#if he can find another crow to take form in

[luna-the-cretar]

Lethica and Virgil

If Virgil continues to behave himself…yeah. I mean, Lethica had formed a bond with Bag by the end of the first hour with it, so…the only real variable here is Virgil

[casuallyanidiot]

The crows I've been feeding have started leaving me money as gifts lol. It's got me thinking about Yandere crow hybrid who likes to hang around your home. You feed the local birds, just tossing out seed every night, and you never really expect much to come out of it.

MDNI! Dead dove do not Eat!

Tw. Noncon, stalking, monsterfucking, yandere, size difference

Yandere crow who creeps around in the dead of night while you aren't paying attention to you balcony or yard, lest you see the looming, unnerving figure of a large man with shifting obsidian feathers and too sharp teeth. He's patient and only creeps out from beyond the treeline when the sun starts to set, the smaller birds get their fill for the most part, and you aren't able to see him.

At first he didn't care for you all that much, thinking of you as just some faceless human, but then he started to lurk around your house more and more. Maybe you thought that there were more birds coming than there actually were, because Yandere Crow noticed that you were putting out more seed than usual. You were just attentive like that.

Yandere Crow found himself lurking around your windows more often. He liked to peer in and watch you move about your little home. Your home looked so cozy, and his feathers ruffled at the thought of having such a warm, inviting nest. He felt an odd itch to add his own touches to your house. After all, this was his territory. No other corvid was going to come to this specific place unless he allowed them to, and he was feeling a bit protective of this little feeding spot. It totally wasn't because you were so tiny compared to him, or the fact that you were all alone without him there to guard your property.

Yandere Crow who starts to leave you little shiny trinkets. You think that some of the other birds brought them for you, but despite the fact that he knows you're unaware of him, he finds great pride in you laying out the shiny rocks, coins, ribbons and shells he so meticulously picked out.

Yandere Crow who starts drooling and imagining how pretty you'd be cuddled up beside him with soft downy feathers, blankets, and glittering objects surrounding you both. It was such an alluring fantasy that it almost made him forget that you were human and not just another, regular potential mate.

Yandere Crow who starts fucking his fist and cums on your windows, walls, and doorstep. He hopes that once you smell the musky scent, you'll start getting used to his presence.

Yandere Crow who can't take it anymore, and he breaks into your house one evening. He stands there in your kitchen, drinking in just how sweet and perfect you smell. His feathers rustle and brush up against doorways and walls as he follows his nose to find where you are all curled and fast asleep. He croons softly and looms over your pliant form. The talons on his feet tap impatiently on the ground, clunking against hollow wooden floors. He was shifting and shuddering in excitement. He's never been this close to you before, and now that you were here, face cradled in his claws,

You start to stir. Your eyes flutter open, and they widen in shock. He can see the terror filling out your features, and he feels his cock stiffen. Even as he clamps his hand over your cheeks and mouth to stop you from screaming, you're perfect to him. Maybe he wished you were a bit stronger instead of the cute, fragile little thing you are, but then he wouldn't be able to pin you down and hold you like this, would he?

Yandere crow who thinks you look so pretty in the moonlight. It makes you look like you're glowing as he spears you on a dick that's nearly the size of your whole torso. He purrs praises into your ears as you squeal and cry out.

"Shhh, you have to get used to it," He chides and thrusts his hips into you. Your poor, twitching entrance is stretched out past the point of what must be comfortable, and he does feel a twinge of guilt. He didn't properly court you, nor did he really prepare you to be fucked so thoroughly. He nuzzles his face into your hair in an apologetic manner. "But you're doing so good already for me. Just keep taking it."

Yandere Crow who keeps you trapped like that for hours. He likes being lounged across your bed while he holds you tightly against his chest. His favorite sight is the one of your fucked out, drooling face being smushed up on his chest. He can't help but chirp happily. He's made you cum so many times, and your hole is all sloppy and stuffed chalk full of him cum. It's so much that you can't reasonably clean it all out, and the thought fills him with a sense of satisfaction.

Yandere crow who is perfectly happy knowing that of all the birds you've cared for, he's the only one who's been able to get this special treatment from you.

[snowballseal]

Pretty Bird

Sylus X Reader

Summary: Sylus is jealous of you giving Mephisto attention. That's it. You tease him when you find out.

Word Count: 2123

Note: Nothing really, hope I did him justice! His dialogue is a little harder for me to nail down.

---

The first time it happens is when you cross to the N109 Zone to accompany Sylus on an “errand”.

The first thing you do when you reach the ornate, empty house - of course - is say hello to your favorite bird.

“Hey there pretty bird.”

Mephisto squawks, bobbing excitedly on his perch as you bound up to him. You grin and give the crow a gentle scratch on his head. He preens under your touch, mechanical feathers fluffing with another quiet, scruffy caw. Adorable.

Despite his unnerving gaze, which you find to be eerily similar to a certain Onychinus leader, you can’t help but love the little bird. For some reason, it always comforts you a little bit to see him perched outside your apartment, or following you around Linkon. He always tries to act like he’s not spying on you, but you know he is, and you know he’s going to report right back to Sylus. Maybe that’s why it’s comforting.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to sway his loyalties.”

Speak of the devil.

“As if,” you snicker, giving the bird one final scratch before spinning on your heels to face Sylus. He sits across the room in one of his big armchairs, eyes glued to the gun he’s loading, face carefully blank. As always. You saunter over and pop yourself onto the arm of the chair, bumping his shoulder. “You know Mephisto doesn’t listen to anyone but you. I’m just like the fun mom who gives him things.”

His lips twitch ever so slightly, “Mmm, does that make me your husband in this situation?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks.

You are no stranger to Sylus’ flirty nature. That’s how things have always been between you, though it only really gets to you now. Before, when you kind of hated his guts, it was just annoying. Well, maybe even then-

“You wish,” you retort, but there’s no hiding the blush painting your cheeks.

“Hm, I thought you knew me better than that, sweetie.” In an instant, his hand curls around your wrist, giving it a sharp tug that knocks you off balance. You let out an undignified squeak, tumbling right into his lap. And before you can squirm away, Sylus locks an arm over your legs, keeping you trapped against him. Those red eyes freeze you in place, dark and warm with mischief. “Why would I wish for something I could so easily take?”

You stare at him, eyes blown wide, face completely red now. You can’t even form any words in response, which seems to amuse him even more. A smirk curls his lips, and he gives your hip a playful pinch.

“What? Crow got your tongue, sweetie?”

You sputter, finally finding your voice, “Sylus!”

“Good. Now that you’re focused, we can go handle business.” Sylus sets you on the ground, making sure you’re steady before he stands nonchalantly and tucks his gun in its holster. Like nothing just happened! “We don’t want to be late now, do we?”

Before you can even say anything more, he’s heading for the door. It takes a few seconds to shake yourself from your  state of shock, and then you’re quickly following after him.

“Sylus-!”

He cuts you off, that stupid, attractive smirk still on his lips, “And by the way, try not to spoil Mephisto too much, sweetie. He’s grown rather petulant when you’re not around.”

You’re pretty sure your blush sticks around for the entire car ride after.

---

The second time is when you visit on one of your off days. 

When you get there, Sylus is still asleep. You take a moment to crouch by his bed, a fond smile adorning your lips as you take in his peaceful face. You remember when he used to sleep sitting up, so he was ready for anything, but now he looks relaxed. Though you still spot the gun tucked under his bed.

Deciding not to bother him, you quietly make your way back out to the living room and grab a book. It’s about the only way to pass time in the N109 Zone, at least, without getting yourself into anything dangerous. As soon as you sit down, Mephisto flaps across the room and lands on your arm, plopping himself down into your lap like a cat.

A giggle escapes you when the crow throws his head back, looking up at the most awkward angle you can imagine. You give his beak a little rub, and he makes a soft clicking sound, beady red eyes falling shut.

“I swear, it’s almost like you’re a crow with cat programming,” you hum, mostly to yourself. Mephisto ruffles his feathers, though, at the word ‘cat’, eyes flashing back open. You snort, easing a hand over his wings, “No worries, pretty bird, no cats. I’m just kidding.”

He settles back down, seemingly embarrassed by his reaction, which only makes you want to coddle him more. So cute. If only Sylus would be this cute with you. Heat tinges your cheeks at the thought of the tall man resting against your lap, looking up at you with softly narrowed eyes, humming in content as you pet his ha-

Snapping your book open, you throw yourself into the story in hopes of banishing such rogue thoughts. If Sylus knew what you were imagining, he would tease you for years. You really don’t want to feed his ego even more. Mephisto wedges himself between your arm and your side, happy to just fall asleep as you read, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

It doesn’t take you long to actually get immersed in the storyline, though. So much so that you don’t hear the steps coming up behind you.

“It seems you come here more often to spend time with Mephisto than with me.”

You practically jump out of your skin when a strong arm circles your shoulders. Sylus’ voice is a low rumble in your ear, thick with sleep. He leans over the back of your chair, and you narrowly miss the way he eyes the bird in your lap with distaste. He looks far too content curled up on your lap.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were sleeping,” you hum, closing the book.

He grumbles, sleepy eyes shifting to bore into you. The smallest pout pulls at his lips, and you have to stifle a giggle as you reach up to smooth down his messy hair. Sylus leans into your touch, much like Mephisto did, his eyes flickering shut. Okay, maybe he is just as cute.

“Are you mad I didn’t come cuddle with you?” You tease. Sleepy Sylus is definitely your favorite Sylus. “I didn’t know the big, bad Onychinus leader likes to snuggle.”

“It’s simply to ensure you don’t cause trouble in the N109 Zone,” he murmurs, still just as quick-witted though he’s half-asleep, “I can’t have my kitten wandering around all by herself, now can I?”

“I was just reading, Sylus. No trouble here.”

“Hmm, then you might as well come read in bed.”

You hesitate, fingers tracing along his jaw lightly, “You sure I won’t disturb your sleep?”

Those dark eyes blink back open lazily, a rare, genuine smile dancing in their depths, “Trust me, kitten, my sleep will be much better with you at my side.”

God, you’re weak for this man. Mephisto squawks his complaints as you lift him from your lap, but takes off to his perch without much fight. Sylus feels a flash of victory as you intertwine your fingers. The sensation of your small hand in his eases the strange tightness in his chest whenever you’re apart. He curls his other arm around you possessively, sending the bird a smug smirk.

You catch it this time, lifting a brow as you glance between him and Mephisto. Your brain stalls. Was he…jealous? No way. There’s no way Sylus would be jealous of you spending time with his bird. He’s more mature than that…or maybe not, you realize as he drags you back to his bed, only to lay himself over you like a large cat, using your lap as his pillow. Exactly as you imagined.

Your heart flutters a little, which you’re sure he hears somehow, because he squeezes your waist teasingly. You pinch his cheek lightly before running your fingers through his snowy hair. It’s always softer than you expect.

“Go to sleep, Sylus,” you murmur, voice far too fond, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He hums, and you can feel the sound vibrate through his body. Almost like a purr.

God, you don’t even have a chance, do you?

---

The final time is when you visit the N109 Zone to attend another auction with Sylus. And this time, you catch him in it.

“Where’s Mephisto?”

Sylus’ face sours at your question. You bite back a smile.

Ever since the day you spent napping in his room, you haven’t been able to escape that thought swirling in the back of your mind. So you decided to test your theory. Sylus is always messing with you, afterall. It’s only fair you get a bit of revenge.

“I sent him out to gather intel,” Sylus huffs eventually. Why do you always look for that d***  bird first? “That is his purpose, afterall.”

“Oh.” You feign sadness, letting out a long sigh. “That’s too bad! I brought him some treats.”

“Well, you can leave them here. I’m sure he’ll eat them later,” he says, voice dismissive as he fixes the cuffs of his coat.

“Hmm-” You slowly make your way over to him. Those perceptive eyes narrow on you, watching you carefully while you straighten his collar. “Will he be here later? Maybe I can give them to him after the auction. I miss my pretty bird.” 

Amusement curls in your chest when you see the man’s brows twitch ever so slightly. He’s really annoyed. Now you understand why he loves pushing your buttons so much.

“No, I’m afraid he’ll be busy all night.” You can practically hear him gritting his teeth. Almost there. You keep your eyes focused on his coat, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. He’s trying to figure you out and you’re scared that if you look up, the laughter you're holding back will break loose. Instead, you put on an exaggerated pout.

“That’s unfortunate. I was really hoping to see him tonight.”

Sylus growls. Actually growls in annoyance.

“Would you prefer to have Mephisto on your arm tonight instead of me?” His words come out biting and harsh, tinged with unmistakable jealousy.

The air goes silent.

Before you burst into a fit of giggles. Sylus’ eyes widen when you collapse against his chest, your entire body shaking with laughter. He freezes, though his confusion quickly gives way to realization. 

You were playing with him.

“I suppose this is some form of revenge,” he hums, shaking his head. It’s surprising it took him so long to catch on. With anyone else, he’d be beyond angry, but your laughter is so bright, so infectious, that he can’t stop the small smile that pulls at his lips. When you finally look up at him, tears glint in the corners of your eyes. Who thought this would amuse you so much?

“You’re jealous! The Sylus is jealous of a little bird. His bird.” You bite down on your lip in an attempt to muffle the giggles that keep coming, but it doesn’t do much to help. It’s just too much for you. You never ever thought you’d see Sylus actually jealous of someone, let alone an animal.

Sylus narrows his eyes, though they glow with a certain fondness. “Such a sadist, sweetie, messing with a man’s heart so lightly.”

“Oh, but your reaction was so adorable,” you sing, reaching up to poke his cheek. He playfully bites at your finger, making you draw it back quickly with another laugh. “Just the fact that you could even think I like Mephisto more than you is so silly. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Hmm, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to prove my silly conclusion wrong, won’t you?” His hands settle on your waist, drawing you closer to the warmth of his body. You oblige him, stretching your arms up and around his neck to draw him down.

“Of course. I can’t have my pretty bird walking around thinking he’s second best,” you tease, fingers curling through his hair. “Even if he has a jealousy prob-”

“Quiet.”

Anything else you say is muffled as Sylus finally kisses you.

Safe to say, after that, you make sure to give Sylus extra attention, especially when Mephisto is around. (Though you do still sneak him treats when Sylus isn’t looking.)

[tommysversion]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 1] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: he's been watching you for longer than he can remember, thinking he's too old for you, too dangerous. It's easier to keep people at arm's length, and he isn't the roughened lover he used to be. Turns out you don't care much for what he used to be.

Warnings & Contents: age difference (unspecified, can be as large or small as you'd like) | unsafe sex | Vaguely misogynistic language (not from Joel) | past Reader x Tommy mention | dirty talk | praise | pet names | size difference implied IE Joel's hands are larger than Reader's | unprotected PIV | Enthusiastic consent | Fluffier than expected | creampies oops | guaranteed happy ending

Note: I got this out before episode two dropped. There are no spoilers here, just old man Joel being loved.

Word Count: 3.8k. || Part Two Here

- x. -

Joel knows that deep down, he's not the good guy that he tries to be in Jackson. That no amount of hard work and somewhat begrudging neighbourly behaviour will truly ever mask what he really is. 

He does a damn good job hiding it, though. Looks almost unassuming with his greying curls, the crows feet forming round his eyes, the glasses he wears more often than not. 

Then there's you. God knows how much younger than him - does it really matter, when he's pushing sixty and you're clearly not - and full of life. 

He sees you around and just one look at you gets him half hard; you don't even have to fucking do anything, just be wandering past and give him a friendly wave, a half smile. 

He finds his eyes glued to your ass more often than not, given your standard attire of a pastel plaid shirt and jeans does nothing to hide your figure. He feels like a dirty old man each and every fucking time, but he can't help it. Especially when you wander past to get ready for a patrol, an honest to god cowboy hat perched on your head, a lasso and a gun on your hip. 

It makes some deep buried dark and depraved part of him wish he was still the cocky, confident bastard he once was. The kind who would have no problem whatsoever with talking to you and getting exactly what he wanted. Age has made him hesitate, though, and so he sort of just contends himself with trying to be as subtle as possible with his stares. 

He'd be lying if he said he thought of anything else when he fucked his own hand each night, though. 

Imagining you. How you might look spread out beneath him. On top of him. How you might sound with his name on your stupidly pouty lips, which he absolutely hasn't made note of or anything. 

Joel likes to think he's completely subtle in his interest in you, thinks he might just be burning up inside with his own desires and need, until Tommy calls him the fuck out for it one night. 

They're in the bar long after closing time, just the two of them, perks of Tommy being on the governing council, Joel guesses, and two or three glasses of whiskey deep. 

"Don't know why you don't just go after her, y'know." Tommy takes a long sip of his drink. Gives Joel a smirk that he never thought he'd see again, given his younger brother is all settled down now, married with a kid and whatnot. 

"You know damn well why not." Joel snipes back, refills his glass with a narrowed gaze. "'M too old and I'm too fuckin' dangerous. She'd probably break or something." 

Tommy just laughs. But it's more like his old laugh. The slightly dark sound that Joel hasn't heard in years that makes him goddamn certain his brother knows something he doesn't. 

"What?"

"Nothin'," Tommy says, tossing another cube of ice into his glass, swirls it around. "Don't blame you for lookin'. Girl's got a sweet ass, and damn, she can ride, too."

There's that tone again, the one that says he definitely knows something. More than knows something. So Joel gives him that look he does that always inevitably has Tommy spilling the beans. 

"And how d'you know the girl can ride, huh?"

Tommy snorts, drags a hand through his messy black curls. 

"Wasn't always with Maria, ya know. Back when I first came to Jackson... girl can handle her way around a saddle. Ain't half as cocky when she was gushin' all over my cock in a hay bale. Tell y'somethin, never seen a prettier sight than a cockdrunk woman." 

He downs the rest of his drink before he shoots Joel a crooked grin. 

"And trust me on this one too - she loves her an older man."

Joel doesn't want details. Doesn't care much about something that happened six or so years ago. 

What he does take from the conversation stays worked into his head over the next few days. He's just thinking he might make some excuse to leave his office early, to go home so he can either drink himself senseless or fuck his own fist until he has some semblance of self control again. 

He's still debating which it'll be when someone knocks on his office door; he looks up, about to tell whoever it is to fuck off, and instead stops. Because there you fucking are, your hair pulled off your face, still windswept. Dressed in a pastel purple and blue plaid shirt, another pair of jeans that should be fucking outlawed and worn cowboy boots. 

“Hey, Joel.”

Vaguely, he wonders if this is the first time he’s actually registered you saying his name; he likes the way it sounds in your voice.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He can’t help but sense some sort of mischief, wonders whether Tommy has decided to interfere, again, in something he has no business in.

“Oh, uh, Tommy said you were the one to go to if the barn door got caught again?”

Joel registers what you’re saying, can’t help but listen to the way his brother’s name sounds in your mouth, as if he’s looking to see if there’s any hint of any sort of affection in it, but he finds none.

He also thinks his goddamn brother is full of shit, because he knows damn well that Tommy is just as capable of fixing the stupid barn door. But Joel is nothing if not an opportunist, and he sees exactly what’s being offered here – an opportunity.

So he gets up out of his chair, pockets his glasses, and gives you a nod.

