#also that sword is fully not hers. not what her swords look like. i realized she cant really two-hand the swords she uses so

[adriartts]

Redesign her because something wasn't right. get a load of this guy (girl mode)

[eowynstwin]

imprimatura

muses - part one - next

Pairing: (eventual) Ghoap x f!Reader Word Count: 2.8k Rating: Mature (mostly Soap being Soap) Also on Ao3.

An artist meets her muse, and a solider meets his.

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit. 

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm. 

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it. 

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face. 

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it. 

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.” 

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of—cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however,  has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately. 

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too.  And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold. 

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

Author's Note: THE PROMISED FIC. I really hope y'all enjoy this one, I've been teasing it since March and I have so many plans. This fic has a special place in my heart because it's drawing heavily from my college days--my bachelor's degree is in fine arts, and I have a lot of fond memories of many hours in the studio both as a student and as a model.

I expect this series will also have a looser timeline than my Neighbors series, so I'm open to suggestion in terms of scene ideas! I already have plenty, but if I know my mutuals, y'all might have some good ones as well. No promises I'll write them, but you never know.

Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope you'll look forward to where this fic goes!!

[caninepoetryrelator]

Liquid Luck

Carl Grimes x Reader (16+)

Aged up Carl Grimes x Reader soft smut

Synopsis: Carl and you are not friends. So what’s gonna happen when you’re locked in a room together with a bottle of whiskey?

Warnings: Dick, dick getting sucked, no fully blown sex just oral, Carl is a cutie, also it’s a zombie apocalypse there’s gonna be zombies, plus various weapons and very brief nondescript violence.

Words: 3,843

It all started with a bad raid. We figured we could sneak into the pharmacy, get the medicine for Hershel, and then get out without attracting any attention.

Rick and Daryl stayed outside and kept watch while he sent you and Carl to take care of the rest.

That was it, straightforward, in and out.

Or at least it had been.

A week prior Glenn had put a boombox on the rooftop of the place to attract the walkers out and up instead of prowling the streets and the building.

The windows were almost all broken. Either by walkers or raiders, we didn’t know. But it sure was convenient when the door turned out to be locked.

You watched Carl adjust the brim of his hat and narrow his eyes at a broken square window a few feet above his head.

“I think I can fit,” he stated firmly, casting you a sidelong glance, quickly looking back at Rick when you made eye contact.

He had never been outright rude to you; he had never been anything to you. He had only introduced himself with a short greeting and a tight smile. He seemed much more open with everyone else yet standoffish around you.

“The kid can fit too,” agreed Daryl, nodding towards you. He’d always called you that despite you being the same age as Carl.

Carl’s face dropped as he glanced at you again. “I can do it by myself.”

“No, you can’t,” ordered Rick. “We don’t know how many walkers are still in there. You’re taking her with you.”

He sighed. Did he really not like you this much?

Before you had come to a conclusion Daryl had laid a leather jacket over the jagged glass in the frame before he and Rick boosted Carl into the window.

“I’ll make sure it’s safe!” He hollered from inside the building. There was some scuffling inside for a moment before he yelled “It’s clear!”

Next thing you knew you were standing in their respective interlaced fingers and they boosted you up to the window. You grabbed the edges and dove in. It wasn’t until you let go of the window frame that you realized that you, unlike Carl, were falling face first instead of feet first.

Luckily, you were met with the last type of relief you expected. Carl grabbed your waist, slowing your descent enough to use your own momentum to turn you so you landed on your feet. His hands linger on your waist as you stand chest to chest with him. You look up at him through your lashes, breathing heavily. His face is red, probably from exertion.

Just before you can thank him he pulls quickly away, looking down nervously. You lower your head into his line of sight so that he makes eye contact with you.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile.

He nods shortly before taking out his knife and heading towards a door. “This way.”

You follow him, Michonee’s old sword she had given you in hand as you follow him closely, checking your surroundings avidly. Both of you continuously glanced up at the ceiling, which creaked under the weight of anywhere from fifty to one hundred walkers.

Your shoe nudged something on the ground— a bottle of whiskey. You quickly stooped and picked it up, putting it in one of the pockets of your oversized cargos.

You make your way to the back of the building, into the section where the pills are stored.

“What are we looking for again?” You ask.

“Promethazine, it’s anti-nausea medication for throwing up. Hershel’s worried the vomit from people with the flu in town could make it more contagious.” He replies, examining bottles instead of looking at you.

With a soft frown at his bland attitude, you wander to the ‘P’ section, browsing for promethazine.

You found five prefilled prescriptions made out to various, probably now dead, people.

“Carl,” you call, holding up a handful of amber pill bottles.

“Nice one,” he says, a genuine smile on his face. The first time he’s smiled at you. It was a nice smile. You felt your face heat up as you smiled as well.

Carl turned around for you to put the meds in his backpack. You brush his hair out of the way and he whips his head around immediately.

“W-what’re you doing back there?”

“Making sure your hair doesn’t get caught in the zipper,” you reply simply.

He relaxes as you unzip the bag and place the medications inside.

Just as you were zipping the beg, a loud creaking sound resounded from the ceiling. Carl and you glanced at each other with wide eyes.

“This way,” he commanded, taking your hand and leading — practically dragging — you through the pharmacy. The thumping on the roof was becoming more prominent and you could hear gunshots from outside.

You were practically running now as the sounds became nearly overwhelming. You were near the doctor's office section of the building when the ceiling began to give.

“Shit,” you muttered as the ceiling tiles began to fall.

Carl’s hand was on your waist again, this time snatching you out of the way of something falling— a walker, collapsed on the ground where you had just been standing.

Everything was happening so fast, and next thing you knew the ground was littered with walkers, all focused on the two of you. Your sword could only do so much as you slashed at the hoard, managing to take out two in one blow as you attempted to keep them at bay.

When Carl’s hands were on your waist again this time you didn’t question it— he snatched you backwards and into a room, where he slammed the door closed and locked it.

It was a check up office; it contained white brick walls and linoleum tile. In the corner was an oak desk with a monitor and sanitary supplies stacked on it. There was a cot against the opposite wall and various equipment hanging from the walls.

The thudding at the door where Carl stood jarred you back to reality, spurring you to grab the desk and shove at it. It had to be at least four hundred pounds. Carl pulled from the other side and together you managed to use it to barricade the door. He collapsed against the cot, panting.

You joined him, holding up your hands in a calming gesture as he looked at you with a shaky, nervous expression.

“Well, shit,” he muttered with an ironic chuckle.

“Probably gonna be in here for a while,” you sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered bitterly.

Why don’t you like me?

The words almost came out of your mouth, but it wasn’t the right time. Instead you just looked at him, with a resigned expression.

You take the whiskey from your pocket and open it, taking a swig. After drinking with Daryl it didn’t phase you too much anymore, but he stared at you with a shocked expression, cheeks dusted pink.

“Where did you get that?”

“Store,” you replied simply, holding out the bottle to him.

After a moment of hesitation he took it, taking a swig with a grimace. “How do you drink that shit?” He laughs.

He laughed. A real laugh. It’s your first time hearing it. You want to hear more of it.

“Daryl,” you explain simply and he nods with a groan.

“I see,” he takes another drink and passes the bottle back to you.

It’s called liquid courage for a reason, you think. That’s all the convincing it takes for you to start chugging the bottle. You get about five swallows down before Carl’s hands, one on the bottle and one on your jaw, stop you from going further.

“Don’t overdo it,” he chides you gently.

You nod dumbly, watching a drop make its way down his neck, tracing his adam’s apple as he takes another drink. You notice the way his lips pucker around the mouth of the bottle and you force yourself to look away.

After a moment of silence he speaks again.

“Wanna play truth or dare?”

You look at him in surprise, hesitating for a moment.

“Only if you want to—” he starts nervously before you cut him off with a simple statement.

“Sure.”

He looks at you in relief, clearly afraid to have overstepped before smiling, a bit anxiously. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you don’t hesitate; they really do call it liquid courage for a reason.

He glanced around the room before his eyes land on the stethoscope. “I dare you to give me a checkup?” He phrases it as a question so you don’t feel forced. Cute.

You grab various medical equipment, wrapping the stethoscope around your neck with a drunken grin. “I’m your doctor, I’ll be giving you your physical,” you say in your best attempt at a deep voice. You were clearly already drunk. Normally you would’ve felt stupid but with the heartwarming giggle he let out paired with an over dramatic eyeroll, you felt nothing but at ease.

As you begin measuring his heart rate he swallows hard, his pink cheeks darkening to red. His heart thumped steadily; quickly.

“Truth or dare,” you murmur as you measure his vitals.

“Uh…” he swallowed hard, eyes flickered from your hands against his chest to your face, feigning focus. “Dare.”

“Take your shirt off,” you say with an innocent grin. He blanches, surprised. “To check your vitals better. Only if you want to.” You assure him sweetly.

In a moment he was struggling to pull his shirt off, disoriented from the alcohol.

Next thing you know your hands are running down his sides to the hem of his shirt. Halfway through struggling out of his shirt he looks up at you from his sitting position, face still read and panting. You gently tug his shirt upwards, prompting him to pull his arms through the holes and you pull it over his head.

You giggle at the state of his hair, correcting it without hesitation.

“Real soft,” you muse as you gently sweep his hair out of his face. The poor boy looks overwhelmed as he stares up at you, arms wrapped around himself nervously.

You gently move the arm he has wrapped around his chest, pressing the stethoscope there once more. His heart is beating almost worryingly fast.

“You okay hon?” You ask gently.

“Mhm,” he manages, seeming to have a hard time speaking.

“Okay,” you murmur, putting the stethoscope on various places around his chest, pretending to know what you’re doing.

“Truth- uh truth or dare,” he chokes out.

“Dare,” you repeat, this time even more sure than the last.

“Can you uhm.. touch my hair again?” He wasn’t making eye contact at all now, seemingly fascinated by his jeans as he stares down, still adorned by that bright blush.

In a second your hands are in his hair. Even when you hadn’t been talking you were fascinated by his hair. Rick had caught you staring several times and always met you with a soft smile or a laugh, whereas Daryl arched his eyebrow with a slight grin.

His hair really was soft, soft as hell. You rubbed a single strand between your fingers before trailing your fingers from his roots to the ends of his hair. You secure your hands around his scalp, threading your fingers through his hair as you continue to play with it, enamored.

You hadn’t even noticed his face, eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deeply.

You lean in closer and murmur by his ear. “Truth or dare.”

His eyes flicker open and he breathes for a moment. “Truth.”

“Why do you avoid me back at camp?” He froze.

“I-I don’t,” he lied, resulting in a small tug to his hair. He draws in a sharp breath, looking up at you surprised.

“Don’t lie,” you chide.

“You make me nervous,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “People usually don’t make me nervous, but you do.” He was once again apparently entranced by his jeans so you cup his jaw gently, bringing his gaze up to meet your own.

“I like making you nervous. But not all the time. I like talking to you, Carl,” you explain in a soft voice.

He looks up at you with a genuine involuntary smile.

“Really?” He breathes.

“Yes,” you whisper, realizing how much closer you had gotten, your hand still settled on his jaw.

“Um… truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you repeat, adamant on forcing him out of his comfort zone.

“Is it okay if I— can I please, uhm—“

“Do whatever you want, Carl,” you interrupt him. “I trust you.”

His eyes widen at that and he finally rises to his feet. A familiar feeling. His hands on your waist. His grasp is awkward this time, less sure of himself when he’s not saving your life. When it’s a choice to be touching you.

He tugs you a bit closer and his eyes flicker to your lips. You know what he’s trying to do and you know he’s scared to do it.

Your hands are still in his hair and you use that to your advantage, pulling him towards you and letting him close the distance, giving you a hesitant kiss. His lips are a little chapped, but they’re plush and soft. He tastes like whiskey, and you’re sure you do too. He’s inexperienced; this might be his first kiss, you realize.

You follow that kiss with another chaste one pressed against his lips ever so gently.

“Feel good?” You murmur, forehead resting against his with your eyes closed.

“Mhm,” he hums, barely audible as he lets out another shakey breath. You know his eyes are closed too.

You’re both reveling. In each other's presence. Just breathing each other in as his arms move to loosely wrap around your waist instead of simply placing his hands there.

There it is. That’s right.

His hands on your waist were sweet but his arms encircling your waist was just right.

You pull him in for another slow kiss, heads tilted, mouth moving and prompting his to do the same, teaching him as best you could without saying a word.

“Wow,” he gasps against your lips. You try to give him a chance to explain his exclamation by pulling away, but he pulls you back in.

You slide your tongue over his bottom lip, hoping for him to part his lips a bit more and in response he gives your tongue a light suck, pulling it into his mouth and letting out a soft whine as he does.

Your kiss evolves in passion as his hand starts traveling over your body. It slides up your waist and onto your ribs, just shy of your boob. The other stays securely wrapped around your waist as though he’s attempting to anchor you to him.

As much as you adore the feeling of his lips, you pull away. His brow furrows, eyes still shut as he leans forward for another kiss, his lips chasing yours with a small sound of displeasure after you pull away.

You tug his hair, gently prompting him to tilt his head to the side to give you access to his neck. You start by pressing soft kisses there, a trail from his jaw to the base of his neck, before retracing your steps with parted lips, allowing yourself to taste the sweet musky skin of his neck.

He lets out a choked whimper before covering his mouth with his hand. Not on your watch. You immediately grab his hand, pulling it down to your tit. He lets out a shakey gasp as he grasps at the soft flesh, groaning softly as he squeezes experimentally.

“Thank you..” he murmurs, eyes still screwed shut.

“Of course sweetheart,” you smile against his neck. He shivers at the nickname, giving you a minor power trip.

You begin sucking the flesh of his neck into your mouth where you begin biting gradually before biting harder to leave dark marks. You leave one by his jaw before remembering Rick, and what his reaction would be. You press a quick kiss to the mark before shoving him down on the cushioned exam cot, straddling him.

That’s when you notice the tent in his pants. He glances down at the point where your crotches met, biting his lip nervously. “S-sorry—” he started.

“Don’t be,” you assure him, leaning down to begin littering his chest with kisses.

You start the marks by his collarbone, before moving down to his chest. He was whimpering without restraint now, back arched.

His hand was moving up your body, down your arm, and to your hand. He held your hand, giving it a soft squeeze before simply holding your hand.

“Can I.. can I have—” he cut himself off with a small whimper before you stopped your ministrations.

“Use your words sweetheart.”

He groans slightly at that. “Can I— I wanna kiss.” He squeezes your hand again.

You lean up and meet him halfway with a soft kiss. He’s better now. He’s more prepared. You run your tongue along his bottom lip and he gladly parts them, granting you entry. He opens his mouth a bit too wide, but you don’t mind. You pull back slightly, pulling away and following it with a chaste, soft kiss before continuing where you left off– his chest.

You continue sucking dark hickies along his chest, leaving a trail of bites and kisses down to his belly. A faint covering of dark hairs spreads from just about his belly button, trailing down to below the band of his jeans.

You let out a soft sigh of desire, lightly caressing his happy trail with the tip of your fingers. He shudders softly and you watch his cock twitch through his jeans. He begins to apologize again, cutting himself off with a soft groan when you plant a firm kiss to where his happy trail disappears under his jeans.

You tug softly at the button on his jeans. “Can I?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

He blinks in shock, looking down at you with wide eyes and a flushed face, mouth agape. “A-are you sure?”

“Yes,” you chuckle.

He responds with a small nod, still clearly shocked. You make quick work of undoing his pants, tugging them down before looking up at him with a small nod, prompting him to climb to his feet and shed his pants, quickly clambering back onto the bench. You swing your leg over the base of his thighs, straddling them.

You’re quick to feel him up, groping at his straining cock.

Freeing his cock you glance up at him in surprise, He’s packing. Six, maybe seven inches, not too wide – you could probably fit your hand perfectly around it – with a pretty pink tip, practically dripping precum. You test your earlier theory by experimentally wrapping your hand around his cock, eliciting a whine from him.

He swallows hard before looking down at you. “Are you s-sure? You’re comfortable?”

You nod. “I want to do this for you sweet boy.”

He smiles softly, letting his head fall back and his eyes flutter shut. “Thank you,” he sighs happily.

You lean down and kiss the head of his cock, causing him to jolt slightly. After lapping at the slit of his cock you take the head into your mouth. He gasps, bucking his hips.

Without warning you grab him by the hips and force him back against the cot which draws another whimper out of him as he pathetically attempts to squirm his hips closer to your mouth. You tut your tongue and pull away until he stops moving.

“Please,” he whines, struggling.

You decide to grant mercy on the poor boy, taking his head into your mouth once again. One arm forcing his hips against the table, you wrap the other hand around his cock and gently squeeze. He sighs happily, breath hitching as you begin moving your hand. Rotating it gradually as you move your hand up and down, you allow some of your saliva to drip from the head of his cock into your hand.

You use it as lubricant to begin pumping your hand up and down his cock faster, limp wristed as you continue lapping at the head of his cock. He arches his back more and whines.

Just as you begin taking more of his cock into your mouth his hand flies to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair before squeezing, clearly doing his best to hold back from pulling your hair too hard.

“Mmh..” he moans softly, gripping at your hair firmly and applying slight pressure.

Suddenly you take as much as possible into your mouth, deepthroating him without warning. He lets out a sharp moan, gripping your hair tighter before releasing his grip in a slight panic as he realizes what he’s doing– it’s cute how hard he’s trying to hold back.

You use your tongue mostly, swirling it around his cock to the best of your ability as you begin bobbing your head up and down. You use one hand to massage his hard balls, ready to burst already. With that you remember that he’s a virgin, and you probably shouldn’t be teasing him so much.

This whole time he’s been making the most lewd noises, moaning and letting out small whimpers to the rhythm of you bobbing your head. His cock twitches in your mouth, prompting you to go faster to help him through.

You release his hips and meet his eyes when he gives you a confused glance, silently giving him permission. Experimentally, he bucks his hips, moaning before falling into a steady rhythm, his hips rising and falling shakily against your mouth.

He grips your hair even tighter, bringing tears to your eyes as you gag on his cock. After less than ten seconds he releases his load down your throat. Despite your attempts to swallow it dribbles out of your mouth and down his cock.

The low groan he had released had tapered off into a moan, sighing as he finally collapsed from his high. As he lays there, chest heaving, you slowly climb on top of him, collapsing there and cuddling into him.

