#Until I'll be thing and brittle

[messinheaven]

why do I prefer not being at all than being less than perfect?

[wild-jackalope]

pairing :: Mark Grayson x reader

warning :: friends to lovers, make out, spicy, mutual pining, Mark comfort (bc he deserves the best), cheating on Amber w/ reader, season one

note :: first Invincible drabble, send your requests

The roof quietly scraped with the weight of you resting on it. Around you were the sounds of subtle crickets and the occasional car rolling along the road. The nearby city produced no sound, no explosions, no sirens, no sudden crashes, just stillness. And Mark.

He'd lifted you from the yard to the roof, just as he often did when the two of you had deep chats. His hands cradled you gently into the sky, almost weakly, as if he remembered your bones were as brittle in his large hands as a stick was when he was young.

You'd been waiting—between bursts of failing small talk— for him to confess the real reason he put you on his roof with such a sorrowful look on his face. It wasn't merely 'to hang out' as his text message asking you to come over claimed.

It wasn't until you hit the jackpot of his problems with the simple question: "How is Amber?" that he spilled.

“Amber is… I don’t know. She wants me to be there for her, but something always gets in the way.”

“Like what, Mark?”

“Like a new monster. Or some kind of villain.”

“Saving people gets in the way?”

“Yeah… It does.”

You took a heavy exhale and your eyes drifted over the star-specked sky, watching the twinkle of faraway lights and the moon. With your breath in came the scent of the night, cool and soft, carrying the faint smell of rain.

Mark's head remained downcast with the weight of his heroism looking down on him.

You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, willing him to feel your love through the simple touch. “Mark," you murmured gently, "look at the sky.”

His dark eyes laxly questioned you, before raising to the sky.

“Look at all the stars," you beamed softly, "burning so brightly against the black sky. The moon, the clouds, all of it. I get to see it every night, so do many others— people that are alive because you protect them. They breathe, watch sunsets, love, laugh, and cry because you’ve sacrificed yourself to save them, save Amber, save me.” The hand placed on his shoulder slid down, gripping his softening muscle kindly.

More teetered on the edge of your tongue, but it wasn't right to tell him how you truly felt with the aftertaste of Amber’s name still in your mouth.

The light of the moon gleamed in Mark’s eyes, paired with expanding pupils and a slack jaw. He didn't—couldn't say anything first, only try to control the rising of his chest and remember how to breathe correctly.

His jaw tightened, "God," he said weakly, "why are you like this?"

"Because I—"

"Don't," he cut in, shaking his head. "If you say something like that again, I don't know what I'll do."

You mistook the confession for something of a threat and retreated to your space. Mark sighed at the cold spot your hand left. "I'm sorry, I guess it's none of my business," you said.

"No! It is your business... you always know what to say and I—" his knuckles began to blanch at the tight hold of his fists. "I don't know how you do this to me." He murmured.

You remained quiet, to let space between you cool down and to retreat from his instability. He was getting too close, too close to revealing what had always lingered between the two of you.

That quiet, unspeakable thing.

"I think about you, all the time. More than I should." He stated, longing for your eyes to meet him.

You remained silent.

"I think about you especially when I shouldn't," He muttered.

"Mark..." You warned breathlessly.

"Sorry, this is hard." He huffed, forcing himself to let free the building tension in his chest. "Maybe I should've stayed quiet."

"It's not good to bottle things up." You offered— it was stupidly simple.

"But talking to you about my relationship..." On the surface it was completely normal for friends to confide in one another, but below messy layers of shameful feelings, longing looks and lingering touches between you two it wasn't right at all. "Then I see you and I already feel better, you say the most perfect things which make me feel crazy. Like I'm doing enough, that I deserve more, that I'm..."

He looked to the stars burning against the black sky and sighed, letting his head fall again.

"Maybe you should go." He muttered.

And then you said it, to keep from leaving, to hold him to you for longer. Perhaps, a small part of you knew it'd throw him over the edge. "Mark," you muttered, "You'll always be worth it."

Mark had frozen, stunned. Then as your words replayed in his mind, reverberating through his body and making his inside melt to lava. He looked away, with shaking hands

You'll always be worth it. He knew you meant it, there was no doubt in his mind.

Mark's ever-failing need to stay in control dissipated and the eyes that turned to look at you were no longer clouded by doubt— they said, You're worth it too.

He'd shifted onto his knees, closing the distance that separated you until his hand took the back of your head in hand and guided your lips to his. There was barely a moment to resist, just a small gasp which Mark swallowed feverishly.

The kiss could only be described as making up for lost time. His lips moved so desperately to convey just how much your words meant to him.

Your hands, feeling as though they had been cuffed to your sides, broke free from their mental chains and found Mark's hair. Gripping and feeling. The two of you moulded into one another, finally feeling all the things only previously longed for. Just in this moment, this fraction of time where morality and responsibility parted from your hot bodies.

At some point, his body found a refuge between your legs, his mouth now painting soft trails along your exposed neck.

It was intense, so fast, too fast.

Your head spun. Your legs tightened around Mark's waist anytime he ran his tongue over your skin.

Too intense, too hot.

You weren't sure at what point you began pushing at Mark's shoulders, likely when his mouth dipped past your collarbone and his hand began feeling the curve of your hip, pulling you to his core.

"Mark," you breathed, too softly and too sultry, because he only became further wrapped up in your body.

He groaned, like your voice alone had pushed him further into heat.

"Mark." You huffed, leaning away to breathe some air that wasn't so full of his smell.

He hesitated, his hands peeled themselves off you. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, away from the clouded heat that surrounded you.

He suddenly looked so miserable. Like he'd just remembered he was still bleeding from an old wound.

"I can't... God— I can't do this to you. Not like this, not while she's waiting for me."

You didn't know what to say, for once you had no words of closure to offer him. Only a thudding heart and a bruised neck.

"I have to see it through." For her, for you and for himself. "I'll come back," he stated.

He'd pushed off into the air so quickly, leaving you with only a promise and the feeling of his hands lingering on your body.

[hairmetal666]

Steve knows he falls in love too easily. Nancy told him, Robin too.

But falling in love with Eddie Munson is hard.

They're supposed to be friends after Vecna. They're supposed to be friends, but Steve can't get past what Eddie did in the Upside Down; how he put himself in a position to nearly die, how Dustin got hurt. It's not fair. He knows it's not, but it doesn't make the anger go away.

Eddie's part of the group now, though, and Steve won't leave him out, no matter how angry. They're all at movie nights, at pool parties, at Hellfire, at Corroded Coffin gigs. It's just that Steve and Eddie don't speak. And Steve is okay with it. If it's what it takes to make sure that they're all hanging out together, not talking to Eddie is a small thing. He's pretty sure Eddie doesn't mind. At least, he seems as uninterested in hanging out with Steve as Steve is with him.

It doesn't need to be anything more than that, and it isn't, not until Steve goes upstairs to get more sunscreen during one of the pool parties, and walks back downstairs to find Munson waiting for him in his kitchen.

"You need something?" He asks, unable to fully hide the way he jolts with surprise.

Eddie twists the rings on his fingers, something Steve's noticed he does whenever he's nervous. "You have a problem with me, Harrington?

"No, of course not," he answers too fast.

"C'mon, man. You can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"That's not true! We're in one together right now."

Eddie rolls his eyes so hard that it has to hurt. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You can't stand to be alone with me for more than thirty seconds."

Steve splutters, searching for a plausible reason.

"Is it cause--" Eddie swallows, hand going back to cup his neck. "Is it cause you heard me tell Robin that I'm gay? Back at the hospital. Is it because--" he cuts himself off.

Something in Steve's chest clenches hard, warmth swooping dangerously in his stomach. "No," Steve says, means it. "I didn't hear. I didn't-- it has nothing to do with that. It's--that's cool. Thanks for--yeah, that's cool."

Eddie's smile is a brittle little thing. "Then, what else?" Eddie pulls a chunk of hair over his mouth. "I can't think of any other reason you'd hate me so much."

"I don't." And Steve hopes it's coming off as genuine. "I promise."

He can't help remember the camaraderie, the understanding, that started to grow between them in the Upside Down. The "don't cha, big boy?" of it all. They could be friends. They should be.

They shouldn't get into it. Not right here, not right now when the kids' splashes and excited screams filter through the sliding door.

"You're a shit liar, Harrington."

"Ed--I'm not--"

"You know what? Don't bother. I'll just--" He jolts in the direction of the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Munson."

"God, I can't believe I didn't see it before. You just fucking loathe me."

"I do not. Grow up."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's your problem?"

"There isn't--"

"Stop lying!"

"You didn't fucking think!" He shouts. Loud enough that the noise outside cuts off. "You pulled that shit in the Upside Down and you almost died! Dustin got hurt!"

Eddie blinks his big brown eyes in stunned surprise.

"I told you, I said, 'dont try to be cute or be a hero or something.' And you know what you said? Do you?"

Eddie won't look at him now. "I had to make a choice, Steve."

"It was the wrong one!"

"I would do it all again. No matter what you say. I would do it to draw the bats away. To protect Dustin."

"But you didn't."

"There was no other way to stop them, Steve! They would've gotten through, into Hawkins."

"It doesn't matter."

"You weren't there! You can't tell me--"

"Yes, I can! I know."

"You don't! You think--"

"I almost lost you!" He screams. "You nearly died in my arms, Eddie. And for what?"

Falling in love with Eddie wasn't easy. It was blood and near death; it was weeks in a cold hospital room while Eddie existed in a drug-induced twilight state; it was agonizing convalescence and physical therapy and changing bandages; it was Eddie leading dnd sessions with bright eyes and contagious enthusiasm, herding the kids to the arcade and video store, theatrically serving snacks at movie night; it was festering, senseless anger at the near loss of something.

Eddie's lips tremble. "Steve, I--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns away to slide a hand down his face in an effort to wipe away the emotion. "You're fine and we're--it doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Steve, I'm sorry. I wanted--I thought it would help. I thought--"

And Steve has to admit, he does, the whole terrible contradiction of it all. "I know," he whispers back. "I would've--I know."

"I thought I was protecting Dustin. I thought I was buying you guys time with Vecna." Eddie's voice breaks. "I didn't--I--" He squeezes his eyes shut.

In the quiet of the kitchen, they gravitate to one another, foreheads resting together.

"I should have been there, Ed. I shouldn't have left you two alone. You almost died, and I--"

"Sweetheart, I'm right here. We're right here."

They don't kiss, but they're close enough that their mouths brush with each breath they take.

"Don't do that, again." Steve clenches his fists into Eddie's cutoff t-shirt. "Promise you won't ever--"

"I promise, Stevie. I promise. I'll be by your side until the very end, whatever it is."

[nottslove]

THE UPPER HAND AND THE LOWER HAND (part two)→ part one

pairing: toxic!mattheo x bratty reader

4.4k words summary: part two to the upper hand and the lower hand after flirting with theo to grab mattheo's attention, you think you've done the right thing until mattheo's punishment crosses the boundaries of your usual punishments. this is the moment when you realize that mattheo would go past any bounds, he would do anything just to show you your place; beside him, even if it meant arm-wrestling with his best friend.

warnings: LONG LONG LONG, toxic!mattheo, possessive mattheo, brat!tamer mattheo, major brat taming, thigh slapping, orgasm denial, shaming, public, fingering, degrading, dirty talk, slight cum play.

author's note: THIS ONES IS WILD, Y'ALL. TOO MUCH TENSION AND TESTOSTERONE. PART THREE?? OR NAH??

kinda got carried away with this one.. it originally started out as a drabble. sorry not sorry. please show this work some love. took me a week to write :')

HE had never resorted to this kind of punishment before. usually, it was always you testing your limits, and him fucking you into behaving.

not this time.

this time, rage crackled beneath his skin like a storm barely contained. he didn’t bark orders, didn’t hurl accusations—no, his fury was quieter, sharper.

he didn’t even grant you a single moment to straighten your posture, wipe away the remnants of distress, or gather the shards of your dignity.

he had simply thrust his jersey into your chest to wear atop your ripped blouse and bra, his name emblazoned at the back— a physical, tangible, visual reminder to everyone that you were his.

he was already there, eyes drilling into you, demanding without words that you face his wrath exactly as you were—unready, vulnerable, exposed.

your skirt was short, barely covering your ass, and the sticky mess underneath.

he had even refused you to put on a pair of panties. "you wanted to act like a fucking slut— so i'm gonna treat you like one," he had said. "no panties, let everyone see what a pathetic, desperate little whore you are."

and when you tried to argue, he cut you off, reminding you of how you had been perfectly happy with nothing underneath your skirt all morning whilst you flirted with nott.

you were a wreck—hair clinging to your damp forehead, clothes rumpled and stained with the evidence of a day that had already defeated you. your hands, trembling and unsteady, bore the faint smudges of your arousal, a testament to the chaos you’d been wading through.

even your voice betrayed you, cracking under the weight of exhaustion and the unspoken plea for just one moment to compose yourself.

but there was no time, no mercy. you stood there, raw and undone, every imperfection laid bare under his unrelenting gaze.

wetness dripped out of your still-throbbing folds that had been slapped by mattheo far too many times for you to count, and your thighs rubbed together uncomfortably underneath your skirt as you walked towards the great all.

