avalanche of detail.

Emily’s eyes widen. “Hotch?”

You nod vigorously. “Yes!”

“Hotch cupped your face in his hand?”

You groan, “With extended eye contact!”

Emily waves her hands in front of her, face scrunching. “I need a visual. Do it to me. Pretend I’m you and you’re Hotch.”

You roll your eyes and relent, approaching Emily. With eyes locked on hers, you force a concerned expression onto your face and cradle her cheek in your hand.

At that moment, the door swings open and JJ strides into the bathroom. When she sees you and Emily in this compromising position, her face is a wash of confusion.

“What is going on here?”

“Oh my God,” Emily says, mouth agape.

“Oh my God,” you whine and drop your hand from her face.

“Do you understand what I’m talking about now?”

Emily nods slowly, “Yeah.”

“Hello?” JJ says, waving her hand out in front of her. “Anyone want to clue me in here?”

Emily’s lips curve into a sly smile. “Someone has a crush on a certain Unit Chief.”

JJ’s jaw drops to her chest as your eyes sharpen to daggers. You reach forward and punch Emily in the shoulder.

“Ow!” she exclaims, laughing and rubbing her shoulder. “And vice versa!” she adds.

“No!” JJ responds, the disbelief evident in her voice. She leans her hip against the sink. “Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

You throw your hands in the air. “I don’t know! What are you supposed to do after something like that? It’s easy to get lost in the idea of it when you’re stuck in an elevator and then in a small hospital room for six hours. He took me to breakfast at 4am at this 24 hour diner and then insisted on taking me home. The whole time, no matter where we were, we just laughed and talked and none of it was about work.”

“Hotch with a sense of humor?” Emily questions. “Our Hotch?”

“Yes! And now we’re back at work and he’s all serious and stern, but I catch these subtle-not-subtle looks and now I don’t know if I’m reading into things or we’re both just too awkward and scared to acknowledge something was going on that night.”

“Not to be the stick in the mud,” JJ starts, “but do you think it could’ve been a product of being stuck together? Like maybe the forced proximity brought up feelings you might not otherwise feel for one another.”

“No, you’re definitely not a stick in the mud. I thought the exact same thing. And then I thought because I was home for two weeks that I was just ruminating on the idea of toeing that line with him and then I started to focus on the little things like that stupid dimple in his chin when he smiles and the way he remembers the little things about everyone and now I don’t know if I actually like him or just this conflated idea of him.”

Emily blows out a slow breath. “I definitely don’t think you’ve conflated anything. I think you got a glimpse of the real Hotch and that was exciting for both of you and now you’re both in uncharted waters without a map and you’re freaking out.”

You sigh, blowing a piece of hair out of your face. “What am I supposed to do?”

JJ and Emily exchange a knowing look. “Let us handle that.”

•

You heave a sigh of relief as you settle into the plush couch cushions in your living room. Your phone buzzes on the counter, but you ignore it. You can take at least five minutes to yourself before work summons you back to the office. You’d only just gotten home from work about twenty minutes ago. The clock reads 8:24PM, but you feel as though you could go to bed right now and sleep for twelve hours.

You rub the raised scar tissue at your eyebrow. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but you can’t believe how two weeks out of work has caused your stamina to dwindle. Just sitting at your desk all day has you exhausted…maybe you should take Morgan up on his offer to jog together before work, get your energy levels back up before you return to the field.

That is a call you’ll make later though. For now, your only job is to decide between Indian or Thai takeout for dinner. As you pick up the menus off of your coffee table, there’s a knock at the front door.

Brow furrowed, you stand up and make your way towards the entryway of your apartment, unsure of who it could be.

When you open the door, your lips part in surprise.

“Hotch, what are you doing here?”

He licks his lips before smiling awkwardly. “I, uh, I tried to call.”

“I left my phone on the charger. What uh, is everything okay? Is there a case?” God you hoped not. The team had only just returned from Raleigh a few hours ago.

He nods quickly. “Yeah, yes. Everything is fine. There’s no case. Nothing like that. I um, I brought you these.” He moves fully into the doorway, a bouquet of carnations dotted with baby’s breath in hand.

Your features relax as you take them. “Hotch, these are beautiful.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, a crimson blush spreading across his cheeks. “Emily told me they were your favorite. I had a really interesting conversation with her and JJ on the plane.”

You stiffen, only mildly embarrassed. Oh God, what did they say?

He smiles again. “They reminded me how out of practice I am when it comes to all of this.” He waves a hand through the air.

“Oh yeah?” you press, a smile of your own playing on your lips. “And what might this be Agent Hotchner?”

He shakes his head as a melodic chuckle tumbles from his mouth. He knows you’re toying with him. “Dating. Asking people out.” His warm eyes flick up to meet yours. “Asking you out.”

“Is that what’s happening now?” you tease.

He nods, the smile never leaving his lips. “Yes, I am asking you out. I thought maybe I’d take you to dinner. We talk, not about work,” he adds pointedly. “We drink some wine, maybe share a dessert.”

“Aaron Hotchner, a dessert guy. Who would’ve thought?”

He inclines his head, amused. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You arch a brow, intrigued. Grabbing your purse off of the hook by the door, you withdraw your keys and step out onto the welcome mat, closing the door behind you and locking it. “I was wrestling with what to order for dinner tonight. I was stuck between Thai or Indian.” You turn around, your body just barely pressing against him in the small porch space. You tilt your chin up to look at him and

watch his Adam’s apple bob. You stand on your toes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving to speak in his ear. “Care to surprise me?”

As you step past him onto the sidewalk leading down to the curb, you feel one of Hotch’s wide hands wrap around your forearm. He twirls you around and pulls you up against his body. He doesn’t hesitate and presses his lips against yours, kissing you with such fervor you swear you see stars. When he pulls away you’re both breathless and your eyes are still closed. Hotch whispers in your ear, “Surprised?”

You nod, opening your eyes and looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Very.”

The corner of his lips twitch as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“How long have you been wanting to do that?”

He looks up, as if the answer to the question is somewhere in the stars above. After a moment, he levels his gaze back on you. “When did we get stuck inside that elevator?”

Your lips quirk into a smile. “About two weeks, give or take.”

He nods, “I’d say about three months before that.”

Your eyes widen, brow climbing towards your hairline. “Well, damn, Hotch.”

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?” He opens the car door for you and you slide in with ease. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he starts the car. His hand lingers on the gear shift, not quite ready to shift into drive. He looks at you, eyes glimmering in the street lights outside.

“If we do this, it won’t be easy.”

You lean over the center console, meeting his gaze head on. With a smile on your lips, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, no longer scared to make a move; all of your walls having crumbled the second he’d kissed you on the sidewalk. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”

“Then we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

ok, i absolutely adore the bad sans fae

but for the life of me, i can’t remember if there are any Aggre fae asks. and if there’s not any, well, that’s just a crime. a crime i’d like to rectify, if that’s alright :3

Sans seems like your average fae. Perhaps friendlier than usual. Particularly good with words, he has a thing for silly pranks, harmless practical jokes like swapping your salt for sugar and turning your hair different colours. He really enjoys poetry and wordplay, and would love to hear you sing - and if you can outsmart him, he'll be absolutely delighted.

... Under the surface, though, he's got quite the mean streak. He's the old kind of trickster; not quite as old as Farmer, but absolutely the kind of fae people genuinely used to fear. The kind that could trick a cow out of her udders, or a cat out of its tail, the kind you'd use salt and rowan and thistles to ward away. He'd never trick you, though! You're his favourite. And those days are behind him, obviously. He'd never lie to you, look at his cute face.

Let's just hope no one messes around with his favourite.

Red is a high-ranking member of the Summer court, because of his incredible skill with metalworking. His magical swords, charmed rings, intricately carved chestplates, beaded necklaces and wing cuffs are highly sought after items in both courts. Raw metal can burn fae, so most avoid it... and yet, despite the cascade of scars decorating his hands and arms, Red just covers up with gloves and keeps working. His soft spot for humans means some of his magical items wind their way the pockets of weary or down-on-their-luck travellers.

He'll flirt by making you beautiful things. Bracelets, earrings, circlets, you might even find he's woven protective charms into them to keep dangerous/pesky fae (like Sans) away. He's good with his words, and it's not just his forge that burns hot and bright... why don't you come pay him a visit sometime? Wear that necklace he made you. Just that.

Skull is a rare case of a fae who wanders, quite happily, back and forth between the two realms. He likes the light of the Summer realm, but the solitude of Winter. Given his size, stature and intimidating face, he often finds himself being hired out to be some random fae's temporary muscle - basically, he's the fae equivalent of a sellsword. Somehow he's managed to work his way up the ranks, and it's not uncommon to see him at the sides of fae nobility during big festivals. He wears armour Red makes just for him (the two often find themselves working at the behest of the same client) and carries around a massive, beautifully engraved battle axe.

Once he sees you, it doesn't matter who tries to hire him. Because from that moment on, in his mind, he's sworn himself to you entirely. Human or fae, he'll follow you around, protecting you regardless of rain or shine. And given that he doesn't mind either Winter or Summer, there's nowhere you can go he won't follow to keep you safe.

[the-eb]

new "things I noticed in the Walpurgisnacht Rising trailer" post: coherent edition

I'm going with the theory (laid out very well here) that the extra Homuras we keep seeing around are the Clara Dolls, either presenting in a different way or having matured into witches themselves. With that in mind:

These two shots show the same doll, Nekura, judging by both the headband and the wavy tips of the hair that homura doesn't normally have. Her eyes are also red, and she's wearing the black collar with white outlines reminiscent of her Doll form.

This looks to be Ibari, though I'm not 100% sure on that, given the colour of the hair. Probably just the lighting. Her role as Pride also fits with the imagery of her scrutinising the audience here, likely Homura in context.

Could also potentially be Noroma (Blockhead), though I don't think the visual fits quite as well. She is said to "laugh at the witch with her eyes," though, which would match with what she's doing here.

Though this Homura has her original purple eyes and white collar, the unusual headband and especially the engraving on the mirror ("Stupid Venus") make me quite confident that this is Manuke (Stupid-Looking). The band isn't a 100% match, but this also makes sense given that Manuke is representative of Homura during the time between the main series and Rebellion, matching with what's shown in the mirror. The headband is also tied in the same way as Madoka's ribbon was in her hair, which might explain the lack of resemblance to Manuke's headwear.

Not much to say about this shot, other than that the style and colours of those stairs combined with the familiar pattern around them resembling Oktavia's tail make me think this is a shot from within her labyrinth.

Other than the clear Icarus symbolism, the main thing worth noting about this shot is the streak of red in Homura's hair, extending out from underneath Madoka's ribbon (or its replacement). Probably an extension of the ribbon symbolically too, showing how bound she is to Madoka.

Unless these are Magia Record characters I'm unaware of, I think that the unadorned ring and black fingernail marking lend credence to the idea that these are the magical girls who once became witches in the original series. The only one I really have a guess on is this girl, where the fact that she's watching over a kintsugi glass holding the garden where Homura and Kyoko met in rebellion, the roses on her purse, and the glasses lead me to believe that this is Gertrud, the Rose Garden Witch. Her Adelbert familiars are said to have 2.5 vision.

This book appears to contain images of witches and their familiars. I managed to spot familiars belonging to Charlotte, Elly, possibly Patricia, Gertrud, and Oktavia, as well as Izabel and Elsa Maria themselves, though I'm sure there are more.

There's a single frame flash of Oktavia here!

The symbolism of the teacup next to the pool of blood makes me assume that this is Mami (or Candeloro!), though maybe I'm flanderising her. The rim of the cup and saucer do have a pattern faintly reminiscent of a flower, which reinforces this a little.

Please feel free to respond with alternate readings/other things you've spotted in the trailer! I crave knowledge

[rush-the-stars]

Dogfight

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader, vash the stampede x reader, vashwood x reader

wc: 4k what the actual hell lol

cw: jealousy, mild smut/suggestive content, fighting, blood, biting, marking, possessiveness. the boys are jealous of each other sorta but then get on the same page. minors dni, 18+ only

a/n: this is for an anon that asked me about jealous vashwood and then i spent days working on this and it got too big so i made an Official Fic Post rather than just answering the ask bc im insane and unwell lol this is also probs more 98 vash and wolfwood than stampede! i hope you enjoy!! banner from @/cafekitsune

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

The first time they meet you, its through a shower of gunfire. Your wild smile is all that’s left when the smoke clears.

Wolfwood thinks he hasn’t seen anyone so damn beautiful in his entire life—streaked with blood and eyes lit up like a flame, twirling a twin pair of pistols like fucking ribbons.

And Vash thinks maybe he’s in love? And then he shakes his head and tries to clear it, tries to clear you from his vision, and at least the smoke disappears some. And the chaos stills. But you smile all crooked at them, tilting your head a little in greeting and he feels wobbly all over again.

“Happy to save your asses,” you say, “buy me a drink?”

Vash hears wedding bells.

(It’s just church bells tolling in the distance.)

