#how are they holding hands based on how I drew it?

[notherpuppet]

Sketchy sketch

[maou-reborn]

Saw that coming

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[fangdokja]

The predator never leaves empty-handed.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a dangerous game of wits and desire, you face a relentless predator who revels in breaking your icy facade—one kiss, one bruise, one twisted taunt at a time. But as his obsession deepens, the line between captor and captive begins to blur, leaving you to wonder who’s really in control.

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Childe (Tartaglia) x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Blood and Salt - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,626

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, rough play, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, descriptions of gore, medical malpractice

♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have yet to complete the required full story (hence, why the proof of request isn't present at the moment). This will most likely have 3-4 parts in total (of course, assuming people don't ask for sequels, but that's unlikely based on my experience...). This first part serves mostly as an intro, the following parts will have more NSFW yandere-centric content.

The Fatui base reeked of damp stone and iron, the stench of blood mingling with the sterile tang of antiseptic. Tartaglia—No. 11 of the Harbingers, Childe to the outside world—dragged himself through the winding corridors, his bloodied boots leaving a crimson trail on the cold floor. His breath came in ragged bursts, his body screaming in protest with every step. Yet his grin was maddening, all sharp edges and dangerous delight, a testament to the high of the battle still coursing through his veins.

When he reached the infirmary door, he kicked it open with a violent thud, collapsing onto a nearby cot with an exaggerated groan. The chaos he exuded seemed almost calculated, like a wolf throwing itself into a den of lambs just to watch them scatter. But here, there was no panic—only your unflinching, cold stare as you emerged from the shadows.

“Number Eleven,” you said, your voice devoid of warmth. It wasn’t a greeting, merely an acknowledgment of his presence. Your white coat rustled faintly as you approached, a scalpel glinting in your hand, more an extension of your being than a mere tool. “Still alive, I see. How tedious.”

Childe’s grin widened, teeth flashing like a predator who’d found something intriguing. “Don’t sound too excited to see me, Doc. I might think you care.”

You didn’t respond, instead peeling away the layers of his blood-soaked uniform with methodical precision. Beneath the fabric, his skin was marred by deep gashes and burns, the aftermath of his clash with the Traveler and the betrayal he’d been unwittingly ensnared in. Your gaze lingered on the wounds, but not out of sympathy. No, your interest was clinical, as if dissecting a particularly perplexing specimen.

“You’ve sustained second-degree burns on your left flank, a puncture wound dangerously close to your liver, and a laceration here that’s…impressively idiotic. Did you aim for the blade yourself?”

Childe chuckled, wincing as the motion tugged at his injuries. “You’re sharp as ever. Maybe that’s why they keep paying your absurd fees.”

“They pay because I’m competent,” you corrected, pressing a cloth soaked in antiseptic against his side. The hiss of the disinfectant biting into his flesh drew a sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t waver. “Hold still, unless you want me to accidentally sever an artery.”

“You say that like it’s not intentional,” Childe muttered, watching you work with an unsettling fascination. There was something almost hypnotic about your precision, the way your hands moved with unerring certainty. It was as if you operated on instinct alone, devoid of the emotional tremors that plagued lesser medics.

But it wasn’t your skill that intrigued him most. No, it was the way you refused to flinch under the weight of his presence. Even now, as he bled all over your pristine floor, his very existence a storm of chaos and carnage, you treated him like an inconvenience. Like he was nothing.

“You’re a curious one, Doc,” Childe said, his voice softening to a murmur. “No Vision, no extraordinary strength…and yet here you are, holding your own among the likes of us. Tell me, what keeps you going? What makes you tick?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your focus remaining on the sutures you were threading through his torn flesh. When you finally spoke, your tone was as icy as ever. “Gold and knowledge. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His laughter echoed through the infirmary, low and almost mocking. “That’s it? No grand ideals, no hidden motives? Just greed and curiosity? How dull.”

“And yet you’re still here,” you countered, your eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. In that instant, something unspoken passed between you—a clash of wills, a silent acknowledgment of the chasm that separated you. “Perhaps you find dullness comforting. Predictable. Unlike your life, which seems to be a perpetual spiral of self-destruction.”

Childe’s grin faltered, his expression hardening. For a moment, the playful veneer slipped, revealing the abyss lurking beneath. The bloodlust, the hunger for chaos, the undeniable truth that he thrived on the brink of annihilation.

“Careful, Doc,” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You’re starting to sound like you know me.”

“I know enough,” you replied, tying off the final suture with a practiced flick of your wrist. “Enough to understand that people like you only survive because of people like me. Now, if you’re done bleeding all over my floor, get out. I have more important things to do.”

Childe sat up slowly, testing the limits of his freshly mended body. He winced but didn’t complain, his gaze lingering on you as you cleaned your instruments with the same detached efficiency as before.

“You’re cold, Doc,” he said, his grin returning, though it was tempered now, quieter. “But I like that about you. Makes me wonder what’s hiding underneath all that ice.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, turning your back on him as you prepared for your next patient. For all his bluster and bravado, Childe was just another Harbinger—a cog in the Fatui’s relentless machine. And you? You were the blade that kept the cogs turning, sharp and unyielding.

As he left the infirmary, his footsteps fading into the distance, you allowed yourself a single thought:

“Nothing hides beneath the ice. Because there is nothing left to hide.”

────────────

The Fatui base had always been your world. Its cold, labyrinthine halls seemed endless to outsiders, but to you, they were a map etched into your very being. You had grown up here—an anomaly of sharp intellect and colder disposition. From the moment you were brought into this machine of violence and control, you had known your place. Not a soldier, not a pawn, but something altogether more useful: a scalpel, precise and unyielding, in the hands of a master.

That master was Pantalone.

Even now, years later, you could recall the first time you met him. You had been a child, barely old enough to comprehend what survival truly meant. Yet, even then, your eyes had been sharper than most—quick to discern the falsehoods in promises, the flaws in logic, and the danger that dripped from every word spoken by the Fatui. But Pantalone? He had been different. Not warm, not kind, but steady. His gaze had swept over you with the same calculating precision you’d later adopt for yourself, as if weighing your worth in coin.

And you had passed his test.

He had taken you in, molded you into something far greater than the sum of your small frame and deadened eyes. He taught you not to fear the dark but to wield it, to recognize that knowledge was not only power but currency, and that currency could buy anything—even safety. You became his tool, his protégé, and, in time, his shadow.

People whispered about the two of you, calling your relationship “off,” as if they could fathom the intricate balance you shared. Pantalone was both protector and architect of your existence. You owed him everything, and you had never questioned it—not even when he had sent you to the medical sector, claiming your talents could serve the Fatui better there. You hadn’t argued, though the move had felt like being severed from the foundation of your being. If Pantalone willed it, you obeyed. Always.

———

The infirmary door swung shut behind Childe, but his presence lingered like a toxin in the air, a reminder that your life in the Fatui was never free from chaos. You cleaned the blood from your hands with practiced efficiency, the motion automatic, mechanical. The crimson stains washed away, but your thoughts did not. They lingered on the Harbinger’s grin, the predatory glint in his eyes, the way he spoke as if he were unraveling you with every word.

He wouldn’t be the first to try.

You were younger than most of your peers in the medical sector, but none of them questioned your authority. Your skill had silenced the skeptics long ago, and your unflinching demeanor had done the rest. You had no need for their approval, no use for their camaraderie. You worked for coin and knowledge—nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, as you dried your hands and prepared for the next patient, your mind wandered to Pantalone. He had always been your constant, the one unshakable pillar in a world of shifting alliances and blood-soaked deals. Even now, when you were technically independent, you found yourself drifting back to him. After every shift, you would seek him out, trailing in his shadow like a phantom. You never spoke unless spoken to, never imposed. You simply existed in his orbit, waiting.

Waiting for what, you didn’t know.

———

Pantalone was waiting for you when you returned that evening. His office was immaculate, as always, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. He didn’t look up as you entered, his attention fixed on the stack of ledgers spread before him. But he didn’t need to acknowledge you; he knew you were there. He always did.

“Busy day?” he asked without looking up, his voice as smooth and calculated as ever.

You didn’t answer. You never did unless the question required it. Instead, you stepped closer, your hands clasped behind your back like a student awaiting instruction.

“You’ve been spending more time in the infirmary than necessary,” he continued, finally raising his gaze to meet yours. His dark eyes were unreadable, his expression carefully neutral. “Is there something—or someone—keeping you there?”

It was an innocuous question, but you felt the weight of it like a blade against your throat. Pantalone’s words always carried an undercurrent of calculation, as if every syllable was part of a grander equation only he could see.

“No,” you replied, your voice steady. “I go where I’m needed.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “Good. It would be… unfortunate if your priorities were to shift.”

The unspoken warning hung in the air, a reminder that your loyalty to him was not only expected but required. You nodded, accepting it without question. Whatever else you were—doctor, tool, scalpel—you would always belong to Pantalone.

———

Later that night, as you lay awake in the sterile confines of your quarters, you found your thoughts drifting once more.

To Childe, with his maddening grin and unrelenting chaos.

To Pantalone, with his icy precision and the unspoken bond that tethered you to him.

Two men, as different as fire and ice, yet both carving their marks into your carefully constructed world.

You closed your eyes, but sleep did not come.

Instead, the shadows pressed in around you, whispers of something darker, something inevitable.

You had always thrived in the cold, but now, for the first time, you wondered what it would feel like to burn.

────────────

The smell of blood and ozone clung to Childe like a second skin, a testament to the carnage he wore as naturally as his smile. When he entered the infirmary this time, the tension that followed him wasn’t just from the wounds he carried but the weight of his relentless curiosity. He wanted something from you—something more than stitches and silence—and you could feel it in the way his gaze burned into your back.

You didn’t look up as he stepped inside, your gloved hands deftly arranging a tray of sterilized instruments. His boots scuffed against the floor, leaving faint streaks of dirt and blood in their wake.

“Back again so soon?” you said, your voice devoid of emotion, a monotone laced with quiet disdain. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being carved apart.”

Childe’s laughter was low and almost melodic, but it carried the edge of something darker. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s accused me of that, Doc. But hey, if it means seeing your lovely face—”

“Sit down.” Your words cut through his like a scalpel, sharp and unyielding. You turned toward him, your expression unreadable beneath the cold veneer you wore like armor. “You’re wasting my time.”

His grin faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, sprawling onto the nearest cot with a theatrical groan. He tugged at his shirt, revealing the gash across his ribs that oozed crimson with every shallow breath. The wound was jagged, messy, and fresh, though your eyes flicked over the faint scars crisscrossing his skin with a precision that missed nothing. Some of them were old, but others—fainter, more deliberate—were far too recent.

Self-inflicted.

You said nothing, your hands moving with mechanical efficiency as you began cleaning the wound. The antiseptic hissed against his skin, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t pause. Your focus was absolute, your hands steady as you worked.

“You know,” Childe said, his voice lilting as he tried to draw you out, “most people would at least try to make conversation. Ask me how I’m feeling, maybe. Offer me a lollipop when it’s all done.”

“I’m not most people.” Your reply was clipped, your gaze never leaving the sutures you were threading through his flesh. The needle pierced his skin with a precision that bordered on inhuman, the thread weaving through the torn muscle like the strings of a marionette.

“That much is obvious,” he muttered, watching you with a fascination that bordered on unsettling. “You’re like a ghost, you know that? Always here, but never… there.”

You didn’t respond, your silence as sharp as the scalpel resting on your tray. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to unnerve you with idle chatter, and it wouldn’t be the last. But Childe was persistent, his curiosity gnawing at him like a dog with a bone.

“Come on, Doc,” he pressed, his tone turning almost playful. “What’s the harm in a little small talk? You could at least tell me your favorite color. Or your name. I’m dying to know.”

“You’re not dying.” You pulled the thread tight, tying off the suture with a finality that left no room for argument. “Though, at the rate you’re going, that may change.”

He winced as you pressed a bandage against the wound, your hands moving with a swiftness that left him no time to react. “So cold,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “It’s almost like you enjoy this. The blood, the pain… the control.”

You straightened, peeling off your gloves and tossing them into the waste bin with practiced ease. “I enjoy being paid,” you said flatly, turning away from him. “As long as your mora is good, I’ll keep you alive. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And if I stopped paying?” he asked, his grin returning, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint of something feral in his eyes. “Would you let me bleed out on your floor, Doc? Would you even blink?”

You paused, your hand hovering over the tray of instruments. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the faint hum of the infirmary’s ventilation system. Then you turned back to him, your gaze meeting his with an iciness that froze the air between you.

“Try it,” you said, your voice soft but laced with steel. “See how far your charm gets you when the mora runs out.”

His laughter echoed through the room, low and almost mocking. “You’re fascinating, you know that? I’ve faced gods, monsters, and everything in between, but you? You’re an enigma.”

You said nothing, your silence more damning than any reply. You had seen men like him before—thrill-seekers, chaos incarnate, desperate to shatter anything they couldn’t understand. But you weren’t something to be broken. You were the scalpel, the blade that carved through the chaos with ruthless precision.

And Childe? He was just another wound to stitch shut. Another patient to patch up and send back into the fray.

As he slid off the cot, testing the limits of his freshly mended body, he flashed you one last grin. “You can’t stay silent forever, Doc,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “One day, I’ll get under that icy skin of yours.”

You didn’t reply, your back already turned to him as you cleaned the instruments. His footsteps echoed as he left, the sound fading into the distance. And when the infirmary door swung shut behind him, you allowed yourself a single thought:

Some wounds weren’t worth healing.

———

The first time Childe tried to woo you, he began with something grand—fireworks in the desolate tundra of Snezhnaya. The sound cracked through the frozen air like gunshots, brilliant bursts of red and gold illuminating the oppressive gray skies. It was loud, jarring, beautiful, and utterly wasted. You didn’t even glance at the window. Instead, your focus remained on the gory mess of a Fatui soldier who had botched a mission and returned in shreds, your gloved hands threading sutures through his mangled flesh without a flicker of distraction.

“Really?” you’d muttered, your tone laced with quiet irritation as the walls rattled from the explosions outside. “Do you think this is the time or place for such nonsense?”

Childe, standing in the doorway, had grinned. “Come on, Doc, don’t you think it’s romantic? You and me, blood and fireworks. What could be better?”

Your only response was a glare colder than the frost creeping up the infirmary windows. It wasn’t disdain; it wasn’t even anger. It was complete and utter disinterest, as if he were nothing more than a shadow on the periphery of your world.

But he wasn’t deterred. Childe was nothing if not persistent.

———

The next week, he tried subtlety. He left small tokens for you, each more thoughtful and intimate than the last. A book of medical texts older than the Fatui itself, its leather cover worn and cracked. A jar of rare herbs cultivated only in the depths of Enkanomiya, their use obscure but undoubtedly valuable. Even a delicate scalpel forged from Orichalcum, its blade so sharp it could slice through bone as easily as paper.

You accepted each offering with the same detached efficiency you applied to everything else. The book was shelved without comment, the herbs labeled and stored in your inventory, and the scalpel placed neatly among your tools.

“Do you like it?” he’d asked one day, leaning casually against the doorway as you cleaned instruments. His tone was light, but there was a razor edge beneath it, a hunger for validation that he masked poorly.

“It’s adequate,” you replied, your gaze never leaving the bloodstained tray before you. “Thank you.”

That was the first time he saw your lips move in something resembling politeness. But the faint spark it ignited within him was immediately extinguished by the icy void in your tone.

———

When subtlety failed, Childe turned to extravagance again. He stormed into the infirmary one day with a wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, its fur as white as freshly fallen snow. Behind him, a Fatui recruit dragged the hulking carcass of the creature, its size dwarfing that of any normal beast. Its eyes stared lifelessly into the void, its jaws frozen in a snarl even in death.

“For you, Doc,” he said, his grin feral, the blood of the beast still splattered across his face. “Thought it might make a nice rug. Or maybe a coat. Something to keep you warm, since you seem so damn cold all the time.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. You simply looked at the beast, then at him, and said, “Dispose of it. You’re contaminating my workspace.”

For the first time, he faltered, his grin slipping into something closer to frustration. But he recovered quickly, chuckling as he signaled for the recruit to haul the carcass away.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” he muttered, half to himself. “Fine. I like a challenge.”

