#careful of the icy patch

[rinnstars]

4 walls!

in which itoshi rin builds a wall between him and the world and youre the only one with the key

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble + not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated

to the world, itoshi rin is somehow cold, emotionless, unaffected - the way his face is fixed in the dead-panned face as though carved into it by a sculpture, the way he doesnt bother responding or dignifying jabs or comments as he walks past the desks, the way his eyes linger on only his goals over the people that surrounds him. to his first football club, he is nothing short of a disappointment, always compared to his genius of a brotehr, nothing short of dull, always hiding his report cards whenever exam season arrives, nothing short of cold, his mouth barely spoke a word during his stay there. to his classmates, he is just an average joe - just another classmate not focused in class, too busy focusing on his dream world wrapped in the football magazines he has stacked underneath his table, just another guy, albeit way more quiet and responsive than most students, just another mediocre and average student, with grades that just passed the mark to move on to the next and with abysmal club attendance.

yet, to him, he knows he is the opposite of all the things they say - he knows he’s rather soft hearted, a cry-baby at the slightest tone change, he’s rather insecure, each comparison to his brother only digs the knife slotted against his heart deeper into the already gory mess of an organ it has become over the years, he’s rather passionate, driving him to continue persevering against all odds, against his own belief and reality, against his own blood. but he rather it stays that way - maybe its better to not let them see the real him, to not let them too be disappointed at the real reflection that stares back at him in the dirty mirror, to not hurt himself more by giving them the full him.

and so he builds a wall. he builds a wall made of bricks and stones, block by block until he is trapped in his own making, until he no longer can get hurt or even see the outside world outside of the house he has essentially trapped himself in, until he wont get hurt anymore - not by his club members, not by his classmates, not by his brother. and he tries to convince himself, he likes it better this way - without others, there wont be another sae - he wont have to witness his own heart ripped out and thrown on the grassy patch of field another time, he wont have to go through nights of sobbing uncontrollably that leaves his pillow gross and wet by the time morning rolls around, he wont have to feel as though he lost a loved one to death as he occasionally open his drawer that features a photobook of him and his brother still grinning without a care in the world without knowing what would have happened next with dried tears stains that dirty those photographs.

and yet, its with you, rin thinks his walls are entirely down. to him, youre the key to the complicated lock in his heart that he without a doubt passes to you. you’ve always been beside him, even when his eyes were fixated on sae that has always been in front of him - beside him in class where you two slacked at the back of class playing your phone and him reading soccer magazine underneath the table as you two occasionally bicker whilst laughing, beside him on his bed right on top of the messy blankets he knows you dont mind with his arms around you like its second nature to him, beside him on that bus whether to and fro school or even to his training facility that takes practically hours to get to as you drool on his uniform that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know even after all these years.

you’re the bright star and sun that melts away his icy cold castles and mountains of walls as though they were nothing, rin thinks. the way you beam at him whenever you see him right at the bus stop, waving your hands excitedly as your footsteps springs towards him and he feels like he’s in those cliche romance mangas you talk about, almost seeing those cherry blossom trees and hearing that love song that repeats in his head whenever youre oh so close to him. the way you listen to him, nodding along even though half of what he’s saying are nonsense word jumbles practically sews and patches his broken heart back, warming his once ice cold atmosphere. the way you do things — passing him those sugary sweet candies that tastes just like you, letting him copy off your homework while you both laugh quietly at the back of class makes him wish this could last forever, the way your hands so gently combs through his emerald hair makes him melt into a lovesick puddle right in your hands as he looks at your eyes that he swears the whole galaxy is inside it.

and maybe youre like those hero’s and magicians he’s watched in those cartoons when he was a little kid, you must be. so enchanting: how you manage to coax him out of his room time and time again to go to wherever you want, hell rin thinks he would even go to the very end of the world if you simply asked. youre like the fire element to his ice element in those stupid games, the sun and the moon from those posts he reads about your favourite love mangas to catch up to you, the golden retriever and the black cat trope he hears you rave about, the “lalala” and “okokok” tiktok trend and everything under the sun. if youre not a secret extraterrestrial creature that he bets you are, the equivalent to his new found destroyer ego to make a team together to destroy the earth or something like that he jokes, maybe just maybe you two were destined by fate.

in another life, you would be the witch to find an abandoned familiar he thinks - warming and melting his icy exterior with both your warmth you exude and too the hot soup you always cook for him whenever he’s running a cold. in another life, you would have been the hero to have helped him out of whatever villainous organisation he finds himself trapped in in his rage and fear with your warmth and that bright cheshire grin of yours anytime. in another life, you would have been the bright and well-liked royal of the castle who finds him, a lonesome and attempting knight and make him yours he thinks. he’s sure of it — where yours and his constellations are always beside each other, where your palm fits perfectly with his like two puzzle pieces merged together, where yours and his heart and ribs and guts are shared together.

so for now, rin will sit here right beside you, enjoying the warmth you exude as he places his head right on your shoulder, smiling at your yelp at surprise and attempts to push him off back to his side of the bed: youre the only one he would let in to see the raw him, and he hopes he’s the same to you too, the one you can truly always shine the brightest with.

[thesecondhandwoman]

THE PRICE OF BETRAYAL

Caitlyn x f!reader

Synopsis: Caitlyn had chose Maddie over you weeks before the battle, but after everything, you still loved her. Now in recovery, she seemed to realize her mistake of not loving you too.

Request: @nyrasproblm

The air in Piltover was heavy with smoke, the stench of burnt rubble lingering as the sounds of battle echoed through the streets. Everything had changed, and everything was in chaos. Yet, amidst the destruction and bloodshed, your mind couldn’t escape one thought: Caitlyn.

It had been days since the final battle, the battle that had torn apart Piltover’s fragile peace and brought so much loss. And yet, in the midst of everything, Caitlyn’s absence felt like the heaviest blow of all. The woman who had once been your partner, your love, was now fractured, not just physically, but emotionally.

You hadn’t seen her since the moment the battle had ended, when everything had blurred into confusion. Caitlyn had been injured—gravely so. The doctors had said she was lucky to be alive after shard had nearly pierced vital organs in her abdomen. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the blindness in her left eye. The doctors had done all they could, but there was no fixing it.

And worse still, Maddie, the woman who had crept into Caitlyn’s life, who had pushed you away in ways you still couldn’t fully comprehend, had betrayed them all. It was Maddie’s treachery that had nearly cost Caitlyn her life.

Now, you stood outside the makeshift infirmary, the weight of your emotions pressing on your chest. You had heard the whispers—the murmurs of what had happened in the battle. Caitlyn had been forced to kneel, Maddie holding a gun to her neck, ready to end it all. It was only by the miracle of Mel’s powers that the bullet hadn’t killed Caitlyn. Instead, it had been deflected, and Maddie was dead, a casualty of her own treachery.

You had felt a sickening mix of relief and sorrow when you had heard that Maddie was gone. Caitlyn had survived, but what had she survived for?

The woman who had once been your closest confidante had turned away from you, choosing Maddie over you, letting a wedge form between you both that could never be erased.

Yet, here you were. You hadn’t left Piltover. You hadn’t abandoned Caitlyn. Not because you thought it was the right thing to do, but because part of you still believed in her, still loved her.

It had started slowly, Caitlyn pulling away from you, her words sharp, her eyes cold. At first, you thought it was just the stress, the weight of her duties as a lawmaker and protector of Piltover. But when she started spending more and more time with Maddie, something shifted. Something in her changed.

You had tried to ignore it. Tried to chalk it up to nothing. But the truth was in her eyes every time she looked at you. The distance, the icy politeness, the way she no longer seemed to care about your presence. It hurt in ways you hadn’t expected. You had been there for her through everything, always ready to stand by her side. But when she needed you most, she had turned away.

You had confronted her one night, desperate to understand, to find answers. But all Caitlyn had done was shrug you off with a cold, emotionless stare. She had told you she didn’t have time for you anymore. The words cut deeper than any blade could.

It wasn’t just the fact that Caitlyn was with Maddie, it was the way she treated you as if you didn’t matter anymore. As if everything you’d shared, every moment, every laugh, every quiet word, had meant nothing to her.

The betrayal had shattered you.

Now, as you entered the dimly lit infirmary, the first thing you saw was Caitlyn, lying in a cot, her bandaged head turned away from the light. Her right eye was closed, and the left was bandaged, a patch covering the wound that had taken her sight. Her breath was shallow, and she didn’t seem to notice you as you stood in the doorway, your heart aching.

You took a hesitant step forward. “Caitlyn,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Caitlyn, it’s me.”

Her head turned slightly, the faintest trace of recognition flickering across her face. But her gaze was distant, cold, as if she was afraid to let anyone get too close.

“What do you want?” Her voice was low, strained, but still sharp.

You felt a pang in your chest at the bitterness in her words. This wasn’t the Caitlyn you had known—the one who would have laughed at your jokes, who would have held you close on stormy nights. This was someone else, someone broken and distant.

“I came to see if you were okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the wave of hurt that threatened to drown you. “I came to make sure you were alive. You nearly—”

“I’m fine,” Caitlyn interrupted, her voice weaker now. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I never stopped worrying, Caitlyn. Even when you pushed me away, even when you chose Maddie over me.”

There was silence in the room, and you could feel her stiffen, the air between you heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/N,” she said finally, her voice breaking ever so slightly, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Your eyes narrowed, the sting of old wounds still fresh. “I don’t want anything from you, Caitlyn. Not anymore. But I never wanted you to treat me like I was nothing. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain. You didn’t even care.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, a flood of emotion you had been holding back for so long.

“I loved you, Caitlyn. I would have been there for you. But you…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The pain of it was too much.

Caitlyn turned her head away, her jaw clenched as she stared at the ceiling. “I made a mistake,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I was wrong. I let my fear control me. I pushed you away because I thought you wouldn’t understand, I thought I needed Maddie to feel something. To feel anything. But I was wrong.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and you could feel the weight of her regret in the room. Caitlyn, the strong, proud woman who had never apologized for anything, was finally admitting to her mistakes.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I was a fool. I never should have treated you like that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

You stood there, unsure of how to respond. You had spent so many sleepless nights wondering if Caitlyn would ever come to this moment, wondering if she would ever realize how much she had hurt you. And now, here she was—broken, humbled, but still reaching out to you.

“You nearly died, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice softening. “And I nearly lost you. I would’ve never forgiven myself if you—if you…”

Your throat closed, the weight of your own words choking you.

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know how to deal with everything. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I shouldn’t have let Maddie come between us. She was a mistake.”

You could see the raw pain in her eyes as she spoke, the depth of her regret. And as much as the hurt still stung, you realized that Caitlyn was trying, she was trying to make things right.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen now,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “but I want to try. If you’ll let me, I want to fix this. I want you in my life again, Y/N.”

The words hung in the air between you both, fragile, uncertain, but full of hope.

You looked at her—at the woman who had broken your heart, the woman who had now come to you with nothing but her vulnerability—and something inside you softened. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be scars, both visible and hidden, that would take time to heal. But in that moment, as you looked at Caitlyn, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

With a small, tentative step forward, you reached for her hand. “We’ll figure it out, Caitlyn. Together.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a flicker of warmth in her gaze. It wasn’t the same as before—it couldn’t be. But it was a start.

And that was enough, to both you and her.

A/N: Oh my god, final fic of the day (literally been cranking these out since 12 am). I hope that this one was a good way to end the day off, and tomorrow should be just as crazy (multitasking fics again).

[void-my-warranty]

𝐀𝐱 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 - 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Fem Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU (all parts here)

CW: nudity

You already knew creek bathing wouldn’t be sexy. 

You’ve done it enough since the outbreak that you’re prepared for the icy chill, the gritty texture of silt in the water, and the effort it takes to keep your footing on the slimy rocks. 

But up until now you’ve had at least a little bit of privacy to make it work. This time it’s just you and Gaz, standing close enough to pass the bar of soap back and forth while you both expressly don’t look at each other’s bodies. 

Most of the time you can sit in the knee-high water to hide your lower half, but when it comes time to wash your hair, you nearly expose your unmentionables in an effort to turn away from him while your eyes are closed. 

That is not happening today. You are not bending over naked in front of Gaz. 

So you end up feeling absolutely ridiculous, dunking half your face in every time you have to get your hair wet. The whole thing sucks ass, partly because you don’t have any conditioner, and partly because this soap is turning out to be the worst thing you’ve ever put on your hair. The first wash feels alright, but it ends up loosening all the hair you’ve shed since you last shampooed, and it all gets matted halfway down the shaft.  

Whatever. You huff through your second shampoo anyway, relaxing a little when you finally hear Gaz slosh his way out of the cold water. Your eyes are still closed, but you’re aware enough to angle your body away from the bank so at least he can’t stare at your chest.

And that’s when you remember one vital step of wilderness bathing that you somehow overlooked until now — you have to drip dry before you can put your clothes back on. 

In the summer you could get away with getting dressed while still a little damp, but with the October breeze, and night fall in a couple of hours, you’ll need to get as dry as possible. 

Gaz seems to have the same idea, you note when you peek at him over your shoulder. He’s already stretched out atop the one patch of grass on the bank, face tipped up into the sunshine. 

Squeezing water out of your worrisome ball of hair, you consider your options. You can walk through the woods bare ass naked until you find another drying-off spot, or you can stand around naked and awkward… or you can share that patch of grass. It’s just big enough to allow you to lay next to him without touching, as long as he can manage to respect your space. You certainly have no interest in crossing into his. 

Feeling cautious but wonderfully clean, you stand up in the chilly breeze and make your way up the bank. Gaz has been pretty nice to you today. Maybe he’s finally decided you’re worth some basic decency, and this is a sign of things improving. He certainly seems to be choosing the high ground for once, giving you privacy by draping his forearm over his eyes as you approach. 

“Don’t look,” he warns, just as your eyes lower thoughtlessly, down to—

To his fucking erection.

“Told you not to look,” he mutters when you come to a stumbling halt. 

“That’s… p— c-completely inappropriate!” you sputter.

“Mhmm.”

He keeps his arm over his eyes as if your outrage doesn’t phase him at all. As if having a raging hard-on in nature is just part of his daily routine, and he’s bored by you witnessing it. 

Whatever. 

You know what? Whatever. If he wants to have zero shame and pretend it’s not there, then so will you. At this point you just want to be done with him as fast as possible, so you plop your ass down as far away as the patch of grass will allow. He doesn’t move at all while you squeegee water off your body with your hands and irritatedly flick some at him. 

And of course you accidentally look, again. 

Still hard. 

“I can turn around if you have things you need to take care of,” you snark, starting to detangle your ratty hair with your fingers. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Wh— f—- NO,” you squeal, mortified to see him actually smiling to himself in the shadow of his forearm. 

Horrible… No good… Piece of shit… MAN. He definitely saw you watching him last night, and now he’s making you out to be the pervert when he’s the one getting turned on over nothing. 

You’re still glaring at him as you work out the hair shed, so you see him take a peek at you around his elbow.

“Don’t look at me,” you hiss. 

He sighs, shifting his face back to its hiding place from before. “Pity. You’re a looker.”

Oddly, your breath catches for a moment before you command your lungs to keep pumping. You turn your face away, refusing to dignify that with a response. You don’t give a shit if he thinks you’re pretty or not. You can’t think of anything that could possibly matter less, when he’s the absolute last person in this camp you trust. 

You’re halfway through your hair when you decide to give up. The building frustration makes you want to rip and break the tangles apart, and you know you’ll regret it later, so instead you just lay down and sulk. 

“We need to be heading back,” you comment flatly, even though you’re still shivery and wet. 

“Nah. Give them another hour, I’m sure they need to finish their little meeting.”

“What meeting?”

Gaz finally lowers his arm to sling you a know-it-all look. “Come on. You think it’s a coincidence they got us both out of camp for the afternoon?”

A bolt of dread skitters down your spine, but you ignore it. “You’re full of shit.”

He blows out a long breath. “If you say so.”

He’s trying to get in your head, make you doubt the other guys for his own sick entertainment. If you were in a more comfortable position you might just ignore him, but you don’t have that privilege today. 

“Okay, wise one. What is it you think they’re having a secret meeting about?”

That pain in your ass looks up at the clear sky for a moment, considering. He makes you wait so long that you’re about to tell him to forget about it, when he says thoughtfully, “You’re bleeding in a few days.”

He doesn’t offer any more explanation than that, but it’s enough. That’s all you need to understand with horrifying clarity exactly what he’s suggesting, because it’s already your ever-present fear. They’re meeting to decide whether you’re worth the inconvenience of the next week. If they should even bother dragging you along another month, or just leave you here to fend for yourself. Having to look for food and water while on the run would slow you down significantly, and you wouldn’t last three days before a biter tracked you down. 

Apparently you’ve taken too long to answer, because Gaz rotates his whole stupid face to look at you, as if he sees every panicked thought crossing your mind. You quickly dart your eyes away so he won’t have the satisfaction.

“You don’t give a shit about me,” you mutter.

In your peripheral vision, you watch him roll over onto his stomach and casually rest his head on his arms. “You’re right. But you don’t see me in that meeting now, do you?”

What’s that supposed to mean? That he decided not to be a part of the debate to keep you alive, or that they didn’t want him there? One seems too bizarre to imagine, but the other paints him as a person you’d empathize with, and that makes you uncomfortable. 

