#a real cold one between the shoulder blades

[deadrobinthoughts]

†  a place to belong. : damian.

♦ request: drafted request ♦ beta’d: nope ♦ a/n: sighs

The Batcave is cold and cavernous, a place built for war rather than comfort. It hums with the low drone of machinery, screens flickering with endless streams of data, casting Damian’s sharp profile in shifting shades of blue and white. The light carves him into something more severe than he already is - shadowed eyes, jaw tight, expression carefully controlled. Always controlled. There is a tension in his shoulders, the kind that does not fade even in stillness, the kind that does not know how to let go.

He is standing near the Batcomputer, half-turned away from you, his arms folded against his chest like a barrier. His posture is practiced, carefully placed, but the stiffness in his fingers betrays him - the slight curl, the restless twitch, the way his grip tightens just a fraction more than necessary.

A tell, barely noticeable, except to you.

The silence stretches long between you, a vast, waiting thing. He is not speaking, but he isn't ignoring you either. Not this time. You have learned that there is a difference. When Damian wishes to be left alone, he will vanish before you can reach him, slipping into the shadows as easily as breathing. But he hasn't left. He hasn't turned his back to you. He is here.

He is waiting.

You take a slow breath, stepping forward, crossing the space between you with deliberate ease. No sudden movements, nothing that would give him an excuse to pull away. “Are you going to stand there all night?” your voice is quiet, steady, nothing teasing, nothing playful - just there. A tether.

His exhale is sharp, but there's no irritation in it. No exasperation. Just something unreadable, something unsteady. “I do not know what you expect from me,” he says, and there is no venom in it, no defensiveness - only honesty, bare and thin, something he has never learned how to carry without turning it into a weapon. “I have never been-” He stops. His fingers twitch again, then curl into a fist, but only for a second before he forces them to relax.

“I do not know how to be what you need.”

The confession lands between you like an unsheathed blade. He expects rejection, expects a lecture, expects to be told that he is difficult, closed-off, too much or not enough - but he doesn't expect your quiet acceptance.

"You don’t have to be anything other than what you are," you say simply; not a question, like it's already decided, like there was never a moment where you didn't believe it.

His breathing is measured, too measured, like he is holding himself together by the sheer force of will alone. You do not move any closer, don't push, don't reach for him first. He must choose this on his own.

And for the first time in his life - he does.

It's hesitant, not rushed, but deliberate, the way he steps forward, closing the last of the distance between you. The tension in his posture doesn't disappear entirely, but it shifts, melts at the edges, loosens enough to let him move, enough to let him finally, finally allow himself this.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your cheek, barely a touch, just enough for you to feel the warmth of him, the quiet hesitance in the way he lingers. His knuckles skim against your jaw, slow, reverent, like he is testing the weight of it, like he's still waiting for something to tell him this is a mistake. But you don't pull away. You don't move.

His thumb brushes lightly over your skin, the motion nearly imperceptible, and then - he exhales.

Not sharply, not through gritted teeth, not with the restraint of someone fighting against himself. Just a breath. A real one.

And then he leans in.

It's not forceful, not hungry, not something desperate - it's slow, careful, something that unfurls rather than collides. Like the moment was always there, waiting for him to catch up. His lips press against yours, not tentative, not unsure, but certain. Because when Damian Wayne makes a choice, it is absolute.

The kiss lingers, a moment stretched thin between two lives built on sharp edges, on things that are fleeting, on things that are not meant to be held onto. But this - this is not fleeting.

When he pulls away, he does not step back. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing steady, and for once, there is no battle left to fight. No war in his chest. No reason to run.

"You are certain of this?" His voice is quieter now, stripped of everything but the bare truth of him.

You let your fingers brush against his wrist, a gentle, grounding thing, anchoring him to this moment. "Are you?"

A pause. A breath.

Then, at last - "Yes."

[dirtyhecker]

imagine Lucanis asks Rook to marry him post-game, and he still has his grandmother's ring and it just feels right to give it to Rook. They saved Treviso after all, they helped him save Caterina, together they slayed two gods, and, of course, Rook is the love of his life. and then they tell Caterina the good news and she looks at Rook, possibly an upstart young Crow, possibly some nobody with a questionable background, and they've got her grandson wrapped around their little finger (and her heirloom ring on their ring finger) and Rook just gives her a real slow, knowing smile (the kind of smile that says I've been prying your claws out of him since the day we met, I love him more than my own life and he's not yours anymore, he's his own man) and Caterina has to bare her teeth and say congratulations

[sunni-stuff]

fwb!Simon, who grunts out, I love you mid thrust, leaving you rightfully lost for words and unable to question him, not while he was hitting a spot that had your toes curling and stars dancing in your eyes.

It's only afterward that you confront him, sheets pulled up to your chest, trying to assemble some semblance of decency while he gets dressed with deliberate purpose, his back to you as if eager to escape your presence. Scars crisscross his back like a road map of past battles, mingling with the fresh evidence of your fruitless moment of passion—angry red streaks left by your nails, which had clung to him in desperation and abandon.

"Did you mean it?" The meek whisper escapes you as you watch him tug on his shirt, concealing the marks of your shared tryst as though they were nothing more than another wound to bear.

He doesn’t face you, his head slightly turned but unreadable, the balaclava masking any trace of vulnerability or regret. Simon sits on the edge of the bed to put on his boots, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. The weight of your question hangs heavy in the air, rendering him unable—or perhaps unwilling—to answer, though his stoic demeanor betrays nothing.

"Simon, I'm talking to you." Your voice trembles, frustration spilling into your tone.

"I heard you," He mutters, his voice low and clipped, refusing to meet your gaze as he tightens the laces of his boots.

Simon always does this. He always does this—offering you fragments of affection, fleeting and fragile, leaving you grasping at it like sand slipping through your fingers. No matter how tightly you hold on, it escapes, grainy and rough, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. How much more could you take? How much longer could he toy with your heart before it finally broke?

"Then say something!" You finally scream, the words sharp and raw, slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade, desperate to shatter the wall he always hides behind.

He stills, shoulders stiffening, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you. But then, he snaps—his voice booming in the small room, rougher than you’ve ever heard it.

"What am I supposed to say?" The words come out like a growl, his frustration spilling over in a way that’s uncharacteristic of his usual control. His head whips around, and though his face is hidden by the balaclava, the intensity in his eyes burns through you.

You flinch, never having seen him angry before, let alone enough to yell at you. The sharpness of his outburst leaves you unnerved—just for a moment. But then your own anger surges forward, overwhelming the tremor of fear. He’s been toying with your heart, leading you along like a puppet, pulling the strings, the conductor of a train you never asked to board.

"Did you mean it?" You ask again, your voice steady now, even as your chest tightens. You meet his brown eyes head-on, the fire in them slowly dimming your own, leaving you to wonder if there’s anything real beneath the cold facade he so carefully constructs.

Again, he doesn’t answer. Typical Simon. Instead, he reaches out, roughened hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb gently rubbing your soft skin. There it was again, that flicker of affection, brief and fleeting, poured into your palms like a delicate offering, expecting you to cherish it, to hold onto the scraps he gives.

But much to his surprise, you pull away, your gaze hardening. For once, you let the sand slip through your fingers, choosing not to cling to something so unreliable, something that always fades just when you think you’ve grasped it.

Simon stares at you in utter shock, his gaze frozen as you move away, laying back down, refusing to face him. He watches in silence as you refuse to look at him anymore with those eyes—those eyes that always regarded him as your guiding sun, the one constant in a world full of uncertainty.

Now, your back is turned to him, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders, leaving him in the dark, unable to see your eyes, the eyes that once held all the softness, the trust, the devotion he’d never truly earned.

There was nothing else that needed or could be said. No oasis in this desert, no water to quench the sand he's suffocated you with. Simon rises, grabbing his jacket and keys from your dresser, his movements mechanical. He wants to look back, wants to see if you're watching him leave, wondering if you’ll be crying like all the times before. The sullen look in your eyes, the one that always made his heart strain, that soft ache whenever he walked away.

But this time, he doesn't look. Not this time. Because he knows there will be no hopeful eyes waiting for him, no quiet plea left in your gaze. Instead, he sees only the remnants of what he’s broken, the red thread that once held you together now frayed beyond repair. He’s a coward, unable to face what he’s done, unwilling to see the damage he’s caused.

[satoruxx]

you're sweating when you wake up, skin sticking painfully to your bedsheets as your bleary eyes dart around, attempting to make focus of your surroundings. the room is still dark, barely touched by the slight bit of moonlight that attempts to peak through the closed windows—defiant. it takes a minute to realize that the sounds that are breaking the silence are actually coming from your own throat—breathy, wheezing gasps of terror.

your stomach drops when your fingers grip cold and empty fabric. he's gone he's gone he's go—

"what are you doing up, pretty?"

your head snaps to the doorway. satoru stands there, sweats hanging low on his hips even as his hand remains curled around a glass of water. his hair is tousled with sleep, but his cerulean eyes are sharp and lively.

as soon as he sees the panic lacing your expression, his eyes widen, long legs practically tripping over themselves as he stumbles towards you.

"what happened?" he asks sharply, frantically placing the cup on the bedside table to take your face into his palms. shades of blue dart back and forth across your features as he perches one knee on the mattress and peers down at you. "are you okay?"

his touch sends electricity through your veins—a splash of ice water pulling you away from that painful reverie.

your heart both clenches and soars, the idea of what you saw being terrifying, and yet finding out it wasn't true being that much more relieving.

"i just—" your voice comes out choked, and satoru's fingers twitch against your skin imperceptibly. "had a bad dream."

you think your brain must be cruel for conjuring up a dream in which satoru could suffer to such abhorrent extents.

"oh sweets." satoru's sigh is sympathetically soft, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek just barely. "it was just a nightmare."

"i know," you swallow, voice shaking. there's an uncharacteristic wetness pooling at your waterline. "i-it just felt so real."

"baby..." satoru immediately pulls you against the steady planes of his chest, thick arms snaking around your waist to eliminate any measly amount of distance between you two. you prop your chin on his shoulder, sighing as you feel his snowy hair tickling at your cheek.

"it wasn't real, sweetheart," he says, pulling back just slightly to push a piece of hair from your face. his thumb then drags under your eyes, wiping away the unshed tears. "see. you're here, i'm here. everything's all good."

"yeah." you're nodding, unable to take your eyes off of him because he's real and alive and so breathtakingly perfect. "yeah, you're right."

he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and glowing. "i don't like to brag, but i usually am."

you snort out a laugh, missing the way his expression turns pleased at the sound. "hilarious. you love to brag."

"you got me there," he shrugs, grinning as you stick your tongue out at him. the lighthearted banter solidifies the fact that satoru is fine and unharmed and completely yours, but you can still feel the apprehension coursing through your veins. chills run up your spine—you try not to show it.

but of course, satoru has always been able to see right through you.

his teasing smile goes soft, and he inhales deeply.

"was it about me?" he asks, climbing into bed next you. you lay back down carefully.

"yeah," you mumble, watching him tug the blankets over your body and tuck you both under a cocoon of warmth.

"hm." something in his tone tells you he's not unfamiliar with the feelings you seem to be experiencing—his body shifts closer to yours. ocean eyes carefully asses you, deep and calculating and so concerned even as he smoothes a warm palm over your shoulder blades. "wanna tell me what happened?"

the truth is you do want to, because satoru has always understood you better than you've ever understood yourself—you have no doubt he'd be able to comfort you just as well as he normally does.

and yet...

"no," you answer, pressing your nose into his neck. a deep breath in, the lively scent that is so inherently your gojo satoru filling your very soul. "it's okay. i think i'll be fine."

when you shut your eyes, images flash behind them—of bloodied bodies and stitches and swapped souls. yet a chaste kiss to your forehead pulls you back to where you're supposed to be, warm and grounding.

"i know you'll be fine," satoru murmurs, lips tickling your brow as he speaks. you think you can hear the gentle smile as he says it, and your grip on him tightens—never letting go. "i'm right here after all."

[mihii-i]

Toots ik you got a whole lot of requests but hear me out 🧏🏻‍♀️

Jealous Arlecchino oneshot with smut or suggestive ending🧎🏻‍♀️

Like her and her hot af wife (reader) going on a lil mission in a different nation and have to continuously speak with a woman who the Fatui has connections with to help them

And reader and said woman are getting along TOO good and while reader is thinking this is some cute girls-bonding-time the woman is literally drooling over her and trying to keep her away from Arlecchino

Arlecchino notices ofc 🤗

The rest is up to you, but please no degradation or like “you were enjoying her attention” type thing in the smut/suggestive part <3

vexations.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, jealousy, fatui member reader (rank not specified), weird lady get tf away, uh moew, the sigma inside me is yearning for deck, lowkey the no degration part gave me an idea, strap on use, praise, small bit of marking, not proofread.

A/N: GIRL OMG lowkey I love that you kinda said no degradation or the attention relishing thing bc honestly I don’t like that kinda stuff either as u can see from like a lot of my work I avoid humiliation and stuffs I like fluffy sex SO YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT BC IT KINDA FEELS WEIRD YK anyway hope u like this yayayay 🕯️

“Arle hurry up! The negotiator won’t wait forever.”

A soft nudge brushed along the blade of your shoulder as you tilted your head over, noticing your wife leaning at your side upon catching up from behind you. Arlecchino breathed out a quiet hum in response, the crisp winds of the howling sky assaulting your skin in a cold fury. Usually, the weather in Fontaine wasn’t overtly cold as it was now, typically balanced between being fairly warm yet decently cool.

Usually, your time with your dear wife was cut short from the barrage of missions piled up one after another, shrouding her schedule immensely. Mission after mission led to Arlecchino trudging out of the house with her infamous fluffed harbinger coat hung loosely over her shoulders, deep eyes looking back to the opening in annoyance upon being unable to spend more time with you. She dreaded it. The prospect of leaving you all alone so early in the morning scrambling along the fluffed sheets for her touch, only to wake to an empty edge in disappointment.