“Happy to—happ—“ Vash trips over all his words.

“Shit, I’ll buy you dinner, too.” Wolfwood says.

Vash looks at him, Wolfwood looks back. And then they’re stumbling over themselves to get up, clambering and clawing and falling over each other and they must look like foolish, scrapping dogs in the dirt at your feet.

You laugh, though, warm and amused.

“Settle down, boys. bar’s still standing—you can both buy me a drink.”

And they’re left to watch you walk away and talk to Meryl, whose shaking her head and rolling her eyes at them. You introduce yourself to her.

And they both scramble after your heels, right on the tails of your skirts.

***

You sleep with Wolfwood first—

He’s surprisingly gentlemanly with you, even if you can feel the desperation and hunger that he tries to keep so far from the surface. He’s all bravado, all honeyed words and little growled praises as he squeezes the fat of your hips.

He gets you so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except that he also makes you come so hard that you forget about it almost immediately. He adores being between your legs, adores tasting and taking—being on his knees for you.

Wolfwood is a worshipful man. Devoted. Adoring. With a little grit and bite when you need it.

He leaves a mark or two. Around your collar bones or neck. One on your hip. He can’t help himself.

He takes good care of you in that brutishly charming way of his—fucks deep and hard, carves his way through you and makes you toss your head back into the pillow and pull at his hair. He loves to please, loves to be told what to do or what you want. Take what you need, pretty girl. He hums to you, groaning when you tell him how good he feels.

Rarely impatient except when you rile him up, Wolfwood makes a good lover. Fun and obedient and affectionate.

You adore him.

***

Wolfwood and Vash get testy with each other.

Tensions are high—Vash is surprisingly sharp with him, in a way that makes you a little wary, treating him like a bit of a ticking time bomb.

Wolfwood doesn’t help. He’s an instigator and if there’s one thing he loves, it’s to get under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Vash, whose usually easy and cheerful and kind.

“Would you leave it?” Vash snaps at Wolfwood, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder. He bares his teeth a little and in the dim light you see the knife-sharp flash of his pointed canines.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Wolfwood drawls in a way that indicates he most certainly wasn’t just trying to be friendly.

“Something the matter?” You ask and when Vash’s eyes land on you, he immediately softens. He looks guilty. Hangs his head a little and looks at the ground.

“No,” he says, “sorry—“

But Wolfwood says, “Blondie’s got his panties in a bunch about something and I was just trying to see what was wrong—“

Vash’s eyes flash.

“Nick,” you snap. Short and sharp, like reprimanding a dog.

He looks at you. You look back. Then you jerk your head to tell him to get lost, “take a hike.”

“And who made you the boss?” He snarks.

You level him with a more serious look, hand on your hip, “I’ll find you later.”

“You can’t just order me—“

“I wanna talk to Vash.” You respond firmly, “and you’re being a jackass.”

He stares at you for another long moment. You don’t back down, in fact you tip your chin up a little, meeting his eyes with a flash of authority.

He looks at Vash, who quickly glances away.

He scoffs, “whatever. You’re both a pain in my ass.” But he listens to you and skulks off.

You turn to Vash when he’s out of ear shot, “you okay?” You ask.

Vash can’t look at you. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that—“

“Not your fault. He can be a pest. Walk with me?” You ask and now you hold up the crook of your elbow.

Vash eyes you uncertainly for a moment, before he lets go of a small breath, and siddles up to your side. He loops his arm through yours and you begin to guide him through this little, nowhere town. The sun is setting. The dusk sky is smoky and golden, like a quartz glittering, shadowed and shining.

“You seem—“ You choose your words carefully, “troubled lately.” And then you amend, “more troubled than usual.”

“I’m sorry to worry you but everything’s fine.” Vash shakes his head.

“Vash,” you implore gently, shaking his arm a little. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Won’t you tell me?”

“Ah,” Vash says weakly, “it’s alright.” And he looks ahead, out at the horizon. You follow his gaze. There's nothing out there but the line of land in the distance.

“Thanks for standing up for me tonight but you should—you should go find him. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And then Vash drops your arm and walks away, his head down, a little furrow to his brows. And you watch him go, dumbfounded.

When you return to Wolfwood, he’s waiting for you on the porch of the little inn you're staying at, smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell was that all about?” He gruffs, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You don’t answer him at first. You slip into his lap easily. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but immediately adjusts, one hand around your waist, the other holding his cigarette away from you.

“You need to leave him be.” You say, sighing as you sink into his embrace.

He pauses for a moment, looks at you—really looks at you.

Then he says, “he wants you, you know.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re pestering him?” You rub your knuckle against his stubbly jaw, pet him a little. He leans into the touch, nudging himself against your hand.

"You like him?" He asks instead.

"Course I like Vash." You hush, fingers moving to card through his hair.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before he leans away to blow the smoke away from you. It lingers in the air around him and for a moment, you look at him through the haze. The smell of it reminds you so thoroughly of him nowadays that you almost crave it when its not around.

"No," Wolfwood corrects, "do you like him the way you like me?"

"You think I like you?" You tease, but he doesn't take kindly to that and jostles you in his lap a little and even goes so far as to jerk his head away from your touch.

"Woah, take it easy," you say, realizing he really didn't like that joke, "I was only playin' with you. I'm in your lap, aren't I?"

He softens a little. Lets go of a breath. He squeezes your waist, maybe in apology. To soothe the ache, you lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, pepper them lightly down his neck.

"You didn't answer the question." He mumbles and you feel more than you see him flick his cigarette down and crush it with the heel of his shoe. He pulls you closer now that his other hand is free, slots you tight against him, and leans back to give you more room at his neck.

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" You murmur, carefully kissing at the pulse in his neck. You hide there.

"If i was?"

"You aren't good at sharing?" You coo, nudging your nose against his jaw, up to catch him in a quick kiss. He nips a little in answer.

"Not usually," he finally says.

"Not even with Vash?" You ask, because you know him better than he'd like to admit. And now you pull away to look at him.

To really look at him.

His eyes flick away, maybe bashfully, "yeah, well—I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He shrugs a little, "you think cause he puts up the goody-two-shoes act that it makes him good with sharing?" He asks, "why do you think he's gotten so pissed with me lately?"

You hum in acknowledgement. "Have you been rubbing it in?" You ask.

"Not intentionally." He says. And then when you look at him more pointedly, he admits, "not intentionally most of the time."

"Well, we'll see if Vash can share." You finally say and lean again to kiss him.

But in a sudden move, he grabs your chin, forces you still. Forces you to look at him.

"Only Vash, you hear me?" He says. His eyes are dark suns, all encompassing and imploring and fiery, "anyone else and I'll lose it."

You can't tell if it's a warning with the slight waver in his voice or a threat, with the growl behind the end of it. And then you remember scared dogs bite.

"Only Vash." You swear, "only you."

He settles a little, leans back again, and this time, when you kiss him, it's harder. More a claiming than a kiss — more a damning than a passion. He gives it back tenfold.

He litters you in little marks, in his scent, and drops his blazer around your shoulders in the morning. At breakfast, right in front of Vash, he catches you in a sharp, burn of a kiss.

More of a claiming. More of a damning.

***

When you sleep with Vash for the first time, it’s after a near-death experience. You were being reckless. The room is charged.

And Vash kisses you not like it’s the first time, but like it could be the last. He's the heat of a falling star, searing you, devouring you. He's all desperation. All starvation.

You'd thought with how sweet he usually was, that he'd be even more well behaved than Wolfwood, but that is far from the truth. He's a little untamed, untrained and clumsy and ferocious.

He whines as he takes you apart and you think he'd probably take praise well if you could teach him but right now he's just so— raw. So yearning and famished with it all.

You've no choice but to try and give everything you can in hopes of soothing him in some way. Filling the emptiness in him. And even still, you're aching and sore and torn-up after all is said in done.

Vash is bashful and a little remorseful about it come morning.

But you twine your arms around him and kiss him hard in reassurance. In encouragement.

He's passionate and all-encompassing. He's all your world in this moment.

You adore him.

Later, when Wolfwood sees the marks he left on you, he curses.

"Is he a fucking vampire?" He asks, tilting your head to the side to see the dark bruise in the side of your neck. But then he realizes how tender you are still, how aching, and he coos all soft.

Tells you he'll lick the wounds Vash gave you.

Says. I told you it wasn't me you had to worry about.

Vash avoids you and Wolfwood for nearly two days.

On the third, he finally breaks.

And when he does, he bundles you in his red coat after a long day, fists his hands in the collar of it to pull you towards him, and kisses you hard in front of Wolfwood, underneath the dark heavens above. He says he'll be back later.

Your lip throbs from the nip of his teeth.

(When Wolfwood kisses you shortly after, pushing Vash's coat from your shoulders, he soothes the sting with his tongue.)

***

For awhile, all the boys do is fight when they're around each other. It's getting to a point where Meryl is avoiding them at all costs—and you're just short of joining her.

The worst of it is on one of the hottest days in a long time.

Wolfwood says something he shouldn't—asks Vash if he could smell his cologne on you. Asks if he likes it.

It's too far. Usually, they bicker and fight over unrelated, stupid shit.

But that strikes a nerve.

And it's so fast that you don't even catch it, and suddenly Vash has Wolfwood pinned against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

You always thought, maybe just on height and weight alone, that Wolfwood was stronger. But looking at Vash now, easily pinning him, you aren't quite sure.

"Oh, you wanna finally fight?" Wolfwood asks, baring his teeth, too.

And really, it's like when dogs fight.

It's fast and vicious. It sounds worse than it is—snarling and growling and wrestling with each other. It's artless. You've seen them both in a fight and this isn't—this isn't that. It's better, maybe, on Wolfwood's end. He's not trying to kill Vash. But maybe it's also worse, more personal, more brutal.

You hear Vash yelp—Wolfwood curses. More fighting.

You yell at them, the way you shout at fighting dogs, grab hold of Wolfwood around the collar and pull hard enough that he stops from his place over Vash, panting.

His mouth is bloody and it drips down onto Vash, his teeth still bared and crimson.

For a moment, they look at each other.

(And Vash thinks wildly, looking up at Wolfwood, sorry about the blood in your mouth. I think I wish it was mine. He tastes blood himself and wonders if it is Wolfwood's. If he really did bite him.

Wolfwood thinks, hit me again. If that's all you'll give me now, I'll take it. Wolfwood looks down at Vash, feels his heaving chest beneath him, and thinks, if I can only have you this close in a fight, I'll take that, too.)

You're cursing them both out, hauling Wolfwood off of him. You're furious and shaking and you're scolding them both.

You're fussing over them both, too, angrily wiping at their mouths and inspecting their wounds.

And they both think, maybe I should pick more fights, to see you like this, too, flustered and livid and worried. Doting. Adoring.

You shake your head at the both of them but—

You adore them.

***

It takes another man sniffing around you for them both to finally get on the same page.

And if it's one thing about Vash and Wolfwood, for all their bickering and differences, they know when to shut up and work together.

The moment another man starts chatting you up at the bar, they both go still and silent.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Wolfwood asks.

"Yeah," Vash says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as the man manages to make you laugh. He leans all close to you. Vash has a near visceral reaction to jerk up from his seat beside Wolfwood.

Wolfwood grabs his arm.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' then?" He asks.

Vash spares him only a glance—his eyes are trained on you and the man at your side. He grimaces. "Probably not. I don't wanna kill him."

Wolfwood barks out a laugh as Vash adds, "but I don't want him here, either."

"You wanna chase him off?" He asks. "Or you want me to be the bad guy?"

Vash swallows.

"She'll get mad at me for being an asshole. She'll be all pleased with you for being so good." He says and there's a dryness to his tone, a certain resignation or—

"Why would you do that?" Vash asks and he finally peels his eyes away long enough to look at Wolfwood.

To really look at him.

He shrugs, "I don't mind being in the dog house."

Vash eyes him.

Wolfwood smiles a little, "and I think she's hot when she's mad."

Vash frowns at that, a little twitch of his lips, almost in a pout. "Besides that—I meant—why would you do that for me?"

Wolfwood looks back over at the man at the bar, whose gotten even closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. You're smiling and playing nice. Wolfwood's hackles rise. He bristles. He finally stands, too.

He never feels this way when he sees you with Vash. He never feels this way on the nights when Vash has you. In fact, the idea of it is—it's—

Kissing you after Vash. Knowing he'd just kissed you. Sinking his teeth into the ridges of marks Vash leaves on you, like he's trying to get his own taste. Or compare his teeth to Vash's. Maybe he growls and snaps at him and bares his teeth the next day, too, but he never feels like this.

Scared and mean and angry and—

"What, are you gonna make me fuckin' say it?" Wolfwood snaps.

"Say what?!"

Wolfwood slugs his arm hard. The flesh one, so he doesn't damn near break his knuckles doing it. And Vash yelps all high and Wolfwood wants to shake him and he also sorta wants to hit him again. And maybe he wants to kiss him stupid, too—

"I don't—" Wolfwood swallows hard, "I don't mind sharing. With you. With only you."