“I wish I brought my deodorant today,” you grumble, changing the subject. 

“Got some in my bag. Help yourself.”

He must have planned to bathe on this trip, if he’s so equipped with toiletries. The creek was no spur of the moment decision, and now that you think of it, he was sort of the one leading you here as you walked. 

Cursing yourself for your gullibility, you get up and rifle through his backpack that’s hanging from a tree. Surprise surprise, he’s allowed to carry a knife. There’s a toothbrush, a little black notebook, pencils and matches. And at the bottom—

“You wear women’s deodorant?” you scoff, holding the tube of Dove in the air. 

“Not exactly choosy these days, love. Smells good, anyhow.”

You roll your eyes at the sarcastic endearment, popping the cap off to apply it, and reminiscing as you always do of times when you had easy access to a razor. 

“Give us turn,” he prompts, sitting up when you go to put it back in the bag. He snatches it effortlessly out of the air when you toss it at him, like a total jerk. 

Your back is still wet, so when you return to your spot on the grass, you stretch out on your stomach and try to pretend you’re alone out here. There’s no group of self-serving men deciding your fate, no hoards of monsters stalking your every step. The world is civilized and orderly, and you’re… on vacation, or something. Going camping on a pretty autumn day, and you went skinny dipping just for fun. 

The ghost of a breeze runs through your hair, but you keep your eyes closed and focus on the dry patches of your skin that feel warm. They’re probably not actually warm, but enough of you is cold that the contrast tricks your brain. It’s a shame that Gaz is such a dick, because you’d totally snuggle up against someone right now if you could. It would block a little of the wind, and give you a solid wall of heated skin to soak into yours. 

It’s the PMS hormones talking, has to be. That’s the only reason you’re picturing it in your mind, scooting that last little bit over to the muscled heater next to you, letting him spoon you and wrap his arm around your front to press you in tighter. You wouldn’t be able to see his face, which would be nice because then he can’t give you that look that always pisses you off. Yeah, you could objectify Gaz as a space heater quite easily. 

You must be more comfortable than you realize, because amid those absurd fantasies, you start to doze. You shouldn’t let your guard down like that with Gaz, and definitely not while naked, but for some reason that usual pit of dread has mostly gone away. It feels strangely safe to let your muscles go loose and slip into unconsciousness next to him, this one afternoon where you shared deodorant. 

Even in your half-dreams, you’re processing it – doubting your own memories, wondering if all this time you just imagined Gaz singling you out as his target. You try to always trust your intuition, but the way he’s acting today is so different from his usual rudeness that you’re baffled as to what brought on the change. 

It’s nice, though, letting your mask slip. Being rude right back at him is a relief you didn’t know you needed so badly. Something in your chest has decompressed, and maybe that’s what makes you drift off, even more than the rare moment of relaxation. You’re tired of performing. 

What wakes you is intangible, a shift in energy. At first you assume Gaz has spotted a biter, with the way he’s frozen into place beside you, reaching slowly for the bow. You blink around in confusion until you hear a twig snap, and glimpse Nick stepping out from behind a tree, taking in the scene he’s found with a horrified expression.

“We’re not supposed to touch her,” he snaps at Gaz, uselessly kicking some leaves in his direction. 

Pissed, you’re just opening your mouth to tell him that you can do what you damn well want with your own body, but Gaz beats you to it, in an infuriating drawl. 

“She came on to me, mate.”

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

[whimsicalazriel]

fae in a china shop → Azriel x female!reader

summary: in which Azriel’s mate is clumsy

warnings: it gets a little spicy towards the end, just kissing lol. just pure tooth rotting fluff otherwise! a few spoilers

word count: 2k yay

a/n: thank you so much for the support on the first one-shot, it means the world to me 🤍

masterlist

Azriel was sure he’d have a heart attack the first time he met you. The market in Velaris was as usual filled to the brim with fae shopping last minute for winter solstice, and there you were, appearing to argue with a market stall owner, fruits of all kinds on the ground by your feet, some continuing to roll down the icy street.

The bond snapped into place, almost bringin the spymaster to his knees. You were the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. You wore a thick long coat, a few sizes too big, the sleeves falling over your gloved hands. On your head was a hat, homemade or old as loose pieces of yarn stood straight out. He found it endearing.

“Ah,” You groaned, not feeling the heavy gaze of the Illyrian a few meters away, his shadows dancing around him as if they’re containing themselves from reaching out to you. “I’m sorry,” you sounded flustered as you kneeled down to pick them up, a few rolling off your arms and into the crowd.

Azriel was frozen on the spot, his mind reeling. After 500 years he finally found you. He felt his shoulders slump in pure relief.

His shadows hissed at him to go and help his mate, but as much as he tried to move; he couldn’t. He felt foolish.

“My mother almost forbade me from going to the market today–gods knows I’m clumsy.” You joked awkwardly as you stood with an armful of fruits. “Do-how-do I just,” you gestured towards the box of fruits. “Drop them in there?”

The stall owner nodded, dumbfounded as he stared at you. You awkwardly bent over and opened your arms, letting them fall into the box. Azriel wasn’t sure if he was worried or amused as he watched you fumble.

A sigh of relief left your lips as you backed away. “Best get going before I accidentally start a fire.” You joked, choosing to ignore the horrified expression of the stall owner.

Azriel’s feet finally decided to work as he took careful steps towards you, his shadows hissing out warnings as you backed away into the crowd, not being mindful of the stray fruits and patches of ice.

Azriel quickly found himself behind you, grabbing ahold of your shoulder when your feet left the ground with a small shriek. “Careful.” He breathed out, his chest aflamed as his hands held you against him.

You turned around, a small sheepish smile on your lips. Azriel wanted to die. You were absolutely perfect.

“Gods, thank you! It would be quite embarrassing if I fell and cracked my head open.” You snorted.

Azriel winced at the image conjured in his head, “You’re welcome.” He smiled, his wings tucked in tight as he simply looked at you. He never knew how strongly felt the bond would be. He felt like an asshole for keeping Elain away from Lucien. And suddenly he found himself admiring the emissary, who kept a straight head on his shoulder despite it all.

He watched as your eyes widened, your lips pursing. “Oh.” Dread began to build up in his chest, the voices of his dead brothers coming back to haunt and taunt him.

“I-“ you began before clearing your throat. “This has never happened before,” you said softly before snorting, a big smile growing on your lips. “Obviously.”

Azriel found himself breathing out with a smile. “Would you like some company?” He softly asked, his shadows slithering towards you, not yet touching you.

You nodded quickly, holding back your excitement. He was definitely the most beautiful male you’ve ever seen, and he was your mate.

He held out his scarred hand, a small twinge of insecurity in his stomach which quickly was stomped down as you grabbed his hand without a second thought.

.･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙ .･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

Azriel had proudly introduced you to the inner circle, ignoring Cassian’s grin and wriggling eyebrows. You were nervous, hands shaking as you all dined in the river house. You had already spilled the glass of expensive tasting wine, much to everyone’s amusement. Azriel held your hand under the table for the rest of the night, his thumb caressing your skin.

You were a nervous wreck when you stepped into the home of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. But Rhysand and Feyre welcomed you with open arms.

“So, finally we get to meet the spymaster's mate.” Cassian spoke, Nesta sitting quietly beside him, observing you, a small smile on her lips every time you dropped something. She found you endearing to watch.

Whilst Azriel was quiet, walking in shadows to stay hidden, you tumbled around like a fawn, loud yet shy. She couldn’t get enough. She decided that night that you would leave the house being her friend.

And she was right.

Nesta, to everyone's surprise, had seemingly taken you under her wing, introducing you to her books, books you were ashamed to read but couldn’t put down. She found herself adoring your quiet yet clumsy presence, weird sense of clothing style and quickly introduced you to Gwyn and Emerie.

You had yet to formally accept the bond, both agreeing to getting to know each other the traditional way; dates and picnics by the Sidra.

Azriel knew he had fallen for you when he came to your apartment for the first time. He waited as he heard you running towards the door. “Coming!” Your voice was faint but his heart reacted the same way it always does. A thud shook the door before you opened it with a flustered smile.

“Hi!” You greeted him. Azriel could feel himself staring to laugh. “Are you okay?” He asked, gesturing to the red old door. “Oh-yeah, I tripped on the carpet.” You laughed and quickly invited him into your cluttered home.

He couldn’t imagine a place that would represent you better than your home. Mismatched furniture and carpets layered on top of each other. It was the most cozy apartment he’d seen. It smelled faintly of vanilla and there were candles on every surface.

A roll of tangled yarn laid on the floor. You saw him looking at it, and felt yourself getting more flustered. “I picked it up as a hobby a few months ago, and then it got tangled so I gave up. I did make a hat though.” You smiled proudly. If he wasn’t in love with you before, he definitely was now.

He found himself thinking back to when he first saw you. The hat that caught his attention.

You grabbed his hand and dragged him to the kitchen. “Come sit, my parents are on the way.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “What?” He sat down on the rickety chair, adjusting his wings to get comfortable.

“Yeah.” You nodded, rushing around the kitchen to prepare something easy to eat. “It’s only fair since I met your family.” Azriel’s eyes widened further as he watched you prepare the food. ‘Is she accepting the bond?’ He thought to himself.

“Um, darling…” He began softly, standing up to walk up behind you. His hands found themselves on your hips, squeezing softly as he rested his chin on your shoulder, breathing you in.

You hummed in acknowledgment, trying to regulate your breathing. “You’re preparing me food.” He murmured. You nodded in agreement, slightly confused.

Azriel’s sigh blew hot air over your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “It’s what one does when accepting the bond.” He explained, his lips touching your skin with each word spoken.

You froze before asking tentatively, “Is it okay if I am?” Your hands shook. “I just-I really want my parents to meet you before accepting the bond.”

A groan left Azriel’s lips and he tugged you towards him. “Fuck, I love you.” He admitted with a soft laugh. You turned around in his arms to face him, your hands grabbing ahold of his neck to meet his lips with yours, but a knock halted the both of you.

Azriel’s forehead rested on yours, his hair tickling your skin. “It’s them,” you breathed out, before detaching yourself from the Shadowsinger to open the door.

Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes when your parents stepped in. He now knew where your sense of style came from. Your mother wore a green overall with a mustard yellow sweater tied around her waist. Your father also wore an overall, though it was definitely more sun bleached. On his head was an old ratty hat, hiding his unruly hair.

Azriel would never dream of ever saying someone’s parents looked interesting, but yours did.

He took notice that you and your father shared the same smile, but your eyes were definitely your mothers. Warm and loving.

A shriek left your mother as she sprung towards Azriel, her arms wide open to embrace him. He stood awkwardly, not knowing if he should hug her back. He wasn’t used to any platonic affection that came from outside the inner circle. He wasn’t sure how to feel.

“Mother,“ you groaned, “we talked about this. Personal space-“

“Personal space,” your mother finished the sentence with a huff and a glint in her eyes. “Yes, of course, but he’s so handsome!”

Your father laughed, a deep from the belly one as he looked at Azriel. “If he wasn’t so big I would've fought him for that.” He joked, before walking up to slap Azriel’s shoulder with wince. “He’s very strong.” He said approvingly.

.･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙ .･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

Your parents ended up staying for three hours, though neither of you minded. Azriel quickly warmed up to them, though a bitter taste of jealousy coated his tongue when he found himself comparing his childhood to yours.

Your father was a local fisherman whilst your mother was a bartender on certain weekends. It was all fascinating for the spymaster, who’s lived anything but an ordinary life. It was nice to imagine himself with you that way. No war, no cauldron or High Lords, just you and him.

He noticed that you and your father shared the same clumsiness as the older man knocked the kettle over after tripping over the yarn.

Your mother laughed softly with the look of raw love in her eyes. “It’s never an ordinary day with those two around.” She gestured towards you and your father as you fussed over your broken kettle.

Azriel found himself laughing along.

The moment the door closed you quickly forced Azriel to take a seat at the table once more. You sat beside him with a nervous look in your eyes.

His eyes never left yours as you fed him piece after piece of the homemade bread. You felt whole after he finished the last piece.

“I love you, Azriel, so much that it hurts.” He could only stand up and lift you on the table, ignoring the clatter of porcelain. He grabbed your neck and pressed his lips to yours. The bond stretching between the two of you, lighting up like a beacon.

His shadows caressed your skin, their cool touch leaving you gasping for air. He laughed into the kiss and tugged you closer so that he was snug between your legs. The kiss felt never ending as though time was simply a suggestion. “The bed,” you gasped between kisses.

Azriel nodded before he paused, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Where is your bed?”

You stole a few more kisses, “left door by the kitchen,”

Azriel hummed into your lips, his tongue dancing with yours as he picked you up, your thighs around his waist as he navigated through your apartment whilst kissing you like his life depended on it; which to him, it did.

He laid you softly down on the plush bed, and he took note of the three different duvets with a chuckle.

He sighed in pleasure as your lips found themselves on his neck, kissing, sucking and biting on his warm tan skin. The taste of him was like nothing you’ve ever experienced and you were willing to never stop kissing him.

Azriel grabbed ahold of your chin, his lips meeting yours in desperation.

“I will never let you go.” He murmured against your lips, his hazel eyes shining silver.

“I will never let you go either.”

Nesta could beat me up and I would thank her for it.

[goosita]

when young!politician!snow takes you home with him…

its all wandering hands, squeezing and clawing when he leads you through the front door of his penthouse. he slams the door shut and pushes you against it to kiss you senseless again. his body presses into yours, smooth silk of his dress shirt sliding against the satin of your dress. he only parts his mouth from yours to sink to his knees, lifting the hem of your dress to slip off your silver stilettos.

“coryo,” you whine softly, already missing the heat of him against you. he looks up at you with a sinister grin, pushing the skirt of your dress up to your hips.

“shhhh, i’ll take care of you,” coriolanus whispers, dragging his tongue in a slow line up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. his crystalline eyes stay locked on yours as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss to the growing wet patch on your panties. the gesture along with the eye contact makes you shiver, a broken please falling from your lips. and to think, just this morning you were innocently making coffee for him in his office.

coriolanus has mercy on you, too eager himself to draw this out. too desperate for you. he slips your panties down your legs and pockets them, carefully lifting one leg to rest over his shoulder and wasting no more time. he dives into your cunt like a man starved, his tongue delving straight through your slippery folds.

you gasp and arch your back, one hand clawing at the wooden door behind you and one hand tangling into his perfect pale waves, curling into his hair desperately. the tug at his locks makes him moan, his eyes fluttering almost drunkenly as he laps at your wetness. his tongue finds your clit easily, teasing at it with eager strokes while two of his fingers work their way into your body. he curls them forward inside of you, brushing against something that makes you whine beautifully for him.

“such a good girl,” he breaks away to purr, looking up at you. coriolanus, still kneeling before you, looks up at you with his icy stare now turned stormy. his lips are kissed red and plump, shining with your arousal and his eyes gaze upon you like he’s worshipping you. “so beautiful, my darling. does it feel good? are you going to cum for me?”

he punctuates the question by leaning back in, mouth ravishing your clit as his fingers continue to fuck you in smooth, precise strokes. he watches you closely, learning quickly what makes you moan and gasp.

“yes! oh fuck, yes, coryo….” you pant, feeling the heat between your legs build. he keeps his eyes on yours as he watches, pushing you over the edge into an orgasm that makes your ears ring almost embarrassingly quickly.

coriolanus works you through your release, moaning low and gravelly against your cunt as you soak his fingers and tongue. you glance down in the haze of your high fading, noticing the way his hips shift uncomfortably and rock subtly against nothing but the friction of his own trousers.

“you taste so sweet, baby. you have no idea how long i’ve been thinking about this,” he tells you when he pulls away. he carefully slips his fingers from you and smirks when you whine at the loss, tutting softly. coriolanus lets your skirt fall back down to the floor before standing, taking one of your hands and lacing your fingers together. he brings them to his mouth to pepper kisses across your knuckles, letting your breathing slow.

“i think about you all day, every day,” he admits in a soft voice, leaning his head down to rest his forehead on yours. “its worse at night, when i have to wonder what you’re doing. if you…think of me. i wonder if you touch yourself, wishing it was me instead.”

his nose brushes against yours almost sweetly, in contrast to the lewd way he’d just devoured your pussy. then his words turn to filth again.

“do you know how many times i’ve laid alone in my bed and fucked my own hand, wishing it was you? imagining you spread out under me while i fuck you so senseless you can speak?”

he smiles when he notices the dazed look in your eyes, the way your body arches to press into him even after bringing you to orgasm with his mouth. you want more from him and he knows it. “would you like me to do that? hm?”

your eyes flutter and you nod, fingers curling into his shirt to draw him closer. his hand circles around your throat, not restricting but his thumb presses under your chin to tip your head up a little further, a little closer to him as he leans down. his lips brush against yours just slightly, but he doesn’t kiss you. instead, he whispers sternly to you.

“say it. say, ‘yes, coryo. please fuck me’.”

“coryo please. please fuck me, yes,” you babble slightly, feeling high from his touch and his body heat.

coriolanus coos softly, bringing the back of your hand where they’re still joined against his cheek to nuzzle into it. “you’re such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, pulling you by the hand away from the door.

the penthouse is so large, glossy marble floors and soft lights as he weaves through it to lead you to his bedroom. once inside, he closes the door and pulls you to him, bringing his lips back to yours to kiss you breathless again. you can taste yourself on his mouth, his tongue sliding against almost teasingly slow.

his bed is soft when he lays you down on it, after he unzips your dress and lets it fall to his floor. coriolanus pauses at the foot of the bed after you lay back, slowly undressing himself as well. you watch as he unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders, the way his hands make quick and easy work of undoing his trousers and kicking them away.

he crawls over you on his bed, caging you in his arms. coriolanus nudges your legs apart with his knee, trailing slow, hot kisses along your throat.