“Sure. Let’s go get that fixed up before dark.”

-            X     -

You’re aware of the sheer size of the man beside you as you help him lift the barn door back onto the track it usually slides in. He must be at least sixty, and yet he’s so big and broad that it doesn’t quite show. That doesn’t mean you’re oblivious to the greying curls, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You’re not blind. Maybe you’re just fucked up, because you’ve always preferred older men, at least, since the outbreak.

Maybe it’s some convoluted thought that someone older might be able to keep you safe. As if you aren’t a damn good shot yourself. As if you aren’t entirely capable of keeping yourself safe.

You haven’t been as oblivious to his stares as he thinks. No, Joel Miller is not a subtle man, not anymore. Never has been.

That, and you’ve seen a similar look on his brother’s face, once upon a time. The kind of look that says they want to devour you. To do things to you that’ll make your toes curl.

Like you haven’t been watching Joel since he first set foot in Jackson. Figured maybe you were too young, too out of range of his usual type, whatever the fuck that was.

And then you’d noticed him watching you, dared to perhaps hope, but never make the first move. Until now.

“Thanks for the help,” you say as you test the door, pull it open and closed to make sure it isn’t stuck again.

“’S fine,” Joel answers, shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Walk you home?” You offer, and the hint of a smile curves his mouth.

“Don’t know that I’m the one who needs a chaperone to walk round after dark.”

You laugh lightly as he falls into step with you regardless.

“Ah, Joel, nobody would be stupid enough to lay a hand on me.”

You don’t entirely believe that, but confidence is certainly part of it, and the last thing you want is for him to think you’re someone weak and scared.

“Why, you got some scary ass husband or somethin’ I don’t know about?” Joel asks, and you can hear the hint of jealousy in his tone, even if he thinks you won’t; it lights up something in your belly that trails all the way down to your core.

“Pff, no. No husband. No boyfriend. Just me, and apparently I’m scary enough.”

You give him time to take all that in, but that means you arrive at his house far too soon with very little progression in conversation. You’re almost feeling disappointed when he speaks again.

“Comin’ in for a drink?”

Joel isn’t sure where that confidence came from. Maybe the way you’ve confirmed there’s no significant other in your life. The almost flirty way you’ve spoken to him. The way you had seemingly no issue getting up in his space as you fixed the barn door.

He notices, too, the way your eyes flicker with something like triumph at the offer, before you just nod, follow him up the steps and into the house.

-            X     -

Joel watches the way your lips curve around the glass tumbler, and he really thinks he should be more focused on his own liquor consumption at his age more than the way it looks, but he can’t help it.

Unbidden, his mind gives him a picture of your lips wrapped around something else entirely, and for the first time since Tommy shared his little bit of “wisdom” about you the other night, he resents his brother for it. Because of fucking course his goddamn brother would have had the balls to just make a move. So why doesn’t he?

As he’s pondering this, he’s oblivious to your gaze, focused on him over the rim of your glass. They’re so alike, and yet so different, the Miller brothers. You haven’t quite worked out what makes Joel tick yet, can sense a sort of brooding, shut off darkness in him that you aren’t entirely certain you’d like to see unleashed.

What you do know, though, is that you’ve caught his eyes on you more than once. That you want him, even if it’s only for one night, that you don’t care if he shreds your heart to pieces after, so long as you get one single night where you can see what it’s like to be his.

And so while he’s still lost in thought, you down the rest of your drink and cross from your chair to his, straddle his lap and tap him lightly on the cheek.

“Hey, still with me?”

Not a lot takes Joel by surprise; he wasn’t sure what to expect when you moved, but to find you in his lap is definitely unexpected. He puts his half-finished drink to the side and just looks at you for a second, tries to will his cock into behaving, but it’s too late, he’s already hard as fuck, uncomfortable in his jeans with you pressed against him, and you both know it.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” He manages to get out, because he’s got to be sure you’re not just fucking with him, or making some poor decision fuelled by liquor, even though he doubts the single drink has even touched the sides.

“What’s it look like?” You can feel how hard he is, can’t help but rock into him slightly, taunting, teasing, because God forbid you actually want this.

“Makin’ a real poor decision?” Joel regrets saying it as soon as he does so, and it shows on his face; luckily you ignore him.

“You want me to stop?” you ask instead, your hands at the buttons of the flannel shirt he always wears, a well loved dark green thing that you think sets off the olive tones to his skin perfectly.

He shakes his head so fast he almost feels dizzy, because there’s no way in hell he wants you to stop, but he wants you to understand what you might be getting yourself into.

“Fuck, no,” he almost growls it out, leans in to press a kiss to your bare collarbone where your shirt has fallen. “More just… I'm an old man, darlin', but I've never been good at bein' gentle."

You just laugh, because you don’t want gentle. You don’t want young and sweet and inexperienced. You want whatever the hell is lurking behind his tired gaze.

Still, he doesn’t move until you lean in first, press those pouting lips against his, part them so he can taste liquor and strawberries on your tongue. It’s not until you grind down against him again and moan into his mouth that he reacts.

Then whatever control he has left (which isn’t much) snaps, his hands pushing up your shirt; glad he had the foresight to build a fire when you got in, because the last thing he wants is you shivering for any reason that isn't good, isn't at his hands. 

You figure he isn't moving fast enough, help him shed your layers of clothing one by one until you're in his lap in just your emerald green panties, and fuck if Joel doesn't think the colour looks good on you.

His hands are wandering, up from your hips, slowly, cupping your tits and rubbing his roughened thumbs across your peaked nipples. You almost wish you could get him naked, but the most he'll allow is a few buttons of his shirt undone. Not that you're about to complain, so full of want for him that you'll take whatever he gives you.

You can feel the fabric of your panties getting damper with every hungry, open mouthed kiss, your little moans muffled as he slowly draws circles with his thumbs around your nipples, humming when he feels you react.

"Sensitive, huh?" His dark eyes stay fixed on yours as he pinches your nipples gently, making your back arch slightly. "Yeah you are, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You just nod, grinding yourself down against the thick length of him, your hands finding his belt buckle.

He doesn't stop you, too preoccupied with playing with your tits, the way you lean into his touch. Your hand unzips his jeans, frees his cock from the too tight confines, and slowly strokes, drawing a low groan from his chest.

Fuck, but you know what you're doing, slow practised strokes from base to tip, gentle twists of your wrist when you reach the thick head of him, spreading the precum that drips heavily along his length.

"Fuck, sweetheart, don't make me cum before I've got you there-" he warns, and you laugh, not at him, but because you're so fucking pleased that you're having that much of an effect on him.

He shuts you up effectively though, slides one rough hand into your panties and almost immediately finds your swollen clit, rubs circles on it with his thumb, smirking at how soaked he finds you.

"Christ. Don't even need t'get you ready for me, do I?"

You shake your head, but he does it anyway; nobody can say he isn't merciful, Joel thinks, as he slides his index and middle finger into your wet heat, drawing a filthy sound from you as he curls them deep.

He kisses you again, rough and needy, thinks about how if he was five, ten years younger he'd pick you up, carry you to the nearest horizontal surface and fuck you into it. The thought makes his cock throb painfully, but even this is enough, having you in his lap, writhing on his fingers...

You're aware of his mouth on you; on your throat, your collarbones, your nipples, then he moves his fingers a little more and you're aware of nothing beyond your own pleasure, your cunt weeping onto the thick digits as he continues to move them, not stopping until he's absolutely certain you're through it.

"So fuckin' pretty for me, baby. You want to come sit on my cock now?"

Slowly, slowly, he slides his fingers out, enjoys the dazed look on your face as you nod; your ruined panties are dragged down, tossed aside, then you're there, intimately close as he lines himself up, catches the tip of his cock at your soaked entrance.

He lets you sink down onto him with little to no guidance; groans when your hips meet far sooner than he expected. 

"Fuck, there's a good girl-"

You make a sound of assent, wriggle in his lap to get comfortable, only serving to make his cock twitch inside you and drag another pretty little sound out.

"You like how it feels?" He knows you do, can tell by the way your pussy tightens around him, trying to pull him in deeper, but he wants to hear you say it, almost needs the ego boost.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, then, "Joel-"

His name is drawn out, a half plea for something that he isn't quite sure about.

"What d'you need, honey?"

"Need you to move," your voice is almost demanding, somewhere between pleading and insistent, but you'll get what you want regardless.

Joel keeps his hands on your hips, giving you some semblance of control still, but he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips up as you rest your forehead against his.

So maybe it's not what he first pictured, not what he'd have done to you ten years ago, but it doesn't quite matter to him, not when he can feel how wet and tight you are around him, hear every single pathetic little noise you make for him.

Your fingers drag through greying curls, tugging lightly; you're rewarded with another low groan, more like a growl, as his hips snap upwards sharply against yours. You don't get to savour that victory, too preoccupied by the suddenly rougher pace.

"Fuck, Joel-" You gasp and he laughs, tightens his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock just that little bit harder, faster, hitting all the right places inside.

"That's it, good girl," he presses greedy, open mouthed kisses to your throat, keeping up the pace, feeling you tightening around him and knowing without a doubt that you're close already, so worked up for him that tipping you over the edge will be almost easy.

"Such a tight, sweet little cunt, baby, made to take my cock, weren't you?" The filthy words pour out before he can stop them, but you're responsive to those, too, clinging to him, moaning as his cock hits your sweet spot again and again,  getting you closer; you try to hold it off, don't want this to be over yet. But God if it isn't difficult.

Joel can feel you trying not to cum, can feel you holding yourself back.

"C'mon, sweetheart, go ahead and cum for me.  Y'really think this is gonna be the only time I give you my cock, sweet girl? Fuck, gonna keep this pretty pussy full of me til you get sick of it."

You gasp a moan, because there's no way in hell you could ever get tired of this, of the hint of roughness and the burning passion with which he handles you. 

Regardless, once he gives you that permission, even though you didn't need it, your resolve breaks; he presses in deep, grinds his hips against yours so the coarse curls at the base of him brush your over-sensitive clit, and then you're gone, spots in your vision as you cling to him, your cunt fluttering and throbbing around the thick cock splitting you open as your release drips down him, soaking his lap. 

Joel groans, almost cums right there, because he can count on both hands and feet how long it's been since he made a woman cum so hard, felt a pussy spasm around his cock and gush fluids into his lap.  Fuck, if he doesn't love it.

"Not gonna last much longer, sweetheart," he warns, voice low and rough as he rubs circles on your back, trying to get you through it whilst holding back his own release.

"Please-" Your voice is hoarse, eyes wide and pleading as you look at him, not bothering to finish your sentence and instead leaning in to kiss him.

It's the kiss that pushes him over the edge; years of rough, emotionless encounters, against walls. Bent over surfaces. And here you are, younger than him, softer somehow, kissing him like he's someone good and deserving.

He knows he should pull out of you but it's too late, his cock aches and twitches inside you as his release fills your still fluttering cunt, breaking the kiss only so he can rest his head on your shoulder and try to breathe.

Then your hands are in his hair again, stroking through the soft curls, getting him through the aftermath of his climax with the same gentle touch he gave you.

"Joel," you whisper his name and this time it's not a plea, not an impassioned moan, just your voice being gentle as you continue to stroke his hair.

"Hm?" He's content to just stay like this, actually, even if his joints are starting to protest. He'll deal with that later for another five, ten, fifteen minutes of this with you.

"You don't fuck like an old man." Your voice is soft. Sleepy. Like he's fucked any fire inside you out of you, lulled you into a sense of safety.

Joel can't help it. He laughs, a proper laugh that barely anyone gets out of him these days.

"Guess not, huh."

He feels his softening cock slip out of you, wraps his arms around you and tucks you against his chest.

"Can we do this again?" You dare to ask, because you're feeling sleepy and stupid and high on him, on the feeling of his seed slowly dripping down your thighs as he presses little kisses to your head.

Joel looks down at you for a moment, understands you don't mean right now, but in a sort of ambiguous future way.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you want. You want a blanket or something?"

Because inexplicably he's worried that you might be cold, as if he's only been watching you to think with his cock and doesn't actually, possibly, maybe care.

You shake your head and nuzzle back into his chest.

"Can we just stay like this for a minute?" You ask instead, and Joel nods, because he really does need to catch his breath, and even if his knees are protesting, he doesn't give a damn, because you're nice and warm in his lap and you fit there just right, like you were made to fit there.

"Yeah, baby. As long as you want."

It won't occur to him until maybe a week or so later, when you're picking strawberries in the greenhouse, that that should have been the moment he realised he was a total, utter goner.

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry one ) ── dust of snow ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

you have three brothers- no, two brothers. you’ve only heard of the third. you can hardly think of them as such, feeling traitorous to your old family… families. but you are also a lonely child, so you give them permission to be props of your plain life.

the eldest, with stark blue eyes and dimples at his near-permanent smiles is named richard grayson. he’d given you a warm grin the day you arrived, that somewhat wavered at the blank look you hoped you gave him. you don’t talk to him, but sometimes you wish you did.

you know nothing of the second, apart from his first name; jason. the usual answers to unasked questions, that piece together via general conversations, don’t form here, and you can’t be bothered to ask. you wonder where he is, does he not come to visit?

the youngest of the three is younger than you too, tim drake the butler says, by maybe one or two years, you never tried to figure it out. he came to the house about a few months after you arrived, but seems far more involved with bruce’s business than you ever will be (ever hope to be). there’s a familiar twitch to his brows, and you relate it to old inquisitive roommates, the ones that tried to figure you out without asking questions and always gave up eventually. 

it's a relief he doesn't even try at all.

it does feel a little odd, to not have to talk to anyone just to shoo them away. you strangely miss it, the feeling of being irritated at bothersome small talk. in the silence of the manor, which had not much for a child to do, you start to feel lonely

you've never felt lonely before. alone, yes, isolated, absolutely, but lonely? you've never wanted company. not from anyone who wasn't... forget it.

and thus, you're in an odd situation. you want to be a part of the family, but you have no interest in talking to them. why, the mere idea makes you sweat all over, and you prefer your few meals in your room.

you don't like it. wanting so badly to converse with your brothers, get to know them the way you knew your old previous foster-care siblings, but not being able to.

in your old houses, the children would be somewhat put into forced proximity, there was no choice other than to call out for company. you'd gotten absurdly used to being reached out to without having to do it yourself. your brothers must be busy, or you must be too quiet for them to notice you around.

so with all the courage you could muster, you crept up to an idle older brother, visiting after so long from bludhaven. you might implode from the short moment where he looked at you with confusion, not knowing who you are, before giving you a awkward smile of acknowledgement. no matter, it's not his fault.

he nods off your subtle attempt at asking for his time, maybe you're not being clear enough? it's enough to put you off, so you leave quickly after he gives you a small promise to talk later, maybe get out of the house for a while.

it's such a small thing, but it makes you embarrassed. you try to build up a little stubbornness, and look to find tim. but when you find him immersed deeply in a book, a journal of some sort, you decide otherwise and leave.

it's okay. you'll try again! when you're feeling better. better and livelier.

livelier.

your patterned quilt does little to keep away the monstrous cold of gotham's winter nights, and does it wreck though your nerves and leave you shivering.

the butler; alfred, had given you a good understanding of the room's systems, yet another thing that'd take time to get used to, and you knew the switches that would connect your vents to the central heating system.

but it feels so surreal, and the familiarity of huddling into your own ice cold limbs for warmth is a comfort you can't let go off just yet. you mustn't allow these new privileges to make you forget who you are. what you are, and what you deserve.

you recall a young boy in one of your old homes, discussing earnestly with your 'sisters' about what he'd do if he had all of gotham's money. the prospect of being filthy rich had always irked you to a small degree, to be well-off when others struggle. was it guilt? 

he'd gone on and on about the different things he'd get. a curly-haired poodle, a shining red bicycle, clothes that made him look like a proper gentleman, from a gentler city. you wonder solemnly where he is now, wishing you could share the fortunes you've been shoved into with him. someone who wanted it, deserved it.

deserving... deserving something is odd. whatever makes an individual deserving of something? the hardships they recieve, and the hardships they pass out?

you don’t remember your mother, having gained metaphorical consciousness at the age of six, when your sister started taking care of you instead. you made out from her teary, drunk mumblings that she was an awfully sophisticated woman. she’d colour herself with red blushes and redder lip stains, wear family jewels she refused to sell to her ‘business’ meetings. thin-framed glasses with the eyes of a vixen’s. 

what your sister muttered most about was her many nights away from home. one-sided conversations that plunged a small anchor to your heart, because you knew you were a product of one of them. 

when she was in a bitter mood, your sister never shied away from berating you for your existence. she, unlike you, was born in wedlock. yes, to an unhappy couple, who threw picture frames and cheap souvenirs at each other before splitting up, but she knew her father.

a ridiculously strange thing to hold above one’s head. “i knew my absent father. no one knows yours.” but your depraved heart and dull mind took it so deeply. so, so deeply. 

were those hardships? did you deserve them? others have it worse, right? so do you deserve this? this wealth?

now that you do know your father, you can’t help but resent the idea of knowing. did he know? that he left his child to an unbecoming family and an irresponsible sister? did he know that the guilt of starving your sister to eat yourself made you so incredibly weak-minded at the idea of being full? did he know that you refuse to switch the heater on in the cold, because you don’t know if your old foster siblings got the same luxury? all while the elites of gotham stay in their glasshouses with their rose gardens and wine cupboards.

you can’t put your finger to it. it’s not jealousy, it’s not resentment, it’s not hatred for his absence so far… is it guilt?

you don't know what to do with this abundance of luxury. you’ve lived a lifetime of pet mice from old caretakers, mice that died from the dust that creeped out of cracked floor boards and owls that haunted your window sills. a lifetime of reminiscing about a sobbing woman in your apartment, thinking about all your promises of providing a better life for her, only for her to die in front your eyes. a lifetime of wondering why mommy didn’t come back. why daddy's never there. who daddy even is.

someone else should have it. someone else should have the option to ask the butler for a piece of chocolate pastry at an odd time. to know about their father after countless days of not knowing him. to feel pretty in new dress suits after years of wearing the same two sets of clothes every week.

someone who deserves it more.

your sister.

you miss her.

small events make you change too fast for even your own liking. small things made you so desperately attached to your big sister, small things made you so frightened, so ill, to try to talk to brothers who barely knew you only by your shadow. small things made you tolerate your father more, and mourn the fact you couldn't ever connect to him the way the others did.

small, small things. that troubeled you too much, made you decide it was time to leave. running away from reality in the comfort of your mind when you zone out, is not much different from physically running away, right? troublesome things are not worth the trouble. so you'll run away, and you'll be free. of duties you were never given.

yet another one of gotham’s teenage misfortunes. who leaves a home of riches with a light mind, with the desires of soaring through lost years in gotham like the daftest of pigeons, with no worries or vows. they leave a home of blood and bonds with a heavy heart, lamenting that this time, the choice to leave a permanent, forever family lay on them. they left unspoken conversations unsaid, and imaginary memories within their imagination.

...but, these conversations, these fake memories, become the objects of obsession, for those left behind.

where's the little crow who stalked the corridors, whose naive, cloudy eyes watched from behind walls?

alfred, where's (name)?

INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS VV APPRECIATED !! incase it was unclear, the sections jump around in the timeline. i did want to leave it to reader interpretation, but since this is the footer, there's no harm in explaining. "you have three brothers..." and "your patterned quilt does little..." are interchangeable within the plot. both are placed after tim's given the mantle of robin, but before jason's re-entry as the red hood. the last part however, is well after both, and damian's entry. anyway you can consider this entry as like, a vague plot summary? there's a lot that happens in between and after, most of the story is about after, but i like setting the ground for this stuff.

once again, if you are interested in the series, do interact! comments, reblogs, etc are so appriciated, to anyone who posts on tumblr! i'll try to get the next entry in soon, but i can't confirm anything!

thank you for reading!!

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React to You Being Different From Other Lifetimes

AN: The what ifs in my brain go crazy.

Pairing: Lads boys x (varying) reader

Genre: angst, fluff, drama, everything

Summary: In another lifetime they meet a different you.

(I do not own these characters)

Xavier: Vampire reader

What if the prince of light met you, the evil in the dark?

He found you in an alleyway, crouched over a withering man beneath the same pale light where he'd first seen you in Philos.

But you were not the same.

Your eyes, once shimmering pools of hope, were now blackened depths of corruption. Your lips, which once curled into soft smiles, were pulled back in a wicked snarl, dripping with blood.

"Hello, princeling." Your voice slides through the air like silk laced with venom. And then, you're next to him, breath ghosting along the curve of his ear. "Came here for this body?"

The hair on his neck stands on end. A dangerous warmth coils low in his stomach.

He can still feel the ghost of you, the whisp of the light you once carried. And yet, standing before him now, you are everything dark and unholy.

In that lifetime, he drove the stake through your heart. His hands trembled. His breath shattered.

And never before had he felt so hollow, a bone-deep melancholy that clung to him like a curse, long after your body turned to ash.

Rafayel: Older reader

He feels the pull for the first time as he walks toward his seat on the plane.

The ancient pull of his oath, mercilessly reminding him of the emptiness of this lifetime. He hadn’t found you. Across countries, towns, and villages, he had failed, lost another chance.

He had given up and was now on his way home, to the shores of seas that reminded him of Lemuria. He had boarded the plane and now… here you were.

You look up at him with the same eyes he’s been searching for. But now, in this life, they sit beneath crow’s feet. Lines of age carve your face.

He has never seen you like this. The sight steals his breath away.

Gray hair, a kind face, glasses perched on the tip of your nose.

In this lifetime, you lived, longer than any.

He wishes for nothing more than to grow old and blissful with you. But time had not been kind to him.

Instead, he sits next to you, listening to your chatter about your grandchildren, your late husband, and the life he had been denied access to.

Zayne: Soldier reader

He holds a saw and, without a flinch, chops off your leg.

The screams of a young soldier fill the tent, only to be drowned out by the explosions outside. The world was coming undone, with you.

The blood of millions failed to sate its hunger.

But Zayne cannot think about that now. He looks at your terrified expression, the pain and anguish of hurt mixed with hysteria.

"My leg..." you whimper.

He cups your face. You are so young. A peasant, shoved into the war between kings who could not care for life.

"Shhh, poppy will make it better," he murmurs, tipping the warm milk to your lips. "You’ll be fine. I will take care of you."

He sits next to your bed, holding your hand until your eyes droop shut.

There are so many others to tend to. But just for a moment, he steals time to sit with you, to the cruelty of watching your innocence shatter.

His eyes land on your broken spear, all that you had. In a battle of fire and steel, all you were allowed was a rusted spear. His heart twists at the unfairness of it.

Sylus: Elf reader

The old world was fading. That’s why the sight of you. your form, was astounding.

An elf. In the modern world that bowed to mortals. You were a peredhel. Half elven.

But this was not your world. Even if it demanded your very core. Tt was not yours.

You knelt beside a man who bound you in chains of servitude.

Sylus felt bloodlust flood his mind.

His other half, his mate, treated as such.

Immortal, untouched by time… this was perfect. He would have an eternity to remind you of the past.

He would find another way for the world to function, and if that came at the cost of others, so be it.

Ignoring the room full of Onichynus members, he walked toward you, breaking off the chains with his bare hands. Your captor was already headless on the floor.

Without a word, the scent of the past fills his mind as your hand slips into his palm.

You look at him, terrified. And in the tongue of sea elves, you say, "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

Caleb: Male reader

Brothers, many assumed. Or cousins, on occasion.

But Caleb always made it a point to state that you were friends, that you shared no blood.

Once, it had hurt you. Your soft, childish heart had feared being the cause of his shame.

If he wanted a friend, you chose to be just that, though the idea of a brother had always been dear to you.

It would be years later when you would come to know his side of things.

How the prospect of being your brother, or a long-lost cousin, had been his greatest nightmare.

Not because he loved you any less. But because he loved you differently.

And when his words are said out loud, he finally allows himself the love he had held back, to have this.

Holding hands, kissing, matching gear, he does it all. Without ever caring about others.

Now that it wouldn’t mean being perceived as your brother, but as your lover.

[peachdues]

Dad Sanemi finding out you're expecting again!

done and done! Also requested by @lisa-257

FINDING OUT YOU’RE PREGNANT AGAIN

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA X LUNAR PILLAR!READER!

A/N: a continuation of my Bundle of Joy series, in celebration of one year since its publication!

CW: 1.9k • MDNI • fluff • pregnancy mention • Sanemi and Reader are married • slightly suggestive in parts/references to sex

READ BUNDLE OF JOY HERE

It had been a normal day. You’d awoken well before dawn and departed Sanemi’s estate with a quick kiss for both him and your daughter before returning to your own to prepare your training yard from the group of new Juniors being sent for defensive training — your speciality as the Lunar Pillar.

That training had gone about as well as you’d been warned it would — which was to say, absolutely dreadful. Nearly all lower-ranked Slayers were close to passing out not even an hour into their defensive drills.

The only one who’d stood out was the young, eager Kamado boy, who’d offered to partner with to test his footwork.

“Excellent!” You praised as Kamado manage to parry another one of your attacks with a training blade. “The best I’ve seen today!” You whirled around his attempt at an offensive jab with ease. ��In fact, I think —“

A sudden, splitting pain ripped across your head, whiting out your vision. There was a sharp, keening ring in your ears, and all at once, the familiar training yard of your estate faded away with a distant, worried call of your surname.

You did not realize you’d fainted until your eyes flittered open, and you found yourself blearily staring at the blue of the sky above.

In your periphery, you saw the clustered, worried faces of your subordinates, anxiously peering down at you.

Before you could ponder exactly how you’d ended up on your back on the ground, your mouth welled with saliva, hot and bitter, and your stomach lurched.

You’d barely managed to flip over to your knees before you began wretching. Between the great, shudderkng gasps of air you managed to gulp down, you did not see your crow take off from its nearby perch with a hurried beat of its wings.

You’re fighting to rise to your feet when the tension in the air noticeably shifts. A sudden electricity settles over the juniors, a hushed murmur snaking its way through the throng.

The crowd of Slayers swiftly parts around as the Wind Pillar furiously makes his way toward you.

You’re still crouched on one knee, hand pressed to your mouth in some futile effort to keep the contents of your breakfast from making a reappearance splattered across the dirt.

Your husband kneels down next to you, his warm, comforting hand resting between your shoulder blades. You fight the urge to lean into him; the morale of the greater Corps is just as important as their training, and it would only be undermined by the sight of a vulnerable Hashira.

But Sanemi knows how to read you better than anyone, and he must sense your hesitation. “Whoever hasn’t resumed training by the time I stand is being sent to my estate for obedience lessons.” He barks.

There’s a pause before he adds, “And I don’t use training swords.”

Though you’re fighting to keep from dry heaving into the dirt, you can’t help the small smile that forms on the corners of your lips at the flurry of anxious movement and the telltale sound of practice weapons colliding in choreographed defensive maneuvers.

Sanemi’s tone is much softer as he murmurs your name. “Can you stand?”

You manage a stiff nod. The white-knuckled grip on his hand as you rise on shaky legs would crush the fingers of anyone else that wasn’t him.

Sanemi’s hold on you remains steady as you stand, and he is right there when your knees buckle, his body pushed against yours to keep you upright.

Gently, Sanemi eases you back down to your knees. He squats beside you, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist for extra support.

Your eyes lift to his, and with a groan, you know his orders before he speaks them.

“Kocho’s. Now.”

You shake your head. “I have to finish their training —“

The Wind Pillar stands then, and though you cannot see his face, you can imagine the twist of his mouth; the hard look in his eyes.

“All of you!” His raised voice startles several of the junior Corps members, some dropping their training swords as they stand at attention. “Defensive training is finished for the day. Fuck off to the Love Pillar’s estate.“

You flick your eyes up to see the gaggle of young slayers staring wide-eyed and anxious at your husband.

“Now!”

The younger Corps members jolt into action, quickly putting away the tools and props you’d organized for the day and gathering their things.

Sanemi turns his attention back to you. He waits until the last of the trainees departs your Estate with a respectful but hasty bow, before he gathers you up in his arms.

“You must really feel bad if you’re not bitchin’ me out about carrying you.” Sanemi frowns as you loop your arm over his shoulder.

Your eyes remain squeezed shut against your nausea, and you managed nothing more than a grumbled shut up as Sanemi hastily makes his way toward the Butterfly Mansion.

You try and focus on Sanemi’s steady warmth as it bleeds into you; the familiar and comforting scent of sweet matcha that lingers on his skin, a welcome distraction from the way your head spins and aches.

The soothing hallmarks of your husband almost lull you to sleep, when the image of the other half of your heart — of cherub cheeks and a mop of white hair just like her father’s flashes through your mind.

Your eyes suddenly fly open, wide and anxious.

Your daughter. Because you’d been dealing with the bulk of junior slayers, Sanemi had been tasked with keeping your daughter occupied for the day. You’d last seen her earlier that morning at his estate, happily stumbling after a butterfly in her father’s garden.

You stiffen in Sanemi’s arms. “Where is —?”

“She’s with Uzui’s girls,” he’s quick to reassure, and he twists his head to press a soothing kiss to your temple. “I’d brought her with me to discuss training plans when your crow arrived. Hinatsuru offered to take her so I could check on you.”

It does little to soothe the pit in your stomach. “I don’t wish to burden them —“

“They insisted,” Sanemi says simply. “They all jump at the chance to watch her — Uzui, too.”

He wasn’t wrong; your daughter had the entire Uzui family wrapped around her tiny fist.

Sanemi squeezes your waist. “She’s fine — and she’ll be more than happy to see her Mama later. Let’s focus on getting you checked out for now.”

—

You arrive at the Butterfly Mansion in record time. You have to fight the Wind Pillar before he’ll put you down and allow you to walk into the Manor on your own legs.

Sanemi acquiesces, but his arm does not leave its stabling place on your waist.

The Insect Pillar, thankfully, is home and able promptly guide you into a private examination room she reserves for your peers. A quick draw of blood into a glass vial later, and Kocho whisks back to her office to analyze it.

Sanemi sits with you the whole time, chatting with Kocho, his arm around your shoulders, his thumb turning soothing circles into your skin.

But the longer the two of you wait after the petite doctor leaves to run her tests, the more your anxiety mounts.

Your nerves must have begun to sink beneath Sanemi’s skin, for he’d left the examination room a few minutes prior in search of the Insect Pillar, nearly as desperate as you to know what she’d found.

He hadn’t yet returned, leaving you to chew anxiously on your thumbnail, your foot jiggling where it hung over the edge of the table where you sat.

Another minute or two passes, and then the door to the examination room flings open with a start. Faster than you can blink, the Wind Pillar is striding toward you with a broad smile on his face.

“What is —?” Sanemi’s hands — battle-worn and rough — are gentle as they cradle your cheeks, and he silences your question with a sweet but deep kiss.

“You’re pregnant,” he breathes excitedly against your lips, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “You’re pregnant. Kocho confirmed it.”

His eyelashes tickle your cheeks as he kisses you again and again, Sanemi beaming between each eager touch of your lips.

“That didn’t take long, did it?” You tease. “I mentioned wanting another child not even two months ago

“Who am I to deny my wife what she desires?” he grins with equal smugness and elation. “Especially when she asks so sweetly, all bent over for me —“

You clamp your hand over his mouth. “Shush,” you hiss, though you can’t fight your own smile. “Kocho can hear everything —“

“I knew it.” Sanemi boasts, stepping back to bring your knuckles to his lips, his eyes shining. “I knew when you asked for yudofu twice this week that you were pregnant —“

“I’ve always liked yudofu.”

“It was all you ate last time,” and his grin is broad. “Couldn’t get you to choke down anythin’ else for a solid month at one point. Drove me fuckin’ nuts.”

Sanemi’s lips press to your ear as he leans in close, his voice quieting to a sultry whisper. “And you’ve been asking me to take care of those pretty breasts of yours more frequently, haven’t you?”

Your cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson. It was true — they’d been aching and sore. So tender that you’d even contemplated foregoing the sarashi bindings you wore beneath your uniform shirt.

So you had; once, a few weeks earlier.

You hadn’t made it out of your bedroom before you’d been caught by your husband, bug-eyed and blushing as he gaped at your partially-exposed chest. Your uniform shirt had closely resembled his own without the security of your bindings, and yet you’d known, thanks to your skirt, that your attire likely bore a resemblance to that of the Love Pillar’s.

You’d both ended up late to training that day.

Since that day, Sanemi had been more than eager to continue helping after you’d insisted his hot mouth and expert tongue were capable of alleviating some of that tender ache.

You want to groan at yourself. It should have been obvious, once it was clear that your sore chest had not been heralding in your monthly cycle.

But before you can, Sanemi resumes lavishing you with his joyful kisses.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He murmurs against your lips, nuzzling your nose with his. “You’re a goddamn goddess, you know that? So fuckin’ beautiful.“

This time, Sanemi tilts your head so he can deepen his next kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth the moment you open for him.

“Thank you,” he breathes, thumb stroking your cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You did just as much work as I did,” you chuckle between his slow, sensual kisses. “Arguably more.”

He pulls away with a light huff, the hand on your cheek sliding to cup the back of your head and bring you in tight against him.

“I ain’t ever gonna stop thanking you,” Sanemi whispers reverently against your hair, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “‘M never not gonna worship the ground you walk on for makin’ me a father. Not in a hundred years.”

Whether it’s because your emotions are already high out of elation over your news, or because Sanemi’s words — so earnest and full of love — strike that soft part of your heart reserved for him and him alone, your eyes burn with tears.

And even Sanemi’s voice cracks as he whispers, “Thank you. Thank you for choosing me.”

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[maika-aika]

MY SAVIOR

Imma be real chat, idk how to write Sol so I'm just turning off my brain

☆: In which reader beats up bullies like an absolute baddie, making Sol fall in love with them even harder

★: Sol x gn!Reader

☆: Contains; Fluff, mentions of bullying, creepy men eugh, sexual harassment, reader beats them up dw !!, smitten Sol (per usual). I changed some of the main story plot for this fic so it won't be as boring to read lol

"Boo. This sucks"

You muttered below your breath, more than annoyed at the current events laid upon you. You thought that perhaps a small trip to the library would be fine, but as it turns out, your favorite seat by the window is taken by some random stranger.

Perhaps you should've went with Crowe after all.

Oh well, there's really no turning back now since you didn't quite ask where he and his group are heading off too, by the time you get out of the library they could be anywhere in the campus, making you waste even more time.

It would be nice to reclaim your seat, but talking to strangers was never your forte. I mean, sure, you can do it if it's necessary, but for small problems such as these didn't seem that important for you to step up, even though your main purpose was to stay and work in your favorite spot, such a small problem doesn't really require you to speak up and waste your breath.

A small sigh escaped your throat, opting to check out some books instead to pass the time, 30 minutes to be exact.

Dragging the tips of your fingers on every book's spine and reading their labels, taking them out of their shelves before dismissively putting them back again, looping around the library. Nothing seemed to catch your interest no matter what you do.

"Watch it, creep!"

A gruff sounding voice was heard behind the bookshelf you were facing, finally finding something that catches your attention, you took one of the books from the shelf to make a small peephole, making you able to check out what's going on.

Two guys, red and blue unkept hair with piercings on their ears and lips are found harassing another guy with green streaks of hair. It was obvious they were just causing unnecessary conflict out of sheer boredom and degeneracy, but the green haired guy didn't seem to put up much of a fight.

"Playing silent isn't very smart of you, guess I better make you cough out some spunk—!" A heavy blow was dealt to the victim's abdomen as he tumbled on impact with a groan, his misfortune amusing the two bullies as they inch closer and beat him up.

Bullies like them are the usual in this school. You can't really avoid them, like wasps and hornets. Sure, you felt pity, but two bullies mean nothing when they just keep coming back in different forms. Nothing you do to help matters. They're everywhere, and that's that.

But as you were about to walk away, you saw something shiny glint on the fluorescent lights of the library.

"...Is that a knife?!"

How they even managed to slip a knife on school grounds was beyond you. "Not yet talking, ah? Maybe this will make you spit out something, " the red-haired bully chortled, inching the knife closer to the victim's neck. "Something...bloody."

That's it, that's borderline bullying, that's just attempted murder.

You made your way to their area. Your knuckles knocked against the wooden bookshelves catching their attention as their furrowed glares dart towards your figure like predators. "Bullying? Aren't you too old for Hollywood clichés?" You snide in mock boredom.

"Pretty little thing, no wonder this fuckface has the hots for you" the red haired bully remarked with a grin, tossing the knife to his partner and staggard towards you, circling you like a snake, breathing down your neck. "Pretty face with an ugly mouth, why don't you scram and leave our business out of your cute little ass, ah?"

"Leave them alone!"

Eyes snap back towards the green haired guy, he bared a fearful expression, desperate. "It's me you're after, right?! Just don't hurt them!"

"Is he taking the blame for me?" you mused to yourself. Glancing to meet his red-orange eyes, he flinched at your gaze, not really expecting you to look at him. Yet you didn't see how his pupils dilate at the sight of you.

"So now you're talking? Perhaps you could be of use after all, doll" suddenly, you let out a groan as you felt his hand grab the roots of your hair and snapped your face upwards, forcing you to look at the ceiling. "Before we fuck you up, you're gonna watch us destroy your cute little girlfriend"

You flinched, feeling a wet sensation on your neck, was that his tongue?!

The green haired guy tried to run towards you, but a knife was held up against his neck, forcing him to watch you. He was shaking, he was pissed. How dare they lay their filthy fucking hands on your pure, innocent body?!

"That's it, look how helpless you are, can't even lift a finger to help your poor— Argh!" He buckled on impact, your shoe stomped on his own. Taking your chance, you turned around and swiftly grabbed his hair and banged his head towards the concrete. Then, you kicked his body towards the blue haired bully with the knife.

"Gh—?! What the fuck was tha— Hrrk!" The red haired bully hacked up a cough, stumbling to get up. "You bitch!" The blue haired lacky dashed towards you with the knife, but you deflected it by pushing his arm away from your face and hit his knees making him loose his balance and fall onto the floor, dropping the knife.