"at least give me two minutes to clean myself up," you finally begged mattheo, your eyes brimming with tears as you tugged on his arm in an attempt to pull him to the side. "i'll behave, i promise."

at long last, his resolve cracked, the weight of his own intensity seemingly catching up to him.

his head dipped—just slightly—into a small, reluctant nod. It wasn’t victory; it was a fragile truce, brittle and fleeting.

"fine," he muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. "but not more than two minutes, you hear me? any longer than that and i will fucking punish you in the great hall—in front of everyone."

the words hung in the air, a countdown already ticking as he turned away, leaving you to claw back a semblance of composure under the crushing pressure of borrowed time.

you managed a stiff nod, though tears blurred your vision, threatening to spill as you hurried into the ladies' room. each step felt weighted, as if carrying the burden of his unyielding scrutiny. the door closed behind you, but freedom was fleeting—your heart pounded relentlessly, each beat syncing with the precise ticking of the timer on his watch.

he was out there, stationed like an unwavering sentinel, his presence as imposing as a locked cage. two minutes. two merciless minutes to gather yourself, to rebuild the shards of your composure before facing him again.

the mirror reflected back a version of yourself you barely recognized—disheveled, trembling, and painted with streaks of desperation.

your hands fumbled with the cold tap, splashing water on your face in frantic attempts to wash away the panic. but it clung to you, stubborn and unyielding, as though his looming presence outside the door could seep through the walls and find you in here.

you shrugged off his jersey, taking off your ruined blouse and bra underneath and throwing them away before putting it back on, his strong cologne already inhibiting your flowery perfume.

adjusting your skirt, you took deliberate care in gently wiping away any traces of your arousal underneath, until you decided you were presentable enough to head back outside.

he lingered in the doorway, the moment he caught sight of you, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of seizing control—it was all supposed to be his.

but then, you stepped out, quicker than he'd anticipated, stealing the moment from his grasp.

he hadn’t expected you to emerge so soon. for a moment, he had relished the thought of storming in, gripping your wrist, dragging you out by your hair under the flickering fluorescent light—a spectacle, a statement.

but here you were, stepping forward before he could act, before he could satisfy that need for control. his fingers curled into fists at his sides, a fleeting ember of frustration burning beneath his skin. the disappointment was fleeting, replaced by something darker. a game unfinished, a predator denied its prize.

you had stolen the moment.

but the night was far from over.

it was as if he had expected you to pull of something to get on his nerves, something to test his patience until it finally snapped.

not even thirty seconds had passed before mattheo's fingers closed around your arm, firm yet deceptively casual. his grip was effortless, as if he had always known you’d end up right here—with him, away from prying eyes.

he steered you into the deserted classroom, the creak of the door swallowing the outside noise. the dim glow of the overhead lights barely touched his features, but the smirk—the lazy, knowing smirk—stood out like a signature, promising trouble.

your heart lurched, a sharp, breath-stealing moment of hesitation. you parted your lips, the beginnings of a question forming—why?

why had he seized you so suddenly, drawn you into the quiet shadows? you hadn’t done anything to anger him… yet.

but the gleam in his eyes, the calculated tension in his grip, suggested he wasn’t waiting for a reason. the air between you thickened, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

and then he you were pressed against the wall and mattheo yanked your skirt up harshly, instantly tilting his head downwards, his eyes carefully examining your puffy folds and swollen clit— now all cleaned up.

you tensed, breath catching in your throat as you closed your eyes tightly and whimpered, the cool air hitting your bare pussy and sending a whole other wave of arousal coursing through you.

"did you touch yourself, doll?" mattheo's voice crooned into your ear, his two fingers already sliding against your soft folds, your tiny little hole puckering up and eagerly trying to suck his fingers in. "because you fucking know the rules... you don't get to cum without my permission..."

"n-no—" you rasped, throat dry as you violently shook your head. "i didn't... i swear—"

a sharp cry tore from your throat as you felt a stinging pain on the inside of your thigh, and you gasped when you realized mattheo had slapped you once more.

"good slut," he replied promptly, a devilish smirk on his lips as he tapped your cheek and smoothed your skirt back down to flow prettily around your thighs.

and then, just like that, he was leading you through the grand doors, his hand firm around yours, his presence commanding. the great hall buzzed with laughter and chatter, but as he steered you forward, the world seemed to narrow, folding in around the two of you. You weren’t just walking—you were being presented, displayed, an unspoken claim shimmering in the air between you.

a prize. his prize.

admiring glances flickered your way, envy blooming in the eyes of those watching. and you liked it—no, you loved it—the rush of belonging, the undeniable thrill of being his.

students shifted instinctively, parting as though compelled by an unspoken force, creating a clear path as mattheo led you through the hall. his stride was steady, effortless, exuding a quiet dominance that required no announcement.

the slytherin table loomed ahead—theo and draco already in place, their gazes flicking up in acknowledgment as mattheo claimed his seat. and you—drawn into the space beside him—settled without hesitation, as if there had never been another option.

your gaze remained firmly fixed on your lap, a silent act of self-preservation, fingers curling slightly as if the mere act of holding still could steady your pulse..

theo’s presence burned at the edge of your awareness, but you refused to acknowledge it—refused to risk even the slightest flicker of interest. a single misstep—a fleeting glance toward theo—could shatter the fragile equilibrium, could trigger something inevitable.

you felt mattheo’s presence beside you, felt the weight of his unspoken command pressing against your skin. if you so much as wavered, if you betrayed even the slightest flicker of curiosity, he would act. he wouldn't hesitate to fulfill the promise he had made earlier that day, and there would be no undoing it. no escaping it.

theo leaned back, eyes flickering with something unreadable—amusement, intrigue, maybe even expectation. his smirk was slow, deliberate, a silent taunt that curled at the edges of his lips.

he leaned in slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he traced the shift in your demeanor—you, quiet for once, not draping yourself in playful flirtation to rile mattheo.

"behaving yourself, cara?" theo drawled, raising a brow slightly. "that's a first.."

you were quiet. for once. no teasing remarks, no glancing coyly at theo, meant to stir mattheo's temper. it was a shift, a crack in the usual game, and theo noticed. of course he did.

no teasing remarks, no lingering glances designed to test the limits of his patience. it was different. unexpected. and theo knew exactly why.

his gaze dipped to where mattheo’s hand still rested on your thigh, possessive, unyielding.

the smirk deepened, a challenge woven into the curve of his mouth. were you really going to behave? or were you just waiting for the right moment to snap the leash?

his stare lingered a beat too long, the smirk widening slightly, as if daring you to slip back into old habits. as if testing just how far mattheo’s claim had stretched over you.

mattheo obviously noticed the way his best friend seemed to take your silence as a challenge, and his grip tightened on your thigh, the movement punctuated with a low, throaty growl. "eyes off my girl, nott..."

theo’s smirk deepened, lazy and triumphant, as he stretched back in his seat, exuding an air of utter satisfaction. he wasn’t in a rush—no, he was enjoying this, savoring every second of stirring the storm brewing beneath mattheo’s carefully controlled exterior.

it was a game, a silent challenge exchanged through fleeting glances and sharp-edged smirks. and theo? he was winning. for now. "or what?" he drawled. "she's yours for now, because you're giving her attention, but the moment you toss her aside she's gonna come running straight to me—"

your gaze shot up, sharp and unforgiving, locking onto theo with an intensity that made the smirk lingering on his lips widen.

the audacity. the sheer recklessness of his words hung in the air, crackling like a live wire between you. your lips parted, a breath hitching—whether in disbelief or fury, even you weren’t sure. but theo? he was reveling in it, leaning in ever so slightly, the amusement in his eyes darkening into something far more dangerous. "go on, cara, tell him i'm wrong—"

mattheo was beyond furious. a guttural sound tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained, as he surged forward, the edge of the table groaning beneath the sudden force of his movement. for a fleeting second, it seemed as though he might reach across and haul theo up by his collar, ready to tear into him, to make him regret every smug word that had just left his lips.

but then—your thigh. his hand clenched down, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave a mark, to etch his rage into your skin. a silent warning. a claim. you stopped yourself from making a sound, a quiet whimper leaving your lips.

he didn’t need to speak; his grip told you everything. and yet, theo only smirked wider, leaning back like he was enjoying the fire he had just ignited.

mattheo knew the rules of the game—knew that if he rose, if he let his fury manifest into action, theo would have won. and that was something he simply couldn’t allow.

instead, he stayed rooted, his jaw tightening until the muscles ached, his fingers still curled into the fabric of his pants, resisting the urge to lunge forward. his glare was razor-sharp, slicing through the air between them, aimed directly at theo. a warning. a silent promise of retribution.

yet theo, ever the instigator, only leaned back with that damnable smirk, basking in the tension like it was some kind of victory.

but mattheo wasn’t finished. not by a long shot.

you, caught in the charged air between them, barely dared to shift, feeling the residual energy of mattheo’s temper radiating through the fingers still locked onto your thigh. it was possessive, undeniable—a warning spoken without words.

you weren’t sure whether the pressure was meant to remind you of his dominance or ground himself, a desperate bid to keep from snapping.

before you knew it, mattheo's cold, ringed fingers climbed higher, closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, and your breath hitched, your own fingers tightening around the edge of the table in an attempt to keep yourself steady.

theo exhaled a chuckle, shaking his head as he finally dropped his gaze, sipping his drink like he hadn’t nearly been hauled over the table moments ago. “relax, mate,” he drawled, eyes flicking back to you. “no harm done.”

but the way he said it—the way his smirk lingered just a second too long—suggested he knew exactly how much harm he was capable of causing.

"nott—" mattheo growled, his voice deep and rumbling from deep, within his chest. "i swear to god— one more word and i will fucking—"

blaise, ever the moderator, stepped in quickly, noticing the rising tension between the two boys, best friends, now almost turned enemies.

"alright, how about we settle this in some other way?" he quipped, raising a brow towards enzo, who had just pulled away from making out with a pretty, blonde girl. "draco— ideas?"

the malfoy heir looked towards the rest of the boys with an interested stare, before his gaze shifted towards you. "well, quiddit—"

"not quidditch," blaise interrupted, shaking his head and jabbing his friend with his elbow, before turning back to mattheo and theo. "you guys are best friends, you can't let a girl get between you two. bros before—"

blaise's words landed like a spark in dry kindling, igniting something volatile between mattheo and theo. The shift was immediate—mattheo’s jaw tightening, his fingers twitching at his side, while theo’s ever-present smirk faltered just enough to reveal the flicker of irritation beneath it.

for a brief moment, neither spoke, the tension curling through the air like the hush before a storm. then, mattheo exhaled sharply, the sound laced with barely contained fury, his gaze darkening as it flicked toward theo, as if daring him to react first. theo, on the other hand, leaned back, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek, weighing whether this was a fight worth indulging.

"finish your sentence, zabini, i fucking dare you," your boyfriend growled, clenching his fist atop the table, his other hand still climbing higher and higher, dangerously close to where you needed him most.

blaise stepped back. "alright, alright," he drawled. "no need to get so touchy..."

you were far too busy trying to ignore mattheo's ever firm grip on your thigh, his cold rings pressing into you and giving you goosebumps as they gently brushed against your swollen clit.

the tips of your ears burned at the thought of anyone finding out exactly what mattheo was doing to you underneath the table.

the moment blurred, lost in the tension thickening the air. you hadn’t been paying attention—too caught in the silent war of trying to keep your dignity by not letting out a single sound.

the way mattheo didn't spare you a single glance despite knowing his touch was driving you absolutely feral only caused you to grow more determined not to show any sort of emotion on your face.

this was still part of your punishment, you knew that now. mattheo was teaching you a lesson here; not to test his fucking patience.

but then, out of nowhere—theo leaned forward, his smirk sharper now, a glint of something reckless in his eyes. “since you’re dying to prove something,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders, “let’s make it simple. arm wrestling. unless, of course, you’re afraid.”

mattheo’s eyes narrowed, dark and lethal, the corner of his lips twitching as if he were seconds away from baring his teeth in a challenge of his own. the hall seemed to quiet just a fraction—students catching the shift, sensing the storm that was about to crack open between them.

theo dragged his sleeve up, resting his elbow firmly against the table, fingers flexing with easy confidence. “come on, mate,” he taunted, his voice all too smug. “let’s settle this like men.”

a muscle in mattheo’s jaw ticked, and then—without another word—he slammed his own elbow onto the table, fingers locking with theo’s in a brutal grip.

you swallowed hard. this wasn’t about strength.

this was about dominance.

this was also a fight over you.

mattheo's other hand seemed perfectly wedged between your thighs, fingers collecting your slickness and smearing it all over your pretty pussy, his fingers dragging over folds in a manner that was enough to tease your brains out, but never enough to satisfy.

he leaned in towards you, voice soft enough to be heard just by you and no one else. "you better hope i win this, whore, or it'll be face down and ass up the rest of the night, are we clear?"

you nodded, hesitantly, tears pricking your eyes at the fact that he referred to you as a whore and a slut instead of using your name.