Although you were in fact slotted in a position within the ranks of the Fatui, you never found yourself venturing out on an array of missions like Arlecchino was. Preferring to keep to yourself as you weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to negotiations. Each day, you found yourself lounged on the couch of your shared home, cheek squished against the flat of your palm in anticipation for the door to creak open to reveal your beloved herself. You could only sigh as the clock hand flicked over agonizingly slow, your eyes lowered as your muscles tensed to await her arrival.

However, things were quite different when it came to the Tsaritsa’s request for negotiations in Fontaine’s watchful eye of justice, as it drew caution to Arlecchino having to go alone. It was quite clear on how oddly strict and valued the Nation of Justice’s view on lawful order was, posing a threat to her if she were to even slip up in the slightest manner. Not to mention, the Fatui were in fact highly fixated on and monitored especially in the nation, meaning every waking step she took in the streets would be monitored carefully one way or another. Of course, as the wonderful spouse you were, you had decided to take up to mission alongside Arlecchino, stunning even the Tsaritsa herself at your assertion.

Arlecchino’s eyes traced the fluffed pale clouds heaped along the clear sky, gaze lowering to the heavy stone gate solidly rooted into Fontaine’s earth. The two of you continued to approach the domed gate to one of the nation’s renowned cities, bustling crowds rushing through every corner in a split second once you both step foot through the gate. You found yourself clinging to Arlecchino’s arm at the swarms of people closing in, fingers subtly squeezing the fabric in mild discomfort.

It wasn’t long before she took notice of your visibly cramped form and furrowed brows as you grasped her arm for support, her arm circling your waist closely as a response to the gesture. Pushing past the crowd, you both ended up before a fine establishment resembling a hotel towering above you in an uncountable height of stories above. You pulled out a slip of paper from your jacket pocket swiftly, hand scrambling in the heaps of fluff before letting out a triumphant sigh upon finding it. Carefully, you unfolded the tattered paper, examining the building and the address before shoving it back and nodding to Arlecchino in affirmation.

A hollow gold light spanning across the hotel greeted you upon entering, bouncing off the gold handles before the front desk. Whatever address you had received, the negotiator sure was quite lavish in her tastes. Faint clicks of heels reverberated in your ears, the sound drawing closer with each tap against the floor. An uneasy feeling rocked within you as you could hear them, a sense of deception circling the atmosphere. You only pressed your shoulder to your wife’s to ease yourself, attempting to remain professional upon the negotiator’s arrival.

The woman’s eyes squinted down at you, clearly observing every minute detail that painted your complexion from head to toe, hand rested on her hip in a gust of silence swallowing the air. Blinking in surprise upon her hand stretching out toward you, her expression was strangely amiable, gaze lit up as she seemed ecstatic to meet you. “Ah, hello! It would be a pleasure to negotiate with you!”

You mindlessly shook her hand, puzzled at the sudden shift in demeanor from the woman as she grasped your hand. She breathed out a sigh as she pulled her hand away, huffing in response to compose herself before turning to Arlecchino. Her expression before Arlecchino quickly grew stern, voice dropping to one rather cold and unenthusiastic as they silently shook hands. The interaction alone only made your stomach twist in uncertainty, the sparking contrast in behavior she showed between you two clearly throwing you off.

“I suppose that you are in fact the renowned negotiator with such a high reputation among the Fatui?” Arlecchino inquired, voice low. You could pick up on the fact in no time that she sensed something off about this woman. She only breathed out an unsatisfactory hum in response and nodded, gaze darting back to you in seconds as her face lit up. Within seconds, you couldn’t help but stiffen when her pointer finger traced the bottom of your jawline, experimentally running it along your skin.

Rather amused at your confused look, she only smiled once more, pursing her lips together as she pulled away. Arlecchino’s gaze only grew dark as she observed her movements against you, mind stinging with displeasure at the diplomat’s unusual proximity toward you. She could only shake off that numbing annoyance elusively, looking away from the sight of someone else getting handsy with her darling.

Pulling back, the woman cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her as she seemed satisfied with your jumbled expression. “Well..shall we begin with the negotiations? How about over coffee?” She mused. You nodded in compliance, glancing over at Arlecchino to note any objections. To which, she hesitantly provided none. Yet, she could only feel her skin bristle at the sight of the woman’s arm snaked over the back of your neck as a way of ‘guiding’ you to the said coffee store. Arlecchino was only left trailing behind, a maelstrom of fury embedded below her usually unfeeling face.

—

“Mm…(Name), sweetie, do you like the coffee I bought for you?”

You breathed out a puff of steam, expression relaxed as you only grinned at her in response. Perhaps she was to be trusted, as the negotiator had been nothing but kind to you, only treating you with the highest degree of affection and respect. Her adoring actions only led you to ease up around her, growing fairly close with her as if you were speaking to someone you already knew for years. Despite the relief that she was friendly, you couldn’t help but being unable to shake off the same uneasiness that jabbed at the back of your brain at her initial arrival. Plus, paired with her dismissive treatment toward Arlecchino only served to throw you off, shrinking away from trusting her altogether.

“Ah. Yeah…you really know your stuff here don’t you?” You chuckled in response, occasionally glancing over at Arlecchino who was left unchecked throughout the entire course of your “negotiations.” Arlecchino noticed your eyes frequently darting over to her, causing her to sit up from her slight slouch and dismissively wave her hand toward you. Nodding, you turned back to the negotiatior, elbows propped up onto the table and palms on either side of her face as she pushed her shoulders forward.

Suddenly, your wife couldn’t hold back her words for the sake of something so silly intruding on your original mission, leaning forward as she spoke up. “About the negotiations-“

The woman only shot the harbinger a sharp glare, cutting her off with a frown. Yet, it was plain obvious that Arlecchino wasn’t the meek type, a stir of hatred boiling within her for this sudden diplomat who came to snatch you out of nowhere. She held her tongue, yet not out of submission, but rather out of restraint—afraid she would be unable to keep her composure and snap at the high authority figure to quit her rather hands on approach toward you.

Throughout the course of the uncomfortably drawn out conversation, consisting of downright lewd hints thrown out from the negotiator toward you only felt like an eternity of malaise tainting the atmosphere. An annoyed scoff from Arlecchino finally caught your attention as she stood up, the silverware and glass rattling against the table from the sheer force of her palms planted onto the table for support to raise her to her feet. She huffed out once more, shoulders hunched over in order to retain her emotions boiling up within her.

Fangs of jealousy sunk into Arlecchino as she walked away from the table without a word leaving her lips, the bitter taste seeping into her mouth only pushing her further into a deep annoyance. She typically didn’t show any sort of emotion that would come close to nearly eliciting this type of anger from her, yet perhaps her sole affection toward you only fueled her otherwise closed off heart. Her guarded heart that only beat for you.

—

“A-Arle- mm..please..”

You lay helpless below her touch, soft gasps sharply rushing past your lungs as her lips glided along yours in a slow, passionate rhythm. Her darkened hands only curled around your wrists to hold you down, continuing her flaming kisses burning against your tongue as your eyebrows raised with that needy expression she loved oh so much. Quiet pants echoed in your ears as Arlecchino pulled away, eyes glossed over as the woman hovering above you looked foggy from your slightly blurred vision.

You couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of her sharp nails dragging along the protruding veins of your wrist in slow circles, crimson lipstick smeared across a new area of your throat every time you looked down. Arlecchino only hummed in satisfaction against your flushed skin, her own body weight along yours locking you down in place as the strap fastened around her waist pressed down onto your lower abdomen.

Muffling through your endless barrage of whimpers, you managed to breathe out through her relentless assault on your body. “I- ah- m’sorry Arle..I- didn’t realize she- mm..was doing that..I promise I didn’t enjoy-!” Your voice resembled that of a choked back sob, immediately hushed by Arlecchino’s soothing voice vibrating from her throat.

“Shh. It’s okay, darling. I would never think so lowly of you, and I know you aren’t that kind of person. The woman I fell in love with is below me, only desiring my actions in this moment, right?” She assured, lips stretching in a gentle smile as her pointer finger dragged down your chest all the way to your stomach.

You only heaved a sigh of joy, which was almost immediately cut off by a high pitched moan upon feeling her middle finger trace your slit. Your panting came out in shallow breaths as her x-marked eyes bore into you, gleaming red like that of a blood moon shone brightly to illuminate your complexion. Her touch was all that you craved in this moment, feeling a wash of affection overtake you at your wife’s calming presence soothing you in even your greatest moment of uncertainty.

Underwear nearly dropped down to your ankles, Arlecchino only seemed entranced by your slick glistening along your folds as such a gorgeous sight to behold. Her eyes darted back up to you once more, gaze meeting yours.

“May I continue?”

To which you only nooded eagerly, eyes flickering to her silicone cock pressed along your stomach. The second you felt the tip intruding along your walls, you immediately gnawed on your lower lip defensively, suppressing your inevitable noises.

Her lips pushed against yours once more, capturing you in a deep, languid kiss as her hips rolled against yours in circular motions, length fully pushing into you with each thrust. Your walls clamped around her faux cock like a vice, moans bouncing off the walls as her cock continued to massage that one spot within you. Everything was absolutely intoxicating. Arlecchino’s scent, her praises, her body pressed to yours, the way she was buried inside you. It was all as if she was so deeply connected to you that she never wanted to let go—as if it went to show how much she loved you with everything she had.

“Just like that. Archons, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

It didn’t take long for the sensation bundling up within you to finally snap, your walls tightening around Arlecchino’s cock to make sure she couldn’t pull back. Your juices coated the strap all over, the messy fashion of it dampening the sheets below you as she let out a satisfactory breath in response. Slowly, Arlecchino waited for you to come down from your high to loosen your grasp around her dick, her palm pressed to your face gently as she thumbed at your cheek in a reassuring manner to take your time,

Before long, you were strewn out on the bed, exhausted as Arlecchino’s arm was draped over you protectively. Her face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, taking in your warmth as her nerves eased up. As she law curled up beside you, protecting you in her arms as you slumbered, it was as if all her vexations had disappeared from earlier today, her mind was finally put at ease.

That you were hers. And hers only.

—

The next morning, you met up with the negotiator once more, with her face twisted in confusion and mild hint of disappointment at the sight of Arlecchino holding you up to help you walk. Surely your legs weren’t functioning well enough after the previous night. The woman only tapped her chin with an unintelligible grumble, eyes darting away as you let out an awkward chuckle.

“I- ah..ahem..shall we discuss the negotiations..?”

Funny how quickly she had switched up the second she realized that you wouldn’t even think about leaving Arlecchino’s side. You loved her far too much to detach yourself from her arm even. You nodded toward her as you leaned your head onto Arlecchino’s shoulder, eyes dreamy and filled with a sort of solace tinged into your soul as you gazed up at her.

She stared back down at you with the same affection that she would only reserve for the likes of you, hand tightening into your protectively once more.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: WOOOO DID THIS ON A SCHOOL NIGHT IT IS 12:43 AM I THINK IM FUCKED BUT THATS OKAY 🔥🔥🔥

FINISHED MY PHYSICS LAB FEELING GOOD I LOVE EATING THE WALL I AM HORRIFIED TO SLEEP CAUSE I JUST WATCHED SMILE 2 AND HOLY SHIT THEY WERENT WRONG ABOUT NOT WATCHING THE MOVIE IF YOU WERENT IN THE BEST PLACE MENTALLY BUT THATS OKAY BC IT WAS GOOD AND I LOVE NAOMI SCOTT. I’m still fucking scared of the curse and the stupid entity tho

Why am I dumping this what this was a long ass a/n rant probably bc I’m traumatized from the movie lol I don’t wanna step foot in my hallway in the dark.

Anyway please enjoy dinner is served and back to school but break is soon so we’re good

monker

[sun-kissy]

🧣 remus lupin + "you fell asleep. it would’ve been cute, if i hadn’t been so paranoid you were actually unconscious"! please! 😁

thank you for the request lovely! :)

slumber | r.l.

— “You fell asleep. It would’ve been cute, if I hadn’t been so paranoid you were actually unconscious.”

remus lupin x reader

tw: fluff!

Remus can tell that you’re exhausted simply from your voice when you call out to him. It’s full of love, as it always is, just a little dimmer than it was when he kissed you goodbye that morning.

You enter the house and kick off your shoes. Remus meets you in the hallway, tugging your coat off for you before pulling you into his arms. You go easily.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

“Hi,” you mumble, relaxing into him. He splays one hand out between your shoulder blades, the other on the small of your back.

“Long day?”

You make a soft sound halfway between I dunno and mhm. Something in his heart twists when you look up at him, all droopy eyelids and tired smile.

He hums pityingly. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head. Remus pecks your forehead before pulling away to take your hands.

“Okay, that’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you.”

There’s nothing you can do but nod, but that’s enough for him. He all but carries you to the kitchen and hoists you up onto the platform.

He manhandles you in the gentlest way, adjusting your too-tired-to-move body until he was certain your head wasn’t going to hit anything.

“Remember that book fair Sirius invited me to, said it was full of classics and poetry?” he glances at you as he moves away. You nod.

Remus starts to cut up ingredients, goes through the familiar motions of making your favourite soup. He knows you’re not yourself when you’re tired — on a normal day, you’d be chatting his ear off. He’ll talk for you instead.

“… and it turns out he was lying. It was a fucking party, at this huge, loud club. I should’ve known, really, I mean it’s Sirius we’re talking about…” he hopes it’s enough to keep you awake. He isn’t usually one for words, but he’d read novels out loud if it meant you were listening.

Remus continues talking, and you really are trying your best to keep up. But your eyelids feel heavy. So heavy.

Maybe he asks you something, you hear the lilt in his voice at the end of his sentence. You don’t answer, you can’t. Your eyes flutter shut as you’re tugged along by the stream of unconsciousness.

There’s a tingling sensation in your brain, like someone’s pulling your mind out of the depths of sleep. You force your eyes open, squinting as the bright lights of the chandelier in the living room hit your retinas.

“Y/n, sweetheart?”

The vivid light is instantly replaced by your boyfriend’s silhouette as he stands over you. You can’t make out his expression fully, a mix of relief and bemusement and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up, thank god.”