———

By the third week, his persistence had taken on an edge of desperation. The gifts became more frequent, the gestures more elaborate, and his presence more intrusive. He appeared in the infirmary at all hours, sometimes with fresh wounds and sometimes with none at all, just for an excuse to linger in your space.

“You know, most people would’ve fallen for me by now,” he said one evening, lounging on a cot as you stitched up yet another gash on his arm. His voice was smooth, but there was an unmistakable tension in it, a crack in the facade. “I’ve got charm, looks, power… What’s your deal, Doc? Are you even human under all that ice?”

Your needle paused for the briefest of moments, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. But Childe noticed.

“You’re wasting my time,” you said, resuming your work with the same detached efficiency as always. “If you have nothing useful to say, keep your mouth shut.”

His grin turned sharp, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re good at shutting people out, aren’t you? Makes me wonder what you’re hiding. What’s so broken in there that you won’t let anyone in?”

You tied off the suture and stood, your gaze meeting his for the first time that night. There was no anger in your eyes, no hint of offense. Only an emptiness so profound it was almost suffocating.

“You misunderstand,” you said, your voice as cold and unyielding as the Snezhnayan winter. “There’s nothing to hide. Nothing to break. Now leave.”

For a moment, Childe said nothing, his grin frozen on his face like a mask. Then he laughed—a low, bitter sound that echoed through the infirmary.

“You’re really something, Doc,” he said, standing and rolling his sleeve down over the freshly stitched wound. “But I’m not giving up. Not yet.”

As he walked away, the air seemed to thaw in his absence, but you felt no relief. You knew he’d be back. Childe was like a storm—relentless, chaotic, and impossible to ignore.

But storms could be weathered. And you were the unyielding mountain in their path.

────────────

The infirmary was silent, save for the rhythmic drip of water leaking from somewhere in the cracked stone ceiling. It was late—too late for anyone but the most desperate to seek your aid. Yet there he stood, leaning against the doorway, his grin wolfish and unsettling in the dim light.

“Doc,” Childe said, his voice a soft murmur, edged with something dark and teasing. “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up from the scalpel you were meticulously sterilizing. His antics had long since become white noise, something to endure rather than acknowledge. But then the sharp, metallic scent of blood hit your nostrils, stronger than usual, and the faintest flicker of curiosity crossed your features.

When you finally turned your head, you saw it.

The corpse was slumped in a wheelbarrow, its flesh discolored in ways that defied the natural progression of decay. Greenish-black veins spiderwebbed across its chest, branching out from a festering wound that pulsed faintly with some unholy residue. Its face was twisted in agony, frozen in the grotesque contortion of its final moments.

“This one,” Childe said, gesturing toward the body with a dramatic flourish, “wasn’t easy to find. Some poor bastard from the Abyss, infected with something… interesting. Don’t ask me what it is—I figured I’d leave that to you.”

He stepped closer, dragging the wheelbarrow into the center of the room. The corpse’s arm flopped out limply over the edge, leaving a wet smear of blood and ichor across the pristine floor.

For the first time since you’d met him, you froze. Not in disgust or revulsion, but in something far more profound. Your cold, unfeeling mask cracked—just a little—as your gaze locked onto the body. Your eyes lit up, faint but undeniable, with something akin to excitement.

Childe’s grin widened, sharper now, predatory. “You like it, don’t you? I knew you would. You’re not like anyone else, Doc. You see beauty in things that’d make most people vomit.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you approached the wheelbarrow, your footsteps slow and deliberate, as if drawn by an invisible force. You knelt beside the body, your gloved hands ghosting over its mottled skin.

“This… decay pattern,” you murmured, your voice almost reverent. “It’s… unusual. The infection—it’s accelerated, but localized. Post-mortem processes are suspended in some areas and hyperactive in others. This isn’t natural.”

Childe leaned against a nearby table, watching you with a mix of amusement and fascination. “Took me days to track him down. Thought it might be worth your while.”

You glanced up at him, and for the first time, your expression wasn’t entirely empty. There was no smile, no overt display of emotion, but the faintest glimmer of gratitude lingered in your eyes, fleeting yet unmistakable.

“This… will require thorough examination,” you said, your voice steadier now. “It’s rare to encounter something like this. You’ve done well.”

His grin faltered, just for a moment, replaced by something softer. But the feral edge returned quickly, his satisfaction bleeding into his words. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever gotten from you. I’ll take it.”

You ignored him, already lost in the intricate web of disease and decay before you. The scalpel in your hand gleamed under the flickering lamplight as you made the first incision, your movements careful and precise.

Childe didn’t leave. He stayed, watching as you dissected the corpse with a surgeon’s grace and a scholar’s fervor. There was something hypnotic about the way you worked, your focus absolute, your cold detachment melting into something closer to passion.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice softer now, “you almost look happy.”

Your hands paused mid-cut, but you didn’t look at him. “Happiness is irrelevant. This is… intriguing. That’s all.”

He chuckled, low and almost smug. “If this is what it takes to make you intrigued, I might have to start raiding morgues more often.”

You said nothing, but the faintest tilt of your head suggested you’d heard him. For Childe, that was enough.

As the hours stretched on, he remained a silent observer, his usual bravado muted in the face of your singular focus. The corpse became a canvas, each incision revealing new layers of mystery and horror.

And for the first time, Childe felt like he’d won. Not completely, not yet—but he’d found a crack in your armor, a weakness to exploit.

In the end, it wasn’t charm or extravagance that piqued your interest. It was the grotesque, the morbid, the unknown.

He could work with that.

———

The first time he brought you a corpse, you hadn’t spoken, but your gloved hands trembled faintly as you reached for the scalpel. He didn’t miss it, the subtle shiver of anticipation. Since then, Tartaglia had made it his mission to unearth the macabre, dragging the dead and the dying to your doorstep with an unrelenting grin.

And you let him.

It wasn’t that you encouraged him. You never spoke more than necessary, your tone clinical and stripped of anything personal. But Childe was a hunter, and he recognized the thrill of a chase when he saw it. Each corpse, each grotesque offering, became a challenge. How far could he push? What limits could he break to see that faint flicker of interest in your otherwise impenetrable gaze?

He started small—a soldier infected with a rare disease, his body a roadmap of bloated veins and necrotic flesh. You dissected him with mechanical precision, but there was a spark of intrigue in the way you lingered on the abnormalities, your fingers tracing the patterns of decay like a sculptor studying a masterpiece.

Then came the elders, their bodies twisted by experiments gone wrong, their deaths soaked in cruelty and despair. When he placed the first one on your table, your fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. He swore he saw your lips part as if to speak, but the words never came.

“Not enough?” Childe asked, leaning against the doorway like a specter, his voice low and dripping with mockery. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll do better next time.”

And he did.

He brought you a man who had died screaming, his throat raw and his eyes bloodshot from ruptured vessels. He brought you a corpse riddled with scars—self-inflicted, deep grooves carved into flesh by hands trembling with desperation. He brought you a woman whose limbs had been twisted and reshaped into something monstrous, her body a canvas of agony.

Each time, you remained silent. But your actions betrayed you.

You rearranged your office with meticulous care, creating more space for the specimens you insisted on keeping. Your tools gleamed under the harsh lamplight, organized with obsessive precision. Chests appeared, their contents locked away and guarded like treasure.

When you thought no one was watching, you would pause to run your fingers over the edge of a scalpel, or linger just a second too long over a particularly grotesque dissection.

Childe was always watching.

“Death,” he said one evening, his voice soft but laced with something unhinged, “is what makes you tick, isn’t it? You don’t care about life. You care about the end of it.”

You didn’t look up from the corpse on your table, its chest cavity split open to reveal the mess of rotting organs within. But your hand faltered, the scalpel freezing mid-cut.

He grinned, sharp and triumphant. “I knew it.”

The next day, he didn’t bring you a body. Instead, he brought you something… alive.

The man was barely breathing, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps. His skin was pallid, his lips tinged blue, and his eyes—wide, bloodshot—darted around the room like a cornered animal.

“I found him in the Abyss,” Childe said, his voice almost conversational. “Something about the air there eats away at the lungs. He’s got maybe an hour, tops. Thought you’d enjoy figuring out why.”

You turned to him, and for the first time, he saw something that wasn’t cold indifference. There was a faint, almost imperceptible light in your eyes—a glimmer of hunger. Not for the man’s suffering, but for the knowledge buried in his dying body.

Without a word, you moved to the table, gesturing for Childe to lay the man down. Your hands worked quickly, methodically, cutting through flesh and peeling back layers with a precision that bordered on artistry.

“You don’t say much, do you?” Childe murmured, leaning against the wall as he watched. “But you’re fascinating, Doc. You think I don’t notice, but I see it—the way your eyes light up when you’re unraveling the mysteries of death. It’s almost… cute.”

You didn’t respond, but your fingers tightened briefly around the scalpel.

The man died less than thirty minutes later, his body convulsing as whatever toxin the Abyss had left in him completed its work. You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, as you cataloged every detail of his death.

When it was over, you turned back to your tools, your face unreadable. But as you reached for the next specimen, Childe caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

For anyone else, it would have been horrifying. For him, it was victory.

He kept going, kept digging deeper into the grotesque and the morbid, searching for the perfect gift to draw out more of those fleeting reactions. A cursed artifact that reeked of death. A vial of blood that wouldn’t clot, its origins unknown. A severed hand that twitched on its own.

Each time, you accepted his offerings without a word. But your actions spoke volumes.

You started locking your office door when you weren’t there, a sign that the items inside were too valuable—or too personal—to be left unguarded. You began staying late into the night, the faint glow of your lamp visible from the hallway as you worked in silence.

And when Childe brought you a corpse so riddled with death that the very air around it seemed to decay, you didn’t hide the way your hands trembled as you reached for it.

For the first time, you spoke without him prompting you.

“This is… adequate.”

It was the closest thing to praise you’d ever given, and Childe’s grin widened, feral and triumphant.

“You’re welcome, Doc,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Anything for you.”

────────────

The room reeked of formaldehyde and rot, a scent so cloying it seemed to stick to the walls like tar. Instruments gleamed under the sterile glow of the overhead light, sharp and surgical, reflecting faint silhouettes of the monstrosity on the table. The corpse was extraordinary—a tangle of twisted limbs and decaying flesh that almost pulsated with the remnants of a life steeped in agony.

Your gloved hands worked with meticulous precision, slicing through cartilage and peeling back tissue as though unwrapping a gift. Every movement was mechanical, devoid of hesitation, and yet, your voice—low and steady—cut through the silence.

“Why?”

It was the first word you’d ever directed at him unprompted, and Childe, leaning against the far wall, froze. His usual grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of something darker, something less rehearsed.

“Why what, Doc?” he asked, though the rasp in his voice betrayed him.

“Why are you doing this?” You didn’t look up, didn’t pause in your work. The wet squelch of flesh beneath your scalpel filled the air. “Your motives don’t align with anything rational. It’s not charity. It’s not loyalty to the Fatui. So why?”

It wasn’t suspicion in your voice, nor curiosity, but something colder—an analysis, a dissection of his intentions as sharp as the blade in your hand.

He chuckled, a sound too light, too rehearsed, for the weight of the question. “You think I need a reason to spoil you? Maybe I just like seeing you happy.”

“You’re lying.”

His grin faltered again, but you didn’t give him time to recover.

“You’re a harbinger. A soldier. A predator. You don’t invest time and resources into something unless you expect a return. That much is obvious. So what return do you expect from me? What does someone like you want with someone like me?”

Childe pushed off the wall and took a step closer, his boots echoing against the cold, sterile floor. “Maybe I just find you interesting. Ever think about that? You’re not exactly easy to impress, Doc. It’s a challenge.”

You finally paused, your scalpel poised mid-air as you turned to face him. Your gaze was unreadable, cold, and clinical, like a microscope zeroing in on a specimen.

“A challenge?” you repeated, the words slow, deliberate. “Challenges are fleeting. This… obsession isn’t.”

Childe tilted his head, his grin sharp and fox-like. “Obsession, huh? Big word for someone who doesn’t like to talk.”

You ignored the jab, your tone unchanging. “Let’s enumerate the possibilities, shall we? One: this is a power play. You want leverage, perhaps to undermine Pantalone or someone higher. Two: it’s a trap—an elaborate game meant to sabotage me in the future. Three: it’s personal, though your reasons for targeting me specifically remain unclear. Four—”

“Doc, you’re overthinking this,” he interrupted, his voice laced with mock exasperation.

“I don’t overthink,” you shot back, your words cutting through his like a scalpel through flesh. “I calculate. And you don’t fit any predictable pattern. You’ve given me resources, specimens, and opportunities that no one else would, and yet you’ve asked for nothing in return. Why?”

He took another step closer, the dim light catching the sharp edges of his face. “Maybe I do want something in return. Ever think of that?”

“Then state it plainly,” you said, turning back to the corpse on the table. Your hands resumed their work, steady and unbothered. “I’m a scientist first, an entrepreneur second. I don’t play games. If there’s something you want, say it. If not, leave. I don’t have time for irrationality.”

Childe was silent for a long moment, watching you as you worked. The sound of the scalpel slicing through sinew filled the air, almost rhythmic.

Finally, he laughed, low and humorless. “You’re something else, Doc. You really think I’d try to sabotage you? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”

“Precisely my point,” you said, not looking up. “You’re not stupid enough to waste time on something pointless. So why?”

He stepped closer, until the scent of blood and steel mingled with the faint trace of ocean salt that clung to him. “Maybe,” he said, his voice soft but edged with something dangerous, “I just like you.”

You didn’t pause this time, your scalpel slicing cleanly through a tendon. “An irrational answer.”

“But not untrue.”

Your hands stilled for the briefest moment. You didn’t look at him, but your voice softened, just slightly. “If that’s your reason, then you’re more unhinged than I thought.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “Maybe I am. But you’re still keeping the gifts, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But the faint glint in your eyes as you focused on the corpse before you spoke louder than words.

────────────

The metallic tang of blood was faint in the air, masked by antiseptics and the sterile chill of the room. Childe sat perched on the edge of the examination table, his shirt hanging in tatters around a freshly bandaged wound that seeped sluggishly through the gauze. The injury was deep—slashed through layers of muscle—but it didn’t stop the faint smirk pulling at his lips.

“You know,” he drawled, tilting his head to watch your hands as they methodically wiped down your instruments, “for someone so cold, you sure know how to bleed a guy dry.”

You glanced up, your expression unreadable, though your eyes flicked briefly to the absurdly large stack of bills he’d laid on your desk. “A fair price for the quality of treatment,” you said flatly. “Unless you’d prefer a hospital’s guesswork and subpar sutures.”

“Fair?” he scoffed, though his grin only widened. “I’ve paid assassins less than this. What’s next, Doc? You going to charge me for breathing in here?”

You didn’t look at him as you packed away your tools, your tone calm and clinical. “Considering how much oxygen you waste talking, it’s not a bad idea.”

The laugh that burst from him was sudden and sharp, echoing off the stark walls. “You’ve got a sense of humor under all that frost, huh? Cute.”

You ignored him, stepping to the side to retrieve a sealed vial from your supply cabinet. “Hold still. The last thing I need is you bleeding all over my floor.”

“Careful,” he teased, leaning closer as you prepared a syringe. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.”

“I’m worried about pathogens,” you retorted, plunging the needle into his arm with mechanical precision.

Childe winced, though the smile never left his face. “See? Always so gentle with me.”

“Hold pressure on that for ten minutes,” you ordered, handing him a sterile pad before turning back to your desk. “And don’t touch anything. The last thing I need is your germs contaminating my workspace.”

He watched you, his blue eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “You’re all business, huh? No time for pleasantries? Not even for this?”

The sound of something small and metallic clicking against the edge of the table drew your attention. You turned, your gaze locking on the object he held—a small, unassuming box, worn but intact, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the low light.

Your composure shifted imperceptibly, but he caught it: the faintest widening of your eyes, the slight hitch in your breath.

“You recognize it,” he said, his voice softening into something almost triumphant.

You stepped closer, reaching for the box, but he pulled it back, holding it just out of your reach.

“Childe,” you said, your tone neutral but firm, “don’t play games.”