“you have no idea how stunning you looked all night,” he whispers, pausing to softly bite at your collarbone. “it took everything in me not to drag you into a dark corner and take you right then and there.”

shivering at his words, you cup his face and pull him back into another wanton kiss, licking into his mouth. “you’re driving me insane, coryo,” you confide.

“the feeling is mutual, darling.”

emboldened by his own confession, your hand wanders down to brush your fingers along the outline of his cock. he’s straining inside his black boxer-briefs, and your touch makes a soft whimper escape him. he’s so unashamed about the noise, grabbing your hand and slipping it beneath his waistband until you can wrap your fingers around him.

“feel what you do to me? always so fucking hard when you’re near me.”

hearing him swear like this, a man usually so calm and unfazed, urges you on. your hand slowly strokes his cock while you watch his face. his lips part and he mewls softly, rocking his hips into your touch.

“need to be inside you, baby,” he almost whines, gently taking your hand out of his underwear. he discards them quickly, settling his hips between your spread thighs.

his cock slides through your wetness a few times, coating him in your arousal before he slowly pushes inside your aching cunt. the sound he lets out is almost animalistic, his fingers twisting in the sheets beside your head as you take him inch by inch.

“fuck,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your shoulder. “so fucking good. s’perfect for me.”

coriolanus bottoms out and pants softly, giving you a moment to adjust before he’s rolling his hips slowly, making you both shudder and moan. his cock presses into just the right spots, making you see stars.

he keeps a slow pace for a little bit, building you up until your nails are dragging down his back and making him hiss in pain and pleasure.

“more, coryo. please,” you beg.

“whatever you— shit, whatever you want.”

watching him begin to lose control like this only makes you feel hotter, brain more clouded with lust. he’s always so poised and composed, but now you lose yourself in him as he does to you, rutting into you like a beast in heat.

“tell me you’re mine,” he growls suddenly, hand slipping between your bodies to toy with you clit. “tell me you’re mine and i’ll give you anything you want.”

“i’m yours, c-coryo,” you stutter as you rapidly approach orgasm for the second time tonight. “i’m yours, i’m yours!”

your obedience makes him groan loudly, biting down on his kiss-swollen bottom lip. he rubs your clit faster and watches your face as you tremble below him.

“good girl, f-fuck. such a good fucking girl. cum for me, darling. cum on my cock, let me feel you,” he grunts, delirious and pussydrunk. his voice, dark and low pushes you over the edge and you squeeze down on him, sure that you’re drawing blood from how hard you claw at the skin of his shoulder blades.

your orgasm triggers his own and coriolanus snarls and presses his hips into yours hard enough to bruise as he cums inside of you, flooding your cunt with his release. he pants heavily, shuddering and sealing the act with a kiss to your lips.

in the afterglow, coriolanus lets you lay your head on on his chest and he cards his fingers through your hair. his heartbeat is slow and steady, body pliant and tangled up with yours.

“darling,” he whispers.

you lift your head to look up at him, momentarily getting lost in his wintery eyes. his fingertips brush along your jaw before skimming down, lifting the snowflake pendant around your throat.

“we can’t tell anyone,” he says softly, his eyebrows pinched worriedly. “it would be…a scandal, to say the least.”

you nodded, understanding. coriolanus is right; you’re still his employee and he’s a powerful man. there’s all kinds of sinister ways the press could spin this.

“but,” he continues, the corner of his lips twitching up. “i’d like for you to keep this. to wear it, even if i’m the only person who knows.”

he lets the pendant fall back against your skin, watching your face for a reaction.

“of course, coryo. i won’t take it off,” you promise, smiling small. he mirrors your little grin and steals a kiss from you.

“it’ll be our little secret, miss y/n.”

[oneforthemunny]

what about mafia!eddie and reader going through a rough patch and all they do is fight and kitten tells him that they should take a break and i'll leave the rest up to you....

oof ok let's 180 back to angst. buckle up angsty babes!

"Maybe," Your voice trembled, sucking in a shaky breath. "Maybe I should go stay with my parents... for a while."

Eddie's head whipped around, eyes wide with something you couldn't quite detect, a new look teetering between anger and something worse. It made your spine tingle with chills, icy and fearful.

"What?" Eddie's voice was soft, much quieter than the raised tone from before.

"I-I think," You tried to still your voice, throat raw and aching from the back and forth screaming match of the night. "I think I- we need to be apart for a while." You whispered, refusing to meet his gaze, looking at the couch behind him instead.

"Why?" Eddie barked, teeth gritting and baring in fury, heart pounding with a fear he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Eddie," You sighed, shaking your head at him. "Seriously? All we do is fight." A fresh wave of tears rolled over you, nose burning.

"That's not-"

"-Eddie," You stopped him, gaze meeting his. You could see it now, could see that the foreign look was fear. Your heart sank, taking a shuddering breath to calm yourself. "We're just... We can't stop fighting."

Eddie stilled, frozen across from you. "I'm tired of fighting." You admitted softly, shoulders slumping in defeat.

Days, weeks of bickering- back and forth until your voices were raw, doors slamming, then retreating back with careful apologies, only to repeat the cycle over and over. You were dizzy from it, from trying to get him to see, to understand your point. He was so stubborn.

What started as a what if silly conversation, turned into a bickering, fueled into a full blown fight that seemed never ending.

"You'd be a good dad. You're so good with the boys." You hummed, leaning against his chest.

"Yeah? You'll never know." Eddie scoffed casually.

You frowned, pushing up to look at him. "What?"

Eddie blinked. "C'mon, you know I can't have kids. Not doin' this job. Won't do it to some poor kid."

"But I'll never know?" Your lips pursed. "That's a pretty shitty thing to say to me. Pretty bold." You pushed off of him, out of his hold.

Eddie huffed, running a hand down his face. "Where're you- Seriously? We've talked about this, have we not?"

"Yeah, we have." You huffed, cheeks burning. "But saying I'll never know- do you not see how that's a little rude?"

"What?" Eddie threw his hands up. "You won't. Not with me, anyways."

You gawked at him, surprised, furious, hurt. "You're such a fuckin' asshole. I can't believe you." You snapped, stomping off.

That was the first night. Both of you stubbornly coming for the other, agitation building over and over and over, piling on top of previous fury until you'd finally burst. Leaving you standing here, where you are now, defeated and ready to throw the towel in, too tired to fight.

"I-I- Baby, if this is about the kids thing, look, I told you-"

Your sigh cut Eddie off. "It's not about that." You ran a hand down your face. "I can't- I can't keep trying to explain my side of things when you aren't listen. You won't listen."

"Then what? What is it?" Eddie's franticness turned to angry urgency. "Just say what you mean! Say it!"

You didn't flinch at his anger, at his outburst. Your lip wobbled, taking a deep breath in. "I've said it." You muttered. "I can't- I won't be in a relationship that's one sided." Eddie felt sick at your words.

"I understand that you don't want certain things, and I respect that, I do. But I've changed a lot of things in my life for you, because I love you." You continued, tears brimming your vision. "All I'm asking is for a little change in return. Not with the kids thing-" You cut him off before he could start, sensing what he was going to say.

"But there's two of us in this relationship." You look at him. "I just wish you could try to see my side of things sometimes."

"I do-" Eddie spat in defense.

"-When I'm agreeing with you, you do." You snapped back. "But when it's something you disagree with, you shut me down, dismiss it because what you say is law-"

"-It is not-"

"-And I'm tired of it." You look at him pleadingly. "I think we both need some time apart to figure out what we want. What we do from here."

Eddie felt tears burn, threatening to fall. "I know what I want." He gritted through clenched teeth. "I want you. I've always wanted you. I don't need time to figure out because it's not changing."

You nodded slowly. "I know you do." You whispered. "But this is what I'm talking about. That's what you want."

Eddie felt sick, heart sinking lower and lower into the pit in his stomach. "I need time apart." The room was silent, your voice cutting through. "I need to figure it out."

"Are you- You're breaking up with me?" Eddie sounded petulant, voice crackingly pathetic that he hadn't been since he was a teenager.

Your shoulder shuddered, exhaling shakily. "I didn't say that." You shook your head. "I-I don't want to, that's not what this is. I just... I need to be able to think. We both do."

Eddie blinked, vision bleary with tears that fell. "Alright," He nodded, ignoring the ache in his chest, heart splitting in two. "If that's what you want."

Watching you drive off, slow down the road, Eddie ignored the screaming in his head to run after you. To pull you out of the car, demand you come back, bring you back himself. This is what I'm talking about, your voice played in a painful loop in his mind.

You called him like you said you would, hours later when you got to your parent's house. A quiet, quick phone call. His heart still swelled, lifting when you muttered a fast, "love you" before hanging up.

Sitting in the stillness of the empty house, Eddie had never felt so lonely in his entire life. It was horrifying, thinking that his future could be like this- a life without you in it. Eddie decided right then and there, he'd do whatever he needed to make sure that wasn't his reality.

[darylssunshine]

daryl x reader

“lift up your sleeve”