You blink. “What happened?”

Remus gives you a small smile, the skin under his eyes crinkling in slight worry. He helps you up into a sitting position. “You fell asleep. It would’ve been cute, if I hadn’t been so paranoid you were actually unconscious.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “How long was I out for?”

“Three hours.” His expression finally lets up a little, less terse. He sits down next to you, giving you a few giggly kisses before pulling you into his side. “I tried to wake you up more than a few times, dove. But you were out cold. I guess you really were tired, huh?”

“I guess so,” you smile.

“You were,” he grins, rubbing the fat of your arm affectionately. “You were snoring real loud too.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he dots a kiss on your nose, “Whatever rocks your boat.”

san’s christmas sleepover

[fear-is-truth]

❝ 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏, 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏. ❞ ・─ HWANG IN-HO

◟warnings — thigh riding ⋆ suit k!nk ⋆ edging ⋆ power imbalance ⋆ death mention ⋆ MDNI 18+

a/n : english is not my first language

tiny figures in green tracksuits scatter across the playground, dropping like marionettes with their strings cut, bodies collapsing into the dirt, limbs sprawled at unnatural angles. the screen is crisp, high-definition carnage. blood pools black against sand.

but the front man doesn’t focus on the dying.

not really.

his attention drifts, half-lidded, disinterest settling in. the screaming gets old real quick.

instead, he listens.

fly me to the moon, a slow, smoky lilt, drifts from the tiny music box on the side table.

a woman’s voice. saccharine, timeless. the miniature jazz band inside twirls, their miniature instruments catching the yellow light. a saxophonist leans into his solo, frozen in brass. the singer clutches her mic stand, red lips parting in sync with the song.

the figurines spin.

the game plays on.

and you—

you’re in his lap, straddling him, grinding yourself down on the hard muscle of his thigh in slow, languid rolls. the friction is not nearly enough to satiate the ache between your thighs. you need more. need him to touch you, react to you, acknowledge how ruined you already are.

his gloved hands remain still on the arms of his chair.

you whimper, dragging your core against the fabric of his slacks again, harder, trying to pull something—anything—from him.

a quiet inhale behind the mask.

“needy,” he remarks, voice distorted by the modulator, made deeper, mechanical like darth vader.

“you could’ve just asked.”

you bite your bottom lip in a petulant pout, palms braced against his chest. and then, impulsively, you lean in, pressing your lips against the cold geometric surface.

“would you have said yes?” you ask.

his silence is answer enough.

there’s a pause—long enough to make you wonder if you’ve overstepped—then a quiet chuckle crackles through the mask, distorted into something inhuman.

“hmm.”

a pause.

and then—he grips your hips, forcing you down against him in one smooth, unyielding motion.

then, his fingers twitch. just slightly.

you gasp, eyes going wide.

“our VIPs will be arriving shortly, how should i explain the wet spot you’ve made on my slacks?” you can’t even find the words to respond, too consumed by the burn of embarrassment tightening in your chest. your legs tremble from how badly you need him, from the wetness seeping into his slacks—evidence of just how desperate you’ve become.

you’ve made a mess.

in-ho tilts his head, studying you in silence. then, his fingers flex, digging in, pulling you down just enough for you to feel it—the damp spot against his thigh, the way your slick clings to the expensive fabric.

“i—”

you try to lift yourself, to regain even the smallest scrap of dignity, but his grip tightens, keeping you exactly where you are. your heart pounds against your ribs. another rich chuckle, nearly drowned out by the warm, lazy melody playing through the speakers.

“an unfortunate spill, perhaps?” one gloved hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades as he jerks his head toward the glass of untouched whiskey on the side table. “or would you prefer i be honest?”

his words curl around you like a fist wrapped in silk, and you can hear the amusement in them. your cheeks burn, mortification seeping into your bone marrow.

and then—slowly, methodically—he pulls you forward again, pressing you down against the evidence of your shame, forcing you to feel it. your body locks up in his hands, a helpless whimper slipping past your lips.

the front man hums, satisfied.

on the screen, another body drops.

the song continues.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[keferon]

I’ve been reading through your Spellbound AU and thought of something funny, so naturally I wrote a short story for it.

My take on how Jazz came to work for Orion.

———————————————————————

Jazz slunk across ruined stonework overtaken by forest growth. Form shifting as subtly as the shadows he crossed.

Which would it be?

Tall and slim? Nah, that one already served it’s purpose. The twins saw something lank and dark looming in the trees, and now the young knights were distracted looking over their shoulders.

A hulking brute? No, that’d inspire an all out confrontation. Jazz already had all of them keyed up to act on instinct.

The twins were easy. Young and expecting a straight fight. Pax, his target, was harder to ruffle. He had the reputation of a courageous selfless hero and damned if the mech wasn’t dedicated to the ruse.

Pax wasn’t spooked, but he did take his underlings concerns seriously. He marched forward as a pillar of confidence and safety, but Jazz caught the way his gaze scanned the ruins. His white shadow seemed indifferent, but he was just an audience member anyways, not a real fighter.

Primed to play the part. Pax just needed his queue.

Jazz got into place on his stage. He shifted into something small and weak (in appearance alone). Bent a leg at an unhealthy looking angle, and slumped like he was exhausted and chased here.

Jazz sat with his back against the wall, the partially collapsed stone room was small enough that a mech of Orion’s stature would have difficulty moving quickly. It had the nice bonus of blocking anyone else from coming through the main entry point as well.

Through a crack in the wall, Jazz watched as the leader in blue and red got closer, his “loyal knights” lagging behind. The white one lagged as well, distracted by scolding the twins for being distracted.

Jazz focused on his target. Pulled at a thread from within Pax and strung it within his own chest.

Jazz set his new voice and with all the terror and innocence he could conjure screamed.

H̴͉̮́͂͗̐͌̍̇E̸̡̞̅̎̒͗͂L̷̛̻͎̮̽̏͝͝P̴̛̭͈͌̔̃̊͛̓ ̶͉̩̖̔͛͋̃ͅP̴̫͔̖͔̼͗̑̔͘͝L̸͓̣͖̫̭͎̊́̑̀͐̈́Ḙ̶͕̪̳̟̥͂̓̈̅͂͝Á̵̖̳̱͙͋ ̸̭̤̹̔͑͒̈͆̓͘Ȏ̵̡̥͈̪̟͛́̑͆̐͜Ḣ̷̡̻̪̘̯̹̊̂́̒͠ ̷̭̭͕̙̟̬͈̇̄̌̅̂̚̕W̸̺̯̦͔̼͇̄H̷͖͛̎͐̄͊̂͝À̶̘̙̈́̎͛̒͘ͅṰ̴̻͉̜͂̐̽̀̇ ̴̬͓̝̞̀̆̕T̸̙̖̲̺̯̆͛͜Ḥ̵̱͚͕͔̆̉ͅȆ̶͙̆́́̌̋ ̵̧͔͔̰̰̰͕̿͂̆̂̅̅F̵͕̘̰͓̓̔͜͜U̵̧̝̳̔̍̇̅̿͜͜͝Ç̵͎̎̓̒̓̊̂K̷̨̈́?̶̱͈̖̺̘͓͆̄͒͋

He slapped a hand over his mouth.

Outside, everyone went deathly quiet. Jazz didn’t dare move.

“Um.” Spoke their fearless leader.

Who apparently had thing for asthmatic dragons.

“Are you alright in there?”

Movement started to approach his hidey hole. Jazz could still salvage this. He could.

The white shadow came through first. Damn it. New plan: save own life.

Jazz plucked a new voice from him and made himself look as unthreatening as possible.

“ - ?! !”

Nothing. He loves the concept of nothing. Not even a celebrity crush? A favorite singer? The sound of his own voice?

Some of the functionalists were like that. That’s probably half the reason they “allowed” him to take on their commissions. All the money in their coffers wasn’t worth this however.

The white mech frowned, scanning over Jazz with a cold blue look. He turned back to the entrance, “Sir, there is a ‘hypothetically’ injured person inside the building. Most likely they orchestrated our current circumstances in an attempt to assassinate you.”

Jazz lunged from the wall, dagger slipping between armor gaps to pierce the spoil-sports spark, ready to dash past in the resulting chaos when his lifeless body guttered before them.

And just like his voice, Jazz got nothing instead.

He gaped at the way his blade cut into hollow air beneath the plates. Numbly, he pulled out his dagger and stabbed again, like it’d do something different this time. The mech was unamused.

“Sir, the assassin is trying to assassinate me.”

Jazz pulled a working voice, “I̷͕͍̓̒͝ͅ’̵̝̂m̵̼̲̓́ ̷͚̑́͗͜n̶̢̬͈̉o̷̦̓̎͝ṱ̶̟̼͒͊ ̵̨̮̠̿̀ǎ̷̫̹n̶̫̜̚̕ ̸̹͙͐a̵̛̯̻̹s̶͍̈́s̵̳̲͎͂a̷̻͉̅͆̑s̴̛̫̞̽̈s̵̳̑į̸̝̽̊n̷̙̟̤͊!̸̪̃”. And discontinued his failing assassin attempt to cringe.

A massive hand closed around Jazz’s wrist, stopping him cold.

“Do not.” Orion lessened his grip but did not release him, “Harm my friends.”

Jazz had to crane his head back considerably to make eye contact. Orion was built like a brick house and Jazz had enough experience fighting mechs like him to know his kill window was gone.

Groveling it is!

“Į̷̧̲̍͝ ̴̟̩̗̀̿̊a̵̹͙̔m̵̠̜̳͍̀̽̾̏ ̷͕͕̔̿͆̂s̸̡͋ơ̵̦̜ ̶͍̫͔͔̒̈̈́̌s̶��̻͓͔͜ò̸͙̥̻̀r̷̢̠̈r̵̘͑̎͂y̸̰͓͆͗̔.̵̯͇́̌͒ ̵̳̞̏̇̕I̶̦͚̦͠’̸̞̯͙̟́ḿ̵̢̜̅̍͜ͅ ̴̮̩͓̀̓̈͜j̷̻̒̀u̷̯͂͋ŝ̴̭͇̱͎͑͆ẗ̶͎̬͗́͝ ̷̥̰̗̃a̸̼̫̦̾̚ ̶͕͉̓͌͋͝d̴͖̗̰̒̎̈͘ͅe̸̗̞̤̲̽͗̈́͛s̸̖͐p̵̢̎͊e̴̢͖͉͑̿̾͘r̶̩̬̰̈́́ą̵̧̰̋̊͝t̶̻̯̞̦̆e̷̱̥̪̍͜ ̴̠̱̼̣̌̾t̴̙̐̔h̵̟̪͈͛̚ǐ̶͕ě̴̻̺f̸͕̠̯̤̀̆!̷̗̩̩̃̽ ̷̮̩̆̾Ǐ̷͍̭ ̴͕͕́ṅ̸̗̰e̸̯̱̝͚͆͂v̴̛͓͉͇̍́e̴̺̞͖͂͑̏͐͜r̶̢̼͠ ̴̗͙̐͒̋̚m̸͓͆͐e̶̱̩͕̐̚͠a̵͉͇̟̺̋̇̑n̶̢̖̙̣̾͝t̷̘̔ ̵̦̉̈́̈́͗t̵̳̻͇̔̎̃͜o̴͈͖̓ ̵̬̦̞͖͌͋͂͆h̷̲̓͑̎̃a̵̛͇̾͗r̵̠̗̩̾̏̈̚m̸̭̃ ̷̢̗͇͈͑͊a̵̧̠͑̒̚ ̵̢͉̮̌̀k̵̼͈͎̳͒̀̐͂ǹ̸̛̘͈͔í̶͓̜̜͉g̸̨̖̗̜̽͊ĥ̷͉̫͉̻̾̽̉t̵̜̣̲̹̑ ̸̡͒̃o̶̮͉̺͝r̷̬̎̓̚͝ ̵̡̠̩̓̈́̐̏ḣ̶̨͖̼̥̎́i̶̖̋͝s̷̻͍̭̒͜ ̵̢̖͓̿̍̌̾f̶̣̜̒̎r̶̝̈͊̍̋ǐ̶̝͓̱̱̆̐ẹ̷́̅n̴̢̛̘̍ḑ̷̪̈́̀͒̚ŝ̷͍̹!̷̪͙͕̬̐ ̵̨̡͆̏P̸̧̢̼̿͝l̶̡̧͔̳̍̉͋̆ẽ̶͉ȁ̸̦̜̤̀̉ͅs̴̮̙͍̘̐̂̉e̴͇͚͊̔̈́͋ ̸̧̳͒̈̃͠h̸̡̧̰͛̈͐ͅḁ̷͔̗̱̓̌̉v̸͖̼͓̜̽̏ę̵̬̤͎̄̅̓͆ ̷͍̯̗̥̋̀͛̉m̸̹͈͔̑͂͠ͅé̴͎͕ȑ̴̢̖̘̎c̴͙͇͙̤̐̔͒̕y̷̨͈͗͛͛!̶̹͝͝”

Orion cringed behind the mask.

“I- I’m sorry I don’t think I quite understood that.” He paused, “Would…you like a cough drop?”

Orion seemed to take stock of what he had on him, patting his sides with his free hand. He turned to the white mech.

“Prowl, would you happen to…um nevermind.” He turned to the twins, “Sunstreaker?Sideswipe? Do either of you have a cough drop?”

The twins searched their pockets for a magically appearing cough drop. Jazz searched for his sanity.

Jazz plucked a voice from the twins and couldn’t care less which it came from.

“Listen!” Oh thank fuck the twins were normal.

Jazz smiled while slowly uncurling Orions fingers from his wrist. Prowl narrowed his gaze at the new voice.

“You got me! I’m a thief! And I panicked! And I am so, so, so-.”

“A mimic.”

Smile frozen in place, Jazz turned his head so slowly there was an audible grounding noise.

Prowl remained impassive.

“Um.” And Orion…let him? Pull his wrist free. “Are you going to continue trying to kill me?”