"good girl," mattheo replied approvingly.

blaise’s voice cut through the tension, steady and unhurried, dragging out every second with agonizing deliberation.

"three…"

mattheo’s grip tightened, muscles coiling, the veins in his forearm standing stark against his skin. theo’s smirk hadn’t faltered—if anything, it had sharpened, his confidence unwavering as he flexed his fingers in preparation.

"two…"

the hall had fallen into hushed anticipation, eyes flickering between the two best friends— now rivals, waiting for the inevitable clash. you swallowed hard, pulse thrumming beneath your skin. the air felt charged, alive, seconds away from snapping under the weight of their challenge.

"one."

blaise’s hand sliced downward—an unspoken signal.

and then, in an instant, mattheo and theo’s hands locked in battle, the table groaning beneath the sheer force of their struggle.

this match was more than strength. it was power. it was dominance. and neither was willing to lose.

the moment the match started, you suddenly gasped, feeling the sharp intrusion of mattheo's digits against your puffy folds, his cold rings pressing against your thighs and rubbing against your inflated clit.

"m-matty," you whimpered desperately, your voice barely more than a whisper. "p-please..."

you were begging. for what, you didn't know. you just needed this torment to stop.

the world around you blurred, background noise fading into a distant hum as your focus locked onto their interlocked hands—veiny, tense, straining against each other in a battle neither was willing to lose. the air was thick with unspoken fury, testosterone-fueled defiance crackling between them like static before a storm.

mattheo’s jaw clenched, his muscles taut with barely restrained aggression, his knuckles paling as he exerted every ounce of strength against theo’s stubborn resistance. theo, ever the provocateur, held his ground, his smirk flickering at the edges as if the challenge only fed his resolve.

it was brutal. unrelenting. neither acknowledging your presence, save for mattheo's fingers rubbing against your cunt and causing you to rub your thighs together, squishing his fingers in the process, preventing him from having the perfect access to your thighs.

mattheo growled, veins popping out from his bicep with every force he exerted against theo's resisting arm, and the sight was enough to get your mouth to water.

fuck. you knew he was attractive, but to see his bicep right there, forearm flexed, the muscles shifting under taut skin, each fiber coiling with restrained power... it did things to you.

veins traced along the length, standing out like ridges beneath the surface, pulsing with the exertion of the match. his biceps, sculpted and sharp, tensed as he poured more strength into the battle, the sinew beneath his shirt stretching with each subtle movement.

the shift was nearly imperceptible, a fraction of an inch, but you saw it—you felt it.

mattheo’s hand edged forward, forcing theo’s grip back just the slightest bit, veins straining, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he poured everything into that moment. it wasn’t just brute strength—it was a battle of will, of dominance. and theo knew it.

his smirk flickered, just for a second, before his jaw clenched, determination sparking in his eyes. he wasn’t going down that easily.

but mattheo’s fingers tightened, his stance unwavering. he was winning. and he wasn’t letting go.

just then, you felt it. between your thighs.

two of mattheo's fingers suddenly broke past your tight barrier and he shoved them into your little hole, causing your mouth to open, but no scream to come out; you held yourself back in an attempt not to draw attention to the filthy actions you engaged in under the table.

"f-fuck, m-matty," you whispered again, your voice hoarse and punctuated with another whimper. you lay your head down slightly on the table, resting against your arm, your eyes fixated on mattheo's clenched bicep.

"so close... so fucking close, i know it.." mattheo muttered. something told you he wasn't talking about his arm wrestling with theo, but about the fact that you were so close to reaching your peak.

his fingers pumped in and out of you relentlessly, and a large air bubble wedged itself into your throat with every pleasurable sensation of his ringed fingers dragging against your folds.

you closed your eyes for a moment, biting your lip as your hard nipples ached, pressing against the thick fabric of mattheo's jersey. the sight of mattheo's contracted muscles, and the dizzying scent of his cologne, paired with his long fingers curling and scissoring inside your warm, wet walls, it was enough to send you over the edge.

mattheo moved his fingertips swiftly underneath your skirt, his other hand firmly gripping theo's. you were thankful the noise of the great hall was enough to drown out the sound of your greedy cunt sucking his fingers as they moved, his thumb pressing against your clit and rolling tiny figure eights against the aching nub.

your legs parted the slightest bit, and you rutted your hips into his hand, trying to chase that beautiful high that seemed far away enough to be a hallucination instead of a reality.

your moans grew more fervent, like you were not even trying to hide your shallow breathing and your little whimpers.

before you could tell him that it was too much, he shoved a third finger into our sopping wet folds, the painful pleasure making your head spin and just tipping you over the edge.

your orgasm hit, like a train wreck, slamming into you from all sides.

and then—

SLAM!

the impact echoed through the table, a resounding slam that stole the breath from the air around you.

mattheo’s hand pinned theo’s to the surface, unyielding, dominant—final. his chest rose and fell, muscles still taut from exertion, veins standing out like battle scars against his skin. his gaze burned, victorious, daring theo to even think about denying what had just happened.

theo exhaled sharply, his smirk faltering just slightly before he pulled his hand free, rolling his wrist as if shaking off the loss. the amusement hadn’t entirely faded from his eyes, but there was something else now—a quiet acknowledgment.

mattheo had won.

blaise gave a lazy grin, announcing the winner as mattheo and making it his personal business to shoo away everyone that wasn't himself, giving the two best friends privacy.

your chest was heaving, eyes closed as you came down from your high, head still spinning at the adrenaline rush of having mattheo's fingers so deep inside you.

slowly, he gave you that shit-eating grin of his before he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your cum clinging to his fingers and sliding down— compliments to gravity.

your thighs were in a worse state than before, your puffy folds aching and sopping wet from having mattheo's fingers tease you for what felt like ages.

"that's right, nott— i won..." and then, mattheo chuckled darkly, bringing his cum-covered fingers up to his mouth, his gaze fixated on theo.

embarrassment flooded through you, tied with a huge wave of humiliation. your heart was in your mouth, and your eyes were wide— yet you could only stare, gaze shifting between the two boys.

mattheo's tongue languidly lapped up every drop of your release, making sure theo could see every gentle movement of his tongue across his ringed fingers.

realization dawned on theo's features when he realized exactly where mattheo's other hand had been all this time.

his lips curled into a slight smirk as he nodded in acknowledgement and dipped his head in respect. "touché. well played, riddle, well played..."

mattheo then stood up, his hand surprisingly gentle as he helped you off the bench, slowly guiding you to your feet and out of the great hall, leaving theo by himself.

"i hope you've learned your lesson, brat; because if you didn't, i won't be so lenient with my punishments next time..."

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[silentium-symphony]

Autumn-disiac (Link x Reader) SMUT

a/n: sorry i've been gone for awhile! here's some ~fun stuff~ to make up for lost time ;) i haven't really written anything in awhile, so please bear with me as i get back into the swing of things!

cw: minors dni, afab!reader, link going FERAL over his meal :), reader is just a sobbing horny mess LOL, praising, cunnilingus, overstimulation, porn w/o plot, christ what the hell did i write

wc: 595

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The return of autumn heralded many things. Those sick of summer's swelter happily traded in sweat-yellowed tank tops for cozy, chunky knit cardigans. Fur-lined pants and leaf-patterned smocks replaced rustic shorts, and other summer apparel was shelved for the next growing season. Mothers' calls for their children chime earlier and earlier, paralleling the harvest darkness that encroached sooner in the day. Heroic epics crafted from the day's play are often discarded at the door, forgotten, as children are embraced by their mothers first and the smells of her cooking second.

Beyond the intimate comforts of home lie the wilds, which have since been shadowed with deep magenta. A thin spray of mist rolled down the hills, carrying with it the softest hint of moved air. The breeze, chilled by the beginnings of the harvest season, lapped at a set of blurry windows fogged from within.

A tongue, moistened with your sweetness and honeyed with sinful whispers, dragged the edge of ecstatic muscle up and down your abused folds. A brittle sob erupted from your chest as you tossed sweat-pressed locks from your forehead.

"L-Link, we've been at this for hours..."

"I know, baby, I know. You're doing so well. Just one more round, okay? You know how much I need this sweet pussy."

Your beloved's sultry purr rumbled through your core, sending bolts of electricity through pleasure-numbed nerves. Calloused palms sunk into your soft, supple thighs as he urged you forward and back with a gentle sway.

"Mm... Rock your hips for me... That's it, that's it, love..."

The sounds of desperate suckling and pussy-drunk groans brimmed the air with sickeningly sweet depravity. The musk of hours-long sex perfumed your senses into a mindless, blissed-out mush, electrified only by the occasional flick of your clit or the teasing teething from the man below. Leaning back slightly, you rested your shaky arms atop Link's thighs, doing little to still his erratic and involuntary pistoning--a futile attempt to fuck the hole he was currently feasting.

"That's it, hun, lean on me. I'll take care of ya, promise."

That all-too familiar tension was mounting deep in your gut, threatening to spill over and drown the man underneath. Honed in on your tells, Link initiated a dangerous combo of tongue and finger, alternating between fucking and rubbing until your vision blurred with more tears and your throat burned with more pleas.

"Mm... You want it, yeah? Does my beautiful, perfect girl wanna cum for me? Hm? Wanna cum, baby?"

"P-Please...! Link, I'm so close, please let me cum! Please let me cum! Plea--!"

A burning white throbbed through your core, snapping the thread that dangled your last bits of sanity over the velvety abyss. A searing light, hot and addicting, temporarily blinded you as you felt yourself fall back onto a sticky body.

A loud cry buzzed through your subconscious as something hot and wet squirted all over your front, painting your tits and stomach with thick threads of white. Pleasure-stricken convulsions rocked his body as more heat spilled onto you.

No energy could be expended to bask in the final afterglow, your eyelids weighted by an exhaustion you had never known. Some shuffling, and soon, the hot stickiness on your back and front was cooled by a wet rag. What could vaguely be recognized as fingers combed through the undoubtedly sweaty, tangled bird's nest formed atop your head. Soft, lovestruck murmurs coming from your beloved hastened you quicker into slumber.

You could only hope he understood your gurgled hum as an 'I love you.'

(Don't worry, he did).

[emeraldgem10]

Royalty Panic! (A Y/N story!)

So yep, an "evil" Y/N has been made, inspired by the King of Koopas, Bowser! And a touch of the Ice King from Adventure Time and the structure of this story inspired by @brittle-doughie's heartbreak series.

NOTE: This was written 2 months ago, as this costume was meant appear with Bard!Y/N, the images were added recently at the time of posting this.

______________________________________________________________

The origins of this Y/N begins with their old partner passing away, but instead of meeting other Cookies to mend their heart they turn to books and magics to distract their mind and as a result, they become quite powerful!

However, they may have been doing this a little too long and too hard, causing them to forget why they were even doing this in the first place. As such they began to go out to watch major events from afar.

It was at one of these events that their little eyes set on Princess Cookie for the first time and in their subconscious felt a spark in them like their old partner and Y/N was in love! They knew what they wanted to do: To win her heart!

As a result of the time Y/N spent alone, their first attempts of trying to woo Princess Cookie over didn't really go well, they even got dragged out by guards in one instance. Now stumped, Y/N was thinking of another way to earn her heart when they thought of something:

And so begins the Bowser side of this Y/N, they began to kidnap Princess Cookie or if she was more evasive, cause trouble like kidnapping her loved ones just to get her attention and when she gets to Y/N's fortress they talk to her sweetly only to be countered with her harsh and sharp words, then she or her allies would foil Y/N plans and the cycle would begin anew.

But underneath that tough dough exterior they're just as soft and caring as any other Y/N would be, it's just that they have a difficult time expressing that part of them now. So after their latest defeat, changes occured when Princess Cookie had REALLY had let her exasperated side out before she made her leave:

You lost again, you thought you were used to it but now... You didn't know what to do anymore... you tried to distract yourself again with your books but instead you broke down in tears as the memories flooded back into your mind. It lasted for hours until all of that repressed grief had been let out. And then, a moment of self reflection came over you, you realized that maybe Princess Cookie was right, you wouldn't get a chance with her, not after all the trouble you caused with all of those "grand" gestures you made for her..

Maybe this was a sign that you should... Do something else, leave her alone at last and do something... more.. productive.

So you did, you left Princess Cookie and her loved ones alone and left your fortress in search of fulfillment, wandering around Earthbread until you found a new place to call home.

But this time you weren't alone, along the way you found "minions" that came with you as you established a small "kingdom", you began to get more comfortable with others and bond with your "minions" as well they were with you, of course you still had occasions where your hyper fixations like growing your little "kingdom" and meeting your "princess" would kick in but this time you had others; others to count on, to confide in, to struggle with, and for the first time in a long time, you felt.. loved and content.

Maybe you can hold off the whole royal thing for another time.

Until the princess crosses roads with you again...

______________________________________________________________

So yes I FINALLY got this shelved concept made into fruition, and I'll be posting the images of this alternate costume later, but for now imma head back to studying for my exams.