He turns and kisses the top of your head, his wide smile unknown to you.

“I think I’m less nervous around you now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile softly as he places his hand on your waist once again. “Good,”

Thank god for liquid courage.

They cleared the pharmacy of walkers eventually, and by the time they reached you the two of you were cleaned up.

You came out swinging, having to run to the truck.

The two of you ended up so battered and bruised Rick didn’t even think to mention the bruise at the base of Carl’s jaw, and the one on his collarbone, just visible when he wore tank tops.

You saved the whiskey for next time.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Could I perhaps request hcs for Astarion and/or Halsin with a reader who is prone to getting wrist and ankle injuries (and they are a fool who reinjures themselves often, mainly due to overestimating how healed they are but also giving the excuse of "I was bored! What was I supposed to do?") Thanks!

Hello, anon!! Sorry it took so long to post this! I did both to make up for it (and it got reaaaaal long lmao); I hope that's alright. <3 Thank you for the lovely request!!

~ ~ ~

Astarion

You had chosen to come with them, despite everyone's protests. Shadowheart was concerned that you had not fully healed, and due to her suspicion, Lae'zel was convinced you would be a liability.

Astarion feigned apathy, of course, but it was the increasingly more frequent glances he was tossing back in your direction as you went that gave him away

You were a fairly casual traveler anyway, preferring to lurk in the middle or the back of the group as you walked, providing directions when the group came to an impasse. It was no doubt you were their leader, however, for every head turned to you when any kind of decision or uncertainty arose

But today was an exceptionally slow day, even for you. You plodded along behind the others, a sharp eye but dull reflexes; you were the only one who couldn't tell. Only when the group was surprised by a batch of newly spawned gnolls, did you come to realize just how grave a mistake you had made.

You tugged the bow from your back and reached for an arrow; once you had the bowstring pulled taut, you noticed the ache in your left wrist. You tried to ignore it as you slung arrow after arrow to the shelf on the bow, but your aim was failing you, and two gnolls already had their sights set on you; so when a sudden, sharp pain in your wrist sent your next arrow flying harmlessly above one of the gnoll's heads, it set its teeth and grinned at you as if to say, "I've got you now," and charged you, the other one following close behind

Gasping, you reached for your sword; pain - red hot pain. You cried out as it blinded you and looked around for your companions; all busy, all pre-occupied. You had to get to one of them; had to get away - you were useless like this. You were going to die.

Suddenly, a flash of white came across your vision; blades and metal and teeth planted itself in front of you. "Star?"

"You idiot!" he seethed as he slashed at the gnolls, their dagger-like claws slicing the elf's pale skin. In a flash, the one nearest him was down, bleeding a sticky red over the ground, and the moment he saw an opening, Astarion lunged at the second, sinking his fangs into its neck. It writhed, clawing at the armor on his back, before falling limp.

He took several more measured gulps before letting the body drop unceremoniously and rounding on you, his red eyes feral and gleaming. "You almost died, you absolute fool!" he screeched and you shrunk away from him, having never seen his anger directed at you this vehemently before. "You were told to stay in camp, but nooo! You had to come out here and endanger your life, again! Gods! And what, exactly, do you think we would have done were our leader to die, hm? Gale, the ticking time bomb, can't very well lead us, nor could Wyll, the Blade of I-have-a-devil-on-my-shoulder-Frontiers! If you go down, we all go down, and I can't go down! Not like this..."

"Astarion," Karlach's voice sounded behind you and she laid a heavy, comforting hand on your shoulder as your eyes filled with guilty tears. "They've heard enough." Astarion huffed and turned away, and the five of you treaded back to camp, nursing battle wounds, guilt, and hurt feelings.

Thankfully, Gale had readied a warm soup in your absence, and he handed you a bowl with a gentle smile upon your return - gods, you must have truly looked awful. You took it with a quiet "thank you" and sat down close to the fire, curling inwards, hoping no one would look your way. Astarion was right, you had endangered everyone due to your foolishness. Even now, you nursed your left wrist, letting the bowl's weight fall on your right instead. You groaned softly, knowing you would have to return to Shadowheart and have her repair it - once again - to the state it was in before today. You would have to bear her frustrated gaze, and you were just not certain you could right now.

After slurping down most of the soup, you returned the bowl to Gale and made for your own tent - you figured you would not be welcome in Astarion's tonight. You curled your hand up to your chest to keep gravity from causing even more swelling, and ducked inside.

You nearly lost your footing when you looked up and saw Astarion, with a sour expression on his face, sitting on your bedroll, mixing a green-ish, gooey liquid in a bowl. A single step forward explained his scrunched up nose - it smelled awful. "Star?" you asked quietly, putting your right hand over your nose and mouth.

"Only you would have me sitting here mixing this gods-awful concoction instead of sleeping," he fussed, mixing harder.

"W-what are you talking about? I came to my tent because I figured you'd rather be alone in yours," you replied, muffled by your sleeve.

"I almost lost you today and you think I'd rather be alone?" he griped, and you softened almost immediately, tears springing to your eyes. "This is a salve the druid recommended. It will help with the swelling. Just think! If you were a vampire, you wouldn't swell. Wouldn't that be swell." He was muttering angrily, but all of his bluster had expired. His eyebrows, that had previously been knitted together, were now curved up in desperation as he continued mixing.

You kneeled down in front of him and gently laid your hands over his. "It's mixed, Star," you said quietly, and he looked up at you, his eyes round and misty. You guided his hands to set the bowl on the table beside you, then curled your fingers around his. "I'm so sorry," you whispered. "Everything you said was right; I endangered everyone today, for a really stupid reason. I just feel-" you paused, choking on your words as your throat tightened with unshared emotions. "I feel so useless staying behind."

Before you could process what was happening, you were being pulled into Astarion's chest, his arms winding so tightly around your back that you almost couldn't breathe; but gods it felt so good. Your arms were around his neck in an instant and you breathed in his perfume and the lingering salt from battle. You let the tears fall down your face in earnest as you buried it in his shoulder.

"My darling," he whispered. "You are never useless, no matter where you are. You've done so much for all of us - for me - already. Gods damn it, you couldn't be useless if you tried."

Halsin

You had been ordered to rest in camp by the others after a taking a nasty fall on the cliffside. You had unfortunately stepped in an obscured burrow hole, and your foot had dropped through, leaving the rest of your body to twist at an unnatural angle as you fell to the earth. For a week, you had not been able to walk on it at all, limping around on the makeshift supports that Halsin had carved for you from a nearby fallen tree.

But it had been three weeks since then, and you were moving around with much more agility now, walking without any supports, and even doing your turns with the laundry in the nearby lake. You wanted to return to aiding your companions on your journey, but no one else thought you were ready to return.

As frustrating as it was, you understood where they were coming from - they weren't certain you were fully healed and did not want a liability in battle. You wouldn't either. But with little to do at camp, you were left bored and restless, always aimlessly walking about looking for something to do.

That something presented itself when Scratch and Bite*, the owlbear cub you rescued awhile back from the goblin camp, came bounding up to you, a ball in Scratch's mouth. You smiled, excited at the prospect of eluding your boredom for a little while, and cast Speak with Animals on yourself. "Are you both as bored as I am?" you asked them once the spell took hold.

Scratch dropped the ball. "I noticed you were unsettled, friend," he said. "Perhaps this will give you something to do without straining your foot."

"Ball, throw; chase!" Bite jumped around excitedly.

"Aww, you guys are the best," you exclaimed, touched by their kind gesture. You picked up the ball and turned it over in your hand a couple of times before turning to aim across camp at where Wyll sat in front of his tent. "Are you ready? Let's get Wyll involved!" Scratch and Bite wiggled their butts, ready to chase, and you launched the ball in Wyll's direction.

It bounced directly in front of him and soared over his head, bonking against one of his horns and turning in the other direction. Wyll's head snapped up, found the ball, then turned to you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep from guffawing. "Sorry, Wyll!"

"Oh, you will be," he replied, but here was no malice to be found in his words as he set his book aside and rose, slapping his knee a couple times until Scratch returned the ball to him. "You'd better be quick, Tav; you don't have horns to protect your head!" Wyll laughed before hurling the ball in your direction. You squealed with glee and raised your hands to catch it, the ball landing smoothly in your hands.

"Get him back, Bite!" you cackled, throwing the ball towards the owlbear cub, and he raced after it, lodging it in his beak before running at Wyll at near-top speed.

"Whoa!" Wyll yelled in surprise and dove out of the way as the cub barreled past him, turning on a dime to keep from destroying Wyll's tent. "That has to be some kind of penalty in this game!" he laughed, on all fours in the dirt.

"And what game would that be, exactly, Wyll?" you tittered as the cub returned the ball to you.

"Aren't we playing catch?" Wyll asked, dusting his hands off and returning to his feet.

"Hells if I know!" you shouted playfully and turned, tossing the ball towards Gale instead.

When it bounced off of the hefty tome in the wizard's hands, startling him so much that he leveled backwards, you and Wyll collapsed into fits of giggles. Several moments later, Gale was in front of you, holding the ball in his hand with a stern expression on his face. "Was this your doing, Tav?" he asked.

"It was," you breathed, wiping the tears from your eyes as you recovered. "I'm so sorry, Gale, I didn't mean to hit your book. I was aiming for your shoe." More devolved cackling ensued from Wyll several feet away. "I wanted you to join in." you giggled, wiping your other eye.

"Well then," Gale said, his face still solemn, but his eyes telling a different story. "You should have just asked." He threw his hands up in a shrug.

"Gale," you said, observing the wizard's now empty hands. "Where's the ball?"

"Hmm," he faux-pondered. "What an excellent question, Tav. I wonder..."

Your question was answered seconds later as it whizzed by your head from somewhere behind you and you gasped in shock, slinging yourself around to find a blue mage hand waving at you colloquially. "Gale!" you screeched, laughing as Scratch took off running.

"I should have known you wouldn't play fair!" Wyll called, already jogging to a new spot.

"You absolutely should have," Gale affirmed, and took a spot further away from you. "How about we elevate this a little?" He suggested slyly and muttered an incantation. A ball appeared in your hands and another in Wyll's. "Two are illusions, the ones you have there. Only one really matters. You know the difference now, but after Scratch and Bite have a go at them? Well,"

"What does the winner get?" you asked.

"Mm," Gale pondered for a moment, but Wyll interjected.

"Laundry done by the two losers for three weeks."

"Done." you answered swiftly.

Gale was slower to answer, but conceded. "Alright, done."

"Let's get started."

The camp was in chaos for the next half hour, Scratch and Bite no longer the only ones diving for the little leather balls. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had so much fun, but it all came crashing down when you jumped off of your bad foot to dive for the ball. You let out a scream of pain as your fingers closed around the ball, and you landed in the dirt with a heavy thud.

"Tav?!" Gale called, knowing immediately that something was amiss. Wyll wasn't long to realize after him, trotting up to you with a worried expression on his face.

"I-" you groaned, pulling your ankle close to inspect it. "I went down on it; my bad ankle. Oh, gods."

"Mystra's finger, I had forgotten about your ankle. Oh, Tav, this is my fault, I greatly apologize," Gale stuttered, and reached towards you. "Please, allow me to help you get to a nice resting spot so that we can get it elevated."

"I assumed you were better, this is on me as well. I am so sorry, Tav. Gale, I'll help."

You accepted both Gale and Wyll's help and they moved you to an empty bedroll by the unlit fire, lowering you down onto the pillows. Gale rushed to his tent and returned with several more to prop under your knee and foot. You cringed, not only at the pain but at the thought of having to explain to Halsin what you had done. He had been healing you little by little over the course of the last three weeks, checking in on you so diligently each time to make sure you would be ready to return to your journey as swiftly as possible, and this was how you had rewarded him. You laid your head in your hands in shame and waited for the inevitable.

The remainder of your companions returned several hours later, and you hadn't moved from your place. You almost didn't dare to look up when the druid stopped before you, but you took a quick glance at his tired expression and nearly cried. He had obviously been through the ringer today, and certainly didn't need your foolishness to contend with.

"What happened here?" he asked gruffly, exhaustion creeping through each word.

Gale and Wyll were by your side in an instant, as if they had both been waiting for this moment as tensely as you had. "Wyll and I were playing fetch with Scratch and Bite, and I tossed the ball too close to them. They tried to jump aside, and twisted their ankle again."

Halsin looked at Gale skeptically, but the wizard held a firm expression. Even so, you couldn't take it; they couldn't take the fall for you.

"Gale, it's okay," you said quietly, and his head swiveled to you, his expression falling. "I can't let the two of you take the fall for me. I was foolish, I should have known better." You turned to Halsin, whose suspicious eyes now fell on you. "We were all playing fetch with Scratch and Bite. I instigated it, and I jumped on my bad foot to catch the ball and landed wrong. I'm so sorry, Halsin. I took your healing for granted. I will make the herb salves and heal it on my own this time." You looked guiltily down at your swelling ankle, new discoloration already seeping through the skin.

No one said a word, and the silence from Halsin was deafening. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, unable to look at him again, but also unable to leave.

You gasped when you felt large hands reach under your knees and around your back and lift you into the air. Your eyes flew open and you looked up at Halsin, who had pulled you to his chest and was wordlessly carrying you towards his tent. The guilt only grew and infected the rest of your chest cavity, hollowing you with an ache you knew it would take awhile to get rid of.

The druid laid you down on the pillows in his tent and arranged a few under your leg and foot, then turned away from you to begin mixing more of the same salve he had been using on you before. You were silent. You didn't dare speak. You had never seen Halsin so quiet before. You were anxious. Halsin was the last person you ever wanted upset with you; he was kind, gentle, caring, and so very patient. You had fallen for him, and now you had taken his craft and his time for granted, like an unruly child.

You watched quietly as he applied the salve on your bruising ankle, not meeting your eyes, then exited the tent without a word. You clutched your other knee to your chest and laid your head down on it, knowing his silence was what you deserved. You fell into a semi-sleep in that position, relaxing as well as you could without moving.

Next thing you knew, you were awoken by movement just outside the mouth of the tent, and you stiffened, your eyes not opening properly. It was still dark, that much you could tell, and whatever was outside the tent flap was large. You glanced around for a dagger, a club, something. But before you found anything of use, a brilliant light flashed and the shadow of a creature became the shadow of a man before your eyes. You sighed in relief. Halsin.

A massive hand pulled the tent flap up and you met his eyes in the dark. You stared at one another for several agonizing moments before you muttered softly, "I'm sorry."

He sighed, his other hand passing over his face. "I know," he said quietly, pushing further into the tent until his entire hulking body rested beside you. "Sometimes I forget how young you are; how young all of you are. You are human, you have far less time than elves. You were taught to make the most of it. Humans are raised on seizing the moment, not any manner of patience; because you must be."

"I took you for granted, Halsin, and you are the last person I would want to let down." You laced your fingers in front of your knee and laid your chin back down on it. "It doesn't matter that I'm a human. I could die tomorrow and it wouldn't matter. I-"

"Do not ever speak of yourself that way." Halsin said, suddenly insistent. "It would matter a great deal if you were to perish, to any of us; it would matter an even greater deal to me." He exhaled and his hand passed across his face again. "I care a great deal about you, my heart; perhaps too great."

You swore in that moment that your heart stopped beating. "Halsin," you whispered breathlessly. "Are you-?"

"You cannot tell me that you haven't noticed how I favor you," he said softly. "My care is two-fold in regards to you."

"I-" a tear escaped your eye and Halsin reached for you immediately, brushing it away and cupping your cheek in his hand. "I care for you too, Halsin; so much." A tear fell down your other cheek, and the druid's other hand came to rest there, as if it would pain him to see any of your tears be wasted on the earth - a fine irony for the man before you.

"One day in my short lifespan, perhaps I'll deserve you," you huffed a quiet laugh, attempting to dispel the tension, but Halsin was having none of it. He surged forward instead, pressing his warm lips against your own and lacing his fingers into your hair, dragging himself as close to you as he could without hurting you. His kiss was like fire, consuming you from the inside out, and you wound your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into his braids as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged ever so slightly.

"My heart," he muttered raggedly after releasing your lips. "You already do."

*Inspiration for the Owlbear Cub being named "Bite" here!

~

fin

Tagging, Darlings: @micropoe10 @knightofmight01 @fanon-and-canon @just-a-refrigerator

[ronance4everbrainrot]

Some more little mostly Glassheart/CharmingHeart incorrect quotes

(with other ships)

Bridget: Why do you act like we’re three year olds?

Ella, exasperated: WHY?!?

Ella points at Red: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK A CAR!

Ella points at Chloe: YOU NEARLY JUMPED 20 FEET OFF A CARPARK!

Ella points at Bridget: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND!

Ella: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

(Ella is so done with them. Red wants to leave. Chloe wanted to do some parkour. And Bridget forgot they weren't in Wonderland.)

---

Red: I don’t know, this plan seems complicated.

Chloe: You once said that about an orange.

Red: They don’t make sense. Apples, you eat their clothes but oranges you don’t.

(Red finds Auradon weird)

---

Red: Are you okay?

Chloe, crying: Yeah, it was just the onions.

Red: *Picks up an onion* What the fuck did you say to Chloe?

(That's adorable. Red, honey. You're not in wonderland. Not everything can talk)

---

Red: Mom, if you don't shut up I'm going to throw myself out of the car.

*click*

Red: DID YOU JUST TURN THE FUCKING CHILDRENS' LOCK ON?!

(She cares. Even if it's just for her own gain.)

---

Red: *on the phone* Hey Mom, do you know my blood type?

Queen of Hearts: Of course, it's B-.

Red: Oh, I guessed wrong. Excuse me, nurse-!

((Red is in the hospital with Chloe. Red doesn't know her blood type so she just shrugs and guesses. She tells Chloe that she doesn't know and Chloe then makes some comment about getting the wrong blood type and it not being good, red finally decides to call her mother and ask her.))

---

Chloe: But what about Bridget?

Ella: Don't worry about them.

Ella: I once watched them fall down 5 flights of stairs, stand up, and keep eating their cupcake like nothing happened.

(Either Bridget is a people pleaser or she's just incredible. Probably both.)

---

Bridget: *accidentally eats something too spicy so their eyes start to water*

Ella: Bridget, look at me. It's okay. I would die for you. I love you so much. You're the best person I know.

Bridget: I'm not crying?

Ella, hugging Bridget's head: Shush baby, it's okay. Ella is here and they love you with their whole heart.