Jazz snapped back to Orion, his target. The words aren’t what gave him pause, but how he said them. Like he just asked Jazz “Are you sure you want to go with puce green?” As if the mech was more concerned that Jazz was going to make a poor decision than for his own wellbeing.

“No.” Jazz said definitively. Because Primus knows he lost the upper hand now and wasn’t aiming to try again so soon.

“Are you genuinely in need of money? Food and shelter?” Orion continued, optics softening.

Jazz didn’t recognize the play. He bit his lip beneath the cowl.

Jazz decided to capitalize on whatever got him the most sympathy. He nodded seriously. “Yes. Of course. It’s not easy when the functionalists decide you’re a monster.” A bit of a lie and a bit of the truth. His favorite combination.

“Do you like your current employers?” Orion asked and Prowl started to narrow his optics.

“No…I don’t.” Jazz answered without enough dishonesty to feel comfortable.

Orion kneeled so he was on optic level with him. “Would you like to join my order?”

And when Jazz just stared at him he continued. “You’d be free to leave if you ever found it not to your liking. And your skills would be very useful in keeping people safe. And of course we’d ensure safe lodgings, fair pay and-.”

“Sir.” Prowl ground out with the most emotion Jazz had ever seen from the guy. “He tried. To assassinate you.”

“Well, he wasn’t very invested.” He shrugged.

Orion looked at Prowl. The twins looked at each other. Jazz looked at an opportunity.

“Deal.” Jazz took Orions hand, shaking it before his better thinking caught up to him.

Orion’s optics crinkled in delight. “Wonderful! Welcome to the Autobot Order!”

Prowls face betrayed nothing, but Jazz hadn’t spent his entire life studying people to miss the way something ever so subtly cracked under Prowls stoney facade.

Jazz didn’t need their Order to survive. But he had become desperately curious to know what in Pimus’ sweet name was going with those two. And more importantly, after outing him twice in a row, Jazz was going to BREAK Prowl.

“T̴͓̹̚h̸͖̘̀̈͠e̸̡̗̳͊̓͝ ̴͚̘͆n̶͉̰͐͜ą̸̦̉m̸̮͙͋é̴͉̫̥͘s̴̮̔͑̄ ̶̰̚J̷͎̀͝a̸̟͎̽̒̇z̷̰̆͑͜͝z̵̨͎̈́.̴͎́ ̷̡͉̱̒̾̕N̵̳͚̈͘i̴͙̓̎c̶̪̅̆ḛ̸̂͂ ̷̰̻̊͝ͅt̷͖̤̓͋o̴̗͇̭͑̿͛ ̴̮̹̉̃͜m̴̼͈̝̍ë̸̗̫̘́̊͌ē̸̘̹̅t̷̛̞̙̫ ̵͙̎̄y̵̩͂̓̚a̴͉̲̪͌̍.̶̖̻̒”

———————————————————————

The silent sentence was “Did you hear that horrib- Huh?! OH COME ON!”

I just really liked the idea that because Jazz talks in Shockwaves voice around Orion, the first time it happened everyone nearly shit themselves.

-SSTP

"Who apparently had thing for asthmatic dragons."

LMAO

"The twins searched their pockets for a magically appearing cough drop. Jazz searched for his sanity." AHAHAJCZTYLVXFUJKCDYKFSS HELP

Jazz, looking at OP: There is something really wrong with you. Five weirdness points out of five.

Jazz, looking at Prowl: ........I need a new scale

[roturo]

Gojo Satoru who's beginning to fall in love with his sugar baby!

read pt 1 and pt2, before continuing.

Gojo stood outside your door, the weight of every choice he'd made— or refused to make— pressing down on him. He should walk away. That's what he'd always done when things got too real, too messy. But tonight, he couldn't. Not when the thought of someone else touching you, knowing you the way he did, was driving him to the brink.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the sound of muffled voices reached him. His breath hitched when he heard it: a man's voice. Deep, unfamiliar, and entirely too close to you.

His knuckles hit the door harder than intended. Once. Twice. A warning knock, sharp and unrelenting.

When you answered, you were startled, your eyes widening slightly before narrowing in frustration. You stepped into the doorway, just enough to block his view of the inside.

"Satoru," you said, your tone clipped. "What are you doing here?"

His gaze swept over you, lingering on the slight flush in your cheeks and the way your hair was a little out of place. He noticed the faint hum of music in the background, and it made his stomach churn.

"Who is he?" Gojo asked, his voice cold, biting.

You blinked, your expression hardening.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I heard him."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "That's none of your business."

Gojo laughed, a low, humorless sound.

"None of my business? That's funny, coming from someone who let me fuck them like they meant something just a few weeks ago."

You flinched, but you didn't back down. "And whose fault is that, Satoru? You're the one who made it clear this wasn't real. You said it yourself-no strings, no feelings. So why do you care now?"

"I don't," he said quickly, too quickly. His jaw tightened, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, his voice dropping. "I just didn't think you'd move on so fast."

Your eyes flashed with anger. "Move on?

God, you're unbelievable." You stepped forward, poking a finger into his chest. "You don't want me, but you can't stand the idea of someone else wanting me either. Do you even hear yourself?" You know you’re repeating yourself, he always knew there was danger in the heat of your touch.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps approached, and Gojo's entire body went rigid. The other man appeared behind you, his figure tall and broad, his expression casual but watchful as his hand rested lightly on your shoulder.

Gojo's eyes locked on the man's hand, and something inside him snapped. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice dripping with venom. "This guy?"

"This guy has a name," you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Leo. And unlike you, he actually knows how to show up."

Gojo laughed again, this time louder, harsher.

"Show up? That's your bar? Someone who shows up? Congratulations, sweetheart, you've really hit the jackpot."

"Stop it," you hissed, stepping between them. "You don't get to do this, Satoru. You don't get to come here, throw a tantrum, and act like you care. Because if you cared, you would've been here weeks ago."

"Maybe I didn't think you'd be so quick to spread your legs for someone else," he shot back, his voice low and sharp.

The slap came before you even realized you'd raised your hand. The sound echoed in the small space, and Gojo's head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging from the force.

"Get out," you said, your voice trembling with rage and something far more fragile. "Go home, Satoru. Wherever the hell that is. Just... leave me alone."

For a moment, he didn't move. He stared at you, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. Then his gaze shifted to Leo, who stood silently behind you, his presence steady in a way Gojo's never was.

Gojo's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Fine," he said, stepping back. "Have fun with your rebound." His words were laced with venom, but his voice cracked just enough to betray him.

He turned and walked away, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in his chest. As he disappeared into the night, he realized that for the first time in his life, he'd lost something he couldn't get back.

And it was his own damn fault. He saw forever so he smashed it up.

Gojo didn't go far. He stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with a hand buried in his hair. His mind was a mess, replaying the slap, the way your voice cracked, the sight of another man standing behind you like he had any right to be there.

The image burned in his chest, feeding the fire of his jealousy until it was an inferno. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't have cared. But he did. And that was the problem.

As much as he wanted to walk away and let pride win, his feet wouldn't move. Instead, he found himself circling back, hovering near your door like a ghost, the muffled sound of your laughter with Leo scraping against his nerves like broken glass.

He didn't knock this time. Instead, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear the words exchanged between you.

"Leo," your voice came softly, the warmth in it like a knife to Gojo's gut. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't expect him to-"

"It's fine," Leo said, his tone calm, reassuring. "Do you want me to stay? Just in case?"

Gojo's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He could picture it-Leo staying the night, slipping into your bed, touching you like he belonged there. It was unbearable.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, the shared key in his pocket burning like a brand. He shouldn't. He couldn't. But before he could stop himself, the door creaked open.

The room went silent.

You turned first, eyes wide in disbelief as Gojo stepped inside, his figure towering, his presence suffocating. Leo stood beside the couch, his posture tensing as Gojo's icy blue eyes flicked to him, then back to you.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief.

"Didn't realize we were locking doors now," Gojo said coolly, his gaze settling on Leo. "I thought I still had a key."

Leo raised an eyebrow, his expression unbothered but his stance steady. "You need to leave man. You're not welcome here."

Gojo ignored him, his attention fixed solely on you. "Is this really what you want?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "A guy who'll just stand here while someone else walks into his girl's apartment?"

Your mouth fell open in shock, anger flashing in your eyes. "Don't you dare call me your girl. You lost the right to say that the second you decided I wasn't enough for you."

Something in Gojo's expression cracked, the cool facade slipping for a moment. "You were always enough," he said, his voice low.

"That's the problem."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a split second, the tension shifted. His vulnerability shone through, raw and unfiltered, and you could see it—the part of him he always hid, the part that hurt just as much as you did.

But Leo stepped forward, his hand on your arm. "You don't have to listen to this," he said softly, his presence grounding you.

Gojo's gaze dropped to where Leo touched you, his fists clenching at his sides. "Get your hand off her," he said, his voice low and dangerous— this dude clearly didn’t know a shit about him.

The dopamine races through his brain, his hand so calloused from his power, his eyes softly trace hearts on you face behind the black obscure glasses— and you could see it from a mile away, it’s a perfect case for your certain skill set.

He had a halo of the highest grade, "Or what?" Leo challenged, his calm exterior finally cracking.

You stepped between them, your hands outstretched. "Stop.” you shouted, your voice breaking. "Both of you, just stop"

Gojo froze, his chest heaving with barely contained rage. His eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, he looked small. Lost.

"You don't want him," he said, his voice soft but urgent, like a plea. "You don't. He can't give you what I can."

"And what's that?" you shot back, tears brimming in your eyes. "More pain? More nights wondering where you are, who you're with? I'm done, Satoru. I'm done waiting for you to figure out how to care about me."

"You think I don't care?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice trembling. "You think I don't hate myself for every second I spent away from you? For every time I chose someone else over you because I was too scared of What you meant to me?"

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over now. "Then why didn't you stay?"

Gojo stood there, his knuckles white as they clenched into fists. The heat of your words— the finality in them-wrapped around his chest like a vice. He was losing you, and the worst part? He knew it was his fault.

"You think I didn't want to stay?" he asked, his voice low and bitter. "I wanted to, but I-" He cut himself off, his gaze darting to Leo like he couldn't bear to finish the thought with him in the room.

"You what, Satoru?" you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with raw emotion. "You wanted to, but you chose not to. Every. single. time."

The sound of your voice triggered a memory, one he couldn't push away.

"Say it," you'd whispered, your breath warm against his neck. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he pinned you beneath him on your bed, your bodies tangled in the sheets. "Tell me I mean something to you."

Gojo's laugh had been low and soft, almost tender. "You're trouble, that's what you are," he'd said, brushing his lips against your collarbone. But he hadn't answered—not the way you wanted him to. Instead, he'd kissed you, slow and deep, swallowing the words he couldn't say.

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. "You don't get it," he said, his voice cracking. "I wasn't enough for you. I'm still not. You deserve someone better than me."

"You don't get to decide that," you snapped, your voice shaking with fury. "You don't get to break me and then act like it's for my own good."

The weight of your words hit him like a punch, but he didn't back down. "I was protecting you!" he shouted, his frustration spilling over.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

"Protecting me? Is that what you call it?” You know you can handle a dangerous man. “Leaving me alone in bed while you text other women? Making me feel like I was just another name on your list?"

You'd been straddling him on the couch, the glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. His hands gripped your waist, his lips devouring yours like he was starving. "You're addictive," he'd murmured, his voice husky. "You're going to ruin me."

"Then let me," you'd whispered back, your forehead resting against his. For a moment, his eyes had softened, his walls crumbling just enough for you to see the man underneath the bravado. But by morning, he was gone, leaving only a note and the faint scent of his cologne.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Gojo said now, his voice softer, like he was trying to reach the part of you that still might care. "But I didn't know how to keep you without losing myself."

You swallowed hard, the rawness in his voice tugging at something deep inside you. But before you could respond, Leo stepped forward, placing a hand on your back. The touch was steady, grounding, and it pulled you back to the present with a disgust, not because of the memory, but because it wasn’t the touch you desired.

"She doesn't need this, man," Leo said, his voice calm but firm. "You've done enough."

Gojo's eyes snapped to Leo, his anger flaring again. "And what exactly do you think you are to her?" he asked, his tone sharp and biting. "Some knight in shining armor? You don't know her like I do."

"Don't hide from me," he'd said one night, his fingers trailing down your bare spine as you lay together in the dark. "You're beautiful, and you don't even see it. It drives me insane." His lips had brushed against your shoulder, his breath warm as he whispered, "Let me show you."

And he had-slowly, reverently-his hands mapping every inch of your body like he was memorizing you. In those moments, he'd been yours entirely. But they never lasted.

"She's not yours anymore," Leo said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "And maybe she never was."

He looked at you, his eyes pleading. "Tell him he's wrong," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell him it wasn't all fake. That it wasn't just some... convenience."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Because it hadn't been fake-not for you. But how could you say that now, when he'd already torn you apart?

Gojo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Do you remember that night at the lookout?" he asked, his voice desperate now. "When you told me you'd never felt that way about anyone else? You meant it. I know you did." Handcuffed to the spell you were under, for just one hour of sunshine.

You'd been sitting on the hood of his car, the city lights stretching out below you.

He'd stood between your legs, his hands on either side of your face, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're dangerous," he'd said, his voice low. "You make me want things I shouldn't want."

Months of labor, locks and ceilings— In the shade of how he was feeling..

"Like what?" you'd asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Like keeping you," he'd replied, his forehead resting against yours. "Like staying."

You took a shaky breath, your eyes meeting his. "I can't do this anymore, Satoru," you said, your voice breaking. "I can't keep hoping you'll stay when you never do."

Gojo's face crumpled, his mask shattering completely. He reached for you, but Leo stepped between you, his stance protective.

"She said enough," Leo said firmly. "It's time for you to leave."

For a moment, Gojo looked like he might fight back, his hands trembling at his sides.

But then he took a step back, his shoulders slumping.

"This isn't over," he said, his voice hoarse.

"I'll prove to you that I can be better. That I can be what you want.”