See ya!

[pink-november]

and so their love destroyed the world (and so the world is brittle)

And yet, the world grows ever silent, the fright and dread ebbing like waves crashing into the shore, the terror soon being overwhelmed by something, drowning in it before dissipating into nothingness. The sands of his guilt are washed away into the depths, quickly replaced by something new. Something intoxicating, spreading across him like a steady flame burning through wood.

A burning sensation that he could only call the grotesque fire of madness.

“What did you do?” He asks breathlessly, clutching at his head as it throbs in pain. “Skeptic, what did you do?”

“What didn't I do?” Skeptic coos, rocking him gently. “Everything I do is for your sake.”

It had been a week since he and Skeptic had their fight.

Honestly, the details of their fight are a little blurry by now and all Opportunist is left with is the urgent need to apologize and reconcile with his partner.

The meister had spent the entire week moping around in Hero's home, listlessly letting the hours pass by while he helped with their chores or studied for their upcoming tests. He would have crashed into Cold and Smitten's place just like old times but they haven't exactly returned back yet from the witches’ abode.

It felt like he was missing a great part of himself, struggling to wake and stand up on the third day without bursting into tears. Of course, Opportunist is not one to bawl so he grits his teeth and bears a smile for the day.

Skeptic didn't even attend school the entire week.

Of course it was Paranoid who had enough of his bullshit, literally kicking him out of their house while Rookie barks in agreement with the weapon, a rare camaraderie between the two spiteful enemies. Hero was unfortunately absent during this and Paranoid managed to scream ‘Get back with your fucking boyfriend or I swear to Quiet, I will shoot the both of your stupid asses to oblivion!’ before slamming the door at Opportunist’s face.

If that was his way of encouraging Opportunist to humble himself and go back to their home then it was surprisingly effective because ain't no way he was about to return to living off scamming people in the streets.

The walk back home is filled with an uneasy silence, like the air itself is tense. The lamppost ahead flickers, shadows nipping at Opportunist’s heels until he begins jogging, cold sweat running down his back.

He hesitates at their front door, steeling himself before exhaling, raising his fist to knock.

It opens before his knuckles could even touch it.

“Oppy!” Immediately, Skeptic greets him, eyes bright and smile beaming in joy, as he moves to hug Opportunist tightly. So tight, he could feel his back creak from the pressure. “You're back!”

“H-hey, Skeptic,” he pats him quickly on the shoulder, trying to make him ease his hold on him. Still, he couldn't fault his partner for it, Opportunist terribly missed him too. “Glad to be here again.”

Skeptic sighs, his warm breath tickling his ear, causing some of his feathers to fluff up in response. Yep, he missed this too, despite how embarrassing it is to be so easily flustered by his boyfriend.

They stayed like that for a while, just basking again in each other's presence. Opportunist squirms a bit, soul reaching out to meet Skeptic's–

The other pulls away, breaking away first while he fondly looks at Opportunist, his hands resting on his shoulders.

“I'll cook dinner for us then. Come, my dear.” Skeptic tugs at him and Opportunist stumbles inside their home, the entire place eerily silent and dreadfully cold. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

———

Catching up involved remembering the reason why they had a fight in the first place: Skeptic insisting on studying the nasty-looking egg they acquired during a mission. It was a foul thing, cat-Witch hissing and scratching whenever she catches a glimpse of it. Moppy likes to curl around it though and even though it was a rather cute sight, Opportunist is perfectly aware something is inherently wrong about it.

Skeptic doesn't mind it though and it irks Opportunist how… nonchalant he was about it now. But he’s not about to complain or start another argument with him. He… doesn’t want to see Skeptic screaming at him to stop meddling in his business again.

He’s glad that he doesn’t look mad anymore. Maybe the one-week separation really did help him cool down that odd temper flare he had? Opportunist is just glad that they seem to be getting along again.

And going back to the same old routine too! He hums while he holds a plate of sandwiches in his other hand, knocking on Skeptic’s door. He hears something scraping before heavy footsteps echo closer from behind, his partner opening his door, looking only mildly surprised at his appearance.

“Hey there, hotshot,” Opportunist grins, appreciating the glasses on Skeptic’s face and how it enhances his handsome features by a lot. “Bet you missed me delivering you your lunch.”

“I certainly do now.” Skeptic chuckles, inquisitive eyes narrowing at him. The feathers on Opportunist’s neck seem to stand on end but he shakes his head. There’s no need to be wary of his boyfriend of all people. “It had been quite a challenge trying to remind myself to eat while you were gone.”

He doesn’t look thin enough if that were the case or even if it was, Skeptic would probably be in a hospital for accidentally starving himself. Though, he does look more exhausted than usual, the light behind his eyes murky and unrecognizable. Still, maybe Opportunist shouldn’t have stayed too long at Hero’s house.

“Come in, love.” Another thing he’s finding he quite likes now is how Skeptic seems to call him pet names more often. It makes his face warm and his chest tight so much that Opportunist feels like he’s actually caught a cold or something. It’s exhilarating in a way and he finds himself brushing off any other concerns he has about everything wrong, especially when Skeptic lays a hand on the curve of his back and pulls him along inside.

Skeptic’s room used to be incredibly messy in its organization. There is an order to it only his partner could decipher and something Opportunist wanted to understand too, if only to help Skeptic clean up his room. Now, it’s just a chaotic mess, papers strewn across everywhere, books haphazardly left open and scattered around, with some even looking like they were thrown from across the room.

And the most striking of all, the ‘kishin egg’ on Skeptic’s desk, glowing malevolently with its bulging veins. It seemed alive too, even if the Professor assured them it isn’t anything but a decayed lifeform, merely clinging to the concept of life rather than being, well, alive.

Skeptic places the plate down beside it while Opportunist smooths down the bed sheets so he can sit there, bouncing a bit as he swings his legs idly, watching as Skeptic continues to write down in his notebook with furious scribblings. Occasionally, he would touch the egg bare-handed, stroking the shell as if he was mesmerized by it.

“Is that safe?”

“Hm?” Skeptic turns to him, eyes bright. “Oh. I have no reason to believe it is dangerous.” The yet seems to ring even after the other pauses, a secretive smile spreading his lips. “I don’t think anything is different from me either, so there’s no need to be paranoid about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Opportunist finds himself being nervous, wringing his hands while he chooses his next words. “Can I… can I touch it then?”

Skeptic’s eyes flash, a soft smile on his lips. “Of course. I wouldn’t let you be in harm’s way if I wasn’t absolutely certain.”

That is undeniably true. He doesn’t doubt Skeptic regarding this and even the thought of it otherwise makes him nauseous. Still, the same uncomfortable feeling surges through him as Opportunist stands up, walking closer to Skeptic while the latter moves away, the smile never leaving his face.

The egg lays there innocently, occasionally pulsing with that strange light, the air around it cold and stale. He reaches out, hand shaking as if his very soul is trying to reject it, until Skeptic’s hand lays atop his, his warm palm steadying him as he guides his fingers to rest on the egg’s shell.

Nothing happens.

“How is it?” Skeptic asks, his voice curling pleasantly around Opportunist’s mind like a warm blanket on a winter day. “Phenomenal, is it not?”

“Yeah.” He sighs out, feeling silly about the entire thing. Maybe his fear is unfounded after all. How embarrassing, showing a side of him like that. Then again, Skeptic probably knows everything there is to know about him at this point and he doesn’t know whether to be flustered or be incredibly touched by it.

Skeptic places a peck on his cheek and Opportunist jumps at the sudden contact. He didn’t notice his partner standing up at all, too focused on the funny sensation of the egg on his hand. His boyfriend chuckles, leaning closer, his voice taking on a teasing and conspiratorial tone.

“Would you be interested in some findings I have of it?”

Opportunist grins, nodding enthusiastically. He always loves listening to Skeptic discuss and teach him about different topics. It’s been too long after all.

———

“You're starting to reek of him.”

Opportunist blushes, fumbling and sputtering in disbelief. “Haha! I do not know what you're talking about at all!”

Witch, in her cat form, licks her paws, before she glares at him with all the vitriol her little body could hold. Which is surprisingly a lot. “Get your head out of the gutter, you wretched fool. Do you not notice yourself lately?”

He huffs, busying himself with making sure his clothing isn't creased. If only Skeptic was here, he could have helped him to look neater. “And you should mind your own business. I saw you and Moppy rummaging in the kitchen cabinets. I'm not the guilty one here!”

Witch hisses, tail swishing furiously. “You and he are treading a dangerous path. Any further than this and you'll be signing yourself up for something you cannot possibly return from.”

“Geez, why are you sounding so cryptic now? We're fine.”

Witch scratches their couch and Opportunist immediately tries shooing her away.

“Is everything alright?” Skeptic enters the room and Witch scrambles out of sight almost instantly. Opportunist sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

“Witch is just being an annoying bitch again.” He crosses his arms, tongue tingling as if he said something wrong just now.

“Is that so?” Skeptic hums, covering his mouth while he makes a thoughtful expression. Opportunist waits with bated breath if Skeptic will scold him for saying that. “I rarely see her these days. Maybe she's finally growing bored of us?”

“I wish!” The meister shrugs, relieved, stretching his arms while he comes next to his partner. “One less nuisance to worry about then.”

His love chuckles fondly, grabbing him by the waist as he gives him another kiss. “Of course. Whatever you say, dear. Shall we get going then? It's been a while since we've been out on a mission.”

“Finally! I could use the exercise!”

———

That was the most thrilling fight they’ve had yet. His blood courses through him, heart pounding from leftover adrenaline, as he watches the corrupted soul float gently in the air.

It was also the most brutal one yet.

Opportunist blinks, the belated shock of the horrific scene before him dawning on him. He… he hadn't realized how violently they fought against their enemy, manic glee blinding him as he slashed and hacked away with no restraint.

There was the sound of someone crying, something young and naive, and he felt vaguely sick as the scent of blood drifted, his hands sticky from the violence he enacted.

“I'm…” Is it wrong not to feel guilty at all? “I'm…”

“Sssh.” All at once, the discordant cacophony of noises is muffled as Skeptic takes him into his embrace, arms shielding him from the world Opportunist does not wish to face. “Good job, sweetheart. We defeated the enemy, just like always.”

Not without casualties. And potentially fatalities. Opportunist doesn't have soul perception like Skeptic but he very well knows the difference between a normal soul and a corrupted one.

“Yeah.” Still, he clings to the lie, to him. Everything is fine. Everything would be alright. As long as Skeptic is here, they could handle anything. “Our teamwork is as impeccable as always.”

His love runs a hand through the feathers on his head and Opportunist faintly realizes he was crying, sobs wracking his entire form. He feels sick but yet so undeniably allured by the power he feels right now. He can still feel the traces of his opponent's melted flesh sliding down his cheek, the poison of their soul resonance lingering like rotted meat in the air.

And yet, the world grows ever silent, the fright and dread ebbing like waves crashing into the shore, the terror soon being overwhelmed by something, drowning in it before dissipating into nothingness. The sands of his guilt are washed away into the depths, quickly replaced by something new. Something intoxicating, spreading across him like a steady flame burning through wood.

A burning sensation that he could only call the grotesque fire of madness.

“What did you do?” He asks breathlessly, clutching at his head as it throbs in pain. “Skeptic, what did you do?”

“What didn't I do?” Skeptic coos, rocking him gently. “Everything I do is for your sake.”

Opportunist looks up at him, claws gripping at Skeptic's chest, eyes desperately roaming to see where and how things went wrong.

Instead all he sees is himself reflected in Skeptic's thoughts, raw and strained and eager. So eager, like Opportunist is an integral part of him he can't bear to part with, a possession he carries inside his coat pocket to take out and admire anytime he wants. His eyes are different and yet the same, even in its tainted gaze, Opportunist is the only thing reflected in the swirls of madness lurking beneath.

Maybe it isn't so bad to break. Break apart just like how Skeptic wants, leaving him to pick up the pieces and rearrange them how he sees fit. Locked in his embrace forevermore that even the thought of escaping doesn't come to him.

It was tempting.

“I wanna go home.” He says instead, closing his eyes tiredly. He can't bear to look at him any longer. “Let's just go home, Skeptic.”

If the other was disappointed, he didn't show it, squeezing him tighter as he raised Opportunist’s hand, pressing a kiss to his wrist.

“Alright.”

———

His mind races, snapshots of the past days, weeks, months flashing quickly in his mind. He realizes that Skeptic had always kept him close, watching him, guarding him, and patiently planting the seeds of corruption right into Opportunist’s soul.

How far had he planned for this? How long? Why had Opportunist not noticed anything amiss? Or perhaps he had, but he had fallen into Skeptic's thrall before he even knew it. How much had he blindly followed him, how much did he change without him knowing? All of these questions and yet no answers to satisfy them. It is beyond frustrating.

And yet… and yet… he can't even feel betrayed by this.

Was this how it felt when Smitten and Cold fell into madness? Intoxicating in its mellowness, erratic and senseless and yet so incredibly gentle and tender, cradling him as the madness laps at his ankles, ticklish and light.