(wHy iS It sPicY. Bridget gay panicking)

---

Ella: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?

(Facts. But also. Stop trying to deny the gay. Accept it fully)

---

Red: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weirdly.

--

Chloe: You use humor to deflect your trauma.

Red: Awww, thanks-

Chloe: That’s not a good thing.

Red: All I’m hearing is that you think I’m funny.

(trying to deflect again. You can't run forever Red)

---

Chloe: Stop thinking whatever you're thinking.

Red: Huh?

Chloe: You always make that face when you're about to say something stupid just to piss me off. So cut it out-

Red: I love you.

Chloe:

Red:

Red: Also, cereal qualifies as a soup.

Chloe: I KNEW IT!!

(Red had her Cheshire cat Smile growing. Canon)

---

Red: I was arrested for being too cool.

Chloe: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

(Go Chloe! She and her comebacks are like this 🤞)

---

Chloe: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.

(Red was being crowded by a group of people and Chloe was about to throw hands. Or well, rocks.)

---

Chloe: You know, Red, you are the sun in my life.

Red: Why? Cause I'm smoking hot?

Chloe: Because it hurts my eyes looking at you.

(the only person that can bully Red is her Girlfriend, Chloe)

---

Cinderella: I’m not mad, I just need to know why you two had a fake ID.

Red: *Incoherent mumbling*

Cinderella: Huh?

Chloe: …You need to be 18 to hold the puppies at PetCo.

(Ella hadn't had a good laugh in a while. She's so relieved and amused)

---

Red: Are you mad?

Chloe: No.

Red: So sharpening your sword at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

(Actually yes. But maybe not at 3 am... Better watch out..)

---

Cinderella: How has life been treating you lately?

Queen of Hearts: Horribly.

(canon)

---

Hope you liked it!

I have more but not for now.

Byeeee

[kosmosguk]

Lineage (M) | Special Chapter: How It Began

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be. But many years before the events of Lineage's main story takes place, there was once only the love of a beloved goddess and a damned demon.

Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, death, gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, mentions of smut, 18+, explicit language

A/N: Surprise, everyone! It's been, what, 4 years since I finished Lineage and 3 years since I stopped writing on this blog. I've been through a lot of ups and downs in the meantime (to underplay it), but I'm now in a pretty good spot. I've thought about writing this for years and there's probably at least 10 incomplete versions of this on my old laptop, but writer's slump was a huge barrier. It wasn't until a conversation with a roommate who had complained that a fic she liked was never fully fully complete that I thought about trying again, from scratch, to complete this part for Lineage. Lineage will always be my baby, and on a reread of it to prepare to write this chapter, the me of the past did do better than expected (probably better than the me of today). I don't know if any of my original readers are still here from the days when I was active on this blog, but even if it's just one, I hope I brought this story alive just a little longer. Will I write the epilogue though (which also has 10+ incomplete drafts)? We'll see :) Hopefully it won't take another 4 years!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Special Chapter |

A beautiful clearing stretched on underneath the heat of a sun that always remained warm. It was green and lush, but void of any budding blooms. There were bits of dried flowers that showed that there might have been flowers once, which had blossomed as quick back then as rain drops fell from the sky. This clearing was eternal, and it could only be changed by the touch of a being blessed by the divine or damned by the evil.

A man, cloaked in black, bent down into the clearing. There was only one more bloom now that still remained, a reminder of a time that seemed distant and far. It was hard to pick out from the shadows that spread from his feet, but he restrained the shadows until the yellow flower could tentatively peek out through the green.

It was time now. He could bring her back. She would fill this clearing with flowers again like she did before, and she would laugh as he clumsily wove together a crown from them.

He plucked the flower out of the grass and pressed it against his lips tenderly. It shriveled and dried up, leaving a colorless husk. He let it flutter out of his grasp and looked up at the sun for the first time in his existence.

"I will bring you back," he promised then. His voice sounded like he had not spoken in many years. He pulled out his sword and pierced it into the grass, watching the green shrivel into gray.

In the glint of his sword, there was a reflection of a young maiden, her fists kneading against a ball of dough. When she moved slightly, nudging the hair off of her shoulders, a hint of red was seen on her skin.

You were born in a field of flowers, blooming beautifully underneath a sky lit with gold. The daughter of the God of Life and the Goddess of Creation, you were beloved by all beings who relied on the earth to live. You, who had lived under the protection of all who was Good, were woefully ignorant of the true darkness of those who lived in the shadows of Evil.

But then on a peaceful day, not unlike the day you had been born, you realized then how easy it was for Evil to creep into the realm of the Good.

“Wake up, my goddess!”

You flinched, peeking your eyes open to the Fairy of Tulips pulling the hem of your tunic with her small fists. “I am sleeping, Little Tulip. Only official orders will wake me.”

The sun was warm against your skin, and the clarity of your mind was still soft from the blurry haze of sleep. Though deities had little need for sleep, your habit of naps was known far and wide through the Creators’ realm. You tried to close your eyes again, nestling back into the bed of grass, and brush her off your clothes, but she clung onto your palm, chomping on your thumb. You yelped, now wide awake.

She squinted down at you, fluttering up off your palm, and placed her hands on her hips, the sunrise tulip petals adorning her body swaying in her frenzy. “The flowers have been murmuring that there’s evil nearby! We have to leave. Now!”

You laughed. Evil? Evil had not existed in this realm for many eons, after the War ended with victory of the Good. But when the little fairy’s expression didn’t show a hint of amusement and the muttering of the flowers around you remained, you frowned and pushed yourself up to stand.

“If you are certain of evil, then I will bring myself to check it out. It would not do any of us good if I left the situation unchecked, as we are by the border of the realm.” You stepped forward, flowers blooming underfoot to soften your path. The little fairy tugged at your clothes, hoping to stop you, but you kept walking further away from the clearing you had been lazing in towards the forest by it. Instead of the welcoming lush green that usually greeted you, the forest was coated in darkness.  

When the muttering of the flowers pitched in volume, you knew you were getting close. You placed your hands out, ready to call for nature’s aid if the situation called for it. However, instead of some vile creature looming over you with venom oozing from its pores, a young man laid in the midst of the darkness. A closer look prompted a gasp to leave your lips. He was beautiful, more beautiful than any deity you had ever seen, and if you had not been entrenched in shadows, you could have been fooled to believe him holy. But the oozing black blood from the wound on his side and his eyes, which flickered open to glower at you, were a startling red.

He scooted back, his free hand falling to the blade by him.

“I will not hurt you!” you spoke before you could process the thought, mesmerized by the sight of his eyes. You showed him your hands. Your eyes dropped to the curve of his lips, which if it had not been pulled in a sneer would have been lush and have softened his features. “I am a healer and a grower, not a killer.”

His expression decreased in hostility. You hesitatingly asked: “Is it alright if I come close? You can keep your sword by you, and if I do anything unpleasant, I will understand if you slay me but...” You teetered for a moment. “But if you kill me, I cannot ensure your safety and that would be bad for you and me. Me because I would be dead and you because you would also be dead and...”

You were interrupted by a laugh. Your eyes flickered back to him. He looked startled at the sound he had made, and you smiled brightly in response. You took a step closer. When he did not tense, you dropped to your knees and raised your palm over his side. You lifted your gaze to meet his, and both of you sat in an entranced silence, staring at the other. His eyes dropped to your lips, though there was still a guarded look to him, and you held your breath.

“Do you want me to put my hand down?”

“What?” you sputtered. Oh. Heat burned at your cheeks as you noticed the playful tug of his lips. You nodded quickly. He must have thought you were amusing. You focused back on healing, and you would leave and tell Little Tulip to not say a word. You vowed that you would never see this brute, who enjoyed your embarrassment, again.

When he dropped his hand, you called your healing power, but the unpleasant quirk of your lips increased the time it took to fully heal his wound. When the flesh closed over the wound, you leapt back to your feet. You felt foolish, very unlike the noble and dignified deity you were supposed to be.

“I am going now. I will not tell a soul about you. You do not need to thank me, but I will tell you that you must not wander into this realm again. I guarantee that the next deity you meet will not be as forgiving as me and...”

Your lips pinched together when you felt his touch around your wrist. He pulled your hand down, and lifted his head to kiss the inside of your palm. You flinched at the press of his lips on your skin. He looked up at you, mistrust no longer in his eyes. “You are my savior. May I not be able to see you anymore?”

You dropped your gaze from his. If he heeded your words and you no longer saw him again, would the emptiness in you at the thought grow more and more?

“Only here,” your voice was but above a whisper. “If I see your shadows in the woods, I will come find you. But you must not come find me.”

He was silent for a second. “You are as cruel as you are kind, my goddess.”

He still had not let go of your hand and though his touch was cold, you felt fire licking up where his fingers made contact with your skin. You pulled your hand back like he had scalded you and spun on your heel, flowers having barely enough time to bloom underneath your bare feet with the quickness that you fled.

When you left the woods, your feet scratched up for the first time in your existence and your cheeks red, you could only force yourself to squeeze out a sentence at the quivering little fairy: “There was no evil.”

Your encounters with him continued, in secret and away from prying eyes. You talked about your visits to the human world: the songs you had heard and how you wished you could have danced and the loaves of bread you spotted cooling on the tables. You even talked about how your duties burdened you, though you were made to fulfill them, and how you felt like you were only able to handle them out of love for your humans. He talked about the books he had picked up in the human world, how he had found them meager and naïve at first and then interesting, and the little lake of lava he had grown up by and skipped rocks in. Though he spoke very little, when he did, you were captured by him.

And with the increase of encounters, your feelings of love, which you had reserved for only the creations that had been blessed by the hands of the Creators, grew. You let him hold you close to his chest, and when you laid your head on his flesh, you swore you could almost hear a heart beat quicker and quicker.

On your seventh encounter, when you had brought a basket of flowers into the woods to weave into crowns, you had placed one on his head. When he reached out into your basket and pulled out a handful of flowers, you watched him clumsily weave the flowers together and place the lopsided crown on your head. How could this man, as tender and clumsy as he was, be evil?

When he looked dejected at the sight of the crown limply hanging onto your head, you laughed and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. You had seen your lovely humans do this to express their adoration. And it was accurate to the moment: you adored him, to the point where you could ignore where his origins had laid root in.

Immediately, his hands reached up around your waist and pressed you close until you were on his lap. You gasped against his lips, and his tongue was in your mouth, delving into its depths. You burned underneath his exploration, your hands clenching onto his clothes into fists. Oh, you had never known pleasure like this, so unlike the simpleminded happiness you felt watching the trees hum in the wind and your humans create art. This pleasure was different: it blazed hotly, burning down trees and creating destruction in its path.

When the two of you were separated, your eyes blurred in a haze, he brushed his finger over the plumpness of your bottom lip, soaked in the mixture of saliva. His eyes were filled with anguish, but for what, you did not know. “My name is Yoongi.”

You let out a startled gasp at this. Oh. Oh no. You knew this name. You pushed away from him and onto your feet, flinging an arm out to point at him. “You are the Demon God. You...!”  

He was on his feet now, his hands reaching out to grab onto you. But you were inconsolable, banging your fists on his chest. Fire burned before your gaze, glimpses of your beloved humans hopelessly shielding their children from horrible monsters that would tear them apart and consume their remains. You knew those screams. You could hear them even now.

“You are the one to harm my beloved humans! I have seen your creations rise up, full of evil and malice. I have seen them destroy and terrorize and kill-!”

He held your hands to his chest, pressing your fists against where his heart would have been had he been human. The fight drained out of you, as you laid limply in his embrace, tears wetting the fabric of his clothes. His voice was ragged as he spoke. “I am full of evil, my goddess. I was full of evil. I admit, I who had been wandering in darkness did not know good. But you, who could have slain me, showed me good when you saved me. I can be good for you, as long as you do not leave me. You hold my pitiful existence in your hands.”

He reached up a hand to touch the flower crown. The crown disintegrated underneath his touch, leaving bits of ashes. “You see, whatever I touch, I destroy. But with you, I can control this damned ability of mine. I can see reason.” He swallowed heavily. “I can see you. And when I see you, I see all that is good. I can see the flowers that you love to smell and out of all of them, you love lilies the most. I can see that you love humans, though they pillage and lie and kill. I can see why all beings seek the warmth of the day and fear the coldness of night.”

You looked up at him. You could only see the redness of his eyes then. But beneath it, there was a being who you were certain loved you. And you loved him, as much as you loved your humans. He, who was evil, was nothing more than a creation led astray.

“I am sorry,” you finally whispered, a stray tear slipping down your cheek. “I...You will have to give me time.”

When you pushed yourself away from him, this time for good, you walked away.

When he saw that you had left without even a look back at him, he looked up as a large crow flew down. When it landed, it transformed into that of a handsome man with narrow eyes and bronzed skin and cheeks that would have revealed a dimple had he been a smiler.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi spoke, “Keep an eye on her for me. I will leave to deal with the issues of the Demon Realm.”

Namjoon nodded his head and hummed in agreement. “I will. A favor for a friend.”

Yoongi laughed. “Your associations with humans have made you more like them. A demon has no need for friends. In our existence, there are those who lead, and those who follow.”

Namjoon turned his head to look at where the little goddess had been. “And how would you describe her: a leader or a follower?”

Yoongi’s hands clenched briefly, like he could still feel her warmth, and his eyes were still pinned to where she had been. “She is holy. Holier than my damned existence. And yet I still want to monopolize her and make her look only at me.”

“So then?” Namjoon asked again. “How would you categorize her?”

Yoongi remained silent for a moment. Then, he vanished, leaving Namjoon alone in the forest. Namjoon thought to himself then: what about this little goddess captured the attention of a demon that had been damned from the beginning?

Namjoon kept a careful eye on the goddess. Though on the surface, it was due to orders from his liege, he could not help the insatiable curiosity about her. She was kind—though kindness was not much familiar to a demon like him. She certainly loved those humans, as foolish and terrible they were. And when she watched a wedding, there was a certain sadness lingering in her eyes that captured him.

And so, as Yoongi remained away from her side, Namjoon found himself fixated on this presence.

He had been following her in a crow form when he was caught by the pudgy hands of some kid who was little more than the neighborhood bully. The kid had thrown him onto the ground and menacingly reached down to start plucking at his feathers. He had thought about growing back into a fierce snake, who could rear up to bite the human that dared to grab him and leave him on the verge of death, when a voice cried out.

“Leave that bird alone!”

The child bully looked up, prepared to viciously attack the person who dared to interrupt his fun time, but swallowed his words at the sight of the glowering adult. The little goddess had taken on the form of a muscular man, with biceps that bulged like the size of a boulder, and the kid had been too flustered to come up with a retort. Instead, the kid dropped Namjoon’s bird form and sped off.

When the muscular man shifted back into the form of the little goddess, Namjoon watched as you ran up to him and lifted him up to inspect him. “Oh, I am so glad you were not harmed! I love those humans, but I do not particularly enjoy it when they decide to hurt other innocent beings.” You squinted down at him with analytical eyes. Namjoon gulped, fearing that you would have caught onto the true self that lingered underneath the disguise. “Do you think I was too mean by taking on that scary form, right?”

Namjoon shook his head, forgetting that birds should not have understood the human language. But you laughed like this was to be expected, and Namjoon felt silly: of course, animals like birds would understand the words of this goddess. “Good! Well, I will let you be now, little guy. Try to be more careful, so you will not get caught again. You are a handsome bird, with very beautiful feathers. There are many humans who would catch you just to capture your feathers.”

Namjoon puffed up in pleasure. Of course, he was beautiful. He was a high-ranking demon. This crow form was nothing for him. If anything, he was the most handsome crow out of all the crows that occupied the human realm. He squinted his eyes. What was he even thinking?

In his agitation, he fluttered his wings and flapped away, ignoring the tinkling sound of laughter that she made when he almost rammed into a tree branch.

When Yoongi returned and had asked Namjoon on how his goddess had fared without seeing him, Namjoon could not help the zip of pleasure that ran through him when he had answered that she had been more than fine, and Yoongi had glowered in response.

Namjoon then understood why Yoongi had been unable to answer him when he had asked which category the little goddess had occupied. She was neither a leader nor a follower. Her existence itself was a source of contentment, of happiness that destroyed the boundary between who was meant to control and who was meant to be controlled.

There were many creations that were beautiful. And there were few creations that were both beautiful and kind. But beautiful and kind creations never lived long.

You loved most the most beautiful and kind of the humans: a young girl who had lived as a daughter of a baron. You had chanced upon her on one of your visits, watching her help the poor though her family itself had little means, and when she had begged for help from a deity to help save her from her plight, you had been listening to her pleas that she not be sold to the vicious king that ruled over her kingdom.

You did something that you reserved for only your most favorite humans: you appeared in front of her. When you had offered her a way to avoid the favor of the king—a bell that would turn her into a bird that could fly out of the king’s grasp—she had laid on the ground and kissed your feet in joy.

But word of the goddess that appeared with the golden bell spread far and wide. And when you entered the human realm, wanting to see how that human girl was faring, you were soon captured by the king’s army. When you were lead to the throne room, your hands wrapped in chains, you were distraught at the sight of your most favorite human pointing at you.

“This is the goddess!” she declared. She turned to the king, who looked like a walking corpse with sallow skin and hollow cheeks underneath the gold and silk he wore. “Your majesty, I implore you to remember our deal. For her capture, you will let go of my parents and give us enough gold to revitalize our land and tend to our people.”

Oh, though she had betrayed you so, you felt a rush of pride. Betrayal for a good reason, you could tolerate, for you loved her so. But the king had merely raised his hand, and a knight rushed forward with a fell swoop of his sword. When her head, bloody, fell in front of you, you let out a ragged cry.

The king knelt down in front of you, a blade in his hand. You flinched as he wielded the knife...and sliced his palm open. He reached up to cup your cheek, smearing his blood on your flesh. “I heard tears from a goddess could cure all wounds.”

He lifted his palm back and watched with awe as the wound on his palm closed up. His eyes glowed with a sick greed. “Then it must be true. That the blood of a goddess can cure all ailment. You know, I had this knife brought to me for this very moment when I first heard the legends. It is made of a terrible evil capable of killing good. You should know that I was granted this knife from the Demon God himself after I sacrificed many peasants.”