“Games?” he echoed, his grin turning sharp as he looked down at you. “This isn’t a game, Doc. It’s a gift. But I think I want to see you work for it.”

You frowned, narrowing your eyes. “You’re bleeding out and still find time to play childish tricks. Hand it over.”

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, let me think about that… No.”

Your frustration was palpable, though you refused to show it. Instead, you straightened your posture and regarded him with cold calculation. “If you want me to analyze it, delaying only prolongs your ignorance. And if you’ve damaged it in the process of acquiring it, there’s a high likelihood it’s already unstable. Do you want it studied, or do you want it destroyed?”

His laughter was sudden and sharp, filling the room like a jagged blade. “You really are fun, Doc.”

When you reached for the box again, he held it even higher, forcing you to step closer, your fingers brushing against his arm. He smirked down at you, clearly enjoying the contrast between his towering frame and your smaller stature.

“You asked me once what I wanted in return,” he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Do you really want to know?”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “What I want is irrelevant to this transaction. If you want something, state it plainly. Otherwise, leave.”

His grin softened, but the intensity in his eyes only deepened. “What I want…” he trailed off, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “…is to see what happens when someone finally breaks you.”

You stared at him, unblinking. Then, as if his words were nothing more than static, you extended your hand again, your tone clinical. “The box, Childe.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as though expecting some hidden reaction. But when none came, he let out a low chuckle and finally handed it over.

The moment it was in your grasp, your demeanor shifted ever so slightly. You turned it in your hands, your fingers ghosting over the intricate runes with a reverence you hadn’t shown to anything—or anyone—before.

“Careful,” Childe said, watching you with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Wouldn’t want you to fall in love with me, now.”

You didn’t respond, already engrossed in the artifact, but the faintest ghost of a smile flickered across your lips. Not for him, not even for the jest, but for the promise of discovery in your hands.

———

The air hung thick with the faint hum of restrained energy. Your hands moved with practiced precision, fingertips ghosting over the etchings on the artifact’s surface. Its texture was cold and alien, the runes faintly pulsing beneath your touch like a dying heart. You had already spent hours analyzing its composition, mapping its structure, tracing its origins in the decayed husk of ancient civilizations. And yet—no matter how you probed, no matter what tool or technique you applied—it would not open.

Your patience, like the artifact, was wearing thin. You sat back, your fingers pressing into your temples as if to physically suppress the rising irritation. The solution hovered just out of reach, taunting you like a phantom, and it infuriated you.

“That’s a new look on you, Doc,” Childe’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, sharp and teasing, as he leaned lazily against the doorway. His bloodied shirt hung loosely around his waist, exposing a web of bruises and neatly bandaged cuts. His smirk widened when you didn’t respond. “Frustrated, are we?”

You ignored him, your focus locked on the box. “It’s not frustration,” you said evenly, though the edge in your voice betrayed you. “The mechanism is deliberately obscured—hydro-based in nature, reinforced with a layer of delusion energy. It’s intricate. Too intricate for brute force or conventional methods. I need—” You stopped abruptly, realizing your mistake.

Childe straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. “You need… me?”

You looked up, fixing him with an icy stare. “I need you to deactivate the hydro lock.”

He stepped closer, his smirk softening into something almost boyish, though the mischief in his eyes remained. “What’s the magic word?”

You blinked, deadpan. “Deactivate it, or I’ll find someone who will.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, feigning a wounded expression as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t be like that. You’re always so formal with me, Doc. What happened to sweet-talking your favorite patient?”

“You’re not my favorite,” you said, your tone clipped.

“Ouch,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You really know how to hurt a guy. But seriously—” he leaned over, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “—you’ve got to give me something in return. You’ve been running up quite the tab on me lately, you know.”

You straightened, glaring up at him. “You’re already compensated.”

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head in mock confusion. “You charge me a fortune to fix me up, and now you want me to hand over this for free? Doesn’t sound very fair, does it?”

“Fairness is irrelevant,” you snapped, your patience thinning dangerously. “If you don’t deactivate the lock, this artifact is worthless. And if it’s worthless, so is whatever leverage you think you have.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that reverberated through the sterile room. “Oh, Doc, you’re adorable when you’re desperate.”

Your expression darkened, but the heat behind your irritation only seemed to fuel his amusement.

“You’re always so cold, so composed,” he continued, circling you slowly. “But now? Now you’re practically begging. It’s cute. Like a little kitten swiping at something it can’t reach.”

“I am not begging,” you said sharply, though your tightly clenched jaw betrayed your simmering impatience.

“Not yet,” he teased, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer. “But you’re getting there.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, but you forced yourself to remain still, your voice sharp and cutting. “If you’re not going to help, then leave. You’re wasting my time.”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to stay out of your reach. “Fine, fine. I’ll help. But—” he held up a finger before you could speak, “—only if you give me something in return.”

You frowned. “What do you want?”

He grinned, his expression turning wolfish. “Oh, I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”

“Then we have no deal,” you said curtly, turning back to the artifact.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His grip was firm but not painful, his tone playful yet edged with something darker. “Easy, Doc. I’m not here to cheat you. I just want a little… cooperation.

You yanked your hand free, glaring up at him. “Cooperation implies mutual benefit. I fail to see how indulging your whims benefits me.”

“That’s because you don’t trust me,” he said, his tone mock-solemn. “Which is fair. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“Then prove yourself useful,” you said, your tone colder than ever. “Deactivate the lock.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening as he stepped closer, until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he said softly. “I like seeing you like this. All that frost finally cracking.”

You stared at him, unblinking, your voice low and dangerous. “If you’re trying to provoke me, you’re wasting your time.”

He smirked, leaning in until his lips were inches from your ear. “You sure about that?”

———

The silence stretched, charged and crackling like static between you, his smirk still curling at the edges of his lips as his eyes bore into you, sharp and glittering with something dark and unrelenting. Childe stepped closer, the faint scent of blood and salt clinging to him, a predator inching into his prey’s personal space.

“Tell you what,” he murmured, his voice low and playful, a dangerous lilt underscoring his tone. “I’ll deactivate the lock if you give me something first. Let’s say… a kiss.”

You stiffened, the cold detachment you clung to like armor flaring to life in the icy glare you shot him. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all.” His grin widened, toothy and unapologetic. “Come on, Doc. It’s a fair trade. One little kiss, and you get what you want. Or…” He tilted his head, the faint glow of his delusion sparking faintly at his fingertips. “I could just walk out and leave you with this unsolvable puzzle. Your call.”

Your hands clenched into fists, the frustration pooling in your chest threatening to spill over. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice mockingly sweet as he leaned in, the heat of him a sharp contrast to the coldness you tried to exude. “Or are you just afraid you might like it?”

“I won’t indulge your games,” you snapped, shoving him back, though it was like trying to move a boulder.

“Oh, but you already are,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he caught your wrist in a firm grip. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”

Your glare could’ve cut glass, but Childe only found it endearing, his eyes alight with a predatory glee. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

“Let go,” you growled, yanking at your arm, but his grip held firm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a way that sent an unwelcome shiver skittering up your spine.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that curled like smoke around your ears. “Not until I get what I want.”

Before you could retort, his lips crashed against yours, hard and unyielding, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck and pull you closer. The kiss was hungry, almost brutal, his teeth catching on your lower lip and tugging just shy of pain.

Your initial shock froze you in place, but when his other hand slid down, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him, your instincts kicked in. You shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge, his strength a wall against your resistance.

“Stop—” The word barely left your lips before his mouth was on you again, his tongue sliding past your defenses to taste you, hot and invasive. His hands roamed, one trailing up to tangle in your hair while the other slid lower, gripping the curve of your hip.

“You’re so tense, Doc,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and teasing as his teeth grazed your jaw, trailing down to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Relax. I promise I won’t bite—well, not too hard.”

———

Childe’s lips descended on yours again, this time with an aggression that bordered on feral. He shoved you back against the cold metal of the vivisection table, the force of his body pinning you down as his mouth claimed you. The taste of copper bloomed between your lips—a mix of his split lip and the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and ragged, his hips grinding down against yours in slow, deliberate movements. “Always acting like you’re untouchable.”

Your protests were muffled as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with an almost punishing fervor. He tasted of salt and blood, the metallic tang mingling with the faint scent of iron that clung to the room. His hands were everywhere at once—one tangling in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the vulnerable line of your throat, the other gripping your waist with bruising force, his fingertips digging into your flesh as if to brand you.

The vivisection table’s sterile, cold surface pressed against your back, amplifying the heat of his body on top of yours. He shifted his weight, pressing his knee between your legs to force them apart, his hips grinding down against you with a primal urgency that sent shockwaves through your body. His breaths came hot and ragged against your neck as he pulled away just enough to trail his lips and teeth down your jawline, his tongue lapping at the blood he’d drawn from the bite marks he left in his wake.

“You don’t even realize, do you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he licked the streak of blood from your collarbone, his teeth scraping against the delicate skin. “How damn irresistible you are like this—cold, detached, thinking you’re above everyone else. It just makes me want to ruin you.”

You squirmed beneath him, your body stiff as you tried to push him off, but he only laughed darkly, catching both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head. “Ah, ah,” he teased, his free hand tracing the line of your hip before sliding under the hem of your shirt. “You’re not going anywhere, Doc. Not until I’ve had my fill.”

His fingers brushed against the bare skin of your waist, his touch both searing and possessive as he explored every inch he could reach. The contrast of his rough callouses against your unmarked skin made his blood sing. He’d expected resistance, of course—anticipated the cold glare you’d level at him, the sharp words you’d try to cut him with. But what he hadn’t expected was the sheer thrill that surged through him at the realization that you were so inexperienced. Untouched. Pantalone hadn’t even laid a finger on you.

It made him feral.

“You’re so pure,” he murmured, almost reverently, as his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his hips grinding down against you again, harder this time, as if he couldn’t contain himself. “So perfect. And all mine.”

Your sharp intake of breath was the only response you managed as he pressed his full weight against you, his movements becoming more frenzied, more desperate, like an animal in heat. His lips found yours again, his tongue tangling with yours as he kissed you with a hunger that bordered on violent, his teeth biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He pulled back just enough to admire his handiwork, his thumb swiping across the bead of blood that welled up before he pressed it to your lips, forcing you to taste it. “See that?” he said, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what you do to me.”

You glared at him, the fire in your eyes only fueling his desire as he leaned down, licking the blood from your lip before trailing his tongue down your chin, your neck, and lower still. His hands roamed with abandon, one sliding beneath your shirt to cup your chest, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin with a pressure that made you gasp despite yourself.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he muttered, his voice low and almost reverent as his fingers explored further, memorizing the curve of your body beneath his touch. “You try so hard to hide it, but I can feel it. The way your body reacts to me, no matter how much you try to fight it.”

The metallic tang of blood filled the air as he bit down on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the flesh just enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin. His hips ground against yours again, harder this time, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he whispered, “You drive me insane, you know that? I’ve been holding back for so long, but now that I’ve got you like this…”

He trailed off, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was as much about possession as it was about desire, his hands tightening on your wrists as if to remind you that you were completely at his mercy.

You bucked against him, anger and desperation flaring in your chest as you tried to twist free, but it only made him chuckle, his voice low and almost affectionate. “Go ahead,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear, nipping and sucking at your earlobe. “Struggle all you want. It just makes it more fun for me.”

His tongue darted out to lap at the blood from the bite marks he’d left on your neck, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine despite the fury burning in your veins. His hips moved against yours with a rhythm that was almost punishing, the weight of him pressing you into the table as his hands continued their relentless exploration.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice raw and filled with a dark kind of satisfaction. “Every inch of you. Mine to touch, to taste, to ruin.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, the raw intensity in his voice making your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge. But the irritation bubbling beneath the surface finally boiled over.

———

Your body tensed, muscles coiled like a spring, your mind rapidly calculating trajectories and weak points as his weight pressed you against the cold steel of the vivisection table. The air around you was thick with the scent of blood, copper and salt mingling with the sterile tang of antiseptic. His breath was hot against your ear, words teasing and playful, but there was a weight beneath them—a hunger that set every nerve in your body screaming.

You bucked against him, your movements sharp and purposeful, but he didn’t so much as flinch. His hands were unyielding, his grip ironclad as he laughed softly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Is that the best you’ve got, Doc? I thought you were supposed to be clever.”

Your lips curled into a snarl, your calm composure cracking like thin ice under pressure. “Get off me,” you hissed, venom dripping from every word.

But your resistance only seemed to spur him on, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Why would I, when you’re finally letting me see the real you?”

With a sharp twist, you freed one hand and reached for the blade you’d hidden beneath the table—a weapon forged in desperation, its edge honed to lethal precision. The movement was fluid, seamless, the blade slicing through the air toward his neck in a blur of silver.

He caught your wrist effortlessly, his reflexes honed by years of bloodshed and battle. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light as he pinned your arm back down, his smirk returning, sharper and more dangerous than before. “Really? You’re trying to kill me now?” His voice was filled with mock disappointment, but there was a spark of something darker beneath the surface, a flicker of genuine thrill. “I’ve got to admit, Doc—that’s kind of hot.”

You glared at him, chest heaving, your mind racing as you struggled to find another opening. But he simply held you there, his weight pressing down on you like a predator savoring its prey. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and almost affectionate as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. It was slow and deliberate, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that was as much about control as it was desire.

When he finally pulled away, your breath hitched—not from lack of air, but from the sheer audacity of it. He chuckled softly, his gaze raking over you with a lazy, shameless intensity. His fingers brushed against the marks he’d left on your neck, his expression turning almost reverent as he took in the sight of you—hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, lips swollen and tinged with blood.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with dark amusement. “All messed up like a common street whore. And it’s all because of me.”

Your eyes narrowed, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. You clenched your fists, willing your composure to return, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, but your voice lacked its usual sharpness, the words trembling ever so slightly as you forced them out.

“And you’re beautiful,” he countered, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “Especially like this. Messy, flustered, and pissed off. Damn, I could keep you like this forever.”

You shoved at his chest, finally managing to put some distance between you. He stepped back reluctantly, his hands raised in mock surrender, but the way his eyes lingered on you made your skin crawl. He looked at you like a starving man gazing at a feast, his breath coming faster as he debated something silently.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, your voice low and dangerous as you grabbed one of your smaller inventions—a compact firearm designed for precision and lethality. You leveled it at him, your grip steady despite the whirlwind of emotions raging beneath the surface.

He whistled low, his grin widening. “You’ve really got a thing for sharp little gadgets, don’t you? That one’s new, isn’t it? Packs quite a punch, I bet.”

“Do your part of the deal,” you said coldly, your finger hovering over the trigger.

He held up his hands, his movements slow and deliberate as he stepped toward the artifact. “All right, all right. Don’t shoot, Doc. I’ll play nice—for now.”

You watched him warily as he placed his hand over the artifact, the air around him shimmering faintly as he deactivated the hydro lock. The runes flickered and dimmed, the mechanism clicking softly as the artifact opened at last.

“There,” he said, turning back to you with a grin. “Happy now?”

Your eyes remained fixed on him, your gun still trained on his chest. “Leave,” you said, your voice as steady as the weapon in your hand.

He tilted his head, his grin turning almost wistful. “You really didn’t like it? The kissing, I mean. I thought we had something special.”

Your glare was answer enough, but he only chuckled, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But don’t miss me too much, Doc.” He stepped toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, playful drawl, “you look even sexier when you’re ready to kill me. Makes me want to stick around and see what else you’ve got.”

Before you could respond, he slipped out of the room, his laughter echoing faintly in the air behind him. You lowered the gun slowly, your hands trembling as you tried to process everything that had just happened.