at the farm maybe daryl saw shane grab your wrist tightly

Caring

Word count: 0.9k

Genre: Mainly fluff

A/N: my first request! hope you enjoy anon!!

~~~~~

You squint your eyes in frustration, rubbing a hand down your face and shifting your weight away from Shane. He was fed up with the continuous search for Sofia and he was taking his anger out on the whole group, yelling at the top of his lungs with a deep southern drawl. He believed that the search was futile and that the group should keep moving, but the rest of the group opposed, including Daryl.

“We’re close to finding this girl, I just found her damn doll a few days ago!” He piped up, pacing back and forth to ease his frustration. Shane harshly chuckled in response. “You found her doll, Daryl. That’s what you did, you found a doll.” 

The group then erupted back into an argument with Rick trying to hold Daryl back from lunging at Shane, the redneck jumping up and down and throwing up his arm as an attempt to move Rick’s arm out of the way. Frankly, you were tired and hungry and on edge and sick of Shane’s shit. So you piped up this time.

“Hey!” You stepped in front of Shane, blocking Daryl from his view. The rest of the group had now ceased their yelling and all had their eyes on you and your sudden surge of boldness. Daryl moved to the side so he could properly glare at the now stunned southern man.

“Daryl was only trying to help. What the fuck is so bad about that? It’s giving people hope, and that’s all we need right now, especially Carol. Now, if you could settle down, we could think of some sort of pl-”

You were cut off from your outburst and pointing your finger in Shane’s face by him violently grabbing your wrist, rendering it immobile by his strong grasp. He bored his fiery eyes into yours and spoke lowly, but so that everyone surrounding the exchange could still hear him. You tried to mask the scared look in your eyes that paralleled his, but you knew what Shane was capable of, and you felt your breathing speed up and your wrist throb.

“Listen here, sweetheart. You ever do somethin’ like this again and I will not hesitate to break this skinny little wrist right here, do you hear me?” He was so close to your face you could feel his hot breath hit the tip of your nose. You were so focused on the pain in your wrist growing by the second, you didn’t answer his rhetorical question.

“Do you hear me?!” He yelled suddenly, the grip on your wrist growing impossibly tighter.

“Yes, Shane.” You grunted through gritted teeth. He threw your wrist out of his grasp and turned around with a huff.

“This talk ain’t over!” He shouted to no one in particular while stomping in the opposite direction.

—

Daryl found you later in the evening sitting against the Greene house, basking in the evening breeze. You were absentmindedly rubbing your wrist that Shane had grabbed earlier, when he wordlessly sat next to you, crossing his arms and leaning his head against the house. You turned your head towards the redneck and furrowed your brow in confusion. Your heart was beating a bit faster just from his presence, but you were determined to not let your nervousness show.

“M’ dad used to do that.”

You sat up, snapping your gaze over to Daryl, who was still staring at the stars above. His voice was low, but still caring. He continued, his gaze unwavering despite your movement.

“He was a drunk. Beat me all th’ time. Left bruises all over.”

Your eyes shifted to the ground, now embarrassed, remembering that he saw that entire heated exchange. “It didn’t leave a bruise, Daryl. It’s not that bad.” You said softly as you rubbed your neck.

“Lift up yer sleeve, then.” He prodded, now staring at you with his icy blue eyes. He scooted closer to where you were sitting and shifted his gaze to your right hand, your left currently covering it. 

Shifting your eyes back to a particularly interesting patch of grass, you gently rolled up your right jacket sleeve with a wince. Daryl’s brows creased in anger when his eyes were met with a deep purple bruise forming at the base of your wrist, the purples fading into soft yellows. You now anxiously played with your left jacket sleeve.

A sort of growl exited his mouth. “Imma kill that sumbitch.”

You were stunned and your thoughts were reeling, your eyes flipping from your wrist to Daryl’s concerned yet angry face. He was being so careful around the wound, very gently holding and examining it. Did he actually care about you? You originally found it unlikely, but he didn’t seem like the type to open up to just anyone. A blush was creeping onto your face after his last comment, and you were silently praying that he didn’t notice. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and setting your hand back onto the soft grass. “Hershel’ll fix ya up in the mornin’. Till then, be careful n’ don’t put pressure on it, aight? I want ya to get better.” You softly chuckled in response. “You got it, Dr. Dixon.” You saluted with your left hand. He rolled his eyes in response.

“Thank you for caring. Really. It means a lot.” You said sincerely, placing your injured hand on his.

“Mhm.” He shifted his gaze back to the stars as he slowly intertwined his fingers with yours. “Course I do.

[muletia]

𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

[tfp] obsessed!starscream x human!reader

+18 content / valveplug

summary: still feeling megatron's claws all over his body, starscream goes to visit the only person who can let him forget the horrors of abuse - you

cw: hurt/comfort, angst, megatron abuses starscream, slight gore, established (but it's complicated) relationship, very ooc starscream, get catified idiot; yandere themes: obsessive thoughts, possessiveness and jealousy, emotional manipulation, clinginess and unhealthy behavior; valveplug with plot: gentle!dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!starscream, backshots (starscream receiving), reader uses a strap (referred as cock a few times), overstimulation, praise kink

word count: 5450

inspired by this ask, bless you for it anon 🙏 :

He isn’t sure what provoked the attack. Did he speak too soon? Stepped into Megatron's personal space? Maybe the warlord noticed his mind wandering for a few nanokliks, wishing the speech would end so he could return to you. Or maybe he didn’t need a reason. Perhaps no provocation was ever necessary for Megatron to lash out. To hit, crush, scratch, humiliate him in front of everyone. Sometimes, all it took was a bad mood and a single glance to spill energon. Often, Megatron didn’t need a reason at all to vent his fury. A whim was enough — a need to display aggression, to assert forced, undeserved dominance.

Starscream doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He’s suffered enough physically. Instead, he focuses on you, channeling the gentleness you always showed him, the calculated grace of your movements. You always knew how to make him forget, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Bruised and aching, he impatiently awaits the meeting’s end. He tries to remain inconspicuous, to seem smaller than he is, hoping to avoid further humiliation, because clawing out optics of every bot present is not an option. He longs to return to you immediately, but for now, he must pretend to be the model soldier, still invested in the cause. He wonders if anyone truly cares anymore, if anyone other than Megatron still remembers the original ideals of the Decepticons and adheres to them. Does even the warlord himself believe in what he’s fighting for? He quickly abandons the thought, redirecting his focus back to you.

When the meeting finally concludes, he forces himself to walk out with composed, deliberate steps, hiding the urgency in his pedes, the way they ache to carry him out of this hell. The icy chill of the ship bites at his spark, but he waits patiently for Megatron’s dismissal, mocking the absurdity of the situation in his mind. Once granted permission, he exits the bridge alongside Knockout, who naturally heads toward the medbay, assuming Starscream will follow, but is visibly surprised when seeker doesn’t join him, instead limping stubbornly away.

"Hey, Starscream, get your aft to the medbay!" Knockout calls out.

"I don’t need your help, Knockout," Starscream replies venomously.

"Oh, really? Whose help do you need, then?" Knockout retorts, voice dripping with sarcasm. "To the medbay, before I lose my patience."

"I’m not going anywhere with you," Starscream growls. "So drop it. As long as I’m still standing, I’m fine."

"You’ve got seven lacerations, three puncture wounds, and two gunshot injuries.” he starts counting on his digits “Not to mention countless scratches. I don’t know what kind of world you live in where this counts as 'fine.'" Knockout steps closer, grabbing the stubborn seeker’s arm. "Stop resisting and let me fix you, you idiot."

Knockout’s touch feels cold, piercing like a thousand needles against mesh, gripping tightly as if intending to crush his arm, though Starscream knows it’s just an illusion. He doesn’t want such an unpleasant connection, doesn’t want to be associated with metal and its rigidity right now nor with surgical tools or Knockout’s detached approach to patching wounds.

He doesn’t want to be on the Nemesis, feeling useless, insignificant, and discarded. He wants to be with you, to feel your touch, hear your voice. Now.

He can’t endure it any longer.

"Let go!" he snarls, yanking his arm free with a dramatic sweep, immediately stepping back, closer to you. "I said I don’t want your help, didn’t I?! So leave me alone and go buff that hollow helm of yours!"

Before Knockout can fire back with a sharp retort, Starscream transforms and takes off, leaving behind nothing but a cyan puddle and a trail of exhaust fumes and energon.

"Everyone on this ship has lost their minds," the medic mutters.

It doesn’t take Starscream long to orient himself, to calculate the route to reach you. He immediately sets off toward the coordinates, forcing himself to ignore the searing pain that courses through his frame, the open, leaking wounds that drip energon he knows will eventually hit the ground. It’s reckless to draw attention, but he casts caution aside, overwhelmed by the desperate need for comfort.

From a distance, he spots you lounging in a hammock, absorbed in a book, soaking up the warm rays of the spring sun. Will you be upset if he interrupts you? When he imposes his selfish needs, bringing with him vivid evidence of the horror he endured, likely ruining your peace and cheerful mood. He knows you won’t turn him away or be angry about his unannounced visit, but he can’t shake the feeling that his presence is always unwelcome. Everywhere.

No matter how you react, no matter what you say, he won’t leave. He needs to feel your soft hands on him, convinced they’ll erase the sensation of Megatron’s fists against his plating, help him forget the claws tearing through metal, the smashing against walls, and the weight pressing his pedes to the floor. You’ll envelop not just his processor but his body as well, wrapping him in an illusion of carefreeness and convincing him, with your unparalleled talent, that everything is alright.

He sees you tilt your head from the hammock, scanning the sky for his silhouette, a smile gracing your lips when you finally spot him. You wave cheerfully, setting the book aside into the hammock’s folds. But your joy quickly fades as his alt-mode hurtles straight toward you. Before you can escape or let out a shout, Starscream transforms mid-air, landing above the hammock with you caught beneath him.

He looks down at you, and a wave of relief washes over him. He made it. Finally, he’s safe.

“Boo,” he teases.

The journey cost him more energy than he’d anticipated. To prevent collapsing, he braces himself against the massive tree in front of him. Only now does he truly feel how drained he is, how much his injuries ache. But none of it matters — he’s here with you, and for the first time in hours, the pain dulls and the cold from the Nemesis dissipates.

"Holy shit, Starscream!" you exclaim beneath him. "You almost gave me a heart attack! Never do that shit again, understand?!"

"Good to see you too," he retorts with a scoff. His legs tremble and wings sag unnaturally low, yet somehow, he feels infinitely better than he did on the Nemesis. There’s warmth here, a sense of solace.

He watches as your expression shifts — you grow pale, scanning his frame with those beautiful, observant little eyes. Fear crosses your face as you immediately climb out of the hammock. A few droplets of energon hit the ground near your feet.

You don’t ask who did this or why. You know him well enough to understand why he sometimes arrives with injuries, armed with a plethora of grievances to share. But he’s never appeared to you so broken before.

"My God, Starscream, why didn’t you let someone patch you up?"

He rolls his optics. You don’t need to know about the desperation that drove him here, his overwhelming need to reach you as quickly as possible. "Because I had more important matters on my mind," he dodges. "Now, hand over some energon."

Skeptically, you drop the topic and open the shed where you keep a few barrels of refined energon, stored specifically for emergencies like this.

"Here you go, though I doubt this will solve all of our problems."

His wings twitch upward at the word "our."

"As if I don’t have everything under control," he huffs, limping toward a barrel and drinking it greedily, yet somehow maintaining an air of grace.

"You always do," you reply sarcastically, fully aware of how often he misses the subtlety of your playful tone. The faint smile hidden behind the half-full barrel confirms your suspicion. After finishing the first, he reaches for another.

"Feeling better?" you ask gently.

He takes your care to spark, letting it flood through his frame.

"Slightly," he admits because the word incomparably got stuck in his intake.

He tosses the empty energon container aside without care, locking his optics onto you as you continue to scan his injuries.

"I’ll grab a towel," you announce, turning toward the house.

Ha, you’re going to leave him? Now, when he needs you most? No, you don’t have the right. You can’t hurt him like that.

"You’re not going anywhere."

Before you can even touch the doorknob, you feel long, slender claws wrap around your forearm. They pull you back with a soft "eep" escaping your lips until you land against his chassis, your shirt now smeared with energon.

"Seriously? Do you know how hard it is to get energon stains out?"

"You’ll manage," he replies, his servos already playing with your hair. His wings tremble slightly, betraying the emotions he struggles to suppress. "I’ve never seen blue stains on that pathetic, soft armor of yours."

"Clothes," you correct him.

"Unimportant."

Holding you in his arms, he truly feels that everything is alright. The open wounds don’t sting as fiercely as they did moments ago, his battered body can rest, and his processor is enveloped by a rare sense of peace. Everything feels better when you’re near, when your unimaginable softness surrounds him, and your tiny hands stroke his chassis, careful to avoid every wound. It’s soothing, and comforting, to have someone who brings solace just to him. To belong to someone, as much as he belongs to you. Almost cozy.

But soon, merely holding you isn’t enough. It’s unsatisfying, incomplete. Always craving luxuries, he wants more, and he wants it now.

He leans in, kissing your neck greedily while his servo slips beneath your shirt, making his desires abundantly clear.

"Starscream," you chide, "there’s a puddle of energon under you."

"Good thing I don’t care," he mutters between kisses, with no intention of stopping.

“And will you start caring when I say I won’t let you into bed in this state?”

"Stop ruining the mood," he hisses. "I don’t need your berth to interface!"

"But I do," you reply calmly, unfazed by his accusatory tone. To emphasize your point, you cross your arms over your chest, creating a small but significant distance between you. Starscream loathes this gesture, hates the boundary it creates between you. He wants to erase it, destroy it because whether you realize it or not, you hurt him with your cruelty. You set a boundary he never wanted to feel between you again.

"Star, you know I only want what’s best for you, right?"

"And that’s why you want to leave me, huh? Fine, go ahead, leave and never come back if you can’t be bothered to pay attention to me!" He releases you, and this time it's him crossing his arms over his chassis, but defensively, for comfort. Without you near, an unbearable, chilling loneliness takes hold of him and he despises it. “You have the incredible opportunity to interface with me, and you’re turning me down because of a little energon stain? Foolish human, if only you understood what honor I bestow on you by allowing you to even touch me.”

"It’ll only take me a minute," you reassure him, cupping his mauled faceplate in your hand. Starscream tries to resist the trap, to demonstrate the seriousness of his words through his body language, but within a nanoklik, he knows you have caught him. He leans into your hand, now smeared with energon, savoring the scraps of attention you offer. His wings flutter joyfully, and his engines hum softly, imitating a purr, a telltale sign of his true feelings, unspoken and originating from his very spark. “You’re a good mech. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

He stomps his pede and taps his claws against his arm, wrestling with his thoughts. A single compliment, and he’s already willing to do anything you ask, just to earn another, as if enchanted.

"You have exactly one klik. And you’d better hurry because I’ll be counting."

You disappear into the house, and he battles the urge to follow, to accompany you everywhere in pursuit of the phenomenon that is your touch and its incredible power to immerse him in pleasure. What a cruel joke, he thinks, as a few nanokliks pass and the pain creeps back. His wings droop and his frame begins to tremble, betraying the weakness and torment he carries within. He doesn’t want to be alone — can’t bear the lack of you any longer, though not even a single klik has passed. Feeling as if the cold has intensified, mocking him just like it did back on the Nemesis, he hugs himself tighter.

"[Name]?" he calls out weakly, his voice lonely, pathetic, like an addict in withdrawal.

He steps forward but collapses mid-motion, his journey ending there.

"I’m here! And what, I made it in time, didn’t I?" you ask playfully, though your tone quickly shifts to concern when you see the trembling seeker. "Hey, it’s okay. I’m not leaving you again," you assure warmly. "I’m not going anywhere."

"Have you finally realized what an honor it is to be in my presence?" His self-admiration returns, a defensive mechanism to shield his vulnerable, true self. With the last bits of his strength, he suppresses his shaking as you guide him to sit on the ground, which he complies with. You shift slightly to the side to avoid the sharp edges of his armor on his knees.

"Star, it’s been an honor from the very beginning," you assure him, gently dabbing at his wounds with a towel. You press it against his chassis, ignoring his winces and hisses, soothing him instead with soft strokes along his cheek.

"So, you do have some sense after all. For a human, that is."

"Thanks, I try," you reply, moving to the largest wound and tending to it with a fresh towel. "But I’m afraid you’ll still need to see a medic, erm, what was his name again… Knockout?"

Oh, he dislikes how easily you utter another’s name, inviting its owner into his sanctuary. Jealousy claws at his spark, fuelling anger, because you should know and adore only his name. No one else is necessary for your happiness.

He regrets ever telling you the medic’s name.

A sudden urge to merge his glossa with your tongue overwhelms him. To erase the taste of the intruder. But he restrains himself when he sees the genuine concern etched on your face. Starscream doesn’t want to ruin this moment, this rare display of sincerity, though his jealousy remains. Instinctively, his wings raise higher, making him appear larger, desperate for your attention.

"Don’t say that idiot’s name," he growls. "From now on, I’m the only mech you’re allowed to address. Understand? No one else deserves it."

"Hm, good thing the only mech I interact with is you," you say. Starscream doesn’t bother hiding the smug smile spreading across his faceplate, his wings trembling with satisfaction… until you add "But I’m not kidding, you need medical help and best I can do is very basic care."

"Have you not realized yet that that’s all I need? Think, if I wanted to see a medic, I’d have gone to one instantly."

He dislikes the way you’re looking at him, as if you don’t believe him, even though he’s laid his cards bare for you. How can he explain that he sped toward you recklessly, risking everything, because he needed you, not Knockout, not specialized instruments, nor the familiar texture of an operating table beneath him? How can he make you understand that with just your touch, you’ve repaired him more effectively than the Decepticon medic could dream of? Would you ever truly grasp how much you mean to him, how much he’s willing to sacrifice for you? Probably not, he thinks bitterly. He’ll never be able to convey it through gestures, words, or even the most tender acts of affection.

"I just don’t want you to suffer," you confess sincerely.

His silence speaks volumes — it tells you that he can’t grant you this wish.

"Oh, Star," you sigh.

"What?" he hisses. "Do you think it’s that easy when you are being punished for merely existing?"

"I… I know. I’m sorry," you reply, your voice laced with such raw remorse that it’s as if you’d struck him. Once, he might have relished your guilt, your groveling for sins he never wanted to be atoned for but deserved. Yet now, he just wants to scrape that remorse off your face, to bury it deep and forever. He longs for your sincere, cheerful smile, the one that crinkles your eyelids, softens your features, and radiates enough warmth to thaw even his cold, egoistic spark.

But your expression brings back unwanted memories of today’s horrors. For a moment, his mind drifts back to the Nemesis bridge, to the echoes of his own screams reverberating against the walls, the thrashing, the scent of energon, and the tyrant treating his body like a toy. For a fleeting instant, he was convinced this time Megatron would truly break him, kill him, and he wouldn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to you.

He doesn’t want to remember — not here, not with you, especially when you need him. So he resorts to the one trick that helps him forget, hoping you’ll forgive him for it.

He buries his helm in the crook of your neck and begins kissing, silently pleading for interface, a counterbalance to the agony, because maybe if you frag him hard enough his mind will finally break, freeing him from Megatron’s torment.

"Am I clean enough for your bed now?" he asks between kisses. His servo slides under your shirt again, while the other finds your butt, massaging it without subtlety.

"Yes, you are now," you reply, your voice half-lost in a breathy sigh.