He raised the knife and sliced your palm. You felt pain for the first time in your existence, but even more hurtful, you felt anguish bite at what might have been your heart. Gold ichor spilled out of your wound, and he hastily bent down to drink your blood. Color returned to his cheeks at once. You watched in disgust and horror as he laughed with glee. He sobered up, looking down at you. His eyes glittered with the remnants of the sickness that had imprisoned him so.

“Then it must be true. That the sacrifice of a goddess can fulfill any wish, a wish that would last for all of time. Your death can bring anyone back to life. For with your death, life will follow. I will be able to see my wife then.” He lifted the knife, and you were silent as he brought it down in a fell swoop. The blade pierced the flesh above your clavicle, but not a sound of pain left your lips. You pinched them together, even as your body collapsed on the cold floor.

You thought of Yoongi then. You wanted to let him know that you forgave him, for his deceit and for how he had tricked your beloved humans. But you were no longer capable of doing so. You were bleeding out on this floor, just like any other mortal that you had loved. You hoped that the Creators would not hurt the humans who had harmed you. There were many you had loved. And you knew that the Creators loved them even more so.

You saw a flash of red in front of your blurry gaze. A voice called your name, begging. You had never heard a voice that despaired like this voice did. You wondered, for a moment, why it sounded like Yoongi. Something wet splashed onto your skin, the sound of a crackle and a pop following. Ah, the tears of a demon, unlike the tears of a god, caused pain. But you did not feel any pain, not now. Ah, it was Yoongi.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him, that you saw good in him, that even when you were not around he could still be good. But your time, which had seemed to stretch on infinitely before, was now finite, limited by a few seconds left.

You whispered, gasping out short little breaths between the words. “I...forgive...all.”

“Wake...!” you heard.

And then you could speak no longer. And you could hear no longer.

The end of the realms was imminent. Underneath the grief of the ruler of the demon realm, fires roared and overtook earth. Soon, once earth was taken and destroyed, rage would spread and bring all that existed down to the burning afterworld.

The God of Life could not stand by and witness the end of all that he had created. When he had found himself in front of the Demon God, he had been prepared for the sword that the Demon God had pointed at his chest.

“You...! She is your daughter, and you wish me to spare the lives of the humans who...!” The Demon God had screamed in anguish. He laughed then, the sound ironic and cruel. "I know you beings are both cruel and kind. For if she had been less kind, she would have been less cruel, choosing her love of humans over...over our love."

The God of Life loved all he created very much. And he had loved his daughter, who had sprung forth from the love he had with his wife, very much as well. But as the Giver of Life, he was unable to upset the balance of the world he had created, not when the balance was so fragile. He could not bring his daughter back. Not without an equal trade. Not without a deal.

“More than you would ever know in your damned existence, I love her very much." Loved. "Yet, I too am unable to go against the tide of Fate." In that moment, for the first time in his existence that had always been steady and predictable, the God of Life relented.

"However, there is a chance for her to return.” He started. “But you must adhere to what I will tell you. So that you will not destroy the world, I will tell you of how you may be granted mercy from Fate. But there is little in this world that is certain."

The Demon God was silent now, his face stony and emotionless. But there was something dangerous taking root in his eyes. A sickness that could not be cured: Hope.

And Hope was the most dangerous thing, for as much as it could create, it could also destroy. Hope would be the reason why humanity would continue. And hope would be the reason why the king, who in his madness had killed a deity, did not die. And why many, many years later, a princess that once had been the most loved existence in all of the realms would be born into this kingdom in the absence of love.

For hope could destroy lineage, as much as it tried to preserve it.

A/N: As always, leave a comment! Though I'm not active like I used to be, I do check messages that come into my inbox and do see when y'all (if anyone is still here haha) comment. If anything, another motivator that had me come back to this blog just for this story was someone who messaged me two years ago. @theedungeonwitch, though I was in a not so great place then and wasn't able to respond to you, I'm leaving my flowers here for you now. No tag list, since I'm not sure who's still here and still willing to read this chapter :)

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 17: Blade x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4368

Warnings: Afab!reader, size difference, age difference, camgirl, voyeur, caught watching, sex toy (dildo), masturbation, spanking as punishment, a little hint of (forced) age play, infantilization, passing mention of pacifiers, cock warming (in mouth), Blade being a strict yet also perverted grandpa

A/N: Very excited about this one, personally 🤭 This is a little gift I wanted to do for a friend, you know who you are ❤️ and I hope you enjoy the fic!

⭐

It is in a rare moment of clarity that the man currently known as Blade finds himself wandering down the winding corridor of the ship. Elio’s ship. No, that wasn’t quite right. This is the Stellaron Hunters ship. 

Even if it technically belonged to their largely elusive leader, this was still a neutral safehaven for everyone in their merry little band of wanted criminals and the vast majority of it was considered communal property. He had every right to be here just as any of them did even if the only things he owned in it were the clothes on his back and his sword. 

Except — glancing up from his thoughts, Blade abruptly realizes he’s made his way into the hallway where the girls’ rooms were located. In all actuality he shouldn’t have been here. Not because of any rules or regulations, or even because any one of them had told him not to, but due to his personal boundaries and respect for their space. His own hardly used room was on the opposite side of the ship for a reason, and something he’d insisted on so as not to intrude on the daily routines or general comfortability of the fairer sex. 

Silver Wolf thought him old fashioned for it and called him names he didn’t fully understand the meaning of. 

Kafka had found it rather amusing, laughing that slow, drawling chuckle she does when something has managed to tickle her funny bone in earnest. 

Firefly even told him once that it was sweet of him to show them such consideration, though he knew not how that made any sense. It was only customary for men to give women their privacy, wasn’t it? 

And you … 

Slowing to a halt in the middle of the hallway, just a few paces down from your door, Blade abruptly realizes that that was what he was doing on this side of the hull. 

He’d felt compelled to see you and at this time of night it seemed likely he’d have better luck looking for you here than anywhere else. Clearly he hadn’t thought that through all the way though, otherwise he wouldn’t have suddenly found himself standing between Silver Wolf’s room and Kafka’s like some sort of creeping midnight wraith. If one of them caught him skulking around like this would they be upset with him? Would they look at him with suspicion and question his motives for being out in what was by all accounts their hallway at this late hour? 

Feeling a self conscious prickle start up at the base of his spine, Blade begins to turn so he can creep back the way he’d come from but a frustrated groan behind Silver Wolf’s door stops him in his tracks. He hesitates a moment before shuffling closer to just bring his ear up to listen. It’s badly muffled through the barrier and he can’t quite make out what it is she’s saying, but he could surmise that she must have been laying into someone rather colorfully through her headset. Gaming, no doubt. 

Straightening back up, the man currently known as Blade carefully considers the situation laid out before him. Young Silver Wolf was clearly much too preoccupied to notice his presence and Kafka was in all likelihood probably asleep by now, wearing her favorite eye mask to ensure she got a good night's rest. And if he recalled correctly, Firefly was off at the moment doing something at Elio’s request which only left … 

Silently turning on his heel again, he continues his onward trek past the line up of doors until he reaches yours down by the end of the corridor. His hand comes up to deliver a curt knock but this, too, gives him pause. If you were trying to sleep he didn’t want to disturb your rest or potentially frighten you, having someone unexpectedly rapping their knuckles at your door like that. So he murmurs your name instead, speaking only as loud as he thinks he needs to for you to hear him. 

For a long stretch of seconds he gets no response whatsoever and he soon decides that you must be tucked into bed already. Breathing out a terse sigh through his nose, he once again starts to turn and retrace his steps only for an odd little noise filtering through the door to give him pause. A quiet mewl that rises in pitch at the tail end before fading out with a threadbare rattle, by the sounds of it. How odd. Were you in pain? 

He stands there for another moment longer, just listening, until he at last catches that same breathy exhale again. Although he isn’t quite sure what to make of it, his thoughts meandering through a variety of possibilities that seem increasingly unlikely to him, he still ultimately decides that this warranted further investigation. After all, if you were in some sort of distress it would be wrong for him to ignore it. 

It’s not exactly curiosity that urges him closer to your door nor is it for entirely selfless reasons of magnanimity either. The insistent tug he feels in his chest to see you in one of his fleeting moments of cognizance is much more pressing than anything else, the rest just a convenient excuse as he turns his ear to listen. He says your name again, no louder than before, and still you do not respond. 

Carefully, Blade reaches for your doorknob and just tests its give. It almost registers as surprising when he finds it unlocked but he doesn’t stop long enough to question it. Barely turning it enough to ease the inner latch open, he pushes in only so far as to create a hair's breadth sliver of a crack which is where he bends his head to once again listen. 

A soft but insistent rustling noise. Another throaty sound. The soft click of something wet and warm, and welcoming that sends a dull spark of recognition racing through his mind. 

He doesn’t outright understand what it is he’s hearing but it’s as if some long dormant, primal part of his brain that is more beast than man recognizes it for what it is. His pulse quickens ever so slightly underneath his collar and he slowly works the door further open until he can peek around the edge of it. 

At first all he can make out is your empty bed and the resounding darkness that shrouds this side of the room. The other half is faintly lit by a dull glow that flickers just ever so slightly around the edges. He almost doesn’t do it, fully aware that it was not only rude but also highly inappropriate for a man to intrude on a woman’s private space in such a way, and yet he can’t quite seem to fight the compulsion to inch his way in to stand just inside your room, peering over at the corner and the source of that incandescent light. 

To his mild pang of surprise, you’ve got a small desk set up along the far wall with a custom built laptop open that looks to be of Silver Wolf’s creation, if he had to guess. The screen emits enough light for him to make out the immaterial shapes of all the bits and baubles you’ve collected over the years lined up in apparent disarray around the computer. Odd little cartoon cat figures which he knew Firefly to be equally enamored with, an old Clockie stuffed toy, various good luck charms and bracelets, a girlish jewelry stand, a stack of magazines and a small collection of perfume bottles lined up in some semblance of order. 

It does not leave him with an impression of someone who is on the IPC’s most wanted list, but rather it reminds him that despite everything else you were still just a girl. 

His girl. 

No. A girl who reminded him a bit too much of another girl he’d known several lifetimes ago for him to pretend like he didn’t see the similarities. 

And in front of all that clutter and the evidence of the person you are when you weren’t chasing down Stellaron’s with them, you’re sitting in a cushiony, pink fur lined chair with both feet propped up on the table, bracketing the softly humming laptop. For an extended moment Blade has no reasonable idea what you’re doing, registering only that your socks were mismatched, the rest of your legs bare and that your arm was restlessly moving in the space between your thighs. 

But then his gaze focuses in on the glowing screen and all at once he understands what’s happening. 

You’ve got the computer's webcam aimed at you in such a way that it records a close up shot of your lower half while the rest of you was largely obscured by the creeping darkness around you, effectively veiling your face from any clear identification. The feedback shows your pussy spread open around a thick, phallus shaped toy that heavily slides in and out of you in time with the flex of your hand. Those noises he’d heard suddenly make complete and total sense, as do the breathy little sounds you’re quietly making, and he feels suddenly warm with that knowledge. 

He knows he really shouldn’t be violating your privacy like this, like some kind of shameless voyeur, but … his attention shifts to the sidebar of the screen where a fast moving series of messages seemed to be coming in, one right after another. Were you streaming this for the entire cosmos to see? 

Something about that manages to truly shock him, and his chest expands with the sharp little breath he sucks in. It’s a small miracle that you don’t hear it and catch him red handed, but you’re evidently much too focused on working that toy inside you to be aware of much of anything else at the moment. And for a harrowingly long stretch of moments, the man currently known as Blade just stands there and watches you in transfixed disbelief. 

It’s hard to say if it’s just his age showing, great as it was especially when compared to yours, or if it’s the instinctive draw he felt towards you, that deeply rooted urge to protect even when you didn’t conceivably need to be protected, but he feels somehow angry about this. Not because of any potential security threats posed by your actions when he knew Silver Wolf would have taken care to ensure the computer and its signals couldn’t be easily traced. Nor is it even because of the fact you seem to be taking a great deal of pleasure in exposing yourself like this and getting off to a rapt audience of strangers, although that does bother him too a little bit. 

More than anything he finds that it’s the very notion, simple as it was, that other men were looking at you in such a vulnerable and exposed state of undress. That they were watching you, talking to you, making dirty comments at you and fisting their damned cocks while thinking about you. It was illogical that this should cause such a violent sense of unrest in his body when you weren’t actually his no matter how much he looked at you as if you were, but he can’t seem to wrangle it back under control now that it was swelling within him. 

He wasn’t exactly mad, at least not at you. Ticked off was probably the more accurate description and he doesn’t even attempt to hide it as he side steps further into the room so he can swing the door shut with an attention grabbing bang. 

You jolt so hard your chair seems in danger of tipping over when you bolt upright to twist around, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, startled eyes. For a moment you don’t seem to know how to react or even fully process the fact he’s standing there, but then your expression ever so slowly morphs into one of great confusion. 

“Blade? What are you doing in here?” 

“I came to see you but you didn’t answer when I called. I thought you were sleeping, not … this.” 

Here you start to look a little peeved. “So you just let yourself in? How long have you been standing there? I didn’t think I needed to lock my door at this time of - -“ 

“Turn it off.” 

“What?”

“I said,” He intones, stepping across the room in only a few short strides to loom over you. Leaning down to brace one bandaged hand across the back of your chair, he reaches out with the other to grab the top of the laptop and forcefully slam it shut hard enough to make you jump. “Turn it off.” 

Just sitting there in frozen stillness with your bare thighs weakly pressed together, you warily peer up at him from your lower vantage point before at last rousing yourself. “The webcam is still going. You need to turn off the actual stream first.” 

“I don’t care. I’ll smash the whole thing if that’s what it takes.”

A puzzled look crosses your face. “Why are you so upset about this? I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Oh, you’re doing plenty wrong, little Rabbit.” He says, intentionally keeping his tone low and even, watching your expression darken slightly at the use of your old code name. 

Blade knew you didn’t like it when he or any of the others called you that, but there were a great number of other things you didn’t like either. He was aware you didn’t like green vegetables very much, for example, even though he’d attempted to chide you into eating them on occasion. But you didn’t listen to him, just as you weren’t listening to him now. You also didn’t like when he would try to baby you as he so often felt compelled to do. It was frustrating and more than a little confusing when he himself was so often out of sorts due to his condition, and yet … 

It suddenly occurs to him as he’s looking down into your upturned face that this was the reason for his current upset. He wanted to dote on you and coddle you, protect that girlish side of you that he perceived as innocent, but good girls who got babied didn’t show their pussy to every corner of the universe. A lesson had to be taught here if he wanted to get through to you. This couldn’t be like the broccoli and the green peppers where he just let it slide, because this wasn’t half as harmless in his eyes. 

Slowly straightening at the idea that comes into his head, Blade cooly peers down at you from his elevated height. “You said it’s still recording?” 

A stilted, grumpy little nod. Such a brat. “Streaming, but yeah. It’s still going.” 

“Good. If you want to show off so much then let’s let the world see what happens to bad girls who don’t keep their legs closed.” 

Your head snaps up at that, genuine shock registering in your expression. But before you can recover enough to react he brings the hand on the back of your chair down to grab a biting fistful of your hair, giving it a subdued tug to keep you in place when you try to jerk away from him. He isn’t violent with you nor is he really even all that rough about it, just firm and unrelenting while he holds you there. 

Listening to you seethe and hiss like an incensed cat, he bends at the waist again to reach between your legs. You let out a startled squawk, socked feet sliding uselessly against the smooth top of the desk as you try to keep them closed to shut him out but it’s an effort in futility. He easily bullies his hand into the tight, warm space despite all of your desperate wriggling so he can grapple the toy from your hand and ease it out of your cunt. 

You issue a low, faltering sound as it slips away to a sticky wet little click, shuddering rather stiffly as you watch him set it aside on the cluttered table. Even with the only light source now coming from around the edges of the closed laptop he can still clearly make out the fine sheen of arousal coating the silicone when it glistens faintly in the dull glow. It’s enough to make him click his tongue in disappointment before redirecting his fingers to nudge at your feet where they’re still awkwardly braced on top of the desk. 

One yellow sock and one purple? Was he going to have to start dressing you too? 

“Down. Feet don’t belong on the furniture, Rabbit.” 

Shooting him a quick, heated glare, you grudgingly comply, curling your legs inward so that you can work them underneath the table in the awkward position you’re sitting in. You probably would have had an easier time of it if he’d let go of your hair, but he didn’t want you thinking about running off to escape your punishment. Besides, this wouldn’t even be happening right now if you hadn’t had your cunt shoved up in front of the camera to begin with. 

Stopping just long enough to flip the top of the computer back up and allow a bit more light so he can better see what he’s doing, Blade sternly nudges your head around to indicate what he wanted you to do. “Turn around. Kneel on the chair for me.” 

You grumble under your breath the whole time yet comply with this as well, slowly twisting around to get your legs under you before going up to clutch the backrest, facing out now. He follows you around throughout the process, using his hold to guide you into place, until he ends up standing directly in front of you. A quick look at the screen behind you confirms his suspicions. This was a perfect angle of your ass. 

“Dammit, Blade,” You seethe, clutching the chair so tightly it creaks under the pressure when he reaches down with his free hand to tug his belt loose. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Isn’t this what you wanted? The way you were fucking yourself with that toy, I thought for sure you wanted a cock to play with.” 

A sharp, rattling gasp catches in your chest, peering up at him with a deeply flustered look. “Wh - I didn’t even think you knew those kinds of words … you’re so old fashioned about everything it almost feels wrong somehow.” 

He quirks a single brow at that, setting in to work at the front placket of his pants now. “I may be old, especially compared to you, but I am still a man. You would do well not to underestimate us of the opposite sex.” 

“I can see that.” 

Allowing you that final bitter grumble, Blade stiffly shoves his open pants down far enough for him to fish his cock out. He’s only half hard but rapidly filling out, and he takes himself in hand to pointedly nudge it at you, dragging the fleshy tip across your lips when you try to turn your face away. You were certainly stubborn but unfortunately for you he had nothing but patience and time to waste. 

“Open your mouth, little Rabbit. Let’s put it to better use than sassing your elders, hm?” 

Groaning a quiet sound when he tugs on your hair again, you glare daggers up at him from under the fall of your lashes. He gives you no chance to truly fight it though when his hold on you was as good as iron and his other hand was crowding insistently close to your face with his expectant cock. A cursory struggle is all you ultimately manage before he works your mouth open enough to slip it in, and you noise a muffled sound of protest at the abrupt sensation of spongy flesh on your tongue. 