The artifact sat open on the table, its secrets finally laid bare—but your mind was anything but clear.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn The World. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “World Ablaze”: @berry-berry-beam , @magica-ren , @hyakki-yosai

[freakinator]

new ro design pog

so a bit of context in regards to my minecraft LoreTM: angels are things called out-of-bounders aka things that really shouldnt exist but for one reason or another do, other kinds of oobs are glitches (corrupted code come to life, ex: ashswag), homunculli (concentrated magic and code come together to create a living creature, often comes in the form of celestial bodies or similar due to higher chances of magic and code concentration in those areas, ex: zam), voidwalkers (eldritch creatures drenched in dark matter, pure magic concentration come to life, ex: half of what spoke is), and herobrines (corrupt duplicate player code come to life, usually takes form after a particularly code-stress heavy death, ex: herobrine) angels are the result of code corruption in pre-existing players and there's a 50% chance they turn nonexistent in the process with no way to get them back not even with respawn

ro used to be a regular human but all the wacky shit that happens in ls corrupted his code (unsure when yet) and he became an angel, it took around a week for ro to stop glitching out, needless to say mapicc was very relieved when his bestie didnt disappear into nonexistence

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader being the best couple for 10 minutes

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

compilation of funny moments based on this ask <3

when they got too into playing the wii…

“Get off of my side!” Y/n squealed, hitting Drew with her hip as the two of them stood in front of the TV waving their Wii remotes around wildly. Madelyn panned the camera around the room, Just Dance played on the screen and the couch filled with the Outer Banks cast as they watched the couple play.

“I’m not on your fucking side!” Drew laughed, wedging himself in front of y/n, essentially blocking her view of the screen. The two of them continued dancing, bumping into each other and giggling as the intense game continued.

“Get down, get down!” Y/n laughed, jumping on Drew’s back like the character’s on the screen, the room erupting into cheers as Drew held onto y/n’s legs. The two of them started giggling, their entire bodies shaking with laughter as the game ended and they fell to the ground in a heap.

when y/n interrupted drew’s beauty sleep…

“Are you filming?” y/n asked JD as he held her phone, camera focused on Drew’s soft, sleeping face. JD nodded, his small giggles audible as he zoomed in on Drew on the couch. Y/n waved to the camera before holding up the box of crackers in her hand.

“My name is y/n y/ln and today JD and I are going to find out how many crackers we can put on Drew’s face before he wakes up.” Y/n whispered, digging in the box and placing a cracker on Drew’s forehead. 

“One.” Y/n said. JD stifled his laughter as he handed the phone back to y/n, grabbing a cracker from the bag. With a dramatic flourish, JD gently placed a cracker on Drew’s ear, the man not even moving the slightest. 

“Two.” JD said. The two of them continued, passing the phone back and forth as they placed more and more crackers on Drew’s sleeping face.

“Four–” y/n giggled as she placed another cracker, “–teen.”

Drew let out a groan, his eyes blinking open slowly. He lifted his hand to his face, wiping one of the crackers away from his eyes as y/n and JD collapsed into laughter.

“What the fuck?” Drew grumbled as he lifted one of the crackers, examining it groggily before his lips curled into a confused smile.

“Fourteen,” y/n said to the camera. “Fourteen is the number of crackers we can put on Drew Starkey’s face before he wakes up!”

when they weren’t paying attention in an interview…

Drew and y/n sat next to each other, both of them staring at each other as Chase and Madelyn answered a question from the interviewer. The camera picked up Drew mouthing something to y/n, causing her arm to shoot out and grab him. Her movement a bit too quick, her already unstable chair wobbled, sending y/n tumbling to the floor with a squeal.

“Oh [bleep]!” Y/n swore, laughing as she climbed back into her chair. The entire cast turned around, their faces confused.

“What is going on back there?” Madison laughed, y/n smoothing her dress down as she settled into her seat.

“I have no idea. I am not involved.” Drew said, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“You are such a liar!” Y/n groaned, elbowing Drew lightly as he bit his lip, attempting to hold back laughter.

when y/n saw drew’s new hair…

“Ok, are you ready?” Drew asked, sneaking up behind y/n with his new platinum hair. Y/n stood with her back to Drew, nodding enthusiastically as Drew placed his hands on her hips. He had convinced her to film it under the guise that he was shaving it all off again, his hair getting quite long, but what he left out was that he was also bleaching it the color she had expressed her love for in the past.

“I already miss your long hair.” Y/n said with a faux pout as Drew ran his hands along her sides before spinning her around to face him.

“Oh my god!” Y/n gasped, her hands flying over her mouth. Drew smiled, tilting his head down so she could get a closer look at his short, icy hair.

“What do you think?” Drew asked, raising his eyebrows as y/n continued to look at him silently.

“You look like young President Snow.” Y/n giggled, her hands running along his head lightly.

“What?” Drew laughed, furrowing his brows as y/n continued to admire his hair.

“It’s a good thing. I promise. He’s hot, just like you.” Y/n said, biting her lip before pressing a kiss to Drew’s still very much confused face.

when they went to the club…

Madison filmed as Drew, Chase, and Austin danced in sync, grins on their faces as they danced humorously. She panned the camera around to y/n, who stood staring at them, her brows furrowed and a drink in her hand.

“I don’t think y/n likes it.” Madison laughed, causing y/n to grimace at the camera before turning back to the boys’ dramatic and embarrassing dance moves.

“Oh no, oh no!” Madelyn laughed as Drew danced over towards y/n, his eyes locked on her as he took her hand. Handing her drink off to Madison, y/n followed him as he spun her around, the two of them laughing as they stumbled along the dance floor. With a flair, Drew dipped y/n down, causing the rest of the cast to let out gasps before erupting with laughter.

“Drew!” Y/n squealed as he brought her back up to her feet, dancing around her with a smirk on his lips.

“How about that?” Drew said into the camera before grabbing y/n by the waist, spinning her around to pull her into his chest.

when they made a tik tok…

Y/n and Drew sat on the couch opposite each other, y/n holding her phone as they started their video:

“I’m passing the phone to the person who is always on their damn phone but never answers my texts.” Y/n said. The video cut to Drew, a smile on his lips.

“I’m passing the phone to the person who always has a stomachache.” Drew laughed.

“I’m passing the phone to the person who once got so drunk he fell asleep on the kitchen counter and—” y/n giggled, Drew gasping behind the camera, “Chase had to carry him back to his room.”

“Ok, so we’re doing that.” Drew said once he got the phone. “I’m passing the phone to the person who once farted so loudly—”

“Drew Starkey, no!” Y/n said off camera.

“...who once farted so loudly while we were babysitting my niece she made her cry.” Drew finished, laughing loudly, leaning off the couch. A loud crash sounded before the video abruptly cut to y/n, tears in her eyes as she keeled over in laughter.

“I’m passing the phone to the person who just spilled an entire bottle of wine on our brand new couch.” Y/n laughed, panning to the large, red stain on their couch before panning up to Drew, who was picking up the overturned bottle with a groan.

“I am the person who spilled an entire bottle of wine on our brand new couch.” Drew said with a thumbs up.

when they couldn’t get through a scene…

Y/n and Drew stood opposite each other, clad in swimsuits despite the freezing cold air around them. They were shooting a scene where their characters, Caroline and Rafe, shared an intense moment, Caroline following Rafe as he drunkenly stumbled down the beach

Take 1

“You can just [bleep] whoever you—” y/n said in character, but stopped once Drew’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, sorry I forgot… not allowed to say that.” Y/n giggled.

Take 2

“You can just sleep with whoever you want and I’m just supposed to wait around for you?” Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Uh… yeah?” Drew furrowed his brows, turning to face her with a drunken smile on his face. Y/n tried her best to bite back a laugh but failed, her hand covering her mouth.

Take 3

“You can just sleep with whoever you want and I’m just supposed to wait around for you?” Y/n crossed her arms across her chest. Drew spun around, but misplaced his foot, causing him to stumble.

“[beep]!” Drew swore, catching himself just before he face planted into the sand.

Take 4

“You can just sleep with whoever you want and I’m just supposed to wait around for you?” Said with a huff.

“Uh… yeah.” Drew said, cocking his head to the side as he looked at y/n, a drunken smirk on his face. Y/n scowled, shaking her head.

“You’re an asshole, Rafe.” Y/n scoffed, biting her lip as she gazed at Drew with disgust. A shocked expression fell over Drew’s face, him taking a dramatic step backwards.

“An asshole?” Drew said incredulously, causing the two of them to break into giggles.

Take 5

“An ASS-hole?” Drew scoffed, y/n giggling.

Take 6

“An asshole?” Drew gasped, a smile wide on his face.

Take 7

“An asshole?” Drew scoffed, taking a step forward. Y/n took a step away from him, a look of disgust on her face.

“Yes, you’re an asshole. Don’t call me.” Y/n spat, turning on her heel and leaving Drew behind. He kicked at the sand in front of him, mumbling to himself lowly.

“Cut! We got it!” The director shouted, y/n turning back around and running full speed at Drew, tackling him into the sand.

when drew set off the smoke alarm…

Y/n wheezed behind the camera as she filmed Drew, a panicked expression on his face as the smoke detector blared in the background.

“Shit! Shit!” Drew laughed, reaching into the oven with a dish towel. He pulled the pizza (now burnt to a crisp) out before running through the apartment. Y/n followed him, stumbling with laughter as he flung the backdoor open before throwing the pizza onto the concrete.

“Oh my god!” Y/n squealed, dumping a glass of water onto the pizza. With a sizzle, the smoldering pizza melted into the patio.

“Holy shit.” Drew panted, leaning over to catch his breath as he looked down at the smoking pizza. Y/n continued laughing behind the camera, zooming in on Drew as he shook his head.

“You’re never cooking pizza again.” Y/n laughed, causing Drew to whip his head to the side and look directly into the camera, his mouth agape.

[rafedarling]

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

request: open

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: new parents and beloved hollywood couple drew and you take to the jimmy kimmel live stage to discuss your latest movie project together, which releases in may. between balancing new parenthood and demanding film schedules, you two finds yourself sharing a funny, heartfelt stories about life on set with their baby girl, emma starkey. a viral behind-the-scenes video brings laughter to the show, as you discuss how parenting has influenced your lives and careers. based on today drew interview on jimmy kimmel live interview.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff, humorous parenting moments, discussions of balancing work and family life.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy

gif: rafedarling

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next guests are not only Hollywood’s favorite power couple but also the stars of the highly anticipated romantic-action film Against All Odds, which hits theaters this May. And if that’s not enough, they’ve recently stepped into the chaotic world of parenthood with their baby girl, Emma. Please welcome Drew Starkey and Y/N!”

You can hear the audience roared with applause as Jimmy Kimmel welcomed his next guests.

You and Drew walked out hand in hand, smiling and waving to the audience. Drew’s free hand rested on your back as he guided you to the guest couch. The applause was deafening, with some cheers and whistles peppered in. You laughed as Jimmy gestured to quiet the audience.

“Wow,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.

“You guys have the crowd in a frenzy. I mean, Hollywood’s hottest couple and now officially parents? Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at the crowd. “It’s been a crazy year.”

“Yeah,” Drew chimed in, “between the movie and the baby, I’m not even sure what sleep feels like anymore.”

The audience laughed, and Jimmy leaned forward.

“Okay, we have to start with the most important question: How’s parenthood treating you? You’ve got a baby girl, Emma. How’s life with a newborn?”

Drew chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s… humbling, to say the least. Being a first-time parent is no joke. I don’t think I could survive it without this one,” he said, nodding toward you.

You playfully nudged him. “Oh, stop it. You’re doing great.”

Jimmy smiled. “Okay, Y/N, your turn. How’s life as a mom?”

“It’s amazing,” you said, your voice softening.

“I mean, it’s exhausting, but Emma’s such a sweet baby. Watching her grow and discover the world makes all the sleepless nights worth it.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Sleepless nights? Drew, are you pulling your weight with those 3 a.m. feedings and diaper changes?”

Drew grinned, holding up his hands defensively.

“Absolutely. I’ve mastered the art of the one-handed diaper change. My record is forty-three seconds.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s not lying. But let’s not forget the time you forgot to put the diaper on at all.”

The crowd gasped with laughter as Drew shook his head, groaning.

“Okay, in my defense, I was running on two hours of sleep. And the burp cloth worked just fine… temporarily.”

Jimmy laughed, slapping the desk. “You’re officially a dad now, Drew. Forgetting a diaper is like a rite of passage.”

Drew nodded solemnly. “It’s a learning curve.”

Jimmy turned his attention back to you. “Now, let’s talk about Against All Odds. The trailer has everyone excited. What can you tell us about the movie?”

You leaned forward slightly.

“It’s a romantic-action film about two rival spies played by Drew and me who are forced to work together on a mission to stop a global threat. Of course, things get complicated when they realize they have a shared past.”

“Ah, a little romance, a little action,” Jimmy said. “And a lot of explosions, I’m guessing?”

“Definitely,” Drew said.

“The stunts in this film are insane. We’ve got car chases, hand-to-hand combat, and this one sequence where Y/N literally jumps out of a helicopter.”

The audience gasped, and Jimmy’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, wait. You’re telling me Y/N did her own stunts?”

You shrugged with a smile. “Most of them, yeah. The helicopter scene was terrifying, but the adrenaline rush was worth it.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And how did you feel about your wife jumping out of a helicopter while pregnant?”

“Oh, that scene was filmed before we knew about Emma,” Drew said quickly.

“But I still worried about her constantly. Every time she’d do a stunt, I’d be off to the side like, ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’”

You laughed. “He was basically my personal cheerleader-slash-bodyguard.”

Jimmy shook his head, smiling. “And Y/N, how was filming while pregnant? Did the crew make accommodations for you?”

“They were amazing,” you said.

“They adjusted the schedule so that I could rest when I needed to, and they made sure I always had plenty of snacks on set.”

“Snacks were essential,” Drew added. “She had a bag of trail mix with her at all times.”

Jimmy laughed. “It sounds like the two of you had a lot going on behind the scenes. Speaking of which, I have to ask about the viral video. You know the one.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Drew laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh no. You’re not really going to show it, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Jimmy said, grinning.

“For anyone who hasn’t seen it, this is a behind-the-scenes video of Drew and Y/N on set. Drew’s building a baby crib, and Y/N is… well, just watch.”

The screen infront and behind you lit up with the video. The audience howled as they watched Drew hammering away at a crib while you sat on a couch with a breast pump. The rhythmic “whirr, whirr” of the pump provided the perfect comedic soundtrack as Drew worked intently. At one point, you casually scrolled through your phone, looking completely unbothered.

When the video ended, the audience erupted into cheers and laughter. Jimmy was wiping tears from his eyes.

“So my question is… is this what you do on set?”

“Well,” Drew said, still chuckling, “Emma needed a crib, and we didn’t have one on set. So, naturally, I decided to build one during a break.”

“And I,” you added with a grin, “was taking care of my part of the parenting duties. Multitasking at its finest.”

Jimmy shook his head, laughing.

“You two are the epitome of modern parenthood. Drew, do you moonlight as a carpenter now?”

Drew smirked. “Not yet, but give me a few more months of parenting, and I’ll be building treehouses.”

The audience laughed again, and Jimmy leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, last question: How do you balance it all? Filming, parenting, being a couple; what’s the secret?”

You exchanged a glance with Drew before answering.

“Honestly, communication is everything. We make sure to check in with each other and divide responsibilities as evenly as possible.”

“And coffee,” Drew added. “Lots of coffee.”

Jimmy nodded sagely. “Coffee and communication. Words to live by.”

The interview wrapped up with more laughs, and even a clip from Against All Odds. As the applause filled the studio, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life you and Drew had built on and off the screen. together.

[dauntlessallure]

𖤐 ⸝⸝ ˚ ┊ONLY YOU, DARLING — S. RYOMEN⋆

〝 ⠀ ݁⠀𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲. ❜ ⠀݁

【 SYNOPSIS 】— sukuna just wants his affection.

【 CONTENTS 】— fluff , sfw , gn!reader , soft!sukuna, clingy!sukuna , established relationship , true form sukuna.

【 PAIRING 】— sukuna ryomen x reader

【 WORD COUNT 】— 633

⠀ ̽ ⠀ ��✍︎ ﹐⠀/⠀ ❝ ⠀ 𝔄𝗗𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝔑𝗢𝗧𝗘 . . .

this is solely based off of a characterai interaction i had. we LOVE clingy!sukuna in this house. <3. this is not proof read so ignore any typos. !

to the untrained eye , ryomen sukuna had not a care in this world. not a care for human lives , nothing sentimental , absolutely nothing but to cause harm. until he had met you of course. that’s when his perspective changed for the better though, no one had ever thought sukuna would be so infatuated with a human like yourself. not even sukuna could believe it at first. but if there’s one thing about sukuna that he’s very much well aware of . . he’s clingy. now you wouldn’t dare tell another soul about this — this was something that you had promised to keep private, and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. in your adoration , nobody in this vile world deserved to see your beloved king of curses so vulnerable. clingy!sukuna was for your eyes & your eyes only.