[dollyichi]

LOPPED EAR BUNNY . . . nagi seishiro x f ! reader. m—dni. 2.1k words ⋮ unprotected / pulling out / overstim but pretty vanilla / established relationship / not proofread just hit post!

after getting on all the rides you wanted to go on, you and nagi were walking hand in hand across the game booths. it took a little convincing for this date since it wasn’t necessarily both your thing, but you wanted to try something new.

you scanned the area. lots of families and couples on their dates playing the games and trying to win the prizes.

one booth already caught your eye. nagi always has his eyes on you, so he already knew what you wanted the moment you started to take slower steps and when you’ve gotten quiet.

“which one do you want?” nagi asks, looking at the rows of stuff toys in the carnival booth as he brought you both closer. there were a variety of toys, some are figurines, squishy toys, and plushies. hanged on the wall from smaller ones to the bigger ones.

the booth you were in has a simple ball toss game. you think it was probably rigged, knowing how this carnival was just a small one in your neighborhood. you think that the cups were actually glued together and on the table to prevent anyone from getting the big prize. squirting your eyes to see if there was any visible residue of glue.

too bad they underestimated your boyfriend who’d do anything to make that smile on your face bigger. “i think the bunny’s cute.” you point. he looks at it, then back at you.

“looks like you.” he says, “in a cute dress too.” and he immediately leaves your side to get a try.

“how do i win the bunny up there?” nagi says. they look at him with a smile before he goes closer, already feeling intimidated. you don’t blame them though, his head’s almost hitting the roof of the booth. “h-hi sir! that’s one of our big prizes! if you successfully knock down all three towers, we’ll let you claim it!”

he probably thinks it was rigged too.

“m’kay.” taking out his wallet to pay and the person manning the booth gives him three balls, then stands to the side. you stand back knowing nagi’s too strong without even trying too hard.

you counted in your head while he got ready. nagi’s got a tight grip on each one.

one, two, three!

each of nagi’s throws hit the cups with a bang. the booth manager’s eye twitches from the shock, visibly in a panic as he looks at each cup that has fallen on the concrete floor. you clap eagerly hugging him from the side while he claimed the plushie. it’s even bigger up close, the tips of its soft paws reaching your knees.

“thank you thank you! i love you!” he hands it over to you, leaning down with his cheek close to your face. you beamed, kissing his cheek and hugging the bunny close. “let’s get home.” you say with a sheepish smile, intertwining your hands while your arm carries the toy.

nagi smiles watching you and the bunny while its lopped ears bounced as you skipped beside him.

reaching your shared flat you immediately plop down on the bed, cuddling with the bunny he won for you. “hmph.” he says, closing the door. pushing you both to the side to get more space on the bed. “you like that bunny more than me now?” he says wrapping an arm around your waist. his chin is on your shoulder while draping his leg on yours, mimicking the way you were hugging the plushie.

you giggle, turning to him to plant a soft peck on his nose. “nuh-uh! i’m just really happy you got this for me. looked real hot doing it too.”

“yeah?” nagi says, kissing in the blade of your shoulder. “didn’t even try that hard.” he continues to leave kisses on you. moving further up each time. you flutter your eyes close, snuggling between him and the plushie.

you stay like that for a bit, sandwiched in between and you feel like you could fall asleep. the ac was so cold and the night was about to come. nagi peppering you with kisses and you figured he’s also getting sleepy.

well, you’re wrong.

nagi loves you with his whole heart but finds it hard to communicate. to him actions matter the most to let you understand. and so his mouth lingers, teasingly poking the tips of his tongue and licking you. you giggle at your boyfriend feeling ticklish.

you always end up bringing a lot of emotions to his plate that he can’t seem to handle. his love for you is always overflowing that he can’t control, and you always reciprocated perfectly when he showed you how he felt.

the strap of your dress falls down to the side. giving nagi more access to kiss you, more space to leave his marks. you whimper when you feel his hand tracing circles in your inner thigh. inching upwards and pressing on your clothed clit.

“s-sei…” he’s leaving small bites on you causing you to instinctively arch your back.

you look at him, letting go of the bunny to face him. nagi immediately sighs, tilting his head to the side. you’re so pretty to him. the pretty blush you put on is still there, your lashes fluttering that sent butterflies to his stomach. as if his body hand a mind of his own, focused on your lips, kissing you so suddenly with so much care.

it didn’t take long before it got messy. gasping in his mouth while he’s sucking on your bottom lip. his tongue moving against yours and suddenly you’re so weak you eyes flutter. he’s already bunching up your dress, sitting up slightly and you chased his lips. trying to continue the kiss that had strings of spit when he moves his head to kiss your deeper.

moving your hips so you could feel some type of friction from his thumb resting on your panties.

nagi pulls away so he could take off his shirt, wiping the mess on your lips. you didn’t know what he was thinking, grabbing the bunny and having you hug it. “don’t want this bunny covered in spit right?”

you rest your head on the plushie’s soft chest and wait for him.

nagi felt shivers down his spine at the visual alone. he couldn’t help but grin. you with teary eyes, lips puffy with your crumpled dress to top it off. “damn pretty.” he mumbles, moving your skirt up to remove your panties.

you could feel how sticky it was from how slow he removed it. “h-hahh so wet just from that?” he brings your panties closer to his face, and he’s already towering over you. letting you see the damp part on your cotton panties. you scrunch your nose, eyebrows crossed as you grow impatient. “don’t take too long…” you say, trying to reach for him with one hand.

you think it’s cute that nagi’s riled up. it wasn’t always like this but today was particularly a good day. he wanted to spoil you extra today for how cute you were. recalling how excited you were the other to invite him on this date. chirping about how it’d be a nice thing to try every once in a while.

he takes your wrist and places your hand on the back of his neck. he’s so big he’s towering over both you and the plush.

nagi’s lips are on yours again, pushing up the skirt of your dress. feeling his fingers slide along your folds. you gasp out when he starts palming your clit. swift circular motions as his fingers teased your hole. you’re so wet his fingertips are already itching to get in.

they enter swiftly, stretching you out and you’re pulling him closer. you’re gasping against his tongue—you knew you were close. “d-don’t want.” was what you managed to say. nagi’s fingers stills inside you.

“don’t want what?” his voice is so teasing, it only make you whine. but he already knew what you wanted. unbuttoning his jeans and sliding off along his boxers. cock springing out with his pretty pink tip already leaking with pre.

you bite your lip when he lines his cock along your entrance. dragging it along your cunt. “ready baby?”

he slowly enters, even just the tip was sending you over the edge. “hah… fuck…” nagi’s breathing heavily when he feels you clenching on him. “fucking tight.” he mutters.

“wait wait something’s- something’s-“ you’re pushing him away but you didn’t have the strength. “s-sei- i-i can’t! wait!” you’re a stuttering moaning mess the moment he bottoms out.

you’re so wet you could hear your cunt gushing around his cock. and you’re no longer sure what’s going on. nagi coos at you for a moment before moving. not too fast, not too slow. so consistent with his thrusts he’s fucking you through your orgasm so well.

you’re so sensitive it hurt so bad. everything felt hot. squirming and twitching under him when you’re feeling everything too much from your high.

“you love me that much that you came from me putting it in?” he takes your thighs and places them on his waist. fastening the pace. you’re practically squeezing the plushie, burying your face onto it while he fucked you.

you’re whining out his name and he couldn’t pay too much attention on what you’re trying to say. words always broken and cut off by your own moans, so unintelligible but he already knew how much you’re enjoying it from your pussy tightening on him.

you feel him getting harder inside you, twitching against your walls. that’s all because you’re so cute holding onto his gift just for you. taking his cock like such a good girl and repaying him for his ‘hard work.’

“hug her tightly for me baby.”

the room is filled with the sounds of your thighs hitting against each other and creams from the bed. every whine of yours is followed by his grunts. he’s on his knees, wrapping your legs around his waist. fucking you so good you started to reach for him with one of your hands.

he moves down to plant a kiss on your lips. your hand is on the back of neck, putting your foreheads together.

his eyes are on his cock fucking your pussy. with blurry eyes you look to where he was, seeing how you both connect is sending you over the edge again.

“one more for me, cum on me.” your moans build up—pitch getting higher and higher while you bucked your hips.

always so eager to let him fuck you, moves moving like you’re hopping just like a bunny.

you’re still cumming, calling him each time until you finally felt that sweet release. “bit more…” he says, chasing his own high before pulling out. jerking himself off and letting the strings of his cum fall on your tummy.

you lick your lips before clicking your tongue. one of your hands collecting his seed on your tummy before licking it off your finger tips. looking directly at him when you do.

nagi gulps, squinting his eyes with short heavy breaths. trying not to get hard again but he knew he’s already twitching just from seeing that.

got him already thinking of another round but he knew you were so tired from today. ended up deciding that you both needed a nap first.

you both pant, trying to catch your breaths. nagi plops to your side, the bed creaking slightly from the impact.

he wouldn’t rest just yet, “have to clean you up…” reaching for the tissues on the bed side table to wipe you up. making sure you weren’t sticky anymore.

you finally let go of the plush, setting it to the side and snuggled up to your boyfriend. but he stands up to grab the plushie, taking a double look to make sure it was all clean for you, and then places it on your chair. “sorry but i want you to myself now.” he says while puffing his cheeks. you give him a gummy smile, not having the energy to laugh.

he lays back down to cuddle you. and you’re planting kisses all over his face.

you didn’t even realize that you fell asleep. waking up and you’re still wrapped in his arms. he’s sleeping so soundly with only his boxers on. you chuckle when you hear him snoring softly.

you saw he changed your clothes for you to be more comfy. it made your heart skip a beat, melting further into his warmth.

“i love you seishiro.” you whisper, before drifting back to sleep. not knowing he was half-awake, and heard you. giving you a small kiss and bringing you closer. he chuckles to himself when he looks at your face, nose twitching in your sleep.

“like a bunny.”

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i love him so much i want to fuck him while he’s in a rilakkuma hoodie

[thesecondhandwoman]

TRAINING FOR TWO

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Ambessa notices that you have been struggling to defend yourself and decides to teach you some self-defense moves. What starts as a serious training session quickly devolves into a sweetened moment between you two.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the sprawling city of Piltover, casting a warm, amber glow over the courtyard where you stood. You had always known the city was beautiful, but today, with the sun dipping behind the horizon, it seemed even more so. It was a soft, peaceful evening, the kind of tranquility that made it feel as though time itself had decided to slow down. But beneath this calm exterior, there was a tension within you—a nervous flutter in your chest as you prepared for your first real training session with Ambessa Medarda.

Ambessa was a legend in Piltover, a force of nature in every sense of the word. Her presence alone commanded respect; her battles were whispered about in hushed tones, filled with both awe and fear. You, yourself, had always been captivated by her—her strength, her poise, the way she moved through the world like a blade cutting through air. But it wasn’t just that. It was also her complexity, the way she could be cold and calculating one moment, and then fiercely protective the next. She had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room, even when she was surrounded by others who may have seemed to deem that tile more, all the way from her soldiers to the council.

And now, she was standing just a few feet away, her eyes focused entirely on you, waiting for you to get into position.

“Ready?” Ambessa’s voice was as calm as always, but there was an underlying sharpness to it that told you she was watching you carefully, studying your every move.

You straightened your back, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nerves that rushed over you. “I think so.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her eyes swept over you, her gaze assessing in that way she had, making you feel like an open book in her hands. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. She had an uncanny ability to make you feel seen without feeling completely exposed either.

“Good. Let’s start with the basics then,” she said, stepping forward.

As always, her movements were fluid, almost hypnotic in their precision with each and every step of her feet, every swing of the arm. It was to the extent where you could feel the air shift around her as she moved, as though the world itself bent to her will, which made it both inspiring and a little intimidating.

Ambessa placed her hand on your shoulder, her touch steady and warm, grounding you. “Stand tall,” she instructed, her voice low but steady. “You’re not just moving through the motions. You’re making the world around you move with you too.”

You nodded in response to her guidance, shifting your weight and trying to steady your breath. This wasn’t just about learning how to fight. It was about finding your own strength, a strength that, up until now, you hadn’t been sure you had. Ambessa was showing you how to pull that strength out of yourself, how to turn your body into a weapon without ever losing sight of who you were. Something that you have noted she may have learned from her own regretful experience, but you tried to wash that away as Ambessa began to move again, snapping you out of the growing depth of your thoughts.

Instead, you followed her lead, moving into position, trying to mimic the graceful yet powerful stance she demonstrated. The sound of your feet shifting against the cobblestones was sharp in the quiet of the courtyard, but Ambessa’s gaze never wavered.

“Good,” she said, her tone warm with approval. “Your stance is solid. But—” Her eyes flicked to your feet, then back to your face. “You’re too tense. Relax your shoulders. Feel the ground beneath you, and let the movement flow through you.”

You tried to take a deeper breath, relaxing as best as you could, but the tension in your body seemed determined to stay attached, like a child clinging to their mother’s leg in a taunting manner.

Ambessa noticed it immediately, of course, and stepped forward, positioning herself behind you with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. She placed her hands on your shoulders, her touch firm but gentle, guiding you with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “Don’t fight it,” she murmured. “Trust yourself. Trust me.”

Her words were quiet but carried weight, like a promise wrapped in steel. There was no mockery in her voice, no impatience—just pure belief in you. The warmth of her hands on your shoulders grounded you in a way nothing else could. You let your muscles relax under her touch, the tension melting away bit by bit until it barely remained, finally releasing you from its agnozing grip.

“That’s better,” she said, a hint of approval lacing her voice. “Now, remember, the goal is not to overpower your opponent. It’s to redirect their force. Use their own energy against them.”

You nodded, the weight of her words sinking in as you absorbed the lesson. Ambessa was not just teaching you how to defend yourself; she was teaching you how to read the world around you, how to flow with it instead of resisting it, especially when you encountered dangerous circumstannces.

“Let’s put it into practice,” she said, stepping back to give you space. “I want to see how well you can hold your ground.”

Your heart began to beat faster. You knew what this meant. The training was about to get real. Ambessa’s eyes darkened with focus, her stance shifting to a more offensive one. There was no fear in her expression—just the quiet confidence of someone who had already won the battle before it had even begun.