Wolfwood looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And then Vash turns the deepest shade of red.

Wolfwood's face gets hot all over, too. "Oh, Christ, blondie—did you really not know?"

"I don't know what I thought!" Vash says and his voice gets sorta high.

"Well—" Wolfwood shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, "what about—I mean, do you—are you okay sharing...with me?"

"At first, I thought I wasn't." Vash admits, "and I was jealous of—" he swallows, "I was jealous of both of you, if I think about it. You're just—you push my buttons more than she does—so. I took it out on you, mostly."

"Ah," Wolfwood says, "you took it out on her, too. Just in a different way."

Vash cheeks somehow get darker with color and Wolfwood laughs, realizing that he's—it's relief. He feels relieved, finally, as he laughs.

"You're a dumbass." He says to Vash.

And Vash smiles at him, crooked and boyish and stupidly handsome. That smile that Wolfwood has always liked.

Wolfwood then turns his gaze back to you, back to the man at the bar whose leaning in all close. He sees you tip away, adjusting your space. And he says;

"Now let's go get our girl."

The moment Wolfwood comes up behind you, you know there will be trouble unless this man doesn't leave quick — what you aren't expecting, is Vash to come up on the other side of the man. You tilt your head.

You feel a broad hand on your lower back, "he botherin' you?" Wolfwood asks, leaning all into your space.

The man sizes up Wolfwood, weighing his chances still and you can nearly feel Wolfwood stiffen and bristle behind you. He doesn't like being challenged.

"He was just seeing if I wanted a drink."

Vash, on the other side of the man says, "maybe he'd like it if I bought him a drink instead!" And though it's said brightly, it's almost a little too bright.

Vash's eyes gleam like the cold edge of bright moons.

You look between them for a moment as the man says, "alright, what the hell is this? You her boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Wolfwood agrees casually.

"And whose this guy?" He snarks to Vash, "her other boyfriend?"

"Or something." Vash says, still smiling, and that really pisses the guy off.

"Would you back up?" He snaps and he shoves at Vash enough that he stumbles away a few steps. And before he can do something stupid, you put yourself between Wolfwood and the man.

"Leave him," you say lowly to Wolfwood, whose hackles are raised.

Wolfwood isn't looking at you, he's looking at the man behind you and his eyes are hard and cold and mean looking.

"Nick," you say, "I don't want a bar fight."

"Worried he can't handle me?" The man asks, "no wonder you were letting me chat you up."

Wolfwood jerks a little in your hold and Vash speaks up, laughing a little, "no reason to fight! Wouldn't want to clean you up off the floor."

Well, that does it.

The man swings on Vash, who yelps a little, but easily evades him. When he ducks, the man connects with another person behind Vash.

Damn it all.

The bar breaks out in pandemonium. Wolfwood shoves you beneath him and Vash works on ducking and diving out of the way of the first few swings sent his way. Shouting and glass shattering, raining down from above, makes you curse.

Wolfwood dodges the first punch thrown his way and he shoves you out of the way, before he takes a swing himself. When he connects, it's a nasty punch. Blood erupts.

Food is getting thrown. Alcohol sailing overhead, soaking the fighting crowd and angering them further. The poor bartender is hiding, ducking behind the counter and shivering.

You clamber atop the bar to get a look and—it's a wild crush of people, fighting and wrestling and breaking glass over each other's heads.

You put your fingers to your mouth and whistle—the loud, piercing kind that usually gets everyone's attention. This time, there's so much noise and shouting, that not a soul stops their fighting.

You pull out one of your pistols.

The shot thunders in the bar, makes your ears ring.

Everyone gasps and yells in surprise, instinctively ducking, covering their heads. But they all finally turn to look at you.

"Everyone out!" You shout, "take your fighting elsewhere!"

Grumbles erupt. But you hold up your pistol and shout again, with more force and fire, "out!"

The bar begins to stir, all the patrons dislodging and shifting about, detangling themselves from their fights. They meander in knots of people, twisting out the door slowly.

When Vash and Wolfwood appear again, they look disheveled and Vash's lip is busted. Wolfwood's sunglasses are shattered. You put your hands on your hips as you look down at them.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you two?" You snap.

Wolfwood reaches up to lift you right off the bar and back onto the ground in front of him. He shrouds you, "nurse our wounds?" He asks.

"You're a pain in the ass. I told you I didn't want a bar fight."

"He didn't throw the first punch, in his defense." Vash speaks up, but he's talking sorta funny because of his lip, which is swelling even now.

You sigh, "let me see."

Vash siddles up to you, a little sheepish, with that puppy-dog look on his face. He bends down a little, so you can get a better look at his face, dipping his head down in a show of submission.

Woflwood, behind you, whistles. "That's a good one, blondie."

"Hurts." Vash says as you carefully inspect it, debating if he'll need stitches or not.

"You gonna kiss it better?" Wolfwood asks.

"Why don't you?" You snark back, "since you two are finally working together it seems."

Vash smiles a little, which makes him wince, which makes you scold him. Wolfwood laughs, cooing a little, before he says, "alright, alright—lets get him patched up."

And you walk out with them at your skirts, hovering around you, dogging your steps. They follow you all the way back into your little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

And they settle in like they both own the damn place.

Wolfwood is tormenting Vash a little, whose whining and coming to your side for aid. But they're both—getting along, at least. And they're both demanding all your attention and taking up space in your room and—

And you adore them. You adore both of them, even with all their damn dogfights.

[nibeul]

click

[id: It's a drawing of an oc, a teen girl, holding up an open flip phone so it covers one of her eyes. She has brown skin and white hair with blue streaks in it. Her nails are coffin shaped and blue and there are two silver clips in her hair. The flip phone is light pink and the screen displays a picture of her covered eye with heavy makeup applied: white outlines the eye, there's blue in her upper corner, and black eyeliner extends past her waterline to exaggerate her eye size. The flip phone has charms hanging from it, most visibly a plush melody charm and a clear Y charm. /end id]

ref:

[id: it's a photo of a person holding an open flip phone so it covers one of her eyes. The flip phone is light pink and the screen displays a picture of her covered eye. She has dyed light hair that is done in high pig tails and she wears a green shirt and a blue jacket. /end id]

[novaursa]

The Cost of Fire

- Summary: The conclusion of the Dance. Where Gwayne and the reader married under watchful eyes of the Seven.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra, was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after Where Honor Burns. If you want to read all parts before this in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is the final part of this series. That being said, it doesn't mean there will not be separate works posted that are reader/Gwayne themed.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 299

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

The Sept is quiet, save for the murmured prayers of Septon Eustace. The light of a dozen flickering candles dances across the stone walls, casting long shadows as you stand beside Gwayne Hightower, your hands tightly clasped together. His touch is warm and reassuring, but the gravity of the moment hangs heavily in the air. This wedding is not grand; it is far from the dreams of princesses and noble ladies. Still, for you and Gwayne, it is enough—a small sliver of peace amidst the ruins of war. The words of the Septon flow through the chapel, sanctifying a union that has been long denied, long awaited.

You chance a glance at Gwayne as Septon Eustace speaks the final vows. His eyes are on you, soft and brimming with a tenderness that you hadn’t known you longed for until now. In his gaze, there is no regret, no fear—only the promise of something different, something better than what you have known. He mouths your name softly as the Septon pronounces you husband and wife. When the time comes for him to kiss you, it is gentle, his lips lingering just a moment longer as if savoring the taste of something long forbidden and precious. For a brief instant, it is just the two of you in that small Sept, the world beyond forgotten.

But the world does not forget you.

The doors to the Sept creak open as you and Gwayne step out, hand in hand. The air is thick with tension, colder than it should be, and it prickles at your skin. Otto Hightower stands at the foot of the steps, his eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of his son beside you. There is a hardness to his gaze, a judgment that has yet to be spoken but lingers between you all. Alicent is beside him, her hands clasped in prayer as if she’s hoping the gods will deliver some miracle to mend what remains broken.

“Father,” Gwayne says, his voice cutting through the chill.

Otto’s gaze sharpens. “You’ve married a traitor who crippled your King,” he replies coolly, his words laced with venom, though his voice remains calm. “This will not save us from the bloodshed to come.”

Gwayne straightens, the steel in his tone unmistakable. “It is done. I stand by my wife and our family.”

Before Otto can retort, the blaring of horns slices through the air, causing heads to turn skyward. Your heart seizes in your chest as a shadow ripples over the courtyard. Merothrax, sleek and deadly, his wings slicing through the clouds, circles thrice above the Sept before descending. The air hums with the sound of his wings beating against the sky, a warning in every gust of wind he sends tearing through the grounds below. The dragon's indigo scales shimmer, streaks of silver catching the sunlight as he twists in the air with a grace that belies his size.

When Merothrax finally lands, the stone steps of the Sept crack beneath the weight of his claws. The ground shudders as his tail swipes across the rubble, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest. Vaeron, your son, dismounts with the ease of one born in the saddle, his blue eyes gleaming as he surveys the scene below. The Kingsguard react immediately, swords drawn as they move to surround him.

“Hold!” Gwayne’s voice booms with authority, making even the Kingsguard hesitate. His grip tightens on your hand as he steps forward, positioning himself between you and the threat. “Any man who dares raise a blade to my son will answer to me.”

Otto’s eyes flash with anger. “That boy just desecrated the Sept with his dragon’s claws!” he snaps, his voice harsh with barely concealed fury. “Does he think himself above gods and men alike?”

Before Gwayne can respond, you step forward, your voice cold and unwavering. “He is a dragon, Lord Otto. He answers to neither gods nor men.”

The defiance in your tone sends a ripple of unease through those gathered. You see the way Otto’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he weighs his next words. Alicent’s hand rises to her chest as if she might speak another prayer, but she remains silent, her eyes flicking from you to Vaeron, studying the boy—no, the young man—who now stands before her. She has not seen him since he was a babe cradled in your arms, and now he stands tall, a rider of Merothrax, with your fire in his blood and Gwayne’s resolve in his bones.

For a moment, the tension is suffocating, the silence heavy with unspoken threats. But then Alicent speaks, her voice soft yet firm. “We are not here to fight,” she says, her eyes lingering on Vaeron. “The war has taken too much already.”

Otto’s lips press into a thin line, but he swallows his anger, his eyes flicking between you, Gwayne, and Vaeron. He does not bow his head, but there is a begrudging acceptance in his gaze. “The boy has power,” he concedes quietly, though there is no warmth in his tone. “Power that may yet be of use—if he can be controlled.”

Vaeron steps forward, his gaze fixed on Otto, and the shadows seem to deepen around him as Merothrax rumbles behind him. “I am no one’s pawn,” he states firmly. The certainty in his voice leaves no room for doubt, his defiance a mirror of yours. “And neither is my mother.”

You smile faintly at the pride in your son’s words, a rare moment of victory amidst the mire of this bitter world. Gwayne’s hand finds yours once more, a silent reassurance that you will face whatever comes together. 

Otto watches the scene with thinly veiled calculation, but as he turns to walk away, you catch the barest flicker of doubt in his eyes. Whether it is fear, respect, or something else entirely, you cannot tell. But as Alicent follows him, her gaze lingers on Vaeron one last time, as if she sees a glimmer of hope—or a threat—that might one day change the course of all their schemes.

And as Merothrax’s low growl echoes through the courtyard, you know that the game has shifted, and your place within it is no longer one to be overlooked.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep is bathed in the warm glow of flickering torches. Though it lacks the splendor and grandiosity of past celebrations, tonight’s feast is still an occasion. Gwayne had insisted on it—an attempt to stitch together what remains of your family, to find a sense of normalcy, even if only for a few hours. The food is simple but well-prepared, roasted meats and seasoned vegetables set upon long tables adorned with the banners of both House Hightower and House Targaryen. The tension from the day still lingers, like the ghost of smoke clinging to the air.

You sit at Gwayne’s side, your gaze moving from your husband to your son. Vaeron, with the confidence only a dragonrider possesses, takes his place among the gathered lords and ladies, every inch the prince, despite the wary glances cast his way. His presence dominates the hall, drawing eyes even from those who once might have doubted him. He bears a regal poise, his indigo riding leathers still marked with faint streaks of ash from Merothrax’s flight. But there’s also something wild in him, a restlessness that speaks to his upbringing under Daemon’s shadow.

At the end of the table, Queen Helaena sits, her soft-spoken nature a stark contrast to the world that swirls around her. She picks at her food with delicate fingers, humming quietly to herself. Her gaze occasionally lifts to Vaeron with curiosity, though she remains distant, her thoughts known only to her. You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her—a queen trapped in a cage of tragedy, even as she clings to her gentle nature.

Gwayne breaks the silence between you, his voice low but filled with determination. “Vaeron,” he begins, drawing your son’s attention. There’s a pause as Gwayne studies him, as if seeing the boy for the first time—not as a distant figure raised on Dragonstone, but as his blood. “It has been far too long since I had the proper chance to know you.”

