#it’s not that hard to spare some empathy

[sokkastyles]

I agree with this post, although I do want to add that for the above-mentioned examples of Zuko still coming to terms that his childhood wasn't normal, there are also scenes where he clearly knows it was wrong. He tells Ozai that it was wrong. He also shoots it back at Ty Lee when she says that bad vibes will give him bad skin. But I agree that he wouldn't use it to guilt-trip the gaang into forgiving him. Not just because he's internalized that he deserves it, though. Like on some level he does know that he didn't deserve the way he was treated, and that shows when Sokka says that it must have been hard to leave his family and he bitterly says that it wasn't that hard. But he's also doing the same thing here of downplaying the abuse. He doesn't act like it's normal, but he does internalize it as something he had to deal with and downplays Sokka's empathy for him because of it. He does something similar when Katara offers to heal his scar and he deflects and says he knows he'll never be free of it. So even when Zuko realizes that what happened to him was wrong, he'd still probably have trouble coming to terms with how other people would react to it. Even other people's caring/horror feels like shame, but then getting other people to understand is frustrating, too. The times he actually does talk about what happened to him that I can think of, it's when he's being deliberately combative. To Ozai, to Ty Lee, and also to Aang when Aang talks about sparing Ozai's life and Zuko says he was "the worst father in the history of fathers." Zuko's expecting people to argue with him in these scenes, to blame him, so he goes into fight mode. And I think that for a long time, those are going to be the only ways he can talk about it, either to downplay it when someone is expressing caring for him, because that's too foreign, too close to his own pain, or in a way that implies he expects people to argue with him, because isn't he really to blame? Logically, he knows he's not, but that doesn't make the feelings go away, and actually knowing that this would actually make his friends really horrified and sad might be even scarier.

There’s a post floating around about how Zuko not telling the Gaang how he got his scar reflects him “taking accountability” for his actions, instead of manipulating them by guilt-tripping them and placing responsibility onto Ozai, his adult abuser.

There are some replies to it pointing out that in general Zuko tends to not be manipulative (or lie) even when it would serve him, and explanations offered for this ranging from the Watsonian (largely “he’s autistic” and variants thereupon) to the Doylist (“he’s being narratively contrasted with very manipulative Azula”). Some other comments about him not wanting to share private trauma with people he doesn’t know well.

But in this particular case I don’t actually think it’s any of that, really, from Zuko’s point of view, because the most fundamental thing of it is that he’s an abused kid.

People don’t tend to appreciate how much growing up surrounded by the language of abuse, and/or in a culture of abuse (as Zuko was - dozens of people saw Ozai burn him, and none objected), affects you. It’s not just about the trauma directly. It’s about being forcibly taught that this is normal and deserved to the degree that you genuinely don’t realize most of the world doesn’t.

It’s about casually mentioning things about your childhood and everyone responding with shock and horror, and you being confused, because you had no idea that was yet another thing about your life that wasn’t normal. It’s about how you eventually realize you just can’t talk about the first couple decades of your life at all without being accused of trauma-dumping and guilt-tripping and manipulation, being punished again for failing to protect others from the discomfort of hearing second-hand about something you had to live through with a child’s body.

And the thing is? Zuko isn’t at that last sentence’s point yet, when we see him with the Gaang. He’s before that, at the “does not yet realize this isn’t normal” point. We know this, because of how he responds to Iroh at the end: kneeling in front of him waiting for punishment. He doesn’t think abuse is abnormal; he thinks it’s a natural and deserved response to his poor behavior, so thoroughly that he believes even Iroh would do it. All the way to the end of the show! (After he’s had any opportunity to say anything to the Gaang!)

Whether he would choose to explain his scar to the Gaang if he knew it would make them like/forgive him is a moot point. He had no idea that it would. With his frame of reference, he assumed their reactions would be somewhere in the range of “yeah, why are you whining about something that normal and mundane, I don’t bore you with stories of how Gyatso used airbending to punish me” to “dang, how badly did you fuck up to deserve that? you must be even worse a person than we realized” to “he went easy on you and should’ve done worse”.

It would never occur to him to share the scar story to get the Gaang to like/forgive him, because he has no way to know that they would react with shock and horror instead of dismissal or putting even more blame on him.

[stillgotscars]

not everyone who lives in california is rich. i repeat, not everyone who lives in california is rich.

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

I am historically quite bad at longfic. But for the one person who requested this: we're giving it a go! Expansion of this

Ghostxfem reader. No warnings this chapter.

PROLOGUE:

Ella the Enchantress had nails like ambergris and a cunt like a steel trap, with a personality to match.

Feared for her tempestuous nature and reviled for a demonstrable lack of empathy, enlisting the assistance of this witch-cum-altruist was an exercise in self-flagellation.

Ella enjoyed attention.

Her preferences varied with the weather, but speculation had it that her skills as a seductress far outstripped her talent with magic. A modern medusa, the wrong look could chain a petitioner to her, life and limb, for as long as she so pleased.

The right look was frequently difficult to come by - Ella wasn't always naked, but she was never far away.

Not that they'd regret looking, necessarily. She was certainly skilled. But she left marks, had a way of destroying livelihoods and relationships.

Her real name was Sally, and she was technically a sorceress.

A relationship with her would be akin to juggling a live grenade, and that would be stupid.

Ghost isn't stupid.

He just likes living on the edge. And sex.

For all her failings as a member of civilized society, Ella was hot. The aforementioned cunt didn't hurt, either.

Bit of a vindictive bitch, though.

"Y'know where the door is. Y'can let yourself out."

Ghost is brave for a man with all his softest bits hanging out.

Then again, the soft bits were always her favorite part of him - it certainly wasn't his personality or emotional fluency.

At least he knows what to do with his dick.

Sally storms through the apartment in a manner more literal than metaphorical, fuming with hot embarassment and anger, as she stomps her legs into the suggestion of a dress she was wearing when she'd seduced him.

Ghost doesn't notice. He's already dismissed her, rolled back over to her side of the bed and buried his face in the pillow instead of her lap.

That rat bastard. How dare he!

She's Sally Le Fucking Fay, great-great-great-great-great...great step-granddaughter of Morgen le Fay, and she cannot believe she made the mistake of handing her self-worth to a man.

No - that she can believe.

What she can't believe is that Ghost of all people would so callously reject her charm. He was an unlovable bastard, with no family and no prospects, and she had lowered herself to take him into her willing bosom.

And he had still turned her away.

She seethes the whole way home, ignoring the way her anger makes her magic flare around her. The scum of the night scramble out of her way, keen to avoid a gale that rips lids from trash cans and sends them careening into the nearest stationary object.

Sally has care to spare for one thing and one thing only. Usually it's herself. But tonight, it's going to be retribution.

Big hard man. Ha.

She'll show him.

Ghost peeks out from under his arm when he finally feels the front door shake the foundation - he's not entirely convinced she won't come back, and he's not as fearless as he'd like to pretend.

His room is a mess. Even more-so than after a normal night of athletics. Ella had imposed herself upon him for a week, and he'd tried every trick in the book to get her to leave.

He'd even turned down sex. Twice.

He'd seen it on the horizon, but he'd really thought the sorceress would take it better. It was part of the agreement - no feelings, blah blah blah, not ready for anything else.

She didn't want a man to cramp her witchy vibes, and he didn't want someone asking more of him than he was ready to give.

And then she'd decided they were "the perfect match" and they were "fated for each other", like characters in some cutesy Disney tale, and not who they really were -

A morally grey sorceress with reality debt, and an emotionally constipated weapon of destruction.

He'd had to pull out the big guns: alas, "it's over" didn't go over too well.

She'd nearly destroyed his room - it had rained, and if she wasn't so mad he'd have been worried about her flooding the basement. As it was, she'd steamed him like a shellfish.

He slips out of bed and sneaks over to the door, an intruder in his own home, afraid to summon her by accident. He'd kill for a good night's sleep, without hands crawling down his pants, but the climate in his room is unbearable.

The couch is good enough.

If he makes it through the week without hellfire raining down on him - literally - he's going to take a break from women.

He should have listened to Soap.

[luvether]

STAR-SHAPED BRUISES ✦ he who once felt the cold touch of death before, so why did it matter if he risked it again? Only that it did matter, to you, and your yearnings for him felt so warm it almost made him want to be selfish.

anaxagoras x gn!reader. angst? & fluff! content. hurt with comfort (?) tensions and arguments. yearning and hidden pining. cerces playing matchmaker. might be ooc + anaxa character study. written before 3.2 and spoilers for the 3.1 story! [2.4k wc]

tagging @rainswept @eterjie @kazucee !!

“You seem troubled today, more than usual.”

The thin-layer of soundlessness is quickly replaced by the tamed billow of Anaxa’s tone, one that seems like he’s questioning for the sake of curiosity and not because of empathy. Looking up at how busy he looked, his eyes maintained upon his alembic that bubbled a violent cyan-gold hue, any second and you’re sure it’s gonna fulminate from the vessel.

You shift from your seat, feigning skittish. “Did my morose pique the curiosity of the grand performer? Or are you simply worried?”

“Neither.”

“What a benumbed reaction, Anaxa—“

“—goras.” He finishes for you. Usually, whenever he’d add on your behalf, you’d combat it with a snide but today, he’s left with nothing but silence. This made him look up from his instruments and papers, your lack of reactions made him forgo his current experiment.

It made him almost worry, almost.

He sighs instead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re quick to lie to me,” Anaxagoras is now facing you, laying a hand on his hip. “That seems like something.”

The way he conducts his questions is making you want to be defensive with your petulant behavior. “Even if something is on my mind, I don’t see why I should be telling you about it.”

“Maybe you should, because if I can find some way to help, your mood would lift, no?”

“Since when have you cared about my moods?”

Silence then.

“Are you aware of what the principle of correspondence is?” Anaxa mutters out and you have the urge to exhale.

“Please spare me a lecture…”

“As above, so below, as within so without.” The professor starts nonetheless. “Everything around us is a mirror that reflects a projection on both our inner and outer manners, think of the relationships as interconnected roots of trees or simply dendrites. It’s the simple work of magic tricks—human behaviors more so than divinity at play.” Anaxagoras approaches you, the chains of his eyepatch filling the slowness of the room.

He levels his face with yours and from your position, you can clearly anatomize the fullness of his eye from here—the hollow of mint with a cut of boysenberry in the center, glowing beneath long lashes.

He continues, “even if I’m half-dead as what that titan said, I can still feel your vibrations and stress, an internal conflict, it’s making shoddy trembles of my glass flasks on that desk.”

“How does that even—“

“Your feet.” Anaxa finally says. “You were unconsciously tapping your feet.”

Oh.

You lay your palms flat on your knees, an unconscious manner.

“I apologize.”

“So you have the decency to apologize and yet not speak your mind further?”

The silence is indefinite yet present. It shallows over at every retort that spills in between both your stubborn tongues.

You shake your head. “You’re difficult.”

His eyes narrow. “You are the one being difficult, actually. I offered help, you refused, I asked about your well-being, you dismissed me.”

“You should consider how your candidness makes it exceptionally hard for me to be open to you, maybe think about that.” You bite back at him, the tension threatening to spill over. “You’re the last person I’d want to go to whenever I have worries, so just simply drop it for today. I’d have to apologize for my lackings, I'll provide you with better companionship and arguments when I’m feeling well.”

“…Truly, I didn’t mean to come off as heartless—“ but you’d already brush past his shoulder before he can fully explain himself like he’d always have, leaving Anaxa to his bubbling vessels, untidy scrolls and a heavy sigh.

Much to his dismay instead of the privacy that he wishes after that argument, Cerces appears just as you vanish from his sight, a liquidy chuckle slipping past their lips. “Sometimes, I even wonder if your heart died along with you, child of humanity.”

“I’d rather you keep silent while I work.” Anaxagoras distastefully returns back to his apparatuses, more quiet and solemn than before.

“You should give chase.” Cerces suggested instead. “That child was simply worried.”

“Worried?” He finds the titan’s words as credulous. “Did you not see the flush of anger directed at me? Besides, I’m preoccupied right now.”

“You say you’re preoccupied and yet it’s you who seem quite distracted. Are you curious about their source of trouble?”

“It’s nothing new, arguments like that. We’ve known each other long before you ever knew me on my deathbed so back off.”

When he’d state his intentions clear, the Titan of Reason—unfazed in their countenance—leaves the professor to his own bearings and he finally has room to breathe.

Your relationship with him has always been rocky. Arguments and walking outs weren’t new, you used to debate about claims and theories a multitude of times back in the Grove, it was part of your dynamic, but every time he realizes belatedly how his string of words had cut you deep beyond the usual shallow jabs thrown on a daily, Anaxagoras cannot help but feel like his hollow chest is being twisted upside down.

In some way, maybe it mattered because despite the clashes and quarrels, you’d stay. You’ve stayed by him for years even after he was ridiculed as a blasphemous fool or a heretic—you’d stay even longer, waiting for him to finish lectern speeches or classes without so much as an ounce of complaint. A simple gesture that he’d been grateful of and even he admits to himself that seeing you being upset with him and his words were the least satisfying things to behold.

It did bother him but admitting that aloud to that titan was the last thing he’d want.

So after an hour or two after he knew you’d calm down, the professor drops his vials and walks down the distasteful and boisterous streets of Okhema in search of you—or more specifically, cruising over to Hyacine and asking for your whereabouts to save him the trouble of turning the Holy City upside down.

It was tempting, for the sake of bringing an irate reaction out of that woman and her golden threads, but his sick body and rational mind stopped him so.

“You are here.”

Anaxagoras has finally found you in some remote corner of the city, you were sitting shiftless above limestone, carving names upon ordinary stones. There was a spare moment in which his dull eyes sought down to you—he’d noticed how your hair is wind-swept and how strands of it stick to your forehead and the skin of your neck. The leaves of your collar are strewn as well, showing the barest hint of collarbones and almost immediately Anaxa shifts his eyes away, he’d asked what you were doing to distract himself from his own keen observations.

“Nobody will remember each scholar that perished fighting the Black tide. I’m merely writing companions I remember that I used to do thesis with, those that don’t have families here in Okhema to remember them…”

Anaxa observes you again, then after a long silence you feel him approaching closer, his shadow stretching before you. Your mind stirs in alertness, noticing what he’s up to—but Anaxa is always two steps ahead of you, before you can cease the pen laid by your side, he has already swiped it. You tried your best to wrestle it from him but Anaxa held it out of reach from you, causing you to sneer.