“Do not bite.” He warns, allowing just enough of an edge to creep into his voice to indicate he was serious about that. “What’s wrong? You look upset. Isn't it customary to give little ones something to suck on in order to soothe them? Think of this then like a pacifier substitute. Something tells me you’ll appreciate it here in a moment.”

You noise a confused sound at that, keeping your eyes rolled up to suspiciously watch him. He says nothing further though, holding your head firmly in place with his hand while he leans forward to reach over you. 

Placing his opposite palm along your lower back, right under the raised hem of the fluffy hooded top you’ve got on, he drags it lower to feel along the feminine curve of your waist and then your hips. He realizes in a vague, distant sort of way that he’s seen you wearing this before. It was a two piece set, if he wasn’t mistaken, and the matching shorts were probably somewhere on the floor underneath the desk where you’d slipped them off before the fun started. It was astounding to him how shameless you were behind closed doors. 

But he plans to correct that, and as he heavily smooths his gloved fingers across the swell of your ass cheeks he takes a great deal of satisfaction in the way you shudder for him. It was likely that you were starting to guess at what he planned to do, and you whimper a sweet little sound that’s thoroughly muffled by his cock in your mouth. You don’t try to spit him out or test your luck with your teeth though, and that pleases him as well. 

It’s clear enough to him that you can be good, if you want to be, and he’s perfectly willing to give you that incentive, lifting his hand and then bringing it back down with a sharp clap across the fattest part of one cheek. You jolt so hard you almost seem to choke on the saliva gathering along your tongue as much as you do at the girth of him stretching your lips open. Still, you don’t fight him, so he quickly does the same to the opposite cheek. 

“Do you think this is what they wanted to see?” He murmurs, giving your fleshy backside a tight, pinching squeeze to make you squirm. “A bad girl getting spanked with another man’s cock in her mouth? I’m sure they're all quite disappointed in tonight’s show.” 

The only response you give is a plaintive little whine into his coarse thatch of pubic hair, struggling to ease your head back when his length slowly grows and fills out more. He keeps you held right where you are though, feeling himself start to tickle at the back of your throat now, and he groans a quiet sound as he brings his hand down on the first cheek again. 

“They’ll be even more disappointed when they find out this is the last time they’ll ever see you. Bent over, getting your behind smacked like a child. There will be no more of this nonsense, do you understand me?” 

You attempt to speak around him only to come up short, stiffly nodding your head instead. And he gives you no time to adjust or ease into the sting that’s no doubt settling over your ass the more he spanks you, peppering his hand back and forth between both cheeks to show them an equal amount of attention. Even in the faint glow of the laptop screen he can see your skin gradually darkening where he strikes you, the extra bite of his glove no doubt adding to the burn. And below that, in the feedback of the webcam, he can look at your poor, neglected little pussy where it’s peeking out from between your thighs. You really were a cute thing, and to this end he understood to an extent why you might enjoy showing off for strangers and being on the receiving end of their amorous gazes. 

But it wasn’t proper nor was it appropriate for a young lady such as yourself, and he just keeps spanking you until he can feel you shuddering with the sobbing, tiny cries that make your shoulders defensively bunch up. Only then does he pause to give you a short break while he lifts his hand to his mouth so he can bite the finger of the glove between his teeth and slide it off. 

When he reaches for you next, he’s struck by the stark contrast between his skin and yours. Where his fingers were battle hardened and littered with numerous scars, you were conversely smooth and nearly entirely blemish free. The size of his hand against your back also registers as pleasing, easily spanning almost the entire width of your waist despite the femininely wide set of your hips. He seems to dwarf you in every way, and he takes a moment to savoringly slide his calloused palm over your abused cheeks to really rub the hurt in and listen to you seethe. 

“Are you sorry, little Rabbit?” 

Sucking in a thick, wetly faltering breath, you give your head a plaintive nod as you noise an incomprehensible sound around his now stiffly rigid cock. 

He delivers another sharp swat to your ass, watching the meat of you jiggle from the force. His bare hand must hurt worse without the glove in the way, because you positively writhe against him, squealing helplessly while he grabs a tight handful of your throbbing skin to give it a squeeze. 

“Are you going to do it again?” 

You shake your head this time, restlessly shifting on your knees where you’re knelt for him. It’s almost enough to sway him, to make him feel enough pity for you to stay his hand, but he persists, knowing you wouldn’t learn your lesson if he wasn’t strict with you. Lifting his hand, he brings it back down on the other cheek to make you woundedly lurch against him with a smothered wail. 

“Good. I don’t want to have this talk with you again.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[luminetti]

Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors  ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so!  also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’)  ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday. 

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch’ my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

 “What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

[pearl-tarotist]

ೄྀ࿐ First impressions; what will your future spouse think of you?

"People themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them forever".

ਊ→ Chose a pic of the first line to know your spouse's first impression of you. (PILE 1-2-3)

Pile 1

Ace of cups, 2 of wands, 5 of swords, page of cups + king of wands

Your future spouse will see you as someone extremely lovely. Someone that is nurturing, good and emotionally available. They will see you as an emotional person because they will realize that those emotions are easily portrayed in your face and are easy to define. At your first encounter you will be an open book for them and they will easily realize the state/mentality that you have.

They will see you as someone with a lot of ambitions and dreams as it is probable that you will encounter him/her/them in the middle of forming/working in one of those dreams, probably something new that has to do with a trip/expansion of your comfort zone. They will realize how much strength and passion you put into them and they will think you are a fighter for those dreams, you will look like someone that won't give up or bow to anyone. They see resistance and a little bit of stubbornness from you.

It's probable that your personality or actions at the moment inspire and make her/him/them happy. You could remind them a bit of their own feelings, the pure and innocent ones. You will be a blast of fresh air for them.

In general, the impression that they will have of you is someone young that's not scared to go behind their dreams. Someone beautiful and cute, innocent even, that's starting to stablish the bases of something bigger. Probably, this person will be older than you and that's why they see you as this at the beginning. They will also realize that you probably have a lot of friends, that you are quite popular or that you have a lot of power in your social circle.

She Walks in Beauty (by lord byron)

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,//So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,//The smiles that win, the tints that glow,//But tell of days in goodness spent,//A mind at peace with all below,//A heart whose love is innocent!

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PILE 2

The Hermit, Ace of cups, Ace of wands, 3 of swords + 2 of cups

Your future spouse may think you are more of an introvert, he/she/they will feel that you are not letting yourself to be seen fully and freely.

Your fs will feel that even if you are being nice and polite, to get to know you they will have to pass certain tests that they do not even know in what consists. They will realize that you do not let people easily into your life and that probably you see yourself above some type of people (it's not a bad thing in this case because you will just be aware of which type of people you want to hold a relationship with and of which type of people you don't).

So, you will look more guarded for him and to a point, hurt. AS you will present yourself in a more introvert way; more guarded to form new friendships and relationships, he will think that it comes from bad experiences, a sad story. As if you had your heart broken or in pain.

And I think your future spouse will see you trying so hard to meet new people and be friendly and nice that when seeing the sadness in your eyes, your fs will want to be friends or to start a relationship with you just to stop you from trying anymore.

Like, "Darling, it's okay. Let me be your friend and you will have to stop doing what you hate so much, that it is being sociable...".

It could sound pitiful but your future spouse will not think like that, it's interest more than pity because they will see you in a nice and positive light what makes them interested in getting to know you more and better. Kind of like a damsel in distress. Their interest for you comes good intentions, mutual respect and in a small part because of sexual desire.

Lana del Rey - Sad Girl.

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PILE 3

The emperor, 6 of swords, king of swords, the wheel of fortune, the high priest

Your future spouse will see you as someone that has everything under control, someone that has high self-esteem and that's the boss. They will think that you're someone really strict but also with a lot of skills, knowledge and someone that easily gets rid off of what's not useful for them anymore. You will be in total control of a new change and transformation that you will be going through. It's possible that you don't even realize that you're going through this transformation but your future spouse will notice.

What I see is that this transformation or the origin of this transformation has made you be more professional logical and way mental.

Your future spouse will see you as someone professional, logical and mental and this impression comes out of admiration. They think you are someone really clever and wise, able to produce a lot of benefitial changes in their environment

They think you're good and if they could ask for your advice they think you would give them the best idea ever.

In your first meeting it looks like you will truly impress them with your skills, knowledge, professionalism and your easiness to let what does not benefit you behind. They will see a capable woman, not just a little girl.

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[moonydustx]

Law or Zoro (maybe both separately 🙇‍♀️?) with their s/o secretly being a kunoichi 🤭

Thank u 🙏

Hi Hi! I'll start with: I'm sorry. I didn't know much about the term and I tried to research it, but to be honest, I don't think I got the best of it. I used the point of view in which the character actually became an ally. Maybe I got a little carried away with Law.

After all, how can you disappoint them? (I mean, look at these two happy just seeing Raizo)

requests | one piece masterlist

Zoro

Warnings: blood, use of swords, the two like each other but are unable to deal with it maturely.

"Leaving friendship aside" you shouted, dodging the blow. "You're too slow, Zoro."

" What did you say?" He tried to attack you again, but it only took a few steps for you to dodge his attacks. "What the hell!"

"I said: slow." You stopped the sword with your forearm, turning it and letting it rest against the swordsman's skin. "And sloppy."

"How can you do that?"

"A lady doesn't tell your secrets." You laughed, letting him go.

The sun streamed through the crow's nest windows, illuminating the entire space.

Occasionally you and the swordsman would take time out to train. Your excuse was always that you needed to improve your skills and his was that he needed a punching bag. You knew there was a lot behind it - the hours wasted together, the accidental skin-to-skin touches. Those workouts were your favorite part of your schedule.

A crash caught the two of you's attention as well as the uneven rocking and some screams coming from beneath you.

"We are being attacked." Zoro looked out the small window seeing the reason for the small chaos that had formed. "Stay here."

He disappeared from your field of vision in a few seconds. You were determined to follow his orders, not that you owed any kind of obligation, but returning to fight seemed like a distant choice.

Your eyes narrowed at the edge of the window, trying to understand the scale of what was happening. Three pirate ships surrounded the Sunny, each with a flag. Probably a group has allied together to try to overthrow you. Ignoring it no longer seemed like an option.

You practically jumped halfway down the stairs, finding the ship full of enemies. Everyone fought as best they could, but the number of people interested in taking down the Straw Hats seemed too much for you.

Using the same technique you had used in previous training, you dodged each attack, trying to take as little damage as possible. On the other side, you saw one of the men suddenly throw Nami's Clima-tact stick away. Your eyes quickly searched for the best and closest alternative within your reach.

Dodging two guys, you didn't bother asking for permission to take out the third sword that Zoro still kept in its sheath, only seeing him look at you sideways without much room to question.

Before the bullet hit Nami, you positioned the katana blade and watched the fragment turn into two. Ignoring your friend's screams, you threw blows at the first man who had attacked her. A cut in the middle of the chest was enough to knock him down and make room for other enemies to find you.

The sharp blade paraded across the deck of the Sunny, arms fell around you, enemy blood splashed on your clothes and the floor. The presence of the other companions was a memory in the fog, you just needed to help everyone get rid of the little problem. Losing your balance when you saw the ship accelerate in the opposite direction to the enemy ship, it wasn't long before you were just contemplating the blue horizon in front of you.

The absolute silence took a few seconds to bother you until you realized what it was. All your companions looked at you curiously, probably the blood that dripped from the katana and that also stained your clothes was what attracted most of their attention.

The words came to the tip of your tongue and died for a few moments, you were fully aware that you owed your friends satisfaction, it was just difficult to bring the story to light.

"Since when did you know how to do that?" Nami was the first to ask, without any type of ceremony.

"There's been a good, good time."

"But you weren't just an expert in languages, I mean, for someone who has their face buried in books translating those strange things, you know your way around a katana very well." Usopp pointed out, making clear all the curiosity - which was probably in the others' minds.

"I was trained for a long time, longer than I would have liked." you declared, walking to the edge of the ship and leaning against it.

The crew's swordsman did the same, stopping next to you and the others practically circled you. Your hand nervously squeezed the blunt end of the sword in your hand.

"I was taught to infiltrate, to go unnoticed, to kill. I never had much of a choice in the meantime."

"And how did you end up here?" Chopper asked almost adorably, his curiosity leaning more toward admiration than anything else.

"I had a mission." your eyes found Robin in the background. "I needed to infiltrate and take Robin away from here, a high price for someone with high qualifications."

"This is getting interesting." the archaeologist smiled almost understandingly. For some reason you seemed to have given up on the plan and she had already found herself in a similar position. "What made you stop?"

"You, all of you." the answer sounded obvious coming from you. "You all welcomed me so well, I felt like part of a family. So I never answered the calls again and decided to stay here, to be honest, if I had any other choice I wouldn't have done all this." you gestured towards the blood on your clothes. "I understand if you want me to leave, a secret this big..."

"No." Luffy responded immediately. "You're not going to leave."

"But..."

"The captain decided, you're still a Straw Hat." Sanji completed, leaving room for a brief drag on his cigarette. "And with all that blood you're still beautiful."

"Shut up idiot" Zoro grumbled. "But I agree with Luffy, it's decided, you stay. Now everyone, let's get these scraps out of here." the man pointed to the downed enemies.

Without much desire to continue arguing, one by one you saw your companions move away and begin to clean the deck. Zoro however remained there, standing a few meters away.

"I bet you hate me for my petty theft." You turned to him.

"Are you feeling good?" His calm voice broke your expectations. "You didn't seem comfortable telling all that."

"It's a past that I wanted to leave behind, you know? Being a linguist is much cooler than having to scrub clothes dirty with enemy remains, but now I don't have much choice."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've already proven that I can fight, I believe that in the next battles it won't make much sense for me to try to escape." a dejected smile crossed your lips as you approached him.

"Only if you want." Zoro replied as you parked yourself in front of him, your feet aligned with his. "If you want to fight, I'll be happy to help you get a katana. If you want to continue just being you, I promise I have enough strength and swords for both of us."

The promise implicit in his voice gave you goosebumps, as well as warming your cheeks in a certain shyness.

"And leaving friendship aside?" he started and you just nodded. "You look beautiful using my katana to take out idiots."

"Leaving friendship aside..." you replied, taking the opportunity to reduce the small space between you.

Without taking your eyes off Zoro's eyes, you slid the sword back into his sheath, completing the trio that now rested after the battle.

"I'd love to be able to do both. Maybe you can help me." your faces were just a short distance away, ignoring the entire world around you.

"Meet me tonight, upstairs. I think we can take some time to train."

"You two make this mess, come help!" Nami's scream broke you both out of your little trance, but the promise still hung in the air.

♡

Law

Warnings: cute, brief hint of something hotter at the end, pre-established relationship. Law is a super nerd in this one.

Something was out of place. Something felt like it was about to go wrong, you just didn't know what. Following the corridors of the submarine, you made a point of looking room by room, corner by corner, in search of what you didn't even know what you were looking for. The Polar Tang, despite being moored on an island, was occupied by all the crew. Almost all, the captain was absent.

"Bepo?" you entered the room he was in, hitting the switch sharply.

With nightfall and no longer sailing, there weren't many tasks left to be carried out inside Polar Tang. The bear - who was apparently taking a brief nap - rubbed his eyes, trying to understand where the call was coming from.

"Sorry to wake you up. Did you have any news from the captain?"

"He just said he was going to leave for a few hours and that if possible, we would be ready to leave." If it weren't for the worry you would definitely be teasing Bepo and his habit of making mini roars instead of yawns.

"Taking a nap is being ready, mister furry?" the bear's grumbling filled the room. "I don't know Bepo, I have a bad feeling."

"About the captain?" he rose to his feet, more alert than before. "He said he had things to sort out."

"I don't know." you murmured, thinking about possibilities, perhaps the worst possible ones echoed in your mind. "From what I remember, Law was alone for a long time before he went, am I right?"

"Yes! He said he needed to focus on something."

"Okay, let's go through his desk."

Papers hung on the wall, notes spread out on the table, a large web connected the information he had gathered so far about Doflamingo. Occupying his chair, you didn't hesitate to turn over some pages, finding names and positions written down and a map of the island. An X marking a specific point next to a photo attracted your gaze, making you search your own memories to understand the familiarity with such a situation.

"Flander..." you brought the photo of the man with white hair and a black suit closer. You remembered the man but even so, your brain burned trying to remember why and it gave you a bad feeling.

"Do you know him?" "An idiot tycoon who's also a mobster. Last time I bumped into him it was to recover a stolen devil fruit. He craves power, so he uses the black market to sell them and also use... oh, shit!"

"What happened?" the bear tried to keep up with you as you ran back to your room, thankful to find it empty.

"Get everything ready for us to escape. Also prepare the defenses." you pulled out a large hidden brown box. "Law may have been ambushed."

In other situations you would even ask him to leave, but while the bear screamed and ran from side to side you didn't hesitate to throw your overalls and in seconds put on the suit. The minutes lost in getting dressed would certainly be recovered with help in camouflaging.

"Wait, what is this?"

"No questions Bepo! Go now!"

You adjusted the cloth that covered part of your face. Ignoring the curious stares, you crossed Polar Tang in seconds, finding a full moon shining all over the pier that night. That costume, that story, you had chosen to leave behind, but the thought of someone hurting your captain was too much for you to ignore.

Following through the trees it didn't take long to find Flander's compound. Trying to avoid the presence of the security guards, you followed their movement pattern, finding a small gap to climb onto the first floor of roofs. Even though the rooms that were within reach of your eyes seemed empty, you still chose to go outside. Leaning on the gutter and avoiding any noise as much as possible, you didn't have much difficulty finding the next floor.

This time, coming across some lights on in the indoor area, you could feel closer to your goal. Using the noise of voices and the distraction to your advantage, you managed to peek inside the room.

Flander was sitting in one of the chairs, three huge men accompanied him and Law was sitting on the floor. A trickle of blood ran from his eyebrow and his hands were tied together. You hated being right in your suspicions.

Using the point of illumination to your advantage, you opted for the lack of it, throwing your dagger towards the lamp. The sound of breaking glass attracted the attention of everyone there - including Law.

"Where did that come from?" one of the men bent down picking up the small gray object.