It felt just like Skeptic.

He can faintly hear its call now, clawing at his rationality and inhibitions like an untamed beast, slowly drowning him in its sweet serenade.

They needed help. Before he loses it. Before everything is too late.

Skeptic isn't at home right now, going about the day like any other day, the massacre they left from days before nothing more than a regular outing to him. Opportunist can theoretically escape and fly away to ask for help at school, but he isn't sure how fast Skeptic would come running once he notices he's not staying in one place. His partner's soul perception's perfect precision is a damned thing working against Opportunist.

But, this may only be the chance he'll get. If he delays it any longer, who knows if he's still sane the next time?

A terrifying thought to consider, one that made him spring to his feet and dash towards the door. He hasn't seen Witch for a while now and he's worried because the possibility of Skeptic doing something to her might have caused it. And Moppy is probably cuddled next to that despicable egg and Opportunist isn't confident he'll keep his thoughts straight when he's near the wretched thing.

The moment he's out though, he gets dragged into an alleyway by a vice grip, wings flapping against the thugs aiming to make a quick steal from him.

“Don't touch me!” He hisses, clawing at the arm still clutching to him. Did he seem that easy to apprehend that these guys thought they could get one over him? He's not like before, the past him could never fight against these bullies. But now, he has–

… nothing. Skeptic isn't here to assist him.

“They say the academy students are filthy rich, boss!” One of the grunts enthusiastically yells. His disgusting demeanor is enough to send shivers down Opportunist's back. “Do you think we can pawn some good stuff from him?”

A group of common thugs dared to try and steal from him? In broad daylight no less? Opportunist can do this, he can fend them off and still fly off to ask for help. He just needed to fight them off first.

He knees the guy holding him hostage in the gut, wings giving him the height to kick him in the face and send him flying to the wall. Opportunist only feels the rush of adrenaline fueling him as the other thieves bring out an array of tools and weapons to scare him with.

“He's just a meister with no weapon! We can swarm him with our numbers !”

Opportunist didn't even let them get the first hit in. He can fight dirty too.

There is power flowing through his knuckles, each strike bone-shattering as he dispatched the group one by one. Nimble yet strong, his training and battle experience comes into play as he leads the dance with calculated hits. He can win this stupid fight.

Until a lucky guy managed to slip past his defenses and land a stab wound on his back.

Opportunist’s breath quickens, panic blinding him as the pain sends electric shocks straight to his brain, nerves alighting in agony. He twists his body and bashes his head against his assailant, taking the flimsy blade that dug through him with a tight grip, anger making his vision red as he buries the knife straight into the pathetic creature's neck.

Blood splashes out like a geyser, warm and fresh against his clammy skin, and Opportunist turns to the rest of them, teeth bared as he advances towards them menacingly.

“You guys picked the wrong opponent to mess with.” He declares, spinning the ugly knife in his hand. It doesn't feel the same as his own weapon, heavy and wrong in his hold. “I'm not as weak and flimsy as I was before.”

And he charges ahead.

———

Rain begins to pour, washing away the pavement of dirt.

The shadows dance as the light of the souls flicker like a candle burning its wick and the squelch beneath his boots couldn't be determined if it was due to the rain or the blood staining the ground he stands on.

Footsteps approach, measured and calm. Opportunist didn't need soul perception to know who it is.

“Did you plan this?” He asks, a whisper to the raindrops pelting the streets.

“Perhaps.” Skeptic answers vaguely as if he's still waiting for Opportunist to lay out the answers he so wanted to have. “How fascinating to see the true nature of every living creature is depravity at its core. It seems my hypothesis is correct.”

“You used me.”

“I merely showed you the truth you deny.” Soft lips caress the wound that healed over minutes prior, the thrum of the madness within enhancing every aspect of his being. “I cannot let you confine yourself to deception and reject me.”

“It was petty.”

“It was necessary.” This time, Skeptic wraps his arms around him, pressing his frigid body against him, his soul asking for a resonance.

Opportunist allows it.

“You could have been smarter about it.”

“Well, you didn't give me much time to prepare.” Skeptic intertwines their fingers. “I couldn't know when you'd try to fly away from me. Patience may be my virtue but even I can grow so impatient when I see you teetering between the edges.”

His claws were drenched in crimson and yet Skeptic dutifully kissed each finger, a touch of reverence lingering on his skin. “Would saying sorry suffice, my love?”

The answer to that couldn't be no.

And yet Skeptic continues to shower him with affection, as if waiting for Opportunist to say the words he wants to hear, despite how their souls practically melded against each other, their thoughts bare and hearts open, no secrecy and lies between them.

Skeptic speaks the truth. But it is a truth oozing with the influence of madness.

“Kiss me, Skeptic.” He pleads and commands in equal measure, glancing at his partner as if their souls resonating wasn't enough to convince him of a truth he had long accepted as fact. “If the entire world is a lie, then I want you to be my only truth.”

Skeptic obliges, leaning in close and sealing their lips together in a vow.

It feels like icy fire bursting all around, running in waves within him and turning his blood into blazing hot-white flames. Despite the fright, the horror, the exhaustion shredding his mind, ethereal power mends the scars and aches and pains of his mortal shell. Opportunist cannot resist the allure of madness anymore. Especially not when Skeptic cups his face gently between his palms, nibbling on his lips like a starved man.

He could barely hold on to his sanity, his very soul being immersed into murky waters, drowning any protests in delirium and euphoria.

It felt almost refreshing to finally appreciate this understanding between them. It leaves Opportunist feeling like he can soar high up to the skies, have the entire world at hand, no line to test, lost between lucidness and insanity forevermore.

“How funny.” He laughs when they part, wrapping his arms around Skeptic's neck, “For the world to seem so brittle when you accept the reality of its delicate foundation.”

Skeptic spreads his hand along Opportunist’s back, pulling him flush against him. It feels electric, tingly, it turns reason to snowy black ashes, shades in inky black eating away what sanity is left of him.

“And so it must be rebuilt.” He whispers like a confession, forehead resting against him.

“Perhaps.” Opportunist hums, smiling. “I would like to see it all go up in flames first.”

“We can dye the world in red.” Skeptic promises, “And let everyone see the truth they so desperately need.”

“Together.”

“Together.

[xf-cases-solved]

headcanon/fic idea where during the cancer arc, mulder is over at scully's place on a saturday morning going over a case file (that probably could have waited until monday, but he wanted to check on her, and scully knows that, and mulder knows that scully knows, but they both just keep it to themselves). and at one point, scully checks the time and sighs and says she needs to call and cancel her nail appointment for that afternoon, and when mulder asks her why, she says it's bc her dr prescribed her a new med and it's giving her slight double vision, and "it's a common side effect and it's temporary, but i don't want to drive until i adjust to it, and it's not worth it to pay for a cab just for a manicure"

and mulder is like, "i'm not doing anything today, i'll take you"

and obviously scully dismisses the offer, but he keeps insisting, and the truth of it is, with all the constant med adjustments and (occasionally gross) physical side effects of medication and just being sick in general, she hasn't felt particularly attractive in weeks, and while it's not like she is trying to impress anybody, she takes a lot of pride in her appearance and how she presents herself to the world, and her nails are so brittle and the polish has completely chipped away from her last manicure, and honestly, this one little thing, no matter how inconsequential, really would go a long way to making her feel more like herself

so she eventually relents (which pleasantly surprises mulder bc she is stubborn af)

on the way there she's already apologizing for how boring he'll probably find it -- how frivolous and feminine -- and "it shouldn't take too long, i'll tell her to skip the hand massage," and mulder is like, "if you tell her not to give you a hand massage i will hold you at gunpoint until you let her do it" bc he is NOT about to let her skip out on some self-care bc she's worried he'll be judging her for indulging in something "girly"

(he knows she constantly walks a fine line between expressing her femininity and keeping it to herself bc she's worried it will make her male peers view her less seriously)

her nail tech immediately asks if mulder is her husband, even tho she knows damn well he's not bc she asks him if she's found a man yet at every gd appointment, and when she says no, the nail tech is like, "why not? he's handsome and he took you to your appointment, he seems like good husband material"

(they side step out of the conversation, but she is painfully aware of mulder's smirk)

her nail tech asks mulder if he wants a manicure too, and scully thinks she's probably joking, but mulder is like "hell yeah," and scully feels like how she does when he talks about aliens with random cops and witnesses with a straight face -- like, a little embarrassed, but also in awe of his complete lack of giving a fuck

so they are seated side-by-side and get manicures at the same time

mulder doesn't get any polish, but he lets his nail tech shape his nails and apply cuticle oil and, yes, give him a hand massage

he and scully have a brief debate about her nail polish, bc she always gets a super light pink or just a glossy finish (bc anything bolder would feel like overindulging in her femininity and she doesn't want to give any of her misogynistic peers more ammo), but mulder is mercilessly persistent, saying shit like, "that peach color would look good on you" (it wouldn't, she thinks, she's too pale for it) or "that burgundy one would match the new dark lipstick you got a while ago," and she's sat there wondering when the fuck he noticed something as trivial as the shade of her lipstick, and does that mean he's paid attention to other aspects of her appearance? and if so, what does he think of them?

(eventually she lets him talk her into an insanely light shade of baby blue, mostly bc he said it would complement her eyes and she was too caught off guard to tell him to stuff it, and the nail tech makes another casual quip about how good of a husband he would be, and a teeny tiny voice in the back of her head that she can barely hear is saying, "yeah, actually, he would")

when they're finished, he slips the nail tech his credit card while she is searching for her wallet in her overcoat pocket, and he does not look remotely remorseful when she reprimands him, that bastard

in the car, she can't help laughing at the way he keeps checking out his nails, tilting them so the sunlight hits them through the window and he can see how uniform and shiny they are (his nail tech talked him into a clear top coat)

he offers to drive to the chinese restaurant a few blocks from the lincoln memorial, bc she mentioned to him two weeks ago that whenever she is too nauseous to want food, she can for some reason always stomach that restaurant's egg drop soup, and even tho she's not nauseous rn and has also eaten enough egg drop soup lately that it actually sounds a little abhorrent, she says yes anyway, bc she's so touched that he remembered that small detail

they end up getting an order to go (she orders a full entree of vegetable shrimp along with her soup, and the look of relief and delight on mulder's face when he realizes she has an appetite for once makes her blush)

they go back to her place and watch The Thing, and then a rerun of jeopardy (they're pretty evenly matched in terms of useless trivia knowledge, but the final jeopardy question is "this man is the only doctor in history to have a 300% mortality rate," and scully was saying "dr. liston !" before mulder had a chance to process how that was even possible)

she gets drowsy early (another side effect these days), and mulder is discreet in not pointing it out, and instead makes an excuse about needing to feed his fish so he should probably get going, and once again, they both know what he's doing, but they both keep it to themselves

she walks him to the door, and before he leaves, he takes her hand. she lets him raise it up beside her face, even tho she's not sure what he's doing, until he says, "yep, i was right, these make your eyes even prettier," and like ??? what is she supposed to do with THAT??

in the end she does nothing except let him kiss the tips of her fingers, right on the light blue polish, and then lets him kiss her on the forehead. (she tries not to think about where else she'd like him to kiss her, and fails miserably)

they part with shy goodbyes, and it's only in retrospect that she realizes she hadn't actually thanked him, not really

when she is dressed and ready for bed, she slides under the sheets and calls his cell

"mulder, it's me," and somehow he sounds delighted to hear from her, as if they hadn't just spent the entire day together

"i just wanted to thank you for today. i really needed it"

she isn't able to express her gratitude in full, bc that would require being emotionally vulnerable and she's not v good at that, but she suspects mulder hears what she isn't saying anyway

"anytime, scully," he says, and she knows he means it sincerely. "my hands are so soft, i might have to make this manicure thing a regular occurrence"

she laughs

"goodnight, mulder"

"goodnight, scully"

in the morning, the first thing she notices is the blue of her fingernail polish, and the warm feeling it gives her stays with her through breakfast and all the way through the afternoon

[noobiestnoober]

Ballroom Betreyals (Klaus X F!Reader)

Ballroom Betrayals 🥀 Klaus Mikaelson x Reader | Dark Romance | Psychological Seduction 🥀 At the Mikaelson ball, betrayal tastes sweeter than survival. One dance with the devil, one choice to burn the world. 🔥 Slow-burn tension 🔥 Villainous seduction 🔥 Dark psychological games

The Mikaelson ball glittered like a dream soaked in blood and sin, an opulent masquerade where every polished smile masked sharpened fangs and whispered promises of ruin. Crystal chandeliers bled molten light across the marble floors, illuminating the dancers like insects trapped in a spider's web. Laughter slithered through the air, slicing the night into ribbons of danger and deceit. The orchestra played a waltz that pulsed like a dying heartbeat, summoning every predator in the room to the feast.

You felt Klaus's presence before you ever laid eyes on him—an invasive pull, a dark gravity that gnawed at the edges of your sanity. He prowled through the crowd like a storm stitched from nightmares, and before you could slip away, his hand clamped around yours—a grip that could have crushed, yet instead demanded submission.