Starscream leans forward, almost pressing his entire weight against you, losing himself in you. If not for your gentle reminder, a hand on his chassis, he might have released his spike here and now, demanding mindless, wild fragging under the open sky.

"Bed, remember?"

"You and your impossible demands," he mutters but complies, fully submissive only to you. The change of location doesn’t stop him, though, he continues nibbling and caressing your delicate skin, undeterred even as you bend to pick up the soiled towels and rise to lead him inside.

"Say something nice to me," he demands, still clinging to you as you guide him toward the house.

"You’re relentless. Strong, because you keep pushing forward. W-warm…" Your voice breaks as his servo brushes against your chest. "And so beautiful. I couldn’t dream of a more stunning mech."

Vasking in the genuine praise, he moans into your neck and quickens the movements of his servo, now roaming all over your body — exploring, eager to take everything he possibly could for himself.

Your home is spacious enough for him to stand upright, his wings slightly lowered. Though such tight, enclosed spaces once felt like torture for the seeker, he’s come to appreciate your strange, human dwelling. Here, he feels safe, surrounded by the comforting presence of your scent. Because only here he can stop pretending to be someone and fully accept that he is yours.

Dropping the towels by the front door, you move toward a cabinet where you keep supplies for occasions like this, but having a leech clinging to your neck — one evidently unwilling to let go for even a second — makes it especially awkward.

"Star, wait," you plead. Turning your head to look at him, you find him too preoccupied with leaving love bites on your neck to notice your attempt to meet his gaze. He only hums softly to signal he’s listening. "How do you want to handle this?"

His answer comes without hesitation. "Make me forget."

You know exactly what he means. "As you wish, love."

You hastily remove your pants and underwear, reaching for the strap you’d prepared earlier.

"Go get ready," you instruct, nodding toward the bed. Aside from this brief, vague command, you leave the rest to him. He can decide in which position you’ll rearrange his insides.

"Starscream," you chide again as he continues to toy with your skin — both at your neck and your stomach, where one servo has come to rest.

He has no desire to stop touching you, to abandon the contact for even the short moments you need to prepare. Not when he so desperately needs you. Yet the tingling pleasure from his valve and the swollen spike tapping against the panel now dictate his actions. The directive is clear: make his processor think of nothing but you.

Reluctantly, with a trademark dose of dramatics, he detaches himself from your back, letting you do what you need. "Fine," he groans, making his way to your velvet berth. He rests his chassis and long, slender arms on it, sinking into the softness (though it still doesn’t compare to yours) and his interface panel retracts, exposing the toys you love to play with. Deliberately, he angles his aft toward you, ensuring you see how neglected he is, how much he needs you, tempting your self-control to deal with him immediately.

"How long are you going to make me wait?"

"Just a second," you soothe. He hears you fumbling with your endearing silicone toy, followed by the sound of your sharp intake of breath. Tilting his helm slightly, he glances back at you and grins triumphantly at the hungry, dreamy look on your face. The plan worked.

To entice you further, he gives his aft a calculated wiggle.

"You like teasing, don’t you?" you murmur, stepping closer and gripping his hips. You steady yourself, aligning the tip of your cock to the entrance of his needy, hot valve. "So beautiful," you whisper.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" he snaps back playfully. "You’re no better in that regard. How much longer do I ha — AHH!"

Before he can fully dive into another dramatic complaint, you thrust your cock deep into his slick valve, successfully silencing his tirade. His pedes shoot upward in response, and his previously relaxed, widely spread wings now draw closer together, trembling visibly. You enjoy the show before you, always having been fascinated by their expressiveness, especially since their owner likes to hide his true feelings. They’re a window to his soul, a delightfully honest indicator of how well you’re loving him.

"F-finally…" he whimpers, pushing himself harder against the silicone, eager to feel it reach the deepest parts of his valve, as though he wants it to enter even his tank, making his entire frame bask in the pleasure you’re providing.

He’s always considered himself a tough mech to please when it comes to interfacing — rarely satisfied, and even more rarely willing to open his panel to anyone. To him, such access is a privilege to be earned. But when it’s you exploring his inner workings with deliberate thrusts of your hips, Starscream spreads his legs wider, making your job easier. Isn’t he generous, letting you join the exclusive few who get to interface with him? Doesn’t he deserve praise and adoration for it?

"You’re not even trying…" he taunts, voice trembling. "You were supposed to turn me into your mindless toy, ah! And yet I still AHH!"

You cut off his rant by firmly grasping the base of his larger wings.

"Anything else you’d like to add, darling?" you tease, your rhythm steady and deliberate as you continue to thrust.

Still ramming your hips, pushing the toy deep into him only to let go immediately and repeat the process, you bend over him now having better access to the sensitive and delicate wings. You massage them at the base, where they meld with his back, drawing meaningless patterns and occasionally kneading, watching with a sense of triumph as the proud creature beneath you trembles all over and clamps his servo tightly around your sheets, exposing pure, unfiltered ecstasy.

"Starscream, we’ve only just begun…" you say, feigning disappointment, still caressing his sensitive wings. You can hear his engines roaring loudly, and his cooling vents struggling to keep up with the heat radiating from his frame, which has grown unbearably warm, pleasantly heating the tips of your fingers.

"Shut, agh! Shut up…" he growls weakly, his words slurred and broken by moans and whines.

Your pace is relentless. Your cock slides effortlessly inside, gliding against slick walls and pushing pleasurably, but it can’t savor the sensation with how quickly you aim to finish and bring this to its sweet conclusion. Yet he can’t pout about it when you’re so attentively tormenting his valve and vibrating wings. You care not just for his insides but his outer shell, too.

He feels as though his whole body is on fire, like his own anatomy will fail to handle the heat and explode, burning both you and himself. But he still wants more, wants to be gracefully ravaged, to climax so many times he loses count. To transform into your ideal plaything so you won’t need anyone else. His valve, his spike, his glossa, and digits. Only his. His, his, his!

“W-why are you, agh! so quiet?!” he stammers, oblivious to how he’s contradicting himself. “Don’t ignore me! L-love! Haah, adore! Worship…” he begs.

He’s no longer lying idly, passively letting you penetrate him. He begins moving his hips, quickly matching your rhythm and milking your shaft with even greater fervor and intensity.

“So beautiful…” you murmur, straining to reach his trembling wings with your lips. “So wonderful,” you add, mere millimeters above the gray metal.

You kiss the scars and marks left by particularly sharp claws that carved canyons into his delicate wings.

“My pretty Star, doing so well.”

Starscream can feel the care you pour into each kiss, and it’s enough to make his spike spasm and tremble, heralding fireworks. Yet he knows he must ask your permission to release the accumulated transfluid.

“Ah, ah, I’m… I’m close!” he howls, voice glitching, engines whining, and cooling fans falling behind. “I beg you, haah, please let me overload!”

You kiss him tenderly over another marred spot and allow yourself a few more thrusts to coax out those exotically strange but delightful cries of pleasure.

“Go ahead, my beautiful one, overload for me.”

Pink transfluid gushes from his spike, spilling over the panels amid loud screams and moans. But you don’t stop yet, knowing full well that one release won’t be enough, not with him and his inhuman endurance. Instead of pulling back, you lean in, running your fingertips over his sleek, intricate back now arched gracefully. You explore the valleys and ridges of his back strut, admiring its exotic design, unaware that the valve you’re docked in is trying to milk you, tightly clenched around your cock, signaling his desire for more. He wants more, wants you.

“You did wonderfully,” you praise and kiss his back a few times, earning a melodious whimper.

With trembling servos still clutching the bedding, Starscream is convinced he’s ascended to paradise. How else could he explain the overwhelming bliss you so generously bestow upon him? How can he rationalize the way his field of vision is dotted with hearts, his valve pulsing in time with your heartbeat? He has to stay here longer, to discover what else you have to offer him.

As if it were possible, he presses his aft harder into your cock, goading you to continue the play.

“W-what are you waiting for? We’re not done yet!”

“Ask nicely”

Oh, how he despises those games of yours, yet he eagerly awaits them, knowing they always come with a reward. Impatiently, he moves his aft, pleasuring himself now. The valve slides off your cock only to devour it again, savoring its dangerous proximity to his tank until his spike starts to shudder. He’s trying to entice you to move, to abandon your stillness, even though he knows it’s all part of the game, a fact you swiftly remind him of as you grip his hips firmly to hold him in place.

He turns his helm to gauge you, to test how far he can push, but seeing your chastising gaze, he stops teasing, pressing himself tightly against your hips once more and moaning from the feeling of disarming, carefree fullness that makes his valve burst.

“Hngh, please!” he pleads. “Ah, I can’t hold on any longer. I beg you, let me overload again, ah! Please…”

“Good mech,” you praise, resuming your thrusts, feeding his still-hungry valve with your synthetic shaft, dragging it over his abused, slick walls.

“Haah, thank you! Th-thank you!” he cries, claws raking the delicate bedding.

“Mhm, for my most magnificent mech, absolutely anything,” you adore him as he asked, placing kisses along his arched back, especially on his battered and tender wings.

There’s not a shred of romance in how you treat his valve. It’s primitive, animalistic rutting meant to rob him of breath from nonexistent lungs, to make his legs quake with excess pleasure, his claws pierce through the bedding completely, and most of all, to make him forget. The complete opposite of the tenderness and love you bestow on his back, ensuring every scratch you can reach taste your affection.

“The most magnificent,” you murmur.

After several more powerful thrusts, magenta transfluid spills onto your floor again, mixing with droplets from the last climax.

“The most wonderful,” you add.

Starscream climaxes again.

“The most beautiful.”

And again.

“The most perfect.”

And again. Again and again.

“Captivating.”

Until the moans turn into howls and only small, adorable pearls drip from his spike, as there’s nothing left to give.

“My Lord Starscream.”

Until your bedding is soaked with coolant, which also coats his chin.

“Star, for fuck’s sake, I can’t keep going.”

Until your hips themselves refuse to obey. You manage to push him into one more empty overload before withdrawing smoothly and unceremoniously, collapsing against the bed with labored breaths. You already know your hips will be sore tomorrow, but for now, you’re more concerned about the state of your thoroughly ravaged partner. To make sure you haven’t caused a short circuit in his processor, you turn your head toward him, unable to suppress a strange, barbaric sense of pride at the sight of his blank, foolish expression, glossa hanging out, optics rolled far back. Because you were the one who brought the great, megalomaniacal Starscream to bliss, and it’s a sight reserved solely for you.

“Hey, Star, how’re you feeling?” you ask gently, shifting closer to him and reaching for his helm, immediately beginning to stroke it. This seems to bring him back to life as he blinks a few times, as if reminding himself of the world he’s in, and finally focuses his optics on you. His drooped wings lift at the sight of you, his engines, now quieter, start whirring again, and — most surprisingly — Starscream smiles faintly but sincerely, with pure bliss, devoid of malice or mockery.

It’s hard not to mirror that smile and tuck it deep in your heart, a gesture he clearly takes as an invitation to move closer.

“Star?” you call, but he ignores you, more intent on invading your personal space than answering. He leans in to nestle his helm in the crook of your neck. For a moment, you think he’ll start nipping and sucking, demanding more, but he surprises you again, wrapping you in a loose but possessive embrace.

Now the grating sound of his engines shifts into a purr that vibrates through your chest, reaching your heart. It’s an odd sensation, like holding a working speaker to your chest, but you can’t deny that it’s pleasant and relaxing, almost lulling you to sleep if not for the distracting engine hum. Wanting to return the favor for this peculiar massage, you start gently stroking his helm, unable to stop thinking that you’re petting an oversized, cunning cat.

“You didn’t do… atrociously,” he finally speaks, dangerously close to your ear. “For a human, of course.”

You couldn’t have hoped for higher praise.

“Thanks. You were incredible too,” you reply, showing him how it’s done, though you doubt he understands, especially since his wings twitch slightly, pleased with the compliment.

For a moment, silence reigns as you both recover, but you’re forced to break it when you suddenly realize you need water. Turns out, constantly showering your insatiable partner with compliments can really dry out your throat.

“Star,” you begin.

As if he has access to your brain, he tightens his hold around you, his purring intensifying.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he declares. “You won’t leave me.”

You merely sigh and return to stroking his helm.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Crash Into Me

Summary: A snow storm is coming down hard and the reader is attempting to clear the driveway of snow before Dean gets home from a long shift. But one wrong move can change their whole night...

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, head injury/body injuries, mention of car accident

A/N: Fun fact, this story takes place in the same world as one of my previous fics. We'll see if anyone can figure it out 😉

_________

You were panting by the time you’d made your third pass down the driveway with the shovel. Shit, you should have gotten the snowblower out. The snow had looked light but it was wet and heavy underneath, too heavy to push effectively. Plus it was coming down hard, the wind whipping more and more. Dean was due home in less than twenty minutes and you needed to clear it out if he wanted a chance of getting his truck in the drive.

Alright, you’d get the thing out of the back and clear off some room before it got too high.

Not two steps towards the garage, you felt your boot slip on some black ice and you stumbled backwards, cold hitting your back the last thing you registered before it all went black.

With a silent groan, you fluttered open your eyes, finding yourself staring up at the roof of Dean’s truck.

“Oh that’s not good,” you muttered, finding one of Dean’s hands touching your hand, his fiery hot in it.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?” You winced as you sat up, finding Dean turned back in the drivers seat, watching you carefully. “Take it easy. You have a concussion. You were out about sixty seconds from what I could tell.”

“What joy,” you grumbled, holding a hand to the back of your head and hissing. He squeezed your other hand, your gaze locking onto his. “S’just a bump-”

“I was just pulling up the road when I saw you go down and you were lights out. We’re going to the hospital.” You opened your mouth to argue but he growled. “Do you remember that massive car accident you were in eight years ago? How your doctor, me, told you to take any head injuries seriously? Hm?”

“Fine, we’ll go,” you sighed.

“That’s my stubborn girl,” he said, letting go of your hand when you hit an icy patch on the road. “We’ll need to take it slow. Let me know if-”

“Yes, Dr. Winchester,” you said dramatically, feeling an ache in your side you hadn’t before from the adrenaline coursing through you. It was quiet in the truck as Dean drove back to work. The roads were a mess and it was coming down even harder. You weren’t exactly expecting to get out of there quickly but you knew you’d have to wait for a break in the weather before Dean would be able to get back on the road again.

“There we go,” said Dean as he barely drove into the employee parking garage, your eyes darting out the window to see a pair of nurses and a doctor with a stretcher waiting by the elevator. Again, you wanted to argue you were fine to walk but your side was really starting to hurt and you had a feeling you’d bruised the ribs you broke in your accident years ago.

“Well if it ain’t my favorite Winchester,” said Benny, opening the back door for you. 

“Hey, Ben,” you said, slipping out of the car before anyone could stop you. You sat down on the stretcher, Benny nodding to the nurses.

“I’ll be down in the ER in two minutes, sweetheart,” said Dean as you waved him off. 

“I got her, worry wart,” said Benny, shutting the door for you, wrapping his white coat around himself as he trailed after you on the stretcher. It was much warmer in the elevator, Benny shaking the cold off and cocking his head at you suspiciously. “So. How bad does it hurt?”

“My head,” you said quietly. You pointed to your ribs and right hip. “This whole side aches. It feels like when I broke my ribs.”

“Alright. We’ll get you taken care of. Hopefully it’s just a bad bruise.” You tried to relax on the way downstairs, Benny getting you in a room off of the ER where the less intense cases were evaluated. After only a slight argument, you convinced him that you could take off your clothes on your own. You weren’t about to let them cut through your brand new winter jacket.

By the time you were down to your bra and underwear, Dean was walking inside, pouting as he noticed the deep bruises on your skin over some of your old scars.

“You are going to go stand in that corner and let me work,” Benny said to him as he and the two nurses gently rolled you to your side to examine your back. “Alright, we’ll take you for x-rays but my gut says bruised ribs is all. Your concussion is more concerning to me considering your previous accident.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, Benny shining a light in your eyes.

“Just means I want to have you observed for a bit. We’ll do a quick MRI but I’m guessing you’re perfectly fine. Just a little concussion,” said Benny as the doors to the room burst open. Your gaze shot over, Benny still checking your jaw as Dean glanced at the nurse in dark blue scrubs by the door.

“Dr. Winchester! ER 3 needs a surgeon and Dr. Zacariah just busted his ankle in the lobby on some melted snow.”

“Go,” you said to Dean his body already moving after her but his gaze on you. “Now, Dean.”

“Benny, you make sure she’s fine!” shouted Dean on his way out, loud footsteps echoing down the hall. Benny smirked when he was gone, feeling the goose egg at the back of your head.

“Little shit forgets I graduated ahead of him in med school,” he chuckled, running a hand over your head when he finished. “Okay. Everything looks minor. We’ll run some tests and get you admitted upstairs. Kline.”

“Yes, doctor?” asked the young nurse that’d been in with you. Benny hummed.

“Put Mrs. Winchester at the front of the line for MRI and x-rays behind non-critical patients. Stay with her for the night. I have a feeling with the weather, Dr. Winchester is going to be working awhile.” 

“You should go help, Benny,” you said, nodding towards the door. “It’s icy out and I’m sure you’ll have way worse cases than mine to deal with. Go on.”

“Watch her,” said Benny to Kline as sirens sounded outside again. He took off with the other nurse, leaving you alone with the young man.

“So,” you said, sitting up with a wince. “Let’s get me taken care of so you can get back to helping people.”

“I’m sorry ma'am, but I’m not about to piss off some of the most important doctors in the hospital,” he said. “Let me get you on the schedule so we can get you somewhere quieter.”

Six Hours Later

“Hey, Y/N,” said Garth. You popped your head up from your book in the surgical staff lounge and gave him a smile. “Heard you took a fall. How you feeling?”

“Oh, they discharged me a few hours ago. A few bruised ribs and a minor concussion. I heard there was a huge pile up on the highway so I told them to give my bed to someone who needs it.”

“Which only happened because I offered to watch her outside of a room,” said Jack, who was working on charts at a table nearby. “Sorry for working in here. I know non-surgical staff aren’t allowed.”

“No worries, kiddo,” said Garth, going to the coffee machine and pouring a large cup. “I need to take a lunch. Why don’t you head on back to the ER? I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks,” he said, gathering his tablet and notepad. “I’ll be back in awhile.”

You gave him a wave, Garth taking his seat when he was gone. He stretched in his chair, closing his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not in surgery.”

“I was the past sixteen hours. Need some food and a few hours of sleep,” he said, glancing up at the clock. “Surprised Dean’s still on his feet. Didn’t he just work a double?”

“Triple,” you sighed, rubbing the back of your head, the swelling gone down thankfully. “He was only meant to do 8 hours and that turned into 24 when Dr. Alastair got sick so Dean covered his shift and then there was an accident. He never even made it into the house.”

“Good news is I’m pretty sure his surgery is wrapping up. Bad news is with the storm not everyone can make it in for their shifts.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you asked. Garth raised an eyebrow. “Come on. We both know I don’t need a babysitter or Benny wouldn’t have discharged me. I’m a little tired and have a headache and can’t lift anything but I can do something I’m sure. I mean I’m stuck here until this storm is over too. I know how much it sucks to be stuck in the hospital.”

“Let me talk to the floor nurse, see if we can find something.”

Two Hours Later

You grinned when Dean wandered into the ICU in a pair of clean scrubs. His green eyes were barely open but he was smiling when he found you coloring with a young girl who’d been in an accident with her mom.