In a flash, you picked up the knife and grabbed the other bullies hair, tossing him on top of the other red haired bully. A dangerous glint in your eye was seen as you took one of the books from the shelves and raised it high.

"When you see me again, I suggest you run."

The book made contact to their skulls, it was heavy enough to knock them unconscious, sprawled all over the ground, one could almost mistaken them for corpses. Oh how you wished.

After all that's done, you sighed to yourself to clear off the adrenaline during your little rendezvous. Picking up the book from the floor and placing it back on the shelf, and pocketing the knife to report it to the student council later.

Finally, you turned around to help out the guy, but what you didn't expect is his gaze on you, not of fear or disbelief, but admiration.

His heart was racing, his cheeks are flushed, his fingers are twitching, it's almost as if he just saw an angel come to save him. He knew you were amazing, but to see it for his own eyes, to be the one you're protecting, to feel and expericen it first hand instead of his imagination sends shivers down his spine.

"Hey...you still there?"

He blinked out of his trance, vision still a daze. You snapped your fingers near his face to wake him, as he blinked and refused to look at you, a hue dusting his cheeks. "S-sorry" he muttered.

You raised a brow at his random apology "Dont say sorry when you did nothing wrong" you squatted down to his level, he was sitting on the floor with a pretty bruised up face, not to mention, he also has a ton of piercings too. You wonder why those guys would pick on him when he looks just like them, but with a different heart.

"...Are you just gonna stare at me?" Now it was his turn to snap you out of your head, his gaze still at you, but unlike before, he seemed more at ease, softer. "Ah, guess we both have a problem of getting stuck in our heads, huh?" You made light of the situation, smiling at him to ease the once tense atmosphere.

"Come on, it sucks staying on the floor all day" you stood up first and lent out your palm for him to take, hesitance flickered in his demeanor, as if he's contemplating if he's even worthy enough to touch you. A second passes and he's taken your hand.

Once he stood, you've come to realize how tall he actually is up close. "Are you okay? Nothing broken in you?" He shook his head to the side "Not really, just this nasty bruise, I guess" he sighed in annoyance "What about you? They didn't...hurt you in anyways either, right?"

His once soft gaze turns dark and dangerous, an ominous aura surrounds him making you laugh nervously at his sudden change of demeanor "Don't worry! Yea I was kind of harassed, but it didn't go too far!" You replied, flexing one of your arms "And not to brag 'n all, but I did beat them up anyways soo"

You huffed with a proud smirk on your face, giving yourself a playful pat on the back. A chuckle was heard from the male, as once again, that dark expression washes away at the sight of you.

"So cute..."

"What was that?" You leaned in closer to hear his voice better, making him flinch and instinctively look away from you again "...Nothing, you're hearing things" he covered his mouth with his palm, still refusing to look at you.

You stared at him longer before shrugging your shoulders and leaned away, now focusing on the bodies laying on top of each other. "You know...if taken out if context, they look like their cuddling each other" You muttered, placing a hand under your chin to think of a way on how to deal with this mess.

"Pretty good blackmail material if you think about it." His quip lights up a light bulb on your head, snapping your fingers in he process which startled the guy a bit with your random snappy movements "You're a genius! I know just what to do know!"

You gave him a pat on the back and quickly started to shift the bullies into a position where it looks like they're cuddling and took out your phone to post it online, tagging everyone you know in the school, while also giggling like a child pranking their friends.

"Look at this! Those guys look pretty straight and the type to hate gay shit, so once people see this, it's gonna be nothing but public humiliation!" You exclaimed excitedly, jumping on your toes with your eyes shining and turning towards him "I have to pay you back for this amazing idea!"

He stared at you with wide eyes, still processing what happened before a smile graced his lips and a laugh reached his face. His cheeks are pink and his heart racing just by seeing your cute attitude over something so vile like blackmail and online revenge. "Jeez, never knew I'd meet someone so excited over online gossip" he teased.

"Oh hush, gossip is like a virus, it spread suuper~ quickly in a matter of seconds, kind of fitting for them don't you think?" You playfully nudge his chest which gives you an amused look on his face. You two were having so much fun you completely forgot about literal attempted murder.

"Nee, why don't I pay you back with some coffee? For giving me such good blackmail material" you smiled brightly at him, as if you did absolutely nothing wrong and totally didn't beat up two men into unconsciousness. That riled him up so bad.

Of course you're adorable, and by god was that so sexy of you to deal with bullies the randomly switching personalities like it's the most normal thing ever. He wanted to be with you longer. He needed to be with you longer.

"Sure, if that means I also have to pay you back with dessert for saving me" he quips, knowing your love for sweets, watching in adoration as your eyes lit up at free dessert and hastily agreeing to his deal.

"Oh! Let's get you fixed up first at the nurse's office, I can walk you there if you want!" You're too kind, too caring, too much for his heart to handle. He loves this, he loves you.

Oh how he wishes these moments of you would happen over and over again, but for now, he'll relish in your presence, admiring every single being of you. Worshiping his savior.

Eugh I feel like he's so OOC on this one HELP

[lockeswoodss]

The Crimson Glow: Chapter 2

Tag list: @nocturnalrorobin , @silas-aeiou , @mischiefsemimanaged , @wolfbc97 , @pocket-of-possibilities

A/N: So sorry this update took so long, but I'm finally done with the semester and am home free for the summer. This chapter has some mature themes, but nothing explicit yet. This chapter has a decent amount of filler; the reader will be in the Pitt in the next chapter. I'm gonna attempt to update weekly while I can.

Word count: ~4,680 (it kinda got away from me lol)

(Most future chapters will be closer to 3,000 words, I know over 4,000 is a commitment for one sitting)

Warning: Food, mentions of past cheating, and unspecified threats of violence, suggestive dialog (Jack calls the reader a good girl twice). (Let me know if I missed anything. This took over an hour to format/edit. I'm craving sleep.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your breath caught in your throat as you made eye contact with your soulmates. You found yourself looking up automatically, before the door was even fully pulled back, like your body knew. Like this was the final puzzle piece sliding into place to fill the void you had long been ignoring. Your eyes darted between them, lagging to take everything in. They both had lovely brown eyes. The shorter of the two had firm, dark brown eyes; they were steady and made you feel secure. He looked like he had just gotten out of bed in a rush. He was supporting himself on forearm crutches, wearing a pair of shorts and slides, a t-shirt thrown over his shoulder. You felt your face warm as you took in his toned bare chest. The glare of his dog tags was a blessed distraction. His hair was still flattened on one side, red creases still present on his face from the imprint of his pillow.

He had to have been the string across the Atlantic. The one who almost died.

Glancing higher, you were met with soft brown eyes; the kind that makes you feel warmth. There was another emotion there, one you couldn’t put words to, at least not yet. He was dressed in scrubs, with a lightweight hoodie on over them, a gold chain peeking out of his shirt collar. Your eyes locked on an ID badge still clipped to him. He was a doctor, a doctor at the same hospital that had hired you, PMTC. Somehow, that information had grounded you, pulling you out of the initial shock of your strings forming a glowing triangle.

“Um, hi?” you said hesitantly, trying not to immediately embarrass yourself, your face already warming under their combined gaze. Fuck, you knew you’d find your soulmates attractive, people rarely didn’t, but at a glance they were the definition of your type. From the stubble and grey curls of the veteran to the slight greying of the beard on the doctor, and his size compared to yours. It all, it all made you feel something. You tried to ignore the spark in your core from being near them. While it was perfectly normal for a soulmate greeting, it still made you feel a rush of embarrassment on the back of your neck.

“Hey,” the doctor exhaled, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. He gazes down at you with a warm smile, misty-eyed. His smile lines and crow’s feet widened your smile. You had always found creases that represented a life lived beautiful. When you glanced to your left, the soldier was already looking at you, seemingly done sizing you up.  

“I’m Jack,” he quipped before nodding to his left, “He’s Robby.”

It took you a second to process what he was saying, too caught up trying to quell your nerves. You quickly supplied your name, stumbling through it.

There was a beat of silence before your anxiety spiked again.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, always a nervous talker. You stepped aside; they glanced at each other fleetingly before moving into your apartment.

“Sorry about the mess, I’ve only been in the city for-”

“Three hours?” The doctor, no, Robby supplied. “I noticed Jack and your strings overlapped at around 3ish.”

“Is that why you got off your shift on time?” Jack asked, quirking a brow.

“Yeah, but I was discreet, no one noticed outside of Dana,” Robby replied.

“You mean Dana was the only one to call you out?” Jack said, telling more than asking.

“I-Yeah, no that,” he sighed, running a hand down his face and took a breath, “That’s probably more accurate,”

“What department do you work in?” you asked.

“We both work in the emergency department.” Jack answered, “Attendings.”

You nodded, trying to school your face, as you debated if it was a good idea to tell them now that you’d be in the same hospital for work. You knew as soon as you told them your occupation that it’d click anyway. Their hospital was the closest to this apartment building, and this apartment building was the most affordable option in the immediate vicinity.

“What do you do for work?” Robby asked, segueing away from what, based on their tone, seemed to be a touchy subject.

“Oh, I’m an art therapist.” You answered, “I actually start PMTC on Monday.”

They shared a look that you couldn’t quite nail down. Hopefully it wasn’t anything bad.

“What department will you work in?” Jack asked.

“From what was explained to me, I would be flexing in different departments based on patient needs. Primarily, I’d be in the behavioral unit, inpatient rehabilitation, and pediatrics.” You answered. “While I start on Monday, I’m actually going to be going in tomorrow to get a tour and orientation so that I can hit the ground running on my first official day.”

“Okay,” Jack said, Robby and Jack shared another look, before letting out a breath/sigh. Normally, you wouldn’t pry, but the combination of your nervous mouth and quick observations had you blurting out your conclusion before entirely thinking it through.

“They don’t know about you two being soulmates, do they?” You asked. They shared yet another look, “Okay, you two need to knock it off with the looks.” You sighed, slightly frustrated, “I know we literally just met, and you don’t know me, but I’m not one to judge. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me into what’s going on so we can form a plan and set healthy boundaries.”

“Okay,” Robby replied, while Jack just nodded. Despite your age gap, it seemed like you were on equal footing, that being you were all equally at a loss.

“Are either of you hungry?”  You offered, hoping that a mild distraction would help make the talk go smoother.

“Have you already gone shopping?” Robby asked, confused.

“Oh, no, I just got way too much Thai takeout. I actually got so much to justify not going shopping til I’m unpacked.” You confessed with a laugh. Robby smiled in return, while Jack’s lip twitched, like he wasn’t all the way there yet to commit to fully taking off his mask. You smiled despite that. If your career had taught you anything, it was not to rush it. You could meet him where he’s at, at least for now. They both followed to the kitchen, not straying farther than an arm’s length away. You made quick work of unpacking the food. You were happy you got a soda and water bottles on the side to make packing it tomorrow easier. You heard a faint huff of a laugh behind you as you pulled out the third entrée.

“What?” you asked, giving Jack side-eye,

“Nothing, I just didn’t figure that you’d be feeding yourself and a small army.” He said, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I may have been a little hungry when I was ordering.” You admitted pulling out an appetizer of dumplings and finally some Thai spring rolls, causing both of them to laugh, “Okay, maybe very hungry.” You said in your defense.

“I can see that,” Jack replied, smirk now fully present.

“Shut up,” you said, before he could comment as you pulled out five sets of plastic cutlery.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered, teasingly causing you to now be the flustered one.

“Are you ever gonna put on your shirt?” you said, trying to segue into something less embarrassing.

“Are you?” he shot back, causing you to pause and look down at your outfit.

“I’m wearing a shirt,” you said with a quirked brow, gesturing down at your crop top.

“Yeah, but it’s missing the other 60%,” he responded, taking a seat at your kitchen table, before sliding his shirt on.

You jokingly over dramatically rolled your eyes, before tossing him a water bottle and making a plate for him that he dictated from his spot, leaning his crutches against the table.

“Did you build all of this?” Robby asked, gesturing to your couch, coffee table, and TV.

“Oh, no, I just used a handyman that my friend Cleo knows. He was like half the rate of the guy the building manager suggested. Technically, my move-in date was last weekend, so he was able to assemble all the furniture over the past week, and he also helped me set up the TV and Wi-Fi. Which I’m grateful for because I’m terrible when it comes to tech stuff.” You answered, settling up next to Jack at the table.

“And all the plastic boxes?” Jack asked as Robby sat down across the table from you.

“Oh, since I was moving across the state from Philly, I hired movers. They use reusable boxes as a motivator to unpack everything. You pay a flat rate for two weeks, and then there’s a fine that gets added for every day you’re over. Which I definitely need. I was still finding boxes from the last time I moved when I was packing my apartment up.” You answered.

“Next time we move, you’re in charge,” Robby declared, before taking a large bite of one of the spring rolls. Only to stop mid-bite after realizing the implications of what he just said.

“I-I mean-” he tries to get out around the large bite, causing you to laugh.

“It’s okay, I know what you meant,” you said with a light smile. Jack bumps his shoulder into yours, drawing your attention.

“Next time let him sweat more,” Jack comments with a smirk, “He’s pretty when he blushes.”

“He could’ve choked,” you pointed out as Robby finally swallows his bite and takes a large swig of water.

“Never said he wouldn’t,” Jack paused to take a sip of his own water, “but for the record, he’s equally pretty when he chokes. You’ll never hear me complain about the sounds he makes.”

Robby choked on his water at the implication, causing a whine to pull from his throat, before he started coughing. Jack’s smirk widened. Your face heats up at how casual Jack is with it, especially considering they weren’t even out at work. But then again, you are their soulmate. Normally, you were apprehensive when men cop an attitude like that; it almost always felt like they were overcompensating. But Jack felt different, his personal brand of cockiness seemed earned; like he could back up his smugness in an instant. You wish he’d reel it in, though, as a flourish of warmth sparked in your core. It didn’t help that you were practically touching, to the point that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You cleared your throat and took a beat to build up the courage to continue your talk, heart palpitating.

“So, does anyone else you know aware that you’re romantic soulmates?” you asked.

“Only Dana and Jack’s therapist,” Robby said, glancing at Jack for confirmation. he nodded in response.

“Whose Dana?” you asked.

“She’s the charge nurse on day shifts.” Robby started, “She’s also our friend, but even if she wasn’t, she’s smart enough to figure it out.”

“Do you both work day shifts?” you asked.

“No, I’m on nights. I just have today off, normally I’m Robby’s relief.” Jack replied.

“Is that on purpose to keep up appearances?” you asked.

“It doesn’t hurt, but I’ve always preferred nights, and he prefers days. If there’s short staffing or an emergency, we normally work together.” Jack explained, and you nodded as you took another bite, trying to process everything to set up the best system. While you still yearned to be close to them, to the extent that Robby across the table from you felt too far, you didn’t want them to out themselves at work if they weren’t ready.

“So, if I’m ever in the emergency department, I should act like I don’t know either of you?” you asked, causing a silent pause to wash over the table. This time, you let go of them, glancing at each other before responding. It was a loaded question. You shifted nervously in your seat at the lack of response, before giving them reassurance.

“I’m okay with it for now if that’s what you’re worried about.” You said, “I just met both of you, but I know the dynamics of working in an environment like an emergency department is crucial to best serve people. Throwing off that rhythm can cost lives. I just want us to nail down a plan now so we’re all on the same page.”

“Jesus,” Robby exhales the breath, a look of admiration on his face as he meets your eyes, “How are you only 33?”

You tilt your head slightly, confusion clear on your face. Prompting Robby to continue.

“I could never dream of being that emotionally intelligent at your age,” he clarified, “Fuck, not to date myself, but with a 13-year head start I only pull that off half the time.”

Jack hummed in agreement, a small absent-minded smile gracing his lips when he looked at you.

“How do you know how old I am?” you asked, confused.

“That’s when the second sting appeared,” Robby answered, before continuing, “I was at temple for Yom Kippur, September 18th, 1991. It felt fitting on the day of atonement to receive another motivation to better myself.”

“It was a Wednesday, around 3, I had just been dismissed from school for the day and was in the locker room changing for football practice. When I held my helmet in my hands, I only had one string, and then after putting it on and adjusting it, I had two.” Jack added, mirroring Robby’s look.

“Oh,” you answered, slightly embarrassed. Of course, since you were the youngest, the strings have always been there for you.

“I’m only two years older than Jack, so I don’t remember a time when his string wasn’t there.” Robby explained, “It makes sense for you not to think about that if they’ve always been standard for you.”

Jack nodded in agreement, but that didn’t help the heart palpitations from your nervousness.

“So,” you said, attempting to get the conversation back on track, “We’re going with the plan that we act like we don’t know each other?”

“Maybe we can go with that, you’re our new neighbor?” Jack said, “It’d be an easy excuse if we wanted to walk you home, or why we know you at a base level.”

“Do they know you two moved in together?” You asked, curious about what was and was not known to the ED.

“They think we just moved in together since we have opposite schedules to save on rent,” Robby explained.

“Oh, so you have two bedrooms set up?” you asked, knowing that your one bedroom on the corner of the building was cheaper than other units.

“Yeah, don’t use it, but it’s there.” Jack nodded.

“Okay.” You nodded to yourself, “So no soulmate talk, other than to Dana if she asks?”

“Yeah,” Robby said. Jack nodded in agreement.

“K, outside of my brother Ben, and my friend Cleo, no one I currently know knows I have 2-strings. My parents ingrained it in me to only say I have 1.” You added.

“You have a brother?” Robby asked.

“Yeah, he’s my twin. He lives in London with my brother-in-law Dante, and their five-month-old son named Atlas.” You clarified. “Do either of you have siblings?”

“No,” Jack answered, before adding, “We both aren’t close to either of our remaining family members.

“I am close with my ex-girlfriend’s son, Jake. Her name is Janey. While we were dating, Jake and I got close to the extent that we agreed it’d be detrimental to him to cut me out when we split. He’s not close with his bio-dad.”

“Oh, so you filled that role?” you asked, with a smile. Robby found himself also smiling in return. Your tone was neutral and judgment-free, and you genuinely wanted to learn about him. Despite the importance of your conversation, talking to you was easy. He knew you were soulmates, but your warmth filled a part of him he wasn’t aware he needed. It was like his heart had expanded more to now be fully filled with the love blossoming in his chest. He hadn’t felt this sensation since meeting Jack. He was only pulled back to reality by the tilt of your head, waiting for a response.

“Y-yeah, I guess I did.” He nodded bashfully. Your smile widened at the blush developing on his face. Jack was right, he was pretty when he blushed.

“Jake’s a good kid,” Jack added. Your heart rate sped up again as he rested his arm on the back of your chair. Not touching, but close enough to satisfy the urge to hold you.

“Are you close with any family outside of Ben?” Jack asked.

“Oh, no, actually Ben and I went no contact almost a decade ago with our parents. They weren’t on board with his ‘lifestyle choices’; they blamed Dante for putting ideas in his head.” You sighed.

“That’s terrible, at least you had each other,” Robby said. Jack nodded, his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I mean, yeah, it did at first, but in retrospect, we had been dealing with our parents’ discriminatory mindset our whole lives. It was just time to move on. The fucked-up part is that our parents actually expected me to be on their side.” You started, “I mean, I shared an egg with the guy, how could I not love him unconditionally?”