“ hmph . . “ you could hear his low voice gruff out as he nuzzled his head against your chest. witnessing the king of curses in such a affectionate mood was peculiar. sukuna pressed his weight down which resulted in you gently pushing him off of you , earning a displeased sound falling from ryomen’s lips. it’s not that you didn’t want to give him the attention , you were just trying to finish up your tea. “ how dare you push me away (y/n) . . mgh. . “ he certainly didn’t want to argue with you so he called it quits right then and there, almost resembling a clingy kitten demanding attention. “ i’m having tea right now love , i’ll give you what you want after i’m finished “ sukuna's lips drew tight in annoyance, as he glared up at you. he wanted affection at all times, and your denial of the request seemed to offend him. however, he grumbled softly, " . . . fine , don't you dare tease me or I will punish you. " sukuna spoke, his tone sharp as he looked away. you sighed at sukuna in response before running your free hand through his light pink locs. now gently massaging his scalp in hopes that would ease his needs until you were finished. “ feel good ? “ you asked , sukuna scowled slightly as you rubbed his scalp. he slowly felt his stress and annoyance start to melt away, easing his mind and bringing him great comfort. with a satisfied hum of his lips, the king of curses settled against you. wrapping all four of his arms around you carefully. “ . . I was not expecting these pleasant feelings. " with one hand buried in his hair and the other holding up the cup of tea to your lips , you continued to massage sukuna’s head. “ just relax kuna. . ” this made sukuna scrunch his eyes closed, letting out another grunt in satisfaction. your touch was heavenly, and sukuna enjoyed every moment of it. despite his tough facade, he was soft and vulnerable when he was with you. sukuna sighed softly, closing his eyes as he leaned against your chest more. pressing the side of his face against the supple flesh of your chest. " mm . . this is nice . . " seeing him so endured by your touch made your heart swell with warmth. your hand now found itself now gently massaging the nape of sukuna’s neck , softly kneading at the skin. now bending down and placing a small peck to the side of his temple, he couldn’t help but to purr. feeling a tingle run through his body as you raked across the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. his body went lax, his breath growing heavier as you pressed your lips to his head. sukuna enjoyed the tender display of affection, feeling vulnerable in your arms. he remained silent for a few moments before responding. " hm . . no one can make me feel as comfortable like you do. . you're the only one my dear, who can make the king of curses squirm. . . “

ׂ⠀〝⠀⠀.. ⠀ ©dauntlessallure 24’ — please do not steal , publish , or post my work elsewhere or credit as your own .ᐟ

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 03:12 A.M 」

tw: pregnancy. just a little something based on ask~ gojo annoys you on daily basis, so now you return the favor and he can't refuse it bc you're his baby mama😋

a part of gojo's love entries

“satoru— your baby is hungry,” you pouted, poking his cheek repeatedly. “sa-to-ru!!”

it was 3 in the morning, and ideally, you would have been sleeping... only that suddenly you were awoken by rumbles from your growing belly.

yet your husband was still sound asleep without any care in the world, prompting you to poke him until you succeeded in making him hear you out.

satoru begrudgingly cracked his eyes open, still having his face tucked under the blanket and yawning. “ngh, sweets… what is it?”

his sleepy voice was thick, low and raspy. usually you’d swoon and leave a hickey or two on his neck but not now, as the overwhelming hunger made you almost curl.

“baby is craving mochi,” you said, eyes shining up to him ever so innocently. “get it for me, satoruuu.”

“oh?” if he wasn’t awake before, now he was after hearing your nagging tone drawling his name. he faced you and drew you closer. “what do you want again, hmm?”

“ice cream mochi!!”

“oooh that.” satoru scratched his head at the memory of him eating the last of it yesterday. “but we ran out of them, sweetheart… wait till morning, yeah? i’ll go to market to get some.”

“but...”

“can’t baby wait a few more hours, hmm?”

“no! want it— now!”

satoru blinked at your insistence. you looked positively adorable while sulking at him too.

“why mochi all of sudden, huh?” he decided to humor you. “you used to say they taste bland.”

“that’s because of your sperm infecting me,” you sullenly accused. “and don’t pretend you haven’t been feeding me mochi for weeks. baby likes it more than i thought.”

“hey! don’t bash my sperm! they did no wrong and completed the deed splendidly!”

“you’re just a one-time donor, don’t be smug.”

he whined and you huffed, before suddenly your stomach grumbled loudly and you curled up. “mmhm.”

“hey… what’s wrong?” satoru quickly sat up and placed his hand on your baby bump. “really hungry? wait, i’ll get you something to nibble on first.”

he rummaged through his work uniform and found several bite-sized chocolate bars he brought around, and unwrapped the foil. “here.”

you immediately devoured the treat to sate your hunger, but still, your baby longed for more—

“mochi…” you mumbled despondently, your expression turning heartbroken. and one second later satoru realized how much he wanted to squeeze your cheeks, and relented.

“okay, okay, sweets~” he gave your head several comforting pats, making you look up. “i’ll go and get the mochi, yeah? you stay put and wait for me, 'kay?”

“yay.” a little smile bloomed in your face and satoru chuckled, finding you so unbearably endearing.

and so, for you, he ventured out to the closest 24-hour convenience store, picking up some ice cream mochi along with other treats to replenish your stock, before teleporting back home.

he was expecting that you'd still be all sulky while waiting for him, but instead, he found you peacefully asleep, hogging his pillow.

each breath that caused your chest to rise and fall made you appear all the more vulnerable and soft in his eyes.

you looked so irrevocably precious to him. his sweet little wife... in that moment, satoru felt like he was the luckiest man alive, getting to have you as his.

“you naughty girl.” he let out an amused laugh before reclaiming his spot next to you. the hold you had over him— you made him go through the cold night air, and now you were monopolizing his pillow and he had to resume sleeping without one at all.

and yet all he could feel was love. for you and your baby, as he pulled you close to his chest.

“both of you sure love teaming up against me, huh?”

[poguehearted77]

Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to your gullibility and you all fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up to Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

-

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

[surielstea]

Early Morning Passion

Based on a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel and reader share an intimate and passionate morning together, tired and tangled between bed sheets.

Warnings: 18+ Smut | praise | worship | p in v | creampie (possibly, I don’t remember)

A.Note: Supposed to be a drabble, is far from it so apologies I guess? Or rather, you’re welcome :)

3k words.

I awoke to the familiar warmth of my mate's lips trailing soft, lazy kisses along the curve of my jaw. His hand rested possessively on my hip, fingers splayed wide, while my leg lay draped over his torso as though it had always belonged there. The other hand, gentle as ever, sifted through my hair, his touch soothing and reverent.

I stirred, the haze of sleep clinging to me as I cracked one eye open. "G'morning to you too," I murmured, my voice rough and thick with sleep, the corners of my lips tugging into a small smile.

"Good morning, love," he replied, his voice low and rasping, a sound that settled deep in my chest. His hand drifted from my hair to my jaw, his thumb brushing slow, languid strokes over my skin.

"How long've you been awake?" I asked, stifling a yawn as I nestled closer, tucking my head into the crook of his neck.

"A few minutes," he said softly. His breath ruffled the hair at my temple, his voice carrying that delicious morning rasp. His hair was a disheveled mess, but to me, he looked impossibly perfect—like this was where he was meant to be, and where I was meant to wake.

"I love you," I whispered into the warmth of his skin, the words as natural as breathing.

He shifted beneath me, his hands firm but tender as they grasped my hips and drew me fully atop him. My legs fell to either side of his lap, our bodies now flush. His smile was radiant, the edges softened by sleep, his hands trailing beneath my shirt and up my spine, where his fingers pressed into the soft flesh of my waist. The possessiveness in his touch made my heart stutter, but it was the love I saw in his eyes that unraveled me completely.

"I love you too," he said, his voice a quiet promise.

Unable to resist, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, soft at first, savoring the taste of him and the warmth he radiated. But as his hand slid further up my back, his other holding me securely in place, our kiss deepened, his tongue brushing over my bottom lip in a silent plea. Without hesitation, I parted for him, and our tongues met in a slow, intoxicating dance.

The kiss was unhurried yet full of need, each movement conveying the depth of our connection. My hips shifted of their own accord, rolling against him, and I couldn't bite back the soft whimper that escaped me.

He smiled against my lips but didn't pull away. Instead, his grip on my waist tightened, grounding me as he guided my movements, his hands firm but reverent. The friction sparked a delicious warmth that pooled low in my belly, and I gasped his name against his mouth, the sound barely more than a breath.

He swallowed the sound, his lips and hands devoted to setting me alight, his gaze heavy-lidded but full of something raw, something eternal.

Azriel's hands slid lower, resting at the curve of my hips, holding me steady as I rocked against him. My breaths came quicker, mingling with his, as the warm friction between us built-in lazy waves. There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of us tangled together, savoring the quiet intimacy of the morning.

"Stay with me, just like this," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine, his voice like silk, low and heavy with love. His thumbs traced slow circles into my skin, grounding me.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered back, my heart swelling at the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

He shifted slightly beneath me, his hands guiding my hips to roll again, drawing a gasp from my lips. The slow burn of arousal had begun to spread through me, and as I looked down at him, the soft glow of early sunlight caught in the golden flecks of his hazel eyes, leaving me breathless.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he said, his voice thick with emotion, his hands sliding up to cradle my face. He kissed me again, deeper this time, his lips moving with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

Without breaking the kiss, his hands moved to the hem of my nightgown, lifting it slowly, his fingertips grazing my skin and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. I sat up just enough for him to pull it off entirely, letting it fall somewhere beside us. His eyes roamed over me, reverent and unhurried, and when he met my gaze again, his smile was soft, full of love.

"I want to take my time with you," he said, his hands returning to my hips, his touch steady and reassuring.

"You always do in the mornings," I replied, since night was an entirely different story. I leaned down to press another kiss to his lips, letting my own hands trail along the strong, corded muscles of his bare chest.

His hands slid down to the curve of my thighs, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin there. He shifted us gently, rolling until I was beneath him, his body pressing into mine. He kissed me again, his lips exploring the line of my jaw, the curve of my throat, the delicate hollow of my collarbone. Each kiss was unhurried, full of devotion as if he had all the time in the world to love me.

"Azriel," I breathed, my hands threading through his messy hair, tugging gently to pull him closer.

He smiled against my skin, his lips brushing over the soft spot beneath my ear. "I know, love," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of my panties. He hesitated, his eyes meeting mine, silently asking for permission. I nodded, my breath hitching as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, his touch warm and sure.

The way he touched me was everything—gentle, slow, and utterly consuming. He knew every inch of me, every place that made me gasp and shudder, and he worshipped me with his touch, his kisses, and the whispered words of love that fell from his lips like a prayer.

Azriel's lips returned to mine, slow and languid, as his fingers explored beneath the waistband of my underwear. His touch was light, teasing, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of me. I gasped softly against his lips, my hips shifting instinctively toward his hand, silently begging for more.

"You're so sensitive," he murmured, a soft, adoring smile tugging at his lips as he watched me beneath him. His fingers brushed lower, grazing where I was already warm and aching for him. "So perfect."

"Az," I whispered, the word trembling from my lips as he pressed the heel of his hand gently against me. The pressure was just enough to send a spark of pleasure through me, and I arched into his touch, my hands clutching at his broad shoulders.

"Patience, love," he said, his voice low and indulgent, as if he had all the time in the world to love me. His fingers dipped further, the slow, measured strokes of his fingers drawing soft moans from my lips, and my head fell back against the pillow, completely at his mercy.

He watched me closely, his gaze never leaving my face as he worked me with a skill born of knowing me so intimately. "I love the way you fall apart for me," he murmured, his voice reverent, like a prayer meant only for me.

My breathing quickened, my hips rolling against his hand as I chased the building heat. But before I could tumble over the edge, he withdrew his hand, leaving me trembling with need.

"Azriel," I gasped, a hint of a plea in my voice.

He silenced me with a kiss, deep and thorough, as his hands worked the waistband of my underwear down my legs. He discarded them somewhere on the floor, his hands returning to skim over my thighs, up my waist, and back to my hips. His touch was possessive but soft, grounding me even as I felt myself unraveling under his attention.

"I've got you, baby," he promised, his lips brushing against my ear as he settled between my legs. His bare chest pressed against mine, his skin warm and solid, the weight of him grounding me in the most perfect way.

I reached for him, my hands sliding down the expanse of his back, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath my palms. I tugged at the waistband of his pants, and he helped me push them down until there was nothing between us but the quiet intimacy of the moment.

He shifted slightly, his hand sliding between us to guide himself to me. "Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice soft, his gaze searching mine as he pressed forward, inch by inch.

A soft moan escaped me as he filled me completely, the stretch familiar but no less breathtaking. He stilled, giving me a moment to adjust, his lips peppering gentle kisses along my jaw and neck.

"Perfect," he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. His hands cradled my hips, holding me as though I might slip away, as though I were the most precious thing he'd ever touched.

He began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust measured and unhurried, as if he wanted to savor every moment. His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine, and all I could see, all I could feel, was him.

"Azriel," I breathed, my voice trembling with the overwhelming intimacy of it all. My hands clutched at his back, nails grazing his skin, eliciting a deep, shuddering sound from him as he moved within me. Each deliberate thrust was slow and measured, drawing out every sensation until it felt as though the world beyond this room had melted away.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice steady, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was soft yet consuming. "I've got you." He echoed.

His hips rolled into mine with unhurried precision, and my fingers wove into his messy hair, tugging lightly. He groaned, the sound vibrating against my lips as he moved to press a trail of lazy kisses along my jaw, his mouth lingering at the sensitive spot just below my ear.

"Az," I whimpered, my voice breaking, my free hand fisting the sheets beneath me.

"Shh, love," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin. His hands left my hips to stroke down the curve of my thighs, his touch soft yet deliberate as he guided one leg higher, spreading me wider. The shift sent him deeper, the sensation stealing the breath from my lungs.

A soft, low moan escaped me as my body arched into his, seeking more, needing more. His hands never stopped moving, one firm on my thigh while the other slid upward, grazing over my ribs and the soft swell of my breast. His thumb traced a featherlight circle over the sensitive skin, drawing a sharp gasp from me before his hand continued its path to my arm.

He captured my hand in his, threading our fingers together, and pressed them into the sheets beside my head. His gaze locked with mine, a storm of emotion swirling in his hazel eyes as he leaned down to kiss me hard.

The kiss was slow and unhurried, but it held an intensity that made my heart ache. His tongue brushed against mine, coaxing, savoring, as if he had all the time in the world to lose himself in me. The rhythm of his hips matched the kiss, each movement deliberate and full of meaning, as though he was pouring his love into me with every stroke.

"So good," he rasped, his voice roughened by the weight of his desire. His free hand returned to my thigh, fingers kneading gently before sliding down to where we were joined. His touch was soft, teasing, as he brushed against the most sensitive part of me, drawing a choked cry from my lips.

"Look at me," he urged, his voice soft but commanding.

I opened my eyes, finding his gaze already fixed on me, his expression full of unspoken adoration. My body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight, every sensation heightened as he continued his slow, maddening rhythm on my clit.

"Azriel," I whimpered again, my voice trembling with need.

"That’s it," he repeated, his other thumb stroking soothing circles against my skin. "You’re doing so well for me, love."

He leaned down to kiss me again, his lips brushing over mine with a tenderness that made my chest tighten. Every movement of his body was deliberate, every touch reverent, as though I was something sacred.

Azriel's lips moved from mine, trailing over my jaw and down my neck, where he lingered, his tongue flicking over the delicate skin before his teeth grazed it just enough to send a shiver down my spine. My nails dug into his back, desperate for some kind of anchor as his hips continued their slow, driving rhythm.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against my skin. "Every part of you, love."

I shivered beneath him, his words like a caress. My hand, still entwined with his, squeezed lightly, drawing his attention back to my face. He lifted his head, and when his eyes met mine, the depth of emotion in them left me breathless.