“Give that back. I forbid you to write your own epitaph!”

“And why not? I’ve done it once in the Grove—“

“Well, this isn’t the Grove—!“ You've paused quickly, noticing that you interrupted him. You waited for an ire to come throttling down at you but when you gaze back at him, Anaxagoras merely raises a brow at you, a faint sheet of amusement in his expression.

“Give me a stone.” He’d ask.

“No—“

“Stone.”

Your shoulders deflate at his tight tone, accepting defeat with petulance and a huff.

Stubborn man, you curse in your head. Stubborn and hard-headed and mean…You digress, ending up giving him one, laying the stone harsher onto his open palm than you intended but his expression remained amused.

When a balance of tamed silence settles, Anaxagoras is the first to speak again after writing an elegy onto the stone, changing the subject with ease.

“It's getting late, you should retire for today.”

And in response, you turn away with a quiet huff of breath. “I‘m…still not used to the Holy City's constant daylights, and I should be saying that to you, the moment you were given apparatuses to quell your complaints, you’ve been doing nothing but your experiments since you’ve arrived from your fight in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Well, thanks to your concern this ill-stricken body has been recovering. Besides, I have nothing much to do, especially when that woman’s threads are all over the place.”

“You almost died.” Your statement held more bite than necessary. For you it showed him your true feelings and for Anaxa—the answer to today’s dismay.

A laugh breaks from his lips.

“Is this why you’re upset?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. “You’re upset that I got hurt back at the Grove.”

You rise from your seat, meeting him tooth for tooth, jab for jab. “Is it truly hard for you to comprehend that there are people that care whether or not you’re doing well—?”

Despite your anger, Anaxa is distracted for a moment, watching the sneer on your lips shaping vowels and long consonants, almost as if you're baring his teeth at him. The sudden urge to lean down, kiss you quiet and taste those angry syllables on his teeth stirs in his mind.

The Nousporist sage is anything but a romantic, but temptation truly is a humanistic sin, what is he to be shameful for such selfishness?

“It’s not that.” He answers your spite with dullness. “My field of study has made it easy to forget about one's well-being. You of all people know that very well.”

“Anaxagoras, you could’ve died again and—“

He never wanted for you to concern yourself with him like this. Anaxagoras knew he was risking himself, the nuances of alchemy and the splitting of his soul. So how come—observing the way your expression creases with a certain type of pain that makes it seem like you were the one that felt it, not him.

“If you continue like this, I would go through the same grief of losing you like I did the first time around.”

“Don’t say that, as a Chrysos heir it’s bound to—“ Anaxa is surprised when you reach out to touch him, to dare touch him so freely and yet rebuttals fall flat on his heavy tongue. The warmth of your fingertips that brush over the coolness of his own palm, you bring his hand up to cradle your cheek with utter delicacy like you’re holding glass, it makes his mind go numb.

He is aware of the way his skin dances with the plush warmth of your cheek, strands of your hair he wishes to tangle between his long fingers—to give into temptation and drag his hand slowly down your jaw, the expanse of your neck, down your arms…

“You really should start taking care of yourself more.” Your lips murmur onto his open palm. “Maybe not for yourself, but for me and Hyacine.”

He swallows. ”…I cannot keep promises.”

And you’d feel a faint tug on his end—and that fissures the tension. You let go and he quickly lets his own arm fall back to his side immediately. There’s a part of you that was terrified at the thought of offending him, you never got into Anaxagoras’ bubble without permission, your relationship stayed at a mere arm’s length. Only quirked lips with tongues of appraisals and maybe the occasional longing stares from across large rooms were exchanged between the two of you, no shoulder brushing, hand-holding, breaths upon goosebumped necks—this was your first time ever touching him, his numbed, cold skin against your own.

Maybe your sudden approach shocked him from his nonchalance and arrogance, you’d know because for the first time since you’ve known him, Anaxagoras’ frown is an inch too deep and there’s a concerned fold on his brow.

He clears his throat, his eye looking anywhere but at you. “I need to go, I have to meet with the other Chrysos heirs at the baths today.”

Anaxa looked quite adamant to join the meeting, despite his distaste of the baths and Chrysos heir meetings.

He spares you one last look, “after you’re done with your business, you really should try to rest.”

You frown at his dismissive behavior, nodding your head nonetheless. “Alright, best of luck then.”

He’d merely nod stiffly at your reply and quickly turn on his heel. You would have let out a heavy exhale and scold yourself for touching him without prior permission—if it weren't for a certain titan that appeared before you, their brown curls turning gold under Kephale’s dawn.

“He’s quite provocative, that Nousporist sage, don't you think so too?” Cerces spares you conversation, their voice honeyed with light teasing.

“Anaxagoras’ probably born to be spiteful, so I cannot fault him for such a character flaw, we all have one.”

“You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Cerces states and heat furnaces upon your cheek at their bold claim. Before you can find some excuse to defend yourself, they spoke again.

“So is he to you. I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around, he’s reduced to a passive child. His tongue is barely glib when you try to put him in his place and the way those sharp eyes soften, oh it reminds me of my lover all too much. It’s an endearing exchange.”

Cerces spoke their affections and you could do nothing but listen to them with a credulous expression. Anaxagoras being endeared by you? You’d try to wrack your mind of instances where you capture such a manner, but all you can remember of him was his sassiness, his dullness, his casual dismissiveness. There was no softness, endearments, fondness.

Despite being called the Titan of reason, you find their reasoning hard to comprehend.

You wouldn’t have believed them, that is until you gaze back at Anaxagoras’ retreating form in the distance and watch him closely, and closely you watch when you catch him moving his hand that you held so closely,

Observing how he flexes his fingers by his side.

[joonieskinks]

best friend's sister

simon "ghost" riley x reader | john's your older brother, simon is your lover, will it work? | fluff, mentions of needles, some brief smut | 1.1k

inspired by: starstuckmiraclekitty - love her writing

“Listen boys,” Price started, addressing the group with his hands on his hips. “She’s coming here to stay, and I want you all on your best behaviour. Think of her as my second set of eyes, go’it?” 

A string of “yes sirs” echoed throughout the room, Simon’s included, not thinking twice about the Captain’s little sister coming to the base, just another rookie in his view. 

He thought as much until he laid eyes on you for the first time. Your kind eyes, your gorgeous body and soft smile. You care so much about helping others, patching them up and sending them off healthy. You were good, kind, pure- a direct contrast to what Simon considered himself: damaged, broken, evil.

However you thought otherwise. It didn’t take long to notice the tall, brooding Lieutenant that was so close to your brother. His tall, muscular body, his gorgeous eyes that stood out amongst the dark of his mask. His humour when he was relaxed, his impressive skills and his empathy. Specifically towards you when you first arrived. Checking up on you, helping keep your supplies restocked and assisting in your training.

It was on days like this that you needed to focus on your breathing, trying not to lose yourself in the close proximity to Simon. His legs over your waist, hands wrapped around your wrists, pinning you to the floor below him. It took every ounce of restraint in his body not to tip the mask up, lean down and kiss your lips.

And Simon was no basket case, he picked up on your subtle hints. Your lingering gaze, the excuses you would muster just to touch his uniform, your heightened breathing with his presence. But you seemed to be completely lost when it came to him and his feelings. Although he’s not exactly obvious, he thought you could read his willingness to be around you and his touches as a sign.

Apparently not.

“Si, can we talk?” You asked as you locked his door behind you, fiddling with your fingers nervously.

“‘Course. What’s on your mind?” Your eyes met briefly before you needed to look away, attempting to conceal the blush on your cheeks. Simon gave you a minute, waiting across the room for you to take the first step. The leap, when he couldn’t. Somehow that sat better with him knowing it was you who initiated if it ever came to confessing to your brother. 

“Simon, I can’t keep going on like this. I just need to know...” You started, gathering as much courage as you could and taking a few steps closer to his form. 

“I want you, and I don’t think I can keep it to myself anymore.” Simon could only chuckle. 

“You weren’ exactly subtle, love.” He closed the gap between the two of you, his hand at your chin, pushing it upwards to look into your eyes. 

You smiled slightly at the implication, biting your lips as you took in the man before you. 

“I don’t want you to regret this, or get in trouble because of me.” You confessed softly.

“Trus’me. S’not something I’m looking forward to,” Simon started, using his spare hand to take the mask off. You could only look in shock as he bared himself to you - the trust, the love. You knew then and there he wasn’t someone you could just walk away from. 

“But I think you’re worth it.” 

“Simon, you’re gorg-” You started but were quickly cut off by his lips on yours, his hands around your waist, directing you over to his bed. Stripping you of your clothes, your sticky underwear and touching his bare body with yours.

It wasn’t long before his head was between your thighs, his tongue pressed against your throbbing clit, making you cum once, twice, thrice over. 

Taking his hard length, over and over again until he could finish inside you, holding you close, kissing your lips and whispering sweet praises. Cleaning you up afterwards, bringing you in and keeping you beside him all night. Night after night, and neither of you could get enough. 

After three months of sneaking around, concealing your love for eachother behind closed doors, it was you who slipped up. 

In front of none other than John. 

Simon came by the infirmary to hand off the extra supply of syringes you needed for standard blood work procedures. He put the box into your arms, nodding his head to Price as he lay on the bed for his standard checkup from you. Taking the box, you leaned up to kiss Simon on the mask as a thank you, turning around to unpack it all. You only realized your mistake after the fact. Both boys were frozen and deadly silent as the mistake sunk in. You turned your head around slowly, kicking yourself for not thinking twice. 

John was the first one to break. 

“So,” He huffed, pointing aggressively at Simon. “You’re the one who's been sneaking around with my sister.” John’s gaze staring daggers into your lover, who could only watch back in shock.

Fuck. 

John moved quickly, trying to shove off the elastic arm tie, ripping the blankets back to charge at Simon.

“John!” You screamed, grabbing at his arms to hold him back. Simon quickly darted out of the room, leaving you to handle your brother for the time being. He certainly didn’t want his Captain to (try) and kick his ass in front of you. 

“John! Listen to me!” Heaving on your sibling, begging him to stop. 

“I’m gonna kick his ass for this (sure you are, buddy). Swear on it.” John was seething with anger. 

“I love him!” You screamed, giving one more big tug before John let up, facing you.

“You- What?” He looked utterly perplexed, but you nodded reassuringly.

“I do. I know you may not approve now, but you’ll have to come to terms with it eventually, John. It’s not going anywhere. You can’t bully him away.” You exhaled frustrated. “I know you only want to protect me, but I’m an adult now, you have got to start seeing me that way, alright? I love Simon, and he’s been so good to me. Please…” You squeezed your brother's arm, a silent beg. 

John closed his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. 

“‘Swear to God if he hurts you Y/N…” He warned. 

“Never.” You promised, nodding your head rapidly and John let out the breath he had been holding in. 

“Fuckers’ still got a lot to answer for.”

John eventually came around - after some punches that didn’t land on Simon and an outburst that left him feeling ridiculous. He inevitably came to accept you two, stomaching you around the barracks, even allowing him to come to family Christmases…

Just on the condition that you two aren't so loud at nightfall anymore.

Gives the old man a headache. 

And nausea.

//

[magnusmodig]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐆, 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 thoughts stumbled back one earth year. two. fumbling towards the battle of SAKOVIA ; the birthplace of the vision . perhaps that was a time they had lost the war just as soon as they had won the battle. for thor recalled the faintest whispers of an "accords" on the wind ; a statute for those with great power as recompense for the dead. but the details were but a tangle of cobweb to one UNBEHOLDEN to earthen law. his mind , at the time , had been besieged the hunt of the six stones , and by DREAMS OF FIRE.

❝ yes. ❞ he answered anyways. for if nothing else , earth's tale was as old as time. they only lost when they fought amongst one another. ❝ but they FOUGHT HONORABLY until the end. and even now , they toil. ❞

perhaps it was not his place to chide her. HIS ACTIONS HAD WELL EARNED HER IRE. and only days ago it was his blood that had boiled with the same seething rage that blazed in her eyes. his own veins had burned hot. his fury was ENDLESS. even now , it smoldered as embers glowed beneath ash. DEFIANT. mad. festering within the pit of his chest. nagging at the corners of a mind already torn and half - frayed.

thor's fingers stiffly uncurled from the fists at his side. his weathered heart beat six feet deep beneath the ashes and the soot. it was hollow , but it was still there. sifting around the char , thor lifted his furrowed gaze from the space just shy of danvers' jawline , forcing himself to see the woman who had been spared the snap as he had been . her eyes spoke what her tongue had yet not. what eitri had wailed in the cold , deep dark . ( you were supposed to PROTECT US . ) TO BE SPARED WAS NOT A MERCY.

hm . . . no. it was not his place to chide her.

❝ ... you've lost someone? ❞

She needed someone to blame. Carol needed an enemy as much as she needed air. Some part of her mind tried to remind her that Thor was not that enemy. Picking a fight wouldn’t help anyone, and it certainly wouldn’t bring back those they lost. Her broiling anger would have to wait. She’d search every damn planet in the cosmos for Thanos if she had to – but she’d find him.

Then she’d do what the Avengers couldn’t.

His remark about war caught her off-guard, her frustration momentarily disappearing, unsure of his meaning. Then her gaze followed his; so she too was watching the other Avengers toil with uncertainty. The exhale that escaped her wasn’t quite a sigh, but it was heavy.

Why hadn’t Fury paged her earlier? Why hadn’t someone sent some sort of signal? She could have helped – hell, she could have stopped it. Her maligned pride coiled itself into seething arrogance. 

“I bet they did,” she replied bitterly, unable to keep the comment to herself. Maybe she didn’t want to. Didn’t she have a right to be–in the least–disappointed?

“Is this the first time they’ve lost?”

[m0llygunn]

deathbed confessions (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: cold and flu season hits you hard but luckily you have your best friend eddie to take care of you. If the cold medicine makes you admit a few things... eddie sure isn't complaining.

contents: 18+, best friends to lovers, r is dramatically sick with a cold (talks about dying but it's just drama), fluff idk a/n: guys i am so sick help me i had to lay on the bathroom floor after braving a shower because i thought i was gonna die (but also i wrote this so maybe im ok) wc: 4.4k+

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Holy shit, did Halloween come early?” Eddie snickers from the door of your room.