“You shared an egg with him?” Robby asked, confusion clear in his voice as he attempted to process what you were saying.

“Yeah, we’re identical twins.” You clarified, “Ben’s trans.”

A look of realization flashed on both of their faces at your omission.

“So, your parents weren’t okay with him being trans?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, they never cared about our soulmate(s) gender, you can’t control that. But they did believe that Ben being trans was his choice.” You explained, taking a deep breath to quell the negative emotions that began to well up inside you. You were jerked out of your headspace when Robby lightly gripped your hand and began to rub his thumb soothingly over your knuckles. A small smile graced your lips.

“Ben doesn’t care whether or not people know he’s trans. His biggest goal in life was to become a dad. He sacrificed a lot to achieve that. He had some fertility issues, which in turn meant putting off his own comfort of being able to transition. Atlas is the only reason he hasn’t medically transitioned yet. He’s waiting until he’s done weaning to take that step.” You explained.

“He’s lucky he has a sister like you,” Jack said, leaning his weight against your chair, face inches away from yours. Warmth filled your chest at his opinion.

“I think it’s the opposite, you can thank him for giving me the push to move across the state." You spoke.

“Was that the only reason you moved?” Robby asked.

“There were a few factors. I had a bad breakup twoish months ago, but I’ve wanted to get out of the city for longer. I applied for jobs across the northeast; I was actually between a job here and in Boston. I only ended up here because my friend Cleo lives here.” You explained.

“How bad was the breakup?” Jack asked.

“Pretty bad. She had been cheating on me for the majority of our close to two-year relationship, before I caught her and her ‘platonic’ soulmate in the act. Apparently, that’s just a fucked-up routine they have to ‘spice up’ their sex life. On top of that, she rubbed salt in the wound by saying she was only with me out of pity, because I was too old not to have found my soulmate yet.” You answered. Robby’s grip tightened in your hand, and Jack had inadvertently pulled your chair closer, knuckles white from his grip on your chair.

“And what was her name?” Jack asked.

“And address,” Robby tacked on.

“Social security wouldn’t hurt,” Jack said, jaw clenched.

You began to smile thinking they were joking around, until making eye contact with Robby he looked pissed. Your smile dropped.

Oh, they were serious.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture. I’m more of a forgive-but-remember kind of person. I was just happy I found out before I moved in with her.” You started, “I was also glad Ben was in England, he’s always been overprotective. I just want to be done with it, hence moving here.”

Neither of them seemed satisfied with your dismissal.

“When did you guys move in?” you asked, trying to dodge another bomb in this minefield of a conversation.

“Last weekend,” Robby answered, in an attempted neutral tone, his anger still shining through.

“Are you still in the unpacking phase?” you asked.

“No,” a ghost of a smile on Robby’s face, “took Jack two days to build and organize everything. We’re so efficient that we even had our first argument since moving in.”

“What was it about?” you asked.

“Apparently, I can’t fold clothing,” Robby replied.

“I never said you couldn’t fold clothing. Your attempt at crumpling a t-shirt into a ball was spot on.” Jack responded, and Robby rolled his eyes at him.

“You told me to ranger roll it, and it was a ball. I completed the task.” Robby argued.

“What’s a ranger roll?” you asked.

“It’s a folding technique so the clothing takes up the least amount of space. It’s how I fold clothing for my work bag.” Jack explained, “I use the pinch technique for my clothing going into the dresser.”

“What is a pinch technique?” you asked at a loss.

“Exactly,” Robby said exasperated.

“If you get me a shirt, I can show you,” Jack replied.

“K,” you said, standing up, “Do you want a full shirt or a 40%-er”

A small laugh escaped Jack. “Surprise me.”

You walked to your bedroom, unaware of the two sets of eyes locked on you.

“Fuck,” Robby exhaled.

“She’s better than anything I could have dreamt up,” Jack agreed, “She might be too nice though.”

Robby hummed in agreement. Their quick assessment mirrors their speed and accuracy at work.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on that. I don’t know what I’d do if someone tried to take advantage of her.” Jack said, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“I think we both know what would happen if her ex were here,” Robby commented as you reemerged from your bedroom.

“Agreed,” Jack said, turning to face you. You tossed him an oversized T-shirt. He quirked at the size.

“It’s a sleep shirt,” you answered the unasked question.

“So, your shirts are either normal, 150% too big, or only 40% there?” Jack asked.

“For the most part, I got a few that are less than 15%, but they’re just for going out.” You joked. You laughed at Jack's ‘Are you serious’ face.

“So, how do you do a pinch technique?” you asked. You watched him do it a few times before getting it down. You took a seat as Robby attempted and failed to fold the shirt right.

“Is this what older people do for fun?” you joked. Robby immediately dropped the shirt in a heap, ironically his best attempt yet, before snapping his head up.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you did not just call us old,” Robby said.

“I know you didn’t call me old.” Jack tacked on, while his tone was stern, he had an amused look in his eyes.

“And if I did?” you asked, teasingly.

“I can think of a few ways we could address it; Jack’s got no patience for brats,” Robby said, straightening up from his leaning position over the table.

“Probably let you off with a warning,” Jack started, smug look returning, “Wouldn’t want a good girl like you to be punished while figuring out your boundaries.”

You bit your inner cheek, trying your hardest to school your face, and not give away the warmth rushing to your face. You weren’t sure if it was just being called a good girl or Jack’s tone, but you could feel the spark in your core returning. Before you could respond, a yawn cut through you. Your eyes widened as you took in the time; what had felt like only minutes with your soulmates had been hours.

“Tired?” Robby asked.

“A bit,” you replied sheepishly, covering your mouth as you let out another yawn.

“When do you go in tomorrow?" Jack asked.

“I’m expected at 0700, I was planning on heading out around 0615 in case I get lost.” You explained.

“I can walk you in if you want. Unless I’m called in earlier, I normally start at 0700 too.” Robby offered.

“That’d be great,” you smiled, fatigue from your cross-state drive finally catching up with you, your eyes beginning to droop.

“Not to be presumptuous, but would you like to sleep over at ours?” Robby asked. You waited for a beat as you internally argued whether it’d be too clingy to want that.

“If it’s okay with both of you, I’d love that,” you replied.

“Of course that’s okay, fuck I think we’d both prefer it,” Robby said, glancing at Jack, who nodded.

“I don’t think I’d be able to sleep without having eyes on you,” Jack answered honestly.

“K, I’m just gonna brush my teeth and change clothing.” You said, pushing yourself back from the table. In what felt like seconds, you found yourself standing pensively at the foot of their king-sized bed. Jack was finishing up his nightly routine when you entered the bedroom. Would it be too presumptuous to think you were sharing the bed? Did they want something more, or were you just going to sleep? Before you could fully spiral, Robby interrupted your internal argument.

“Com’ere,” he said, pulling back the covers, “Do you have a side you prefer sleeping on?”

“Um, would it-would it be okay if I were in the middle?” you asked, looking up at Robby. His brown eyes softened, and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Of course, Honey.” He answered, fully folding back the covers so you could slip in. While you were getting situated, Robby stripped down to his boxers and passed Jack as he disappeared into their bathroom. Jack greeted you with a soft smile as he sat down and leaned his crutches in a nook between the bed and his bedside table. He slipped out of his shirt before maneuvering himself under the covers to face you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his minty breath washing over your face. You nodded in response.

“Baby, when I ask you a question, I want a verbal answer.” He said gently, but firmly.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, you could feel his eyes rake over you.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, and you broke eye contact.

“Could we cuddle?” you asked nervously. Jack gently cupped your face, forcing eye contact.

“Of course we can cuddle,” he said with a small smile, before pecking your forehead. Still flustered by the whole conversation, you rolled over facing Robby’s side. Jack’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back flush against his warm chest.

“Is this alright?” he asked into your ear. His hot breath fanned out onto the back of your neck. You contained a shiver, before nodding your head.

“Yeah,” you answered quickly, forgetting about the expectation he had just told you.

“Good girl,” he whispered into your ear. Causing your breath to hitch, face heating up once more, these men would be the death of you. A smile spread across Robby’s face when he took you and Jack in as he circled around to his side and slid under the covers.

“Is this okay?” he asked, front flush with yours, one of his long arms wrapped around Jack’s waist behind you.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly. You hid your face in his chest, not to give away how okay you were with it.

“Night,” he said, pecking the crown of your head.

“Night,” you and Jack echoed contently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read ^-^

Very excited to write about the reader's first time in the Pitt in the next chapter. I'm hyped for them to meet Dana. Hope you're doing well wherever you're at 💛

I will have a master list for this blog made tomorrow, I just need to sleep first lol

Chapter 3 Part I: here

Back To Chapter 1: here

[leighsartworks216]

Love Me, That's All I Ask Of You

Sylus x gn!Reader

Apparently my brain can only cope with angst if it has a happy ending rn @comatosebunny09 YOU DID THIS (/positive)

Inspired by this post

Title from "All I Ask Of You" from Phantom of the Opera

Warnings: blood, injury, self-destructive behavior, swearing, requited unrequited love, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, kissing, ignoring the red string of fate, jealousy, soft Sylus

Word Count: 1,900

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The repetitive thwack of the punching bag keeps you going. Harder and harder, faster, more precise.

Your knuckles are bleeding. It stains the vinyl of the bag. They sting with every slight adjustment of your hand, with every punch. They’re probably misaligned, too. On the verge of breaking. But it’s not enough.

Sweat drips down your forehead and back. You’ve been down here for hours. You don’t want to leave.

It’s so fucking childish - you know that. But it hurts so fucking bad. Hearing the way he speaks to her, like you’re not in the room. The way he seeks out the banter and teasing conversations they share. The way he looks at her…

Is the only thing you’re good for your loyalty?

And it’s not like he hasn’t noticed the way you distance yourself. He’s brought up your over-the-top silence, saying he hasn’t heard your voice in a week. He’s tried asking what’s wrong, but you never answer. And when you stopped sleeping in his room altogether? He looked exhausted the next day, staring after you like he was working to decipher why he’d been left to sleep alone. The only company you seemed to seek anymore was that of Mephisto’s.

God, Mephisto. That crow had shown you their excursion to enhance her ability. You couldn’t deny the sick satisfaction you got when she still couldn’t Resonate with him, whether it’s because she found him “disgusting” or some other reason… But why did he have to look so offended by it?

You hit the bag so hard it rips. Sand pours out of the tear like water, draining onto the floor. You’re mesmerized by it. The slight hiss of the sand moving together, pouring out like a faucet and pooling on the floor into a steadily growing pile. It’s almost soothing.

Almost.

You kick the sand to the side. It fans out across the black floor in an arc of dappled white.

The prickle at the back of your neck puts all your nerves on high alert, but you know not to be afraid of it. You know the source. The cause of all your rage. The last person you want to see right now. You’d even take Little Miss Hunter over him.

You turn and meet his eye. Crimson, sharp with concern to match the furrow in his brow. It burns through you, all too familiar and, once upon a time, comforting. When he could look at you and so easily know exactly what you were feeling, even before your deal. They flicker down to your hands, crusted over with blood.

“It’s not like you to hide away when something bothers you,” he states, shifting his weight to his other foot as he crosses his arms. He’s right, too; for a while now, if something - anything - bugged you, he was the first to know, usually seconds after it started grating on your nerves. Still, you don’t say anything.

Sylus sighs. You’re nothing if not stubbornly persistent. He holds a hand out, motioning toward your own.

You think about obeying. Ever since Little Miss appeared, you haven’t really touched him. It was of your own volition - a sacrifice to pull yourself away and watch from afar - but you can’t deny how much you miss it.

His frown deepens when you stay exactly where you are. “So it’s something I’ve done.” Your face remains set and unemotive. His hand returns to its crossed position, finger tapping against his leather jacket. “Something so terrible you’d rather hide away from me.”

He looks you up and down, studying every small tell he can find, any twitch or involuntary muscle spasm. He doesn’t find any. Another frustrating skill of yours. The only thing he can latch onto is the state of your hands. He’s not used to seeing your own blood staining your knuckles. If you used your bare hands at all, the only blood you’d be covered in when all was said and done was that of your prey.

“And enough to harm yourself.”

He meets your eyes again. It almost feels familiar. That intense insistence on knowing you, on wanting to know every single thing about you even if it takes eons. But now it’s not out of an innate desire to unravel the secrets you wrap yourself in. It’s prying. It’s grabbing bolt cutters and breaking away each chain link one by one.

He takes a slow step forward, testing the waters.

You don’t move.

He takes another, dropping his arms to his side.

You study him in return. He’s tense. You see it in the set of his shoulders.

He’s five feet away when Mephisto appears in a whirl of smoke on your shoulder. He caws twice before projecting a video on a little holographic screen.

Little Miss Hunter, searching for the brooch. Yesterday, Mephisto had snuck it off Sylus’s body and brought it to you. You’d had a brief moment of fun teasing Little Miss with it, silently taunting her as you twirled it lazily between your fingers while she threatened you. You have no doubt after hiding it that it found its way back to Sylus.

You watch his face as he watches the screen. The intensity leaves his eyes, replaced with the calculating stare of a businessman in his trade. He watches her frustratedly try to break the lock on a cabinet, determined to check behind every item on display to make absolutely sure the brooch isn’t hiding behind them. When she turns to the bookshelf in a huff, she pauses. Sylus’s eyes narrow a fraction. She runs over to the shelf and starts emptying it out book by book, fanning through pages for any sign of a secret compartment to hide something inside. There was one book of such a nature; you’d hid the brooch inside of it, just to see if she would be hell-bent enough to search through every single one.

He looks away from the projected images, eyes softer than before. He’s figured you out, you’re sure of it.

“Search me,” he says. It’s not a demand, it’s an offer. Your expression falters for a millisecond, but he catches it. Of course he catches it. He opens his arms, inviting you in. Mephisto’s video feed disappears from view as he flies up to sit on the broken punching bag. “Find the brooch.”

You glance him up and down. There are plenty of places for something that small to hide.

Hesitantly, you step forward. His eyes follow you, but he remains still. This close, you refuse to look at his face. You haven’t been near enough to feel his radiating heat like this in so long…

You feel his sides first. The pockets of his leather jacket, both inside and out, are empty. There’s nothing concealed in his waistband. You don’t look at his face as you reach up to feel along his collar and lapels.

You pat along the length of both his arms. Aside from muscle, you find nothing. You reach into his pants pockets, but the only thing you pull out is his phone. You slip it back in before feeling down the long length of his legs. You pull up the bottom hem of his pants and check the top of his socks that peek out of his shoes, but there’s still nothing there.

You stand up, hands falling back to your sides. You meet his eyes. He doesn’t have the brooch.

Mephisto caws again. You turn to look over your shoulder. Little Miss Hunter, surrounded by a pile of books, triumphantly holds up the red-jeweled brooch, dropping the book you hid it in into the mess. Gentle fingers glide along your jaw to turn your face back to him.

Sylus looks at you in a way you never thought you’d see again. He���s leaned down to reduce the strain on his neck and be closer to you, but there’s still about a foot of distance between you. Even the way he touches you is reserved, like he’s waiting for you to pull away or punch him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitches. He… apologized? Of all the things he could have said, you never expected that.

“Whatever binds me to her,” he whispers, “it holds nothing to you. I should have made that clear much sooner.”

“What binds you to her?” Your voice is raspy from disuse. His shoulders relax, just so relieved that you’re speaking to him again.

He shakes his head slightly. “A past I should have buried a long time ago.”

It’s vague, he knows it. You wish he would tell you more, tell you exactly what happened that has him so inextricably connected to Little Miss Hunter. But he never pried into your own past, for better or worse. Maybe you both need them to die, buried at least 12 feet under and covered with a block of cement.

You lift your hand to trace his cheek. He sighs, leaning into the touch. Your fingers are rough and cracked, blood drying on your knuckles. The copper twang is hard to miss. He turns his head to kiss your palm, eyes closing in reverence. You fully cup his cheek and draw him in, kissing him softly at first.

Your lips tremble with overwhelming emotion. The anger that burns in your heart is slowly snuffed out by the soothing balm of his quiet sigh, a hushed whisper of your real name, not your moniker. You wonder for the first time since this began if he felt the same loss you did when you began distancing yourself from him. When you went back to your old room instead of sleeping in his bed, if he looked so tired the next night because he couldn’t sleep at all without you there beside him.

You get your answer in the way he desperately pulls you into kiss after kiss, burning with passion and trying to catch up for the time lost. In the way his hands hold your face, tangling with the hairs at the back of your neck as he keeps you close. In the way he sighs and gasps so longingly, savoring everything you give him.

He feels how much you missed him in much the same way. In the way you step closer until your bodies are pressed together. In the way you grab onto his jacket’s lapel. In the way you dig your bloody fingers in his white hair.

You’re both panting when he finally pulls away, breaths mixing in the centimeters between your faces as he refuses to move back any farther, forehead resting insistently against yours. Neither of you say anything for a moment, basking together in the quiet aftermath of the storm.

His hand is warm and gentle when he pulls yours from his hair. He turns it over to press featherlight kisses along your busted up knuckles. “Let’s take care of you, sweetheart, hm?” His eyes are half-lidded with affection when he looks at you. “The auction is tomorrow night. I need to show everyone just who I belong to.”

Your heart skips in your chest as you draw him in again by his leather jacket, biting down sharply on his lower lip. He hisses at the sting, but groans with want when you pull away. His eyes are drawn to his blood on your lips. “I’ll make sure they never forget.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021

[kaminocasey]

Personal Space

A/N: I saw art of Jayce invading personal space and realized that Jayce would have no concept of personal space. (Did you see the way that man laid his head in Mel's lap? The way he comforts Viktor?) Also please be gentle with me, this is my first Arcane/Jayce fic lol.

Summary: You really love your personal space, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one looks at it, Jayce also really loves your personal space.

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst. Jayce Talis has no sense of personal space. Kissing. Parties. Protective!Jayce.

Pairing: University!Jayce Talis x University!Reader

“It’s looking like it’s not going to be finished in time to show the professor…” Jayce grumbles to himself, looking up at the chalkboard full of equations and symbols that you don’t understand. 

You’re studying literature. Jayce is studying science. Opposites. Yet, you know what they say about opposites attracting. Like magnets. That’s you and Jayce. Though, you suppose Jayce probably wouldn’t understand that phrase unless it’s only referencing magnets. 

That’s the thing about the two of you. Before meeting Jayce, you couldn’t stand to let anyone in your personal space. You didn’t like people touching you but then this guy came along and it was obvious right from the start, he’s the touchy type. And suddenly, you found yourself not minding. 

“Look at this.” Jayce grabs you, pulling you in front of him so that his front is pressed up against your back. 

Gods, he’s so warm. You can’t help but lean against him as he rests one hand on your hip and then points to all the things on the chalkboard with the other, explaining every single point and fact to you. You have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. 

So much for personal space.

~*~

“Read to me.” Jayce walks into your dorm room late at night, finding you curled up in your bed, leaning against the wall, reading your book. 

Without an invite, he crawls into your bed and then rests his head in your lap, shutting his eyes. You can tell that he’s been in the lab all night by the way his body just slumps over your lap, his hand resting on your knee. 