"Smile, love," he hissed against your ear, his breath a venomous seduction. "Or I’ll peel your pretty little lies apart in front of all these vultures."

You summoned a brittle laugh, tilting your chin up in a desperate performance of indifference. His gaze pinned you, molten gold and merciless, as his hand branded your waist—not a lover’s touch, but the iron grip of a captor savoring his prize.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Klaus murmured, each word laced with threat and dark amusement. He spun you violently, your skirts flaring like a fresh wound, daring you to stumble, daring you to bleed. "One whisper from me, and this fragile little empire you've spun collapses."

Your heart slammed against your ribs, desperate and frantic. He knew. He had always known. Klaus didn't simply hunt—he dismantled, carving away lies with sadistic precision. Still, you met his gaze with a flicker of defiance, a last ember of resistance. "And if you expose me," you said, voice trembling but sharp as broken glass, "what pieces of yourself will you lose with me, Niklaus?"

His smile was a dark, beautiful thing—a promise of destruction wrapped in silk. "Tempting, isn't it, love?" he purred, voice vibrating against your bones. "The thrill of wondering which of us will devour the other first."

He spun you again—faster, rougher—until the world blurred into chaos. When you crashed back into him, he caught you without effort, locking your wrist to his chest, branding you as his creature before all the world.

"Dance with me," Klaus breathed, his voice dripping venom and seduction. "Dance until the music stops. After that..."

He leaned in, lips grazing the sensitive hollow of your throat, his whisper sinking deep beneath your skin:

"Or surrender, precious thing. Let me remake you in my image."

Your breath caught, your body burning and freezing all at once.

"Stand beside me," he coaxed, voice rich and wicked. "No more cowering. No more weakness. I'll teach you how to turn this pathetic world to ash at your feet."

The world spun—laughter, lies, glittering savagery—and for a heartbeat, you saw it: a kingdom built from ruin, a throne carved from betrayal, your hand tucked into his. You tasted terror and exhilaration mingling on your tongue, swallowed them down like wine, and painted your lips with a dangerous, knowing smile. Around you, the ball raged on, blind to the devil’s bargain unfurling like a noose.

Because this was the Mikaelson ball. Because betrayal was not only inevitable—it was delicious. And tonight, in the arms of a villain draped in silk and blood, you knew:

Survival was no longer enough.

Tonight, you would choose to burn with him.

[ratsummer]

Shhhhh shhhhhh I'm getting carried away here, but...

Y'all ever think about Phantom being unphased by griminess when he's first summoned?

Or maybe not unphased, but he just doesn't make cleanliness a priority. Like this guy has been roaming the circles as best he can on his own, more concerned with finding food and shelter and the reluctant ally here and there than with personal hygiene.

Summoning as a general rule isn't a very tidy affair, so no one really notices that first day. Omega and Aether give him the typical, cursory wipedown to remove the worst of the summoning... goo... before bundling him up in soft, loose, flowy robes while his skin is still sensitive. And of course, when they show him where his room his, they introduce him to the baths and let him know he has the rest of the day to clean up and settle in.

Well, morning rolls around and Dew arrives to the breakfast table, ushering a very sleepy little quint along in front of him. Cirrus scolds him for so obviously waking him up before he was ready, but Phantom insists it's okay, please, I asked him to make sure I was awake for breakfast! Don't get angry at him!

And while Phantom explains that Dew stayed up late with him to help him find and organize snacks in his room, Cumulus comes to the table, yawning wide and clutching Aether's arm. She was so excited to greet Phantom and Aurora at their summonings, hugging them tight (despite the goo) and welcoming them into the fold. She's just as excited to see them at breakfast, purring and pressing a kiss into Aurora's hair first before shuffling over to do the same for Phantom.

He can't help but flinch a little as she approaches. Old habits die hard, and he immediately rushes to apologize when she stops in her tracks and frowns. But Cumulus is used to skittish ghouls - she typically accepts boundaries gracefully. No, what's caught her off guard is-

"Phantom, sweetheart, didn't Aether show you how the bath works?" Cumulus' voice is soft and warm, but she's got Aether pinned with a disappointed glare.

Phantom curls in on himself a little, squirming and wrapping his tail around his fingers. "He did... why?"

"Little bat, you've still got... goo... clumped in your hair. That can't feel very good."

And while Phantom is squirming and explaining himself, that he was focusing on getting used to his room, Cumulus starts looking him over more carefully.

She notices his claws, broken and jagged in some spots, dirt and goo clumped around them. Little scrapes, scratches, and bruises littering what little bit of his bare skin is exposed. Hair dry and frizzed up, with tangles and knots all around the base of his horns. And his horns... dried out, brittle, chunks missing near the ends.

Well, Cirrus doesn't call her Fussy Lussy for nothing.

"Oh darling, it's okay you didn't have time last night. I'll tell you what, I was going to have a little spa day today, I've got so many new things I want to try out. How about you come along with me and I'll help you figure out all the knobs in the tub and you can try out some of my soaps!"

Phantom looks a little wary and unsure as Cumulus extends her offer, maybe trying to figure out how to say no, until Aurora gasps and starts kicking her feet excitedly.

"Oh! Phantom! Cumulus helped me wash my hair last night and her soaps smell soooooo good! You're gonna love it!"

So, that's how Phantom ends up reclined neck-deep in deliciously warm bathwater not an hour later.

Cumulus is humming quietly, sitting next to him and lighting all the candles she lined up along the edge of the tub. "These candles are always here," she explains, "And the matches live in that jar tucked over there, so you can use these anytime you want if you like them, alright?"

Phantom just hums a little to let her know he's at least kind of listening. He rubs his toes through a little pile of what Cumulus called epsom salts, enjoying the way the grains crunch and swirl around his feet as they slowly dissolve. He can't remember being so comfortably warm and relaxed, maybe ever.

"Alright, sugar, I've got so many good things to try out. Are you ready?"

Phantom loses track of time quickly, but it must be hours that they soak together. Cumulus grooms him meticulously, and it stirs up achingly precious, half-lit memories from his kit days, when he still had his parents to look after him.

She scrubs his hair thoroughly with a sweet, sudsy shampoo. Her claws scratch deliciously over his scalp, sending goosebumps down his back. She works something called conditioner in next, using her fingers and a comb to tug and tease all the knots out of his hair. Not once does she pull hard enough to hurt.

She rubs a creamy, buttery substance between her palms until it melts into a sweet-scented oil. She massages it over his horns, cooing about how it's adding so much depth to their night-blue color. His claws are next, and Cumulus patiently explains what each of her little tools is for as she goes about trimming, filing, and oiling each one. She even rubs a cream into what she tells him are his cuticles, apparently to soften them or something.

She uses the softest cloth he's ever felt in his whole life ever to wash him thoroughly with a mouth-wateringly scented soap. She's thorough, getting behind his ears and between his toes. While she washes him, she tells him they should talk to Rain later about trimming up his hair so it doesn't fall in his eyes so much. She checks in with him constantly, asking if he's still okay with her washing him or if he'd like to take over.

Once they're out and dry, she helps him put on a creamy lotion before handing him big, soft clothes to pull on. She helps him roll the sleeves and cuff the pants, having stolen them from Swiss.

"He won't miss them, sweetie. That ghoul has the comfiest loungewear and he's always happy to share."

Cumulus insists that the most important part of their spa day is to immediately crawl into her nest to snack, snooze, and watch movies. It's called beauty rest for a reason, Phantom!

It's with a full belly and a clean, relaxed body that Phantom snuggles down under Cumulus' fresh, soft blankets and promptly passes out. It's the deepest, most restorative sleep he's had in ages.

And while he sleeps, Cumulus pets his hair, rubs his back, and generally fusses over whether the blankets are covering him properly. Her entire heart has totally melted for this sweet ghoul who's seen too much hardship, and she vows to make him the most rotten, spoiled little brat the ministry has ever seen.

[azes-ocean]

𝕲𝖔𝖑𝖉

Zhongli x reincarnated gn!reader Angst » comfort(?) An: Hi. Wow, my recent stories suck :3 Finals are tomorrow but I love procastination! Warnings: Reader death, graphic descriptions of blood and violence. Summary: Gold is a precious jewel that glimmers even in the darkness. It is able to withstand even the most powerful forces with mere dents that can be flawlessly fixed. It's only weakness is that when it's old and brittle, it shatters, if not thrown away first.

--

To Rex Lapis, you were an interesting soul. An Adepti with a profound curiousity in humans. Most of your kind hardly bothered with such things, deeming them trivial. Every week, without fail, you made it a point to drag the geo archon to Liyue, giggling at how he managed to seem surprised with your timing at every instance of this happening. "Aren't humans amazing?" You whisper in awe, glancing down from where you were sitting. This excursion had led you both to the quiet peak of a mountain overlooking Liyue. It was breathtaking, to say the least. "They have such short lifespans yet they manage to have so many industrious inventions!" You were pointing at the 'windmill' of the humans. A simple, yet valuable contraption, he supposed. Yet Rex Lapis's eyes were not focused on that human made object-no. His eyes slowly trailed to your gleaming features beside him, leaning close to the cliffs end. You were smiling... "You look beautiful when your excited." He hardly knew why he said that, it was a mere passing thought he should have kept to himself. Yet...the look on your face was well worth it. You gave him a teasing smirk, "Aww, but you can't switch the roles here! You'll be pretty, I'll be hot." He let out chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "You can be both." He mused affectionately, his hands settling beside him. His chest felt extremely warm, which was odd. He didn't recall any tea having this side effe- ...his cheeks were warm too now. His hand was about to cover his face in embarassment, already starting to turn away before your hands reached out to hold him. "Who knew you got flustered this easily?" You observed, pleased. It was undeniably cute, after all.

"Every journey has its final day. Don't rush." -- To Morax, you were a dearest companion. A trustworthy ally in battle, and a comforting presence over tea. He had witnessed great a many betrayals, both intentional and not. Yet you stayed steadfast by his side, his ever-loyal subordinate. Battles had already caught Liyue in fire within the span of a year. Friends, partners, even enemies met desolate ends at the hands of countless monsters emerging from the abyss. It was a horrific event, new wounds scorning the land so deep many wondered whether they would ever heal. Morax was not spared his fate either, forced to watch with a steady hand as his nation's people were slaughtered by the thousands infront of him. Blood painted almost sickeningly welcoming landscapes every battle, marking a grave for the deceased and scaring the survivors. As every battle closed, the remaining would slowly trudge away from the garish sights, making their way for 'home'. Morax was no different, dismissing his warriors before plodding to the home you shared, every step closer to you seeming lighter. Until he noticed the specks of blood on an open door. "Y/n?" His voice tensed as he quickly made his way to the front, hesitating to come inside. His mind started to conjure up the worst possibility, his thoughts still in the battlefied. No. That wasn't going to happen. He closed his eyes and braced himself, steeling his breaths. Taking out his spear, already in position to fight anything that may be threatening you, he burst open the door, breath heaving with almost petrifying fear. Morax was about to get into a offensive stance before- "...!" There was nothing to fight. The job was over, and he couldn't even attempt to stop it. "Y/n..!" Crimson pooled the area around you, painting the floor a gruesome work of art. Your face was pale, the usual welcoming smile brutally wiped clean. You...didn't seem to be breathing. "My dear...?" Morax whispered, his voice shaking as he knelt next to you, putting a hand on your pulse point.

He closed his eyes, desperately waiting, hoping for any sign you were alive. After all, you were the one who told him and promised him that eternity would be your bond. A few seconds passed like bricks, each one adding weight to his shoulders. Reality started to crash into his face. As if they the world needed one more person from him. No. No. If they did need another person from him then take them. Anyone. Please. Anyone but you. More time passed, the only sound in the area being the faint rustle of leaves and Morax's heavy breaths. "No...w-what? T-thats. No." Morax looked down, tears starting to fall from his eyes. The great geo archon started to cry, grabbing your shoulder, "No...no...Y-Y/n. I order you to stay a-alive. I'll reward you...I'll reward you greatly." He managed, burrying his face into your cold neck, his tears cleansing some of the blood littering your cheeks. His heart froze up in pure terror and denial. No, no. His wordless cries soon turned into a chant of your name being repeated like a mantra, over and over again. As if doing that would bring you back. Would stop this war. Idiotic of him. "My dear-my love, look at me. Please, please look at me. Live. Please." See? He was begging you. The proud god had never knelt so fervently to anyone before. So you'd definitely heed his request. You needed to. But no. You were a traitor too. You disobeyed him "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember... But where are those who share the memory?"

-- To Zhongli you were distant memory filled with love. One he'd remenisce about every day. He would smile as he passed by the cities of Liyue, knowing how pleased you would be with the human's growth. You would definitely light up and recite what you knew about them from books. All the other adepti had joked that you talked more than the geo archon himself. "..." Wouldn't it be funny to admit his knowledge he was prided for mostly came from you? You would have giggled. Thats all that mattered. "I love you my dear..." Zhongli whispered to the wind, a stray tear falling down his cheek. He had never mourned you enough, and will never, hm? Though in the moment,he could almost hear the breeze whisper back the affirmation. He chuckled, "Ahh...Perhaps I am going senile." " Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories."