All you can muster up is a low groan and that alone makes you feel like your head is on the brink of explosion. 

“Jesus, you’re really sick, huh?” he says with the huff of a laugh.

You answer with another groan. Yes. You are 'really sick'.

“Can I do something to help?” he replies, the first hint of empathy appearing in his voice.

“Put me out—” you interrupt yourself with a sniffle followed by a phlegmy cough. “—out of my misery.”

You were supposed to be seeing some double feature with Eddie tonight but yesterday, right before bed, you felt the slightest of tickles in your throat. By morning you were the living dead with everything from your big toe to your forehead aching in one way or another. You called Eddie and before you could even mention that you were sick, he knew from your stuffed up voice. 

No matter how many times you told him you’d be fine he was strangely insistent in checking on you at the very least. By the end of the call he’d quickly worn you down and you told him that he has the spare key and he can do whatever he wants but if he gets sick that's his fault— a little mean but arguing was the last thing you felt like doing.

From the time you hung up to now— which has only been a handful of hours, you’ve gotten substantially worse. Earth shatteringly worse. So terribly worse that the simple task of opening your eyes has been too much effort. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and your lungs are just begging for salvation. That’s why when Eddie called twenty minutes ago letting you know he was on his way you told him no. It would have been wise if he listened to you but instead he replied ‘too bad’ and abruptly hung up the phone. 

Cut to twenty minutes later he was at your door, letting himself in. He was willingly walking into his very own death sentence. He clearly thought it was more of a joke than anything.

You hear Eddie’s tell-tale gait as he walks further into your room. You assume that he’s standing over your bed, maybe a hand on the back of his neck, maybe a hand on his hip. Mustering the efforts to confirm your suspicions would take too much of your very limited energy so you continuing laying in your bed, not doing as much as opening an eye.

You hear the ruffle of his hair and he definitely is rubbing the back of his neck as he gauges what to do. 

“So…do you want, like, medicine then?” he asks. 

“A gun,” you croak, earning a deep belly laugh from Eddie.

“At least your humour’s still intact, that’s good to know,” he says, sitting down on the edge of your bed.

You try to shuffle over to make room for him, but that effort alone makes you wince.

“Call an ambulance,” you whine, sniffling pathetically. 

“Really?” he asks, a genuine nervousness creeping into his voice. You feel his hand tug at the blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in, revealing your face for him to see. If you were more cognizant maybe you’d care about Eddie seeing you like this, but you’re too far gone to think about that. 

“No,” you answer, nodding your head up and down in contrast to your answer, earning a huff of relief from Eddie. 

The blanket slackens from his pull and the bed dips deeper as he leans in further to get a better look at you. Once again, if you were more cognizant you’d probably rather he didn’t, but you wouldn’t have the will to fight it anyways.

“Did you take anything?” he asks. 

“It’s been a few hours.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, whipped up a quick 4 course meal earlier, michelin approved of course,” you mumble. You contemplate cracking an eye open to see his reaction but you don’t. 

“Right, so no food.” 

“No, surprisingly not that hungry when you’re on your deathbed,” you say, sniffling.

“Tell me you’ve at least had water,” he says and from his tone you know that he already knows the answer. 

“I had water until the bottle was empty, then I decided I’d rather succumb to death than get out of bed,”

“Funny, funny girl,” he says dryly, obviously not impressed by your answers. 

“Tombstone quote,” you say weakly, hoping that Eddie gets what you mean. He laughs softly and you consider that enough of a success. 

You hear the slightest bit of shuffling, not Eddie getting up but more like he’s looking around your room. Whatever state it’s in, you couldn’t even work up the courage to care. 

“Do you want a movie on or something?” he asks, breaking the lull in conversation. 

“Would you do that?” you ask, tilting your face towards him despite not opening your eyes. 

“Oh yeah. I’m giving you the mortally ill special— the deathbed works, if you will,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. You do your best to smile back but it’s weak and probably looks more like a grimace. 

You feel shuffling before the bed rises from Eddie standing.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get you medicine first. Then movie, food, and whatever else, deal?”

Your lower lip pouts out appreciatively for the boy you’ve called your best friend for forever now. If you weren’t deathly ill, you’d kiss him.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, voice getting caught in your throat for an entirely different reason than your cold this time. 

He mumbles back some version of ‘don’t worry about it’ before he’s off, leaving you in the quiet of your room with only your breathing, coughing, and sniffling breaking the silence. It’s barely a few minutes before you hear his footsteps and the edge of your bed dips again. 

“This is what you took right? The cold and flu medicine?”

“Mhm” you hum.

“You have nasal congestion?”

You sniffle loudly and nod.

“Right. Nasal pain, sinus congestion, and sinus pain?”

You hum again, catching onto the fact that he’s reading the symptoms off of the box. 

“Chest congestion?”

Weakly you swat your hand out trying to find Eddie. When you do, you give him the weakest of taps. “Too many questions,” you muster. 

“Well, I know you’re joking about dying but I don’t want to actually kill you,” he says. You hum again.

You hear him fumbling with the cardboard before fumbling with the plastic pill packaging.

“Do you wanna sit up?” he asks.

“I want to die,”

“Well you can’t do that so I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?”

Eddie starts tugging at the blanket and you let your weakened limbs go limp, undoubtedly making the task much harder for him but he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, he pulls you up by your underarms, propping you up against your headboard. 

When you feel his cool hands on your forehead, pushing your hair back and out of your face, you open your eyes for the first time since Eddie got here. 

“There she is,” he laughs lightly, still pushing back the disheveled mess that is your hair.

“Your hands feel nice,” you whisper, focusing on the coolness on your skin. Before you have a chance to really absorb the relief of his hands on your skin, he pulls away, grabbing for the water he had set down on your bedside table. 

“Yeah, you’re really hot,” he replies, passing the water to you.

“Tombstone quote,” you say, catching his eye, making him laugh again. With a shaky hand, you take the water.

“Funny and hot, that’s a killer deal.” He hands you the little cold and flu pill and you place it in your mouth, swallowing it down with small sips of the cold water that feels like ice going down your throat. 

You redirect your gaze to Eddie, “you’re gonna get sick, that’s the real killer here,” you say. 

“I’ll be fine,”

“You don’t want this cold, trust me,” you say, taking another sip of water before holding it out to Eddie. 

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats as he takes the water, putting it back on your bedside table. 

You nod. You appreciate Eddie’s help more than anything. Fending for yourself wasn’t exactly going so well— clearly.

“You had this with your other stuff, do you want it?” he asks, holding up the vicks vapor rub.

When you felt the cold coming on you went to the pharmacy and picked up a few things just in case. The vapor rub was on sale and you bought it on a whim but haven’t tried it yet.

“Do you think it really works?”

“Wayne used to put it on me, I guess it does?”

“Where do you put it?”

“On your chest or back,” he answers, looking at the fine print of the packaging. “Yeah, it says chest, throat, and back.”

You open your mouth to reply but instead feel the creeping up of the tickling in your throat. Turning the other way, you do your best to not cough all over Eddie. Sucking in a deep breath, you only trigger another cough that divulges into one of many coughing attacks that you’ve had today. When you’re finally done, you drop your head to the back of the headboard in defeat. 

“C’mon, let’s try it on your back for now,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder encouraging you to lean forward. You move how he wants you without protest.

“I’m just gonna lift up your shirt a bit, okay?” he says, you nod but he pauses, fingers just barely slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“Eddie, with the way I’m feeling, you could see me butt ass naked right now and I could not care less,” you say. 

He snorts a laugh before his cool fingers trail up your spine giving you tingles that make you shiver. “Sorry,” he hums but you shake your head. His hand makes contact with your upper back, rubbing the ointment on your skin and it honestly feels incredibly soothing. Whether it’s the rub or the physical contact, you’re not sure, but you’re not questioning it either.

The noise that comes out of you could have been a moan had you not been congested. Instead it comes out like a low, stuffed up groan— not unlike a movie zombie. 

Eddie rubs a few more circles on your back before his hand travels back down your spine. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, helping you sit back up straight.

“So fucking good and like I need you to rub my back like that again,” you say, resting your head back against the headboard. Maybe you put a little too much conviction in your words but that truly felt amazing.

The room is silent and you blink open your eyes to see Eddie holding the tub of rub in his hands, paused halfway through closing it. It takes a moment for him to look up at you but when he does, he smiles softly.

“What movie do you wanna watch?”

Had you not been distracted by your sickness, you might have noticed the faintness of a blush spreading across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks. Coughing and forcing air back into your lungs takes up every ounce of your consciousness though, so you don’t notice. 

You shrug your shoulder taking a deep breath, “anything, I’ll probably pass out from the medicine anyways,” you reply, turning away again to cough. 

Eddie hums before he’s moving to your dresser opposite your bed, angling the TV for you to see it better. 

“Sixteen Candles, Children of the Corn, Gremlins, Teen Wolf?” he says, listing off the titles of the different tapes you have sprawled next to the vcr. 

“Any.” 

“Gremlins seems kind of relevant,” he says, pulling open the clamshell box.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask. Eddie turns to you, smirk spreading across his lips.

“Nothing,” he sings lightly. He turns away from you, pushing the tape into the player and then pressing the combination of buttons to get it working. 

“You better not be implying that I look like a gremlin because—” you interrupt yourself with another cough that quickly divulges into yet another coughing fit— worse than the last. 

With each cough being so strong it makes your head pound. You don’t notice Eddie crossing your room or him settling back on the edge of your bed. You only notice his presence when he’s encouraging you forward, hand rubbing your back again. 

When your coughing finally calms down enough for you to take a good breath, Eddie brings the glass of water up for you to take a sip. You take the cup in your hands, guiding it to your mouth. At the same time, Eddie never fully lets go of the cup, making sure it doesn’t spill. You take a drink, nodding when you’re done and he sets it back down, hand still running up and down your back. 

“It’s probably just the rub working, getting all that nasty stuff out,” he says softly. 

You nod again, letting your head fall to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. It’s probably not the smartest idea to be so close to him because you're pretty much sentencing him to his demise, but with how terrible you feel you’re desperate for anything to make it better— and right now the only thing making anything better is Eddie. 

“The medicine’ll kick in any minute and you’ll feel much better, okay? I’ll go get you something to eat and then I can rub your back some more. How’s that sound?” he says softly, brushing the edge of your face with his chin as he tilts his face downwards towards yours. 

Your lower lip pouts out again and you feel your eyes water behind your closed lids. Maybe you were already hyper emotional from feeling so sick, but Eddie being so sweet is also doing a number on you.

“Sounds really nice,” you whisper, sucking in a breath.

“You’ll be okay,” Eddie whispers, hand switching from rubbing up and down your back to rubbing circles at the top of your back. “I’ll take care of you, I got you.”

Before the tears in your eyes have a chance to breach your waterline, Eddie’s shifting beside you, leaning you back against the headboard with the promise of being quick while he gets you food. Only once he’s gone and you’re left alone in your room do you notice Gremlins has already started playing. Opening your eyes, you spare a few glances at the screen that distract you from your teary eyed state.

As Eddie promised, he was pretty quick in his return. You could hear him the whole time, kitchen utensils clanking and cupboard doors closing. Maybe all concept of time is lost on you right now, but it seemed like barely any time had passed before he was taking slow, careful steps back towards your room.

“Alright— got that soup you like, got crackers, and got you some juice,” Eddie announces as he situates the dishware on your bedside table. “I even made sure not to warm the soup too much so you can eat it right away,” he says.

Eyes closed again, you don’t know what you expected him to do but him manhandling you took you by surprise. A hand slid behind your back and another under your upper thighs, he was sliding you right over on the mattress.

“Just giving myself some space here,” he says absentmindedly as he fixes your blanket around you. He quickly settles in next to you before grabbing the sleeve of crackers and settling them in front of you and grabbing the bowl of soup.

Sitting with his legs stretched out next to yours, you let your head dip to his shoulder again, this time like a silent thank you where you cozy your head against him, not unlike a cat.

“For the record, you’re more like Gizmo,” he says, a tease intruding in his voice.

“Hm?” you hum questioningly.

“You don’t look like a gremlin, you’re cute like Gizmo,” he says.

You sink your face further into the crook of Eddie's shoulder, lip jetting out once more. He’s done nothing more than call you a cute gremlin rather than an evil gremlin, yet you feel yourself turning misty eyed yet again. This time you squeeze your eyes shut, closing them on purpose, hiding your sickness induced emotions.

“Soups gonna get cold,” Eddie says, twisting his neck to look at you again. “C’mon, it’ll be better for you if you eat it warm,” he says, using his free arm to move you.

Once you’re finally propped up again in an appropriate position to eat, you feel Eddie’s hand on your cheek— no doubt becoming aware of your tears.

“You okay?” he asks softly, thumb rubbing under your cheek.

“You’re being so nice to me,” you explain, sniffling back your need to cry.

“Just taking care of you. Want you to feel better,” he replies, keeping his voice quiet. 

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, just gotta eat your soup, okay Gizmo?” Eddie says, making you snort out a snotty laugh before sucking it all back in with an apology that he quickly dismisses. 

You take a few breaths, getting your tears under control. Shifting your focus to the soup, Eddie holds the bowl close to you while you slowly feed yourself spoonful after spoonful. 

“Crackers?” Eddie offers.

“Maybe one.”

“How ‘bout two?” he replies, peeling back the plastic and pulling two out for you. You nod softly before taking them from him. 

You feel yourself running out of energy and it’s exasperating that all it took was lifting a spoon to your lips a measly few times. When you let the crackers sit in your lap for too long, Eddie turns to look at you, resting the bowl of soup down in his lap. 

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Tired,” you answer. 

“Just finish those and you can be done, okay?” he says, meeting your gaze. You shake your head.

“Can’t,” you reply.

“You can,” he says, turning his torso to put the bowl of soup on the table. He turns back around, reaching for the crackers in your hand. “Know you can,” he repeats, bringing the crackers to your lips.

“Eddie—” you try to protest.

“Bite,” he says, cutting you off and nudging the cracker into your mouth. 

You bite, giving into him. It feels weird being hand fed. It’s probably even weirder when two bites in you close your eyes in an effort to conserve your energy. Regardless, Eddie doesn’t say anything besides positive affirmations about how good you’re doing which you really, really appreciate. 

“How about you drink some of this,” he says, reaching for the glass of juice as you chew the last bite of cracker. “Then I’ll help you lay down and I can rub your back s’more?”