Vaeron meets his gaze, unflinching. “Perhaps that was no fault of yours, nor mine,” he replies, his words edged with the faintest hint of bitterness, though not unkind.

Gwayne inclines his head in acknowledgment. “No, perhaps not. But we can make amends for what time has stolen from us. You’re my son, Vaeron, and I would know you, as any father should.” There is sincerity in Gwayne’s voice, and it resonates through the hall, causing some of the lords to glance curiously between father and son.

Vaeron’s blue eyes search Gwayne’s face, as if weighing his words. “You wish to know me now, after years of silence? I was raised by men who saw war as a way of life. What is there in me you would recognize?”

A silence follows, tense and fraught with unspoken pain, until Otto Hightower, who has been watching the exchange from his seat with calculating eyes, leans forward. “You are our blood, Vaeron,” Otto interjects, his tone softer than usual, though still tinged with his signature sharpness. “Regardless of your upbringing, that cannot be denied. We may not share the same values as those you were raised under, but family remains.”

Vaeron’s eyes flicker to Otto, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you see family when you look at me, Lord Hand? Or do you see Daemon’s legacy?” There’s a challenge in his words, a test to see whether Otto can acknowledge what has shaped him without rejecting him outright.

Otto’s expression tightens briefly, the distaste for Daemon still apparent, but he tempers it with a measure of diplomacy. “I see both, boy. You carry traits of that man, yes, but you also carry the blood of Hightower and Targaryen, a union that could yet stabilize what remains of this realm.”

Gwayne’s eyes flash at Otto’s words. “He is more than just a symbol of peace, Father. He’s my son, and I would have him know his worth beyond whatever schemes the realm wishes to thrust upon him.”

A tense silence falls as Vaeron considers their words. He leans back in his chair, tapping a finger lightly against the table. “And what is it you wish from me then, grandsire?” Vaeron’s voice drips with the same playful mockery Daemon often wielded like a blade. “To be a well-mannered lord? A proper heir to the Hightower? Or perhaps you simply wish to mold me into something more… agreeable?”

Otto’s eyes narrow, but Alicent, who has remained quiet beside him, places a calming hand on his arm. She speaks then, her voice gentle but firm. “No one seeks to shape you into what you are not, Vaeron. But we do hope you might find a place here, among kin, where you do not have to be at war with the world.”

Vaeron’s expression softens slightly, and he glances briefly at you, his mother, before his gaze returns to Gwayne. “And what of you, father? What place do you imagine for me here?”

Gwayne’s response is steady and unwavering. “You are a prince, a dragonrider, and a son. Your place is by our side, wherever we may stand, and to be free to carve your own path—no matter what others may wish.”

A brief flicker of approval crosses Vaeron’s face at Gwayne’s words, but before he can respond, Helaena suddenly speaks up from across the table, her voice dreamy and distant. “Dragons dance in shadows… They circle in the dark… but the light cannot find them…” She trails off, her gaze unfocused as if seeing something beyond the hall. The room falls quiet, her cryptic words sending a shiver down the spines of those who know her visions often carry more weight than they first seem.

The tension lingers for a moment, but it passes as Vaeron turns back to Gwayne with a faint smirk. “It seems, father, that you and I have much to learn about each other. Perhaps we’ll begin with a flight together one day—Merothrax would not object.”

Gwayne’s smile is warm, a rare flicker of hope blooming in his eyes. “I’d like that.”

Otto watches the exchange, a look of grudging respect dawning on his face, though his eyes remain cautious. Perhaps, in this moment, he sees that his grandson is not simply a reflection of Daemon’s influence, but a man in his own right—one who bears both fire and blood, and who may yet be a force of both destruction and renewal.

As the night wears on, conversations resume, laughter and music slowly returning to the hall. The war is not forgotten, and neither are the scars left by it, but for tonight, amidst the crackling fires and shared glances, a fragile sense of family takes root.

The heavy doors of the chamber creak shut with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. The world outside fades, leaving only you and Gwayne bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. The silence is thick with anticipation as you stand together, breaths mingling as your eyes lock. There’s a hunger in his gaze that mirrors your own—a longing that’s been denied for far too long under approval of gods. The tension that’s built throughout the day, the battles fought with words and looks, melts away in the face of something far more primal, far more honest.

Gwayne steps forward, his hands cradling your face as his lips crash into yours with a fervor that takes your breath away. You cling to him, your fingers threading through his hair as he deepens the kiss, tasting you like a man starved. The intensity of it drives all thoughts from your mind until there is nothing but the sensation of him, the heat between you both threatening to consume you whole. His hands are strong, yet gentle as they slide down your back, pulling you flush against him.

He doesn’t waste time. In a swift, fluid motion, he lifts you from the ground, making you gasp into his mouth as he carries you to a nearby table. The wood is cool against your thighs as he sets you down, but the chill is quickly forgotten as his hands begin to work on the ties of your gown, fingers deftly undoing the laces and letting the fabric slide from your shoulders. His lips follow the trail, pressing heated kisses to every inch of newly bared skin.

“Too long…” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice thick with need. “Far too long I’ve dreamed of this, of having you like this, as my wife.”

You arch into him, your own hands growing impatient as you tug at his tunic, desperate to feel him. “Then don’t wait,” you whisper, your words a breathless plea as you finally pull the fabric over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest.

There’s a dark chuckle that rumbles in his throat as he presses you back against the table, his hands now roaming freely across your exposed skin. “Impatient, are we?” he teases, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Good… because I don’t intend to be gentle tonight.”

Your response is cut off by another searing kiss, this one more demanding, more possessive. He tugs at your skirts, hiking them up over your hips until they’re bunched around your waist. One hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the table, while the other makes quick work of his own breeches. The friction of his rough hands against your skin, coupled with the heat of his body pressing into yours, sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

When he finally moves into you, you both moan into the kiss, the sound swallowed by the fervor of your mouths locked together. The stretch of him inside you is everything you’d craved, the ache of it sweet and demanding as he begins to move. His thrusts are deep and deliberate, every motion designed to draw another gasp, another moan from your lips. You cling to him, nails digging into his back as you match his rhythm, each of you lost in the pleasure that’s been denied for far too long.

He leans in, forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he murmurs, “Gods, you feel better every time, better than any dream.”

Your response is a broken moan as he shifts his angle, hitting that spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. “Gwayne… please…” Your words are barely coherent, more a whimper than a demand, but he understands. His pace quickens, hips driving into yours with an urgency that sends you teetering on the edge.

The table creaks beneath the weight of your movements, but neither of you care. Your world has narrowed to the slick heat between you, the rough texture of his skin against yours, and the way your bodies move in perfect, desperate sync. But it’s not enough—there’s more to be had, more to give.

With a sudden motion, he sweeps you into his arms again, carrying you the short distance to the bed. You fall onto the soft sheets, a tangle of limbs and half-discarded clothing as he settles over you. The fire in his eyes is matched by the possessive grip of his hands as they slide down your sides, pulling you closer as he thrusts into you once more. This time, the bed gives him more leverage, allowing him to push deeper, harder, each motion drawing cries from your lips that mix with his own groans of pleasure.

“Say you’re mine,” he rasps out between thrusts, his voice rough with need. “Say it.”

You gasp, your back arching as the tension coils tight in your belly, every muscle tensing as you race toward that inevitable fall. “I’m yours, Gwayne,” you manage, voice breathless and trembling. “Now and always.”

His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else, the urgency of it matched only by the way his hips snap into yours, driving you both toward release. The world narrows, the sensations overwhelming, until finally, with a shattered cry, you come undone beneath him. The pleasure rips through you, every nerve alight as you clench around him, dragging him over the edge with you. His groan is deep and guttural as he spills into you, hips jerking with the force of his release.

For a moment, all is still—the only sounds are your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. He doesn’t move, holding you close as you both come down from the high, the afterglow wrapping you in a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire burning in the hearth.

When he finally does pull back, it’s only to press a tender kiss to your brow, his thumb brushing your cheek as he whispers, “My wife… my love.”

You smile softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, committing every detail to memory. “And you, my husband… the one thing this war could not take from me.”

He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, keeping you close. “There will be more battles to fight, but we’ll face them,” he promises, his voice laced with a quiet determination. “No matter what comes.”

You nod, nestling into the warmth of his chest, content in the knowledge that, for now, in this moment, you are together—no schemes, no politics, just the two of you bound by love, trust, and the promise of a future that is finally yours to claim.

The Chronicles of the Dance’s Aftermath: The Union of House Hightower and the Younger Targaryen Daughter

Excerpt from "Fire and Blood, Volume II: The Aftermath of the Dance" by Archmaester Eldric

The marriage of Gwayne Hightower and the princess Y/N, younger sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, stands as one of the most pivotal yet understated unions in the years following the Dance of the Dragons. In a time marked by bloodshed, treachery, and the near-ruin of the realm, this marriage represented a fleeting hope for stability, although the shadows of war still clung to the Red Keep like a persistent mist.

The Marriage and Its Immediate Consequences

By most accounts, the wedding was a muted affair, held in the shadow of ruin and loss. Witnesses describe—like Mushroom, the court fool and chronicler—the gathering as tense, with little joy to be found. Yet, within that tension lay the seeds of reconciliation. Gwayne Hightower’s insistence on wedding the princess, despite the open enmity between the Hightowers and Targaryens during the Dance, is said to have been an act of both love and defiance—defiance not just toward the whims of his father, Otto Hightower, (who once favored this union) but against the old order that had allowed the realm to descend into madness.

One cannot overlook the presence of the princess’ son, Vaeron Targaryen, upon his sleek indigo dragon Merothrax during the ceremony. His dramatic arrival and the desecration of the Sept sparked fury in the hearts of the pious, with Otto Hightower voicing his displeasure at such an audacious display of dragon power. However, it was in this very moment that the precarious threads of diplomacy between factions began to weave together once more.

Despite his bitter memories of Daemon Targaryen, Otto Hightower reportedly made cautious attempts to accept Vaeron as his grandson and integrate him into the political future of House Hightower and the realm. Though Vaeron’s upbringing under Daemon had forged a wild and defiant streak within him, his interactions with Gwayne were marked by a mutual, albeit tentative, respect. Some suggest that this connection laid the foundation for what followed—a reluctant but necessary peace.

The Birth of Alyssane Hightower and the Strengthening of House Alliances

In the year following the marriage, Y/N bore Gwayne a daughter, named Alyssane in honor of the late Queen Alyssane Targaryen, and in memory of princess's killed dragon, Silverwing. Two figures revered by both sides of the conflict. The birth of Alyssane was seen by many as a symbol of renewal—a delicate hope that the wounds of the past might one day heal. Chroniclers note that Dowager Queen Alicent herself, despite her initial reservations, took a deep interest in the child, seeing her as a potential link to unite the divided factions within the realm.

The girl’s birth also brought greater stability to the realm in the years that followed. The delicate truce between the remaining Targaryens and Hightowers, though always on the brink of collapse, was bolstered by this new generation. Rumors circulated in the halls of Oldtown that Otto Hightower, ever the schemer, entertained thoughts of betrothing young Alyssane to his great-grandson Aegon III, a third son of King Aegon II and Queen Helaena, a political move meant to fully merge the interests of Hightower and Targaryen. But in the end, the girl was given to wed Joffrey Velaryon in attempt to stop the flames of war to spread further.

Vaeron Targaryen: The Storm Within the Peace

The presence of Vaeron Targaryen, however, was a constant reminder of the untamed fire that still smoldered beneath the surface. Now grown into a man, Vaeron’s defiant nature and his bond with Merothrax made him a figure both feared and admired. Though raised by Daemon, Vaeron had a mind of his own and wielded his dragon not as a weapon of war, but as a reminder of his lineage’s enduring power.

Eyewitness accounts describe tense interactions between Vaeron and his grandsire, Otto Hightower. The elder statesman, while outwardly diplomatic, could not fully disguise his distrust of the boy. Some whispered that Vaeron’s very existence was a reminder of Otto’s failure to fully rid the realm of Daemon’s influence. Yet, others saw in Vaeron a bridge—albeit a perilous one—between the Hightowers and Targaryens, a prince who could carry forward a legacy tempered by both fire and reason.

The Realm in the Aftermath

The years following the Dance remained fraught with hardships, but the marriage of Gwayne and Y/N is often credited with preventing further civil war in the immediate aftermath. Otto Hightower, with his grip on power loosened by the marriage, began to retreat more often to Oldtown, while Alicent sought solace in prayer. It is said that, in her later years, she spent much time with young Alyssane, seeing in the child a chance to redeem the future for her bloodline.

Vaeron, meanwhile, grew into a prince whose legacy straddled both the Hightower and Targaryen lines. He became a key player in the ongoing political intrigue of the realm, always walking a fine line between his father’s calculated diplomacy and his mother’s fierce independence. In time, he would be known as “Vaeron the Bridger,” a prince who held together two rival houses with fire in his veins and a dragon at his command.