"My dear."

[mintmatcha]

cw: cisfem reader, reader is part gnome, reader wears glasses, sacrilege,

One, two, three. You swirl the last bits of tea counterclockwise and let the bits settle into shapes, order forming from the chaos.

"Are you trying to read the tea leaves?"

You peek up over your glasses. Holm is watching you, head resting against one hand. His cheek is smooshed forward so far that his eye is forced closed in an exhausted wink, and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Maybe."

"Using my blessed tea? My holy herbs?" He frowns, mouth comically down turned, a upside-down U. "That's sacrilege."

You tilt the mug his way. "So you don't want to know what they say?"

That earns you a soft smile, warm and fleeting. It ends with a sigh. "Only if it's good."

It isn't. The leaves tell you of bad decisions, of regrets and heartbreak. You spin your cup once more and watch it all turn to flurries.

"Things are always good with you."

"Hm." He reminds you of a cat, emotions reserved and measured, lips lifted in the middle by his short philtrum. "Hm, hm."

You hadn't intended to end up here, but a couple glasses of wine and a couple bad decisions led you right to his door, a moth to flame. When he answered the door, you told him the inn was full, that other friend's places were too far. It was an obvious lie, but he let you in anyway, made you tea and threw wood on the fire.

He stirs his spoon until his tea swirls, spoon never touching the mug's edge. It's silent, methodical, perhaps a bit soothing.

"The neighbors are going to talk, though." Holm stays placid, voice soft. The silken fabric of his sleep clothes are wrinkled only on one side-- he side he sleeps on, you imagine. "I'm not supposed to be alone with a woman after dark."

He's more devout than most in this part of the country. Prayer at sun rise and sun down, a diet free of meats and alcohol, perfect celibacy; he's the paradigm. Common doesn't have the correct word for the position; monk, priest, shaykh: none of them are quite correct, but close enough that most get the idea.

A holy man.

Certainly someone that shouldn't be having you stay the night.

"They won't." You tilt your mug side to side and the dregs of tea leaves, still wet, catch the light. The shapes change and shift. They still aren't good. "The neighbors know you wouldn't do anything."

"They don't know that." Holm hums. "I// don't know that."

There's a dwindling silence between you, a tension you can't cut through. The unspeakable thing between you grows.

"If something was going to happen between us, it would have already happened."

The fire catches in his eyes as he looks your way, bouncing from one eye to the other, then down to your mouth. He lingers there for a long moment, lids so heavy that you finally understand how thought can be sin-

"Let me get your bed set up."

You take his mug to the sink as he goes down the hall, rustling in closets. The house's quiet is heavy and hearty, so thick you can't swallow it down.

"You can take my bed tonight." He calls down the hall. "Mickbell and Kuro didn't clean the futon last time they stayed over and it's covered in hair."

A headache is already starting to thrum at your temples. Tomorrow, you'll regret all of this, but tonight, you can blame the alcohol.

"I'm not going to ask you to do that."

Holm comes from his bedroom and just shakes his head. You don't fight it; the fire is low and the sun is only a couple hours away.

Even if it wasn't, you'd still stay.

"The sheets are fresh." He musses his hair and its delightfully fluffed, red touched brown has reminds you of your family's old hunting dog. "I'll sleep out here, so I don't wake you in the morning."

Neither of you move. The last bits of fire are dying in the hearth, painting shadows long. Darkness is threatening to engulf you both, swallow you whole, and you use the last bits of light to admire him and his casual, understated beauty-

"Don't." Holm's voice is brittle.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do." Neither of you move. "It's why you came here."

Your eyes are better than his in the dark. You can see how he seeks you on in the darkness, eyes slightly narrowed.

"My Gods are important to me." His brow is knitted firmly, but his mouth is soft, open. "My spirit is important to me."

"I know."

"If you start, I don't know if I'm strong enough to stop."

He steps closer. "So, don't." Another step forward, until you can feel the glimmer of mana around him. "We can't."

"Okay," you say. "I won't."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm not."

"Good."

There's only a singular moment before he breaks. He draws you in like a breath, hands clumsily finding your cheeks and cupping them forcefully. The kiss itself is messy, with his nose bumping into your cheek and his lips missing yours, but he takes corrections well. You tilt your head slightly and he meets you there, mouth slotting into yours. You busy yourself with the front of his shirt, undoing just enough buttons to slide your hands against the warm, soft skin of his chest.

The kiss remains chaste, just the friction of skin against skin, until you part your lips more and more, him chasing the contact with wanton want--

Your tongue slides against his and he moans, unabashedly and unembarrassed, into your mouth. Holm pulls back, panting so hard that his chest bumps into yours.

"You-" He swallows, glancing down. His hands slide down your shoulders and to your chest, cupping them clumsily, meekly, hopefully- "You taste like wine."

And he dives in again to suck on your tongue.

The rest is a flurry. Your head spins, your chest aches like it might burst, and Holm keeps kissing you with that earnest, amateur passion that makes your heart sing. Your glasses are knocked halfway off of your face, drooping off your nose. Holm walks your down the hall step by step, in between gasps of breath and nips of teeth, until the cool down of his bed presses against your back.

His bed is fluffy pillows, white sheets, and down. They smell like musk and like they were dried in the sun,

Holm breaks away for a moment, jagged breath against your cheek. His tired eyes are barely open, but they still watch you with a gentle admiration.

"You look like an angel."

Your heart drops. No, this isn't holy. Not at all.

"Oh, Holm." You place a hand on his shoulder and push him away right before his lips find yours again. "We can't do this."

He doesn't move, but you can feel the resistance drain from his muscles.

"I'm choosing you," he whispers. "I know what doing this means and I'm choosing you."

He reaches for your cheek, pleading.

"Let me choose you." Holm's touch is heartbreakingly fleeting. "Let me worship you."

You almost break. You want to break.

"I can't let you do that."

[sophiacloud28]

Bayverse WIP Excerpt

Bayverse stuff because I realized I posted something for all the turtles save for Mikey. I feel bad.

Excerpt, Bayverse Mikey, bonding

She's so busy.

Four days into staying with them and he's barely seen her without someone around or doing something. She's always cooking, always working with Donnie, always training with either Raph or Leo. And while the others seem to be trying to make sure they don't ruffle her feathers, he's seeing exhaustion starting to line her body more and more as they leave for patrol, and he hates it. He absolutely loathes it.

"Pizza's fine for tonight."

And that's why, when she talks about dinner, he finally decides to butt in.

He doesn’t like seeing her upset. He doesn't like the fact that she goes quiet as they work on breakfast — cooking's a blast, he should do it more often. But he can see the shadows under her eyes and it's starting to bother him.

"By the way, I'm calling dibs on your afternoon."

"But –"

"Dibs."

So, for once in his life, he's going to take a little of what he's been seeing Leo do and try to apply it.

Won't stick, but at least it gets her out of the lair and away from his brothers for a bit, even if it means he's gotta anger Leo by grabbing her and taking off on his skateboard.

"Michelangelo!"

Along with upsetting her once he puts her down, flinching under the look.

"I called dibs."

"And I was talking to your brother about it! You know Leo!"

"Yeah, well. Mr. Fearless Leader is being overprotective, if you ask me," he says, spinning his skateboard under his hand.

"Mikey."

"Not to mention passive. I mean, how has he not noticed when he already did it twice?" he ignores her objection while grabbing his board to put it slide it onto his shell, deciding to continue when she doesn’t respond, "Not because I'm not around that I don't notice you being all over the place, you know. Other than when you pass out on the couch, have you taken a break?"

"I meditate."

He scowls, "Fat lot of good that's doing you. You looked more tired coming out of that session than going in."

"How would you know?"

Good old brittle defense, "Cooking sesh aren't just because I wanna help, you know?"

Which he hates seeing cave in, but he knows it to be necessary as she takes a slight step back, hands going behind her back in guilt.

"I didn't… I'm sorry, Michelangelo."

"It's fine. Just… someone's gotta do something and my brothers ain't doing it."

"Fair," she breathes before speaking up, "So, what did you have in mind?"

"You still owe me a movie, but I guess we can do that next time. Walk? I can show you what I found."

"Unless we plan a movie night, I don't think that'll happen, Mikey."

"There's one every month. Only thing is who gets to choose the movie."

"Every month?" she asks, making him nod.

"Yeah. Once a month we take a break from patrol and stay home. Family thing. I think this month's at the end of this week, actually."

"Who's choice?"

"Mine. But I can make it yours. Did you have an idea?"

"I think I might. What do you guys like watching?"

"Leo loves period stuff, Raph's big into action movies, Donnie likes documentaries, and Dad likes Eastern movies."

"What about you?"

"As long as it can capture my attention for more than five minutes, it's a winner."

She chuckles, "Something tells me that's not as simple as it sounds."

"Just from listening to my brothers' groans? Nah."

"I think I might have something, then. As long as you guys are alright with slight gore and weird visuals."

"Weird visuals?"

"It's animated, so some of the expressions are really exaggerated. But the story's interesting."

"… I don't think we've watched anything animated."

"You up for it, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sounds fun."

"I'll ask April to snag it from home, then. Do you guys have a DVD player?"

He snorts, "Wait until you see the setup, pretty girl. You won't wonder about that then."

She giggles, "Fair enough." Before coming to a stop along the tracks, "I'm sorry I worried you, Mikey."

And he tries waving it off, "Just remember to take a break every once in a while. It says something when Leo and Donnie catch more of a break than you do."

"You think so?"

"They get lunch and dinner. You don't."

"… Fair enough."

Before walking back to her, not liking the way she's holding onto her arm and not looking his way.

He might not know the full details, but he can tell she's got it rough. No one breaks their back to support another unless they know somebody else will, or they're looking for something. And from the way Stella reacts, she's in the latter camp.

"Hey Stella?"

"Hm?"

"I know the rest of my brothers are stingy about it, but... You're family, okay? You don't need to show us you're useful."

She smiles, "I know. Hamato-san said the same thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoes, "Said something about Leo and I being fated to meet."

"Well, I don't know about fate, but I do know that I'm glad to have you around. I feel a bit more useful now thanks to all those cooking lessons, so much so that I was hoping to ask you if we could trade off. I cook some, you cook some. And, well, if nothing else, you're making us happy, and that's enough all on its own, I would think."

"… Is that the reason you took my afternoon?"

He waves his hand in a so-so motion, rubbing the back of his head, "Kind of. I really think you need a break, and the fact that I wanted to ask you if I could try cooking lunch on my own tomorrow was secondary."

"Tomorrow's lunch?"

"Yeah. I think I got a good idea on how to get everything done. If you want, though, you can stick around and give me advice."

"I was planning on using the pressure cooker for tomorrow's lunch, actually."

… Oh.

"Pressure cooker?"

"The tall pot that's right next to the slow cooker. The pork shoulder has already been thawing in the fridge for a day, now."

He brings his hands in front of himself in a stop motion, "Is that the only thing that's new?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me instructions on how to use it?"

"More than."

"Then you sit at the island and tell me what needs to be done and I'll do it. How's that sound?"

"If the fact that you've been able to keep up with me during the chicken stew is any indication, I think you'll be more than able to."

"Really?"

She nods with a smile, "Really. The only thing is the pressure cooker since it's something you don't know, but with how you get in the kitchen, you should be fine."

And joy bubbles up to the surface as he grabs her and twirls her around. There's a gasp before giggles come pouring out while he settles her on his shoulder, and he pulls out his skateboard while keeping a hand on her.

"Let me down, Mikey."

"Nah. I got something I want to show you."

"Wouldn't it be easier in a fireman's carry?"

"And have you missing the show? No way. You get the VIP seat, pretty girl," he replies as he rolls his shoulder, getting a giggle and something warm laying itself on his temple. He looks up and blinks as he catches sight of her smile. Of something soft in her eyes that makes him grin in turn.