“Dr. Winchester,” said the woman in bed quietly, Dean giving her hand a squeeze. 

“I’m surprised you remember me from the ER,” he said, eyes settling on the young girl. “You taking care of your mom for me?”

She hummed, going back to her coloring as you stood slowly. “I told Darcy about how good a doctor you are from my own personal experience.”

“Ah, well, you weren’t in quite as bad of shape,” said Dean, glancing at the monitors for a moment. “Dr. Mills told me your surgery went well. Hopefully we can get you moved out of ICU in a few hours and home in a few days. Mind if I borrow, Y/N?”

“Take her. And thank you again for keeping an eye on my daughter,” she said. 

“Anytime,” you said, Dean tucking you under his shoulders before escorting you out. He hummed, gently tapping the side of your head when you reached the elevators. “Listen. I know you wanted me to stay here and coloring isn’t that strenuous, I promise.”

“Ribs. Concussion. Hip-”

“Dean, I’m fine-”

“Thigh. Ass,” he smirked, gently rubbing your side. “That was a hard fucking fall and you need to rest.”

“I did! I promise,” you said, Dean chuckling.

“Always were a stubborn patient,” he said, the doors nearly closing when you spotted Gabe sneak inside. He gave you two a look, pretending to gag. “This is why you’re single.”

“By choice,” he said, holding up a finger. “And I’m getting the hell out of this building before I get pulled into another disaster. You two want a lift home on account of the head trauma and you looking like death warmed over?”

Dean flipped him off as you pushed his hand down. “Thank you Gabe, we appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

Approximately nine hours after Dean was meant to get home, you and Dean trudged inside the house, leaving the snow in the driveway to be dealt with later. You were hungry and sore and less than a minute inside, you were under the covers in bed, Dean crawling in beside you.

“Wake me up if you feel nauseous or your head hurts more or-” You pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him into closing his eyes. “Bossy.”

“Sleep-deprived,” you said, pecking a kiss on his lips that he was too exhausted to return. “I promise you can dote on me when we wake up as much as you want. I won’t even complain that much.”

“You better not,” he mumbled. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Dean.”

_____________

[gifs-of-puppets]

A Muppet Family Christmas (1987)

[veilsofroses]

Hello, nice to see another blog writing for Bleach! Welcome 🤗

I hope you don’t mind me making a small request. Headcanons for Byakuya, Kisuke, Jushiro and Ichigo (all with gn!reader) for when they take care of you after you return from a mission injured (nothing major)? Just some soft and fluffy, content. Thank you! And hope you have fun writing!

— @satsugacafe 💜

Tending to your wounds

Byakuya Kuchiki, Kisuke Urahara, Jushiro Ukitake, Ichigo Kurosaki x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of open wounds and blood, just fluff <3 author’s note: that is so sweet thank you sm 🥹 also my phone kept wanting to autocorrect jushiro to juanito

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯���๑┈•✦

Byakuya Kuchiki

Despite his icy exterior, he is constantly worrying about you

When you return from your mission, you’d try your best to hide your injury from him but he’d see through you like you’re made of glass

He’d notice immediately the subtle winces and how you avoid touching your side

He would eventually corner you to confront you. A simple, “you’re injured,” and you’d have no choice but to reveal the small but painful cut you sustained on your side

He would insist on taking care of it himself, no need for any of the healers. “Sit.” There is no room for discussion in his voice so you oblige

His face would remain in its usual unreadable expression as he’d bandage your wound but his touch is noticeably soft, making sure to make it as painless as possible

Once you’re all bandaged up, his touch would linger on your waist for a few moments, as if he’s grounding himself by feeling your skin. Possibilities of how it could’ve gone much worse run through his mind

“Do not let this happen again.” It’s an order, yes, but under his reprimand is a plea to never put yourself in danger again for his own sake

He wouldn’t be able to bear losing his love again

⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Kisuke Urahara

He would excitedly greet you in your return, planting kisses on your face and casually noting the blood that seeped through your sleeve

Wait… blood??

Once he realized, he’d spring into action grabbing all the necessary items before you could even say a word

To anyone else, he’d look like he’s casually following routine, but he’ll be making note to use the best medicine he has saved just for you. He wouldn’t want you feeling another ounce of pain

He’d try to hide his panic with jokes. “I don't want to imagine what the other guy must look like.” He might even get a little touchy as he’s bandaging you up, the pervert he is

Unfortunately, he’s an open book to you. It’s all a facade to distract himself from the fact that you’re actually hurt

You’d stop him before he can make another bad joke, “Relax, Kisuke.”

He’d look at you bewildered for a moment before looking down, shaking his head, chuckling

Besides Yoruichi, you were the only other person who could read him so well and that still amazed him

The best medicine he did use because you felt better than ever after he patched you up

He’d pat your head. “Why, of course. You’re being treated by the best there is,” acting like he wasn’t about to throw up smh

⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jushiro Ukitake

The entire time you’re gone, he’d drown himself in paperwork otherwise he would have carved a hole in the floor from his nervous pacing

Seeing you finally walk through the door would earn him the biggest sigh of relief

That is until he noticed you limping. Anyone else would have missed it

He’d waste no time in questioning you about it. You’d try to brush him off, of course, nagging him about him giving you an interrogation rather than a warm welcome

But he’d have none of it. You’d sigh in defeat and lift your pant leg, revealing a small laceration on your calf with a half-assed bandage

He would immediately start scolding you, telling you that you shouldn’t have taken an enemy on by yourself

Then start the questions. “How did this happen? Why didn’t you call for backup? How long ago?“

He’d snap out of it when you falter trying to take another step and he rushes to catch you before you fall

He’d follow up with an apology, holding you tight and reassuring you he’s just glad you’re back home safely

Helping you walk, he’d bring you to the healers and stay by your side the whole time, making sure they heal you until you’re good as new

And even then, he’d be watching you carefully. You’re still recovering from a hefty mission, after all

So that’s his excuse to spoil you for the next few days with your favorite treats, massages, and anything else you request

⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Ichigo Kurosaki

The second he’d lay eyes on you after you return from your mission, he’d be at your side, frantically scanning you over. “Are you hurt?” are the first words out of his mouth

He’d ask that about a thousand times

You’d try to reassure him that you’re fine but unlike Kisuke who would at least try to hide his freak out, Ichigo would simply freak tf out at the sight of blood on your arm

He’s unsure of what to do at first, the sight of you injured scrambles his brain

Eventually, you’d calm him down enough that he’d finally lock in and realize you need to be treated

He’d use the limited knowledge he’s gotten from his dad in the clinic and bandage you up to the best of his abilities, nervous about possibly hurting you further

After you’re set, he’d go silent, holding your hand, and you’d immediately know he’s blaming himself. “I should’ve been there to protect you.”

You’d pull him in and he’d hold you, gently as to not hurt you but firmly. If it was up to him, he’d never let you go again

You’d tell him you’re capable of taking care of yourself and he knows that, but he can’t help his protective instinct over you and would vow to never let harm come to you again

- - - - - -

tag: @satsugacafe

[storiesoflilies]

warnings: angst, violence, death.

you’ve known toji for a long time.

longer than most people could say they’ve known another person. ever since you both had cheeks still big and swollen with innocence and milk – though, you remember toji lost his much quicker than you did. ever since you were both young enough to understand that there was something fundamentally wrong inside you. something that wrapped around your soul and ribs like rusting iron, squeezing, squeezing, and squeezing until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what used to be a person.

you both weren’t like the others.

you couldn’t see the things they could, or do the things they did. when you were scratched and bit and left bleeding by things you couldn’t see, they all laughed at you. you both still didn’t understand what it was exactly you were missing, but you knew that something else was in its place. you were there when toji threw a punch so hard it crushed bone. and he was there when you moved faster than a person could blink.

and you were there the day toji got that scar on his lip.

when he finally explained it all to you through blood-stained teeth, a lone tear dragging down the expanse of his cheek, you never said a word as you patched up his wounds.

like you always did.

toji didn’t need to ask you a thing the day he appeared on your doorstep when you were sixteen, with no tattered rucksack slung over his shoulder because he had nothing to his name. you knew why, because you both were one and the same. that heavy ball and chain had been wrapped around you both since you were born, dragging at your heels and splitting your wrists, and you’d always know him.

leaving it all behind was easy.

you never looked back once.

but the anger living inside the two of you was an unquenchable, undying thing. it savagely clawed at your insides from the spaces in between your ribs, begging you to just release it. to let it break and bend those that had hurt you first. your mind couldn’t quite uphold the weight of the power that was your hands and body. there were so many times you woke up in the middle of the night and you felt like nothing more than a bag of blood and meat, and it made you want to cry.

and toji would just look at you.

because he never slept, not properly anyway. he’d be sitting there beside you, a knife dancing over his index finger, swooping down the valley of his palm and across his ring finger. you wondered if he was making his mind up whether you were strong enough for this. it scared you, really. the moon hung above you, and all you could see was the emptiness in his eyes. perhaps, if he cared, he would have put a hand on your shoulder and tell you that he understood your pain, that it was going to be okay, and that you weren’t alone.

but he didn’t.

he never did.

the only thing toji ever did for you was force you to fight him. you didn’t know if it was because you were the only one he could ask, or because it was because you were the only one who could put up a real fight. whatever it was, it made you stronger – faster than you ever thought possible. you’d go at it for hours, your knuckles throbbing and gums bleeding from how hard you clenched your teeth.

he never held back, not a bit.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t live for this.

because you fought like gods. ordinary people couldn’t comprehend what it was they saw when the two of you collided again and again and again. it was a dance, you see. rain lashing against the wind, the sea breaking against the cliffs at the edge of the world. a heartbeat against a ribcage.

his old knife at your throat.

your dirty fingernails pressing gently into his.

a shuddering exhale from him, like the air was too cold for his lungs. his knife would drop, clattering to the floor like an icy shard against a frozen lake.

resonating, all consuming.

you knew you loved him. how could you not? toji zenin was your sun. a brilliant, green sun, and you the deep, lonely earth destined to orbit around him. always chasing him, but never quite touching him. he was smoke slipping through your fingers, and you were fine with that. loving him was natural, like the water in your veins, the calcium in your bones. fluid, yet ever solidly present. wherever toji moves, you do to, flowing around him to the shape of whatever he wanted you to be.

and this thing inside you could either eat you both alive, or you could use it. for power or money or good. what did it matter? it was only a thing.

toji used his for money.

and yours?

yours followed toji, and it always would. so, you became a killer just like him.

in a way, it was cathartic. you ended the sorcerers who once thought they were better than you. one after the other, they fell, dominos tipping over, tumbling toward the edge of the table. they always begged, their faces smothered in snot and tears, the overwhelming smell of shit in the air.

neither of you cared to listen.

the both of you could have ended the world together if you wanted to. set it all on fire and taste the ashes spreading on your tongue like honey.

you’d said that to toji once, and he cracked a smile.

you felt like he was proud of you in those moments. for not letting yourself be eaten by what lived inside you. you let yourself believe that he might love you too in those moments. when his eyes softened into something like gold. a little warmer, a little more malleable to you. and maybe he could be yours the same way that you were his.

then he met her.

her.

a woman carved straight from the rib he broke the day he got the scar on his lip.

he left all the money and the killings. the barely furnished apartment – the only thing that had your names together on it. a home that obviously has never been a home to toji. all his clothes, old leather wallet stuffed with failed betting tickets and loose change, like the remnants of a man who never meant to stay in the first place.

and you.

you stood there in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mug half filled with water – the same one he’d only used this morning – and all you could think about was the affliction inside you, writhing like a worm in your intestines.

a heavenly restriction.

heavenly?

you did not feel heavenly, nothing like an angel. angels did not have searing mercury running through their veins, or a hatred so hot it burned you from the inside out. you went to the sea and screamed at the heavens to break your chains.

they didn’t.

because you were more than an angel, something more like them.

and you remained a fallen god, their most beautiful, broken disgrace.

you followed her sometimes. trailing behind her as she shopped for groceries. watching as she delicately places peaches and mushrooms into her basket, two steaks and a carton of eggs. your mouth would sour, bile rising to the back of your throat, and you tasted salt on your cracked lips.

what was so special about her?

she was so… ordinary.

slow and uncoordinated and nothing like you. she tripped a little over her own feet, giggling sweetly at her own mishap. and you stood there judging her for it, still as marble. you, a lethal machine made of fluid metal, forged from the steel that toji had made you from.

your finger twitched on the handle of the gun in your pocket.

you could do it now.

you could pull the trigger, plant a bullet with your name on it right through the space in between her eyes, and be gone before her brain splattered all over those perfectly pink peaches on the fruit stand. you wanted to. oh god, you really wanted to.

but you couldn’t.

toji was hers now, in body and name, and that was his choice. you never once crucified him for what he had done in his life, and only ever following the script of the religion the two of you had made.

why would you start now?

you turned, leaving the dry, cool air of the grocery store behind as you slipped through the sea of people outside.

you never saw her again.

but you saw toji.

you hadn’t expected to. he was just standing there in your apartment, looking around at the things you hadn’t changed since he left, a baby on his hip staring at you with the same green wildfire in his eyes as toji. you didn’t ask what happened, and you didn’t care to know. but you knew she must have died, because there was no other reason why he would have come back.

the two of you couldn’t slip into the same pattern as you did before. you couldn’t, it just wasn’t the same. there were arms of marble wrapped around your body, cradling you in a cold embrace, and you buried yourself in it. toji didn’t care about your silence. he didn’t care about anything anymore, except perhaps money. it flowed like water through his spread fingers, because he never even thought all that much about holding onto it.

not for you, not for megumi.

you’d raise a questioning brow at him whenever he asked you to come to pachinko parlors, like nothing at change, pointedly glancing at his son sleeping quietly on your futon.

toji only scoffed and left anyway.

that was one of the last times you ever saw him.

one day, you came back to an empty apartment again. toji had taken megumi with him, and you didn’t think much of it. he was practically a ghost, he would only come back if he wanted to. for the most part, you didn’t care if he did. but there was a small part of you, one that you tried to ignore, that told you it was different this time.

a few years later, you found a man standing outside the door of your apartment.

he said his name was shiu kong, and that toji had told him to come here. when you asked why, he’d only motioned for you to follow him to his car. and there was megumi sitting inside, a little older, bigger, and so much more like toji. there was a baby sleeping next to him, a girl swaddled in baby pink blankets.

shiu shrugged helplessly, sighing as he lit up a cigarette, before opening the backseat door.

“he said you’d take them,” he muttered, taking another long, slow drag from his cigarette. “said you’re the only person who can look after them.”

toji had never once given you softness. he never promised you love or patience. he never gave any part of himself to you. but this? maybe this was his way of finally saying something to you after all this time. he could never give himself to you, but as you looked at the two precious blessings sitting in the back seat, you knew that he was giving you something.

you tended to those two kids with quiet diligence, slipping into a domestic rhythm with them that was oddly comforting. you made sure they ate, bathed, and slept properly. it was important to you that you were a steady presence in their lives, and even when the silence stretched on, you made sure that it was never lonely or cold. you watched them not out of obligation, but from something real and good inside you. it kept you tethered to toji, even if he never called or visited once.

you like to think you felt something the day he died.

that you felt the chains around your wrists shatter like glass, and that you felt the thing chained around your ribcage loosen for the first time. you gasped as your lungs pulled in a sweet, fresh inhale of air you never imagined could feel so clean.

you cried like never before, and you haven’t since.

megumi told you a strange boy with white hair had visited him the morning after, saying something odd about working hard and getting stronger. you clenched your fists at that. megumi didn’t need to be stronger. he didn’t need to be anything other than who he was, because he had you to be strong for him. you’d take the blows for him, bleed to death for him and tsumiki if you needed to, would rage a war for them.

you’d only be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t love them just as much as you had loved toji.

so, you went with megumi to that school for sorcerers when he was older. the higher ups had tried to keep you out, but it was that strange boy – satoru gojo – who convinced them to let you stay.

megumi was so quiet those first few months, kept to himself mostly, and you wondered if that was because of you. it wasn’t from his mother; she’d been full of life, nothing at all like you. he’d never once called you his mother, he knew you never were to begin with and you never tried to pretend otherwise. still, he was like you, with the face of his father staring back at you.

sometimes, you had to look away.

but megumi was also good. he pretended not to care about things, but he really did. it was in the way he fought alongside his classmates, in the way he knew to hold your hand when you woke up in a sweat haze, plagued by the screams and the locusts and oceans of blood in your dreams. it was in the way he dried your tears with his hand, wiping away the sweat on your forehead with the edge of his sleeve, before he crawled back into his futon.

through him, you became something better – a person who actually deserved to live.

the day megumi told you that something big was happening in shibuya, you didn’t question him at all. you just strapped your old weapons to your back and agreed to go with him.

and you saw him again.

toji.

but it wasn’t him.

his eyes were black, pupils barely visible. a washed-out white cotton sweater hung off him like a blanket of death. you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. he had a grin on his face, wolfish and unsettling, and you knew he was out to draw blood. his fangs bared at megumi, and you knew that it would be either you or his son that died that day. you pushed megumi away, letting toji grab you and throw both of you out of the window.

and so, you met one last time.

the final, greatest battle between two old gods.

but you didn’t fight like gods this time. there was no glory, no grace. it was jagged and brutal, repeated collisions of bodies that had forgotten how to move together. you thought you might remember the steps to this dance. but you didn’t, not as well as you thought. maybe because you were older, just a little slower, or because everything was different this time.

this wasn’t toji.

his body was written in a language you couldn’t read – something ancient and dead, lost in a world you were never once apart of.

there was a ringing in your ears, like rain drums.

the gods are calling me home.

toji’s fist slammed into your ribs, and you heard a deep crack in the once perfect marble of your body. your vision blurred at the edges, your eyes watering and reacting to the pain before you did.

“fuck you,” you snapped, your fingernails tearing at his cheeks and lips. “i won’t cry for you anymore.”

he didn’t answer.

his breath rattled in his ribs, his body sagging on top of you. you stared into his eyes, black as a void, empty as death.

and then you saw it.

a flicker of something familiar. a spark of a chained god you once knew. was that sorrow you saw, or regret? perhaps, once upon a time, you and toji could have been someone else. that you both could have lived differently, been more than broken pawns doomed to die, whether it was now or in a hundred years. a sadness for the indisputable truth that you both knew that this was the only possible way it could have all ended.