You braced yourself, watching her every movement, trying to predict what she would do next. She came at you quickly, her body moving like liquid, and before you could even react, she had swept your legs out from under you, sending you sprawling to the ground.

The impact was sharp, the rough stone scraping against your palms as you caught yourself, but before you could get your bearings, Ambessa was there, her hands on your arms, steadying you.

“Up,” she said softly, pulling you to your feet with a strength that belied the gentleness of her touch. “You’ll fall a thousand times before you get it right. And I’ll be there to catch you every time.”

You blinked, stunned by her words. You had expected some reprimand, some sharp criticism for not reacting faster, but all you got was understanding. It made all of the other training by Ambessa seem confusing, since you had seen her train other people, as strict as ever, but she wasnt with you.

“You don’t need to be perfect,” Ambessa continued, her voice soft but firm. “You just need to keep trying. And when you fall, I’ll be here.”

You couldn’t help but softly smile at that. There was something comforting about her presence, something that made you feel safe even in the chaos of training. It wasn’t about the perfection of your movements—it was about your willingness to stand back up, no matter how many times you fell. And you intended to keep doing it, even if you had the slight expectation of falling more than you patience may want.

Ambessa stepped back, watching you closely, her gaze never leaving your face. “Again,” she said simply, her tone laced with quiet determination and order.

You took a deep breath, wiping your palms on your pants, and braced yourself once more. This time, when she came at you, you were ready. You didn’t wait to be knocked down—you moved with her, shifting your weight and redirecting her force. The movement wasn’t perfect, but it was better than before by a lot.

Ambessa’s eyes sparkled with approval, and a soft smile curled on her lips. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s exactly what we are wanting.”

You couldn’t help the rush of pride that surged through you. You were learning, growing—and it felt good. It felt right.

For a few moments, the two of you continued the sparring, each move more fluid than the last, the rhythm between you like a dance. But as the training went on, something shifted. There was less focus on technique and more on the quiet space between you—on the unspoken connection that had always been there but had never felt so palpable.

Then, in a particularly quick movement, your foot slipped on the stone, and before you could regain your balance, you found yourself tumbling forward. You barely had time to react before Ambessa’s strong arms wrapped around you, catching you effortlessly.

“Careful,” she murmured, her voice a mix of playful teasing and genuine concern.

You blushed at the feeling of her solid, trained muscles, caught in her arms like a clumsy mess, but her hold on you was steady, unwavering. She lifted you gently, a soft laugh escaping her lips as you tried to regain your composure yet looked so flustered.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

It was a simple gesture, but it sent a warmth spreading through you, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. There was no training, no struggle—just the two of you, in the quiet of the evening, her arms holding you close.

“Mm, do you intend to always catch me? Even when it gets annoying?” you asked quietly, your voice barely being above a whisper.

Ambessa’s gaze softened, her hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as she looked at you with that fierce tenderness that only she could have. “Always,” she said, her voice steady and filled with a promise that you could feel sink deep into your bones. “Even if it seems like you’re the one teaching me how to fall.”

You chuckled a little at her tease, smiling up at her again. You seemed a lot more relaxed, nearly forgetting about the main purpose–fixing up your training–as you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her into you, chest to chest.

Ambessa couldn’t help but smile at the gentle yet intimate act, allowing you to pull her in just enough that she could capture your lips with her own. Her hand met your cheek again as your lips moved with one another, her tongue slipping into your mouth a little to show just how passionately in love she was with you in this moment.

However, she forced herself to slowly break it, eyes fluttering open again to meet yours. She softly smiled and rested her forehead against your own, kissing your nose as the pad of her calloused thumb grazed your cheek in gentle strokes.

“Now let’s get back to training, love.” She whispered.

[innerfare]

A Lucky Injury - Law

Summary: Your Captain, whom you've been crushing on since you joined the Heart Pirates, was injured in a fight, and his wound is in a place he just can't reach, forcing him to ask you for help bandaging it. Features pining (reader is down bad).

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // Slight Mention of Blood and Injury (no real gory details though)

Word Count: 643

———

It was a lucky injury. You were a bad person for thinking it, a horrible person for gleaning any amount of pleasure from your Captain’s pain, but it was a lucky injury. Somewhere between mild and moderate on the scale, closer to moderate though Law claimed it was mild, the gash on his shoulder blade was just out of reach. For him, at least. The gash was well within your reach. It was also serious enough to warrant medical attention, but not so serious that you had to worry about his future health. 

It was a lucky injury. 

“Take off your shirt,” you ordered him, doing your utmost to act normal as he sighed and went to pull his hoodie off. To your sick pleasure, he flinched a little when he did, allowing you to step in and pull it the rest of the way off. You caught the lingering scent of his soap and that special laundry detergent he used for his sensitive skin mixed with his sweat, and you had to stop yourself from pulling the garment to your face and inhaling like some sort of lunatic. 

“Y/n-ah, I can do it myself.” His voice sounded lower than usual, similar to when he was tired or battling a cold he insisted he didn’t have. It was gravelly, like it might give out at any moment. 

“Just like you could fight those guys yourself?” You set the hoodie beside him on the exam table and assessed his wound, drying some of the blood from his tanned skin. You took extra care not to look at his bare chest, knowing full well those heart tattoos and lithe muscles would make it too difficult to concentrate on your work. 

“I did fight them myself,” he said. “And I beat them myself, too, so don’t-” He hissed as you dabbed his wound with antiseptic. 

“Yeah, you’re a real tough guy.” 

“I’m a Warlord,” he reminded you. 

“And the most terrifying one, to boot.” You continued cleaning his wound, a little bit too aware of the way his jaw clenched as you worked. Oh, and the sinewy line of his shoulder. You knew your captain was a nerd, but he certainly didn’t have the body of a guy who spent much of his time hunched over a desk. 

It was a lucky injury. 

“Why are you taking so long?” He asked. “It’s clean by now, just bandage me up.” 

“Doctors make the worst patients,” you tutted, giving his wound one more pass with the antiseptic. It was for his own good, not because you wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to touch him. 

“If you’re dragging this out to punish me for going in by myself-” 

“I would never prolong your suffering,” you interrupted, reaching for a bandage. “That would be unethical.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “a pirate would never do something unethical.” 

“Is the Warlord going to lecture me now on ethics?” 

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat, and you realized there was a slight pink flush to his cheeks, though you had no idea why. You could only imagine he was embarrassed to be caught in a position where he needed help. 

You considered messing up the bandage so you had to redo it, now not even so enamored by his naked upper half as you were enjoying the way he squirmed, for once not in a position of power, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Of course, you regretted it as soon as he grabbed his dirty hoodie and tugged it back on. 

“I’ll need to change that in a few hours,” you told him as he stood up. “Come find me after dinner.” 

“Thanks,” was all he said before slipping out, leaving you with the fresh memory of his shirtless form and warm skin. 

It was a lucky injury. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[corpsedogs]

✿ warmest of colds (req)

jason todd x f!reader

( ♡ jason lets you bother him since you can’t sleep )

You and Jason had just gotten into bed, the covers were pulled over your chest and the lights were out, the only light visible was the city lights outside and the dim moonlight.

You weren’t sleepy yet for some apparent reason, your sleep schedule kind of got mixed when Jason started coming over more and more. Not that you didn’t mind waking up late, but you tend to get bored when you can’t sleep.

You shifted to face his side, your bed was placed beside the wall and you’ve always wondered why he always stays on that part of the bed. You’ve once tried and claim that spot but he’d always find a way to lay down on his spot.

“You’re always next to the wall whenever you sleep.” you said, you can kind of see his eyes open as they darted towards you. “Yep.” he replied before closing his eyes again.

You placed your hands beneath your cheek, pillowing it to get comfortable. “But, the wall is cold.” Jason crosses his arms, “Well, if I stay on the other side you’re just going to kick and squish me.” you pouted, letting out a scoff.

“I’d never.” You replied as you pretended to be hurt by his words. Jason can’t help but ponder, why does it matter to you what side of the bed he takes?

He then faced towards you, raising his brow “Really now?” he says, “You have more benefits anyway, the other side makes it easier to get out of bed.” well, that was true.

You gave up bothering him as you stared back at the ceiling. Your eyes trailed at the light bulb as you stared at it for a bit, what a nice shade of grey… yeah, this won’t help you sleep at all. You tossed and turned while Jason didn’t seem to budge at all.

You then had an idea and faced him again, “Can I hold your face?” he did not oblige and moved towards you, you then cupped both of his cheeks as he furrows his brows, “Your hands are freezing, how the hell are you this cold?” you only smiled in the dark light, “Maybe I’m a snowman.”

You could feel him scoff at your corny remark, “Give me your hands.” he said. He took your hands between his and began rubbing it. “How are your hands warm?” you asked but Jason only shrugged, “No idea.”

His heat melted in your skin as you relaxed at his touch, you’ve always been aware that his hands were always warm, even at winter. You stayed silent as you watched him do his magic, “Well?” he calls out, snapping you out on your blank stare “I like it, it feels real nice.”

“Then move closer.” Jason wrapped his arm around your body and pulled you close. He noticed the blankets were on the edge of your hips and pulled them back. You sighed as buried your face in his shoulder blade, “You stopped paying attention to my hands.”

“You’ve warmed up, plus I only have two hands.” He said, patting your back. “And I need one to hold you.” You complained again, “But it’s not the same. I want something warm.”

Jason sighs, “Here.” he took your hands and slid them under his shirt, placing your cold hands on his waist. “Ohh, this is better.” you said.

He hummed at you as he continued to hug you, rubbing his warm hands on your back as he felt you relax in his embrace. He planted a kiss on your forehead, “Tired?” he asked. You only hummed, “No, actually.”

Jason yawned, “Are you sure? It’s still late for you, isn’t it?” He buried his face on your neck, his lips grazing your skin gently.

You shook your head, “You messed up my sleep schedule a bit.” you said as you started to yawn as well. “You say so but now your eyes are drooping down, you’re gonna fall asleep any second now.” as he said that your eyes suddenly opened, “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Mm, sure.” he says as he planted a kiss on your chin “Go to sleep.”

Finally giving in, you then closed your eyes and went off to dream land.

🍓 i love making this one, i swear ill write longer fics soon. please reblog or comment it helps a lot.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

cradle to the casket

summary: after younger!maybank!reader saves JJ from Groff, memories flood his mind and he starts to regret everything he said and did before.

Warnings: character death!! Mentions and descriptions of blood… this is all angst

MASTERLIST

He stood frozen in place, his gaze locked onto your lifeless form. Your eyes, once full of life, now remained shut, while your body lay motionless against the cold, hard ground. An overwhelming wave of emotions washed over him, rendering him paralyzed. He stared with wide eyes. That’s all he did. That’s all he could do.

He kept replaying it in his head, the way that his father, his real father, gripped the knife in his hands and the way you ran behind JJ faster than Geoff could even realize what had happened. The blade sunk into your back, you letting out a loud cry that would forever be etched into his memory as you fell towards, clutching your hand to your chest to see crimson oozing out of the wound.

He remembered the argument on the boat, the biggest regret he held as he stared at your body.

He could feel the disappointment practically radiating off of you through your stares, causing him to roll his eyes at you and stumble while moving to get up off the crate he sat on. He held the ship, you moving to help him, grabbing his shoulders.

He shoved you off of him, annoyance written on his face.

“JJ, I don’t-“ you sighed heavily, taking in a breath. “I don’t understand. What’d I do?” You asked with tears brimming your eyes, him huffing at your words.

“Y/n.” He spoke firmly, tearing his gaze away from you.

“Why- why are you doing this? You’ve been avoiding me since the lighthouse! I’m worried about you!” You exclaimed, motioning to the bottle he held in his hands.

“I don’t know why you even care, it’s not like you’re my fucking sister!” He shouted in your face, your eyes widening and your stance faltering. He was heaving, breathing heavily, reeking of alcohol.

You stared at him, the tears now flooding down your face. It was silent between the two of you for a moment before you let out a whisper, avoiding his gaze. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.” He snapped.

“No it’s not. You- you’re still my brother-“

“No, I’m not!” He seethed. “And you need to accept that.”

He remembered the way he looked at Groff with nothing but bitter hatred and a hint of sorrow swirling in his irises. He watched as he ran, and before JJ could run after him, Kie grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back and motioned to you, still holding onto whatever little life you had left.

No, no, no. I need to wake up, this is a terrible dream. He kept repeating to himself in his head when he moved your hand from your chest, placing his own over the wound. You choked out a deafening sob, and he cried with you.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He told you, but he couldn’t stopped the tears from pouring down his cheeks, he moved to grab you but you shook your head rapidly.

“J-“ you spluttered out, “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is. I’m gonna get you out of here, and- and we’re gonna go home, alright?” He told you, you nodding, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the image.

“Okay.” You nodded, he swallowed the lump that formed when he looked down at you, his hands pressing desperately against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He began to pull out a piece of fabric, tearing it to wrap it across your body. He went to go pick you up, you letting out a pained cry when he moved you.

He paused for a moment, debating on what to do in his head. He looked to Kiara, who looked down at you with tears in her eyes.

“J-JJ.” You murmured quietly, him looking down at you, leaning you up against a pole on the ground, you sitting up now. He pressed his hands desperately at your wound still, trying to get you to hold on for as long as possible.

“Yeah, kid?” He replied, using one of his hands to wipe a stray tear from his face as an attempt to look brave for you.

“Did you mean what you said on the boat?” You asked him, your voice a whisper.

His heart sunk, tears welling in his eyes again as he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean it. Of course I fucking didn’t.”

“Good. Because that means you’re still the world’s worst brother.” You let out a breathy laugh, him laughing quietly as well when he recalled the memory of you handing him a little trophy with the words inscribed on the bottom.

“I guess I am, huh?” He mumbled.

“I don’t get it. Why’d you- why’d you do that? I’m your brother. I’m-“ he pointed to himself, “I’m s’posed to protect you.” His voice cracked at the end, his emotion slipping through the words.