“You don’t have to if you wanna go home, you've been here a long time,” you say, swallowing the dryness of the cracker down. 

Eddie lifts the cup of juice to your lips, tipping it back for you to sip at. When you take more than a few drinks, you lift a hand lightly pushing the cup away. Blinking your eyes open you look at Eddie as he returns the cup to sit with the other dishware on your bedside table. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. You can go home if you want,”

“Don’t want to,”

“You’re gonna be— you interrupt yourself with a yawn this time. “—gonna be so sick,” you say groggily.

“Just let me cuddle you, you know you want it,” he says, a teasing tone hinting in his voice. You blink open your eyes again to see a genuine smile as he looks at you—one that shouldn’t be there considering how gross you feel and are sure you look. Despite that, it’s there and you do want cuddles so you nod softly, making a weak, sad attempt at getting closer to Eddie.

Eddie meets your attempt by gently pulling you down the mattress. He maneuvers you to have your head resting on his chest while his arm snakes around you, rubbing circles on your back. With the sleepiness settling in and your cold symptoms dialing back due to the medicine, you can’t help but hum happily. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says quietly.

It feels beyond good. Good is an understatement. Having him take care of you like this is making you feel mushy and only highlights your feelings for Eddie. In combination with your partially delusionally, sleepy state the only thing on your mind is expressing your feelings, all of them true no matter how far out of it you are at this point. 

“Eddie, if I die, just know that I love you,” you mutter into the fabric of his shirt. 

“That’s just the cold medicine talking,” Eddie laughs softly. You find the energy to shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, love you,” you repeat. “Love you so much.”

It’s faint, maybe he whispered it or maybe it’s the fact that you were slipping into sleep but you heard it. 

“I love you too,” he says quietly. 

As if those words gave you a short lived second life, it had you perking up, desperately needing to clarify just in case he didn’t understand. 

“But Eddie I love you as my best friend but also more than that— I love you so much.”

He leaves you in silence but you don’t have the clear consciousness to overthink it, you just keep talking.

“I don’t even care if you don’t like me like that, I love you Eddie.”

“I love you too. Love you a lot, but I think we should talk about this when you’re not tired and on cold medicine, okay?” he whispers softly. 

As your thoughts start to drift, you focus on the first half of Eddie's sentiment. He loves you— and he loves you a lot. With that on your mind, intermixed with the comforting friction of his hand on your back, you fall into the deepest and most comfortable sleep of your life despite being so sick. Eddie loves you. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arguably, the best thing that came out of your cold was your confession. It was bound to happen eventually and although it did sort of seem like a deathbed confession at the time, it was genuine— that of which you clarified for Eddie. To your fortune, he also clarified that his reply was true as well. Beyond that, you were still sick and neither of you had done much more than just sharing those little words that one night. So yes, arguably, that's the best thing that came out of your sickly state; however, in your opinion, you think the best thing that happened was that you got Eddie sick too. 

It was less than a day after you started feeling normal again that Eddie was running a fever. He ended up staying at your place for the majority of your sickness but he had left once to get some things for himself. Since he had his stuff here already, you offered for him to stay over at yours while you returned the favor of playing doctor. 

Eddie took on a much different position as a sick person than you did. Undeniably, you both were on the dramatic end of things but while your cynical humour came out during your time being sick, Eddie was much different in how expressed himself.

Normally, a very touchy feely person, his affectionate side heightened tenfold while he was sick. He was all grabby hands, wanting you closer to him. Maybe it was because the two of you had broken the touch barrier while you were sick or maybe Eddie just turned into a touch deprived baby when he was sick, you’ll never know, but you didn’t deny him of the cuddles that you so dearly appreciated while you were under the weather. 

The most interesting part— which shouldn't have came as a surprise, was that not only did he appreciate holding you, but he intensely appreciated you holding him, whether that be hands scratching his head as he rested it on your stomach, or your arms wrapped around him from behind making him the little spoon. Additionally, he was also incredibly affectionate with his words, constantly telling you how grateful he was for you and how much he appreciated you. 

Your favourite confession came late one night, probably at the peak of his sickness. Fairly similar to your deathbed confession, but a moment to remember regardless.

You had just finished helping him eat, similar to how he had done for you, and were cuddling with him, smoothing your hands over his side as he rested his head on your chest. 

The medicine was kicking in, making him drowsy, eyes fluttering shut as he let sleep take him over. He had kept babbling random thoughts but as he got more and more tired he was eventually reduced to heavy breaths. That was, until he titled his face up to yours. You looked down at him, meeting his sleepy eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too, Eddie,” you replied, smiling.

“But I love you so much,” he said, voice returning to its babbling cadence. “Love you so much I wanna kiss you and love you and—” his babbling started to slowly fade as his head got heavier on your chest. You couldn’t help but laugh softly as your heart swelled.

You smoothed a hand over his face, brushing back his hair as you stared at him with nothing but love for your very, very sick boy. Like you had given him a second wind, his babbling started up again. 

“Wanna marry you. Love you so much wanna marry you,” he said, words slurring.

“Think you’ll have to ask me on a date first, cutie,” you replied quietly, partially under the impression that he was already asleep. 

“I will. Love you so much, I will,” he mumbled and with that, he was out like a light. 

From there, the rest was history. If curious minds were to inquire, you would say that Eddie’s always been very good at keeping his promises, and mindless babbling or not, he meant every word that he confessed in his sickly, drowsy state. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

thank you! <3

[starboyshoyo]

Unspoken Words

Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: hurt/comfort

Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts seems like perfection; like the very image of what one should strive for. Anyone who knows him can admire his hard work and diligence, because that is the extent to what they can see. But you see his delight at the simplest of things; things that he never got to experience in childhood. Riddle holds you dear to him because you encourage his rare moments of whimsy, and love them wholly- just as he loves you.

Trey Clover is always being told that he should aim higher, because the talent he holds would be squandered should he go down the path of the simple village baker. He smiles and politely tells them that he’ll consider it- but really, he’s tired of the input he never wanted in the first place. It’s all the more reason to appreciate the way you trust in his dreams. Trey knows what he wants, and you won’t push him for anything more. 

Cater Diamond has two different sides, like the faces on a card. Sometimes he’s the party-loving Cay-kun, and other times he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the day away. Being Cay-kun is exhausting. It’s not entirely him but he can’t seem to bring himself to show the real Cater to anyone but you, because you understand that the mask is necessary sometimes. It’s okay if he’s not ready to show the world his face yet. You’ll be waiting for him when he is.  

Bluntly honest is the best way to describe Ace Trappola. If someone asked, he’d call himself a realist. He’s not here to mess around or play the hero. And sometimes that can hurt people’s feelings and push them away. But being truthful and being mean are two different things, and he knows he can always trust you to tell him when he oversteps. Ace may fumble from time to time, so he’s glad you’re always there to help him back up.

Deuce Spade was reluctant to begin dating you at first. He wasn’t proud of who  he was in middle school, nor is he proud of who he is at the moment. He thought that he was unworthy of you, that he needed more time to grow. When he first figured out that you weren’t the most perfect person either, it didn’t turn him away. In fact, it relieved him. Deuce loves that you can be imperfect together- and that you’re willing to grow alongside him even more. 

SAVANACLAW

Leona Kingscholar is used to being the spare; the disposable one. Even though he’s the second prince of the Sunset Savannah, even though he was born into a life of privilege, he knows what it’s like to have to fight for yourself and your place in the world. When he met you, he could hardly believe that for once, a fight wasn’t necessary. It took a while for him to trust, but now Leona knows that he will always be your first choice, as you will be his.

From the outside, Ruggie Bucchi’s obsession over food is a bit excessive. Does one really need to defend every scrap with his life? He’s tired of others laughing at the way he packs snacks in his bag and sneaks crumbs off the tabletop. It’s telling that you hand him extras when you don’t have to, that you make sure he always has more than he needs. It shows that you value the things he values, so that he can do the same in return to you. 

Jack Howl is a lone wolf, just like his name. He’s always relied on his own strength to get by. Owing a debt is like putting his life in someone else’s hands, so accepting favors is something that he’ll never do. When he first realizes he loves you, it’s hard to accept that another person now holds a part of his heart. But give him some time and he’ll begin to appreciate having someone to share the burden with. It’s refreshing to have company without debt or guilt. 

OCTAVINELLE

They say those who have suffered the most have the most empathy. Azul Ashengrotto thinks there must be something wrong with him, then. After all the ridicule he’s endured, all he wants is to watch his tormentors cry as well. So why does his heart beat so fast then, when he sees how kind you are to others? There’s so little logic to it- but the heart wants what it wants. 

Jade Leech gives only as much as he takes. In his mismatched eyes, it’s only reasonable that a transaction is balanced on both sides. So it’s a surprise to him when you don’t demand everything to be split, fifty-fifty. It’s with you that he learns the connection between trust and equals. Not having to count out every exchange leaves Jade more time to love you with all his heart. 

Floyd Leech is notorious for his mercurial behavior. It’s a laughing matter for some students, and the target of frustration for many others when he fails to show the same enthusiasm he had before. If he’s already in a bad mood, then why are they making it worse by nagging him? You’re his retreat in times like that, because you take his emotions seriously, no matter how ridiculous they seem in the moment. 

SCARABIA

Kalim Al-Asim knows he can be dense. As the heir to a merchant empire, he’s got some level of self-awareness in him, even if he doesn’t always know how to use it. He can tell when he’s said the wrong thing to you. The wringing of hands, the twisting of brows make him so nervous, but he can’t do anything but laugh it off lest he say something to make it worse. So he appreciates it when you patiently explain to him how you feel, even when you’re not in the mood to. Sometimes he just needs help to understand. 

There’s no doubt that Jamil Viper has… questionable methods of obtaining his means to an end. With the precision and patience of a snake, he can use any means necessary to strike. But when you’re around he finds himself thinking more of what’s right than just what he wants. You are his conscience, in the best  and worst of times; and he can’t help but love you for it. 

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit’s entire life has been publicized since the day he stepped into the spotlight. While he takes pride in his looks and envies anyone who can shine brighter than him, he finds that when he is with you, he can be whatever he wants to be with no eyes on him. No cameras, no rehearsals, no pressure, just two hearts beating side by side. 

Rook Hunt has a lot to say, and so little time to say it. He is always on the move, always examining something else to find the beauty in it. And though it’s hard to be patient, he loves you for always listening when he talks, even when he rambles for hours about the smallest things. To sit still for that long is a feat in itself.

The frustrations of Epel Felmier are evident when others treat him as lesser simply because of the way he looks. He’s still learning how to use his charm in other ways, but it’s hard to unlearn so many old habits. Punishments from Vil don’t help either. So when the work gets too harsh, you make him forget about being weak or strong- and when you’re in front of him, all he wants to be is yours. 

IGNIHYDE

Idia Shroud is used to watching the world go by without him. Sometimes he feels like an outside observer, or even a roadblock for others to climb over on their way to greatness. But with you, he never feels like an inconvenience. He feels wanted and needed- something he hasn’t felt for a long, long time. 

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia is lonely. It’s plain and simple as that. He wants the company of others, outside of those assigned to guard him and bow to his every whim. So Malleus covets the fact that you are simply here, by his side of your own volition. For the first time in his life, Malleus thinks that he might be content.

Lilia Vanrouge has lived through centuries. As a human, you cannot even begin to fathom bridging the gap in time. There is just so much that he has seen that he can’t share with you. So please, just let him hold you while he has the chance. Let him cherish the way you live in the moment. Together, you can forget the coming of the future. 

Sebek Zigvolt is constantly under pressure. Not from others, but from himself- but either way, the stress gets to him. He would never admit it, but the stolen moments you spend together make him happier than he’s ever been. His shoulders ease, and his scowl disappears for a time. Just don’t point it out, or they’ll be back again full force- accompanied by a blush.

It’s not that Silver doesn’t care about what people are saying- he really, really does. But when he falls asleep so easily, some people come to think that he’s bored out of his mind. He was anxious that you’d think the same, but to his surprise, you understand his struggles. He’s trying his best to be more attentive to you, and you welcome his efforts with open arms.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

I will never love any interpretation of Ghost, Hollow and Hornet more than I love the interpretation of them being ultimately good, fighting for peace for everyone around them, caring deeply for Hallownest (or what remains of Hallownest at least) and caring deeply for each other and peace for their family at last.

I love kind Ghost.

Ghost who goes out of the way to gift flowers to lonely bugs.

Ghost who will rescue Zote whenever given the opportunity, without thanks or any form of reward.

Ghost who rescues grubs because they are trapped and crying to be freed.

Ghost who despite having limited ability of expression, will find some way to convey appreciation for others. (Sitting beside them. Listening to them talk or sing. Bowing out of respect.)

Ghost who is excited when in the company of good friends.

Ghost who spares the life of the nailsmith.

Ghost who mourns the loss of those fallen.

Ghost who eventually remembers their past, remembers being abandoned by their sibling, and still chooses to fight, to do everything that it takes, to free the hollow knight. To put an end to their suffering. To take Hollow's place, or to die.

There is no reward for this. There is nothing to gain. Ultimately Ghost is willing to suffer forever or to die in order to give others peace.

Ghost makes many many mistakes, and can make selfish or reckless decisions, but ultimately, Ghost is forgiving and loving.

I love Hollow who genuinely wants the people of Hallownest to be at peace. (Ironically just wanting that alone made it impossible for Hollow to grant them that peace.

But still, Hollow wants that.)

Hollow who loves Hallownest. Who loves their father and who loves his kingdom.

Hollow who is relentless in protecting it. Who would suffer for over a hundred years protecting whatever there is that can possibly be saved.

Hollow who has had the radiance influencing it all that time. The radiance who hates the king, who hates his people. Who tried to convince it to hate them to.

Hollow who loves them regardless.

Who feels empathy for everyone. Who understands their suffering more than anyone and wants nothing more than for them to have peace.

Hollow who, after finally being freed, chooses to live a kind life. To be understanding and gentle.

Who has every right to be bitter and angry and closed off, but who, after finally receiving the opportunity to live, to actually live, chooses to find everything good left in the world that they fought so hard for.

Hollow who learns to love openly and to no longer be afraid.

Hollow who is eventually excited to be able to express love in small ways.

Hollow is stalwart and just. But kind.