Yet, the peace that followed was not without its cracks. Despite the alliances forged, the realm was still deeply divided. The scars of the Dance would never fully heal, and as Vaeron and Merothrax grew more influential, many feared that the young dragon would one day ignite another conflict—one that would once again send the realm spiraling into chaos.

In the end, the marriage of Gwayne and Y/N is remembered as a moment when hope and ambition, love and duty, mingled in a fragile dance, one that briefly steadied a realm teetering on the edge of ruin. Whether it truly brought peace or merely delayed the inevitable remains a question for the histories, but for a time, at least, it kept the dragons’ fire from consuming the realm whole.

[pokado8]

THEM AS PARENTS!

ft. Tighnari, Kaveh, Gorou, Ayato, Kaeya, & Venti

summary: how they are during your pregnancy, after your pregnancy, and how they are as parents.

warnings: fem bodied

Tighnari:

Tighnari was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you were pregnant.

He immediately stood up from his chair and hugged you tightly saying he was so happy to be a father soon

Tighnari is an amazing help during your pregnancy. He always makes sure to check up on you and help you when you need it as well as tending to your shared home when he needs to and never letting you lift a finger

He won’t tell a lot of people about your pregnancy at first because he doesn’t want a lot of attention on either of you, so he’ll tell his closest friends; Cyno, Kaveh, Collei, and Alhaitham.

During your pregnancy, tighnari likes to take walks with you to make sure you don’t feel lethargic while creating his and yours’ child.

Sometimes when you’re asleep, tighnari talks to your child while rubbing your belly. His talks range from how excited he is to see your baby, to how the baby has good parents and people who will love him.

Whenever you contract, he rubs your back while whispering soothing words into your ear. Although his words do help, his presence is enough.

Tighnari doesn’t care about what gender the baby will be, he’s happy with either.

The day you went into labor, tighnari held your hand and whispered comforting and encouraging words into your ear just like he had done many times before. Even though he was worried because he had never seen you in that much pain before, he made sure not to show it as to not worry you.

Many hours later you gave birth to a healthy baby boy! Who you both named Nasir.

When Nasir was a baby. tighnari wouldn’t let him go. He always had him in his arms or in his lap, showing him all kinds of animals and insects that were abundant in the Avidya Forest.

Nasir looked almost identical to Tighnari. The same dark green hair with light green mixed in although Nasir had little streaks of light green unlike his father. The same tail and fluffy ears with the same brown and green eyes.

You often joke with tighnari saying that Nasir inherited nothing from you but tighnari disagrees. He says Nasir got his eye shape, his nose, and his hair length from you.

Nasir was mischievous and intelligent with a charming personality.

Tighnari and you never raised your voices at Nasir and raised him to be a good well educated boy.

Kaveh:

When you had told Kaveh you were pregnant, he was absolutely ecstatic at the news

Kaveh spent as much time with you as he could making sure your pregnancy was comfortable and stress free.

Because of kaveh’s job, there were times where he had to leave you albeit unwillingly to attend to his meetings

Once Kaveh gets the ‘okay’ to tell other people about your pregnancy from you, he immediately tells everyone that you’re pregnant and never forgets to tell anyone who will listen that he’s extremely lucky to be with you

Kaveh isn’t very knowledgeable about pregnancy but he’ll go through every single book in the a akedemiya’s library

Sometimes he goes a little overboard with caring for you. But you know he means well when he constantly runs to your side to hold you like glass whenever you get up

Kaveh never thought that he would be lucky enough to start a family with the one that he loves and he constantly reminds you that he’s grateful for you and the baby

Secretly, during your pregnancy, Kaveh had a folder full of drawings of the nursery for your baby. Coming up with ideas for your baby made him even more excited

When you went into labor, Kaveh was freaking out so bad. Your loud screams and cries were extremely upsetting to Kaveh. He was so scared that he was about to loose you after seeing you so exhausted while and after giving birth

Minutes felt like hours to Kaveh before you gave birth to your healthy baby girl, Amira

Amira had kaveh wrapped around her little finger ever since the day she was born. He just can’t help but spoil his little girl

Amira’s eyes and eye color are exactly like Kaveh’s. Her hair color matches yours and personality matches her father’s more than anything. She’s very sassy and a certified fashionista

Amira is very close to the both of you but she can’t help but be glued to her father, which is the same for Kaveh. He loves dressing her up in cute outfits that reflect her creativity in fashion

After Amira’s birth, Kaveh will often be seen around sumeru city spending time with his little girl. It’s definitely a sight to see Kaveh spoiling Amira with ice cream and other treats

All in all, Amira is very loved by both of her parents and is an extremely well mannered and sweet girl

Gorou:

Gorou never thought of himself as a father until you told him you were pregnant during your visit to watatsumi island. It came as a really big surprise but he was very happy nonetheless

Creating a family with you was a big step for the both of you and he was grateful that he got to do it with you

He didn’t know much about babies or pregnancy but like Kaveh, he would do some research

While researching, he also found some stuff that could help you whenever you contract and how to help you when/ if you go into labor

When you did go into labor he was very nervous and worried about you to the point where kokomi had to tell him firmly to calm down and that you needed him to be there for you. That made him snap back quick lol

Hearing and seeing you in so much pain while delivering the baby made him feel so useless. He wished that he could’ve done something to help alleviate your pain but he knew that there was nothing.

Something that was a pleasant surprise to you both was that you had twin girls, Hina & Miwa

Even though Gorou and you had completely overlooked this you both welcomed your daughters into the world with open arms

Gorou was so attentive to you during and after your pregnancy. He always made sure you were okay and did his best to help make the recovery process easier and smoother

He’s the same way with his kids too. Whenever he hears even a slight whine from either of them, he’s on his way to check up on them

Gorou is a gentle, attentive, caring, and loving father to your girls. Just like Kaveh his daughters have him wrapped around their fingers

He’s always spoiling them any chance he gets and he loves to show them off too as they’re his pride and joy

Hina has his blue eyes, fluffy ears and tail, while having a mixed color of your hair color and his with white tips at the front of her hair. Like Hina, Miwa has white tips in the front too, but her hair is darker than Hina’s and her tail is the same color as her hair instead of it being a shade lighter like gorou’s and hina’s, and she also has blue eyes

Hina and Miwa loves to surprise him when you three visit him at watatsumi island while he’s working. He tries not to let it show, but whenever it’s you three, his confident general facade starts to break and he gets all soft

He loves his girls and they love him. While he knows he’s wrapped around their fingers, he makes sure that they are well disciplined and behaved. He has no problem switching from Dad Gorou to General Gorou when needed

Ayato:

Ayato somehow had a feeling that you were about to tell him something big, because of how quiet you were during breakfast, this morning

He never thought that you would tell him you were pregnant though, so don’t be mad if he doesn’t respond for a couple of seconds

Once he got over the initial shock he was overjoyed

Though Ayato is a busy man he always made sure to spend time with you and he found himself spending more time with you now that you were pregnant

Ayato has a good understanding of pregnancy and the things you go through so he’s not caught off guard too much when your contractions start getting bad

His calm demeanor truly did help you get through them. His tranquil voice and soothing smile made everything better

When you were ready to announce your pregnancy the first person he told was Ayaka and to say she was thrilled at the news would be an understatement

She was so happy for the two of you and often teased Ayato about him becoming a father. When you told Thoma he congratulated you both and said he would do everything in his power to make sure your pregnancy was smooth

Because Ayato is the Yashiro Commissioner, he’s often extremely busy with work and he always tells you that he very sorry that he’s can’t be with you during the most important and difficult time of both of yours’ lives

He had been in a meeting when Thoma had rushed in, sweating, to tell him that you went into labor. It was difficult because you were loosing a considerable amount of blood and your son initially hadn’t been breathing. Then you passed out

When you woke up though, you saw Ayato sitting by you to your left, while holding your son, Asa. Ayato is a great father who loves his son very much much. He knows the public has a lot of expectations on Asa because he is the heir of the Kamisato clan, so he tries not to let Asa hear any of that kind of talk

Asa is a well mannered, intelligent, kind, and charming boy with a bit of a mischievous side to him. He has Ayato’s eye shape and hair and has your eye color and hair texture

Ayato teaches Asa how to be responsible and respectful. He also likes to encourage his son’s mischievous behavior by saying “ he’s just having fun”

Ayato is ready to listen to anything Asa may have on his mind because he wouldn’t want his son to bottle up his emotions.

Overall He’s a good father that loves his kid and cares about him deeply

Kaeya:

Kaeya and you weren’t planning on having a baby it just happened. You both were surprised to know that you had a baby on the way. It was unexpected but you both were prepared

While you’re pregnant kaeya makes sure to keep his eyes on you in case anything happens

Although kaeya had no expertise on how to help you during your pregnancy he’d still try his best. He makes sure everything is tidy and comfortable for you

Kaeya likes to talk to your unborn baby whenever it’s just the three of you in bed at night. He has full on conversations with the baby. You wonder why he does it when he knows he won’t get an answer

The first person he tells about the pregnancy is Diluc while at the tavern late at night. He says it in such a way that makes people skip over it because of how fleeting it was. But Diluc heard it and congratulated Kaeya and you.

Kaeya loves showing you off to anyone and everyone who will see. He goes around talking about how he’s so lucky to soon be a father to an amazing child from his amazing partner

Since Kaeya knows how much you’re struggling he just rubs your back soothingly while telling you how strong you are

When you go into labor Kaeya looks calm and collected on the outside but he’s actually freaking out a little bit in the inside

He’s never seen you in so much pain before and your screams haunt him for life. Kaeya does what he can to help you deliver the baby and when you do he tells you how proud he is of you and how you did great

You give birth to a small baby boy, Asar. He’s very witty, charming, and clever. Especially with his words

Kaeya is extremely attentive and caring to Asar. He knows that Asar is his own person so when Asar was a baby Kaeya would let him explore a little bit with some supervision of course

Kaeya will tell Asar that he’s the son of a famous pirate. He’ll tell the little boy made up stories of him fighting enemies and sailing across the seas with his pirate crew and Asar will believe it until he’s like 10 and Kaeya tells him he made it up

Because Kaeya didn’t grow up with his actual father properly being in his life, he wants to make sure he’s present in Asar’s life that way he’s happy

Asar has Kaeya’s dark blue hair with his notable streak in the same place as his fathers, your color and shaped eyes, and Kaeya’s little star pupil

Kaeya loves his son and is grateful to have a chance to be with someone as special as you

Venti:

Who would’ve thought that the anemo god Barbados would ‘settle down’ and have a child. He never thought that he would but it’s not like the idea wasn’t welcomed

You told venti the news while under the tree at windrise as he played his infamous lyre. He was shocked immensely, he was going to be a father?

Venti was absolutely overjoyed at the news and he told you while hugging you that he’d do his best to be a good father

He tells everyone the news if you tell him it’s okay. Like Kaeya, venti loves showing you off more now that you’re pregnant

He knows that pregnancy can be pretty hard on you so he tries to calm you when you’re in extreme pain. He plays his lyre while holding you close

He cares about you and the baby a lot so he’ll do anything you need him to do. He may not be the best cook, but for you he’ll try

When you go into labor he has absolutely no idea on what to do so he holds your hand and praises you

You give birth to a baby girl who you both name, Thérèse

Thérèse has your eye shape, hair texture, and personality with a mix of venti’s. Her hair is the same color as his and her ends are the same turquoise color as his, and she has his color eyes.

Thérèse is exceptionally spoiled by all the people around her, not just her father

She’s well behaved, disciplined, and a bit of a teaser like venti

Venti cares about his daughter a lot and he does everything he can to make sure she’s happy. Whatever she wants she gets because he wants her to be happy

He’s a great listener too so if thérèse ever has anything on her mind he’s here to listen and he also likes to let her think for herself. He doesn’t like yelling at thérèse and always prefers a more gentle approach

Loves telling jokes to her too and loves it when she tell him her own

Whenever thérèse is crying he plays his lyre for her so when you come back home after running errands and you see thérèse sitting on venti’s lap while he plays the lyre it definitely warms your heart

reblogs are appreciated!

[dreamerwitches]

Full wnk trailer analysis lets go (p1)

Homura with wavy hair fronts. Matches the one from the poster

I dunno about you, but her face looks kinda younger from the side? Cuter? I dont think we've seen anyone else from the side so maybe its just the artstyle and im being silly

The background is pretty hard to decipher

She has a ring but no visible stone or fingernail marking. It doesnt seem like the end of her main hair is wavy. It looks like she's missing the buttons on her front but this may be an animation error or the angle is hiding them

This bit makes me think she's falling down a spiral staircase? Though it doesnt resemble the one later. The gold bits look like banisters. The background gives me a stained glass window church feel

Madoka's home maybe? This is still wavy hair homura

Madoka has no ring

Not much to say. Text in the bottom right says mramasa but the rest is japanese and some numbers. Looks like maybe the power of the fan?