"Az," I whispered, not sure what I was asking for, only that I needed him closer, needed more of him.

He pressed our joined hands more firmly into the sheets, his body moving against mine in a way that felt like he was worshiping me with every deliberate motion. His hand left my clit and skimmed back up to my waist, guiding me to meet the slow, rolling rhythm of his hips.

"Just like that," he encouraged his voice a low rumble. "Stay with me, love."

I followed his lead, letting him guide my body to move with his, each slow grind sending sparks of pleasure coursing through me. The pressure was building steadily, but he never rushed, never let me fall too fast.

"You feel so perfect," he said, his lips brushing against my temple. "So damned perfect."

My chest tightened at the reverence in his voice, tears pricking at the edges of my vision. I reached up with my free hand, cupping his face and bringing his lips back to mine in a kiss that was both desperate and soft all at once.

He kissed me back with everything he had, the movement of his hips growing slightly more intense, though still achingly slow. My thighs quivered around him, and I gasped into his mouth as he adjusted the angle again, his hips pressing deeper in a way that sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

"Azriel," I whimpered, his name a plea on my lips.

"I know, love," he murmured, his thumb stroking soothingly along my thigh. "I've got you. Let me take care of you."

He shifted slightly, releasing my hand to cup the back of my neck, holding me steady as he continued his unhurried, devastating pace. His forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling as his hand slid between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that had me gasping his name again.

"Let me feel all of you," he said, his voice raw with need and love.

Azriel's touch became more deliberate, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a precision that left me trembling beneath him. Every stroke of his hand, every roll of his hips, pushed me closer to the edge.

"Az," I whimpered, my voice breaking as the pressure built to an unbearable peak.

With his forehead pressed against mine, his hazel eyes dark and focused, locking onto mine as though he could pull me over the edge with just his gaze. "You’re okay, love," he murmured, his voice a soothing rasp. "Let go for me."

I clung to him, my hands fisting in his hair and down his back as my body tensed, every nerve alight. His lips found mine in a kiss that was tender and grounding, anchoring me to him even as my body shattered beneath his touch.

A cry broke from my lips, muffled against his mouth, as the wave of pleasure crashed over me, rolling through me in relentless waves. Azriel didn't stop, his movements slow and steady, drawing out every second, his hand stroking over my thigh as he whispered soothing words against my skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his lips pressing soft kisses to my jaw and neck as I trembled in his arms. "So perfect."

With a final, deep thrust, I felt him tense above me, his body shuddering as he followed me over the edge, his release flooding through him as he groaned my name into the kiss. His movements slowed, and his entire body shivered against mine, the warmth of his breath fanning over my lips as he collapsed against me, his weight a comforting presence.

"You're everything to me," he said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “I hope you know that.”

I cupped his face, brushing my thumb over his cheek as I looked up at him, my heart so full it felt like it was painful. "I love you," I whispered, my voice raw and unsteady.

He kissed me again, slow and deep, his hands stroking over my back as though he couldn't get enough of touching me. "I love you more," he replied, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

As the intensity began to ebb, he shifted us slightly, his movements careful and unhurried, keeping me wrapped in his embrace. The world outside our little cocoon felt impossibly far away, and I found myself smiling softly as I buried my face against his neck, content and utterly at peace.

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[flickering-chandelier]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader meet one day and the connection is instantaneous. Azriel becomes worried though, when Reader starts showing up late to their dates more consistently. When the truth comes out, they need to figure out how to keep moving forward.

Based on this request! Thank you for sending it in, I hope you like it! 🩷

Word Count: 3.8k

The market was bustling today and Azriel cringed slightly, pulling his wings in even tighter behind him. He had no idea why Amren had insisted that he be the one to pick up the items she needed for her new project. Perhaps because she knew that he would be the least likely to complain. 

He was approaching the stall that carried what Amren needed when his gaze snagged on someone at a neighboring one and he stopped dead in his tracks, causing the people around him to curse and move around him, irritated.

Azriel barely heard it though, his attention fully on you. You had a simple dress on, but it accentuated your curves beautifully, your hair was loose, falling down your back in ringlets. The way you moved was graceful as you picked up an item to inspect. 

But your smile as you talked to the owner of the stall, the way it lit up your face with such kindness… that is what made Azriel’s knees feel like they were about to give out.

He longed to approach you, but by the time that he had come to his senses enough to start moving, you too had moved, working your way through the market. It was so crowded that he lost track of you. 

Crestfallen, he went back to the stall and got the supplies for Amren. 

---

Days later, Azriel still could not get you out of his mind. That damn smile haunted his dreams and his every waking moment. 

So much so, that at the earliest opportunity, he went back to the market, his eyes raking the crowd for any sign of you. He seriously contemplated flying up to a rooftop for a better angle, but that would probably be frowned upon. 

He perused the market, feeling a bit foolish. The Night Court’s spymaster, reduced to wandering around the market on his day off like a lost puppy in hopes of finding a woman he didn’t even know.

His spirits lifted dramatically though, when he saw you. You were perusing a stall, inspecting a jar with a shiny liquid inside. 

Azriel didn’t let himself hesitate this time, dodging people milling about as he strode for you. Eventually, he appeared at your side, and you looked up at him, so surprised to suddenly see a large, looming male next to you, that you dropped the jar that you were holding.

Smoothly, he caught it before it hit the ground and offered it to you. Your eyes sparked with recognition as you studied him: the wings, the Illyrian clothing, the shadows twirling around his biceps. 

Your fingers brushed his as you took the jar back from him and you murmured, “Thank you.”

He nodded, offering you a faint smile, not sure what to say. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“You’re the High Lord’s shadowsinger,” you said, looking up at him, sounding a little breathless.

“I am. But most people just call me Azriel,” he said, a note of humor edging his voice.

That smile you had offered the others before was now turned on him, and he felt as if the ground was swaying underneath him. You offered him your name, before saying, “I feel a bit like I’m meeting a celebrity.”

Azriel could feel slight heat in his cheeks, and tried to maintain the neutral expression he nearly always wore. He waved his hand dismissively, “Trust me, I’m not. Cassian is more of the celebrity. I mostly blend into the shadows.”

You tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, studying the hard line of his jaw, his hazel eyes, the curve of his mouth. “That’s a shame,” you said, a little wistfully.

Azriel’s heart was thundering now. “Do you want to get dinner?” 

Your smile widened. “I think I can make that happen. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed. 

You picked the restaurant and the time, and just like that, Azriel had a date.

---

The date was, in his opinion, nothing short of amazing. 

He had arrived a bit early to dinner, and you waltzed up to the restaurant exactly on time, looking like a vision. Part of your hair was braided around your head like a crown, but part was still flowing down over your shoulders, curled. Your dress hugged the curve of your waist, the hem landing midway down your shin, perfect for the summer. 

You beamed as you approached him, and Azriel had to concentrate to keep his breathing steady. The two of you were seated outside, watching the sun set over the river. 

The conversation was easy. You kept it light and playful, grazing your hand against his bicep every once in a while when you laughed, the sound bright and beautiful.

Flirting, he realized. You were flirting with him. Laughing with him. Making him laugh.

Mother, when was the last time he had felt like this?

Had he ever felt like this?

After dinner ended, you stood up and gently took his hand in yours, tugging lightly so he stood up too, towering over you. “Do you want to take a walk?” you asked, your eyes sparkling under the stars that were out by then. 

“Lead the way,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up into a smile.

You led him to the artists’ quarter, the lights vibrant against the night. He watched as your eyes lit up at the site, marveling at all the artwork, the people milling about. 

“Oh, look!” you exclaimed, excitedly pulling him to a painting of the mountains surrounding Velaris. “It’s beautiful,” you told the painter, who nodded in thanks, smiling.

Azriel couldn’t help but stare as you took in the painting, your eyes alight. 

“Are you a painter?” he asked.

“I try to be,” you grinned at him. “I’m not very good.”

Before he could respond, another painting caught your eye and you gasped, tugging on his hand, leading him through the crowd. Azriel laughed, and you turned back to smile at him, your whole face lighting up. His heart swelled.

On and on you went, his lifeboat pulling him through the sea of artists. He could have gone on like that forever, he thought. 

You were about to pull him to another painting when you suddenly turned to him, flushed. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I’ve gotten carried away, haven’t I?”

Azriel shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.”

You smiled, seeming shy all of a sudden. “It’s late,” you said. “I should probably head back.” 

“Can I walk you home?”

Your smile grew and you nodded your head for him to follow. Your arms brushed as you walked, taking in the night air. 

It was a short walk to your house, and you stopped before the door and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Azriel. Tonight was… amazing.”

Azriel couldn’t help but smile back at you. “It was.”

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek lightly before turning to the door, and Azriel said your name, stopping you before you could open it. “Can I see you again?”

You beamed. “Meet me by the Rainbow in two days?”

Smirking, Azriel said, “Absolutely.”

---

Azriel could hardly focus on anything else while he waited to see you again. His friends absolutely knew something was up with him, but did not pester him about it. Yet. 

Two days after the initial date, Azriel was waiting in the Rainbow, where you had told him you wanted to meet. 

He waited. And waited.

Trying to stomp down his growing anxiety that you wouldn’t show, he gazed at the art around him. You had been right on time to your first date. Had you changed your mind about him?

He was about to walk through the artists’ quarter, wondering if he had not remembered correctly where you wanted to meet, when you finally arrived, your cheeks flushed, but you looked beautiful as ever. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a little breathless. “Something came up -- it’s hard to explain. I swear I tried to be on time.” 

Azriel was just glad that you had come. “It’s alright,” he smiled reassuringly. 

Your eyes twinkled under the stars, relieved. “Thank you.”

His smile widened and he lightly squeezed your upper arm, trying to soothe you. 

You smiled slowly and arched an eyebrow, mischief written all over your face. “So, I had an idea.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

Laughing, you said, “Let’s go dancing.”

Azriel’s smile dropped. You laughed even more. “Dancing,” he repeated. 

“Dancing,” you grinned.

“I can’t dance.” 

“Oh, please. Everyone can dance.” 

“Not me,” Azriel said, smiling despite himself.

“Please,” she murmured, taking a step closer to him and looking up at him from under her lashes. “For me?”

Azriel sighed, raking a hand through his hair. You knew you already had him wrapped around his little finger. “Fine.”

You squealed with delight, taking his hand in yours and walking in the direction of the Velaris night clubs. Azriel tried to focus on the positives: your soft hand in his, how happy you were, how your hair bounced as you walked.

By the time you got to the nightclub, Azriel’s felt like his heart was in his throat. He really did not dance.

But you strode right in, glancing back at him with the biggest smile on your face. You led him right into the middle of the crowd of people pulsing with the music. 

He stood still and watched as you moved your hips, your arms up above your head, twirling around like you didn’t have a care in the world. I could easily fall in love with this woman, he thought. Easily.

You turned back to him and laughed brightly, placing your hands on his hips, trying to make them move. He didn’t budge, which made you laugh even more. “Come on, shadowsinger. Live a little!”

He wanted to, if only to make you happy, but he couldn’t focus on anything but your hands on him and that smile that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Studying him for a moment, you said over the music, “Okay, I see we need to try a different tactic,” you said, taking his hand in yours and leading him to the edge of the dance floor, where it was less crowded. 

You stepped right up to him then, so your bodies were barely an inch away. You took both of his hands and settled them on your hips, then placed your hands on his shoulders. 

“Don’t think so much, just move,” you said, your voice light and teasing. 

He towered over you, watching as you moved your hips, lightly pushing and pulling on his shoulders so he would move with you. It took nearly a full song, but eventually his body relaxed, letting himself be guided by you.

“There you go,” you grinned. 

Suddenly, the song slowed significantly, and you looked up at him, becoming slightly shy again. 

He gazed down at you, smiling faintly as he pulled you in closer to him, keeping one hand at your waist and taking one of your hands in his. 

Azriel swore he saw your breath catch as you studied his face, eyes slightly wide. Azriel tightened his grip on you slightly when your eyes dipped to his mouth and lingered there. 

Holding his breath, he leaned in slowly, stopping a breath away from your lips, giving you a moment to back up if you wanted to. But, you surged forward, connecting your mouth with his. 

He smiled into the kiss, bringing a scarred hand up to gently cup your cheek. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, and as the music swelled to a crescendo, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You gasped into his mouth, bending your knees as he held you in the air. 

Gently, he set you down a few moments later, and when he pulled back, you were smiling, your cheeks dusted red. 

“That might have been the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me,” you said, your tone teasing, but your eyes alight. 

“Me too,” Azriel murmured, unable to tear his gaze away from your beautiful face. 

The two of you spent hours together, and Azriel found himself unable to keep his hands off you. You seemed the same way, always placing a hand on his arm, on his shoulder, while he rested his hand on your hips, the small of your back, or held your hand in his. 

For hours, he watched you dance, and willed his body to move with you, only because your eyes shined, your smile bright, when he did so.

At the end of the night, he walked you home once again, this time pulling you in by the waist and kissing you until you were breathless, twining his hand into your soft hair, your hands on his face.

---

Weeks passed, and the two of you kept meeting as often as your schedules would allow. 

Azriel would have been on cloud nine… except that he was starting to have his doubts. When the two of you were together, it was amazing, a connection and energy that he had never felt with anybody before. In the privacy of his own mind, he was even willing to concede that he had absolutely fallen for you.

But he couldn’t pretend that everything was perfect. You had been late to nearly every date. He would always be unnerved waiting for you, thinking that this would be the time that you would leave him hanging, never to be heard from again. But then, you would come, always breathless, like you had rushed to get there, and would apologize profusely, but never giving an explanation. Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if you were not as interested in him as he was in you.

He considered talking to Cassian or Rhys about it, but had a suspicion that they would not be very helpful.

So eventually, he decided just to talk to you about it. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to keep seeing him if you didn’t want to.

There was clearly movement in your house as he approached. He took a deep breath before knocking.

Your eyes were wide in surprise, but not unhappy, when you opened the door. “Azriel,” you smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, quietly. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but before anything could come out, a little boy, a toddler came running to the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Azriel hulking in the doorway. 

The boy gaped at Azriel, his mouth hanging open in shock, before turning to you, “Mom! That’s the shadowsinger!” he squealed, running up to said shadowsinger and wrapping his tiny arms around Azriel’s legs, his head not even meeting Azriel’s knees. The boy looked up at Azriel in awe, “you are so cool.”

Azriel’s head spun, trying to process the information in front of him, but he couldn’t focus over the feeling of his heart absolutely melting as he gazed at this boy, full of such joy. He patted the boy’s back, smiling. “You think so?”

He nodded vigorously, his curly hair that matched his mother’s flicking over his eyes. “I wish I could be a spy.”

Azriel grinned. “I can teach you, if your mom says it’s okay.”

The boy gasped, and Azriel looked at you for the first time since your son had made himself known. You looked like you were about to cry, your hands clasped in front of you. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

“Honey, why don’t you go play for a little bit?” you said, your voice slightly shaky, steering your son into the other room. “Mom has to talk to Mr. Shadowsinger about grownup stuff for a little bit.”

He pouted a bit, but did as he was told, reluctantly untangling himself from Azriel and toddling into the next room.

You sighed when you were alone with Azriel, searching his face.

“This is why you’ve been late,” Azriel said, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel took your hand in his, trying to ground himself. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Your eyes filled with tears, and Azriel’s heart cracked. “Most males aren’t interested in raising someone else’s kid. And I liked you… I was too scared to lose you.”

There was no breath in Azriel’s lungs. He ached for you, for what you had no doubt been through with other males who you tried to date. He wanted to rip them to shreds. Slowly, he leaned down, gently kissing each tear away. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against yours. “Not unless you want me to.” 

You sniffed, looking up at him through damp lashes. “I don’t want you to.”

Azriel smiled softly. “Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head.

You stayed like that for a while, holding each other, before he asked, “What’s his name?”

“Jax.”

“Do you think Jax has it in him to be a spymaster?”

You laughed against his chest, and Azriel smiled into your hair. “I think he can be whatever he wants to be.”

He pulled back to look at you, tilting his face down to meet your eye. “Do you want me in his life? If it’s too soon, that’s okay. But I would love to get to know him, eventually.”

That beautiful smile shone on your face as you said, “I would love that.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Azriel taught Jax how to be a spy. They ran around the house, ducking behind furniture, following invisible enemies. 