Hornet who, despite everything that she went through, despite losing so much, nearly everything, continues to stand and to fight for life because it still matters to her.

Hornet who fights to honor those that she lost, especially her mother.

Hornet who is hesitant to be hopeful, but is hopeful anyway.

Hornet who is hesitant to form any friendships out of fear that she will lose them, But who longs for friendship, for family..

Hornet who is proud of her siblings, who loves them despite not wanting to, who feels guilt knowing that the fate of the kingdom must rely on them.

Hornet who will rush in to assist her siblings in their final battle, knowing that she may very well die.

Hornet who, after given the opportunity to be with her siblings again, wants nothing more than to help them heal. For them all to heal.

Hornet who loves and is loved in return.

Ghost and Hollow who love, and are loved in return.

A little broken family that understands each other, understands that nothing that happened to any of them was fair, and who forgive each other, who love each other because after all this time..

They finally can.

Not one of them is without their (sometimes severe) flaws. Not one of them isn't damaged after everything that has happened.

And still they choose love.

This quote by Mary Shelley captures my interpretations of the siblings perfectly.~

"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it”

[dogwithrabies]

【★】 gn reader but described as afab, kinda mean scara, reader is a masochist lol

【☆】 ignoring the fact that i disappeared for like 8 months, hi, new thingy (reup)

word count: 4.3k

There’s no coming back from those offices. Everyone knows that, it’s like an open secret between the ranks of the fatui.

One gets called in for a “little chat” and then just disappears, there are no deserters allowed in an organization like this. Too many secrets.

The lower ranking soldiers always gossip about whoever the next one is gonna be, it keeps everyone on edge, just one measly mistake in front of a general, or worse, a harbinger and it’s over. It doesn’t help that other privates will often turn on eachother, reporting their comrade’s mistakes to get on their supervisor’s good side, in a sense, the fatui has eyes everywhere.

Your days of walking on eggshells are long over, thank the Tstaritsa, but it doesn’t mean you’re completely safe either. Being a general yourself, you’ve been faced with many hard decisions, sometimes covering up the mistakes of a soldier, sending back touched up reports hoping no supervisor will notice any discrepancy.

“Your empathy will come back to bite you in the ass”.

It’s a sentence the Balladeer threw your way once, it wasn't advice out of the goodness of his (non-existent) heart. Matter of fact, he didn’t even spare you a glance before walking past you, on his way to scold another soldier. How stupid, he must've thought, sharing your already scarce meal with a tiny bird that sought refuge under the shadow of your feet.

But you just can’t help it. In your early days you could only pray someone spared you the same kindness you give out now.

But that was a long time ago. You went on many other expeditions in the Balladeer’s team, somehow always managing not to fess up and prove yourself worthy of your role. It was a noteworthy achievement, after all his bad temper was notorious to anyone who spent even a few minutes in his presence.

The Balladeer does not go out of his way to compliment anyone, flattery is not his style. Just the absence of any reprimand is more than enough to tell you you’re doing good.

However, that does not stop you from wasting time fantasizing about such scenarios.

“You’re doing good.” What a dream it would be to hear that. “You’re being good.”

But the image you have of him in your mind is a far-fetched, rose-tinted version of the one in front of you now. You’re not as stupid as to warp his essence into anything even remotely kind. You know of his temperament, sometimes you’d even go as far as to think he’s not even human.

During an expedition, he slapped a soldier once. It was late in the evening and some soldiers decided to let out some steam with a few drinks. It just so happened that one of them got a little too… feisty.

But the Balladeer did not let go of his face. He just kind of stared at the red mark his hand left, squishing the fat of his cheeks in some weird torturous ritual, moving the skin around to admire the shape of the coagulated blood under his skin. He was so close he could feel the shaky breaths of the poor guy fanning on his face.

He relented only once he was satisfied. He enjoys the fear in people’s faces. No, fear is just an expression, it’s the pure terror that spreads in someone’s whole body that excites him.

He can tell the exact moment when someone switches from being scared to dreading losing their life.

It’s something you’ve seen several times yourself, never hesitate, to end someone’s life. Hesitation makes you waver, staring at someone’s eyes makes you acknowledge that they’re scared, they’re human.

He never wavers. Hm. He’s either incredibly cruel… or just above your kind? You take a mental note of that.

The first thought excites you, that tiny familiar buzzing feeling running down your spine.

It’s so unfair.

No, that’s not right, you quickly shake that thought off. Who would ever dream of being at the receiving end of the Balladeer’s ire?

It’s not the first time you find yourself spiraling that same line of thought. But he’s just so pretty.

You suppose that in order to make it out alive of his squadron one needs to grow tough skin, tolerating his humiliation tactics and aggressions. You just never thought you’d develop a liking to that.

How the mighty have fallen. You used to be so respectable.

You can’t even begin to picture his disgusted expression if he found out that deep down, a part of you hoped he would lay his hand on you.

Or if he knew how many sleepless nights you spent rubbing your thighs together, trying to get rid of a heat that just wouldn’t go away.

Or, additionally, if he knew that the first thing you did in your new private (perks of being promoted) room was to disregard your clothes and immediately push your fingers in your aching needy cunt. Thinking of him.

How absolutely shameful. You wonder if your stay in the fatui awakened something in you. Or maybe you were always like this.

But you’re always so composed. And your fatui mask covers any blushing on your face;

No one would be able to detect your attraction to him based on your behavior.

After all, it was very common to hear creaking sounds at night. That’s just what happens when you force young adults in a shared room together. People just turn the other way. Ignore the sound and go to sleep.

You feel yourself getting warmer at the sight of him walking towards your squadron.

It’s another of those annoying training sessions, you don’t have to participate, just surveil the cadets. It doesn’t fall within your assignments, it’s your Lord Balladeer’s job, but he so kindly sacked you his responsibilities. After all, he’s above watching insignificant men stumble in knee high snow.

But you’re just so distracted.

He’s sitting on a chair with a tiny table in front of him, quickly skimming through huge piles of paper. The huge fur of his coat shields his face from your view (a shame, he looks so cute when concentrating), but he’s not covering anything else. His tiny shorts slightly hike up his legs as he shifts to put one leg over the other, revealing even more skin.

Just how is he not getting cold?

You huff, your breath crystalizing in front of you, forming a tiny mist as if proving your point.

It’s freezing. And he’s out there with his usual attire. Not that you’re complaining, you always had a thing for his legs. Always looking at the way they crease and shift on his thighs every time he crouches to look at something. You always watch him with such an intense gaze.

It’s not weird. It is your job to ensure his safety after all.

Not that he needs it. You’ve seen him in combat, not many enemies survive after the first shock of electro.

It’s scary. It’s exciting.

He also uses it to correct small mistakes. He’s shocked you once after you almost tripped while serving him tea.

It was tiny and barely audible but your finger spasmed in an uncomfortable position, and then it was over.

He let out a humorous hum at your shocked expression, then quickly dismissed you.

You spent the rest of the day thinking about that small encounter.

Thinking about all the other ways he could use his shocks on you. Maybe they could simulate the effects of a vibrator (just a slightly painful one). You’re not allowed to bring anything with you when you join the fatui. And using your hands or humping your pillow always leaves you yearning for more.

So lost in thought. You didn’t even notice the way he was staring at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Not anger, not disappointment, something more akin to… disbelief.

He knew you would cover up your underling’s mistakes sometimes, he couldn’t be bothered to call you out on that. But to let so many incompetent cadets trip on the same wall, face-planting on the snow and mud without even taking note of that? Right in front of him?

Were you hoping he was too busy with his papers to not notice that, or are not even paying attention?

Your tendency to sometimes space out is something he was very aware of. But you never actively slacked off on your tasks. This is new, not unexpected but new. You were bound to disappoint him, after all, it is in your nature as a human. He needs to stop this before it becomes a habit and gets in the way of his work.

He quickly calls some other general to take your place. You barely register when he calls your name. His voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up in shivers.

“Come.” He firmly says before walking off the training grounds.

You hesitate for a second, your eyes focusing back on the view in front of you. Your lord wants a word with you? Just how deep in thought were you to not even notice him staring holes in your back? It can’t be any good.

You follow after him, catching up with him and watching the back of his coat sway with each step.

The inside of the palace is just as cold as the outside. The only relief a fatuus gets is the mercy of being shielded from the icy winds. It’s only when you set foot inside his office that you finally let yourself breathe.

The whole walk to his private office is full of agonizing spiraling thoughts. Surely this isn’t one of those “little chats”, right? The soldiers guarding the door don’t even spare the two of you a glance, their masks covering your expression, but you’re sure they pity you in some way.

The Balladeer is not known for his kindness, but even through his hate filled vision of humanity, he knows the intrinsic need of every being for validation. Not that he’s going to give them any, he has no interest in building any amicable relations in this organization, lest it serves him to reach his goals the future. But it would also be very troublesome to replace even more of his subordinates. Were he in an altered mood he would’ve just electrocuted on the spot.

Recognizing when one of his useless soldiers actually has a shred of potential is not something he’s very keen on doing, but the alternative is to put up with more incompetent fools, and that’s not on his agenda.

He sits on his chair, moving papers around on his desk. You watch him as he smacks his lips and lets out a silent huff as he finally rearranges the papers to his liking.

You’re shacking, he attributes it to the cold. Humans have always been so much weaker and more vulnerable than him. His skin is cold, glacially cold, but it’s not a feeling he registers.

Even his coat is just for show.

Your cheeks are red, but it’s (at least partially) not from the cold. Now that his coat is off you get a full view of his face. His dashing red liner perfectly contours his eyes, giving them a sharp intense look. He begins talking to you, his voice is calm and smooth, at least he’s not mad at you.

It’s about your zoning off.

It’s not something you do on purpose, but it’s just so hard to focus when you're so damn horny.

Frankly, you’re more surprised he didn’t just slap you on the spot, not that you would’ve minded. Maybe your Lord is showing you his mercy? The thought of him showing you any form of kindness makes heat slowly creep up your face. The cold slowly leaves your body as warmth replaces it, the overwhelming feeling leaving you to fiddle with the hem of your clothing.

“My deepest apologies, it will never happen again, my Lord”.

This is to be expected, addressing him with the right honorifics and apologizing is the correct (and preferred) outcome. He blinks slowly, at least he saved himself a migraine.

What he doesn’t expect is to not see you when he opens his eyes. He didn’t dismiss you. He gets up from his chair but stops when he finally spots you, on your knees with your forehead touching the ground.

“I want to make it up to you, my Lord”, you say, still not moving from your position.

This. This he likes. Usually, he’s the one forcing his subordinates to kneel in front of him, and not in a kind way either. Pressing their face on whatever unfortunate surface they were standing on, purposefully applying more pressure than needed, hoping his boots would leave a heavy mark on their face. Sometimes they would do it out of their own volition, but it doesn’t stem from an urgent need to show him their worship, it was out of fear.

“Hm.” He makes his way to the couch on the side of his desk and sits crosslegged. “Come here,”

But he interrupts you before you can push yourself on your feet- “No, stay like that.

It takes you a second to process that he wants you to crawl your way to him. You awkwardly move your body, trying not to trip on your own coat before settling in front of him.

He puts his hand on your cheeks, lightly squishing them before raising his fingers and taking your mask off, leaving your expression bare before him. It’s no different than any other fatuus mask, but he slowly examines it regardless.

“Go on, show me your devotion, (Name),” he says, shifting so his knees are on each side

Just the fact that he knows your name makes you shudder. You’re not sure of what exactly he wants from you, but you’re already in a bizarre enough situation, so you decide to follow your instincts.

You slowly wrap your hand around his boot, raising it until you can comfortably lower your face, letting your lips come in contact with it. His eyes widen for a moment, as you continue rubbing your face on the side of his boot. Their surface is clean, that bit of snow remaining gets smothered on your skin, melting away.

“Hah”, moving to other boot, you repeat the same motion “At least you know where you belong.”

His voice has a layer of malice to it, like he’s elated by this outcome. Your hand comes in contact with his skin, it’s so cold, like touching freshly piled snow. Opting to rub his legs in a meek attempt at warming them up, you press your lips to his knee, savoring the moment.

Any other person would feel humiliated in this situation, worshipping at your Lord’s feet, but this, it’s like a dream come true to you. Being so close to the object of your attraction makes your head go spinning. It feels unreal just being able to lay your hands on them. You shouldn't press your luck. but it’s so tempting to just reach over and grope him all over.

He would probably kill you.

Maybe.

Perhaps if you’re slow and methodical about it you can manage to get a tiny bit closer to his thighs. Masking your need as devotion.

You place your lips just above his knee, your hands moving under it, rubbing at the soft skin. He’s also curious about how far you’re willing to push yourself. He’s no fool, he knows you’re scared of crossing a line you’re not even aware of. He could be kind and point you in the right direction, but watching you struggle to restrain yourself while mindlessly mouthing at his skin is a show too good to pass on.

Eventually, he widens his legs, just enough to allow you to sit deeper in between them. This new position allows you to reach further. It stuns you for a moment, hesitantly putting your hands on his thighs, looking at his face for any sign of vexation. When you don’t find any, you deem it safe to push further, lowering your face to latch your mouth on the exposed skin. Leaving a slightly wet trail everywhere you go.

He’s let you get this far, and if the way he moves his legs giving you even more access is any indicator of his enjoyment, it encourages you to try your luck.

Your hand slips under his shorts, slowly pushing them up. You lock eyes, and for a second you fear you’ve overstayed your welcome, luckily that’s not the case.

“No markings.” His hand now rests on your head, slowly moving your hair out of your face.

Would it even be possible to leave marks? His skin shows no imperfections and it’s so smooth it makes you want to lose yourself in it. But it also feels… tougher? While rubbing it with your hands, it felt robust, like if you sunk your teeth in it it wouldn’t break even the upper layer. Maybe just leave a mark. A sign you were there.

But now is not the time to get lost in your imagination. Not when the real deal is in front of you, inviting you to have your fill.

You pinch lightly at the flesh of his inner thighs, you’re so close to his crotch, if it wasn’t for that piece of armor around his waist, the side of your face would be squished in it.

“Enough teasing,” He says, and almost as if he was reading your mind, he rids himself of the armor and other superfluous frills attached to it. “Get to work.”

Now that nothing is blocking your view, you can see the bulge that formed under all those clothing.