You coughed, taking all your energy to shrug. “B-because I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replied quietly, seeing your lips form one last smile, and your eyes squint at him. He leaned in, cradling your head as he gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

“I love you,” he repeated, his sentence broken up by a quiet sob.

That was the last thing you felt, rather than the agonizing pain. And that was all you had ever needed, your body going limp in JJ’s hands, him letting out a loud sob, cradling your body in his hands, rocking you back and forth as he whispered your name.

“That’s… my sister?” A younger JJ asked, looking up at Luke with wide eyes, who nodded.

“You wanna hold her?”

He nodded quickly, sitting next to his dad, waiting eagerly as Luke picked her up from her seat, and held her in front of JJ.

“You gotta be gentle, a’ight?” He told his son, before placing her in his arms, him looking down at her with a smile on his face, a newfound love in his eyes as he held her, and gently rocked her in his arms.

tag list:

@sturniyolo69 @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: getting to have them be not in constant danger or emotional turmoil for one chapter? crazy. how do these goobers even flirt <3 as always, thank u for your patience and please let me know what you think!

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: Finally accepting Cassian's invitation to breakfast, Rhys offers you a proposal. You take flight for the first time since that fateful night in Exordor.

CHAPTER TWELVE :: SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)

As dawn breaks the next morning, rain pours.

Weather has never been a deterrent for Illyrian warriors. Cassian, Azriel, and yourself rise and head to train all the while, welcoming the extra challenge. Blades and boots swing, slicing through a thousand raindrops, sending graceful arcs of water in their wake.

From a distance, the movements so controlled, you think you might almost get mistaken as Summer soldiers, so adept in the water.

Though, as training draws to a close and you all pack inside, wings shivering from the icy sheets of rain, you steal a long glance at the two towering figures.

Their wings, like your own, make a terrifying silhouette and your matching armour glitters in blackness and rain.

With a glimmer of pride, you rapidly reconsider—there's no mistaking you for anything but what you are: soldiers of the Night.

“Breakfast?” Cassian offers, as he’s done after every one of your training sessions. He's the first to break the tired silence post-training, pulling the bulkier, unneeded armour off his chest.

It appears, despite your constant declinations, Cassian is not one to be discouraged. He still asks and he never seems put out with your answer.

That fact stirs something in you, a warm glow — his easy attempts to always include you mean more to you than he'll likely ever truly know.

You glance at Azriel beside you, silent. He’s scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel, same as yourself, and when you meet his eyes, he tilts his head an inch. If you want to, I will too.

Between training and wandering the halls occasionally, you still haven’t actually spent much time outside your room.

It's a built-in habit you've yet to shake. Fruitless exploring was an expenditure you couldn't afford to waste energy on back in the mountains.

You steal another glance at Azriel.

Friends. That's what you are now. Friends go to breakfast with one another... at least, you think they do.

Besides, eyes darting to Cassian, you have two of them now. Maybe it’s time to start breaking out of your old routine and start forging a new one.

“Alright.” you say, trying to swallow the timidness in your voice.

“Really?” Cassian goads, brows raised high, even as his eyes gleam happily at the accepted invite. A wicked grin takes over his face.

“I’ve been trying to get you to come for weeks and now Az’s here, suddenly you’re in.”

Something in you flusters at his teasing, even if you know his words has no real heat.

You’re saved from having to sputter through an answer when Cassian, forgoing using a towel, shakes his wet hair out much like a dog would.

Cold rains splatters out and you hiss, flicking a drop off the edge of your wing with distaste.

Brows raised, you say, “I’ve wonder why.”

Cassian’s shit-eating grin is his only reply.

You cut a glance to Azriel to find he’s already looking your way, a weary but amused look in his eyes, his shadows lingering around his shoulders, languid and relaxed. He’s had far more years of Cassian's nonsense than you.

Breakfast, you find, is a lot of the food Azriel had brought with him to Exordor.

Ripe, fat berries, fruits of a multitude of colours, and still warm bread fill the ochre tabletop. Jugs and flagons of different juices and the like group in the middle. You're spoiled for choice.

Back home, it would be a feast. Once upon a time, you’d have probably sneered at the display, as you had once at Azriel.

Now, you think of Rhys' words.

You think about earning and deserving.

This change is one of the harder things for you to face… but you know it’s for the best.

The table is set for three. As you sit, you ponder if Cassian’s been setting a place for you each time, never knowing if you’d say yes—and wonder more if he found it aggravating, your constant closedoffness.

A glance at him only reveals his still friendly smile. There’s not a hint of annoyance.

Right. You’re friends.

Cassian takes the seat to your left, Azriel on your right, leaving you in the middle between them. Rhys had explained the uses and limits of the magic of the House to you already and as such, you had become familiar with it fetching meals to your room.

It’s been a plain affair. You’re used to at best, tasteless, and at worst, stomach-churning food. As long as it’s nutritional, it’s on the menu.

How are you supposed to know what else there is? Even the foods Azriel had brought with him weren’t as decadent as these before you.

You find yourself waiting, watching the plates on either side of you to see what they’ll choose. The rain continues outside, a gentle din on the sides of the House.

Cassian’s plate fills first.

You watch, wide-eyed, as several hot, flat brown discs flop onto his plate, still steaming. A drizzle of something thick and sweet follows, a soft caramel colour dolloping in the middle.

It smells heavenly.

“Have you ever had pancakes?” Azriel’s quiet voice from the other side of you speaks up.

You blink, tearing your eyes off Cassian’s breakfast to Azriel and gingerly shake your head.

Pancakes. You steal another glance at the plate and find the name to be aptly fitted.

Azriel’s plate has filled itself too but with something different. There’s some kind of grain, a pottle of something pink, with cubes of different fruit littered over the top.

“Would you like to try some?”

Your eyes dart up from Azriel’s plate to his face, realising he’s still nodding to the pancakes.

You’ll admit the pancakes look far better than whatever you’ve been asking of the House. While the bread supplied was fresher than anything you’d had before, you’d hardly had the imagination to conjure up something like pancakes.

Whatever your face looks like, Azriel can seem to read the answer in it.

“Cass,” He says, jutting his chin to his friend’s plate. “Give them a pancake, will you?”

Cassian, mouth currently full, turns to Azriel with a furrow between his brow. “But—” He starts, then stops. The furrow on his face softens as he glances down at you and, without swallowing, he says exaggeratedly, “Fine. Guess we can share.”

Then he spears two pancakes on his fork and slops them onto your waiting plate.

“You like syrup?” Cassian asks.

The question means nothing to you. From behind you, Azriel shakes his head no, answering for you. From what he recalls of your meal times together, you had screwed your nose up at the too-sweet fruits, too unused to it.

“Butter?” Cassian tries again.

“I suppose.” You answer, confused as to why he’s asking.

Cassian glances up and then a small bowl of softened butter materialises before you. He picks it up and tips it onto your two pancakes with a smile. Then he resumes his eating without another word.

Still hesitant, you shoot one more glance in Azriel’s direction.

You’ve been given food before, by Azriel himself, but not quite like this. Not sharing what’s already on someone’s plate. Some smaller, younger part of you almost wants to sniffle at the abject kindness.

Azriel’s already begun eating but the motion of your head draws his eyes. The small upturn of his lips is encouragement enough. Swallowing back the thickness in your throat, you dig in.

Pancakes… are pretty life-changing.

Azriel is right, you’re not such a fan of the sickly sweet brown fluid that coats the cakes, sweet enough to make your teeth ache. But the butter, melted and velvety with the fluffy pancake— gods.

You take one bite and then quickly stuff in two or three more, just in case Cassian suddenly decides he wants them back. Cassian guffaws at your rapid motions and follows suit, stuffing his mouth full.

He glances at you, catching your eye, both of you chewing through the delicious breakfast. Cassian raises his eyebrows with a pleased, smug smile as if to say I know, right?

You smile at him, without even thinking about it, shovelling the next bite in.

It melts on your tongue. Mother, you're kicking yourself a bit as you chew the mouthful slower this time, turning over every flavour. Turning down Cassian’s invite each morning has been turning down this.

You’re a moron. There’s no doubt you’ll be asking the House for this every morning—and night even, if you’re allowed.

It occurs to you then, as you’re on your fifth bite or so, that you could’ve easily summoned your own stack on pancakes. Or either male could’ve done it for you.

But no, instead Cassian had shared from his plate.

The pancakes suddenly taste sweeter than ever.

"Ah, y/n," Rhys' satiny voice tugs your attention up, to the Male himself, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Glad to find you here."

An age-old instinct of obeying commanding warriors sends your spine straightening, your chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.

Cassian snickers good-naturedly and you spot a shadow of Azriel's disappear into his ear—resulting a loud shriek from the warrior.

"You said you wouldn't do that anymore, you bastard!" He all but hisses, leaning forward on the table to glare past you.

Azriel gives a nonchalant shrug, his hazel eyes dancing to you playfully for a quick moment. Rhys and you both watch with varied levels of amusement and boredom.

"Yes, yes, that's enough now children." Rhys comments, a sly smile teasing at his mouth as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve.

Cassian, in his centuries old-age, sticks his tongue out in response—then pushes back on his chair so it’s balancing on its back legs, teetering.

Rhys regards him with one bored stare before his attention turns to you, his smile fading, expression turning more serious.

"I have a proposition for you."

Your mouth dries, nerves skittering under your skin. You swallow your mouthful. "A proposition? Like... bad?"

Rhys smiles, feeling your nervousness through your thinning mental wall. He gives it a soft tap to remind you and you inhale sharply, fortifying it instantly.

"Not at all." He assures you calmly. "It's to do with... Let's call it overdue earnings."

Instinctively, your gaze seeks out Azriel to your right.

Shadows swirling his shoulders, you're surprised yet again by how easily you seem to read him with just one quick glimpse of each other. How you can suddenly feel the tangible encouragement forming within you, just behind your ribs.

He smiles, like he knows more than he says, and casts his gaze back to his breakfast.

You glance at Cassian too, maybe your closest friend now, and he simply shrugs, none the wiser.

"What is it?"

Rhys wanders further forward, leaning to rest his forearms atop one of the empty chairs at the table. His violet gaze takes in two of his Inner Circle and decides if you don't mind them hearing, he doesn't either.

Besides, it's not as if it wasn't Azriel's own idea.

"As you know, due to the backward ways in many of Illyrian warcamps, females are not seen as warriors. While many allow them to train, Exordor..."

Rhys jaw clenches tightly over the name. "It had stricter rules that I could not interfere with. Please know, that is not without immense regret."

A glimmer of night ripples across the room as Rhys hard gaze burns into the table, lost in a haze of an angry memory.

Azriel clears his throat and then the night retracts rapidly, gone without a trace after a second. Rhys lifts his head, giving it a slight shake.

"My apologies. This proposition is not about that — this is about The Blood Rite."

Your brows jump, the words out his mouth the very last ones you were expecting to hear. The Blood Rite? The cutlery in your hands suddenly seems heavier. Your wings sink an inch.

As if the mention of it made them darker, the tattoos on the tan skin of each warrior around you seem to glow more prominently.

You swallow to try clear your dry mouth.

“What about it?” You croak.

“Given your circumstances, it’s understandable why partaking in it was not an option.” Rhys begins.

You expect his tone to take on a sympathetic lilt but it does no such thing.

“Given the level of skill that both Azriel and Cassian have seen from you,” He waves a casual hand between the two warriors. “I don’t believe it’s a question of if you’d survive.”

The knowledge that they’ve been discussing you, your skill, between them without you there—normally such a thing would make you prickly.

But with what Rhys says… knowing they’re vouching for you instead, the prickly feeling washes away to an embarrassed gratitude. They’re on your side, you have to remember.

“The proposition I have for you is to receive The Blood Rite ceremonial tattoos.”

The grip on your fork loosens, the utensil sliding an inch before you catch it again, but not before it hits the edge of the table with a loud bang. You jump at the noise, wings tucking closer on instinct.

“I—” Words die in your mouth, your eyes screwing shut a moment. When you speak, it’s with a bitter resignation. “I have not completed The Blood Rite. It’s— that- I would hardly be earning it.”

Azriel makes a quiet noise of disagreement beside you, eyes still on his plate, but says nothing more.

Rhys doesn’t look surprised at your rebuttal, merely rolling back his shoulders casually.

“Perhaps, that’s one way to view it. Perhaps there are others. Regardless, your Highlord is offering it, if it’s something you decide you want.”

Cassian scoffs a laugh at his casually thrown out title and you tense, not expecting such outright disrespect.

Rhys, however, simply rolls his eyes and with a flick of his hand sends Cassian’s still teetering chair backward.

Cassian barely saves himself, jolting forward to grip the edge of the table and delivering his brother a scathing glare. Rhys grins back, feline and taunting.

“Still sure you want to be friends with them?”

Azriel’s voice is just above a whisper, words soft and curling into your ear. You turn and find, with a jolt in your chest, that he’s much closer than you’re expecting, leaning over to be closer to you.

Mother.

It’s not as if you forget how beautiful Azriel is but this close, it's impossible to ignore.

His eyelashes are dark and long, his hazel eyes, soft and honey-like. The cupids bow of his lips looks plush. You can trace a scar that carries from his chin up his cheek.

You realise you’re staring after a long moment of silence — eyes darting away, you clear your throat.

“They’re better company than some, believe me.” You say, thinking back to Exordor with a glance back at Azriel.

He’s sat back in his seat and he gives a barely noticeable roll of his eyes. “Yeah, well, that competition is hardly fierce.”

A laugh titters out of you at that — and Azriel’s shadows spring up, as if in response.

Clearing his throat, Rhys calls your attention back to the conversation at hand (now that Cassian was done attempting to pelt him with bits of pancake, which he was subsequently misting, resulting in a fantastic aroma through the kitchen).

“It’s an offer.” Rhys reiterates kindly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to but… I implore you to think it over.”

He tilts his head toward the windows in the mountain side.

“Spend the day down in Velaris and consider it. And try to consider what we talked about too, about the things we feel we deserve.”

Straightening up, he taps the chair with his knuckles, preparing to leave you be.