Azriel glanced at you periodically, reveling in the bright smile on your face, your eyes shining. 

---

Jax became an important fixture in Azriel’s life, often accompanying your dates around Velaris. One day, Azriel had recruited Feyre to help get you all into a painting class for all ages. 

You grinned as Azriel led you and Jax into the studio set up with paints and easels. There were a few other families there, setting up their work stations. 

“Azriel, will you make a painting with me?” Jax asked, his green eyes wide as he looked up at Az.

“Are you sure you don’t want to make your own?” Azriel asked.

Jax nodded. “I’m sure,” he said, taking Azriel’s hand and leading him to the paint station to pick out colors. Jax chose color after color, handing them all to Azriel, who was grinning, trying to keep hold of all the paints. 

You beamed, your heart full as you watched your son and Azriel together, laughing as they painted together. The easel was set up for Jax to reach it, so Az was sitting on the floor in order to reach it whenever Jax demanded that he contribute to their painting. 

Azriel was smiling and laughing with the boy, adding in elementary looking trees and bushes wherever Jax instructed him. 

By the end, they had a painting that looked very much like a toddler made it. It was nearly impossible to tell who had painted what: Jax or Azriel. 

You laughed as Azriel showed it off to you with a flourish, Jax excitedly bouncing on his toes. “Mom, can we hang this up at home?”

“Of course we can,” you grinned, your heart swelling at Azriel’s soft, loving smile.

Azriel came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at your painting while Jax was busy admiring his own painting. 

“I thought you said you weren’t very good,” Azriel murmured, his heart swelling as he took in the painting that you had created.

It was of that day, of Azriel and Jax painting together. Jax happily paints while Azriel sits on the floor, grinning at him, holding the palette of paint up for Jax to use.

“Do you like it?” you said quietly. 

“I love it,” he said, nuzzling your neck. “I love you.”

He felt you stiffen beneath his fingers and froze. He had just realized that was the first time he had told you. 

You twisted in his arms, turning to face him, your eyes shining. “I love you too, Az.”

Azriel’s knees nearly buckled with relief. He gave you a quick, sweet kiss, wishing he wasn’t in public. 

---

By Starfall, the three of you were really starting to feel like a family, and Azriel had never been happier. Cassian and Rhys teased him about it relentlessly, but he knew it was because they were happy for their brother who had finally found happiness like they had.

Azriel kept by your side, his hand on the small of your back as you navigated the crowded balcony on the House of Wind, Jax holding onto your hand. 

The three of you had spent the beginning of the celebration with the rest of Azriel’s family, and even though they had met before, Jax remained completely enamored with Feyre, Rhysand and Cassian, asking them a million questions about being the High Lady, High Lord, and the commander of armies, respectfully. The three just laughed, going along with it until Azriel deemed it was time to give his brothers and his High Lady a break. 

The three of you stood together, holding hands, looking to the sky as the music started and the spirits started to move across the sky, slowly at first, and then thousands of them, shooting across the world like shooting stars. 

Jax watched awestruck for a few minutes before he noticed that there were children playing a game on the far side of the balcony, and he looked to you excitedly, running over to them after you had nodded.

“Stay where we can see you!” Azriel called after him.

You turned to Azriel, hugging his waist, gazing up into his eyes lovingly. 

“What?” Azriel smiled, sliding his hand down your back, making you shiver.

“I’ve just never been this happy,” you murmured.

“I haven’t either,” Azriel said softly, leaning down to kiss you. 

Azriel pulled your body into his then, leading you into a slow, romantic dance underneath the falling stars. 

“Happy Starfall,” he said, gazing down at you with all the love in the world.

“Happy Starfall, Az,” you said.

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley crying and praying for the first time in years bc you're hospitalized

(self indulgent as fuck, based off of personal medical history bc it'll be more accurate)

You hadn't ate or drank for 5 days, unable to keep anything down. You thought it was the flu at first. Fevers, puking, extreme fatigue. It didn't seem like anything out of the norm. Except for when your fevers started casing full body convulsions that made you look possessed. Chills and cold sweat turned to groaning and crying, muscles all over cramping and clenching, breathing becoming difficult. You figured it was because you hadn't had the flu in years. How wrong you had been.

Once your puke turned green, which was later found out to be bile from your kidneys, Simon rushed you to the hospital. Unable to stand, he pulled a wheelchair from the entrance and pushed you everywhere. Within 2 hours, the nurses had you admitted and on IV meds. Pain meds, IV Tylenol, and bags of fluid were hooked up to you, rehydrating you being high priority. Your body is in shock, resting heartrate being 140. He sat by your side the entire time, holding your puke bag in one hand, and your hair back in the other. The doctors drew blood, running blood cultures, searching for a more accurate answer.

The night you were admitted, they informed you that your kidneys were so infected that one got injured. The bile that was thrown up was caused but how hard you were puking, pulling it up from your kidneys.

He stayed the night, sleeping in the rocking chair, right next to your bed. He woke up when your fevers came back, holding your hand and telling you how good you're doing, calling in a nurse. The morning that followed, he had to go back to the house to make a bag of your immediate needs, clothes, deodorant, hairbrush, and anything else he could think of. When he came back, a doctor and a couple med students came in with important news.

"We ran blood cultures to see if there was possible an infection in your blood due to your symptoms leaning towards that. They came back positive. We are going to give you antibiotics and run cultures every 12 hours to track if the antibiotics are working" The doctor says as gently as possible.

The room begins to feel like it's spinning. Sepsis has a 68% mortality rate, and knowing how deadly it is, it feels like you're already being buried. Simon looks to you with a confused look, not knowing exactly what that it, but knowing it isn't good.

"I have sepsis?" You ask in a quiet voice, throat constricting.

"Yes" The doctor says softly.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna die" you whisper under your breath, tears forming.

Simon looks to you, eyes widening. 'Not again'

"Wait, the hell is Sepsis?" He demands, but not sounding confident, more scared than anything.

The doctor explains it to him, how it when your blood is infected, how the infection can latch onto your other organs and slowly kill you from the inside out. Once it reaches your brain, it's too late. His grip on your hand tightens. The doctor tries to give hope, but she can only do so much without lying. She leaves to give you privacy.

It's silent, neither of you speaking out of shock. The only noise in the room is the quiet hum of the IV machine and Simon's shaky breathing. Your thumb softly glides back and forth over the back of his hands, trying to ground him.

"Si" you softly call.

It takes hour to get him to loosen up a little. It's only when you manage to keep down a popsicle that he feels like he can breath a little easier. Like maybe you'll be part of the 32% that pull through.

That sliver of hope is crushed that night, being woken up by his arm being slapped repeated by you in a panic. His eyes meet yours, concern instantly written on his face. Your hand is on your chest as short, sharp breaths are the only thing you can manage.

"I,, can't,, breath,," you whisper between breaths, unable to say a sentence in one go.

"Baby it's alright, jus' try to breath wit' me, hm?" he tries to demonstrate slow breathing, mistaking it for a panic attack.

"not a,, panic,, attack,, please,, nurse,," you try to tell him.

He nods in a panic, running out to the nurse station and explaining. They rush in and take your pulse-ox just to see your oxygen percentage is at 86% when it should be above 95%. They try to do the deep breathing again before Simon interrupts them.

"It's not a bloody panic attack, she literally can't breath. Get her oxygen or somethin' before she fuckin' suffocates!"

They put you on oxygen until they can get you an X-ray. The nurses try to chalk it up to a panic attack until in the morning they see you still can't breath. They give you an X-ray and when the results come back, they send the doctor in. She informs you that the nurses gave you too much IV fluid and that caused your organs to swell so much that they pushed up on your lungs, collapsing them by 3/4ths. 1/4th of your lungs are still open and they're going to take you off fluid, start you on exercises to open them back up, and keep you on oxygen.

That's the last straw for Simon. Once you fall asleep for a nap, he heads outside to the bench area and punches a wall. His knuckles split but he barely feels it, ringing in his ears drowning out the surrounding noise. With no one around, he sits on a bend, elbows on knees and face in his hands. His breath picks up as his throat tightens and tears threaten to rip out of him.

"Why would ya let this happen to 'er? Aren't you supposed to be lovin'?" He whispers into the wind, looking up at the sky, "That girl in't like me. She's the fuckin' sunshine in human form and she's on death's bloody doorstep."

Tears cloud his vision, unable to keep it in any longer. He blinks them away, falling onto his clenched fists. Years of praying, to a god he later grew to resent, for him to fix his family. A child kneeling at his bed, begging him to get his family out of his father's grasp. Once he got to his teenage years, his desperation became resentment and anger. His jaw began to clench when his drunken father would spew bible verses at him to condemn him. He realized God wouldn't save him, nor would he when Simon's family was ripped from him.

Yet here he was, back to that same god, desperate that maybe, just maybe, he'd have mercy on him this time. He believed himself a rotten man, even if it was subconscious, unworthy of the angel sent to him. His light, reparations for the mistreatment The Father had destined for him.

"You sent 'er to me, it's gotta be for a reason. You've never listened to my prayers before but just this fuckin' once, please don't ignore me." His voice breaks, openly sobbing with no sound, "You sent 'er to me and now I can't live without 'er. She's fuckin' everythin' to me. Don't take back your gift, please" The end of his sentence slips into a whisper.

He wipes his tears on his sleeve and sniffles hard, trying to erase the evidence of his vulnerability. He stands and walks to the door, looking back at the bench before turning back to the door and walking in. 'Amen'

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

Touch Yourself

Pairings - Drew Starkey x Female!Reader

Summary - based of a scene in love lies and bleeding.

Warnings - finger fucking, vibrators 18+

You stood in the bathroom, brushing your teeth as you stared back at yourself in the all too big mirror. Bending your neck left and right until a small crack traveled up, loosening the knot that kept forming.

You had been stuck at your desk all day, writing your second book. Ideas had started to fade and motivation was nowhere in sight, deciding it was time for sleep you made your way to the bathroom.

Drew was due home any minute, working late on the set of his upcoming movie. You had planned to be awake when he got home but the tiredness had become overwhelming and your eyes blurred from the laptop screen.

Just as you bend over the sink to wash your mouth out the front door slams closed and you jump at the intrusion of noise, Drew’s walking through the threshold of the bedroom seconds later. Throwing his bag onto the chair, his eyebrows are creased together in annoyance. “Babe?” You call out, his eyes meet yours through the mirror and his facial features soften. Pulling his shirt over his head he begins walking towards you.

He crowds your space, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your neck. “You okay?” You question, enjoying the closeness of your boyfriend. You both didn’t get much time together anymore as he was always filming or you were busy in meetings for your book. “Just missed you” he mumbles into your neck, his lips kiss at your sensitive spot sending shivers up your spine. “I missed you too”.

You go to turn around but he holds you in place, running his hands down the length of your arms and moving them up above your head, pressing your palms against the mirror in front of you. “Wha-” you cut yourself off as his hands slip under your shirt, tickling your stomach and skimming under your breasts. His eyes flick to yours for a moment silently asking for approval, you press your ass into his crotch and he palms your tits. “I've been hard all day for you” he groans, you're now realizing the hardness pressed into your ass is his cock and not his belt.

You stay silent as his hands wander your body, he kisses your shoulder blades and drops to his knees behind you. Lifting your oversized shirt to your waist, taking a soft bite to your ass cheek and then kissing the teeth marks. “I want to touch you baby.. I want to stretch you out, see how far I can take you” he groans, slipping his hands between your legs and pushing them apart to give himself room. “You want that baby? Want me to play with you?”

“Yeah” you breathe, watching him through the mirror. He pulls down your panties and presses his palm into your lower back. Your hands slide from the mirror to grip the faucet, your pussy on display for him now. He presses a kiss to your wet lips and runs a finger through your folders. You watch as he sucks on his finger and brings it to your cunt, he starts off slow, pushing one finger into your hole. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes a second and then a third. “Fuck” you moan out, his fingers are slow and tantalising. Stroking your walls softly and nudging your soft spot with each thrust, your clit aches to be touched but he doesn’t go near it, knowing it’ll tip you over the edge too soon.

He’s enjoying you squirming, suddenly he’s inserting a fourth finger and you're crying out in half pain and half pleasure. “That’s it baby.. stretch you out so you can take my cock” he whispers, kissing your ass cheek again until his face is buried in your cunt. Tongue swirling and sucking until you're seeing white and cumming on his face.

He pulls away and orders you to spin, pushing you against the vanity. He’s still on his knees for you, staring up at you with lustful eyes. “Touch yourself”

The apples of your cheeks redden and you clench your fists together at your sides. “Come on baby, show me what you do when I’m not around to make you cum” he begs, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to your pussy. You nod and spread your legs again for him, reaching between your legs. You can feel the dampness on your thighs. You press your fingers to your clit, circling softly. “Is that what you do?” He questions, looking between your hand and you. You bite your lower lip and shrug. “Fuck baby come on.. that’s not what you do, show me how you fuck yourself”.

You pull your fingers from your pussy and bring them to your mouth, sucking on two fingers before dropping them back between your legs, his eyelids heavy and chest pounding. His eyes follow closely as you swirl the tips of your fingers across your clit and slowly push them deep inside of you, I gasp falls from your lips at the intrusion. “I usually use a vibrator.. for my clit” you choke out, riding your fingers as he grips your hips. He nods and pulls himself to stand. “Keep going”.

He exits the bedroom and rounds the bed to your side, opening the draw he grabs the small handheld vibrator and enters the room again. He kicks at your feet silently asking you to spread yourself further for him. Dropping to his knees all over again. He flicks the switch of the bullet and brings it to your pussy, teasing you by running it across your hand and just above your clit, he wants until your squirming above him and presses the vibratortor to your clit, watching as your eyes widen at the fluttering sensation.

“Oh shit” you cry, your fingers pushing deeper inside of you. “That’s it baby, fuck you look so good making yourself cum” he groans, pressing the head of the vibrator against you harder, sending you into a shaking mess. Your orgasm hits you instantly and you wobble on your legs, his arms wrapping around your waist as you cum around your own fingers.

“Such a good girl.. now let me fuck you baby”

[lacydollette]

PLEASE I BEG YOU <3 Drew x Journalist Reader. Got this idea based off just seeing Drew having a short interview by a girl at the Newport beach event who was a bit nervous and asked him a question twice. Maybe you can base it off that. Reader is not the most confident, a bit shy snd awkward sometimes. She messes up for her short interview with him and feels so embarressed but Drew found it adorable since it just shows that she's human and ''real'' in a sense. Maybe Drew tries to lock eyes with her throughout the event, from him being on stage, standing in the audience listening to others, but she is like ¨''Ain't no way. It's just a coincidence ''.......but you know....he tries further to make contact

a/n BIG YES!! I saw that interview too and it was just too cute not to write about, so this request definitely came in handy. So thank you.

warnings actor!drew x journalist!reader, reader is kinda awkward, drew being a sweetheart as usual, reader is in her mid 20’s, stangers to lovers kinda trope

The crowd buzzed with excitement as you stood near the edge of the red carpet, clutching your microphone and a notepad filled with carefully prepared questions. The premiere of Outer Banks Season 4 was a major event, and the energy was incredibly high. The cast was expected to arrive any minute, and you felt your nerves getting the best of you at the thought of meeting Drew Starkey. Your Drew Starkey. Well, not exactly yours, but you'd been a fan for years, and he'd long since occupied a special place in your heart as your celebrity crush.

Taking a deep breath, you repeated your questions silently, hoping it would calm you. But just as you started to relax, you spotted him. Drew Starkey, looking effortlessly handsome and radiating that natural charm that seemed to captivate everyone around him. He was posing for photographers, his smile warm and his energy unmatched. He felt good—excited, proud, and ready to talk about the new season. But he was also looking forward to something else tonight: connecting with people who genuinely loved the show. Sometimes, he missed that raw, unscripted connection during events like this.

'Come on, y/n. You can do this',

you reminded yourself. You usually felt so confident in these situations, but Drew seemed to have a unique effect on you, making you feel like a nervous wreck. Your cheeks were already heating up, and your heart beat faster as you raised a hand and gave him a small wave once he was finished with photos.