The sight makes you drool, as you immediately reach a hand to slightly squeeze it. Your eagerness amuses him, but he’s grown impatient. His grip on your hair is much tighter now, dragging your face until it’s directly flush with his clothed erection.

“You better not waste my time” His tone is harsh and firm, and it just makes the heat between your legs worse. When his grip relents, you push yourself away just enough to pull down his shorts. He shifts his hips up, aiding you in sliding them off.

Now that his erection is free, it bounces slightly as your breath fans over it. The tip is a cute shade of pink, beads of precum leaking from it. But he doesn’t give you the time to admire it any longer, grabbing himself from the hilt to slap it on your face a few times. The sound of skin slapping against skin is the only audible thing in the room. It makes your head spin. To think you’d have the privilege of being the one he unleashes his sexual frustrations on.

He pulls your head up, tapping his dick on your lips. You open your mouth, letting him rest his tip on it, and your lips wrap around him, tasting him.

Were it any other situation, you’d take your time in savoring this moment, slowly sliding your tongue around his girth, letting his desire grow. But this is different, like if your performance doesn’t satisfy him he might just kill you on the spot.

And the thought shouldn’t turn you on, for a second the thought of biting him just to piss him off crosses your mind. What a way to go that would be.

Alas, not wanting to keep him waiting, you make an effort to take as much of him as you can, until your nose is flush with his pelvis.

He lets out a satisfied sigh and that slight expression of annoyance leaves his face, your mouth is warm and wet, and the movement of you swallowing around sends shivers down his spine.

“That’s it,” his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. “That’s good.”

The mere hint of him praising you makes you shudder, you’re so soaked your underwear is sticking to your cunt. You want to thank him, but speaking with him in your mouth proves to be difficult, it comes out as an unintelligible hum, whether he understood you or not he seems to appreciate the vibration of your throat.

He pulls your head back, urging you to start moving, seemingly done with just enjoying your throat. You drag yourself back until his tip is once again resting on your tongue, and then push it all back in, as far as you can go. You manage to work up a steady rhythm, one that leaves small moans escape from his mouth. They’re breathy, but every time you manage to wring one out of him is like a win to you. Each little noise of his spurs you on further. One of your hands reaches up to grab the rest of him, moving up and down in synch with your mouth, while the other reaches down and inside your uniform pants, rubbing at your clit.

“F-fuck… You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Your eyes trail up to look at his, his flushed face looking back at you.

“Me using your mouth turns you on.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and to put more emphasis on it he shifts his legs until one of them is resting between your own.

“You’re doing a good job… I guess I should reward you.”

He shoves his boot up, as if kicking your hand away. He wants you to…. oh.

Complacently, you shift lower until your full weight is resting on him, the absence of your fingers replaced by him. It takes you a moment to adjust to this new position, but once you get back on your rhythm you resume your ministrations on him, while slowly grinding on his leg.

His other hand reaches your head, threading your hair before settling a firm grip next to the other, you’re given a moment of reprise before he shoves his hips forward, roughly, holding you in place.

His thrusts are fast and merciless, each one reaching deeper inside your throat. You close your eyes, trying not to gag when he reaches a bit too deep, not that you have the ability to complain, all you can do is try your best to accommodate him as he uses you to get off. Your hips start moving a bit faster too, the thought of you being a mere means to an end in his eyes is turning you on more than you’d like. And he notices.

His cock throbs in your mouth and he lets out a breathy laugh, “So pathetic. Humping my leg like a dog in heat.”

You open your eyes for a moment to look at him. He’s grinning at you, looking at you as if you were something truly beneath him, pushing his hips in rougher as if to accentuate that. The sounds of saliva and cum smacking around your lips are so obscenely loud, you’d have half a mind to almost be embarrassed by it, but there’s a knot tightening in your stomach, and it grows tighter and tighter with every thrust of your hips. It doesn’t help that with every thrust his leg moves slightly up against you, coaxing you into an orgasm.

Your hands clamp on his thighs, hard, the shuddering of your hips slowing down as you unwind on him. You let out withered moans, barely audible but still sending pleasurable vibrations up his length.

You’re straight up drooling around him at this point, saliva sliding down your chin and on his balls. He’s sounding a bit breathier above you, and you can feel him twitching with more vigor inside your throat. Your body limp on his makes it easier to thrust deeper.

He pushes in as far as your throat allows him and stills there. You’re prepared to feel him coming down your throat, but he pushes your head back suddenly, so far back his dick slides off your mouth with a wet pop.

He’s stroking himself above you for a moment until there’s a brief pause, interrupted by a breathless curse as he finishes on the top of your lips, riddling your face with his come.

He sags back down on the couch, basking in the aftermath of his orgasm with you still in between his legs. His chest heaves up and down, catching his breath, but his moment of peace is short lived as he speaks up.

“I guess you did prove yourself,” he says as he slowly tucks himself back in his pants. You squint up at him. You don’t move from your position, still sitting even as he removes his leg from underneath you, breathing slowly and deeply now that his dick occupying your airways.

When you come to your senses you start searching around with your gaze for a tissue or even some rag to clean yourself up, you’re truly in an unpresentable state. Your hair is messily pulled out of its ties, strands flying everywhere and some glued to your face. Your face… Awkwardly, you wipe your lips, trying to at least dry up the saliva but there’s nothing you can do to hide the very evident cum sticking on… everything else. You can’t just walk out in this state- you do have a reputation to uphold. And rumors travel fast- by the end of the day every cadet would know of the shameful state you left the Balladeer’s office in, and it wouldn’t take long for them to put two and two together-

“Oh. This belongs to you.” He says holding your mask, seemingly noticing your inner monologue. “You’ll be needing it out there.” He adds as he puts it back on your face, squishing that bit of cum on your cheeks.

“You can go now. I’ll call you again when I need your… assistance.”

[spotlightlowlife]

hella decent vs hella descent

The satan character is decent.

A judge and a reasonable one at that who it seems is well respected among his peers, all the sins but sadboy showed to his court, there was plenty of room to speak and this court session was abruptly held because of one little snitch (with a good case) so we get the impression that he is a stickler for rules and justice.

No idea how powerful he is but he showed us something that this series has been lacking which is a hierarchy. A stickler for the rules but clearly had some favouritism and affection for Stolas who sits high as royalty, was Stolas spared by satan or is there a known and accepted exception to the rules when it comes to royalty? That was left open.

Stolas's punishment, if it's committed to could actually something excellent for his characters growth, the opportunity to genuinely slum it and gain empathy and appreciation for what is a lifetime to the average person.

I like how the moment Stolas lost his position the general public would turn on him, again, finally establishing that these titles stand for something.

We're definitely not missing out on sadboy Lucifer over at the hangout hotel, he truly isn't needed.

Stella can love her daughter and loathe her husband who loathed her right back. No proof that's she's the incompetent parent. Nothing hard to understand here. The Octavia scene could have made Stella look more of a villain had this all been her plan but no, her brother pulls the strings.

Still, Stella remains interesting .

I appreciate that Mammon was tediously bored, unbothered and was looking forward to taking a break to eat, like many people forced to be at meetings, this further told us that these meetings are something that must be attended like it or not.

They really laid it on thick that nobody likes this guy and were so petty about it, reminding us that he's gross, fat, glutinous, stupid, unfocused, childlike and doesn't get that those who aren't snapping at him don't like him either.

Were we supposed to find a grownup playing with toys that ranged from fidgit to toddler an annoyance or amusing, since the whole direction of this character is that he's offputting and wrong in every way possible?

Mammon had no time for Stolas's song yet Stolas would approach him briefly and knock over his building blocks, is his lack of interest in 'emotional' song and dance another reason we should be disliking him, who didn't have a song to sing in his episode where he additionally broke the mould of 'no fun'?

Why does Bee have issue with him? Wasn't she a fun, dismissive and shallow, binge eating and drinking pushing party girl when we last saw her? Couldn't these two easily be close?

What exactly is ancient Ozzie's issue with ancient Mammon outside of the past 10 years with 30 something Fizz?

Bee and Ozzie being attached at the hip and practically sharing lines is so tacky. They're reduced to cheering on Blitzø despite their few exchanges with him, exchanges which involved unresolved critique, these two are truly the worst, they got worst, Ozzie heckled Blitzø on before he got neutered, but after neutering he knows that Stolas had been lending out his grimore, Blitzø no longer has Stolas's book but now has Ozzie's crystal, so he's unser his jurisdiction now, a deal Stolas and Ozzie made behind Blitzø's back, how about talking about that? Bee on the other hand got neutered during her introduction, when she all of a sudden saw Blitzø as a huge problem that was ruining her party and killing a vibe though we saw no NPC walking out, now she's arguing that he's harmless? We don't get much of them but the brief moments we do get just dump on their credibility further but hey, what matters is they're both dating on Blitzø and co. level so they're 'nice guys'.

Two sides of the same coin is what they are. Though their opening lines were to cape for Blitzø things soon turned to Bee sex shaming Mammon, yes Queen Bee, the prince gluttony who sat cringing at Mammon's gluttonous display, makes the sex remark. I repeat, coin, two sides.

Really gives more credence to critism of fat phobia and acephobia (because asexual means nobody wants you, it's just another word for incel) that I've seen, there may be room to throw neuro divergence ignorance in there too.

[screaminglygay]

Burning match

pairings: kate bishop x fem!reader

summary: shutting off your feeling is not the best idea, but talking about them hurts too much.

warnings: swearing, character gets badly hurt, mentions of injuries, men, reader being stubborn, some angst with happy ending:)

word count: 5.5k

an: this one is little longer, but i didnt feel like cutting it in halfway, hehe, hope you´ll like it!:)

part one | part two

!MDNI!

"Come on, try again." Natasha says as she hold the lap for you to hit it.

The past few weeks, you´ve been trying to keep yourself busy. Small missions. Paper work. Training with Natasha. Spending time with MJ and Peter in Queens. Everything to keep Kate away. Everyone realized that something is wrong, that´s the main reason, why Fury didn´t give you a long or a hard missions. He couldn´t risk you being reckless, but he also didn´t want to keep you out of the game.

"I´m trying!" You yell as you hit the boxing paw, but you didn´t cover your face, so Natasha hits you back.

"Your mind is somewhere else. I need you to be here with me." The redhead put her hand back up, for you to try again. "If we would be on the field, you´d be dead by now." She states, hoping it will motivate you, but it did the exact opossite.

"That would be great, actually." You try to hit her paw, but she put her hands down.

"(Y/N)…" Natasha looks at you and takes off the paws.

"What are you doing?" You are supposed to train for another fifty minutes.

"We´re having a break. Sit down." You sit down, taking off your gloves. "Are you gonna talk to me, or just pretend like everything is great?" Natasha sits down as well.

You shrug. "It's complicated, Nat. I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning. I'm here to listen." She looks at you.

"It's about feelings. Complicated feelings," you admit, fidgeting with the edge of your gloves.

"Remember when I used to have a crush on Wanda? Well, it turns out those feelings are just exchanged with a different feelings.. with different someone…"

Natasha nods, her expression encouraging you to continue.

"It´s Kate," you continue, the weight of the unspoken emotions settling between you. "I never expected to feel this way again, but it's there. And I can't face her. I can't face anyone, really."

Natasha's eyes reflect empathy as she absorbs your words. "Feelings are messy, (Y/N), but running from them won't make them disappear. You've got to confront them, understand them, and then decide what to do next."

You look down at your hands, the moment feeling like a barrier between you and the vulnerability of your emotions. "I already decided, I don´t want to confront them at all. It´s just… overwhelming."

Natasha reaches over, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You don't have to figure it all out at once. Take it one step at a time. Talk to Kate. See where it goes. And remember, I'm here for you, no matter what. And like with Wanda it either will go away or you will figure it out."

You sigh. "It was different with Wanda. In many ways. I don´t think it will be the same. They are both totally different people." You say as you think about that time of your life.

"What was different? Having a bro code with Pietro?" Natasha asks, without missing a beat and that makes you smile and roll your eyes.

The door swings open, your gaze lifts, only to meet the eyes of the archer you've been succesfully avoiding. Instantly, your posture tenses, a reflexive response to the presence.

Kate walks in, but stops as she notices you´re with Natasha, "can I have a minute with (Y/N)?"

Natasha looks at you and you just nod. Which makes Natasha stand up and leave the room.

"So…" Kate starst, but she is actually not really sure how to start at all.

"So…" You look at her and she sits down next to you."You had a sparing session with Natasha?" Kate asks, looking at the gloves on the ground.

"Um- yeah, yeah, I had." You nod as well as Kate.

The room holds an unspoken tension. Kate breaks the silence with a question that cuts through the charged atmosphere.

"Am I too annoying?" Kate's gaze is probing, searching for confirmation in your eyes.

Your response is quick, "What? No! Of course not!"

Kate interrupts, her tone cutting, "You've been off. So what's your problem?"

"I don´t have a problem." You shrug.

"You don´t? Well even Mike thinks you´re kinda off…" Kate states.

A scoff escapes your lips involuntarily, and you mutter mockingly, "oh Mike thinks that.."

The archer looks at you and raise her eyebrow, "what´s that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it, nothing." You look away, already feeling like you gonna explode.

"Say it." You can feel that the atmosphere didn´t clear out at all.

"No, it´s nothing important." You look back at her.

"(Y/N), say it!" Kate is on the verge of exploding too, you can feel it and even see it.

"Okay, fine! Your boyfriend, he´s a dick." Okay, that slipped out. Shit, that shouldn´t have slipped out.

Oh god.

You succesfully shocked the archer, she is completly stunned. "What's your problem with Mike?" Kate's voice rises, defensive and confrontational.

"It's this something about him." you take a deep breath, the tension escalating. "You deserve better." There it is, you finally said it. Maybe a little differently then you wanted, but you did.

The declaration becomes a spark igniting an unexpected blaze. Kate's eyes narrow, a mixture of frustration and anger surfacing. "You don't know him like I do. You don't get to judge my choices. Who do you think you are to say these things?!"

The argument escalates, a collision of conflicting emotions, and before you know it, the room becomes a battleground once again. Before you could find your words, trying to save it, she speaks once again.

"I don't need this. I thought we could talk, but clearly, I was wrong."

And with that, Kate storms out, leaving you alone in the sparring room, the echoes of the confrontation lingering in the air like a haunting melody.

Fuck.

...