in the end, you were grateful that you had known toji fushiguro.

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[paceprompting]

almost there

written for ‘icy roads’ | wc: 991 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no warnings apply | tags: established relationship, alpha steve harrington, beta eddie munson, mention of steve's rut

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Holy shit, he was driving the Beemer.

He was driving Steve’s car.

In the dark, in the snow, on a road were he couldn’t tell what was asphalt and what might be black ice. The headlights were better than ones on his van, but he was also half-distracted by Steve in the passenger seat.

Panting, hands dug into the leather of his seat, and sweat lining his hairline. He’d stripped off his jacket before getting inside, but it did little to ease the rut thrumming its way through his veins.

Steve’s body heat warmed up the inside of the car practically by itself. Eddie could feel it radiating on the side of his face—Steve’s need, his want. He’d had to try very hard not to stare at Steve tenting his jeans as they rushed out of the bar to head home. Or as Eddie tried to keep the car in a straight line.

Wayne wasn’t an alpha, most people in his family weren’t, so Eddie hadn’t seen the signs. Steve scenting Eddie, his clothes, at every opportunity and not just when he wanted to be cute. Wearing less layers even in the middle of winter because his body was working overtime to get itself ready.

For four days where Steve would be half out of his normal mind, following instinct, following want. He knew he wasn’t built for it, not for what Steve needed—even if he had managed to take his knot before. When they could go slow, and Eddie wouldn’t drive Steve mad having to wait and prep and take breaks.

Eddie tapped his fingers on the wheel, trying not to let the sounds of Steve’s soft moaning get to him as much as it was. “Steve, are you sure you don’t want someone else. It’s not a big deal, I swear—shit!”

The car swerved a bit on the road, the smallest patch of ice under the tire. Just enough to lose control for a second, Eddie pumping the breaks slow despite how fast his heart was beating.

“No,” Steve gasped, hardly caring about Eddie’s panic. “Just you.”

Steve hadn’t had a rut since they got together. Given a biological break, alphas only had to deal with it twice a year, and almost like a belated six-month anniversary present, Steve was running headlong into his.

But Eddie was…he was a beta.

And it was all fine and dandy the rest of the time. Eddie was usually neutral to the hormonal nonsense. He could smell Steve when he didn’t wear cologne or when he’d been out of the shower for a while—sage and something like fresh woods in rain.

Steve said he smelled mostly like citrus and cinnamon.

They hit the streetlights of the main road through town, but Eddie didn’t feel relieved. Sure, right now, when Steve was just Steve, and Eddie could be everything he needed. Then, they’d be two days into it and Eddie would need a break because he was just a beta, and Steve’s alpha would suffer.

“Eddie,” Steve panted, his hand scrabbling for Eddie’s arm.

He gave Steve his hand, figuring they were close enough to the house to risk driving one-handed. Just a few turns, otherwise a straight line.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

“God, I hope so,” Steve muttered, his other hand rubbing himself through his jeans.

Eddie was glad, in that moment, that he couldn’t smell Steve’s arousal as well as an alpha or an omega. Otherwise, he’d have pulled the car overlong before he slammed the car into park in Steve’s driveway. He would have let them stay in the car when Steve unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed over the center console to press a hard kiss onto Eddie’s mouth.

“Steve, Steve,” Eddie gasped through frantic kisses. “Let’s get inside. Your own bed. Someone’s going to see us out here.”

Steve growled deep in his chest, hands digging into Eddie’s sides. He must have been holding off until they reached the house, nonverbal as he unbuckled Eddie’s seatbelt for him and then opened the driver’s door. He wasn’t yet to the point of climbing out after Eddie, but as soon as the front door closed behind him, Steve pushed Eddie against it.

He stuck his nose into the hollow of Eddie’s throat, inhaling deeply. Eddie shivered, carding his hand into the thickest part of Steve’s hair and let Steve have his fill.

“Want you, Eddie.”

He thought about being selfish and following Steve upstairs to his bedroom. Where they’d make a nest from Steve’s closet, the drawer Eddie kept at the house, and the comforter they shared every night. And it would be nothing but Eddie and Steve until the rut ended.

He deserved better than that.

“Steve, I’m not enough.” Eddie tried to squirm away, his chest aching at the thought of leaving Steve alone to call someone who could help him. Who wouldn’t be worn out halfway through, no matter how much Eddie would want to keep going.

Steve grumbled, dragging his nose up Eddie’s jaw and pressing it against his cheek. In a low voice, he said, “How many times have you told me that all that designation stuff is bullshit?”

To a point, Eddie wanted to say. All the grandstanding alpha or submissive omega roles were bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot easier to help an alpha through a rut as an omega. It just was.

“I don’t need an omega just because.” Steve held Eddie tight, breathing in his scent as Eddie rubbed gently at his scalp. “Please, I want you to be here.”

Eddie closed his eyes, breathing in time with Steve. Steve was pushing it trying to hold off his rut for much longer, and Eddie couldn’t ignore what they both wanted. Steve had never cared that he was a beta.

He only wanted Eddie.

Eddie eased Steve’s head up, pressing their foreheads together, and said, “I’ll stay, Steve. I’ll stay.”

[obsessive-valentine]

Forever and Always

Platonic Vampire Family + Fem!Reader

No real TW's in this one- just sick reader and reader not believing in stranger danger lol. Also !not proof read!

Based circa 1800’s, reader has caught the attention of a vampire who’s maternal instincts have been neglected after a tragic life as a living woman and empty one as a the living dead still without the daughter she longed for.

Readers age isn't specified -though implied her childhood has passed and is anywhere from adolescence even up to young adult, tried to keep it broad (but she does come across as naive and childish.) Wrote this bc mommy issues. I think it's getting a bit lengthy so I split this into 2 parts, I'll be slowly adding to part 2 and maybe be out soon if you guys like this kinda thing.

...

It's a small town, nestled in a valley and surrounded by forests of barren trees striped bare by the harsh winter. The clouds consistently created a grey overcast. It's cold all year around and wasn't uncommon to see people tip-toeing around the icy patches on the cobblestone streets.

Smoke from the small and squished townhouses further added to the murkiness in the air, mixing with the fog, but at least it added a sense of warmth when the winds blew it towards you. It never lasted long though before the cold begins to nip at your exposed nose and ears.

It was easy to feel like you were the only one who lived in this town. The streets are eerily quiet in the mornings when you'd walk in silence with your father to his shop in town. Even when you'd get into the town square, where most people could be found if they weren't working or at school, they are all on a mission and far too cold to stop and talk. The bitter winter seemed to seep into their blood as they pushed past each other, their footsteps rushed and faces buried in their coats. Then it was the same in the evenings when you'd walk back with your father, the streets quiet and cold, your father even more so. A thick fog would roll in, and lamp lighters would be up on ladders lighting the street lights, providing some comfort but not much to the wandering mind of a young girl.

See, Father wasn't a particularly bad parent, he comes off as detached and cold only because he's so busy. Emotionally neglectful? sure. But you are one of many siblings, he has to neglect you emotionally so that he can properly focus on caring for you physically. At least that's what mother always says. She's not much better though. You wonder why they had kids if they seem so apathetic and busy all the time, it obviously doesn't bring them much joy. Had they once loved each other and were excited to raise a family? Why did it change? You don't know nor never would, they don't appreciate talking about heavy topics.

...

You were excited to help father in his shop when he proposed it to mother "I can take the girl with me if she doesn't cause trouble. And the boy will be off with his older brother in school come next month. You continue teaching the older two girls their duties" He was trying to relieve pressure from mother, as she had to do house chores and teach your sisters the duties and tasks such as weaving and sewing. It was reluctant, he didn't believe in wasting money and sending you -just a girl- to school, but this argument kept rising up and he supposed he could use some help in the shop.

You thought this was an opportunity to get close to your father but he still didn't have the time to nurture you, you couldn't help but feel disappointed and even abandoned but never would resent your father due to childish innocence you still had yet to grow out of. You clung to any praise he gave you or any time he'd nurture to your necessitates, like buying you gloves on the walk to work when you wouldn't stop rubbing your hands for warmth.

...

The first time you had seen the woman, who would change your life, it was like any other. You had survived the walk to your father's store, careful not to slip on hidden ice and peaking into expensive shop windows when your father wasn't looking. He owned a general mercantile store, items ranged anywhere from tools to odd collectables to food. It wasn't uncommon for people to come in and ask for a specific item and your father would make some deals and acquire the item that wasn't available anywhere else and have it in the store for them the next week. Many people also came in to trade items for money, you'd watch from a distance as they haggled the price both the customer and father would fight over a single penny, it's pretty funny.

You sat on the large window sill at the back of the shop, face pressed up against the cold glass watching the busy people rush around. They looked like dragons with the cold breath coming from their noses and mouths. You'd just helped your father set up the shop ready to open, forced to clean the floors and surfaces and he finished some checks and brought out a few items from the back that he mended to be ready to sell.

You'd just finished wiping away the condensation on the windows, and were given the approval to sit down for a bit "Good job, go sit down out the way, I'll call for you in a bit".

People came and went hearing the bell ding from the door opening and watching people ponder on items as father busied himself with repairing an item to sell or counting money and paperwork. Looking back out the window you locked eyes with HER- a beautiful woman, in a pretty dress and lush winter coat. She smiled with a warmth this town hadn't seen in too long, you felt a connection instantly, you longed to talk to her, but brushed it off believing you only felt that way because of the abnormal warmth she radiated.

You had to stop yourself from gawking at her expensive clothing and lush long hair that was as dark as coal and curled to frame her face perfectly. Mustering up a genuine smile you raised your hand to wave subtly. You saw her eyes flicker to the store's main windows observing the variety before seemingly deciding to come look inside the shop. Straightening up in your seat you watched her cross the cobbled street towards the shop, you shuffled up closer towards the desk your father worked at, careful to stay out of his way but curious of the woman about to enter the shop.

The deep red of her dress was even more entrancing up close and her jewellery proudly sparkled. Father greeted her and helped her find some watches kept away in an expensive glass case lined with velvet padding. "Oh, my son would love one of these" She inspected them closer making light conversation with Father. Until she lifted her eyes over to you, spotting you almost instantly watching her from behind some storage shelves.

"Seems we have another expert ready to help. Come here." she gestured with an encouraging hand, you'd been caught off guard so your step stuttered as you walked closer -checking it was okay with your father with a glance.

"Come on" she egged. You walked up to the counter where the case of watches lay on display "Could you help me pick one out? I just can't decide" she sighed but kept a gentle warm smile. Something about her voice or eyes made you hesitate, ever so slightly unsettling, you'd never been nervous to help a customer. It was an odd feeling but her presence was so genuine and even maternal that you pushed aside the trepidations and nodded, unable to speak through your tied tongue.

Father left you both to it as he continued with work and serving the few customers who came in while you both talked. "My son is a serious young man, always deep in thought. He's needed a new watch for some time now, which one do you think will suit him?" she placed two watches she'd picked from the case, in front of you.

You stumbled over your words "I'm not sure... I mean I don't know much about watches" Your eyes darted between the two beautiful watches with tiny engravings -how did they make such small details on such a hard surface? You wondered. One gold and the other silver, they are just as beautiful as each other.

She lightly laughed, you could have sworn her eyes twinkled "Don't be modest. Beauty recognises beauty, and you are quite beautiful" Your face feels hot from the compliment and partly the pressure of picking such an expensive item for her.

"I suppose if he's more of a serious soul... he'd appreciate this one more?" you'd decided on the silver one, more sleek and serious. You didn't dare to touch it and dirty it so you just gestured.

She hummed, taking a closer look. You stood fiddling with your clothes unsure if it was the right choice, until she spoke- "You are a smart girl, this one is much more suitable." she agrees putting the gold one back in the box

Since finding your voice once again you decided to ask her about certain pieces of jewellery she wore as she counted her money. She gladly engaged in conversation, even passing you a few rings or bracelets that she wore so you could look at them closer as she talked about the stones or where she got them from. You insited you shouldn't touch them as she passed a bracelet to you "I've been cleaning this morning, my hands must be dirty I shouldn't touch such a valuable thing like this." She took your hand and manually placed it in your palm "It's no bother, I insist" she encouraged.

She travels a lot, and most of what she was wearing being from a different country. You wondered how she could travel so many places in such little time, and how rich she had to be to do that, you don't think you've ever left this town. Before you could ask about her travels, being so deeply invested in talking to her you'd leaned on the front desk, ready on your elbows and tip-toes for the next story- that wouldn't come. "-Are you helping the lady or just standing around?" your father scolded one he saw you chatting to the woman unrelated to selling her the watch "Get on with your chores before lunch time comes around" he ordered.

You turned to the woman with a sheepish and apologetic smile before hurrying away further into the store. She seemed a bit agitated by being interrupted by your father but quickly covered it up to finish the transaction.

"You've picked that one ma'am?" Your Father chimed in, eager for the money coming his way.

"Yes" she handed him the watch "Your daughter has quite the eye, it's a lovely piece" he hummed back in acknowledgement but not necessarily agreeing, he counted the cash and bagged the item. She wanted to scowl at his attitude but kept composed, she looked over her shoulder for any sign of you, she could hear the broom being swept over the wood-planked floor but couldn't see you. She reluctantly left with only the silver watch.

...

You saw the woman frequently after that first meeting. It was as if she appeared whenever you needed her most—without being summoned, always close by, like a shadow lingering just beyond the edges of your world.

Sometimes you'd bump into her on your way to the bakery when Father let you have a lunch break with a few coins clutched in your hand, and she'd fall into step beside you- like you'd just summoned her. She'd ask about you, but you were always eager to get to the stories that you'd rush through formalities, she'd gladly continue her stories of the world beyond this valley.She would then buy you a pastry or two, ones you couldn't possibly get with just the few coins in your hand. You'd pocket the extra coins and have a growing stash in your pillow back at home.

and walk you back to the shop "Go on, dear," she’d say, gently nudging you back toward the door. "I’ll see you again soon." Before disappearing into the crowd.

-

On other days, when you saw her outside the shop from your window, you felt an irresistible pull. Her presence became a secret thrill, something just for you, a small rebellion against the order your father imposed. Carefully, you’d slip out the back door, the heavy wooden frame creaking in protest, but not enough to alert anyone.

You’d run out, your heart racing as you approached her, trying not to draw too much attention from anyone passing by. She always noticed you before you could speak, turning toward you with that warm, knowing smile.

"Sneaking out again, are we?" she’d tease softly, her voice almost conspiratorial. "What would your father say?"

But there was never any judgment in her words, just a hint of amusement and affection.

-

At some point, you had the sense to ask her name after realising she'd been using your name but you, in all your excitement, had yet to use hers. "Lavinia Beaumont, dear" she couldn't help but laugh a little, she was beginning to believe you'd never ask.

You blinked, the name rolling over your tongue in your mind, everything about her seems rich and beautiful, you smiled.

"Lavinia Beaumont... it sounds like royalty," you said with a playful glint in your eyes. "Are you secretly a royal? I promise I won't tell anyone." you continued half joking.

"Not quite" She smiled, before you could question further you had to leave her for the day to return to the shop.

...

It was yet another working day for you and your father, or it should have been. Lavinia had yet to see you, she couldn't even sense your presence. not wanting to believe it however she left the carriage and walked further into the streets of town.

Subtly she went out of her way to walk in front of the mercantile store you were usually found in if not nearby. Her eyes darted at each of the windows, looking inside for the sight of you sweeping, cleaning, sitting at a window or sneaking around to fiddle and poke at the new stock much to your father's dismay. But the only person in the store is your father.

She walked the town a little longer, hoping anyone of her senses would pick up on you. There was nothing and she returned home.

Lavinia did this twice more, coming in the mornings, seeing no sign of you and coming up with excuses, but it never helped to unease.

On the 3rd day, she gave up waiting and walked into the mercantile store. The bell rang above her head "Back again I see, how can I help?" your father spoke straightening up from his position at the front desk where he'd previously been writing- presumably taking stock or counting money.

"A pleasure to meet you again, I'm curious about what other beautiful pieces you have, My son was most taken with it." Lavinia replied, eyeing the glass cases, none of this jewellery she'd wear, her taste is far more expensive but she had to sell the narrative. Your father jumped at the opportunity to sell yet another pricey piece "Ah! Madam, If you’ll allow me a moment, I believe I have something that might catch your eye."" he disappeared into a back room and emerged with an envelope. "I've just had these in, I haven't had time to put onto the shelves yet but it might be of interest to you, fine work indeed." He pulled out some fine chains of silver and gold, with little stones or pearls decorating them. Lavinia couldn't care less about the jewellery but played along nevertheless.

"Beautiful" she inspected "I had thought the young lady who assisted me last time might be here today. She had such an eye for these things. Where might she be? I'm sure she could pick the finest one for me" She began to prod but making as though the thought had only just occurred to her, asked in a light, conversational tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disappoint but my daughter has become increasingly ill the past few days. And the physicians believe it to be consumption, but they are hopeful she'll get well soon as we caught it early" Your father replied, he fidgeted and shifted his weight continuously.

Lavinia had long set down the jewellery and stood listening intensely. She dreaded it but had suspected something greater was at play- "I'm so sorry to hear that, such a sweet girl shouldn't go through that" She was secretly seething, her girl is in pain somewhere and Lavinia- for the first time in a long time- was helpless. He cleared his throat awkwardly "Yes, I'm sure it will all smooth out"

...

"The girl is sick! You know better than anyone she won't overcome this, not with those treatments-" Lavinia seethed at the thought pacing her husband's study, where he sat once writing at his desk but now interrupted and pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

He stood up ready for this argument to end, this girl had caused a lot of ruckus in the house since Lavinia had begun talking about you and he's about fed up "-We are surrounded by death, I thought you had come to terms with that long ago. Plenty of good people have died early in life and will continue to be that way, death doesn't discriminate. She's just one of an incomprehensible amount of average people experiencing an average tragedy" In some sick way he's ready for your death, so his wife overcomes this unhealthy attachment to some average mortal girl.

"But she could be more than that. She's more than that to me. And you know what I mean by that, you've been denying me this instinct for decades and you're cruel for that." Lavinia had to step away from the deeply unsettling conversation, turning her back to storm out but turning around last minute before slamming the door "I am the very thing that holds this family together and you'd have nothing without me" her teeth are gritted, her voice low and damning. She's never had any great quarrels with her husband, maybe a healthy few in the past few centuries but nothing that could make her question his love for her or hers for his.