“My roommate is sleeping.” You murmur, looking up at her across the room in her bed, her back turned to you as she faces the wall.

“She’s a heavy sleeper.” He shrugs.

You don’t say anything for a moment, earning a sigh from Jayce.

“Resa.” Jayce says your roommate’s name a little loudly.

Your head shoots up to your sleeping roommate’s form who hasn’t even so much as budged.

“See?” Jayce chuckles, glancing up at you slightly.

You let out a fake sigh, rolling your eyes and then start reading out loud. You get about a page in when Jayce pulls your free hand up into his hair, letting you know what he wants. Your fingers curl into his hair and start massaging his scalp. 

He lets out a soft groan and your hand pauses for a moment before he whispers. “Don’t stop… please.” 

You smile softly and start again, turning back to your book and starting to read out loud again. A few moments later, you hear soft snores. 

Later that night, as the two of you sleep, he has you pulled against him as he spoons you. You can’t help but think to yourself the next morning when you wake up before he does, who needs personal space?

~*~

Shelving books on the weekend at the library helps bring in a little bit of income for you to get by while at university. Sometimes, Jayce will come and keep you company while you do so. Which is how you find yourself in this situation.

“So, I was thinking we could leave from here and go straight to Claxle’s party once you’re off?” He gestures to the doors.

You give him a sour face.

“Don’t give me that face. Please.” He gives you a fake pout, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t you give me that face.” You look down at the cart of books, trying to not give in.

At least not right away. 

Every time you pull books off the cart to put back onto the library shelves, he takes another step toward you, practically crowding you against the shelf.

Does he know he does this to you? Does he do it on purpose?

“I cannot think of anything I’d rather do less than go to Claxle Bogart’s party.” You whisper.

He chuckles. “Oh come on. The parties aren’t that bad.”

You raise your eyebrows in a “oh really?” Kind of way and he rolls his own eyes, leaning off the shelf and stepping closer toward you, forcing you to look up at him. It’s times like these when you’re reminded of how much bigger he is than you. 

“Jayce…” You sigh, your eyes looking up into warm amber eyes.

He sighs your name and it takes everything in you to not go weak in the knees. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be much fun. I just wanna go back to my room and read my book.” You murmur, pulling away to start shelving books again.

“That’s why we gotta loosen you up, sweetheart.” He teases you, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you to look into his eyes again. 

You can’t help but go warm at the nickname and at the begging eyes. Unfortunately, you know there’s no saying no to this man. You think he knows that, too.

~*~

There’s a band playing somewhere in the hall of this dorm that has the door open so the music can trail out throughout the party. This is definitely not your scene, but as Jayce guides you through a crowd of people, his hand on your lower back, you can’t help but lean into his side. When you look up at him, he’s just looking forward, unaware of the effect he has on you. 

“Do you want a drink?” He leans down, close to your ear.

The warmth of his breath sends goosebumps down your entire body. You nod, leaning against the wall, needing a moment to collect yourself. Watching as he disappears into one of the rooms, you look up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. The music still feels way too loud and you feel exposed.

The dress was Jayce’s idea. He had told you that you looked great and you thought maybe you could trace a hint of pink in his cheeks when he said it, but you’re not convinced that wasn’t just your brain hoping. 

You hear your name from an unfortunately familiar voice. 

“Claxle.” You sigh, rolling your head to look at the annoying host of the party.

He leans against the wall, invading your personal space in a way that feels absolutely wrong. This is way different than Jayce. Jayce’s presence is warm and sweet. This is cold and makes you feel like you’re being stared at by a predator. 

“You don’t normally come to my parties.” He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving you.

Your head turns toward the door that Jayce went in and you debate whether or not you should go find him. 

“Jayce convinced me.” You tell him.

“Talis, huh?” He smirks. “I always thought there was a little something something with you two. Then I figured maybe he was just using you to help him with his homework or something.”

You glare at Claxle. “Jayce is a scientist. I think he can manage his own homework. You know, speaking of, I think you’re the one who needs a tutor since you’ve not turned in an assignment to Professor Ulsa.” 

You give a polite and fake smile to let him know you’re done with the conversation. Unfortunately, Claxle gets a look in his eye as he looks you up and down.

“You do realize you’re wasting your time with Talis, right? Saw him cozying up with some blonde girl the other day anyway.” He smirks. 

“Okay.” You reply, refusing to give him any sort of reaction. 

Before Claxle can say anything else, Jayce finally makes his way back over, handing you a drink with a gentle “hey”. You smile up at him, ignoring the other guy. Claxle walks away without even acknowledging him. 

“What did Bogart want?” He asks. 

You shrug with an amused look. “To let me know I’m not your type and that you’re only friends with me so I can help you with school.” 

“What?” He glares, looking away into the crowd for Claxle. 

“Hey, it doesn’t matter.” You try to pull his attention back to you. 

Jayce’s gaze softens when he looks back down at you, nodding reluctantly. He’s normally so level headed, you’ve never seen him that worked up over something some jerk says.

“Let's get out of here.” He mumbles, taking your drink and sitting it down with his on a table so that he can grab your hand and lead you up the steps to the roof of the dormitory. 

He’s quiet for a while as he looks out over Piltover. 

“Jayce?” You tilt your head, watching as he’s leaning against the edge of the building.

He turns his head toward you and then slides his hand down to your hip, looking down at his own hand as he does so. This feels different than usual. 

“Why don’t you like me?” He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. 

“What?” You ask, confused. “Of course I like-”

“No… that’s not what I-” He groans softly, clearly frustrated. “Claxle was wrong… you are my type.”

Oh.

“I am?” You can’t help but whisper, terrified that if you talk too loudly, this moment could be ruined or taken away from you. Or maybe you’re just too used to working in a quiet library.

“Of course you are.” He smiles that charming smile that makes your chest tighten. “I’ve only been flirting with you for the past two years.”

“Two years?” You ask, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He shrugs. “I’m shy?”

You playfully slug him and he laughs, pulling you closer against him. 

“I’ve been trying… I cuddle with you, I touch you…” He murmurs. 

“Jayce…” You shake your head, amused. “I thought that was just you being touchy.” 

“You didn’t notice I’m only that way when I’m with you?” He grins.

You shrug. “I guess not.”

“Will this help?” He asks, leaning down and brushing his soft pink lips against yours.

Finally, you think to yourself. 

His lips are just as soft as you’d thought they’d be. It seems like he’s been wanting to do this for just as long as you have.  

When he pulls away, you shake your head. “Need a little more help.” 

He chuckles against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hands eagerly finding your hips to hold you right where you are, holding onto you like you’re this man’s anchor. 

Yeah, you think, there is no personal space when it comes to Jayce Talis. 

And you’re absolutely fine with that.

[smallestapplin]

the heats of a Dhampir

for those unaware, in castlevania SOTN Alucard has a monster form, much like his father, so pair that with vampire's having heats every 4 years and this was born.

Warning! : reader is enby afab, womb fucking, heats, Alucard being a little feral, established relationship, and shifting mid fuck.

minors do not interact!

-

-

Alucard's heat is worst than he thought, his mind cloudy, filling with more animalistic thoughts, his body reacting before he has a chance to process the situation. It made him want to avoid you, and trust he has tried, yet his feet move against him, taking him right back to you or to your home.

Your voice and presence like that of a siren calling to him, luring him in to his doom, your scent keeps him intoxicated and under your spell, though you know not of any of his struggles.

He's your loving and doting boyfriend, though you know something is up with his odd behaviors and getting fussy over your bed, filling your room with various food related items and drinks, while forming your blankets and pillows into a circle.

You awake surrounded, and with the blonde brining you yet another odd shiny item, and cuddling against you with low purrs. You jokingly tell him he must've been replace with a crow for a brain, but he doesn't seem to find it as assuming as you do.

You don't question it, just like you don't question him crawling into your now nest like bed, to leave kisses along your exposed neck. You don't question his needy whine as he slides a cold hand up your loose sleep shirt, cupping your tit in a loving squeeze, as he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, licking up the collum of your throat.

Silently pleading for your approval.

He can smell your want before even touching your pussy, smell how you're soaking through your panties.

"Adrian...!!" You squeak, but he's moving so fast! It's like a switch flipped in his mind, and all he can think about is ravaging your body, marking you, scenting you, mounting you.

Your panties are gone in a flash with his head buried between your thighs. Your face goes bright red at the sound of him inhaling your heady scent, a smell mixed of your sweat and arousal, it leaves his mind spinning. You toss your head back with a whimper, feeling his inhumanly long tongue rubbing between your folds, licking your clit and then back down to your weeping hole.

It takes everything in him to eat you out first, a sane part of him wanting you at least prepped for the fucking he knows his going to give you. Your pussy twitches watching him hump the bed, just knowing he's so turned on from your own need gets your body hot, your eyes struggling to not roll back just to see how needy he is.

His tongue pushing into you, the pointed tip just brushing relentlessly against your cervix, easily filling you. You grab a hold of his long blonde hair, gripping onto him like a life line as you buck your hips up, trying to grind against his face. His nose pressing perfectly against your clit, letting him easily overwhelm your senses.

"Adrian, Adrian! M'gonna- gonna cum-!!"

You let out a pitiful cry as he rips himself away from you, denying you your orgasm. His face dripping slick and drool, yet he doesn't care, he doesn't even seem to notice. He tears his pants away, tossing the now scraped fabric aside, freeing his aching cock.

You don't get to admire the beautiful sight of him for long before hes already pushing himself into you.

He's usually so much slower, much more loving towards you, but you're excited to see this new feral side of him. It's like you're truly being taken by a monster, just what you've dreamed of.

Alucard's body shakes, his eyes rolling back as he bottoms out, fully sheathed into your warm wet cunt. He doesn't give you a moment to breathe, his hips seemingly having a mind of their own as he ruts into you. Your legs are over his shoulders, with him leaning over you, his hands on either side of your head letting his sharp claw like nails tear into your pillow.

You cling to his biceps, crying out about how good he's making you feel.

"Oohh fuck! Fuck fuck fuuuck! So good, mm, haa! God, you're...you're fucking me so good. Please more, more ruin me!"

The room echoes with the sound of his hips wetly slapping into yours. He can't bare it, you're pleading sends him spiraling, his head feels like it's filled with cotton, he doesn't feel his body twisting and shifting, his form growing larger and larger.

Leathery wings sprouting from his back, curling around you to hide you from the world, his form drawfs you in size. Hands turning more into scaly claws, ripping your pilllow and sheets beneath you. Your eyes widen as the monstrous sight before you as the horns twist on top his head.

But your attention mostly drawn to the pressure in your stomach, feeling his cock growing bigger inside you, matching the new size of him.

You squirm, but with how he has you pinned you can't move.

"Adrain, wait, h-hold on...hnnn! Fuck, t-too big, I can't take it, i-it's too much!"

He grumbles lowly, harshly slamming his cock further into you, his glowing eyes flickering between the new bulge in your stomach and watching how your pussy struggles to accept his new size.

His roar is deafening as you cum, your walls clenching around him desperate to milk him. Your eyes cross, tears streaming down your face. He's fucking your womb, he's so deep!

His long tongue falls frm his open maw, drool dripping onto your chest as he licks it and the sweat off your skin, purring deeply at the taste of you.

His heavy balls smack against your ass, the sheer weight fuck them telling your fucked out mind just how backed up he is, desperate to fill you to the brim.

Cum as many times as you want, he won't be stopping until you take every last drop of his spent.

[mullermilkshake]

Stinging nettles.

Toji plays a game with you.

Yandere!Toji Fushiguro x Fem! Reader DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Non con,Forced,Forced oral sex,Knife play,Spitting,Hunting you,Confirmed Toji is a panty sniffer. (This should be cannon :)),Graze, cuts, injury,Hair pulling,Degradation,Stalking

<<< For more Toji content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

“Now. If I take the gag out, you aren't gonna scream, are you?”

Shaking your head didn't seem to please him. 

“Make me at least believe it. This is just pathetic.”

You shook even more, like your head would unscrew if you kept up. But the display of effort earned you a slow forming smile and tilted head in return. 

“Good girl.” 

He ran his fingers through a loose strand of hair. The material of your own panties dried your tongue like sand, soaking up any moisture left, damped by your tears. Pulling them out, he held them to his nose, taking the cloth in like an inhaler. A groan escaped him, a sigh of an addict. He tucked them back in his pocket.

He had a knife slung across his shoulder. A knife that had no business being that long, but was no less terrifying, sitting there in two parts. The negative space in between was where he placed your throat once he’d taken you.

“I think we should play a game.” 

He stood up, the leaves of the forest crunching under his shoes, belittling you. Haunting you. Even the crows in the trees were laughing. “Poor little you. Can't do anything without crying. That’s why he chose you.”

“You were quite adept in avoiding me for a while. I wanna see how well you can actually do it with your life on the line.”

My life?

The rope binds came loose, blood flow returning to your arms with pins and needles made you tremble. He even freed your legs, pulling the cable ties and cutting them away. You weren't sure whether this was another trap like last time. He toyed with you, making the world seem brighter by letting you go, letting you run for home.

But this was where you ended up. In the forest, in broad daylight, hoping, praying for a passer by to find you. Not that they would be able to fight him off, but the sentiment kept your will stronger than it should have been.

“How about…” He crouched down in front of you, his fist firmly planted on his knife. “You run, and if you win, I’ll let you go.”

He’d never just let you go. Would he?

“W-what- what would happen if I lose?”

“Sweetheart.” Scooping up the loose hair, he tucked behind your ear so lovingly. “You don't want to know what I’ll do with you if you lose. But I'm counting on it, so try your best and fight back.”

It could have been the cold, but you believed in that moment, when goosebumps raided your entire body with a shiver, that it was his words that did it instead. His eyes, body language all pointed to his seriousness, and his smile showed he was going to enjoy it too. 

 He’s going to skin me, isn't he?

“Get up then, go on.” He stood back for a moment and paused. He understood. “Here, let me help you. The feeling probably still hasn't returned yet, right?”

In any other situation, someone might have thought he was a concerned lover, caring for his wife, like he actually cared for you. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t have taken you the first time if he did. Maybe like a fucking human being he could have asked you out at one point. 

The person you were then, probably would have said yes too.

“There we go. All better now.” 

To be honest, you looked like you’d been dragged through a bush backwards, hair matted, dress crumbled full of dirt. He must have seen that because he straightened out your dress like it meant something. 

He paused and glared at you up and down. “Don’t look at me like that. All doe eyed. Some people will actually think you’re trying to turn me on.”

It was just a look. Nothing more. Perhaps more so terrified of the man, than his delusion of seduction. You just didn’t want to die and he wanted to play a game. A man you tried so hard to stay away from, and he found you all away across the continent.

He left you bare foot, quivering in the autumn breeze, circling you in a way he’d devour you. “I’ll give you…” He stopped for a moment in contemplation before continuing. “An hour head start?”

The knife made a horrifying cling as it scraped a rock nearby. A knife he would skewer you on. An hour. Where could you get in an hour? You had no idea how big the forest was, nor where you even were. But how would you fair with no shoes on?

He whistled and sang his words. “You better run.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You took off, the rough, coarse dirt already burning the soles of your feet. Your misty breath filled your vision as you climbed over a fallen tree, laying in your path to graze your bare thighs. 

“Shit!” You tried your best to keep quiet, but the burn singed, it was dry and grazed your inner thigh, so close to your exposed sensitive area.

You wished that psycho hadn’t of taken your underwear. 

You scrambled off of the ground because you landed with a hollow thump, your bare foot almost caught itself in the exposed tree roots, cutting your hand up in the process. It stung, it really fucking stung, but the pain, you know would worsen if Toji got a hold of you. 

You never saw if he had a temper, but you didnt need to, he was fucked up enough on a good day. For a moment you thought about giving up, letting him take you home and do whatever he wanted to do, it would take less energy that way.

How the fuck do I get out of here?

Parts of the forest looked the same, it was a big bowl of trees, hills here, hills there, one big rock, another big rock, a stupid rope swing, a drizzle of water flowing downhill. It all looked the fucking same, what were you going to do?

Then, your foot slipped, sending you rolling down the incline you had just climbed. Rocks, sticks, tree roots, they all cut into you, scraped or dinged you on the way down, the spinning ground was a blur visually disturbing how it was going so quick. All you could do was protect your head until you stopped. 

And then you were dizzy, the world spun so much, you didn’t notice the large wolf sneaking up behind you, you just fell over. The growl clued you in on the situation, it was fucking huge, low to the ground with its teeth showing aggression. 

“Fuck.” You breathed, stepping back slowly, but there was nothing you could do. “Good dog.” 

Like that was going to make the thing sit and wait for a stick. 

Your only option was to close your eyes and wait, maybe it was better this way, then you wouldn't have to deal with Toji anymore. That would be nice. You didn't even know where you were, it’s not like anyone was going to be able to find you in this maze.   

So you closed your eyes and sat down in a ball, and waited.

There was a cut, a whine and a slice. The thud made you look up, the wolf was dead, beheaded where it stood and Toji put his foot on top of it like a superhero. But he wasn't your superhero, he was your villain.

“If I weren't here, you would have died. Can’t have that.” He noticed your lost expression and it made him chuckle. “I lied. I couldn’t wait an hour. You’re so pathetic, I had to make sure you didn't die.”

You lost. No, no you didn't lose, he cheated. You got up and gripped at the loose dirt to get away, but you didn't get far, his hand was already gripped tight in your hair, pulling back to hold you where he wanted you. 

“Where are you going? I found you, remember?” He tugged so hard, it sent you crashing to the floor in a heap, he never let go of your hair.

You tried your hardest to claw at his hands, maybe that could have made him drop you, but his grip was like a machine, it didnt react to the hurt you were giving it. 

“Now what should I get because I won? Your legs are pretty beat up, so I guess I can’t fuck you.” He studied you, undressed you. “I know, your pretty, little mouth is working just fine. I heard you moaning when you hurt yourself, shall we put it to good use?” 

Toji pulled you up so you were in your knees, his fingers still wedged in the curls of your hair, your scalped burned like he could scalp you at any moment. 

You were so close to his crotch and you watched his free hand unzip his pants, the outline of his hardness came through as he exposed his boxers. Toji pulled out your underwear from his pocket and took a whiff again. 

“Shit, I can still smell you. As soon as your legs are better, I’m going to destroy you. I’ve always wanted to.” 

He fished out his throbbing member from his boxers and wrapped your panties around the base, like a fabric cock ring. It twitched and looked at you, pre come already dribbling out of the tip. 

Seeing you like this had already turned him on so much, it was so fucked, so absolutely fucked. 

“Toji I-“ 

You didn’t get to finish your plea, he grabbed your chin and forced your mouth open. “Open wide baby, I’ve got a present for ya.” 

He spat into your open mouth, the warm spit landed on your tongue, going cold instantly, like the weather, with your knees on the damp soil. It was disgusting, but he didn’t even give you that to think about before he held you there, pushing the tip of his length past your lips. 

“You’re going to suck me good and dry. I earned this because I won our game. You look so pretty on your knees for me, your eye makeup is all smudged.”

You couldn’t respond, by now he had pushed as much as he could inside, the tip pushed the back of your throat like it would tear a hole in it, he grabbed the back of your head and held you there, twitching away inside you. 