After the heated confrontation with Kate, the sparring room feels like a vacuum, the lingering echoes of the argument still resonating in the air. Hours pass, marked by the ticking clock and the persistent sound of rain against the windows. Eventually, you decide to venture back to the living room, a sense of emptiness accompanying each step.

As you enter the living room, you open the fridge in hopes that you will find a fresh icy cold water bottle. Finally you have a little luck in your life and there it is. As you take few sips from it you speak out. "Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., have you seen Kate around?" you inquire, your voice betraying a hint of sadness.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. responds with a measured tone, "Miss Bishop is currently on a mission with Mr. Rogers and Miss Belova. They left a forty minutes ago."

A pang of regret tightens your chest. The opportunity to apologize and mend things with Kate slips through your fingers, replaced by a sense of longing and missed chances.

"Alright, thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.," you mutter, retreating to a corner of the living room. The rain outside matches the melancholy mood within, creating a backdrop for the emotional storm you find yourself caught in.

...

You find solace in the embrace of your bed, its comfort offering a temporary refuge from the emotional turmoil that swirls within. The room, dimly lit by the glow of the bedside lamp, becomes a sanctuary where you can confront the tangled web of feelings.

Wrapped in the warmth of blankets, you replay the events in your mind, analyzing each word and gesture. Regret sticks with you, and the longing to bridge the gap between you and Kate grows with each passing moment. The desire to apologize, to untangle the knots of misunderstanding, becomes a persistent ache that refuses to dissipate.

But was it a misunderstanding? Or just something you held in yourself for a really long time?

As the rain continues its rhythmic dance against the window, time seems to stretch, each moment weighed down by the emotional heaviness. The glow of the bedside clock ticks away, a constant reminder of the day slipping through your fingers.

Messages from MJ and Peter light up your phone, concerned inquiries that you choose to ignore for now. You will answer them later. Maybe.

The dim glow of the bedside clock casts a faint light in the room as your phone incessantly lights up with notifications. Ignoring it initially, you think it´s MJ or Peter again. However, the persistent buzzing becomes too insistent to ignore, pulling you back to the harsh reality beyond the cocoon of your thoughts.

A new notification pops up, catching your attention. It's from Yelena, and the message sends a shiver down your spine. "Kate got into an accident. We're at the hospital."

The words hang in the air, a chilling realization that transcends the emotional turmoil you've been grappling with. The cocoon of solitude suddenly feels fragile, the threads unraveling in the face of an unforeseen crisis.

Before you can fully process the gravity of the situation, your phone vibrates with an incoming call from Natasha. With a sense of foreboding, you answer, your voice catching in your throat.

"(Y/N), it's about Kate. There's been an accident," Natasha's voice is steady but laced with an underlying tension. "They're at the St.Nicholas. Steve said it's serious. You need to come, but please drive carefuly." Natasha´s voice cracks and that makes your stomach drops even lower.

Without a second thought, you spring into action, a surge of adrenaline propelling you out of the room and into the stormy night. The rain outside mirrors the tempest within as you navigate the path to the hospital, the glow of your phone lighting the way with messages that now hold a newfound urgency.

The rain-drenched streets blur as you rush towards the hospital, heart pounding in your chest. The vivid lights of the emergency room entrance greet you as you finally arrive, breathless and soaked. Your gaze scans the room, finding Natasha, Steve, and Yelena huddled together, their faces etched with worry.

Ignoring the pull of exhaustion, you hurry towards them, relief and anxiety warring within you. Natasha, noticing your arrival, steps forward, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and understanding.

"(Y/N), she's stable now," Natasha says softly, her hand resting reassuringly on yours as she stops you from coming into the room. "But they won't let us visit her just yet."

A mix of emotions floods over you – relief that Kate is stable, yet a lingering unease at the unknown extent of her injuries. The hospital's sterile ambiance amplifies the tension in the air as Steve steps forward, his usually stoic expression betraying a deep concern.

"There was a room filled with explosive material, and it detonated while she was near it," Steve explains, the weight of the situation evident in his voice. "She's lucky to be alive."

As Steve explains, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. The image of Kate, caught in the blast, flashes in your mind. The once trivial disagreements now seem insignificant, overshadowed by the reality of Kate's perilous situation.

Yelena remains silent, her eyes revealing the worry she can't put into words. The waiting room becomes a space suspended in time, a limbo between the fear of the unknown and the hope for Kate's recovery.

For now, the only option is to wait – to wait for news, for permission to visit Kate, and, above all, for a sign that she will pull through.

...

Time seems to stretch as the group anxiously awaits news about Kate. The sterile waiting room is filled with hushed conversations and the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment. The air is thick with anticipation until finally, a doctor emerges, breaking the tense silence.

"Miss Bishop is stable. She's going to be okay," the doctor announces, a collective sigh of relief escaping from those gathered. "However, she needs time to recover. The explosion caused many injuries, and she's currently sleeping."

Steve, Yelena, and Natasha exchange grateful glances, and a sense of gratitude washes over them. The doctor continues, "You can visit her. We'll keep you updated on her progress."

As the trio heads toward Kate's room, you hesitate. The relief is palpable, but an overwhelming desire to be close to Kate prevails. Determined, you follow them into the room.

Kate lies peacefully on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile white walls. Machines softly hum, monitoring her vital signs. You can hear Yelena talk in russian, which you don´t understand at all.

Natasha places a gentle hand on Yelena´s shoulder, exchanging a few quiet words with her and Steve before leading them out, leaving you alone with your friend.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of monitors casting a gentle light on Kate's sleeping form. The exhaustion from the events of the day catches up with you, but an unwavering need to be there for Kate keeps you by her side.

You pull a chair close to the bed, taking Kate's hand in yours. The rhythmic beeping of the machines becomes a soothing backdrop as you sit there, unmoving, lost in the quiet vigil.

"I´m really sorry, Katie." You whisper, so much regret in those words. Hours pass, marked by the steady rise and fall of Kate's chest. Your mind is a tempest of emotions – relief, worry, gratitude. The ordeal has left you physically and emotionally drained. The chair feels uncomfortable, but you can't bring yourself to leave Kate's side.

As the night wears on, fatigue sets in. The hospital room becomes your bedroom now, interrupted only by the soft sounds of medical equipment. Unable to resist the heaviness of your eyelids, you lean against the chair and finally fall asleep too.

...

Morning light filters through the hospital room's window, casting a soft glow on the still figure of Kate. The rhythmic sounds of medical equipment persist, a constant reminder of the fragile balance between recovery and the unknown. You wake up, the stiffness in your muscles a testament to the night spent in the uncomfortable chair.

The door creaks open, and Natasha enters, holding a small tray with a cup of water and a plate of food. Her eyes, though tired, hold a reassuring warmth.

"Hey," Natasha says softly, offering a small smile. "I thought you might need this."

Tears well up in your eyes as you take in the caring gesture. "Thanks, Nat."

Natasha places the tray on the table and pulls a chair closer. "How are you holding up?"

You shrug and glance at Kate, her peaceful slumber giving you a momentary respite. "The last time we talked, we had a fight," you confess, your voice choked with emotion.

Natasha leans forward, a comforting presence. "(Y/N), these things happen, especially in our line of work. What's important now is that she's going to be okay."

"I was too blind to let her be happy," you admit, the weight of regret settling in. "I should have never said anything."

Natasha reaches out, squeezing your hand gently. "You care about her, and that's what matters. The rest can be worked out later." She encourages you to eat and drink, a gentle reminder of the need to take care of yourself. The food feels tasteless, but with Natasha's support, each bite becomes a small triumph.

"Kate is strong, and she's going to pull through. You being here for her matters more than you realize," Natasha reassures, offering a comforting presence in the quiet hospital room.

Her words are stuck in your head. You are here. You are. Where is Mike?

"He's still not here, hasn't even bothered to check in," you mutter to Natasha, a sense of frustration coloring your tone.

Natasha furrows her brow, sensing the underlying tension. "Mike? Maybe he's just dealing with things in his own way."

"So if you had the love of your life in a hospital you wouldn´t care to find them?" You are once again getting angry, even though you are strongly agaisnt the man, maybe you are overreacting. Or maybe you are right the whole time. Thoughts are running in and out of your head. Too much things at the moment.

"(Y/N), people react differently in situations like these. Give him some time."

But the silence from Mike speaks louder than any explanation Natasha could offer. The realization stirs a mix of emotions — frustration, disappointment, and a strange sense of feeling you couldn´t name yet.

Natasha leaves the hospital room, offering a reassuring smile as she heads to the cafeteria to check up on Steve and Yelena. The door closes behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and sleeping Kate.

After some time, Natasha returns with Yelena, her expression serious. "Steve's heading back to the compound to take care of some calls and paperwork. He'll be back soon," she informs you.

The hospital room feels both empty and crowded, a paradoxical mix of solitude and shared concern. Yelena, seated by the window, looks up as Natasha speaks. "We´ll stay here with you for a while," Nat offers.

Grateful for the company, you nod, and Natasha takes a seat in the corner, while Yelena sits by Kate's bedside. The atmosphere in the room becomes more subdued, the weight of the events settling in.

After a little bit you step out to get some fresh air, a knot of tension lingers. The hallway outside is quiet, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. As you turn to the bathrooms, you notice someone standing a little way down the corridor — Mike, Kate's boyfriend.

His presence catches you off guard, and a mixture of emotions surges within. The frustration from the previous thoughts intensifies, and a sense of unease accompanies the realization that he's here, yet the silence persists.

Mike looks up from his phone, noticing you. His expression is a mix of surprise and discomfort. The air between you is thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. It's a moment frozen in time, the hospital hallway becoming a silent arena for a confrontation that has been brewing beneath the surface.

Yelena and Natasha remain inside the room, unaware of the encounter in the hallway. The decision of whether to address the situation or let it linger hangs in the air, and as you lock eyes with Mike. You know Kate would not want you to go up to him and start a fight, but you can´t help it.

The air in the hospital hallway thickens as you approach Mike, who seems taken aback by your presence. A mix of frustration and anger simmers beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.

"It took you a while to finally arrive," you say, the words laced with a mixture of scoff and irritation.

Mike doesn't respond with an apology or explanation. Instead, he meets your challenging gaze and, with a dismissive tone, retorts, "Why do you care?"

The confrontation escalates, each word becoming a verbal jab as the tension between you intensifies. Mike, rather than showing concern for Kate or acknowledging the gravity of the situation, responds with rudeness and indifference.

"Why do I care?!" There it is, the sharp exchange of words. "If she was my girlfriend, I would call, text—I would run into every hospital, until I would find her!" you shout, your frustration boiling over. But Mike remains unmoved, his calm demeanor only fueling the fire.

"But she's not," he speaks with an unsettling calmness.

The words hang in the air, a harsh reality that slaps you in the face. "What?" you stammer, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement.

"You've said it yourself, if. She is not your girlfriend," Mike replies, his words cutting through the emotional turmoil like a knife.

The realization hits hard, the vulnerability beneath your anger exposed. The hurt, disappointment, and frustration converge into a surge of raw emotion.

Natasha, hearing the escalating confrontation, steps in, grabbing your hand to stop you from saying or doing anything impulsive. "You won't help her by this, (Y/N)," she says calmly, her grip a grounding force amid the tempest of emotions.

The hospital hallway becomes a silent witness to the tangled threads of relationships, the fractures laid bare in the harsh light of truth. As Natasha intervenes, you take a deep breath, grappling with the storm of emotions within. The focus shifts from the confrontation to the shared concern for Kate's well-being, a reminder that in the face of adversity, unity is more crucial than discord.

Natasha makes you take a few deep breaths, trying to diffuse the tension. Frustration still simmers within you, and you can't shake off the urge to do something impulsive. Your words to Natasha echo your volatile emotions.

"He's being an arrogant idiot," you mutter to Natasha, your anger palpable. "I swear, if I didn't care about Kate, I'd punch him."

Mike, unfazed, wears an arrogant smile as if reveling in the chaos he has incited. The atmosphere in the hospital corridor remains charged, the unspoken conflict simmering beneath the surface. With a frustrated scoff you finally manage to go to the bathroom, to freshen up a little bit, or at least calm the anger burning inside you.

In the midst of the tension, a weak voice cuts through the air. Kate stirs in her hospital bed, her gaze flickering around the room as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Her eyes land on Yelena, who is engrossed in a magazine.

"What the hell was that?" Kate asks, her voice a mix of confusion and concern.

"Kate! You´re awake! Oh and that? (Y/N)." Yelena puts the magazine down.

"Is she okay?" Kate asks without a beat.

Yelena hesitates for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "She's… okay."

The ambiguity in Yelena's response doesn't escape Kate's notice. "Whats that supposed to mean?" Kate´s voice still very raspy from just waking up.

"Well curently she´s cursing at your boy for being a dick." The blonde chuckles, as she´s rooting for your win.

"She is?" Kate's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and concern.

"Yeah… I heard Natasha step in, too sad I wanted to see (Y/N) throw some fists, she could take him.." Yelena looks at Kate, "what? I´m just stating the facts."

Kate tries to sit up and leave the bed, but Yelena immedietly notices and tries to keep her in bed. "No, Kate, stay." But that doesn´t stop the injured archer.

Ignoring Yelena's attempts to keep her in bed, Kate go out the room, trying to piece together the events that led her here until her gaze finally lands on Natasha, a silent guardian in the midst of the unfolding drama. Mike´s back is facing Kate as she somehow walked out of her hospital room.

"You all are crazy, who do you think you guys are? Mighty heroes?" He laughs "At least Kate will realize how useless her bow and arrow is…"

"Mike…" Natasha tries as she meets Kate´s blue eyes. Her posture softens a little bit with relief as she notices that Kate is awake.

"If her dad was around maybe she would get some sences knocked into her, this is ridicilous. Pretending to be a hero." Kate barerly stands there, she hopes this is just a big hallucination from the pills they gave her. "And who is your inspiration, hm? A- a- hooker mixed with Lara Croft?"

Natasha steps forward with a slight smile on her face, "If I was you, I would choose your words more wisely."

"What did you just said?" Kate jumps in with a question, her voice cracking up a little bit.

Mike turns around, completly shifting his body language, "oh babe! You are awake!" He rushes to her side but Yelena is quick to walk out of the room and push him away.

"Возьми ее за руки, и я сломаю тебе все кости в твоем чертовом теле." Yelena is really ready to strike.

(translation: Get your fucking hands on her and I´ll break all of your bones in your god damn body.)