...

"Father, a word?" Lucien, one of the sons of Lavinia and Soren, entered the study where hours had passed of Soren thinking over the conversation. Soren gave a brief nod busy putting on his coat and finding his gloves that he always seems to misplace, he supposed it's been a while since he's needed them to go out anywhere. "You can't be serious" Lucien scowled, now noticing what his father is doing.

"Get on with it boy" Soren scolds Lucien's disrespectful tone. "NO! You're going to get the girl, aren't you!? You're giving into Mother because of one little quarrel? You're putting our whole family, everything we've built at risk for an average mortal girl?" Lucien scolded, his face twisting in a mix of emotions, unable to grasp the concept.

Soren ignored Lucien's tone, whereas if it was any other day he wouldn't stand it -he's simply too tired to argue more "This is something I should have seen coming a long time ago. This isn't a passing interest or quarrel, you should know your Mother better than that. She's the reason we exist in any form of peace, the family would be much worse off without this gir-" Lucien interupts with "- We've done fine without this mortal so far!"

Soren glares at his son "I'd appreciate if you don't interrupt, that is childish. I don't expect you to understand your mother's need for her as you have never seen her broken" Soren pauses to grab his gloves out of their hiding place.

He continues "You're right, we've got this far without her. But this denial- this gap in your mother's life has been building in the background for centuries. She sees potential -so I suppose I do to" Before Lucien can argue more Soren leaves the room headed for the front door.

He passes the younger of the two, Dorian, standing close by "It's lousy to eavesdrop, Dorian" The boy grins in response, clearly curious about this change and more accepting than his brother.

...

You believed the reaper had come for your soul when you saw that man standing in the doorframe to your room. It had to be the dead of night, there was no sound to be heard or light to be seen aside from the dim glow of the moon. Your candle on the nightstand had long been burned out.

Still dazed and lethargic from sleep and sickness you blinked a few times at the unmoving figure which studied you, you then took a deep breath in, which rattled in your chest readying yourself for what monster you might face.

Courage is mustered and you manage to ask "Who are you?" quietly and sounding sickly but the monster in the shadow seems to hear you fine. "Soren. Your father sent me -I'm here to help, I'll have you healed by morning" his voice is monotone, but at least not one of a story book monster you'd expected.

You felt bitterness at the mention of your father's name, once you had given him every excuse in the book for why he didn't show his love for you. But the past few days had been rough, he wouldn't even look at you, unsure what to do with you, sending doctors and medicine but not the comfort you longed for. You just wanted reassurance, just love.

Soren steps into the room a bit further, the wallpaper a childish floral pattern. You had trinkets strewn about, papers of scribbled writing and doodles on the little oak wood desk, a doll here and there that you couldn't part with once your childhood had finished.

He looked back at you, pale and exhausted. Your brows furrowed while you tried to make sense of the man. He felt an unexplainable emotion, maybe closer to remorse but more complex than that. The innocence he hadn't seen in a long time, you'd struggle for a while once you were turned - it happened with both his sons and wife. Maybe you'd wish you had died here on this bed, maybe you'd fill the house with anger or maybe sorrow.

But in the grand scheme of things that period will be not even a fraction of your greatest purpose. He sucked in a deep breath out of habit not need, he pushed back the hesitation. For a greater purpose. For Lavinia. For the sake of his family, which you will become.

In cold resolve he walked towards the bed, you'd live on in a way, he wasn't lying. Your true death would be wasted potential, you'd learn to be content with undead like he once had to.

"How?" you questioned he blinked back into reality "How can you heal me in mere hours?" It's a reasonable question, but an incredibly complex answer he didn't have time for.

"You just have to trust me" He replied simply "We have to go to my office first, you'll be in your bed, healthy, come morning. I promise" He continued, seeing your weariness.

Your hand lifted and a small finger stuck out "Promise?" you asked. He recognised the childish gesture and returned it with his gloved hand, hiding how unaturally cold he is "I promise" he repeated back. He wasn't really lying, you would be saved from consumption in a couple of hours and sleeping in your bed -be it in your new home.

He lifted you into his arms, one under your legs and the other around your back as you rest your head on his chest. You both left the room then house without another word never to be seen by the sleepy, moody little town ever again.

You fell asleep -the last deep sleep you'd experience as a living being. He was careful not to wake you on the ride home.

...

Lavinia now had found out what was happening after Dorian ran to tell her the news -ever loyal to his mother. "Fathers left to get the girl" he gently told her as he stuck his head through the crack of the door.

Lavinia straightened up from her seat where she sat embroidering to pass the time "You don't mean it? When did he leave?" she haphazardly dropped the items on a side table and rushed past him.

"Not long ago" Dorian followed after his mother "How could this be?" she more so muttered to herself but Dorian replied anyways "A change of heart I suppose" Dorian was quite amused by it all, more from shock not meaning to be insensitive. Its rare that something of interest or chaotic happens in the house that he cant helped but get worked up a bit.

Lavinia paced the entryway waiting for Soren to return, hopefully with you. Dorian sat on the staircase a bit further back keeping his mother company while Lucien sulked in his personal study, wanting nothing more to do with this mess.

The carriage and hooves could be heard on the gravel path leading to the house. Lavinia couldn't wait any longer and opened the door welcoming in a cold draft as she stepped outside to watch the carriage come into sight.

And there you were in Soren's arms, out cold, but looking so peaceful. He stepped down onto the gravel and Lavinia almost aggressively snatched you from his hold.

Instead, she gently took you, not to wake you. Seeing you up close was a shock for her, only remembering you as that lively town girl. Not the sickly pale, exhausted and wasting girl consumed by sickness.

"Oh my baby" she whispered brushing the hair away from your fevered face, then clutching you closer, cradling you like one would a baby. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met with Soren -her hand briefly brushed over the side of his face, a quick gesture of appreciation. He stood unmoving and unreadable but allowed the touch and connection.

She then rushed you inside before the frost of the night woke you up, her footsteps hurried but careful. Her head crowded with one thought only; 'you're safe with me now, forever and always'

[valalice]

✦ patching up mizu.

cw. fluff. hurt & comfort kinda. fem!reader. mizu is hurt. mentions of blood & needles. both reader and mizu are whipped. a/n. for @champagne-problems-ate <3 thank you for the convincing text for me to restart the series, mwah!

mizu's hand grips at you knee as you stitch up her shoulder. this is only the second wound your stitching out of the four you have to complete.

it was a silently calm night. you were fixing your night tea, ready to go into bed and wind down, excited to see what happens next in you book. but just as you were shuffling to bed, mizu burst through the door after being gone for some odd amount of days. you abruptly stand still, your night dress ruffling at your ankles, tea cup in hand, taking in her beaten and bloody figure. shaking off your shocked expression, you set down your tea on a nearby surface and usher her with you arms. your gentle touch on her arms guiding her to sit down.

since that moment there hasn't been a single exchange of words between the two of you, there wasn't a need for any. the samurai came to you needing aid and you knew that.

however, uncharacteristically, mizu is the first to speak. "sorry."

the hand with the needle in it stills, peering up at her through your lashes, she's looking off into the fire pit. "for?"

"your tea has gone cold." you lift your head to look over at the small stand where your tea cup rest, and she is correct. the steam that was airing off of the hot liquid ceases to exist anymore, your tea is now room temperature. a small chuckle escapes your lips, shaking your head before you put your attention back on her wound, threading the needle through her skin. mizu's hand grips tight onto your knee.

"what are you laughing at? you hate when your tea isn't hot." she scowls.

you're amused by her. one simple off handed comment you made one time, and she just runs with it. "and the tea will get drunken, nonetheless."

mizu's head turns to observe you at your comment, you can feel her icy eyes on you, but you focus on finishing this stitch. "all done." you perk up.

her eyes are still strained on on you as you turn to reach for your scissors to cut the thread. setting them down, you reach for the soft sponge in the clean bowl of water, contrasting the one next to it dyed red from her blood. sponging off the area and patting it dry with a clean towel as well. she's time and time again taken aback at how gentle you are with her when you care for it. that amount of gentleness was unknown to her until she met you. and in this moment she can only concentrate on the soft hand on her arm as to both steady or comfort her as you smear some ointment on the wound, the first time you patched her you mouth off her ear about you grandmother and how she thought you everything you need to know about bringing people back to health. when you're done the hand on mizu's arm lightly squeezes it, and she already knows, so she raises it. again, there is no need for words. taking hold of the bandages you begin to wrap them around her shoulder the best you can, the shoulder is always such an awkward place. when you're satisfied with the amount of bandage protecting the wound you rip it off from the rest and neatly tuck it as so it wouldn't come undone.

lifting your head up to tell mizu that she must readjust a little so you could fix up her next wound, your met with her face in yours. it seems as if she's trying to examine you, her blue eyes, oh, her eyes. it was a secret you'd never admit out loud, yet to her, that you found her eyes so enchanting, but you could never say something so taboo as that.

once again mizu speaks first. "why are you so gentle with me?"

your breath catches in your throat, furrowing your eyebrows. "i think you've lost too much blood, mizu. let's finish patching you up."

[patscorner]

What Love Broke

Summary: You and your girlfriend go through a rough patch

wc: 2,144

Contains: angst, couple kisses, reader petty asf

______________________________

You don't exactly remember what started the argument, but you knew it had escalated far more than it should've.

“I'm just saying- it's so unfair how you can't manage to come to a single one of my games when I've been to every one of yours!”

“Oh, I'm sorry that I'm busy with actual things to do. Maybe if you played an actual sport, I'd come to one!” Neshy shouted back at you, her accent thick.

Things have been tense for a while between you and Ines, the stress of your upcoming softball tournament and her basketball tournament stopping you from seeing each other. The wall between you two was built by two people who were so in love that it was painful.

Now here you both are, arguing in front of your closest friends, desperately trying to hold onto the last string that connected your hearts.

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

Ines’s face flashed a twinge of regret, but quickly recovered. “Nothing, look-”

“No, I fucking knew it! I knew that's why you never came to games. You weren't busy, you just didn't fucking care!”

The evening started fine, some of the team gathering in Paige’s dorm to hang out before practice the next morning. Ines had been unusually cold, and everyone noticed her icy demeanor. It was embarrassing for you, so you tried to subtly ask if you'd done something, only to be met with the same frozen heart.

You tried to let it go, but as the night went on, you’d had enough. You had dragged her into a separate room in an attempt to fix whatever you had broken.

Which led you to now, the pair of you, face to face, shouting at each other.

“I care! All I do is care! You're so fucking ungrate-”

“Bullshit, Neshy!” You ran your hand over your face, a weak attempt to calm yourself.

“How can you call me ungrateful when all-”

“Because, with all I do in this relationship, you don't do anything to match it!” her accent ringing through the air thickly.

“With all you do?!! What about all the time I've put in?! All the time spent watching your fucking games, instead of doing homework of my own! All the times I've stayed up going to games, then going to an afterparty, just to watch you get drunk!” your voice shakes at this, but it doesn't matter, not to her anyway.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was such an inconvenience for you to support your girlfriend!” Ines had been pacing this whole time, clearly overwhelmed, and normally you'd respect it. You drop it and pick it up later, but this time, this time, she was gonna listen to what you had to say.

You scoff out a dry laugh. “It's not an inconvenience, Ines, it's just not reciprocated. And until you figure that out, don't bother coming.” You turn to face the door, tired of this argument, tired of fighting, tired of this.

“So that's it?! We're gonna leave it like this?!” She asked, her voice carrying a different kind of weight to it.

“I'm tired, Neshy. I can't keep fighting you like this.” You say spinning around.

She's quiet for a bit, clearly thinking of where to go from here. You can almost hear her thoughts, her face flipping through emotions, until she picked one. The same one she's had all day.

“Don't come to any of my games, then.” She hissed out.

Your heart stuttered, but you didn't let her see that. “Okay.” Is all you say before you turn around and leave, closing the door behind you.

You walk out, finally allowing the tears to fall before remembering you weren't in your own dorm, meeting the eyes of your girlfriend's teammates.

Their eyes carry pity and sympathy as they reach yours.You wipe your eyes before grabbing your phone and mumbling a goodbye.

It's a day before the game between Uconn and Syracuse, the second round of the NCAA Tournament. It's been 3 days, 13 hours, 6 minutes, and 40 seconds (but who's counting) since you've talked to Ines. During those painful hours, you've left your dorm once. One to return a notebook to Paige that you'd borrowed for math help.

You'd seen your girlfriend around campus a couple of times, but quickly avoided her gaze. Your entire goal was to cool off before you went to the game the next day, but that plan failed when you returned to your dorm to your room unlocked.

At first, you panicked, but when you saw Ines in the kitchen, you let out a breath of relief. You set your keys on the counter and your bags on the floor.

“What're you doing here?” You ask softly.

She yelps, putting her hand on her chest. “Jesus, you scared the fuck outta me.”

“Sorry.” you mumble.

“It's okay.”

The silence between you both is not the comfortable one you were used to. This silence was loud, filled with the unspoken words of your hearts. You stare at your feet, avoiding the intense gaze from Neshy.

“What're you doing here?” You repeat.

“I-I, uh, left my jersey here. I didn't think you'd be home soon.” she whispers the last part.

You raise your eyebrows. “So that's why you're in my kitchen?”

Her eyes widened. “Wha- oh, uh. I jus- I noticed your Brita was out of water, so I was just filling it up.”

Your heart shattered. Even after all the fighting you two have done, she still shows that she cares.

You nod. “Thank you, that's- that's very sweet.”

She just hums in acknowledgement, before grabbing her jersey off the counter and heading for the door. You watch her as she turns around to you.

“Are you coming to the game?”

“Oh-uh. I don't know.” You whisper.

“Please.” She begs.

“Neshy.”

“Jus- think about it. Please. I need you there.”

You sigh. “I'll see.”

“Okay.” She opens the door, but turns around and walks back towards you, pulling you into her chest by your waist.

Her lips interlock with yours briefly, a silent plea for you to go.

“I love you.” she whispers.

“I love you, too.” you smile sadly.

And with that, she walks out and closes the door behind her.

Tomorrow comes sooner than you wish, and so does the game. After careful consideration, (and a long conversation with Nika) you decide to go to the game. Even though you were still upset, and the relationship was far from fixed, Ines was your girlfriend, and you were going to support her, regardless of hurt feelings. Plus, you were still friends with the rest of the girls, and wanted to support them as well.

You still didn't want to talk to Neshy, and you made it a goal to avoid her at all costs. At that point, you knew you were being petty, but you didn't care.

Uconn won the game, Ines scoring three 3s and getting a crucial steal at the end of the third quarter. Even though her head was elsewhere, she played well. As you sit in the stands, you help but feel disappointment. She never cared enough to come to one of your games. She never experienced being in the stands, cheering on her girlfriend like you had. She had no idea what that was like and didn't seem to care to find out. Regardless, you couldn't help but feel your heart swell with pride for her. You considered staying and waiting for her, like you usually do. You were undoubtedly happy for her, but she hurt you. You wanted to stay. You wanted to hug her and whisper her congratulations. You wanted to kiss all the angry words you'd exchanged away. That's what you wanted.

But what you needed to do was protect your peace. You needed her to care. You needed 50-50, not 75-25. You needed change. Something had to change.

Your heart fought with your feet as you walked out of the stadium, nobody stopping you.

A knock sounded startled you awake. You groaned as you rolled over, ignoring the interruption of your sleep. Well, you tried, but it didn't work, as whoever it was, knocked again. You grumbled as you rolled out of bed, cursing whoever woke you up at– you check your phone –3:23am.

You swing the door open, to see none other than your girlfriend, and boy, did she look pissed. Her eyes were red and puffy, and bags stark against her pale skin.

“Where were you?” She demands.

“Ines, it's three thirty in the fucking morning. Do you really want to do this right now?”

“You seriously didn't come? I thought you'd be mature enough to put one stupid fight behind us, but you clearly aren't. Like, I'd love to hear the reasoning.”

“Neshy-”

“No, no, actually, never mind. I don't wanna hear whatever your bullshit excuse would be.”

“Ines.” she was spiraling right in front of you, and it was the hardest thing for you to watch.

“I don't even know why I came here. You probably don't even have a good reason. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot.” She rambles. “I can't do this, goodnight.”

And with that she walked away. You contemplated letting her go. She told you what she was thinking, and she seemed pretty sure of herself. But you shook your head, clearing them of those thoughts. She didn't mean it, and you both knew that. You knew that if you let her leave, she might not ever come back.

You stepped out of your dorm in your her large tee-shirt and sweats. “I was at the game.” You call after her. She pauses before looking back at you. She'd made it halfway down the hall at that point. Damn that athletic speed.

“W-what?” Her eyes twinkle with surprise and her eyebrows furrow.

“Come inside.” You say, moving to make room for her in the doorway. You watch her as she walks back to you, pausing for a moment, seemingly looking for permission. The politeness is foreign to you, but you respect it.

You nod before following her inside. She walked into your dorm, and stood at the island.

You wordlessly walk to the refrigerator and get the Brita filter that she'd filled, pouring you both glasses of water. You walk up to her, chest to chest, and set the glass on the table. You look at her, and wipe her tears gently. You feel her hands hesitantly hover over your waist. You almost roll your eyes. It didn't have to be like this.

“You came…? But I didn't see you, a-and you didn't say hi after.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I should've said hi, but I was still pissed.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around her neck.

You both look at each other for a beat before you speak again.

“It can't be like this.” She hums and nods in agreement. “I know.”

“I just need fifty-fifty. I understand if you don't have time during the week, you're an athlete, I'm an athlete, and it's bound to happen. I get all of that. But it can't be like this.” You gesture between the two of you.

Ines nods again. “Okay. I'm sorry. I'm just stressed, I didn't mean anything I said, I was just upset.” She mutters shamefully.

“I know.” You say leaning close to her. Your lips ghost across hers and your heart pounds at the way her breath hitches.

Ines pushes her lips against yours, whining so quiet you almost miss it. Almost.

You break the kiss, locking eyes with her once again. “It's late. Let's go to bed. We can talk in the morning.” You whisper. She nods and you can see the exhaustion set in. She probably hasn't slept in days.

You lead her to your room, falling into the familiar rhythm that is cuddling. You face her as she wraps her arms around your waist, your face buried in the crook of her neck. You listen to Ines take a deep breath, inhaling your scent as if you'll disappear. You press a kiss on her collarbone, humming.

“Neshy?” You whisper. She opens one eye, grunting in acknowledgment.

“You ever yell at me in front of the team again, I will beat your ass.” You smile, but she knows you're dead serious.

“No need, KK said she'd beat my ass if I ever made you cry again.” You let out a soft giggle, moving impossibly closer to her.

“Good.”

“Mhm.” She mumbles, closing her eyes once again. You shift up to kiss her lips before returning to your previous position. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

Even though your relationship was far from fixed, there's no harm in a night's sleep before you mend what love broke.

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