The moonlight might still be an advantage for them, but it wouldn't be a problem for you. Rolling into the window, you took advantage of having fallen in a crouch to cut the ankle of the first man within your reach and joining a trip, he soon found the ground.

The other two gathered around you and using the ratio of size to speed, you managed to dodge them, reaching Flander and putting your other dagger through his leg, leaving it stuck between his thigh and the upholstery of the expensive bench he was sitting on. One of the other men managed to hit you, making you lose your balance, but it only took a few kicks and both he and the other man were on the ground.

"Who are you?" Flanders shouted, probably not only trying to clear the doubt but also trying to get the attention of more henchmen.

Before he could continue shouting, you slammed his head against the expensive wooden table in front of the man.

"Cap... Trafalgar." you corrected yourself almost at the last second. "Do you know where your handcuff keys are?"

"In my left pocket." your eyes - which were one of the few things discovered on your face looked in pure disbelief at him. "I knew he would try to trick me, I changed all the handcuffs here to regular versions."

"I do not believe that." despite the relief in knowing that in a way, he already knew what awaited him, it didn't stop you from staying alert.

"You're Shadow Moon, right? The konoichi who helps Sora in magazine 147 of the regular story. From Yushe Island?" He stood up, approaching the table and picking up a small brown notebook, leafing through it quickly. "Am I right, Shadow Moon?"

"Law, we have time to sort this out later." you pulled the cloth away, revealing your face. "Is this the only notebook you need?"

"Are you Sora's Shadow Moon from the Yushe Islands?" for the first time you saw Law's voice rise a few decibels in pure surprise. A slightly more serious version of a child who just got the doll he always wanted. "You?"

"We really can... Shit!" you felt your arm burn as more men appeared in your field of vision. Before you could prepare to fight, the blue dome enveloped you and the bodies lying in the room were replaced by the trees of the island's small forest, the same one that had helped you camouflage your arrival.

"Well, it was a graze." you checked your own arm and it didn't take long for Law to take the job for himself.

"Yes, you almost don't need stitches. A bandage should do the trick, Shadow Moon."

"Are you really going to call me that all night?" Law decided to back off the subject when he noticed the irritation in your voice, but you knew the subject wouldn't remain quiet for long. "When we arrive at Polar Tang, I'll explain. I've already got everyone ready for us to set sail."

You were never so happy to be back in the little metal cocoon, or at least that was the affectionate way you called the yellow submarine. After reassuring everyone, you followed Law to his room, knowing that he must have doubts about everything that happened.

"How did you know I was there?" he asked as soon as you slammed the door behind you. Taking advantage of the small peace to catch your breath, you leaned against the wall.

"I had a strange feeling and when I found Flander's photo, I knew something was wrong. I already knew his history with Devil Fruit users."

"I understood." Law seemed distracted by something on his stand. "I knew he would try to catch me, I wanted to make the most of my time to extract information."

"Next time, please let your girlfriend know." you murmured, crossing your arms and watching him walk towards you. "No way."

Law placed a small doll next to you and you knew what it was without even looking.

"Shadow Moon, I knew it!"

"I'm sorry I kept this from you." You asked and saw him nod. The same hand that held the action figure pulled you closer to the bed.

"How did you end up in Sora?" he sat down, giving you space to sit next to him or in it.

"Long story short, I helped one of the comic's editors, it was his way of thanking me." Law's eyes sparkled as you adjusted yourself over his hips.

"My girlfriend is Shadow Moon. Do you have any idea how badass that is?" he again looked at the doll and placed it aside. "Although you look a lot hotter in the real version."

"Is this serious? I took down several idiots at once to save you and you're impressed by this?" You pointed to your own clothes.

"This? You mean the legendary Shadow Moon responsible for taking down enemy armies and who can disappear into the shadows?" Your loud laugh also brought a light laugh from Law. "Shadow Moon herself came to save me. Where were you hiding all this?"

"Kind of wanted to put that story behind me." you bent down and pushed him against the bed, using the gap to lay on his chest. Just a few hours apart along with the adrenaline in your body made you miss Law's contact. "It was really lucky they left my suit in Sabaody."

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay." Noticing the hesitation in your voice, Law tried to steer you away from that subject. But his presence was comforting, it was as if the old memories were just that: things left behind.

"After my parents died, these women took me in. They gave me a home, food, but in return they trained me. They did this with different types of girls."

"You know why?"

"A lot of us went on missions for them, but the purpose was always to teach us how to defend ourselves." You smiled when you felt his fingers caress your skin, encouraging you to keep talking.

"I started to stand out, taking down many of the enemies until the mission where they discovered me infiltrated. I was pretending to be a doctor for one of the pirates who stole them."

"So that's why you already knew how to deal with everything here."

"Exactly, it was almost like a vocation, or destiny" a provocative smile dared to cross your lips, soon disappearing. "After finding out, they locked me up for a while. When they got tired of my presence, they sold me into slavery."

"You're lucky that a guy with a good heart was there, right?" Law's cynicism was something almost immersed in him. You quickly took the man's lips.

"They say he was very handsome." you murmured, catching his kisses.

"Babe, please." his tone was strangled when he felt your hips press against his. "But it's okay if you say no..."

"Trafalgar!" You lightly patted his shoulder when you saw him blush - like you hadn't seen in the time you were together. The way his gaze roamed your body made it clear what he wanted. "Okay, the costumes are still on my body."

"Hm.. my beautiful little konoichi." he turned you over on the bed, pinning you beneath him. "This time you won't be able to hide."

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

Could you write a yandere FD where reader finds his mask and accidentally frees him? I find the idea of him stalking reader after his freedom and reader being helpless to get help due to what he is.

Order up!

There really isn’t enough FD stuff (that isn’t smut) ((but also in general)) So here you go!

Edit: Part 2

tw: yandere, murder, slaughter of animals, blood/gore

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The deity despised what he had come to. A being of such pure power, capable of ripping Termina away from Hyrule thread by thread, was now bound to not much more than a piece of wood. The feeble fears of incapable gods now made a mockery of who and what he was. His prison was bleached and painted with the same war patterns that defined his godliness with the eyes empty for its wearer. Two blank spots —weak spots— in the mask. For when they bound his form to such fragility, there was something of a loophole left behind. The hallowed eyes allowed the wearer to see, and believe they had some control over their actions as his consciousness began to muddle with their own. You see, within the mask there were no holes allowing them —the wearer— to breathe. Because while they wore the mask, likeness of his own face, they didn’t realise the rotting wood begin to mingle with their skin. None of them did. Too hungry for more of the power he could provide and blood he could spill they hardly realized what they were becoming. The paint was always the first to merge with the new wearer, the pigments staining the skin as a faint, ever fading —but never truly gone— reminder of what he was. The hair came next. Silvery white strands mixing with their own around their fringe, framing their face, much similar to his own now. Last was the eyes. Not many kept the mask long enough to ever really hand themselves fully over to him, but his conscience would continue to invade nonetheless. No one held the power to hold him captive in their minds, so a corpse they were rendered. Their eyes would lose their iris, and as the wearer weakened, their eyes would become vast pools of stark white. He heard in the travelers’ wisdom that eyes were the doorway to the soul. Perhaps that was why the eyes were the last part of a person he was bled into. His final act to them was conquering their souls. Where once, double helix sword in hand, he would have slain any thing —living or otherwise— where once he could’ve conquered anything, now he was left to the slow trickle of energy from collected souls.

He’s first made aware of you by your gentle touch. You fingers cup the edge of his face —what was of it now anyway— and attempt to make sense of who it was you were looking at. Perhaps is was they no longer worshipped him in Termina. Centuries could slip by him in this form and he’d not know better. Hand in hand with that, the paint on his mask could very well be greyed and chipped beyond recognition. Immortality was always more faulty than the mortals made it seem. While boredom could be sated with bloodshed and war, it was aging that couldn’t be so simply ignored. Despite the fact his consciousness was as it was from the second he was bound into what he was, it didn’t stop the wood from rotting nor the paint from chipping and fading. Much he was like the warrior constellations in the sky. While consistent across the birth and death of many civilizations, slowly he died with them. Not in the final splatter of blood like the matter of mortality, but it was death in all the way that matters. Perhaps Hylia proved that you can kill a god. Sure, she may have ‘killed’ demise, but cyclically, he was still her tormentor. With Fierce, his form was weak. Too weak to hold him further. Much like the mortals who believed they could shoulder the weight, this form would too crack and rot beneath the earth. His point still stood that in spite of every possible factor that your serenity shouldn’t have met with his ruthlessness, you’d defied fate nonetheless.

By your grace he loved to watch you. Mounted on the fireplace, he could see everything in your tiny cabin. He could watch you cook food for yourself, sing as you cleaned the dishes afterward, and especially the fact you often would fall asleep on the couch meant he could spend even longer admiring the curves of your face. You were incomparably precious to the world. He remembers the days of his youth in divinity, freshly given his purpose. He’d killed many in those days, like an executioner who’s axe discriminated against none. The worship he once had, the temples he’d once been graced with, the concubines left for him… Perhaps he wanted more than to watch you. Being so close to what he wanted, truly wanted, made him antsy. And you’d live through life like you’d not known better. You’d talk to people where he couldn’t monitor to keep you safe, you’d leave the protection he offered. He’d long for you while you sat just out of reach, tempting him to try something. And so he did. It seems years of rot made the wood fragile.

You were honestly quite disappointed the mask had broke. The wood was splintered across the floor, and with how old it was, it really wasn’t worth saving. Still, you collected the bits from across the floor and kept moving. The forest was still and quiet as you traveled, the wind would whistle in the trees and a murder of crows crowded around you. Unfortunately, you had no bread or shinies to spare aside from a small green rupee, which they normally would’ve cawed and kicked around. Instead, their beady eyes watched you, huddled high in the trees as you waded through the forest. You could feel their eyes on you the whole way past.

The dead animals on your doorstep are not only mildly concerning, given their split open ribs, but incredibly creepy the longer it goes on. Clearly whoever was doing this was stubbornly persistent given their notes in a not very decipherable language. At first they left you a crow, the day they watched you. It had a small ring in its leg you didn’t bother to touch. The next was a badger, followed by fox, then an elk. Now, it was entirely beyond you who’d collect that many animals carcasses —you’d doubted they were hunted, given the large lacerations across their torsos— but it wasn’t much flattering. It wasn’t until you’d caved and cooked one of the elks and they’d kept giving you more that you’d considered they were trying to feed you. Sweet as that was, no one person had a use for that much elk. No one person could hunt that much elk. No person would see it right to draw a sigil in blood on the back wall of someone’s house in elk blood. No one person would help you.

You were still beautiful as you slept. He was glad now you were his spouse, though it did take you a while to get used to his courting. It was for the best though, you were well fed and protected now, more than any mortal man could hope to provide you with. He did enjoy killing all your other suitors. That tradition was always entertaining.

[greenboyfriend]

choose something cold... (tarot card reading)

"what do you need to know?"

image 1: it's cold. I mean, really cold. but your blood is warm, even if your fingers are blue. where's your soul? image 2: a framed painting depicting a wintry landscape, complete with a log cabin, whose blue smoke trickles from its chimney and blends in with the world around it. image 3: three ornate glasses, made of ice. are those cracks intentional? or just by virtue of its design? image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

there’s an opportunity being presented to you. it may be a celebration of some kind, or just something that has a lot of excitement surrounding it. what i’m getting most of all is that this may be a chance to find freedom. with the seven of swords reversed, maybe you’re the type of person to handle your problems on your own, “lone wolf” style. there’s a million reasons why someone might do this, but for you, you’re afraid or distrusting in others. when you opened up in the past, maybe it didn’t end up so well for you, and this has made you keep things mostly to yourself.  however, the four of wands reversed tells us that this lone wolf energy is blocking you from fully enjoying yourself. “freedom”, in this sense, is the freedom from yourself, or rather, your fear. in the original Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the seven of swords shows us a man with his arms full of swords, shirking off to his own devices. for you, these swords represent an unnecessary burden, being wary or even afraid of others to see your true colors/problems/ect. opening yourself back up again is a task much easier said than done, i know. but the 6 of cups shows us what this looks like, once fully realized. when we talk about our problems and emotions, we’re able to release and/or deal with them more easily. i’ve definitely been in the position of worrying endlessly about something, just to finally open up to someone, and realize that the answer was sitting in front of me all along. the six of cups represents this as having a “clean conscience.” being, you’ve released yourself from carrying a burden all alone, and have found freedom– the four of wands. finally, the king of cups reversed reminds you to have patience, and to be tolerant of others. not just one person can supply you with all the information or support you need.

(6 of cups, 7 of swords reversed, 4 of wands reversed, king of cups reversed)

2.・。.・゜✭

you’re in a period of transition, be that between attitudes or people. this change has you feeling down. maybe not emotionally destitute, but not in the best spot, either. as you wade through these waters, know that the queen of swords is by your side, and will lead you to better times. the queen of swords is someone with a good head on her shoulders, and will always tell the truth. she is very forthright, and doesn’t do any under-the-table dealings. she holds herself to these standards because of her past experiences, and knows that an honest, open approach will best suit her motives. you may embody the queen of swords already, and if you do, great! if you don’t, that’s ok, too. but it’s time to start really leaning into that kind of energy. don’t conceal the truth– both to yourself and others–, and let yourself have a laugh every once in a while! the thing about being experienced is that you know not to take everything so seriously. the queen of swords can see the big picture, and knows that, even if right now is tough, later will be much better. the place/person/vibe you’re coming from is represented by the knight of wands. i’m getting, cockiness– to the point where you/they were being presumptuous. this might also have had to do with someone being hot tempered, and restless, where they couldn’t handle being bored, so they’d decide to pick a fight. this energy is still here, but not necessarily causing harm just yet. what’s really impeding your path towards healing is the knight of cups. the knight of cups reversed is in direct opposition with the queen of swords, in the sense that he allows his emotions to take control of him, rather than accurately assessing the truth of his situation. he may let his imagination become overactive, and begin believing things that aren’t true. where the queen of swords faces all her dealings head on, the knight of cups may shade the truth, dance around the issue, or simply hope someone else will deal with it. he may also tend to isolate himself from others, which only worsens his imagination into spurring up unrealistic scenarios and focusing too much on his own “failings.” i’m thinking… you’re going to need to temper the knight of cups with the knight of wands. use that fiery, self confident energy to seek out the truth, rather than make assumptions. and, in turn, the knight of cups can help to deplete those feelings of restlessness through introspection. most importantly, keep your head level, and honor the truth above all.

(queen of swords, 6 of swords, knight of wands, knight of cups reversed)

3.・。.・゜✭

so… there’s a lot to unpack here, image 3! i’ll start with this, the energy of the queens of wands and of pentacles are important right now. the queen of wands seems to be especially important, urging you to work hard to maintain her optimism, confidence, and enthusiasm. this situation will require you to be a sort of “soft” leader for others, where you can be looked to for inspiration. if you’re able to serve as a role model through keeping your head up even when the going gets tough, and to do so with strength and vigor, it will not only help you and your purposes, but will also inspire those around you to do the same. the opportunity to embody this energy is not fully here yet, but once you hear the call, you’ll know it’s for you. strike the iron while it’s hot and give it your all! no time for dilly dallying. in being a leader (even if you’re not completely cognizant of it) you will have to temper your generosity with what you know to be true. so, for example, if someone is late to a meeting one time, you may give them the benefit of the doubt. but if they’re continuously late, some changes need to be made. this can also apply to other situations, where you will need to decide between your loyalties and what’s true & just. you may have already experienced scenarios like this in the past, so it will help you to call back to those times for foresight. doing what is fair may be difficult in the moment, but will lead to the best outcome. the queens come together here to guide you on your way. keep trying! you know that you’re resourceful, so don’t be afraid to try your hand at solving problems. it may also benefit you to remain down to earth during this time, and not to try to control what others think or say. at the end of the day, you are your own person, and what a wonderful person you are!  finally, we arrive at the page of cups. i’m getting a very loving, forgiving energy from this card. it may benefit you to invite that energy into your life, both towards yourself and others. when a challenge faces you, or someone is less than nice, decide to turn away that anger with love. consider, what may compel them to act this way? maybe they’re going through something you don’t know about. it’s not that you need to nurture them back to good health, but realize that maybe, they’re just not worth your time, and a simple nod & turning of the cheek will do you both some good. most of all, listen to your intuition to tell you whether or not this argument/situation is really worth getting into.

(queen of wands, 8 of pentacles reversed, 8 of wands reversed, queen of pentacles, ace of swords, 3 of wands reversed, page of cups)

[jesterofcringe]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE MORE ENDERMAN LOTTIE FICS OR AN AI BOT OF SOME KIND PLEASE PLEASE

See No Evil Enderman!Lottie x Reader

!!tw mentions of blood and implications of murder!! also sorry this took a while anon i've been busy with finals 😭 ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

★Have you ever tried to pick up a cat and force it to cuddle with you? Because Lottie likes to do that to you. A lot.

★She quickly learned that you couldn't sleep at night so long as she was around, so day time naps were the way to go.

★You would usually be going about some chores when you would feel her arms wrap around you and pick you up. Before you got the chance to say anything, you were being teleported back into your bed and Lottie was curling up against you.

★"H-Hey! I need to finish that- Lottie hold on a sec!"

★At first you would fight against her grip, attempting to wriggle free, but Endermen were strong and you slowly got used to it and just let it happen. Because of these typical shenanigans you eventually became somewhat nocturnal, tending to your chores at night and taking long naps during the day.

★Sometimes you forgot Lottie was a mob until she gave you a good reason to remember.

★One of these instances you were tending to the garden late at night [because your clingy ass girlfriend ruined your sleep schedule] when you realized you hadn't seen Lottie for a little while. This didn't really strike you as odd since Endermen had a tendency to just vanish. So you were minding your own business, and tending to your crops, perking up when your favorite mob appear behind you.

★As you spun on your heels to greet her, you felt your heart sink into your feet. Lottie was covered in blood, and acting abnormally nonchalant about it.

★"Holy shit! What happened to you?"

★At first you thought Lottie had gotten hurt and was now bleeding out as if that was totally normal. But then you remembered Endermen blood was purple, not the sickly crimson splattered across Lottie's clothes.

★You recalled seeing a death message from the server, but you hadn't paid too much attention to it. As you watched the blood slowly drip down her claws, you seriously wondered if you should have.

★"Lottie... what did you do?"

★She brushed past you and ignored the question completely, which made you all the more concerned.