"Thank you, Mikey." Before he chirps, almost embarrassing himself if not for the gentle chuckle she gives at it.

taglist:

@silverwatergalaxy @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @thelaundrybitch @luckycharms1701 @thepinkpanther83

@avery73 @the-cauldron-witch @redsrooftopprincess @iridescentflamingo @ninnosaurus

@milykins @yorshie @justalotoffanfiction @truffle-reblogs @adebauchedsloth

@raphsmuneca @theanonymousninja247

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 41!

another excellent reading week <3 this list is spoiler free for season 8: for season 8 fic recs, click here!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

for thy true-love take | lecornergirl/@clusterbuck| 1.9k | T

Chimney Han and the ethics of slipping your coworkers love potions. chimneyhen bestieism!! this felt so them <3

from the ground up | blueberrytwoberry/@blueberrytwoberry| 17.5k | M

And so, really, the last thing he needed when he got home at the end of a long shift was to find a massive, weird-ass dog curled up on his front porch. And yet, there it was. just this morning i realised what a goldmine animal transformation aus can be and wow this was exactly what i was looking for!! the maddie scene had me giggling, such a lovely fic!!

i can't sleep without you | Buddiesmutslut/@buddiesmutslut | 1.9k | G

He can exhaust himself with a workout or a good shift or a night out, but by the time he climbs into his bed, he lays awake for hours, replaying his mistakes over and over again. He’s barely sleeping, beyond exhausted and he just wants to go home. so so soft and so lovely <3 exactly the comfort i needed earlier this week

i didn't know (that it could be good) | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 27k | E

They're friends, that's all there is to it. Until Eddie lets himself into Buck's apartment unannounced, and finds him in a compromising position. That should be nothing, just something to laugh about down the line, except afterwards, it's like a switch has flipped, and neither of them can get it out of their minds. okay yes yes the smut is good the clothes sharing is nice the sexual tension is so there but can we talk about the butterflies?? just read this and you'll know what i mean it will be so worth it i promise. a new favourite for sure <3

i'll be the north star that takes you home | marviless/@marviless | 7.9k | G

in which eddie is moving back to el paso for the summer, and buck is deeply in love. listen the idea of eddie moving to el paso hurts me and also hurts buck BUT when it leads to fics like this i suddenly don't mind anymore <3 the airport scene!!

i'll keep your brittle heart warm | reeseofmind | 12.8k | E

5 times buck and eddie wear the other's clothes + 1 time they don't wear much of anything. i've been deep in the clothes sharing tag and this was one of my favourite finds <3

in synchronicity with the score | therainbowsedge/@therainbowsedge | 30.2k | E

“How long have you gone without scening?” And isn’t that a loaded question that Buck doesn’t even know how to start responding to. i have such a weak spot for fics like this. this has some gorgeous descriptive passages and looks into buck's mindset in this au!

love like woven thread | renecdote/@renecdote | 1.9k | G

the one where Eddie is a clothes thief and Buck kind of loves that about him. the ultimate hurt/comfort fluff clothes stealing fic <3 so lovely!! i reread this while working on this rec list actually hehe

steal my abuela (you already have my heart) | anarchyat4am | 4.6k | T

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, “You really showed up for me yesterday. Thank you.” “Course,” Buck says, “We had fun.” “Fun? You sat in the ER with my abuela for three hours.”. buck and abuela!! i love them together so much!! family feels indeed <3

vary my days | Chash | 12.6k | T

After Christopher leaves, Frank tells Eddie to get a hobby. Eddie picks Legos, Buck picks crochet, and they both wait for Chris to talk to them again. eddie and the legos my absolute beloved <3 such a fantastic working of these characters!!

you've haunted me so stunningly | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 9.6k | T

Five times Buck and Eddie hold hands, one time they do by proxy, and one time Eddie freaks out about it. holding hands!! so so hurt/comfort in the best way possible. i was saving this one for a bus ride home after a long day and it hit the spot exactly <3

[boopiemadz]

♫ Taylor Swift|Travis Martinez ♫

A/N:

Not sure if this concept makes any sense but whatever, I just wanted to attribute lyrics to songs that reminded me of Travis/ Travis in a relationship with reader. Also I have some stuff in my inbox im slowly working through (yellowjackets x cm) but I love getting asks or just general questions or statements in my inbox!

---

"But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm..." -Peace

Travis makes sure your always warm, especially in those long winter months. Anytime he sees you show any signs of a chill he will sacrifice his own warmth by giving you his outer layers. You would always contest this trying to convince him you were fine, but it was no use, he clung to you at night to give you warmth, boiled you water to drink, and even woke up early to start the fire for you when you wake up so that you could 'defrost' right away.

"I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, Chain 'round my neck. Not because he owns me, But 'cause he really knows me" -Call it what you want

Its not much, but it was something. Travis didnt even know it was your birthday, not until Misty brought it up. He felt like such a bad boyfriend for not knowing, I mean sure, they werent in the best spot to focus on things like that, but he knew that it was so important to you that you made sure to keep time in your notebook to make sure you didnt miss it. So instead of going out to hunt he convinced Nat to go alone as he took the time to gather supplies and handcraft a necklace for you. He used some dried leaf stems to make the chain, gathered pebbles from the lake shore to make holes in and use them as beads, lastly for a pendant Travis placed the ring he brought with him on the trip as the centre of the necklace. Ever since he gave it to you, you never took it off. Even when the two of you had moments of uncertainty the marker of love stayed right infront of your heart.

"I lived like an island, punished you with silence, Went off like sirens, just crying. Why'd I have to break what I love so much? It’s on your face, don't walk away, I need to say. Hey, it's all me, in my head, I'm the one who burned us down, But it's not what I meant. I'm sorry that I hurt you..." -Afterglow

Travis was never one to be the first to speak. He will admit he was a dick, cold and cruel. Everything in him faught to keep his facade, to be the man his father had taught him to be. You were a safety net, he found himself slipping and not intentially revealing layers of himself he never knew existed. The more he grew close, the more he distanced himself. You never took it well, you tried to understand but you could only do so much pushing and fighting until you just had to accept it, accept that you werent important enough for him to be vulnerable. When he saw the face you made when you looked at him, the way you would avoid eye contact, he realized he screwed up. Everything in him wanted to fight, but in that moment he knew, love had won, and he could no longer be this person if it meant never loving you.

"So you were never a saint and I loved in shades of wrong. We learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts. But this love is brave and wild!!" -State of grace

Neither of you were the perfect standout type. He never understood why you werent popular, he thought you were perfect, you shouldve been a saint, you were in his eyes. And obviously he knew he didnt know how to love, love was a word he had heard a minimal amount of times. Displaying love was never his strongsuit, but for some reason you made him want to try. Both broken, both full of pain and grief, yet in that came brightness in the glow of the gentle love that didnt heal, but patched the scars of pain.

"Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love, Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again ,Oh, I'm fallin' in love. I thought the plane was goin' down how'd you turn it right around?" -Labyrinth

The day he realized he was in deep, he tried to swim back to shore. He didnt know what that fuzzy feeling felt, what that flutter was when you touched, how was he to know? But then he did find a word to describe it, love, what could he do but stand and stare. Then came the rush of fear, the running away, flood of regret that washed over him as he realized that if he loved you, and lost you, that would be way too much to handle, he would have nothing to live for. He couldnt be the man you deserved, he couldnt love you. Until you kissed him like you usually did, it was morning and you had come up to him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He had been trying to distance himself that week, but that simple moment of soft warmth gave him hope, how did you manage to turn this plane wreck (no pun intended) into a field of darkness with a shining light.

"Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns. They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run. Baby, I know places we won't be found, and they'll be chasing their tails tryin' to track us down. 'Cause I, I know places we can hide. I know places, I know places..." -I know places

Through the times you were his in secret, he would take you away to a secret spot in the woods. A hollowed out stump right next to a creek, thats where he would take you when the noise of the group got too loud. The others had their suspicions, they dug and chased down answers, but when you were alone, none of it mattered. Not the hunts, not the hunger, not the wilderness, just for a second the rituals and suffering faded away, even for just a second.

"Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?" -Peace

Was he enough, enough for you. Everything he was, was the opposite of what you deserved. You shouldve never been put in this situation, none of the pain was fair. All you deserved was peace. But thats something he couldnt offer, he didnt even have it himself. But in those long nights what mattered more to you then him giving you peace, was him being there, by your side as the sun went down curled up in his arms. He never promised healing, he couldnt give you anything, but what was enough was love.

---

^^^ look at my man 🤭🤭😍😍😍

[procyonloser]

(orc/elf Adamsapple mini. warning for mentions of childbirth and violence/bloodshed)

Adam was exhausted, his breathing was only now starting to even out, but he couldn't sleep yet. One of the taller elves handed him a round crying bundle, which he pulled up onto his breast.

The infant looked massive in comparison to the elven children that watched on from the entrance of the room - but it was minute compared to any orc children. His eldest child sat beside him on the birthing bed, sucking his thumb, not fully understanding what was going on, but he was just barely walking yet. Like his eldest, this infant had shorter pointed ears, somewhere between elf and orc, and a short tail, which the elven children found wildly hilarious. He knew his children would have a hard time growing up here, already being called names, like piglet. The alternative was impossible, his own village would kill them immediately.

Lucifer leaned in, pressing a kiss upon his brow, and then onto the newborn. A little girl, with a shock of blonde hair, showing she did take after him just as much as she did Adam.

"You've done beautifully, my love." Lucifer said, and Adam wanted to be happy, but the elven wet nurses looked at him with disdain at best, disgust at worst. They weren't supposed to allow orcs into their lands, and Lucifer was far from the most popular elf, even before he brought Adam home.

Maybe they'd find somewhere, someday, for their family - away from all the names and looks.

But how had he even gotten here? Well, it started two years back.

The orc village Adam was from was one of the largest, and Adam was the firstborn son of the current ruler. That, of course, didn't secure his position. He had to fight to keep it, and it was only a matter of time until someone challenged his father, or he was killed out on a raid. His sisters too seemed eager to get rid of him, but Adam wasn't about to let that happen. There were multiple ways to win favor within his village, but capturing an elf was always a big one.

They were fast, they could use magic, they had more advanced weaponry, and they had jewelry. They were always bedecked in things that glimmered, things that Adam's village had little of. Adam needed a wife to secure his own future as well, he needed heirs, and he needed gold to melt down and turn into a marriage dagger for the orc of his choosing. So, Adam needed an elf.

And, he'd just so happened to have spotted one in this area recently, an open glen within the woods. It was very far outside the line of their own territory, which meant the elf was either strong, or incredibly stupid - or as his mother Asherah, would say about Adam, a stunning mix of both.

Adam sat up on a high oak branch, one heavy enough to carry him, watching from above as his target made itself known. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, elves all looked the same to him, but it seemed short, even for their species. It walked around the glen, picking up sticks, bending them like it was testing the brittleness, before throwing them away. Elven bows were one of their worst weapons, the orcs had nothing so long distance besides throwing spears.

Adam waited until it was turned around, before he jumped down from his hiding spot, and swung his club hard into the elven figure with a cackle. It went flying, hitting a rocky outcrop, and collapsing as a cloud of dust rose around it. Adam grinned, resting his club on the ground, and waiting to see if the elf got back up.

"You shouldn't have come out so far, little one. You know, if you're not dead, all you need to do is give me all your jewelry and clothing, and I'll let you live." That was a lie. "You can go home." Adam wanted to see first if it was a male or female, then he'd probably trade them off to the humans.

The elf pushed up onto a hand, and Adam's grin spread. It was stronger than he'd thought. As the dust cleared, the elf got to it's feet, and made eye contact with Adam. Red eyes, that was uncommon.

"Somehow I doubt that," the elf said wryly, in a deeper voice than he'd expected. He had no weapons on him that he could see, not even a knife.

"Are you male?" Adam asked, and the elf gave a small nod. "Well, I have to admit that's less interesting."

Adam raised his club again, ready to finish the job. "Make your choice, elf."

The elf raised an eyebrow, dusting himself off, like he was entirely uninterested in Adam's threats.

Maybe because he was.

With a flick of his wrist, Adam went flying backwards, dropping his club, and falling down the side of a riverbank. Immediately, he knew something was wrong, he'd not expected such powerful magic out of an elf so small. Adam coughed, and coughed until it came up red as he landed, feeling a sharp pain begin to radiate from his center. Adam looked down, and felt cold. He'd landed on a downed tree, and a jagged broken branch had impaled him through his stomach.

The elf appeared at the edge of the riverbank, expression going from tired, to shocked. In an instant, he'd silently jumped down beside Adam, looking over the wound. "Oh no...I didn't mean for this to happen..." He whispered to himself, chewing on his lip.

Up close, Adam could see he was very pretty. A small heart shaped face, large eyes, long sharp pointed ears covered in dangling gold and gems. Adam's breathing got more haggard as he watched him move around, as though he was trying to find some angle where Adam wasn't going to die.

"Hey, what's your name?" Adam asked quietly, and the elf looked up, startled.

"Lucifer."

"I'm Adam. Could you do me a last favor? You elves have honor, right?" Lucifer paused, but nodded. "Could you give me one of your necklaces? When my people find my body, I want them to know I fought. I want my mother to have it."

Lucifer watched him, brows knit together as Adam spoke. He looked more pained than Adam felt, because, in truth, he'd started to not feel much of anything. He was cold, that's all he felt.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, why did you have to-" Lucifer shook his head, before he raised a hand, and Adam began to raise off the branch. Blood began to pour out of his open wound, as Lucifer lowered him onto river stones. A golden glow surrounded delicate fingers, and he pressed them against Adam's stomach.

"I'm not going to let you die, Adam. I'm going to heal you, then you can see your mother yourself." Lucifer said, meeting his eyes with resolution on his face. He raised a bloodied hand to Adam's cheek, caressing it just briefly, before returning it to start the healing work. Adam closed his eyes at the soft touch, and waited for death to take him, but it never came.

Adam woke up, who knew how much later, weak, but alive. They were in a cave, illuminated by a soft red glow, and he heard gentle singing, and felt a hand running through his hair. He leaned into the touch.

It was the beginning of their life together.