“Whatever you choose, I hope you know that there is no wrong answer. Tattoos or not, amongst friends you are already considered a true warrior.”

And despite how the two males on either side of you nod, solemn and truthful, it didn’t purge the feeling that welled inside you—familiar and reminiscent of keeping a secret.

You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling like a fraud.

—

Even with back to back training, only mere hours of slumber between each session, the gleam good sleep has given you is impossible to miss.

By now, Azriel has seen dozens of early mornings with you.

Back in Exordor, you had looked different in more than one way. Beyond the grime of the mountains and your justified, cold defensiveness, it was your eyes that betrayed you. Eyes that carried a tiredness that never left.

Azriel knew the feeling well.

In the Illyrian mountains, sleep is not rest.

Sleep is a sliver of refuge, letting your aching body recharge just enough to lurch back awake after a couple restless hours. Fuel to keep you going and nothing more.

But this morning, stopping at the threshold out to the balcony, you had peered up at the rain bucketing down and frowned.

Then with a silent huff, you had rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned into your hand.

Azriel, watching silently from across the courtyard, felt his shadows spin up in a tizzy at the sight — and he nearly blushed scarlet as they directly disobeyed his instructions to rein themselves in, a few shooting across the courtyard to greet you.

It was the first morning he’d seen you not tired, but sleepy. Azriel couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t adorable either.

He could only hide his smile and warm cheeks with a duck of his head, praying his shadows behaved himself.

But there was no disguising the tug on the mating bond, immeasurably proud and pleased for you.

Whether you noticed it or not, he didn’t know. You’d stepped down, onto the balcony and into rain, and promptly stalked towards the weapons rack, wings held high.

It had been one of the first things Azriel had admired about you—your drive, steely and unflinching.

Even now, thrown into a new place with unfamiliar faces, tossed into a whole new life, your determination doesn’t falter.

Fighting, training, honing yourself into a living weapon—seamlessly using blades as if they’re an extension of your very self—you commit yourself to training fiercely.

But… Azriel can tell that without direction, your ambition is beginning to make you listless.

You’re getting better—that there is no doubt about. Even the slight deafness in your left ear you’ve mastered well enough that if Azriel wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve missed it.

But in Exordor, there had been a goal.

Something to measure up to, to pour your determination towards — and without it in Velaris, Azriel worries about you.

There’s unfinished business waiting for you in Exordor. Your valiant mission is not yet abandoned and if you ever deigned to ask, Azriel knows he would take you there, without hesitation.

However, things have shifted whether you seem to realise it or not.

You’re no longer the only one in your corner. You haven’t been for some months.

True, there had been the matter of your… concealed identity wedged between you and Azriel and it had been reason enough to keep your plans small. You’d explained to him once before, the aid of being unnoticeable.

You’re not anymore. And with the terror of the events in Exordor still fresh enough in his mind, it’s impossible not to fear what might happen when you eventually return.

You aren’t used to living, just for yourself. Of that being enough of a reason to live, to thrive. Azriel fears your ambition will drive you to your death, no matter how honourable.

You would fight until you physically can’t anymore against the injustices of your home.

A threatening pain splices through his chest at the very thought — of just getting you back, gaining your forgiveness, getting the smallest glimpses of your happiness— just to have it ripped away from him again.

His mate, his heart warbles terribly.

His head settled resolutely, he trails behind you to the breakfast table, mission solidified. He needs to show you that your home isn’t among the mountains anymore.

Exordor may have been your birthplace but Velaris, here — with him, something quiet whispered —was where you belonged.

He just needed to show you.

—

“Have you flown since leaving Exordor?”

At the edge of a thousand steps, it’s certainly a warranted question.

The intensity of the early morning rain has waned with the day but it still falls softly. It adds a chill to the breeze — but it’s nothing comparable to the Mother’s Kiss.

You're all taking Rhys' plan and heading down into Velaris for the day. The staircase presents itself as one option but, given the knowledge of wards, there's a clearly more favourable one. Flying.

Azriel’s eyes drift up to the tips of your wings. The sight of the puckered, scarred spaces that once held stakes is enough to inspire a jolt of fierce anger. He swallows a shudder, well aware of the sensitivity of such wings.

Noticing his stare, you shift on your feet and tuck your wings in tighter. His gaze, while unjudging, is enough to make you fidget beneath the attention.

Azriel snaps his eyes back to your face.

“I haven’t. Madja told me I could, uh,” You answer with a wave of your hand, your gaze averted to the long, winding staircase ahead. “About a couple weeks ago but…”

Shrugging, you force yourself to meet Azriel’s gaze. “Well, where would I even go?”

Azriel’s heart wilts in his chest at your words. Nothing without purpose—it's the only way you know how to live.

You’ve had no prying and relentless brothers to push you into doing things as he had. No friends to remind you to live, as well as just survive.

No flying just for the fun of it. You’ve been starved of one of Azriel’s favourite things in the world.

Even him, your first friend, had only encouraged further training. A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw. A misgiving he’ll make sure to rectify.

Casting his mind back to a memory from some months ago, he recalls the fervent urge he felt upon returning to Velaris — the want to show you his home from the skies.

Focusing his mind back on the present, Azriel smiles down at you, his dark curls collecting drops of waters.

“Anywhere you like.”

Cassian takes his cue, launching himself up into the sky with ease.

Azriel watches him for a moment and then prepares to follow suit, bracing his thighs and shaking out his wings.

A glance at your face reveals the hint of hesitation.

He searches within him, gripping the bond tightly, to feel for your worry. In response, your anxieties skitter along to him, revealing your heartbreaking reservations and giving them to him — unknowingly soothing you in the process.

Still, Azriel pauses and then, heart in his throat, he lays a scarred hand on your shoulder in assurance. Prays you won’t shift away from him or his touch.

You don’t. In fact, a newer expression shutters across your face, eyelashes fluttering but you hold his stare.

“You won’t fall.”

You don’t question how he can name your fear so easily.

Instead, in a brave face of vulnerability, you ask, voice smaller than you intend, “How can you be sure?”

Azriel grips the bond tighter, letting his assurances pool in the form of unwavering confidence in you. He hopes you feel it — feel it, and believe it too.

“Because you’ve never fallen before. And because,” Azriel sighs softly, an ache creeping up his throat. His voice is low, his hazel eyes earnest. "You might've changed since Exordor but they don't get this. They don't get to take it from you. It's yours."

His hands slips from your shoulder and the bond tightens in his chest, as if urging him back. Azriel ignores it and turns back to face the rainy skies ahead.

Then his boots bear down against the stone as he takes flight, cutting through the drizzle of rain to climb up into the sky. The final step, he knows, has to be taken by you alone.

It doesn’t stop the uncertain waver in Azriel’s chest at leaving you one step behind.

But his faith in you is steadfast.

And a moment later, he’s proven right to do so as an unimaginable pulse of joy shoots down the bond, molten hot.

It’s raw, unfiltered relief.

It mingles with a joy so potent that Azriel’s shadows droop against his neck, as if snuggling up to the blazing warm feeling.

He falters, dipping in altitude momentarily, before he remembers to keep his wings moving.

Through the gloom of the day, Azriel feels you before he sees you coming — though the moment you’re in view, the familiar figure of an Illyrian warrior in flight, your radiancy is all he can see.

“You were right!” You call across the sky, unable to cage the glee in your voice.

There’s an unsteadiness to your motions, adjusting to the loss of drag due to your news scars, but it does nothing to tamp your happiness. You soar towards him through the rain, twirling in an elegant barrel roll that boasts your years of flight.

And it dawns on him, the underlying motive you had admitted to that underpinned the lie you had spun.

What heart-wrenching words had you uttered to him? I just wanted to keep my wings.

Azriel thanks the Mother, the Cauldron, and every star in the sky that you get to.

“I’m only sorry it’s not a better day for it.” Azriel says as you drift to his side, raising his voice so you can hear him. Flight is noisy, even if you’re travelling idly as the pair of your are.

You fly a few metres higher and then glide down with an easy precision, grinning, your face misted from the rain.

“I think it’s perfect.” You call back. Azriel can feel it, trickling along the bond like sweetened syrup, you really mean it.

Waiting leisurely further ahead, it’s evident that Cassian’s patience is waning.

Dipping back and joining the line up, he glides alongside you with a smile that promises mischief.

“Oh, so she can fly!” He drawls, arms tucking up behind his head lazily. “But can she race?”

His brows raise in clear competition and Azriel’s about to remind you that you don’t have to entertain all of Cassian’s antics — when his brother straightens out, shouting, “Go!” and jetting off forward.

You splutter for just one second. “I don’t even know where to go-!”

The end of your sentence blurs as you take off after Cassian, not a clue where you’re going but too competitive to not rise to the challenge. Azriel grins, watching for a moment as you tuck in your wings and dive to pick up speed, nearly disappearing in the fog of the rain.

Your fierce delight streaks along the bond and it’s what Azriel follows as he takes off after you, the invisible string leading his way, glowing like a shooting star.

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[star2fishmeg]

Hear me out…

sub!Luke with a praise kink after a game like last night…

Nonnie, always hearing you out, my love.

You feel the bed dip beside you, not softly but vigorously, like Luke has stripped his suit off and thrown himself down, facing the ceiling as he pulls the cover over himself. He’s not worried if he woke you, he knows you’re awake, he knows why. He rolls onto his side to face you, arm draping over your waist and sneaking under your (his) t-shirt to feel that small sense of grounding, the skin contact, the reminder that you’re real and you’re here with him. 

“Hey,” you mutter, eyes meeting his tired ones, his breathing shaking, “I know, Lu, it sucks.”

You bring your hand to his cheek, palm cupping it and thumb caressing over his cold skin, his grip around you tightening as he pulls you closer into him. His eyes are glossy, those puppy eyes that blossom a warmth in your chest. 

He croaks out, gaze set on yours still and melting into your hand, “I suck. Played like shit and I’m supposed to play again on Saturday. Not gonna be long until I get benched or worse.”

With knitted eyebrows, you perch yourself up onto your elbow, hand still very much on his cheek but you’re looking down at him, down on his slightly pathetic pouting that triggers an unfathomable craving to coddle gripping you. 

“That’s not gonna happen, pretty boy. You’re a fucking good player, everybody wants you on their team and there has not been a second where you’ve been doubted. Forget about tonight, yeah, want me to help?” You affirm, stern yet with a tint of lust crawling onto your face, pulling the corners of your lips up with half-lidded eyes. He likes when you speak to him sultry, no, he loves that bubbling feeling in his stomach whether he’s miserable or not, it’s something other than despair.

“Thanks, angel,” he whispers out, your words soaking into him, cleansing his spiralling thoughts and he feels as if you’re washing him of this feeling, “but ’m not in the mood for sex tonight, beautiful. I’m sorry.”

The curl in your lips turns to a smirk, the hand on his cheek sliding to the bottom of his jaw, taking it between your fingertips as you lean back slowly, guiding him to lean above you briefly. He leans on his forearm, curious, dazed, wetting his lips as he watches your every move intently, eyes following your hands take the hem of your t-shirt and pull it deliberately up your body, purposely teasing him. The fabric brushes over your nipples and you drop the clothing at your neck, hands taking his nape and jaw, bringing his face into the valley of your tits. He’s weak. He’s a weak man when it comes to your tits, his eyes have a sparkle in them and he’s almost drooling, allowing his body to move on its own, sliding on top of you, lowering gently - in fear of crushing you- until he’s lying flat, his nose meeting your sternum and your fingers running over his back and through his curls.

“Mmf.” He hums, sending little vibrations over your flesh and to your cunt, a smile on your lips as his muscles relax into you, your bodies melding together like wax where you can mould each other to fit perfectly. 

He pushes up slightly, scanning over your tits before latching his mouth to your left nipple, taking as much of the surface into his mouth as he can and swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud, sucking with closed eyes and letting the pleasure fog his mind and take him somewhere else. He sucks hard, with purpose and you let him no matter the marks he’ll leave behind, Luke knows how to use his mouth on you, so when the tip flickers, you’re humming out in satisfaction at the giddy sensations, back arching.

“That’s it, pretty boy. You always deserve this, hm? Tried so hard out there, I’ll always reward my Luke.” You mutter provocatively, both hands gliding over his shoulder blades in circles, nails gently running along his skin to awaken those featherlight tickles that prickle up his spine.

He moans deeply, from his throat, releasing your breast with a string of saliva and moving to the other. His large hand grabs the mound, taking it into his mouth and lying the flat surface of his tongue over your peak, slowly dragging it up just to flick the tip and swirl the wet muscle around it again. You’re breathing heavily, keeping the whines in and enjoying the whimpers tumbling from his chest as he sucks, free hand groping your other breast to ensure it’s not neglected.

You press your hand to the back of his head, clit throbbing at him entering a space that lets him relax and forget about the game. That lets him submerge himself in your chest openly, using you for his own escape with pink-tinted cheeks. You coo at him, “Such a talented skater, Luke. M’so proud of you, so young but so special. I wish you could see how admirable you are, baby.”

“Play with my hair, please.” He mutters against you, pushing your tits together and burying his face between them, sporadically placing wet kisses with nibbles and love bites, not entirely in the same headspace as you but God, do you crave that blank look on his face. Those glass eyes, pouty lips, dazed expression paired with snuggling like his pride didn’t even matter anymore. You card your nails through his hair, languidly, delicately, enough to soothe him away from the disappointment he felt before. “Hmm, yeeaah.” 

“Such a good boy. You enjoy my tits? Was I right again?” you tug at his curls lightly, pulling his head from your cleavage and lying his ear flat against the breast, so he can snuggle yet respond to you coherently, hand kneading into the other tit, “Love you so much, Lu.”

“Always know what I need, love your tits, angel. Love you more, always good for you. Kiss me?” He peers up at you pathetically, lips parted and coated in the spit that covers your chest. You nod, watching him press up from your body and hover over you, his mouth capturing yours slowly and tenderly at first, applying a desperate pressure when you moan into the kiss, hands tangling in his nape. He slips his tongue past your lips, savouring your minty flavour when he licks against your tongue before pulling away, lying sleepy back on your chest.