Drew spotted you and smiled, giving a nod before making his way over. There was something different about you. Drew grinned to himself, charmed by your genuine energy. Your mind raced, and you frantically tried to remember your opening question, but it seemed to have vanished as soon as he was close enough to hear you.

"Uh, hi! Drew... Starkey..." you stammered, mentally kicking yourself as your cheeks flushed even redder. Drew had to hold back a chuckle as you stammered. "Sorry, I—I mean, obviously you're Drew. So, uh, how—how does it feel to, um, be here?"

A small smile played on Drew's lips as he tilted his head, clearly amused and a little charmed. "It feels pretty amazing," he answered gently, giving you his full attention. "I think you might be the first person to be nervous to talk to me tonight, though."

You felt yourself relax, if only a bit. He didn't seem to mind your awkwardness, and his laid-back attitude made it easier for you to laugh at yourself. "I don't usually get this flustered," you admitted, "but, uh, meeting your favorite actor is a little... intimidating."

Drew's eyebrows lifted slightly. Favorite actor? He felt a warmth spread through him, more flattered than he'd expected, his blue eyes sparkling with adoration. "Well, now you're just making me feel special," he teased gently, leaning just a touch closer. "But don't worry, I'm not here to judge. Actually, it's refreshing to meet someone who isn't just asking the same scripted questions."

You couldn't help but smile at his words. He was down-to-earth and easygoing, making you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness. It almost felt like you were old friends catching up rather than journalist and actor.

"Okay," you said, determined to pull it together. "So, if you could sum up Season 4 in just three words, what would they be?" Drew thought for a moment, letting his mind go back to the season they'd just wrapped. "Adventurous, intense... and wild," he said, grinning. "I think the fans are going to love it."

You nodded, managing to regain some of your confidence. "Thank you, Drew. And just so you know, Outer Banks fans will always be here for every wild ride you give us." The way you said it, with that sincerity, had him smiling from ear to ear. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, meeting your eyes. "It's good to know there are people who care about the story as much as we do."

As he moved on, Drew felt lighter, the encounter lingering in his thoughts. There was something refreshing about you—authentic, unpolished, and kind. It was exactly the kind of conversation that reminded him why he loved doing what he did.

While he walked further away from you, you couldn't help but replay the interview with Drew in your mind as you drifted through the rest of the event. You had been a little starstruck, sure, but he'd been so warm and kind that it had made you feel strangely comfortable, almost like you'd got to know each other for more than just a few brief minutes.

And just like you had trouble forgetting about your encounter, Drew couldn't shake the memory of you either—the way your cheeks flushed, the slight tremble in your voice. Drew couldn't quite explain it, but there was something that pulled him back toward you, something he hadn't felt with anyone in a long time.

When he stepped up onto the stage with the rest of the Outer Banks cast, ready for the Q&A session, his gaze instinctively drifted back into the crowd, scanning the audience. Then he found you, standing off to the side with your notepad tucked under your arm, looking just as captivated as before. You were listening attentively to the panel, your attention fully on the cast—Drew was as charismatic as ever, grinning and laughing alongside his colleagues.

But several times, you could have sworn he was looking directly at you, but you brushed it off, refusing to entertain the thought that he might actually be looking at you. He's just scanning the crowd, you thought. There's no way he'd be singling me out.

Yet, each glance felt so intentional, his gaze warm and lingering. Each time you looked his way, Drew caught himself holding your gaze just a little longer than he should, his eyes following you with a subtle, warm curiosity, until you had to look away before you got lost in his eyes again. Still, you convinced yourself that you were being silly. There was no reason that Drew Starkey was staring at you.

But Drew was. He could see the way you tried to hide your reactions, the way you would quickly look away whenever your eyes met, almost as if you were embarrassed by the attention. He thought it was adorable. The more he saw you, the more he knew he wanted to get to know you better.

His gaze followed you even as he answered the crowd's questions, and the small, knowing smile he wore didn't go unnoticed by his co stars, who exchanged teasing glances with each other. They could sense something different about Drew's mood tonight.

After the Q&A ended, Drew made his way through the post-panel mingling, still keeping an eye out for you while you hung back. A couple of times, he seemed to be moving in your direction, and your heart thudded loudly. But then, just as quickly, someone would pull him away for a quick photo or handshake. You shook your head, convincing yourself it was nothing, just your own wishful thinking.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night, making your way out of the bustling venue with a small, satisfied smile. Meeting Drew had been more than you'd expected, a little moment you'd treasure, even if he'd likely never think of you again.

When Drew finally broke away, he glanced back to where you'd been standing, but you were gone, and his heart sank a little. He hadn't even gotten your last name or which media outlet you were with. All he knew was your first name and that undeniable connection he'd felt. Drew had plenty of interactions with fans and journalists over the years, but there was something about you that was different, something he wasn't ready to let go of so easily. There had to be a way to reach out to you again, and he was determined to find it.

He could already picture himself talking to his publicist, describing you—the journalist with the kind smile, the one who didn't ask the usual questions. He would find you, he decided. He wasn't about to let this connection slip through his fingers.

The morning after the premiere, you arrived at work feeling the usual post-event exhaustion. Meeting Drew had been the highlight of your night, and although you'd convinced yourself he was just being friendly, your mind kept replaying the way his eyes had seemed to find yours in the crowd. But now, back in the real world, it was just a fun memory you'd carry with you as you returned to your daily routine.

You set down your coffee, flipped open your laptop, and began your morning tasks: drafting a few responses, diving into some research for your next article and sorting through emails. The office was buzzing as usual, your coworkers catching up on coffee breaks and deadlines. Just another ordinary day—until your eyes caught an email with an unknown addressee.

The message was short and to the point:

Hi y/n,

Drew's Team had a couple of follow-up questions about last night's interview. Would you mind getting in touch with us? The number is below if it's easier for you to reach us directly.

Your heart skipped as you read the last line over and over, your eyes glued to the phone number listed at the bottom of the email. Your hands trembled slightly, your mind racing with possibilities. You felt a small jolt of anxiety—had you messed up somehow? You told yourself to stay calm, to stay professional—but something told you this was more than just a follow-up. You quickly picked up your phone, dialing the number as you took a sip of coffee to calm your nerves.

The line rang a couple of times before a familiar voice answered on the other end, smooth and unmistakably warm. "Hello? Y/n? This is Drew." You choked, your coffee going down the wrong way as you coughed in shock, barely managing to keep your composure. Drew? You hadn't expected this at all.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" he asked, a gentle laugh in his voice that only made your face heat up more. "Y-yes! I'm fine," you stammered, quickly setting your coffee aside as you tried to regain your composure. "Sorry, I just—didn't realize it would be you answering."

Drew chuckled, sounding completely at ease. "Sorry about the surprise. I wasn't sure how to reach out to you and if you'd even pick up if you knew it was me," he teased lightly. "I just wanted to follow up about our conversation last night. And, well...I'm still around today, so I hoped we could grab a coffee later?"

Your heart raced, unable to believe this was happening. You managed to swallow back your surprise and keep your voice steady, even as a smile tugged at your lips. "I... I'd like that," you replied softly, realizing this conversation could lead to more than you'd ever imagined.

[splishfish]

Watch (NSFW)

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Fingering, Established Relationship, Use of The Word Slut, Slight Dirty Talk, Good girl is Used Once, Crude Tomura

WC: 943

“You…want to watch me jerk off?”

"Yeah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You…want to watch me jerk off?” “Yeah.” That simple conversation was what led you two where you were now. Sitting in front of Tomura with your legs crossed together, and him manspreading on the bed, his pants strewn somewhere across the floor. His flaccid penis laid on his balls, an unimpressed expression on his face as he watched you stare at him.

“Your dick is cute…” You mumbled, smiling affectionately at his penis.

A scowl formed on his face, and he glared at you as he grumbled out. “It’s not cute. Don’t call it that.”

A small giggle left your lips, and your eyes trailed up to him curiously. “So…are you gonna jerk off?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the base of his cock. He limply wiggled it, muttering. “Show me your tits. I need to get hard.”

You sighed, reaching for the hem of your tanktop and preparing to slide it off when he suddenly stopped you. A look of confusion formed on your face, and he smirked as he spoke.

“No. Like this.” Suddenly, one of his hands grabbed the collar of your top, yanking it down and causing your breasts to spill out and bunch up at the top. You gasped in surprise, shooting a glare at him.

“Seriously?! You’re gonna stretch out my top!” “Shut up. It makes your tits look bigger, so be a good girl and play with ‘em to get me hard.” A scoff escaped your lips, but you didn’t argue. Bringing your hands up to your breasts, you began to gently rub at the softened nubs. You cupped your breasts gently, holding them up as your index fingers drew small circles around them, slowly hardening your nipples into stiff peaks. Once they were hard, you began to slowly pinch and twist them, pulling on the sensitive flesh and letting small muffled noises of pleasure escape your lips.

Your eyes trailed down to his penis, which was slowly beginning to stiffen up. He grabbed the base, pumping his cock at the same pace as your gentle stimulation. He hummed in satisfaction, before speaking again with a casual tone.

“I wanna see your pussy.” “How charming.”

One removal of sweats and underwear later, you sat in bed with Tomura in front of you, and your legs spread wide enough for him to get a good view of your pretty cunt. He groaned once he saw your pretty folds, stroking his cock before pausing. He scrunched his nonexistent eyebrows, before speaking in a puzzled voice. “Why aren’t you wet?” A few minutes of explaining how women aren’t constantly aroused later, Tomura violently fisted himself to the sight of your two fingers snuggly pumping in and out of your pussy. He tilted his head back, a small thunk being heard as his head hit the bed frame. The tip of his cock weeped constantly, precum coating his hand and causing a slick noise to echo through the room. His voice echoed through the room, small moans and cute whines slipping from his chapped lips, a pink hue coating his face and a small sheen of sweat coated his face.

You weren’t any different, two fingers pumping in and out of your now soaked pussy and small moans of pleasure escaping your lips. Hooded eyes locked onto his cock, the red mushroom tip disappearing and reappearing with every thrust of Tomura’s hand. A whiney voice escaped you, muttering in desperation. “Tomu…wanna see you cum…ah…touch your balls for me…please?” A groan of pleasure escaped him, and he squeezed his aching cock as he responded. “Fuck..you’re such a slut…watching me jerk off and telling me to fondle my balls…you like this huh?” You nodded your head, closing your eyes as you brought your second hand up to play with your clit. Small circles rubbed against the throbbing nub, and a loud whine escaped you as you begged in a hoarse voice. “Please…yes…I’m a slut...please..wanna see you cum…” He chuckled weakly, bringing his hand down to squeeze and toy with his balls. He groaned in pleasure, a curse escaping him as he bucked his hips. “Oh fuck…’m gonna cum baby…”

It wasn’t too long after he muttered those words that he squeezed his balls, almost painfully, as he got out rope after rope of cum. It splattered onto his hand, even reaching as far as his shirt, staining it with a white streak. As he panted, still languidly stroking himself, he watched as you finger yourself, desperately attempting to reach your own peak.

Crawling over, he settled besides you, raising your leg up and placing your calf on his shoulder, spreading you wide. A small whine escaped you, and you leaned back to lay on your forearms as he took control. His hand quickly replaced your own, slipping two fingers inside your warmth. A loud moan escaped you, his fingers reaching deeper inside. One of the better things about having Tomura use his hands is how rough they are. His fingers are dry and calloused, scratching your insides in a way that made you curl your toes and scream.

It didn’t take long for him to finally help you reach your climax, your hips bucking up into the air as a broken moan escaped your throat. Your warm heat clenched down on his fingers, causing him to grunt before pulling them out, a string of your arousal sticking to his index and middle finger.

Panting from the blissful experience, you took your leg off his shoulder, before wrapping yourself around him. He grunted before wrapping his arms around you in return, nuzzling his face into your hair.

Did you enjoy this? Check out my Masterlist for more!

aaahh!! I’m slowly figuring out this app! Are the ombré colors cool? ;3

[crushpunky]

drew saves actress!reader from the paparazzi

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask

Fans were one of the best parts of the job, and as they pulled up to the curb to head inside for the event, they could see a sea of them crowding along the entrance to the venue. Cheers and screams echoed as y/n and Drew’s sleek black car stopped, the two of them double checking their appearances before the door swung open, revealing the celebrity couple to their adoring fans… and a slew of paparazzi that immediately crowded the vehicle.

Drew exited the vehicle first before turning back to offer y/n his hand, a wide grin on his face as she stepped into the light. Y/n wore a sleek, sequined, black dress that twinkled in the flashes of the paparazzi in a way that made Drew’s cheeks blush. The dazzling fabric draped her body perfectly, ending in a short hem that rested along her upper thigh, showing off her legs. As y/n stepped further away from the car and into the swell of paparazzi and fans, Drew’s grip on her tightened.

“Y/n! Y/n! Please!” A fan shouted from behind one of the barricades that lined the entrance. Y/n turned to see a young girl excitedly waving at her, her smile and eyes impossibly wide with excitement. In the short moment her eyes left Drew, paparazzi had managed to make their way between them, breaking their hands apart. Swallowing harshly, y/n made a step towards the enthusiastic fan.

“Hi, hi, it’s so nice to see you guys here!” Y/n smiled, grabbing the fan’s marker and quickly signing the poster they held in front of them.

“Thank you! I love you!” The fan squealed excitedly. Y/n leaned against the barricade, her arms wrapping around the girl and pulling her into a brief hug. As she leaned forward, y/n suddenly felt a pressure behind her and quickly turned to see a photographer shoving a camera in her face. Drew, having realized the moment their hands broke apart how quickly the situation was gonna turn to shit, was already attempting to weave his way through the paparazzi.

“Looking hot, y/n!” The man chuckled, panning his camera down to showcase y/n’s dress, a smirk on his face that made her stomach churn.

“Excuse me.” Y/n asked politely, attempting to break away from the swarm of photographers that pinned her against the barricade. However, the paparazzi continued to press forward, shoving their cameras into her face and against her body harshly. A look of panic swept over y/n’s face that caused Drew to push through the photographers, his jaw clenched.

“Showing lots of skin, y/n.” The same photographer from before jeered, pointing his camera in an attempt to get some sort of reaction. However, the only thing he was doing was terrifying y/n and making Drew seethe with anger.

“Excuse me, please, I—” Y/n pleaded again, trying to get any amount of room to escape the uncomfortable situation.

“Back up!” Drew shouted, pulling the especially pushy photographer back with a harsh grip on their arm. Y/n felt her chest tighten, her hand reaching out towards Drew as he came closer.

“Calm down, dude—” One of the paparazzi scoffed as Drew continued pushing through them, his eyes set on y/n.

“I said, back the fuck up!” Drew shouted louder, finally pushing through to y/n, grabbing onto her wrist and pulling her into his chest. Y/n’s hand entwined with his quickly, her other arm grasping firmly onto Drew’s bicep as he forced a path through. Once they finally broke free of the swell of paparazzi, Drew wrapped an arm around y/n’s waist as they quickly ducked into the entrance. As soon as the doors closed behind them, sealing them off from the chaos outside, y/n let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

“Shit, baby, are you alright?” Drew’s eyes scanned over her body, his hands soothing down her arms gently. Y/n nodded, her eyes blinking as she came down from the intense bout of anxiety she’d just experienced.

“Hey, it’s ok. You’re ok.” Drew whispered, pulling y/n into a tight hug. Y/n exhaled into the front of Drew’s shirt, her arms wrapping around him as her heart finally began to settle.

“I’m finding out who that asshole is and I’m making sure he never steps a foot in any event for the rest of his fuckin life.” Drew seethed, pressing a kiss to the top of y/n’s head. Despite the situation, y/n felt herself giggle into Drew’s shirt. With a furrow of his brow, Drew stepped back to get a good look at what exactly was causing y/n to giggle.

“What?” Drew asked, glancing over y/n’s body again.

“I love you, my fierce protector.” Y/n said with a grin, rising up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to Drew’s cheek. Drew rolled his eyes, pressing another quick kiss to y/n’s cheek before wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Does that make you my damsel in distress?” Drew teased, squeezing y/n’s hip.

“Sure, whatever you want to think, Prince Drew.” Y/n grinned, resting her head on Drew’s shoulder as the two of them finally made their way into the event.