“Look at you taking all of me, I thought I might need to use my knife to get you to behave, but you learn quickly, you’re so obedient.” He grunted as he pulled out slowly. “I bet if I sat you on my cock right now, you’d bounce on it without me even asking.”

“Keep your eyes open.” There was frustration in his voice as he struggled to speak, he started to thrust your mouth. “Watch me, I want to see those glossy eyes tear up when you gag.” 

Making eye contact with his was hard, much harder than what was in your mouth, it made you angry, you wished that fucking wolf had eaten you, that Toji had left you to die. The bastard didn’t deserve anyone in his sad little life even though he was taking it. 

He noticed your mood change eerily fast. “Don’t frown at me, are you getting stroppy because I’m not doing what you want? I’m sorry baby, but I’m not paying you attention because you lost, we had a deal.” 

He picked up the pace, pumping himself into your mouth, making you gag and retch, he kept going, moaning away and cursing under his breath. It made your eyes water, the motion causing sloppy squelching loud enough over the breeze through the trees. 

You were basically his fuck toy now. And he knew that.

“I could fuck you anywhere I want and you’d do as you were told, wouldn’t you? Shit, now I know why guys get married-we should get married- ah fuck that’s good.”

He face fucked you, giving you no room to move or breath, you tried your best to steady yourself, but he was thrusting himself like a machine, the raw strength he had, there wasn’t a thing you could do.

“Yeah, you’d look so good in white, walking down the aisle or somethin’. And I could take you infront of everyone to show them whose name you took.” 

He cursed under his breath, you only hoped he was close so this could be done. And he confirmed that the grip on you was so tight, his nails dug in and stung. 

“I’m close, baby, you ready to take this? Because it’s all for you- just for you because you’re perfect- this is gonna be a big one.”

In another world, you would have said his moans were angelic, so soft they were almost unnatural. But looking up at the man with his cock rammed down your throat, ejaculating so much it was choking you, it made it sound so disgusting. 

“Oh fuck- holy shit!-“ He jerked and jutted, coming off of his orgasm. “You take that so well. I’m surprised actually. I thought you would at least try and spit.” He pulled out and kneeled down to you. “At least it’s one thing you didn’t give up on.” 

He pocketed the panties again, but not before he inhaled them one last time, and the peck on the lips he gave you was soft, firm and maybe even loving, but you knew it wasn’t, it was a cruel joke that you would endure for god knows how long, until you had another chance to get away.

You didn’t know if you would get another chance again, but there was hope. 

The bastard even took you hand in his. “I’m done with this game already. Come on. Let’s get you home, you must be freezing.”  

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[sillygoofyqueer]

Bing-ge getting super sparkly/shiny jewelry with magical abilities and the wives are like “Ooh, could this be for me?” only, nah. It’s actually to lure in his future husband. Go away. XD

Ahhh! Shen Yuan making a safe haven for crows is a wonderful idea! Demonic crows or yao, whether they’ve cultivated human form or not, are all welcome! Regular crows too!

Since I love teacher Shen Yuan, of course he teaches all the younger ones too. Just because they spend half their time as birds doesn’t mean they can’t get an education!

The human half of his family are probably from some tiny village who gave offerings to the local crow demons and unintentionally became friends (crows being protective of their people and all). Their village is startlingly safe thanks to crows mobbing anyone who dares try to mess with them! There might be other half-crow kiddos running around too, thanks to the good relations. Shen Yuan tutors the village kids too of course!

(Tiny bit of angst, but Bing-ge burns with envy if he finds out! This half-demon friendly town was here the whole time?!)

This is adorable, Shen Yuan seeing these young children and just being like "...students." Sometimes, if the human children are extra lucky, he'll take them on flights as long as they have 'necessary payment' (usually a cool looking rock and proof that they've done their chores). It's impossible to find Shen Yuan without at least one crow perched on his shoulder or in his hair, unless he's going on - what the others describe as - dangerous escapades to nab cool stuff from Bing-ge's palace, in which he will know and stop anyone who tries to follow him because he's a dumbass with no self-preservation skills, not them! It takes him a startlingly long time to figure out that Bing-ge is leaving things for him on purpose, and he is undeniably shocked when he finds out. He eventually finally takes it as a form of courtship due to other demons' and humans' instance that it probably is. After doing research on crows courting one another, did you know that the males feed the females?? And sing to them?? SO, I immediately thought of the idea of Shen Yuan trying to reciprocate the courting (because he would never be so silly as to reject the emperor, no one in their right mind would) by randomly appearing in Bing-ge's room (much to Bing-ge's delight and confusion) and singing sweetly before feeding a willing emperor apple slices or some shit until Bing-ge reciprocates and feeds him in response and Shen Yuan just pauses and goes "hang on, am I the wife?" and immediately takes to the role without any thought. ("Why would Bing-ge be the wife, how foolish of me!") When Bing-ge finds out about the village that accepts half demons, of course he's a little upset! Why couldn't he have this sort of comfort and love in his life? Why did he have to suffer all this time?? Then he goes to this village so that Shen Yuan can show off his nest to the emperor (sign of trust?) and is immediately hit with the "I want to be here forever" train.

Also, the more you think about it, the funnier it gets actually lmao. He just shows up with these gorgeous trinkets and jewellery and sometimes even clothes (shiny embroidery of course), and they vanish and the wives are all like "where the actual hell are they going? Who do we even complain about??" and it could be like a background thing where the wives all get jealous of each other when there's actually just this bird guy who comes over quite often and started by stealing shit while dropping off helpful things. Imagine how strange that must be for the wives. "Ugh, [wife's name here] is taking all the attention away from us!!", "Really? I thought it was [other wife's name]." Meanwhile, there's just one wife (Liu Mingyuan most likely) who just knows and she doesn't tell anyone, content to watch as chaos ensues while the bird man and Luo Bing-ge fall deeper in love with one another, and the gifts get more elaborate each time. {part three! Part one, part two, part four, part five, part six, part seven!!}

[moociaoafterdark]

Primarchs and the birds I think they would be able transform into (and why)

1) Lion - Golden Eagle. Just like lions are called "Kings of Jungle", golden eagles are sometimes called "Kings of Birds". Aside from the naming, I think Lion would love such a magnificent, pompous bird.

2) Fulgrim - Albino/White Peacock. Do I even need to say anything here? Lord Shen looking bastard. Flaunts his gorgeous tail feathers to everyone. Will start screaming at you very loudly if you don't pay him enough attention. That is especially the case if you are one of his brothers. Especially if you are Ferrus. Sorry Ferrus. Surprisingly, though, Fulgrim doesn't turn into a bird very often. Some speculate he regrets choosing the peacock as his transformation. Others believe he loves his human form way more.

3) Perturabo - Red Tailed Hawk. Just like the Heresy is named after Horus, despite Perturabo being the sole reason it got this bad for the Imperium in the first place, red tailed hawk's screech is attributed to a completely different bird. Perturabo will feel a spiritual connection with this bird species, which is why he is able to transform into it in the first place. He does wish the bird was bigger.

4) Jaghatai Khan - Peregrine. Peregrine falcons are the world's fastest birds, and one of the fastest animals on Earth. There's literally no better bird for Jaghatai than this falcon. Probably yells "falcon punch" when he dives in (The Emperor told him to do that to "intimidate his enemies")

5) Leman Russ - Pigeons. Now, fun fact - crows/ravens have a symbiotic relationship with wolves, as they often hunt together and share the spoils. As you probably guessed by now, the ravens/crows are kinda already taken by another primarch (in canon even), so I had to improvise. Enter pigeons. Just like wolves, pigeons got domesticated by humanity and have been our companions for many centuries. Pigeons, just like crows and ravens, are social birds, meaning they live in one big flock and help take care of each other. This is as close as one gets to a wolf pack dynamic in the bird world, so there we have it! Leman does use his transformation mostly for pranks or "party tricks". Never in battle. If you propose him to do that for a surprise attack, you can spot a little bit of a blush, before he angrily tells you off.

6) Rogal Dorn - Arctic Tern. I think Rogal would find the fact that those birds have the longest migration distance (48,700 km to 70,900 km) REALLY fascinating. He surprisingly takes this form very often and for a reason. Up above in the sky he gets a good look at both his own defences as well as those of the Imperium's enemies. Though he doesn't like admitting it, he simply just really likes flying and letting the wind carry him.

6) Konrad Curze - Bearded Vulture. Those fuckers EAT BONES and look like fucking dinosaurs. Konrad would LOVE to terrorize people as this bird. He'll take off the skin and meaty bits in his human form, then transform into a bird to finish the job. By the time he is done - NOTHING will be left of you... GOD I love bearded vultures. FUCKING LOOK AT THEM!!!

7) Sanguinius - Swan. Graceful. Beautiful. A symbol of love. Will break human bones with a flap of the wings (or at the very least make you bleed). Nuff said, even if the choice is a little basic. If you can't find him anywhere, chances are, he is chilling in the garden, swimming in the pond. Make sure to bring bread with you, the good one. You know, the one that's all fresh and soft. If you're still unsure, just call Warmaster Horus, he knows what bread his brother likes.

(Yes, this how swans are rescued. In Sanguinius' case, this is how he is restrained when he is being a tiny bit of a nuisance)

8) Ferrus Manus - Hummingbird. Similar to Rogal and the Arctic Tern, Ferrus would find hummingbirds fascinating by how strong and fast their wings are (and how they're the only birds able to fly backwards). Despite the birds being smaller than some insects, they have caught the attention of one of the biggest primarchs... Which is why it's hilarious when Ferrus, this gruff giant of a man, able to move mountains and wrestle wyrms, transforms into a tiiiiiny bird mid-fight. Well, it's hilarious until you are his opponent and realize you just completely lost sight of Ferrus, until he transforms back into his human form but, by then, it's too late. On the more lighter note, Ferrus loves resting while, in his bird form, nestled somewhere in Fulgrim's hair. Warm, soft AND he can be sure he wouldn't be bothered.

9) Angron - Roosters. Hoo boy. So, roosters kinda have a reputation for being aggressive, easily provoked AND also having a history of being used in bloodsports. However, roosters are very valuable if you intend to keep chickens, as they take care of the hens, protect them and, if raised properly, can actually be great pets. So, over all, we have a loving, protective and loyal bird, who is unfortunately often mistreated and misunderstood, as well as used in bloodsports even to this day, which often leaves the birds aggressive and traumatized... Sounds familiar?

God, I hate thinking about Angron, because the more I think about him, the more I want to cry. I'm actually kinda teary eyed as I'm typing this, haha.

Anyway, to lighten the mood, Angron, with nails or without them, is a local alarm clock. It doesn't matter where you are, you WILL hear his crowing and you WILL get your ass up.

10) Roboute Guilliman - Harpy Eagle. The only bird I don't have explanation for other than it looks cool. And I'm not even a huge Rowboat Girlyman fan. Would love to hear your opinion on why this does or doesn't work. And if it doesn't, I'm eager to hear your alternatives.

11) Mortarion - The Marabou Stork. If you know anything about those birds - you know they were handcrafted by Satan himself. Or, Nurgle, I guess. Morty would love them.

(Above is an attached photo of a very private meeting of the Death Guard Legion. Lord Mortarion is on the white pedestal.)

12) Magnus The Red - The Scarlet Macaw. I swear, Magnus' daemon form is supposed to resemble the scarlet macaw. The resemblance is uncanny. Perhaps he was always meant to be the Emperor's "parrot on the shoulder", instead of, what, powering the Golden Throne instead of the Emperor? Yes, he sits on his dad's shoulder and makes snarky remarks to everyone. Malcador once threw a shoe at him for that.

13) Horus Lupercal - Bald Eagle. Actually NOT bald, just like Horus isn't actually naturally bald, because he SHAVES. The fandom lied to me, this whole time I thought Horus was jealous of his father's and some of his brothers' hair, when in reality he CHOSE to be bald!

... Anyway, high key Horus (before the heresy) is the Imperium's poster boy, so it's only logical to give him the bird that is essentialy a US mascot. He loves perching very high and enjoying the winds stroke his feathers. Also, if you kiss him on his forehead, while he is in the eagle form, he will get all giddy and happy. Horus also takes his bird form to play with Sanguinius, trying to race with him in the skies. Goofs.

14) Lorgar Aurelian - The Mourning Dove. In Christianity, the mourning dove is used to represent the Holy Spirit. It's generally a bird that is associated with spirituality, being a symbol of peace, love and faith. It would be a crime for me not to assign this bird to Lorgar. In the early hours of the morning, Lorgar would take this form to coo prayers in the language no one will ever understand, making it somewhat safe for him.

15) Vulkan - Crested Auklet. These birds are mostly found nesting on volcanic islands, such as Kuril Islands and Sakhalin island. They also live in huge colonies and can form strong bonds with each other. I think this bird would remind Vulkan less of himself and more of Nocturne... Which is exactly why he would choose this bird for transformation. He is very cuddly in the bird form and smells like tangerines too. Just... Don't hold him for too long. Vulkan, even as a bird, is still a living furnace.

16) Corvus Corax - Common Raven.

... Do I need to say anything?

17) Alpharius and Omegon - Emus. What better birds for the local "Just according to plan" guys than the ones that literally won a war against humans. Seriously, what the fuck, Australia?

And as a little bonus:

The Emperor of Mankind - Cassowary. You thought it would be another eagle? Or, perhaps, the emperor penguin with the "penguins of Madagascar" joke thrown somewhere in there? Nah. He gets the bird that is literally THE tired single father of the birds. On the other hand, though, the Emperor gets to harass people in the cassowary form. Imagine having the honor of being invited to the Imperial Palace itself and as you explore you get approached by a huge, dangerous looking cassowary. You manage to befriend it, even fed it some food you had on you, before you hear panicked Custodes running in your direction, screaming for the Emperor to stop harassing the guests. The cassowary then proceeds to book it, screaming back in the very human voice that he can do whatever he wants. And now you have an idea of what a normal Monday in the Imperial Palace looks like to the Custodes.

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 5

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, mentions for Rafayel stories, and myths, violent imagery and arguments.

Word Count: 5456

Written: 9th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. Rafayel is so hard to write for a lot of reasons, but also is one of my favourite characters in any story because he's just... contains multitudes. I also feel like he's the one who struggles most with all these other people in MC's life. I also feel like he's so fixated on pain, and struggle, that he forgets kindness can be offered to him with no price. Anyway, I enjoyed working on this bit a lot even though it was hard. Enjoy! Also as a side note, the song of choice I can only partially explain, Rafayel out of all the boys makes me think of regency romance on a level I truly cannot explain. (even though he doesn't have a dancing scene... YET!!)

Now Playing: All I Want, by Kris Bowers

Masterlist AO3

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Rafayel loves you. That is never in doubt. He finds himself bitter and aching that there is so much you have shared that only he remembers.

Sometimes it comes out in harsh words or lies. Even though he knows it is unfair to punish you, when you can't control it.

Mostly, however, he tries to enjoy moments with you. Hoping that something will spark, and you will look at him and see long years of history.

Remember his longing and his love in all its forms.

Remember all the facets that make him up. Perhaps it's cowardice to want your memories to fill in the blanks that he is too scared to tell you. Blood on his hands, heart offered up. He does not want to see your expression change. For you to fear or hate who he is… who he can become.

He thinks about beautiful blue seas, and the breath stolen underwater.

When he finds himself thinking of the beach he waited at, every year, he pushes himself into his work.

Now, he spends most of his days at your side. In case you need him. He watches closely, because he's used to you hiding your struggle from him. When you're sick, you've hidden it, he's reminded you that you're not a superhero. As much as you put on a brave front for every kid that sees your hunter reels.

Rafayel has watched this version of you for a long time, before he finally met you again. Properly.

He has seen so many renditions of you, no matter who you have been… he has loved you. He has and will love you for eternity and beyond, even if it might be easier not to.

Rafayel has finished most of his work for his exhibit, as he stares at the final piece that is missing something that he cannot find.

Sun blends with sea, as the tides recede. As silver bones are left behind to bleach.

He stares and stares and nothing comes. Just that vague, irritating feeling of incompletion.

"You're going to burn a hole in it, fish."

"Sylus, leave the man alone, he's actually working."

Rafayel huffs… and therein lies his other problem. Your consortium of bizarre attachments. If he were less observant, he could pretend they see you as a friend only.

But he is a man who can kill another, who can plan his revenge, who can hide in plain sight. Who is capable of sneaking up even on the N109 Zone Leader.

So he can see and he can't ignore. He also can't ignore that they comfort you as well.

You have teased him for being childish, and he thinks the irritating feeling in his gut, that demands he steal all of your time, that you are his bonded partner, confirms such a claim. He is not possessive of a lot… your heart is his.

He tries to ignore the doctor and the crow. Staring straight ahead, hoping that answers will come to him, but he cannot. He can feel their presence and it is on the edge of his consciousness. Poking at it.

Like he is a crab on the beach and a child wants to watch his pincers clasp.

"Maybe you should take a walk, get some fresh air."

"Do you want the fish to suffocate, Doctor?"

"Truly, you are incapable of not prodding at others aren't you?"

He huffs this time, turning his face to look at the two. Zayne is typing on his laptop, barely looking up to converse, while Sylus is on his tablet, glasses on the end of his nose.

The two look eerily similar like this.

Rafayel tries not to compare the doctor to the crow, it's unflattering. At least the doctor can heal your wounds.

When he speaks though, his irritation comes out in the snippy tone he takes, "Your opinions are noted, dumb crow. Then swiftly discarded."

The man does that irritating little laugh he does, that is more a puff of air than a real laugh. Like it's too much effort to feel anything, and Rafayel wants to pluck his feathers.

How you can tolerate him, he'll never know.

At least the hunter is quiet…

Still, he wants to get out of here, they make it harder for him to think, and he can't make progress like this. So he stands, shrugging at them and heads towards the door, as he goes to make through he almost collides with you and Xavier returning from the hospital. He isn't surprised when you move out the way just in time, you're a hunter and your training has made you capable. Still as he greets you, you hesitate, before tugging at his shirt before he can leave.

He looks down, your hand holding onto the fabric, not tough enough to tear, but enough to halt his movements.

"Are you alright, Raffy?" 

It shouldn't surprise him that you notice the tick in his jaw, or the stress under his skin. It isn't the first time, and you've shown many times to have been able to pick out when his mood has dropped. You're observant as part of being a hunter, you're careful, you pay attention. You're smart.

You care.

About him, about his mood… about his life. His irritation settles, soothes at the edges, and his smile is easier, "I need some fresh air. Want to come with?"

You hesitate and he watches the fear enter your eyes. Wavering. You walk between the hospital and the apartment when you don't take Zayne's car, but that's the extent of your journeys. He wants to pull you by the hand… make you see the sea with him.

"Where are you going?"

"Whitesands."

It's far enough removed, very few people visit it, and he will get a walk somewhere familiar. Perhaps it's familiar enough for you to follow him.

He extends his hand, carefully, trying to keep the need from bubbling to the surface. If he could take you away far from here, he would. Take you to everything he's ever seen, so he can see it with new eyes. Yours.

Your hand stretches out, and your fingers tremble, before you finally take his, "Alright, if it's quiet." Your request is one he'll happily grant. Both of you alone, he can't think of a better way to spend his time.