Ibari, number one. Yes its her, the lighting is just pink/red, you can tell cause her blue skin is more purple. To me, it looks like someone is holding her. The light peach parts on the bottom left and right look like the regular animation style. The flowers on the magnifying glass look a little like mami's

Dumb venus maybe? That compact wouldnt close if it had that pearl sticking out XD

I believe this is a homura we havent seen before. The ribbon doesnt match the poster homu from the right. Its brown, her uniform has a white under shirt. Ive seen people theorise this is Manuke, stupidity. The brown ribbon would match her hair colour. Her eyes are more purple than the pink of the previous homura. The colour also matches phone homu from the first trailer.

Ive seen people mention the fencing vaguely looks like oktavia's scales. I think the multiple parts remind me more of her tail. The windows at the very edges kinda remind me of the first scene.

I didnt realise at first but this is homura's wing being broken

Devil outfit has changed. She has a red streak in her hair. Her feathers look fluffier but it might just be the art style. Another red addition to her leg. Her right shoe looks like madoka's. Actually her gloves kinda look like madoka's too

With the city(?) below and the unmoving effects, is this happening during a time stop? Im getting the feeling this trailer (or movie?) has a brown/orange-ish glow to it so maybe they artistically changed the colour of time stop?

With the bright bg and chair colour, i think madoka is with mami (seen later) in this scene. Also i think thats her left hand, no fingernail marking

Rebellion cafe real, it even has the steps leading up to it (though its not 100% perfect... but eh, artistic licence...)

Also, the girl's teacup is cracked. I cant remember the name but it looks like that japanese art of repairing something broken but making the repairs beautiful (repaired witch???).

A stretch, but the napkin underneath reminds me of homu's handkerchief

I thought the lack of soul gem in the ring was an animation mistake but maybe not??? And a dark (could just be obscured by the cup) fingernail marking. It looks like the london underground symbol ToT

Ah the walls dont really match with the rebellion cafe... maybe this is just what cafes look like in madoka XD the single table is still a mirror to it though. I think the lotus flowers are telling.

I wonder if the girl's golden eyes (like godoka's) mean something because magical girls colours usually match dont they? But maybe they've stopped doing that, eh. I like how her glasses are the opposite to homura's, rim on the top.

I didnt realise the thing next to her is a purse, its huge ToT it has flowers on it. I saw someone call them roses to try and say this is gertrud... um no XD have you ever seen a rose???

A stretch but the crockery reminds me of Candeloro's

Its the same three colours

Nagisa has brown scrunchies and her hair is in two low bunches with dark red beads. It looks like her dress is different too

She has the mitakihara uniform and a yellow cardigan. You can see her soul gem ring. The yellow of the cardi and the brown hairbands make me hope it is bear girl......

Girl full of slinkies!!!! The dots around the place remind me of homura's corruption from rebellion (ala on the bus). This is bandaged sayaka

These make me think of candeloro's kiss. I think i can see flowers on the spine too

But the hands together on the middle of the spine is from madoka's rebellion transformation

Walpurgis?

Yes im sure this is the same cafe as madoka was in now. Very pretty

Mami has her hair clip from her magical girl form on the top left of her head. Also could be animation error but maybe her ring is missing the gem

ALSO ARE YOU JUST EATING A SUGAR CUBE MAMI????

Is this the same place from the dancing scene? Doesnt one of the nightmares have an attack like this? So is homura doing it because she controlled the nightmares.

Also they explode with white feathers hmmmmmm. I have the horrible feeling homura would do it to scare madoka

Clearly not the previous kyoko. Outfit is different and more like her original one i'd say. The cake looks like its from the cafe

Also hnnngghhh concept movie?????

Damn ive hit image limit... well part 2 incoming

[hyuburt]

I think Fantasy High would look good animated in the total drama style since they’re both chalk full of chaotic sweaty teenage energy. Here are the bad kids on their first day of school

[ID: Two images of the same lineup of characters, with the top one being the colored version and the lower one being the line art. They depict the six main characters from D20′s Fantasy High from tallest to smallest; Gorgug, Fabian, Kristen, Adaine, Fig, and Riz. They are all drawn and colored mostly in line with canon, with some slight variations to accommodate the total drama style. Gorgug’s eyes were stylized into two white dots with slight bags underneath, and he is standing upright with his hands nervously brought up to his chest with a slightly timid expression on his face. His hoodie is a slightly de-saturated purple with grey sweatpants and purple sneakers. He has dark green skin and black wavy hair that falls above one eye. His wobbly, down-turned mouth has a tusk poking out of the higher side (he normally has two, it’s just the way his expression was drawn made it so only one was visible.) His face shape and nose are rounded to give him a softer appearance and there are two little lines indicating the beginning of teenage stubble on his chin. Next to him on the right is Fabian, who stands with his arms crossed and his head turned haughtily to the right, a smug expression on his face. He is wearing his red owlbear jacket with white sleeves, greyish brown loose workout pants, a black undershirt, and red sneakers. He has brown skin and swept back white hair that is shaved on the sides. His nose slopes downwards and he has two eyelashes under both eyes to denote that he is a fancy, pretty boy. He is drawn with a strong, square jawline and a build that is both muscular yet nimble.To his right is Kristen who has a stocky, more rounded build and is wearing a rainbow tie dye shirt with a simplified corn logo in the center, denim shorts, green flip flops, and a rainbow bracelet. She has curly orange hair that curls around her round face, light tan skin with freckles, bushy orange eyebrows, an upturned nose, and dark green eyes that are upturned in a smile. To her right is Adaine, who is slouched slightly with her arms crossed and an unhappy expression on her face as she looks off to the ground. She is wearing blue circular glasses over her round blue eyes, her blue two-piece hudol uniform, knee-high grey socks, and black mary jane shoes. She has light brown skin and short, straight blonde hair swept back from the front of her face in a widow’s peak. She has a small, pointy nose and a circular face with a small pointy chin. Above her is a version of her face without her glasses. To her right is Fig, who is standing proudly with one hand on her hip and the other in a finger gun. She has light reddish skin and brown hair in a braid that has a bright purple streak in her bands and at the end of her braid like it was dipped in paint. She has a long, pointy face and a slightly hooked nose. Her eyes are a dark pomegranate color and slightly upturned. She is wearing purple lipstick, a short leather jacket with a cropped grey shirt underneath it that has a picture of a horned skull on it, a black choker, fingerless gloves on both hands, a plaid skirt and belt with black leggings underneath, dark brown boots, and a single fishnet coming up to her calf on her right leg. To her right is Riz, who is holding a magnifying glass up to his face with one eye squinted to see through it and his other hand on his hip. A single fang peeks through the corner of his small smile. He has a green tail that swishes in front of him. He is wearing his signature brown cap and two piece suit with mauve pants, vest, and tie. His skin is light green with freckles under his eyes, his eyes are light greenish-yellow with slits for pupils, and his hair is dark green and swept back under his cap. Above him is a version of his head without his cap, showing that his hair is swept back from the front and curls away from his face, giving him a windswept appearance.]

[monstermaniawrites]

Lost On You. Liam Mairi

TW!! Smut, Oral (M and F Receiving) reader has undisclosed scars on her legs, cockwarming,squirting, creampieing Minor minor angst, Not canon

Read at your own risk.

I do not own fourth wing it belongs to Rebecca Yarros.

This is my first work here

YN POV

It’s dark when we arrive. The cover of night and the storm that has freshly passed leaves the air smelling of salt and rain as the waves of the ocean lap at the shoreline far below the cliff edge.

“Something the matter?” a voice breaks off from the throng behind me, I don’t turn to see who it is though, eyes trained on the gorgeous display of stars. I never did night missions and this was my first. I pat the strong blue scaled foreleg of Durontei as I turn to look at the approaching rider. I raise my eyebrows in surprise when Liam stands there, his face flushed and a wineskin clasped in one hand. They must be celebrating then.

“That was fast” I quip, arms wrapped around my midsection as Durontei curls her scorpion tail around me with an obvious protectiveness. I glance up at her, watching her blink her golden eyes at Liam.

‘He’s not going to hurt me, you know.’

‘He has something to discuss with you.’ is all she says back as Deigh strides forward, swordtail swinging back and forth as he passes me and nudges his nose against Duronteis. Her tail unwinds from around me as she follows her mate and soon it’s just Liam and I standing alone on the cliff edge.

“So what do you want to talk about?” I swallow around the lump in my throat, hands tightening on my forearms as he takes a few steps closer. I can feel the anxiety radiating off of him as he watches me. I bend my knees subconsciously, stretching and keeping myself from tensing too much. Violet and I are too alike and it scares me sometimes. Especially because no one else knows. It’s the only reason no one treats me as fragile, not quite like everyone else does.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks almost breathlessly as he runs a hand through his hair. I tug on the band attached to my sleeve. It looped around my middle finger and kept the fabric from riding up.

“We took out that group of wyvern and successfully killed the venin controlling them.” he starts and I nod, watching as he attaches the wineskin to his belt before taking another step forward.

“There was a possibility of losing you today and that honestly scares the hell out of me.” His usually bright blue eyes are dark with emotion as he looks away from my eyes. My pulse jumps and my cheeks go warm as he steps closer again, now only about five feet away. I don’t move, too tense to move from my spot as he gets closer.

“I know we haven’t been able to see each other as often with me always being around Violet but I want you to know that you’re still my friend,” the word ‘friend’ makes my stomach knot and sink like a dead weight. I nod and attempt to clear my throat as I pull my shields tight around me. The door of my mothers front door locked tight to keep out Durontei’s thoughts as well as the surprising new link I have to Liam. I keep that tether of soft blue light tucked away from me, not wanting him to feel just how painful the word is.

“Thank you Liam. I appreciate that.” I lie through my teeth, clenching my jaw and praying that he doesn’t see through it. I can’t bring myself to look at him as I turn and start walking.

“Hey- where are you going?” he asks from behind me, confusion pulling at his speech and I bite back the sob that threatens to break from me as I wave a hand absently over my shoulder, tears streaking hot lines down my face. “Off to celebrate.”

Liam

I watch her back as she walks away, my grip tightening on my leg as I watch her walk away. She’s limping slightly and her shoulders are shifting in jerky motions. I don’t call after her, giving her some space as she disappears into the throng of tents spread out along the tunnel walls, walking deeper into the cave.

“What happened to confessing your feelings?” Xaden asks as he appears out of the shadows to my right and I surprisingly don’t react, unbothered by the appearance of my closest friend.

“I don’t know,” I start, running a hand through my hair and looking up at him as he stands beside me, arms crossed and dark eyes watching me expectantly.

“I froze, I didn’t know what to say.” I grit and he fucking rolls his eyes at me.

“Say what you think, if you can’t say it out loud tell her to through your bond.” my eyebrows jump up in surprise and he shakes his head.

“How do you-” “-also a part of a mated pair remember?” he cuts me off and gestures off to where Violet stands talking with our friends. Suddenly a lot of their behavior makes sense. The silent staring contests, knowing info as it’s being given.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.” I scratch my rebellion relic absentmindedly as I glance off in the direction she had walked off. The thought of her hair having been pulled back away from her face, lines around her eyes and across her nose from her flight goggles made it impossible not to warm me.

“Do you feel this way about Violet?” I ask quietly and he pauses and watches me as I clench my fist against my flight leathers above my heart.

“Like you can’t breathe when she’s not right next to you?” Xaden looks down at the ground and adjusts his stand. I’ve known him long enough to know his tells.

“Yes” is a simple word but it shows how vulnerable he is when it comes to Violet.

“And do you think it’s worth telling her how you feel?” I ask and he looks at me again.

“I think it’s worth showing her if I can’t tell her.” He takes the final step closer to me, clapping a palm against my back before walking back towards Violet. I turn instead and walk into the crowd of tents and head in the direction of hers. How do I show her? Consensually without her kicking my ass at least. Heat flashes down my spine suddenly, hot pulsing need twists my stomach and I have to stagger between tents and fires to get to the cave wall. It’s rough and cold under my palm and I rest my forehead against it as another wave of heat washes over me. I squeeze my eyes shut as I pull at the neck of my leathers, heat building and making sweat slick my skin.

“Liam?” I turn at the sound of a new voice and nearly vomit when Violet stands in front of me.

“Oh shit are you-” she stops short when she looks me over and I look down when I see her lips curve up into a smirk. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head when I see the hard on currently stretching the fabric of my clothes.

“Shit! Violet, I don't know what's going on!” I whisper yell, turning quickly and she snickers behind me.

“Liam, it seems like Deigh and his mate are getting busy” she snorts and the heat under my skin flares bright. If Deigh and Durontei are doing what she’s implying then that means…..

I swallow hard and fight to control my aching body as she steps to the side.

“I saw her go into her tent a few minutes ago.” She gestures in the direction of the back of the cave and I don’t waste a second before bolting. If her dragon’s currently coupling with his then she could be just as affected by them as I am. I feel her down the bond, the gentle throbbing of our bond draws me towards her. I weave between tents and people, trying to keep my erection under control until I get to her. Another wave of heat nearly takes me to my knees as I stagger and shake my head.