★You grabbed her wrist [instantly grossed out when you felt the blood on your own hand] and forced her to stop moving away from you.

★"This is serious! What happened out there?"

★She huffed before pointing at her eyes and then your own.

★"What does that even... oh wait, eye-contact? They made eye-contact?" She nodded quick, and you couldn't help but to sigh with relief, "Ok, at least it was an accident and not out of some random murderous desire."

★As you said it, she kind of made a face and shrugged.

★"WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN-"

★The reminder alone that Lottie was capable of being dangerous was a weird taste of reality. You knew she was a monster but... did you? It never fully processed in your mind. You knew she wouldn't hurt you though, so long as you were careful.

★Except you weren't careful, and you had accidentally made eye-contact with her. You were certain you would never experience something scarier.

★For what it's worth you had fought Endermen before, but something about seeing Lottie, a mob you were used to being completely peaceful, become totally hostile was absolutely terrifying.

★It happened because she jokingly took a tool you were using, and held it above your head so you couldn't reach it. You spun around too fast, looking up quickly without thinking about it.

★For a moment, all you could think about was how pretty her eyes were, until you watched her eyes go wide with shock. Her tail bristled up, and her jaw fell slack revealing sharp fangs you had never noticed until that point. Never noticed, likely for a good reason.

★Your hand instinctively rested on the hilt of your sword, but the moment you noticed her hands were shaking you knew you were screwed. You didn't even have your shield on you. Fuck.

★You did have something else in your inventory you could use. An enderpearl. You had acquired it a long time before you met Lottie, and you felt bad trying to get more since meeting her, so you had decided to save it for emergency. This seemed like as good of time as any to use it.

★Before you got a moment to calculate your throw and plan out your escape route, she lunged at you and caused you to fumble, tossing the pearl up and behind. Her claw grazed over your nose as you landed upside down in a tree branch.

★Endermen couldn't teleport up, and you were grateful for that. You decided you'd stay in the tree as long as you needed until she hopefully calmed the fuck down. That, unfortunately, didn't stop her from sitting at the base of the tree and staring at you from below, her tail flicking in anticipation.

★"Lottie I'm sorry!"

★">:("

★"I love you?"

★">:("

★"Ok-"

★You were in the tree for a while. You could see the sun peaking over the horizon when you heard her finally teleport away. You decided that was a good sign that you were safe as you slid out the tree.

★You didn't see Lottie until much later. Well, less see, more felt. Her arms wrapped around you from behind, and you reflectively jerked away from her touch. She seemed genuinely hurt by this, which is when you realized she was back to normal.

★Gently this time, she ran a finger over the cut that ran across the bridge of your nose before giving you a puzzled look.

★"That was you, don't you remember?"

★In all of two seconds her expression shifted from confused, to concerned, to absolutely guilt ridden. You felt kinda bad for reminding her.

★"I'm fine Lot, just a little shaken up is all."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── sorry this one is a bit shorter i really do have to finish studying lol [tag lolz : @thedreemer-artrequestsopen]

[polin-erospsyche]

I know there wasn’t time in the show, but I would love a scene of Colin picking out/designing the engagement and wedding ring and just see his thought process. Any fic writers out there, please feel free to write us one!

Ok, anon, know that when you send an ask like this to a person who writes fan fiction for fun that person will go "oh what a great idea! I'll have a go at it!" and then you end up with a 2K scene of Polin fluff. It's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you'll like it, especially considering that I haven't written fanfic in the longest of times (preferring playing with my own characters) and I was afraid of writing for Colin and Pen and not make their voice justice. I tried my best and I had a lot of fun writing it!

The quill's scratch against the thick paper resonated loudly in the quiet room. Penelope's thoughts raced faster than her hand could write. The gossip of the last few days created a frenzy in her mind, an unusual state for her. She had been writing for years and had always controlled the words she put down on paper. Yet recently, it had become harder somehow. The growing pressure from the Queen and London’s elite weighed heavily on her. People knew who she was, and she had vowed to use her quill more consciously. There was no more hiding behind her words and her column.

What she had failed to account for were the demands from the ladies and gentlemen. The socialites and aristocrats, with their veiled threats and insistent flattery, expected her to navigate their intrigues and scandals with care, yet with a sharpness that would entertain and inform. Each letter she received and each whispered rumor added to the weight on her shoulders. Her reputation had become a double-edged sword, granting her influence but also binding her to an unwritten contract with her readers. She remembered telling Eloise once that she had power; now she was fully realizing that power always came at a steep price.

She returned her quill to its inkwell on the desk, leaned back in her chair, and let out a long exhale. Her hands momentarily covered her face before gently sliding down to rest on her pregnant belly. Absentmindedly, she twirled her wedding band, tracing the contours of the bee and flower, finding comfort in the familiar ridges of the ring.

“You seem pensive.” The voice startled her from her thoughts. “How’s the writing going?” She looked up to see Colin standing in the doorway, a familiar and knowing grin on his face. He knew she had been struggling to write anything of note lately.

“How’s Thomas?” Penelope asked back without missing a beat. Their son was always a good topic of conversation; the state of her writing, not so much.

"Fast asleep," Colin replied, his grin softening into a tender smile.

"Of course he is. You spoil him too much. Did you know he won’t sleep unless you’re the one putting him to bed and singing him to sleep?" Penelope teased lightly.

"I'm certain that's not true."

"Well, it's been fifteen minutes since you put him to bed,” she glanced at the clock striking nine fifteen, “and here you are already. Yesterday, it took me a good half hour. I think I'm losing in this deal we made."

Balancing their household duties, social and professional obligations, and caring for their toddler had made finding quiet writing time increasingly rare. They had agreed to take turns putting Thomas to bed, granting each other much-needed solitude. Lately, though, Thomas had developed a clear preference for his father's bedtime routine, falling asleep in a matter of minutes, leaving Penelope with very little quiet time indeed.

“I can leave if you need some time,” Colin offered.

“And leave me to face the blank page?”

Colin furrowed his brows and strode purposefully across the room to stand beside her. Peering down at the paper she had been writing on, he remarked, “Calling it blank might be a bit of an overstatement.”

Words had been jotted down, so technically, it wasn’t a blank page. However, it was not a good page, and she could not publish it in this state. Yet she needed to submit something tonight to the printer—the Queen was expecting it.

“I think you’re overthinking this,” he added. “I think you need to step away from your desk.”

“Colin, I can’t. The Queen is waiting. I have to finish writing this tonight. Apparently, I’ve become an entertainer to the Queen and an ear for everybody else’s gossip,” Penelope said with a hint of frustration.

“Weren’t you always listening?”

“Believe it or not, there’s a difference between lurking behind a potted plant, eavesdropping, and having people visit, hoping for a favor in return,” Penelope retorted with a touch of irony.

“I, for one, am very glad you are in the center of the room. Really, you should be in the center of every room.”

At that moment, she looked up at him with eyes devoid of humor, only to meet his gaze filled with love and admiration. For a brief moment, the air seemed to escape her lungs. They had been married for months. They had a child together. They had settled into a routine that suited them both. Yet, sometimes it all still felt like a fleeting dream, almost too good to be true. It was everything she had endlessly dreamed of as a young girl, and now it was real, tangible. She wondered if she would ever fully grow accustomed to the way he looked at her before deciding that she preferred to always be pleasantly surprised.

He gently placed his hand on top of hers, stopping her fidgeting with the ring. Interlacing his fingers through hers, he gently pulled her towards him, and she moved with very little resistance. He slid his arms around her. This close, he smelled of ink and baby powder, a scent so comforting that she felt the tension release a little from her shoulders. Before she had time to fully sink into the safety he provided, she felt him pulling her closer still, slowly leading her away from the desk until they were standing in the center of the room. Tilting her head up to meet his blue eyes, she saw a glint of mischief, as if he was proud of himself for successfully drawing her away from her work. It was as if he whispered to her - it’s all right, the Queen will wait, the words will wait.

“You know how I know you are preoccupied?” he asked, still holding her, his fingers drawing small circles on the small of her back.

“I’m absent.” She bit her lower lip. She knew she had been. There but not entirely, part of her chained to her desk, to the next words she had to write. They were both like this, maybe it was the affliction of being a writer, a wandering mind. But he seemed to have a much easier time concealing his wandering. She envied his ability to be fully present with the ones he loved, giving them his undivided attention as if nothing else in the world mattered. It was part of his charm.

He gave a low chuckle. “No,” he said, to which she raised her eyebrows, so he quickly added, “I mean you are a little...” He paused as if choosing his words carefully, “...away sometimes.” She gave a resigned sigh. She was aware of her distractions, but she really would have preferred not to address them tonight. Before she could entirely withdraw from him, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. His gaze still held hers, intense. His breath warm against her skin. Then his thumb trailed over the wedding band she had been fiddling with. “It’s your tell.”

“The wedding ring? Is it a tell that I’m married to you?”

“You play with it when you are anxious or preoccupied. I see you, I know.”

Of course he did, just as she knew his tells. The way he furrowed his brows. The way he sometimes seemed to be searching for the right words. The way his quill hung in the air just so when he was writing, as if ready to catch the next word mid-air. She knew some of those tells, but living together, they had become mirrors for each other. They saw each other, they knew each other—sometimes, she thought, better than they knew themselves.

“I find it comforting,” she said to him, her hand suspended in the air between them. “Even if my writing days end up in ashes, I have this, I have you. It’s a promise that things will be all right.”

“That will not happen. It’s just a new normal, but by now, I believe we are adept at dealing with new normals.” He gently caressed her belly. “I think you’ll be writing as long as you’re breathing, and I love you for it. But for what it’s worth, I’m very glad you love the ring. I was so nervous the day I had it designed.”

“You, nervous? Why?” He had been rather swift in his proposal and securing the rings, but she could imagine him poring over ring designs, trying to guess which she would prefer. She wished she could have told him that it didn’t matter; as long as it was him she was marrying, she would have been happy with any ring. But she particularly loved the one he had chosen, so she asked, “How did you choose it?”

At that, he smiled wider and brought both of her hands up so that the rings were visible, his thumbs gently caressing over them. “This one,” he said, holding the hand with her engagement ring more firmly, “reminded me of you. Its simplicity and delicacy reminded me of your voice in the letters you wrote me. Also, the jeweler told me it symbolized loyalty and faithfulness. This one,” he continued, bringing up her hand with the wedding ring, “was to symbolize the Bridgerton family.”

“Our family,” Penelope chimed in—a representation of the family she had always, in some ways, been a part of, whether unofficially or more officially now through marriage. A family that loved her, and she loved them as her own. A family that had welcomed her with open arms.

“Yes, our family,” Colin agreed, nodding. “I’m not sure why the bee became our symbol, especially considering...” He trailed off, his face somber, lost in a memory he seemed reluctant to revisit. “Well, you know,” he finished, his expression sober. “But then again, in the morning, the world had Hyacinth, and what an absolute force she is—both a joy to us and a threat to the world. So, the bee represents us, a cycle of our family, and apparently it also symbolizes celebration, prosperity, unity, and resilience.”

She looked at her rings and then up at him again. He had never fully explained why he had chosen those rings, but now she understood it better. “It’s a representation of us,” she said.

“Yes, us and what I hope our marriage will be.”

“Resilient,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “We certainly are that.”

“You more than anyone else I’ve known, although don’t let Eloise know I’ve said it.”

Penelope let out a small chuckle. “I don’t always feel resilient,” she admitted, her tone more serious.

“That’s what we do; we’re a team. We remind each other that we’ll find our way. Besides, you’ve faced much worse and come out of it.”

She leaned into him, closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder. She allowed herself to be enveloped in the warmth of his embrace, and as they swayed gently in the flickering light of the surrounding candles, she felt the weight of her responsibilities, the demands of the Queen, and the expectations of the ton seep away. For a moment, she was a girl again—not a mother, not a famous writer—just a girl dancing in the arms of the boy she loved, who, by some twist of fate, loved her back just as much and had decided to intertwine his life with hers.

After what felt like an instant but must have been longer for the clock now struck close to ten, Penelope stopped their swaying. “Would you stay? Would you write with me? Or read? But stay until I’m finished?” 

Colin gently kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I’ll always stay with you.”

She rose on her tiptoes, her hand coming around his neck, pulling him down to her. Their breath mingled before his lips found hers, pulling her closer as she let out a small moan. His hands traveled up her back, sending shivers down her spine, while her own hands gripped at the lapels of his jacket before finding their way into his hair. His lips moved downward, along the side of her mouth, down her cheek, then her neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses. His hands grew more frenetic, gripping the fabric of her dress.

“Colin,” she whispered between a protest and a pant, “Colin.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the vibration warm against her collarbone.

“I have to finish... the Queen... the printer...”

She tried to grasp for words, for sense and logic, even as she attempted to push him away in vain. Truth be told, if he didn’t stop kissing her now, she wouldn’t care much about anything else besides their own needs and desires. That's how quickly Penelope had become pregnant after giving birth to Thomas.

“Colin,” she said more insistently, feeling her resolve to finish her column hanging by a thread.

“All right, all right,” Colin said, stealing one last kiss before meeting her eyes with hooded dark blue eyes. “One day, I’ll have a word with the Queen.”

“And tell her what? That you’d prefer me in our bedchambers rather than behind my writing desk?”

“Now that’s an idea!” he exclaimed, beaming as if it were the best idea she’d ever suggested.

“I’m afraid she’d find it preposterous, considering she’s the queen and managed to have a plethora of children.”

“Does that mean you’re open to the idea of having a plethora of children?” he asked, playfully stealing her words.

She chuckled, “Let’s have our second, and then we’ll discuss the possibility of having more.”

“Discuss? Because you want to discuss what we’ll do in our bedchambers if having more children is not an option?”

“You know what I’d really like to do right now?”

“No, tell me.”

“Finish it,” she said, looking back at her desk and the half-written piece of paper, “so that we may go to our bedchambers and discuss all of this afterwards.”

He seemed to catch her suggestive look, as he did not protest. Instead, he kissed her forehead before leaving the room momentarily, returning with a fresh stack of paper and settling down at his own desk, positioned next to hers.

Penelope smiled as she watched him concentrate, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. She felt a renewed sense of purpose and returned to her desk. The page was no longer daunting; it was a canvas waiting for her to paint with words. With a deep breath, she picked up the quill once more. This time, the words flowed more easily, each sentence building upon the last. The gossip and intrigues of the ton found their place in her column. She wrote with a clarity and sharpness that had eluded her earlier.

As the clock struck midnight, Penelope set down her quill and read through her work. A smile of satisfaction spread across her face. It was done.

She stretched before standing and walking to stand behind Colin’s chair. Sensing her presence, he had stopped writing, but his focus remained on the page before him. She slid her arms around him, her hands running up and down his chest. She whispered, “Want to go discuss your writing in our bedroom?”

“Absolutely!” he said, rising and kissing her passionately.

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night she decided to join the Bloodrite

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: mention of violence, val's dad being an asshole again

summary: Valeria realizes that the only person she has to prove her worth to is herself.

A/N: we're finally at the last imagine! (you can find the collection of them here) this is one of the first ones I wrote and I've been dying to post it lol. I had originally planned for this series to end here but then I decided to write a short story that focuses/provides closure on Az's and Val's mating bond.

**

As Valeria stood on the balcony, the ethereal glow of Starfall painted the night sky in hues of pale greens and blues. The annual migration of spirits race across the heavens like shooting stars, leaving a luminescent trail that left the world below aglow.

For Valeria, however, the beauty of Starfall was a double-edged sword.

She could hear the whispers of the spirits as they streaked across the night sky. It was like a collective murmur of voices of which she could not discern, which made it all overwhelming and disconcerting. It’s been this way since she was a child and she never fully understood why she was the only one able to hear them.

The first Starfall she could remember was when she was three. Every year, the High Lord would throw a ball at the House of Wind as it was the best place to view the falling spirits. Her mother had brought her to the balcony she currently stood at, holding her in her arms.

There was a silence as the guests waited for the first star to fall, hushed whispers of awe when it finally did. Valeria remembered the beauty of it all but more so when one star became two until they multiplied and then she heard them. The spirits. She had let out a cry, her small hands covering her ears as the voices became too much. Her mother had brought her inside and a worried Rhysand had walked over to them.

Valeria also remembered the look of disdain and disappointment on her father’s face–the first of many to come.

Shadows whirled around her, bringing her back to the present and weaving through her senses. The whispering voices, like distant echoes, grew faint, muffled by the protective shroud of Azriel’s shadows. Valeria’s eyes met his, gratitude and relief reflected in the pale moonlight.

“Should we head inside?” Azriel offered, extending his arm out to her. “Before Mor and Cas drink all the wine.”

Valeria nodded, hooking her arm through his. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and instinctively, she leaned in closer to him, finding his scent comforting. “You smell good,” she murmured to him as she inhaled.

Azriel chuckled in response, savoring their close proximity. No one batted an eye toward them as they made their way inside. Azriel was known as the Night Court’s spymaster and his duty was to ensure the safety of his court. It was not uncommon to see him around the High Lord and his family, especially Rhysand and Valeria.

“My little warrior!” Cassian called out to her sweetly, words slightly slurred, as he jumped from his seat and pulled Valeria from Azriel, crushing to her chest. He pulled away with a grin, nodding at Azriel casually.  “And Az.”

“I can feel the love.” Azriel dryly commented.

“Come here, Val.” Mor said, patting the empty spot on the couch.

“How many glasses of wine have you had?” Valeria mused as she sat down, gaze flickering between Mor and Cassian.

“Yes.” Mor grinned at her as she poured a glass for Valeria and then another for Azriel.

Save some for me.

Has anyone told you it’s rude to enter one’s mind without permission? Valeria replied to her brother’s voice, sending him a vulgar gesture through her mind. She could hear his chuckle fade into the distance.

Knock knock. Her brother’s talons were playfully tapping at her mind’s shields again.

With a roll of her eyes, she allowed them in, asking him what he wanted. He decided to show her instead. Through his eyes, she saw the lords and her father standing before him. They were all discussing the growing tensions among the humans and fae and the battles of rebellion that have risen. Keir was speaking, boasting about his Darkbringers and how they could put an end to the war before it can even begin. She could feel Rhysand’s boredom as Keir kept talking.

Come save me.

Sorry brother but I find this couch to be rather comfy, Valeria replied, her tone teasing. She grinned as Rhysand sent her a vulgar gesture of his own through his mind.