The walk is kind to him, as they head towards Whitesand Bay, he gets to keep your hand in his, listen to the song of the world, and watch as your steps become lighter. You stop staring down at your arm and checking around you, eventually focusing on the sky and him.

As feet crunch on white sand, and approach the edge of tides. You let go of his hand to walk a little further out, and he watches. As you crouch, as you reach fingers to the water.

Rafayel paints everything he thinks is beautiful, tragic, or brings pain to his soul. You hurt him too, in ways he aches for. Like he is placing his hand in a burning flame, and holding it there, because the longer he holds it, the closer he gets to what he craves.

Like there is an answer there, waiting over the edge of agony. If he tumbles after it, he'll find what eludes him.

There's a feeling in him that wants to drown you with him. He could swim out, with you in his arms, and pull you under. On the edge of the question of life, before he gives you the means to breathe alongside him. He's warned you of the nature of sirens, and you've looked him in the eye and told him you don't fear him.

You should, though, he knows. You should fear the ocean's grasp as well as his own, because he wants your heart for his.

As you turn your eyes back to him, soft smile tugging the scar on your face, his heart thunders and then stills. Flames and agony. The need to touch and hold it in his hand… Lit against the contours of your face, and the glimmer in your eyes.

His inspiration is always closer than he thinks.

—-----

Rafayel dislikes your companions.

The prince gets to spend all of his time with you, working together, protecting each other. Where Rafayel had to convince you to be his bodyguard, just for a fraction of that time.

The doctor is who you trust with your injuries and your wounds, he is who you go to when something hurts. You hid your sickness from Rafayel before now, so he didn't doubt your capabilities.

The crow… the crow gets under his scales. Like a tick. Biting and bleeding and ruining his skin. Yet you trust him, a man who built all his life on violence. Who has blood on his hands. Who is open about his sins… While he cannot tell you for fear of the look in your eye changing.

It is safe to say the crow is his least favourite. The one who grinds at him most, who plucks and pulls. Like a hook in his upper lip. He dreams of drowning the man… he would if the look in your eyes didn't stop him.

So he hates them, he thinks. The anger and irritation and the childish petulance. He wants your attention and he fights for it, he wants you to trust him most. It took too long to gain entrance into your home, reminding himself that time builds strong bonds. That he should be patient. He did not want to scare you, to startle you. Like you are a small fish and he is a bigger… hungrier beast.

There is no peace when they are around, and normally pain brings him inspiration, an answer on the end of a paintbrush. A vision in the agony.

Whatever feeling they inspire is not pain, and it brings him no art to create, no feelings to share in blues and greens. Nothing to show for it.

He has thankfully, however, finished his final piece. So there is a relief in him, even as the crow looks down at him, eyebrow raised.

Rafayel ignores the man, looking straight ahead, signing his work. Paintbrush steady. Steadier than the racing heart in his chest.

He will not lose a game of chicken with an overgrown bird.

So when the crow turns to walk away, he is relieved, and so smug, until he hears a crunch. Looking over quickly, and staring down at the floor.

"Ah, what a shame."

One of Rafayel's paintbrushes snapped in half by the stupid crow's foot.

He levels a glare at the man, "Are stupid crows clumsy too?"

"Are all fish messy? Your things have spread across the apartment."

"I'm working!"

"Quite diligently I see, despite galavanting off to the beach. Inspiration was it?"

The look on the crow's face is too level. It's too calm. He does not respond to the rise of Rafayel's voice. He does not flinch at the glare in his eyes. He does not move, from where his foot is still on his brush.

It is a feeling of irritation that burns and scorches where it stands.

He has to tolerate and bite his tongue. He has to think and be careful. He has to share, where he does not want to share.

You are his heart, why does he have to look at the eyesore in his vision, and think about his hands on you too.

His anger bubbles and froths and overflows. A pot that has been left, and forgotten. You will forget him too, in favour of a crow! A stupid. Foolish. Irritating crow.

He stands and presses forwards, fangs bared and sharp. He is a predator of the seas. This man is nothing. He is a god of the tides. This man is a petty criminal.

Rafayel knows you better, he has seen more incarnations than this man can even comprehend, and he dares to play at favour?

"If you wish to be drowned, crow, I am happy to oblige."

Eyebrow quirks at him, a look in his eyes that Rafayel can't make out, but it glitters and twinkles, "I'd love to see you try, fish, but I'm afraid you couldn't hope to kill me."

"I am more than willing to try."

"Then you'll simply be hurting your 'beloved bride', wouldn't you?"

He snarls, a low noise in the back of his throat, hand reaching out to grab at the man's throat. To snap it, bite through it, to cut his voice permanently, he isn't sure. It will hurt, and he will deserve it. For calling you what he cannot. Too many memories that you cannot hold in your heart.

The crow steps forwards, as if daring him to try. To wrap his hands around his throat and twist. To slice his throat open with a dagger. To see. To show him if it's true.

"Raffy?" Your call comes from the side, stumbling in, voice wary.

His hand hovers, he debates. Thinks for a moment. Stares at the crow's adam apple as the man swallows his laughter down. The dare is there, waiting for him to take… and they both know he won't.

So he rips his hand back, offers you the kind of smile that shakes at the foundations, "Hey cutie, I was just going out for the exhibit."

You open your mouth to speak, and he shakes his head, grabbing his canvas. Lifting it far too quickly to be safe, and turns on a heel, "I'll see you later."

The speed he leaves the apartment leaves the door frame shaking behind him. Heading out, running from the place. From the crow's dare, from the wary look in your eyes.

From the inadequacy… the guilt… the irritation. The pain.

What lurks over the abyss could just be nothingness. A world where you don't want him, or need him. Where without your memories you do not look at him, hear him call you his beloved bride, and love him as you once did. Where his bond with you is not enough, and he simply has to experience the heart that cannot beat for anyone but you.

That he has lied and hidden and kept from you for too long, that a criminal with blood on his hands who does not hide… claims your heart for his.

His heart…

There is pain behind his art and in his soul. A reminder that he cannot always be with you in every life, and he prays this is not one of them. An alter of suffering that he would cut his chest open at, if you would always look at him.

—--

You cannot stop thinking about the look on Rafayel's face.The agony in his eyes as he'd darted from the room. You'd asked Sylus who had shrugged, "I broke his paintbrush." But not explained further.

You'd seen Rafayel break his own paintbrushes in his studio, stepping on them, falling over them. Resulting in a trip to the hospital because of how messy things were.

You help Sylus clean up some of the mess, containing it in a corner with the rest of Raffy's things, hoping it would alleviate some of the feeling you can't seem to shake in the air. A stagnation. It feels like decay, and you can't open enough windows to air it out.

If Sylus decides not to share, he won't. You've known him long enough, pried at his secrets enough, that you don't waste the strength anymore. He shares what he wants, when he wants to.

So you abandon the effort and go about your day. It drags. Waiting for time to pass, working through your exercises, before you have to leave.

As the time approaches, the clock hand moving, it begins to click harder. The sound impending.

You think about other exhibits, the amount of people, the noise…

It cuts through the excitement, the peace of the wait, the boredom.

You pause as you're getting ready, staring at the prosthetic arm flexing in front of you. The movement of metal fingers, the clear indication of your injury… your failure.

You're going to see Rafayel. A man who people will be looking at. Commending.

Taking photos of.

Do you really want to be stood next to him like this? To draw attention to yourself and him?

An icy chill runs up your spine, and you stop. You have to get these clothes off. You have to cancel. You can't go.

You can't be there.

You feel the chain on your ankle, it tugs and it pulls, and it drags you back. The beast that settled, has woken up. It is hungry and it is angry, and it is laughing at you for trying.

A mistake, this was a mistake. You made a promise to someone you care about, and now you're going to hurt him. Either way, you're going to hurt him. Make him look stupid. Make him hate you.

You're going to break this fragile peace. Bring that agonised look into his eyes again.

Take from a man who gives you so much. Love, affection, kindness, warmth, acceptance, joy.

You are ripping all those things from his hands, and returning nothing.

"Kitten?" You stumble, when the voice startles you out of your thoughts. Falling back onto the bed, looking up as Sylus enters, not bothering to wait for an answer. Ever since your mission had gone wrong, he has been far less hesitant. If he could ever be said to be hesitant.

When he sees you sitting, tears in your eyes, he approaches you, kneels in front of you. Hands on your knees. Soothing your skin. His skin is so warm, it's like a brand. You almost pull away. On fire, itching, hurting. He notices your flinch and pulls his hands away. The relief of the cool is intense, and you choke on the feeling.

You're the mistake. Too fragile to be touched. Too useless to be helpful. Too much work.

He takes in your rumbled clothing. The shirt half pulled off, the jacket thrown away from you, the trousers unclasped. You are shivering, and shaking, and while you can see his hands twitching. Yearning, needing to soothe, he knows he can't. So he tries to speak, hesitant now, "Don't you like them?" You think about the time he spent, finding things with Rafayel that are easier to wear. Clasps that can be done easier with one hand, or buttons bigger for your unsteady metal fingers.

Things that require the least amount of struggle. If he could not find them, he had them made.

The two of them, you think as you try to fight through the fog, are dangerous.

You shake your head numbly. "I can't go."

It doesn't require much more from you, even without his eye, Sylus reads people. He reads you. He's said sometimes he cannot understand the workings of your mind, but he improves everyday. It is terrifying to be seen by him. Terrifying for him to look under the rough exterior, to the rougher interior.

You wait for the moment that he realises you're not worth it.

"You'll be with us." He starts, and you look down at where his hand twitches towards you, then back. "You won't be alone."

You haven't been alone, you think. In all the time you've spent with this. This weight, first on your back, then on your ankle. They have come to find you. Looking.

Just like Caleb did.

Is it enough? This could be that wakeup call.

"Rafayel wants you there, he's excited to see you." It is odd. It is hearing Sylus say 'Rafayel' and not 'fish', that jolts you back. Just like the moment you saw them in your kitchen, arguing. Just like when you saw them all walk through that door when the blanket was your only defence.

It is a realisation of how odd this is. How bizarre they are.

It almost makes you hiccup a laugh. The idea of Sylus speaking for Rafayel. You think about how warm he is to you, how he takes your hand easily.

I will always want to look at you.

"What if it's too much work?" You finally manage, the agony lightening so you can speak, no longer tearing at you. Though you can feel the creature on your ankle. Tugging. Like a dog with a chew toy.

"The important things are worth it."

Important.

Learning to use your prosthetic is hard. Learning to trust is hard.

It was with Caleb, it is with all of them. It is a constant struggle. A constant weight. To try.

They catch you, with a security net. Give you space to breathe, so you can stand back up again.

You think about what you want, think about what will make you happy… what is worth living for.

It is the reason to keep getting up.

You want to see Rafayel's work, you want to see the people you care about. You want to keep your promise to a man who values you. A hesitant shaky hand takes Sylus' where it hovers. The way you can watch him heave a sigh, the tension in him easing, as he clasps yours between both of his. Tight, but not suffocating. He grounds you, and it doesn't burn.

"What do you think, Kitten? Do you want to try?"

Sylus has never belittled you for tears, or made you feel your emotions are a mistake. When you are drowning, he offers a hand. When you anger and hurt, he is there, either to join you in your hurt, or to help appease it.

He offers you a choice, and he means it. If you truly do not want to, you know he will accept it. If you want to, he will help.

"I want to try."

He nods, pulling you up with him, to stand, straight into his chest. So that you can feel his uneven heart beating against you. "Then let's get you ready."

—-----

He should never have left so early. He should have stayed with you.

Rafayel left the apartment in frustration and anger and now he stares at his phone, hoping to see your name pop up.

It is an agitating feeling. To be stood on the edge of the cliff and not know if there's water below.

He has forced himself to listen to Thomas, to go through the motions, to ensure his exhibit is set up correctly. He has sat under too bright lights, feeling himself drying up, as he waits. As the clock hand moves, as he thinks, and he struggles.

If he keeps running, will you stop chasing him?

As his exhibit starts, he checks again, only to see a message from the doctor, 'Good luck today'. He doesn't respond. He stares at it. It's unsettling. He doesn't want the doctor to wish him good luck. He doesn't want his comfort.

He doesn't need it.

Even when his agitation settles a moment, and he hides it from Thomas who asks him why he's smiling. He's not.

That doesn't mean anything.

He does not wave at Xavier as he walks through the door, milling around the paintings quietly. Avoiding the bigger crowds. He tries not to think about the fact that he's come to see.

It doesn't matter.

As time passes, Rafayel fidgets.

Stares at the door.

Fidgets.

Stares at the door.

He walks around the room, passes Xavier, who hands him water quietly, then walks off. He stares down at it, but he's parched, the crowds are tiring him out, the people are talking like they understand him, and he just wants to be somewhere else. So he downs it, and lets the relief of the chill settle in his throat.

He talks absently to people he doesn't really care to listen to. Thomas gives him a talk about doing his duties.

Irritation settles in his stomach. He doesn't care about his duties. He cares about seeing you.

He checks his phone, and is relieved, though irritated, when he gets a message from the crow, 'We're on our way'. He sends back a thumbs up, though it is through a shaky hand. Excitement makes it unsteady.

It is when he is not staring at the door, when he hears your voice behind him. "Raffy?" Pulling away from where he is avoiding Thomas' lectures, he takes you in. Your hand is grasped in the crow's, eyes darting around the room. You're wearing your prosthetic, a dark blue jacket over your shoulders, painted with green and blue flowers. Flared trousers and a light shirt. He absently thinks that the crow's style isn't too ridiculous, if it means you visit his exhibits like this. Like one of the flowers in a garden he wants to take you.

"Cutie!" It is relief and it is the weight of hundreds of years that shed. He waited, he waited, and you came. He takes your hand away from the crow, not without giving a smug little smile, which receives him a smirk, and kisses the back of it. "You made it."

He watches your eyes glisten, he can feel the heat off your cheeks. Not all embarrassment, he knows some of it is stress, but it is enough. "You don't have to stay long." He promises, it doesn't matter how long you stay. You came. You came, no matter what.

You came, and he knows it wasn't easy.

The laugh you release, it trembles, like your hand, but it is accompanied by the small smile he is learning to draw with his eyes closed. "Show me your work?"

"I'll go find the prince, call me if you need me." The crow offers, he leans, kissing your temple, before he leaves. You blink after him a bit, touching where he kissed with your hand, pulling it from Rafayel's grasp, and then look at him. He glares after the man, but doesn't offer much of a response.

"Come on then cutie, you're mine." He doesn't look as he grabs your hand, and he knows he is grinning at you. Pulling you forwards with him, darting to where his art calls for you.

He doesn't notice the chill in your hand, until he eases his fingers over it. Feeling grooves and edges. He almost releases when he realises he has grabbed your prosthetic, you are staring down at it with him.

Rafayel looks at you, tries to read the look in your eyes. It is soft, and awed and gentle. So he raises it to his lips, kissing the wrist. You tremble, blinking, before tightening your grip just a little.

It is the soft, warm look in your eyes, as you tug him forward a little bit more, a laugh bubbling out of you. "Come on Raffy."

He takes you around all of his paintings, and just watches you.

You don't offer him opinions or thoughts often, he has learned if he gives you space to look, you can tell him how you feel. What his art brings out in you. If he looks closely at your face, he can watch it. Trembling in your eyes.

As you flit amongst paintings, like a butterfly amongst flowers, tugging him along with you. He follows willingly.

There are moments when you stop, and your hand twitches out. Like you are holding back the urge to run your fingers over the paint. Tracing shapes, touching at his heart directly.

He wants to tell you that you can do as you please. That you are the one who he wants to understand him most. That his art, and his soul are yours to do with as you like. That you could tear images from his canvas, and he would still paint more for you.

Finally you find yourself in front of his struggle. Bleached bones on the beach, tides easing out. Leaving scars behind.

At the edges of the horizon, the sun rises again. Painting the once dreary sky in a rainbow.

You are the sunrise that greets him, that reminds him that time moves forwards. That there is something to see after the night.

That tomorrow has a chance for better than today.

You bloom like a flower before his eyes, a sight he could never have seen beneath the waves. A reminder of why he came to visit the surface every year. A reminder of all the wonders of land that he idolised as a child.

"Beautiful." Is exhaled, and he is unsure if it was you or him. The twinkling in your eyes, perhaps it was both.

Eventually he feels the strain in your countenance, the exhaustion, so he sneaks with you out of the exhibit. Escaping into gardens that are quiet, and closed to others. A locked gate has never kept him out of anywhere, however.

It is the quiet that settles you, and he settles alongside you. No longer wearing a mask he does not want for people who come to stare at his work. He pulls you amongst flowers, fields of lilies, and whispers of petals.

Secluded and alone. The way he feels best with you.

Lying down in the grass, to look up at the sky, stars twinkling.

It is with the view of the stars that you speak, voice tinged in a guilt he wishes to chase away, "I almost didn't come. I'm sorry Raffy."

His eyes turn to you, to read the draw of your lips, the pain in your eyes, the way you tighten your grip on his hand. Cool metal against skin that reacts to you more than any other. Sensitive, aware.

Your touch will always alight his senses.

He knows the hesitation, he thinks about the way you wavered on the edge, hand extended to you as you feared to take it. He knows that you are adjusting. He regrets asking you to promise, to put that weight on your shoulders.

He is relieved you came. To see him, to stare at the workings of his heart, and yearn to trace it with fingers.

His patience and his need fight often. His awareness of pushing, his desperation. It is hard to balance.

"What changed your mind?"

You edge a little closer on the grass, so that the heat of him spreads over the sensors of your prosthetic. Alongside the gentle stroking of his thumb over your hand. "Sy told me you wanted me to be here… and I wanted to be here for you."

Rafayel's first instinct is the kind of reaction he's seen cats get to water. Hissing and jumping up. Shaking himself furiously.

There is great dissatisfaction at comparing himself to the demons.

There is greater dissatisfaction at the crow, helping him. In any way.

It is a feeling of being pulled back by the scruff of his neck, away from the abyss he seeks out. The fall into the ocean.

The agony on the edge of the conscious.

You poke his cheek with your other hand, then brush hair back and his heart settles its seething. "I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"That they care for you." It is whispered, and it is tentative, and he sees the worry in your eyes.

The fear at his arguments before. The anxiety that you are causing distress.

Forcing them. Making them clash in enclosed spaces. Like caged beasts.

It is the wary voice that calls out to him, tries to ask the question about the pain in him, the voices and the agony ripping and pulling and hurting. The pain that grants him no inspiration.

They care.

A message sent to wish him luck. A quiet presence bringing him water when he dries. A fool giving you the push to move forwards to lead your feet to him.

You have not stopped looking for him and at him, and he has been holding you like a toy he does not wish to share…

It is a feeling he isn't ready to digest or question, not when the stars are bright and you are safe next to him. It is one he will think about in days to come, as he watches the doctor help him clean. As he is offered a pillow the prince favours in order to sleep better.

When the crow argues with him, but gives him food that satisfies a hunger he forgets to appease for himself.

When you do not look at him any less. That he has not lost anything, he is not lesser.

It is a feeling for later.

To help paint canvas he wants to share one day, though pain is absent, and something else glimmers in the sea.