As soon as my knees stop wobbling I try my best to straighten when I feel that heat simmering down our bond from her and I nearly come undone on the spot. I see the faint glow of a lantern through the fabric of the tent, in the faint flicker I see shadows moving and I bite back the groan that builds at the base of my throat.

I stand in front of the fabric that makes up the only barrier separating me from her. I breathe deeply and slowly before speaking, looking up at the glittering top of the cave.

“Hello? It’s Liam,” I hear something clatter and the shadow moves before the fabric of the door shifts and unbound hair hangs around a flushed face. Her lips are parted as she pants, wide eyes staring at me in obvious panic and surprise. She had changed out of her leathers and into a loose long sleeved shirt that cut a V down the center of her chest, a leather cord woven through it. A long dark skirt obscured her legs from me and I can’t help the image I’ve thought of before from flashing through my head.

“What can I do for you Li?” she asks me, her eyes still wide and I swallow hard, mouth dry as I suddenly am at a loss for words.

“Can I come in?” I ask after what feels like forever and nearly groan when she licks her bottom lip. Her pink tongue darting out and wetting her lips. “Yeah of course” She smiles at me and steps to the side to let me in. The first thing I notice is the smell of her that engulfs me. Soft and sweet and so uniquely her. A mat and a few blankets and pillows from the supply carts are spread about on the floor while her pack sits beside the entrance of the tent. I sit down on the blanket to the left and pull my boots off and set them to the side. She follows, hiking up her skirt to expose the scarred skin of her thighs and calves. I breathe through my nose and close my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself.

When I open my eyes she’s sitting beside me, her back to the entrance of the tent. Her knees are pulled to the side while she rests her hands in her lap.

YN POV

I fight the urge to lean into his warmth as I sit next to him, the urge to press my hands between my thighs to relieve some of the tension I’m feeling due to our dragons is strong but I don’t give in. I keep them in my lap as I sweat and try not to pant like a dog in heat as the man I’m desperately in love with sits beside me.

“So what did you want to talk-” I stop short and nearly topple over as a wave of heat flashes me from head to toe, warmth making my stomach tingle and my cunt throb as every brush of the fabric of my shirt touches my sensitive skin.

“Fuck” He groans, hunching and holding his stomach as he pants in front of me. I keep from reaching out and touching the pretty blonde locks of hair that are sweat slicked to his forehead and cheeks.

“I want you” He blurts and I still, I don’t even breathe as I process the words and he looks up. His pretty eyes watch me with such softness and lust that it makes me dizzy.

“I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my life and it scares the shit out of me. I almost lost you and I realized that if I didn’t tell you, that if I was too much of a coward to do that then how am I worthy of you?” He runs a hand through his hair and my heart thunders in my chest as he looks at his rebellion relic.

“I’m cursed. I’m the son of a traitor and I have a lot of secrets,” he keeps going but he reaches out and takes my right hand. His skin is warm and rough against mine, the shine of the mark on his skin reflects off the candle light as he sits up on his knees and looks down at me, determination in his eyes as he gently cups my face with his free hand.

“Nothing can keep me from you. I’ve been in love with you since before Threshing and I’ll be damned if I didn’t at least tell you.” he looks so focused as I look up at him. His mouth pulls into a soft smile, dimple becoming visible on his cheek.

I open my mouth to respond but I gasp out instead as a shock of pleasure shoots down my spine. I grip his hand with one of mine and the other flies to his hip, holding on for stability as he curls in towards me at the same moment. I shake as my nipples pebble and brush against the fabric of the shirt. I swallow the saliva that’s pooling in my mouth as I fight to regain my composure.

“Fuck” he bites out, head dropping so that his mouth is pressed into the crown of my head, his warm breathing making my scalp tingle. I scratch my nails across the leathers and take a deep breath through my nose, cracking my eyes open and fighting the urge to moan at the tent in his pants.

“Are you okay?” he whispers against my hair and I nod shakily. The hand cupping my face squeezes my jaw and I part my lips, panting through my mouth as he pulls away and looks down at me with pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the blue I love so much. His cheeks are flushed as I look him over, taking him in and soaking in the heat coming off him.

“I want you” I whisper and he goes very still.

“I feel barely worthy of you but here you are, bonded to me like our dragons are bonded to one another and you’re confessing your feelings for me. This is not quite how I was expecting this evening to go” I snort softly as my lips tilt up slightly. His eyes go soft and he leans down, pressing his mouth to mine and I don’t fight, closing my eyes and losing myself to the feeling of him as he holds my face close to his. He tastes like liquor and chocolate and when his tongue gently touches my bottom lip I eagerly part my lips for him. He moans deep into my mouth and tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss as his tongue slicks against mine.

That heat builds and builds all on its own now, his hands cupping my face while I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants.

“Been wanting to kiss you for so long” he murmurs against my mouth, pulling away only for a moment to tug at the leathers and I waste no time helping him undo the ties and clasps.

Once he’s down to the black long sleeved shirt he wears underneath I can’t keep from sliding my hands under the warm fabric and allow my fingertips to trail up his stomach and abs.

He lets out a choked groan and slips a hand into the hair at the base of my neck and squeezes so that my neck arches to look up at him.

“Careful pretty girl,” he warns, sliding a hand down the side of my neck and under the neckline of my shirt. His large warm palm slides down my spine, his face nearing mine as his hand meets the small of my back and then he’s kissing me again and pulling me up against him, hooking an arm under my legs and laying me flat. I reach up, hands still under his shirt and wrap my arms around his neck and look down at the perfect muscles of his chest and stomach and then to the trail of blonde hair that leads down his navel.

“I want this off” I murmur against his mouth and he doesn’t hesitate in leaning back and pulling the fabric over his head and tossing it to the side. His chest is slick with sweat and the curling tail of his bond relic to Deigh disappears under his pants.

“Your turn” he grabs the hem of my shirt and I lift my arms and arch my back as he pulls the clothing from my body.

I shiver as the cool air touches my skin and Liam moans deep in his throat, my thighs clenching at the sound to apply some pressure.

“You’re so fucking pretty” He growls against the skin of my cheek as he trails his lips down the exposed expanse of skin.

“I’ve never seen your relic before” he runs a hand down the curve of my right side and I fight the shiver that crosses my skin, his warm fingers tracing the path of Durontei’s wings underneath my breasts, her head hovering over my belly button.

“Absolutely fucking gorgeous” he sounds absolutely wrecked when he says it and I shiver as his eyes take in my peaked nipples before he’s sucking one into his mouth. I gasp, wrapping an arm around his head and lacing my fingers in his hair as I rest my cheek on the side of his head, panting directly into his ear as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive skin of my chest.

Liam POV

I nearly come in my pants at the sound of her breathy little gasps. She knows exactly what she’s doing as I run my hands up her spine, pushing her back into an arch, her chest pressing up into my face. her cheek is pressed against the side of my head as I used the tip of my tongue to spell her name over and over across the sensitive flesh before swapping to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment.

“Liam please!” She whimpers into the shell of my ear, her lips brushing against me with each word. She’s flushed and panting, her fingers still curled into my hair as I look at the purple marks I left around her relic. I look down at the waistband of her skirt and then I grab the fabric by her knee and pull it up. She has two sheaths, one on each thigh and each armed with two knives each. Gods she’s so fucking sexy.

“Gods you’re so fucking beautiful” I tell her and she darts her eyes away bashfully but I don’t let that go, grabbing her chin gently and pulling her to look at me.

“Lemme taste you pretty girl, please?” another surge of heat flares in my spine and she gasps at the same time as my cock throbs in time with my heartbeat.

“Thank gods” I groan as I shove the fabric up to bunch around her hips and the sight before me absolutely undoes me. I shake as I see that she’s already bare underneath her skirt, leaving her gorgeous and on display. Her slick is smeared on the insides of her thighs, her cunt swollen and shiny as she tries to close her legs but I don’t let her. Holding her ankles apart and she whines.

“Were you touching yourself before I got here?” I murmur lowly and she stills, her cheeks ruddy and her eyes blinking up at me wetly.

“Fuck you where werent you” I throw my head back and swallow, hand running over my face as she gasps softly. I jump at the sudden feeling of her smaller hand brushing up my inner thigh towards my still throbbing hard on. I flush as I see the dark fabric and register the heavy wet feeling that surrounds my cock as she looks at the spot. I swallow down the embarrassment at the look of pure hunger in her eyes. She bites her plush bottom lip and then grips my hip with a hand and looks up at me.

“Was this because of me?” She whispers and I shudder as she licks her lips again and I nod slowly, gently I grab her hand, dragging it to the bulge in my pants. I hiss at the contact, still sensitive as I squeeze her hand around me softly.

“All of this is because of you” I tell her and move her hand over me. I bit down on my lip, fighting the urge to moan as I hear footsteps pass the tent. I press the back of my hand against my mouth as she leans forward and mouths at the cum soaked fabric of my pants, her warm tongue soaking the fabric even more as I throw my head back resisting the urge to just grab and fuck her.

“Wanna taste you Li, please.” She practically whines as she nuzzles my bulge again and I’m quick to unbuckle the belt and shove my pants down my thighs, my boxers following quickly after. The cool air against my cock makes me pant as I feel every part of my body tense. I look down at her spread out in front of me, propped up on her elbows and gazing at me from under her lashes as I stand and finish taking my clothes off, standing naked in front of her before I kneel in front of her again.

“Come here beautiful” I hold my hand out to her, tracing my fingers over her calf and ankle, marveling at the thin silver lines cut into her skin from her past.

I grip her ankle and press a kiss to the side of her foot before moving up her ankle and back up her calf. I make it past her knee and she whines, hands combing through my hair and tugging me to look at her.

“Wanted to taste you first” She’s fucking pouting at me as I look up from my spot, lips hovering over her thigh as I throw her leg over my shoulder.

“But baby I wanna take care of you.” I murmur, eyes never leaving hers as I brush my lips over her inner thigh, the skin prickling with gooseflesh as I breathe deeply. The scent of her makes me want to bury myself here forever. I could die happily between her legs.

“But-” I cut her off before she can get much further, using the flat of my tongue to lick the slick leaking from her pretty cunt, tasting her with a moan. She squeaks out and snaps her legs shut, throwing her head back. I wrap my arms around her thighs, humming into her warmth as I lick over the swollen bud above her center.

“Fuck Liam just like that!” She squeals and arches her back and I swirl my tongue around her clit, flicking it up and down as she shakes, squeezing her thighs tight around my head, my hearing being muffled by the strong muscles.

I wedge a hand under the small of her back while I use my middle and ring finger to circle her entrance before pressing them inside. She's tight and warm and pulsing around my fingers. The harder I lick the more she shakes. I’m kneeling over her at this point, her body folded in half for me as her hands hold my face tight against her. I don’t stop moving my tongue, don’t stop as she squeals and starts to push my head away.

“Liam please! Too much! Too much!” despite her words she digs her heels into my shoulders, holding me against her as she scratches her nails into my shoulders.

She’s close, I can feel it as she begins to spasm and I close my eyes sucking her clit into my mouth at the same time as I smack a hand over her mouth gently, her lips parting under my palm as she cums hard against my face. The gush of wetness floods my mouth and coats my chin as she spasms under my hold, her hands gripping the wrist of the hand covering her mouth.

Slowly I pull my hand back and unwind her legs from my head, my ears ringing slightly as I sit back on my heels and brush the hair out of my face with my damp hand. I watch her eyes flutter as I suck her juice soaked fingers into my mouth, sucking as much of her taste from my skin as I can.

YN POV

I lay in absolute bliss for a moment, slowly regaining the feeling in my fingers and toes first. I’ve never came that hard before in my life and he’s not even fucked me yet.

“How are you feeling?” he asks me, his voice hoarse as he wipes my slick from his chin. I flush warm as I let my eyes roam over his fucked out expression to the flush thats spread from his neck down his chest, my scratch marks line his shoulders and a few are even scabbing. He’s breathing heavily and I can’t help but look at the bobbing length of him in front of my face. I watch him take his fingers into his mouth and the way his eyes close in bliss. I don’t miss the way his cock jumps at the same time as he licks slick from his top lip. I unclip my sheaths and let them fall, my skirt quick to follow so that I’m laying naked under him.

His eyes open and watch me as I shakily shift to sit up on my knees, his hand extending to my waist to help steady me. I rest a hand on his chest, the other settling on his hip as I lean closer to him. I look up at him, eyes moving from those beautiful blues to his swollen lips.

“Let me take care of you?” I whisper against his mouth, his other hand grabbing my hair and holding me close, kissing me hard.

“Whatever you want it’s yours” he promises as I pull back and sit on my heels, gesturing for him to stand. Once he does I take his hand and pull him closer until he stands in front of me. He watches as I take his length in my hand, more long than girthy but he has a beautiful curve and he throbs in my palm, a prominent vein runs along the side and I slowly trace my thumb over it. He exhales a shaky moan but doesn’t look away as I take the swollen pink tip between my lips and lap up the pre that leaks onto my tongue. I feel his hand comb through my hair, pushing the hair away from my face and holding it in a loose fist at the back of my skull.