“--helping with preparations for the upcoming bloodrite.”

Valeria brought her wine glass to her lips as she returned her attention to her friends. She caught her brother’s glare from across the room but ignored it.

“Can you believe it’s been three years since you went?” Mor asked them. “And look at you Carynthians now. A general, a spymaster and a future High Lord.”

Valeria’s fond smile mirrored Mor’s and she turned, catching the way both Cassian’s and Azriel’s cheeks tinted at the praise.

“Do you think they’re ready?” Valeria found herself asking, referring to the warriors Cassian had helped train this year.

“I wasn’t ready when I was in their shoes.” Cassian said after a moment of thought. “I don’t think you’ll ever feel ready for something like that. But I was brave and that’s the best thing one can be.”

Valeria hummed in response, cradling her wine glass in her hands. Intrigued by the upcoming Bloodrite, she found herself firing more questions at Cassian while Mor and Azriel fell into a conversation of their own.

They were questions she didn’t dare to ask Rhysand or Azriel, knowing they wouldn’t be blatantly honest about it for her sake. Without a second thought, Cassian answered each one, much like he did when she had asked about Tanwyn and the Valkyries. 

He failed to notice the gleam in her eyes as she took in every detail of information. 

**

Valeria paced back and forth, attempting to stir up the courage that had led her to the heavy set of double doors. She made up her mind weeks ago–told herself she could do this. But as she stopped her pacing and faced the doors to the High Lord’s throne room, her hands broke out into a cold sweat.

She hated herself for it, for the instant fear that brewed in her when it came to him. Her father.

Since that night in Windhaven, he had chosen to go back to ignoring her presence completely, as if she didn’t exist at all.

I am the storm. She repeated to herself. 

Val, now is not a good time. 

Now is the only time. She replied, cursing herself for being so nervous and anxious that she had absentmindedly let her mental guards down. 

Before Rhysand could reply, she pulled the doors open and strolled in. Her eyes darted around–widening for a fraction before she donned a composed mask.

I told you so.

She ignored her brother’s voice–this time cursing him directly– and did her best to ignore the presence of the others in the room. Cassian and Azriel looked toward her, the latter standing to attention. Meanwhile Keir looked at her with annoyance. There was another lord that she recognized as one of the High Lord’s advisors but she didn’t recognize the older Illyrian male standing next to Cassian. She could only assume he was also a general.

Her father scowled, his lips curving into a sneer. “What do you want, child?”

She tried her best not to flinch at the insult.

“I want to join the fight.”

Laughter erupted from the High Lord, followed by Keir’s. “You want to fight?”

“I’ve trained with the Valkyries in the past and–”

“Remind me how that ended for you.” Her father sharply interrupted.

The reminder of that night triggered a subtle twitch in one of the muscles on the right side of her back–the very spot where her injured wing, glamored away for the night, would attach. Rhysand’s body tensed. She felt Azriel shift closer, a muscle tightening in his jaw while his shadows loomed nearby, alert and ready. Even Cassian’s expression hardened, mouth set into a hard line.

“It was hardly a fair match, Father.” Rhysand spoke as he came to stand in between his sister and father. “Val has the–”

“And you think war is won by fair matches?” His father reprimanded. “I thought I’ve taught you better than that.”

Anger flooded through her veins. “I’m not going to stay sheltered in this palace while our people go to war for us. I want to stand with them, not behind them. I want to bring honor to our court.”

“Clearly, you do not know your place. You’d know that the only way you can bring honor to this court is by marrying–”

“I refuse to be treated as a bargaining tool as if I am an object!” Valeria snapped, shocked by the intensity of her own voice. Though quieter when she spoke next, her voice retained the same powerful understone as she added: “I would rather die fighting to serve my court than offer my hand to a stranger.”

She felt the sting on her cheek almost immediately, her feet stumbling backwards at the impact. A low growl erupted from behind her as strong hands caught her before she could stumble further. Shadows crept out from his grip and wrapped themselves around her as if to protect her from further harm.

Rhysand stilled, his hands clenching at his sides. His calm and collected demeanor fell, no longer being able to hide the glare toward his father. He moved to stand in front of Valeria, offering his body as a shield, in case their father chose to strike again.

“You stupid foolish girl.” The High Lord chuckled with fury in his eyes, his voice rising with every word. “Sons get sent to war. Daughters get married. Rhysand is my heir. He was born to serve and protect. You were born to obey and submit.”

“Count your stars lucky that these three–foolish as they were– saved you that night.” The High Lord continued. “They will not be able to save you next time so I suggest you leave before I decide to clip your wings myself and strip this fighting nonsense off of you.”

Valeria felt her anger morph into her power. She could feel the light surging through her, running down her arms and into her finger tips. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off of her father’s face. A small part of her wanted to light him up, the way she did those Illyrian men that night. If only he knew…

She felt a hand grasp hers, darkness wrapping itself around his fingertips and dimming her light. Don’t explode. Not here, Rhysand spoke in her mind.

“There will be no next time.” Rhysand said, his voice carrying an almost threatening undertone. He would not allow her father to inflict any more harm on his sister. “If you allow me, I’ll escort Valeria to her chambers. I believe some rest will settle her mind.”

The High Lord nodded his head in dismissal and Rhysand wasted no time in escorting her out of his office. Rhysand released his grip on Valeria's hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead, allowing his darkness to wrap around her silver flames. Neither of them spoke as they made the long trek to her chambers and neither of them paid attention to the tendril of a shadow that followed along with them.

It wasn’t until they were in Valeria’s chambers that she let her shoulders slump, tears brimming her violet eyes but she did not allow them to fall.

“What were you thinking?”

Valeria shot him an incredulous look as if he hadn’t been in her mind the entire time. He knew exactly what she was thinking and why. Rhysand sighed deeply and sat at the edge of her bed, patting the spot beside him. Valeria reluctantly listened and watched in silence as he summoned a small bowl of warm water and a cloth. “You’re bleeding,” he softly said.

Her hand shot up to her cheek, wincing at the sting, pulling her hand away to see that she was, in fact, bleeding. One of her father’s rings must’ve cut her when he slapped her. It was the first time he had ever laid hands on her.

Valeria knew the answer to the question but she needed to hear it aloud. “Is my sole purpose in life to obey and submit to others?”

“Of course not.” Rhysand immediately answered as he finished cleaning the dried up blood from her face. He gently cupped her unharmed cheek. “You're destined for a greater purpose. Fuck what father says.”

A subtle curve graced Valeria’s lips in response to Rhysand’s insult, only to fade back into a frown. She pulled away from his grasp. “What will it take to prove to him that I am worthy of so much more than he has planned for me?”

“I failed him at birth and I’ve dedicated my life to prove my worth to him. I may have not been born a son but why does that anger him so much? He already has you, his heir. I understand the politics of this war. I can fight. I want to fight.”

“I know you can.” Rhysand said, acknowledging her skills and capabilities. Had it not been for her father putting an end to her training with the Valkyries, he was sure she would’ve been initiated as a Valkyrie herself. “But don’t dedicate your life to proving yourself to others. The only person you need to prove your worth to is yourself.”

Silence fell as Rhysand’s words sunk in. He was right. Her trying to prove her worth to others would only weigh her down. Noticing the distant gaze on his sister, his powers reached for her mind, easily granting him access to her inner turmoil.

It only lasted a couple of seconds as Valeria’s mental shields rose and he blinked back to find that she was now glaring at him. 

“Can you not?”

Rhysand raised his hands up. “It’s not my fault you let your shields down for a moment.” 

Have I taught you nothing?

Valeria let out a groan. “Go away now. I’m tired.”

“That’s no way to treat your loving brother.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She said as she stood up, motioning for him to follow her and go out her door.  

Rhysand rolled his eyes at her antics but complied. She slammed the door shut, pressing herself against it. “Love you. Good night!” 

Love you too.

Valeria huffed at the sound of her brother’s laughter in her head. She closed her eyes and focused, pushing his claws out of her head. He scraped against her rising shields in a teasing manner only for her to shoot him with light and far away from the gates of her mind that she felt him wince.

It was when she was sure that Rhysand could no longer get into her head that she walked out to her balcony. She stared up at the crescent moon, finding comfort in its light and falling deep in thought again. 

It unsettled her to know that her brother, Azriel and Cassian were being sent to war. Even Mor was preparing for it as she was no longer under her father’s rule but Rhysand’s. He had taken full responsibility over her when she had moved in with them. As for Valeria, she was expected to just sit back and wait for war updates with her mother. She could not bear the thought of doing nothing while her loved ones laid their lives down for the Night Court. Especially not when she had dedicated the past five years of her life into training to defend herself, to fight.

Rhysand was right. She knew what she was capable of. She had not been saved that night in Windhaven. She had fought against five skilled Illyrian warriors by herself and she was willing to die fighting. 

Valeria was aware that fighting in a war was different. It required not only courage and strength but strategy and resolve. And what better way to prove to herself that she was ready–that she was worthy–than by joining the upcoming Blood Rite?

It was like Cassian had said, she would never feel ready for a strenuous trial like the Blood Rite. But she was brave to face it and that’s the best thing one can be.

**

tag list:  @justrepostandlove , @kemillyfreitas, @thelov3lybookworm

A/N: and that's a wrap on Val's early life (': the storyline I have planned will pick up right after the blood rite and you'll get a glimpse into her experience. I debated a lot on whether Val should join the blood rite or not. I decided to allow her because all she wants is to be treated with the same love and respect like her brother minus the heir part and while she gave up on what others may think of her, this is something she needed to do for herself. and also a part of her is doing this to honor her friend, Mallory Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed these imagines as much as I enjoyed writing them <3 I will be taking a short break to focus on my upcoming exam but if you have any questions over this series or simply just wanna talk, feel free to send me an ask! (:

[razorblade180]

Martial Practice 3

Early in the morning, Yanqing, Yunli, and March 7th arrived onto the Starskiff and met in the ring because of an anonymous group message.

March:Anyone else think this is a suspicious? Don’t tell me some weirdo caught wind of our fight and is challenging us?

Yunli:March, everyone was unconscious or hiding by the time we faced Hoolay. Also, we faced Hoolay! I hope nobody is dumb enough to attack us after that.

Yanqing:Hmmm. *looks at number* I can’t explain it, but I feel like I should know this number. I don’t think it’s any Cloud Knight on the ship. Regardless, keep your eyes peeled for anything.

Suddenly, a powerful pillar of wind struck the arena. Dust whipped around ferociously and disbursed to reveal General Feixiao.

Feixiao:Greetings, young friends. I’m glad you all could come.

March:I…have a bad feeling about this.

Feixiao:Haha, relax. I know I made the message sound urgent, but in truth it’s more time sensitive than anything else.

Yunli:Don’t tell me there’s still a few wolves skulking about in the shadows!?

Yanqing:If so, what are our orders? We’ll help in any way.

Feixiao:Wow, still recovering and willing to go back into the fray. Admirable and brash. I can relate. Fortunately however, I didn’t call you here because of a crisis. Soon we’ll be parting ways. Before that, there’s something I wanted to properly check. That’s why I asked for you three. What I’m about to say can’t make it back to Lingsha.

Yunli:So it is a fight!!?

Feixiao:Precisely. Yanqing, Yunli, I want you both to come at me the best you can. As for March, please observe from the sidelines. Part of training is observing after all. Watch carefully.

March:Don’t have to tell me twice! *runs to the sidelines*

Yanqing and Yunli:….

Feixiao:Whenever you’re ready.

The young sword masters couldn’t believe they found themselves in the same situation again. No one was even fully healed yet! Still, a chance to learn from the Merlin’s Claw; now who would dare pass up such an opportunity.

Yunli was first to close the distance in a single leap, swinging down Old Mettle to meet the war ax that could tear clouds asunder. Blow after blow, metal echoed like thunder. Feixiao could only smile. It wasn’t often someone could actually engage her in a contest of brute strength, and Yunli was giving her just that!

Feixiao:Very nice!

Yunli:I’m just getting started!

Feixiao blocked a side swipe with the body of her ax then slid backwards in the same act for proper spacing, aiming to swing right up the middle. Right as she was ready to send Yunli flying, Feixiao’s eyes shifted to see the blue streak flying at her. She quickly abandoned her ax in favor of her blades, smirking all the while as she blocked Yanqing; Yunli backstabbed out of reach immediately but her next move was hidden by the boy’s assault.

Flying swords swarmed around like insects but the real threat remained in their wielder. Sparks flew like chaotic fireworks as Yanqing kept pace against each blade strike. Left, right, low thrust, high parry, the boy showed his talents beautifully once again.

Feixiao: (Better be careful Jing Yuan. I might have to steal your pride for my troops at this rate.)

Yanqing:(She’s not even struggling in the slightest!)

Feixiao forced Yanqing to jump after trying to sweep his legs. In that moment, he realized his mistake and blocked hastily as she spun around once for momentum and slammed both her blades against his. The strike sent the boy flying too fast for his swords to keep up. However, Yunli was much quicker.

Old Mettle was flying right at Feixiao while the girl was already airborne with her left arm stretched out. She broke nearly all of Yanqing’s momentum by tapping and pushing him up as he flew by. This was more than enough for him to recover midair and land only few feet behind Yunli while Feixiao rolled out of Old Mettle’s way. Yunli ran to retrieve it while Yanqing closed in on Feixiao, who was trying to close in on Yunli!

March watched with batted breath as Yanqing’s flying swords made a curtain between Yunli and Feixiao long enough for her to retrieve her blade and instantly swat away the General. Both her masters lowered their stance and went in to attack but Feixiao suddenly dropped her weapons and put her hands up.

Feixiao:Okay. That’s enough.

The young warriors came to a dead stop, taking a breath in confusion. It was over already? Not only that, but Feixiao’s smile was rather cheeky and one of relief.

Feixiao:The two of you have grown a bit. That makes me happy. I can leave without worry.

Yunli:What are you talking about!? I know we’re all injured but a short battle like this couldn’t have given much about our abilities.

Yanqing:I-I can go a little longer.

Feixiao:Hehe, no need. As expected though. It looks like the both of you haven’t realized it. The youth sure is frightening sometimes. March, did you gleam anything significant?

March:*beaming with joy* Absolutely! I hadn’t noticed with Hoolay but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was happening then too!

Yunli:Enough with the vagueness! What the heck are you talking about!?

March:Master Yanqing was way more aggressive than normal. He got up close when Master Yunli’s attack was completely blocked and didn’t stop. And instead of going back after that, she got distant and calmly waited for an opening to help him instead of going for a giant blow. It’s almost like-

Yunli:We switched…fighting styles…

Yanqing:I mean- that’s natural in a group fight. If you don’t work together then everything goes wrong.

Feixiao:You’re correct. Teamwork is crucial, especially against a stronger opponent. However, the choices you made weren’t simply two people who know the value of teamwork. The two of you were being mindful and considerate of one another. Yanqing, did you choose close quarters simply to match Yunli’s pace, or was your intent to gain my intention fully so she can escape my ax and catch her breath?

Yunli:!?

Yanqing:I-I…. you’re formidable and strong! *red* Yunli’s sword is heavier than your ax and takes time to swing. You don’t leave openings to recover, so…I made one for her.

Feixiao:A clever approach. Yunli! Did you hold back on immediately countering simply out of watching the spacial awareness between your blade and Yanqing, or was it something else? Something more important? Be honest now.

Yunli:..*red* I stayed back because… I was waiting to catch him.

Yanqing:Huh!?

Yunli:Don’t act shocked! You said it yourself, she’s formidable! Not only is she quick but strong. If you landed too hard or wrong, there’s no telling if you would get up quickly. I…I didn’t throw my sword because she was open. I threw it to make time to help your butt.

Feixiao:Teamwork amongst soldiers tends to start with staying out of each other’s way, and ends at creating clear openings. What you two were doing is much more than simple teamwork. Your attacks, you actions, down to the thought process, it put each others safety first and considered weaknesses that had to be covered. That’s not something achievable between people holding grudges.

March:Grudges? General, you were still thinking about their fight at the Alchemy Commission!!?

Feixiao:Haha, of course! It was quite the spectacle after all. I had no doubt in the face of a crisis like Hoolay, talented people like you would put aside such personal matters. To do it here though, after the danger has passed, now that’s truly something to cherish. At that risk of saying too much, I’ll make this part quick. From where I’m standing you two are now proper rivals and not comrades; instead you’re friends who care about each other mutually. Take joy in that. It’ll make you both stronger in more ways imaginable.

Both of them fell silent, utterly embarrassed by how their actions were made known. They didn’t even notice it themselves!! All they could do his bow for Feixiao’ s lesson. The Lacking General laughed as she ruffled their hair before taking her leave. March could sense the awkwardness building between the two as they kept quiet.

March:…*pulls out phone* Huh, look at that! Masters! I’m sorry but I have to go now! Looks like Caelus and Stelle got tangled up in more of Guinaifen’s performances! *runs off* let’s grab lunch later!

Yunli:Honestly, could she be any more obvious?

Yanqing:Hehe, right.*rolling shoulder*

Yunli:….Hold still.

She walked behind him and gently held his right shoulder. Feixiao really didn’t know how to hold back. That sparring match really was moments from a visit to Lingsha. Carefully, Yunli moved his shoulder up and back until…pop! Back in place like it should be.

Yanqing:Th-Thanks. That feels much better.

Yunli:Don’t mention it.

Yanqing:…*inhales* Yunli-

Yunli:Don’t. I’m not dumb and neither are you. *blushes* So let’s not say anything we don’t already know. Not when I have to leave in a few days anyways…

Yanqing:…Then let me say this instead. Yunli, would you like to grab some breakfast with me?

Yunli:Going for my stomach now? How sneaky of you. *smiles* I’ll take you up on that offer. If you’re buying that is.

Yanqing:Of course. Try not drain my savings too much.

Yunli:Please, you would just put it towards more swords to buy and not use. This is a much better use.

They both shared a chuckle before making their way towards the exit. Softly, Yanqing felt a tug on his right sleeve. Yunli had quietly took ownership of it with her thumb and pointer finger pinching the cuff as they walked. Yanqing looked at her to see she was completely avoiding looking back, choosing to look straight ahead with crimson blush burning her cheeks. Yanqing felt his only face get hot as he turned his head back around in silence. Feixiao’s words rung in their head.

“Friends who cared about each other mutually.”

Next they saw her, they’d have to thank her for sparring them a little dignity.