I begin to bob my head, hands settling on his thighs as saliva pools and drips in globs onto his thighs and my chest. With each thrust into my mouth I take him deeper and deeper, gagging when he touches the back of my throat.

“Fuck pretty girl.”

“That feels so fucking good”

“Don’t stop- please gorgeous”

“Gods look how good you look sucking my cock”

With every filthy word the more enthusiastic I become. I don’t relent until my nose is pressed into the patch of blonde hair at the base of his cock, his breathing ragged and deep as his thighs shake.

“I can feel you swallowing me down- barely even gagging look at you”

I bob my head faster and faster, letting him hold tight to my head and thrust his hips into my mouth.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck I’m close pretty girl”

“Where do you want it?”

“Your face? Your tits? Or do you want my cum on that pretty tongue?”

At his last words I swallow him down as deep as I can, sticking my tongue out as far as I can and he throws his head back, growling low in his throat as he snaps his hips forward. I hold onto his thighs and breathe when I can, my throat will be aching after this but I don’t care. If I’m making him feel this good then I don’t care what it does to me as long as I can see the way his eyes roll into the back of his head and his chest flushes.

“Cumming cumming cummingggggggg” He moans, hips jolting lightly as warmth fills my throat, I fight back from gagging and swallow every drop he gives me.

When I’m sure I’ve sucked him dry I attempt to pull back but he keeps a hand firmly on the back of my head, his cock has only softened slightly, his eyes sparkle as I look up at him in confusion.

“You just look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, just wanted to look at this sight a little longer” my belly warms at his words, his fingers carding through my hair as I lean my cheek against his thigh.

After a moment he slowly tugs my head back until his cock falls from my mouth wetly.

“How are you feeling?” He kneels in front of me and grabs my waterskin and hands it to me. I smile in thanks and take a few deep sips before handing it back and waiting until after he’s finished drinking before I move a little closer.

I let my eyes roam over his perfect body and the sharp curves of his jaw and the strong corded muscle in his arms and chest that flex under my touch. I trace my fingers over the bare skin of his shoulder and feel that warmth in my belly spread further through me, my blood warming as his eyes roam over me as well.

“What are you thinking?” he asks me softly, hand coming to gently trace my side before a finger circles my nipple, drawing a shaky breath from my lips.

“Fuck me” I don’t look away from him as the soft look in his eyes shifts to something more hungry, territorial.

“Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you?” his voice drops a few octaves as he watches my mouth, fingers tugging at my nipples now. I wince and hiss at the sharp pain from the tugging but it only proves to make them more sensitive when he draws his fingers delicately over the swollen skin.

“I’m not gonna do it unless you tell me” he growls and I narrow my eyes on him.

“I just did-” the words are barely out when he’s grabbing me by the throat and pulling me close to him. He's strong and holding my throat tight enough to keep me in place but not enough to cut off my airflow.

“Are you giving me attitude?” His words are calmly deceptive as he narrows his own eyes at me and I can’t hide the way I clench my thighs in arousal because holy shit, he’s sexy when he's putting me in my place.

“If I am?” I ask slowly and he raises an eyebrow at me, lips narrowing into a straight line as he tilts his head.

“Then I can’t fuck you baby. Only good girls get cock.” He murmurs to me and my lips part in shock. No way, he wouldn’t.

“But-” “Come on pretty girl, be good for me and I’ll fill you up nicely for the rest of the night. You just need to ask politely” his smile is all sin as I snap my mouth closed and furrow my eyebrows.

I see movement somewhere below me and when I glance down I can’t help but stagger. He’s got a hand wrapped around his hard and leaking cock now standing at attention all over again as his eyes roam over me.

Liam POV

I watch her eyes as the cogs turn in her head. I touch myself, relieving some of the pressure as she watches. And then, she’s dropping back down to her knees on the blankets and lays down on her back, hair spread around her head like a halo. She spreads her legs so I can see the dripping slit practically calling me to it. She cups her breasts with her hands and I can’t help but take in the gorgeous pictures she’s putting on display for me.

“Please Liam, need you to fill me up so badly. Only you” She bites her lip and I can’t resist, can’t hold my composure as I fall onto her, catching myself as my hands hit the ground on either side of her head and she looks up at me with needy eyes.

“I love you” the way her eyes soften when she says it makes my heart soar and affection flares as I gently brush my lips across her cheeks, brushing the loose hair from her face.

“I love you” I whisper back and kiss her gently, then kiss both her cheeks and over the side of her neck. I hike her thighs up around my waist as I collect some of the slick from her cunt before smearing it over my cock.

I gently press the tip of my cock against her entrance, the warm wetness of her begging for me. I gently take one of her hands in mine, our fingers laced together as I press my hips forward. She’s so tight that I have to move slowly enough not to cum right then as she arches her back and moans. I lean over her quickly and press my mouth to hers. Her free arm comes up and wraps around my neck as she pants against my mouth. Once I’ve bottomed out I hold still, waiting the agonizing seconds until I can move.

I kiss over her face gently before pulling back slightly and then pushing back in. pleasure flares through me and she bites down on her lip as I slowly build a rhythm.

“Gods look at you taking me so well” I coo and lower myself over her, face tucking into the croak of her neck and breathing her in as I pick up the pace.

“Liam please- fuck you’re filling me so good” she scratches into my back, nails sinking deep and I know I’ll have fresh scars in the morning. Heat builds at the base of my spine as I sit back up and lean back on my heels and pull her half onto my lap, arching her back and I press my palm against her abdomen moaning low, just for her as I feel the quick press of my cockhead against my palm through the soft skin of her navel.

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ve got you I promise.” I grit out softly, the sound of wet skin slapping together and her soft moans fill the tent as she tightens around me until I can barely move.

“I’m gonna cum Li- Please I’m gonna cum” at her words I look down and meet her fucked out expression, her mouth hanging open and her wet pink tongue on display as I lean down and spit into her open mouth.

She arches and keens as she goes tight around me wetness coats my cock and sprays against my abdomen, soaking the blankets as she shakes. I thrust one, two, three more times before I pressed into her deep, my face buried in her chest as I filled her with my cum. I breathe her in and keep my arms wrapped around her as we both breathe in the quiet of her tent.

“Liam” she calls my name softly and I look down at her. She’s so soft beneath me and I can’t believe I get to hold her as she brushes her fingers over my cheek.

“I love you” She whispers and I lean into her touch, soaking in her warmth. “I love you”

[woso-story]

A Day With The Engen-Leon Family

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x Baby

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the Engen-Leon household, casting warm streaks of light across the cozy kitchen. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the lingering scent of lavender from the candles Ingrid had lit the night before. Mapi was perched at the kitchen table, her tattoo sketchpad open, the tip of her pencil tapping thoughtfully against her chin. Her eyes were locked on the design she was working on—a swirling floral pattern that was giving her more trouble than it should.

Across the table, two-year-old Mila, the undisputed star of the household, was decidedly not eating her breakfast. Instead, the bowl of yogurt in front of her had become an artistic medium. With her tiny fingers, she swirled the yogurt into intricate patterns across the tray of her highchair, giggling at her handiwork. Her dark curls bounced as she looked up at Mapi with her sparkling green eyes.

“Mami, look!” Mila chirped, holding her sticky hands up triumphantly. “Draw like you!”

Mapi glanced up from her sketchpad and laughed. “Wow, Mila! That’s amazing. You’re a little artist, just like Mami.”

Leaning against the counter with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, Ingrid let out an exasperated sigh, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was dressed in her usual morning attire—an oversized hoodie and jogging shorts, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.

“Maria, you’re encouraging her,” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “Mila, breakfast is for eating, not finger painting.”

Mila paused her yogurt masterpiece to give Ingrid a dramatic pout. “No eat. Draw!” she declared, smacking her palms onto the tray, sending a few droplets of yogurt splattering onto the table.

“Great. Now the table’s an art canvas, too,” Ingrid muttered, setting her mug down and crouching to Mila’s level. “Mila, sweetie, I know it’s fun, but you need to eat your food. If you don’t eat now, you’ll be hungry later.”

Mila crossed her arms defiantly. “No.”

Mapi, watching the exchange, stifled a chuckle. “She’s got your stubbornness, Ingrid.”

Ingrid gave her a pointed look before turning back to Mila. “If you don’t eat, Mila, there won’t be any energy for the park later.”

At the mention of the park, Mila’s resolve wavered. She looked back at Mapi, searching for an ally. Mapi reached over, tapping Mila’s nose playfully.

“Tell you what,” Mapi said. “If you finish your breakfast, we can draw together after.”

Mila’s pout melted into a tentative smile. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Mapi extended her pinky, and Mila eagerly hooked hers around it. With a dramatic sigh, she began spooning yogurt into her mouth, though she didn’t seem thrilled about it.

Ingrid shook her head but smiled. “You always know how to bargain with her.”

“Talent,” Mapi replied with a wink.

---

True to her word, Mapi set up a little art station in the living room after breakfast. The coffee table was cleared and replaced with blank sheets of paper, colored pencils, and markers. Mila sat cross-legged on the floor, a small piece of paper in front of her. Her tongue poked out in concentration as she scribbled colorful lines across the page.

Mapi sat beside her with her sketchpad, her own drawing slowly coming to life. She’d decided to incorporate some of Mila’s swirling yogurt-inspired shapes into her design. Every now and then, she glanced over to check on her little protégé’s progress.

Bagheera, had claimed a spot beside Mila, her tail lazily swishing back and forth as she purred contentedly. Mila reached out to scratch Bagheera behind the ears, eliciting an appreciative meow.

“Baggy likes my drawing!” Mila announced, holding up her paper. The scribbles were a chaotic burst of colors, but to Mapi, it was as beautiful as any professional piece.

“Of course she does, baby. You’re a natural artist,” Mapi said, ruffling her daughter’s curls.

Mila leaned down, showing her masterpiece to Bagheera. “See, Baggy? It’s you!”

Bagheera responded with a gentle nuzzle, much to Mila’s delight.

---

In the afternoon, the family set off for the park. Mila insisted that Bagheera join them, holding the leash tightly as the cat padded along beside her. Ingrid initially raised an eyebrow at the idea of taking a cat to the park, but she had learned by now to pick her battles.

Bagheera, surprisingly cooperative, trotted beside Mila like a seasoned leash-walker. Passersby stopped to smile, amused by the sight of a little girl and her leash-trained cat.

At the playground, Mila raced toward the climbing frames, her laughter echoing as she scrambled up the colorful structures.

“Mami! Look at me!” she shouted from the top, waving down at her parents.

When Mila got stuck halfway down, Mapi didn’t hesitate to climb up to help her. But the equipment was clearly not designed for adults, and Mapi found herself bumping her head on the low bars.

“Careful, Maria,” Ingrid called, barely suppressing her laughter.

“This is a death trap,” Mapi muttered, rubbing her head. She eventually guided Mila down safely and turned to Ingrid with a smirk. “Next time, you’re climbing up there.”

---

By the time they returned home, Mila was a mess. Dirt streaked her cheeks, her clothes were stained with grass, and her hair was a tangled mess.

“Bath time, Mila,” Ingrid declared.

Mila, however, had other plans. “No bath!” she shouted, darting away like a mischievous sprite.

It took Ingrid nearly ten minutes of chasing, coaxing, and bribing to finally wrestle Mila into the tub. Once inside, Mila’s protests turned into splashes, and the bathroom quickly resembled a miniature flood zone.

By the end, Ingrid was drenched, but Mila emerged clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, smelling of lavender.

“That was exhausting,” Ingrid said, flopping onto the couch while Mapi dried Mila’s hair with a small towel.

Mapi smirked. “You did great. A true warrior.”

---

After dinner, the family settled on the couch for movie night. Mila chose her favorite: The Jungle Book. She sat between her moms, her eyes wide with wonder as Bagheera the panther appeared on screen.

“Baggy!” she squealed, pointing at the TV. “It’s you!”

Bagheera, curled up in Mila’s lap, purred softly as if to agree. Mila giggled, petting her feline companion and showing her the screen repeatedly. Ingrid and Mapi exchanged a loving glance, their hearts full.

---

When bedtime rolled around, Ingrid read Mila a story, her voice soft and soothing. Mila’s eyelids grew heavy, and she soon drifted off to sleep clutching her favorite stuffed lion.

But in the middle of the night, soft cries woke Mapi. She found Mila sitting up in her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Bad dream, Mami,” Mila whimpered, holding out her arms.

Mapi scooped her up, her heart aching. “It’s okay, mi cielo. Let’s go to the big bed.”

When they entered the bedroom, Ingrid stirred, her voice a sleepy whisper. “Bad dream?”

Mapi nodded, settling Mila between them. The little girl cuddled up under the covers, her breathing evening out as she fell asleep again. Mapi and Ingrid each kissed her forehead before lying down on either side of her.

As they drifted off to sleep, cocooned in warmth and love, they knew that tomorrow would bring another day of laughter, messes, and adventures with their little family.