"Leave me alone, she is my girlfriend!" The guy states. "Mine, understand?!" He tries to fight off the Widow, but if anything it was more of a sad try on his side.

The dismissive tone and lack of accountability in Mike's words infuriate Kate. Her face contorts with anger as she delivers a stern message. "You need to leave, Mike. I don't want to see you."

"Babe-" Mike's another attempt at a protest is met with a stern gaze from Kate, cutting him off. "Go home, Mike. I need some space."

"It´s because of your freak friend, right? That poor (Y/N)…" He somehow gets Yelena´s hands off of him and adjust his jacket.

Kate's eyes narrow at the mention of your name, and a wave of frustration washes over her. "Go."

Before Mike can respond Natasha is leading him out of the sight, while Yelena helps Kate back to her bed.

Kate nods, a mix of gratitude and relief in her eyes. "Thanks, guys. Now, can someone fill me in on everything that happened?"

As Yelena explains everything from the mission to this moment, Natasha, with her keen sense of observation, follows the emotional trail to find you in the bathroom. The tension and frustration from the earlier confrontation still linger, and she approaches you with a steady but understanding gaze.

"Kate is awake," Natasha announces, her words breaking through the quiet reflection in the bathroom.

The news propels you into action. Without a second thought, you practically sprint back to the hospital room where Kate is, your heart racing with a mix of anxienty and relief.

With Yelena and Natasha giving you some privacy, the atmosphere in the hospital room becomes more intimate. Kate looks at you with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity, and you can sense the unspoken questions lingering in the air.

"You really went to fight for me out there," Kate says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, filled with appreciation.

You give her a small smile. "Of course, Kate. He´s such an- anytime."

Kate chuckles at your words, "I appreciate it. More than you know." You find yourself sit next to her side once again. "I just couldn't stand by and let him hurt you. You mean a lot to me."

Kate's expression softens, and she reaches out to take your hand. "You mean a lot to me too. I didn't expect anyone to stand up for me like that."

"Well, get used to it," you say with a playful grin. "I've got your back. And now more than ever, miss walking into a room with explossives." You playfully tease her.

Kate just laughs, even though it hurts her a little bit.

"So, what did you do in the hallway, before Nat stepped in?"

You can't help but chuckle, the tension dissipating. "Oh nothing, just me telling off to your not-so-charming boyfriend."

Kate raises an eyebrow wanting to say something totally different then the thing she left out. "Hm, alright then."

"You should get some rest," you smile as you put the blanket over her. "I´m fine, actually I don´t feel much pain." Kate says as she visible fights off the sleepiness.

"That´s because you´re high, Bishop." You chuckle.

"Hm… interesting, I didn´t though about it." She opens her eyes. "You´re so high."

"Yup. Probably, I mean… this stuff is good. It got the kick." She smiles as she shifts a little bit in her bed and she finally drift off.

...

As the days pass, you continue to be by Kate's side, offering support and companionship during her recovery in the hospital. Your presence becomes a source of comfort, and together, you navigate the challenges of rehabilitation. Feeling like you two are even closer than before, feeling so good around her as she does. You feel complete again.

Not a signle thought about Mike in yours or Kate´s head.

Finally, the day arrives when Kate is well enough to leave the hospital. You assist her in the wheelchair, wheeling her out of the hospital room and through the corridors. As you approach the compound, the familiar faces of the Avengers greet both of you with smiles and cheers. They've organized a "Welcome Back" party for Kate, a celebration of her recovery and return.

With the wheelchair parked in the midst of the festive atmosphere, Kate insists, "I can handle the wheelchair on my own, you know." You respond with a playful grin, "I like to push you around."

The words carry a lighthearted warmth, an acknowledgment of the bond that has grown stronger during these trying times. Kate chuckles, appreciating the sentiment behind your words.

Throughout the party, you continue to take care of Kate, ensuring she's comfortable and included in the festivities. The Avengers express their relief and happiness at seeing Kate back on her feet, and the atmosphere is one of shared joy and camaraderie.

As the night progresses, the two of you find a quiet corner to sit and talk. The glow of the party surrounds you, but in that moment, it's the connection between you and Kate that shines the brightest.

"You've been a real friend through all of this," Kate says, sincerity in her eyes.

"I just wanted to be here for you," you reply, a soft smile on your face. After a little you look back at her. "I had this crazy idea. Do you trust me, Bishop?" you ask, a playful smile on your face.

Kate looks at you with a mix of curiosity and a hint of nervous anticipation. "Do I have a choice?" she replies, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Not really," you admit, your eyes dancing with excitement. "Fine, fine. I trust you." Kate nods.

"Okay, then get ready, because we´re going for a ride!" You say as you help her get back on the wheelchair. "It took me a little bit to figure it out, but I watched some youtube tutorials and I think it should work." You ramble to Kate, who still have zero idea what you´re talking about.

"Close your eyes, please,"you instruct, and Kate, now used to your playful antics, complies with a smirk.

As she close her eyes shut, you push the wheelchair, outside. Little cold breeze hitting the both of you. You push her infront of the homemade ramp, you made couple nights ago, thanks to some random guy on YouTube.

"Alright, open your eyes," you announce, stepping back to reveal your creation.

Kate opens her eyes, and her gaze shifts from you to the makeshift ramp. A mixture of surprise and excitement lights up her face. "What's all this? You won´t push me off, right?" she asks, with a giggle.

"I thought we could use a change of scenery," you say with a grin.

"And since our favorite place is the rooftop, I figured, why not bring it to you?" You smile, being really pround of what you´ve build. Deep down still hoping it won´t break as soon as Kate´s wheelchair will go on it.

"You built this?" Kate's eyes widen with appreciation as she takes in the effort you've put into creating a way for her to join you on the rooftop. You just nod at her question.

"This is amazing," Kate says, her voice filled with gratitude. "To the roof and beyond!" If this wouldn´t be Kate, you would find this quote use very cheesy, but since it´s Kate, you had to let out a chuckle.

With careful precision, you guide Kate up the improvised ramp, ensuring her safety as she rides to the rooftop. Once you both reach the top, a breathtaking view of the city awaits, and the sounds of the party below are replaced by the serene hum of the night.

Seated together on the rooftop, surrounded by the city lights, you and Kate share a moment of quiet companionship. The homemade ramp, a symbol of your dedication and the uniqueness of your connection, becomes a testament to the lengths you're willing to go to make each other happy.

As you sit side by side, overlooking the cityscape, Kate breaks the silence with a sincere look in her eyes. "I'm sorry about not listening to you."

You meet her gaze, the connection between you deepening. "I'm sorry about being right about your boy," you say with a playful laugh. Kate chuckles. "Well, I think it's good to burst out the bubble. He's not my boy anymore."

"What?" The shock in your voice is palpable.

"Yeah. I broke up with him, and he replied with a thumbs up and a 'You weren't even worth it.' So…"

"Oh my god, Kate, I'm so sorry-" You instinctively reach for her hand.

"No, you're not," she interrupts with a reassuring smile.

"Not about him, but… you don't deserve that. Who does he think he is? Oh my god, I'll tell him-" Now it's Kate's turn to take your hand. "Okay, Rambo, calm down," Kate teases. "I'm fine, really. And he´s the one not worth it."

"So he wasn´t the chosen one?" You tease.

"Oh that´t a low blow, (Y/L/N)" She roll her eyes, but laugh along with you.

As the night unfolds, the atmosphere between you two is not just warm; it's a comforting embrace that you don´t want ever lose again, even if it means being just friends with the archer.

Thank you for reading!!!

[xcherryerim]

A Call Away (Help, I’m Still Hard!)

Josh Futturman x gn!reader | word count: 1.6k

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | 18+ ONLY

Warning: stablished relationship, Sub!Futturman, SoftDom!Reader, erectile medication, oral sex / handjob (only josh whomp whomp), toy usage, facial, porn without plot.

pet names used: baby, dear

Notes: I wrote this out of boredom, and i revised it ONCE so there’s probably a lot to of mistakes. If you want more smuts with plot and better writing than this consider checking my masterlist, thank you 🫶🏻

Summary: After taking some pills to have some fun by himself, the harness doesn’t seem to go away so he calls his beloved partner for help.

"What's up, baby?" You softly said, eagerly waiting for Josh's response on the other end of the line. You could hear him take a deep breath, but he remained silent. His heavy breathing was the only sound you could muster, and the silence was deafening. It wasn't until you had almost hung up that he finally spoke, his voice husky and quiet.

"I know it's late, but can you come home?" He asked, his voice full of need and desperation. His tone left little doubt about the urgency of the request, and he seemed unable to hide his distress. "Please?" He added, his words sounded more like a plea than a request.

“Why? Is something wrong?” You were slightly concerned.

"Well..." He paused as if searching for the right words. It was clear that he was trying to gain control of his breathing. You could hear the light whimpers in his voice, along with the sighs and pauses that indicated his desperation. "I took some of uh... those types of pills, you know what I mean?" He hesitated, seeming to stumble with his own words. "I've tried everything; trust me, but nothing is working." He sighed. "I need you right now, please."

“Josh.” You sigh. “Why did you take those pills anyway?”

Josh let out a sob, his voice broken as he declared, "I wanted to stroke one out, but nothing seems to work for me anymore since I met you. So, yeah, I bought pills hoping they would work, 'cause I wasn't going to call you just to... you know. "

You simply replied, "But you’re doing that right now."

Silence continued for a moment as he finally muttered in response, "I know, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back. I'll do anything you want, please."

"Fine, I'll be there in six minutes." You responded immediately, your impatience making your tone sharper than intended.

"Please, please hurry." He begged with desperation in his voice, making it crystal clear how much he needed you.

You hit the road with a need and urgency that were unlike yours. This was no ordinary drive. The sudden rush to be with your boyfriend—his desperate and needy nature—fills you with excitement like no other. The laws of the road held no sway at all as you pushed the limits of the speed limit, determined to get to your destination as quickly as possible.

You entered his apartment using the spare key he had given you months ago, your steps quick and determined as you hurried upstairs. As you neared his room, you could hear his frantic breathing and see his hunched figure in front of the computer. Your picture was plastered on the screen, and his attention was focused solely on it.

"I need you, I need you," he panted, his hand moving frantically up and down his shaft until he heard the subtle creek of the door opening. When he realized that you were there, all the tension and desperation he felt immediately dissolved. "Baby, you're here!" He exclaimed excitedly, his voice full of relief and joy. "Oh, thank God you're here. I need you."

“I could tell.” You said this as you looked at the screen.

“You must think I'm pathetic, huh?”

"How could I think that?" Your words were comforting and reassuring, conveying your understanding and empathy. You gently took his jaw in your hands, looking into his eyes as you spoke. "Everyone gets needy sometimes; it's nothing to be ashamed of, but next time, don't wait, just call me."

Futturman nodded eagerly, seeming relieved by your words and encouragement. He turned his gaming chair in your direction, his erection imploring you to help him.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of his body beneath his shirt, and your stomach fluttered with excitement. You stepped closer, your playful mood leading the way as you leaned above him, your fingers lightly brushing against his thighs.

His eyes were locked on you, his face full of excitement and anticipation. "Like the view, Futturman?" you teased, the hint of a smirk crossing your face. You saw his face turn red with embarrassment, and you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of admiration for him.

"Yes, yes, I do; I mean, it's you," he stuttered, his embarrassment making him seem even cuter.

As you bent down, the sight of his throbbing member filled your field of vision, the tip glistening with pre-cum. With a gentle smile playing on your lips, you began to trace its length with featherlight kisses, starting from the engorged head. Each tender peck sent ripples of pleasure coursing through him, causing soft moans to escape from his parted lips. His breath hitched with every caress, his hips twitching slightly under the stimulation.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, taking your time to savor the taste and texture of his skin. As your mouth moved lower along the veined shaft, you paused occasionally to let out a soft sigh, drawing attention to the wetness of your lips. This only seemed to fuel his desire further, his breathing growing ragged. You continued this dance, slowly covering his entire length with delicate kisses, never rushing, allowing the sensations to build between both of you.

With each pass, his moans grew louder, filling the room with raw lust. It was clear how much this simple gesture meant to him. Even though it might have been something small, it showed him that you loved him.

“Please.” He pleaded again, his voice trembling with urgency, but instead of rushing, you decided to take things slower. You knew that patience would make the experience even more intense for both of you. Leaning in close, you placed a gentle kiss on the sensitive tip before wrapping your lips around it. Slowly, bobbing your head up and down, letting his length slide deeper into your warm mouth inch by tantalizing inch. The feeling was enough to send shivers down his spine, his breath catching in his throat.

Each movement was calculated and controlled, drawing out the anticipation and building the intensity. Despite his earlier impatience, he found himself appreciating the slowness now. Every sucking and pulling made him shiver, the pleasure washing over him like a tidal wave. His grip tightened on the armrests of his chair, his nails digging into the fabric as he fought to maintain control. The rhythm you set was hypnotic, pulling him further into the depths of lust.

His deep moans and labored gasps reverberated throughout the otherwise silent space, creating an intimate symphony solely dedicated to shared pleasure. His hips bucked wildly, thrusting his hardened member deeper into your hungry mouth, seeking release. Yet despite his desperate pleas, you remained steadfast in your pace, teasing him mercilessly.

After several minutes of this tortuous yet heavenly treatment, you finally pulled away, leaving his head wet with saliva and precum. Breathlessly, you asked, "Do you want more?" His answer came out as a strangled cry, almost too low for you to hear properly.

"Ah, my dear, we can try something else," you murmured, standing up and heading towards the closet. Your gaze fell upon the discarded sex toys, and you quickly picked one of them up—a sleek and powerful vibrator that promised to bring immense satisfaction. Turning back to Futturman, you kneeled before him once more, placing a tender kiss on his forehead before reaching out for his length.

Gripping it firmly yet gently, you began to stroke him with long, firm motions, eliciting soft cries of delight from him. Simultaneously, you powered on the vibrator in your other hand, adjusting the settings until it hummed with vigor. Guided by instinct, you pressed it against the pulsing head of his cock, watching as his muscles clenched involuntarily. A muffled cry escaped his lips, followed by a series of short, sharp pants as the newfound sensation overwhelmed him.

Slowly, you traced the vibrator's surface along the underside of his shaft. The cold steel contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off his skin, amplifying the sensations coursing through him. Each brush of the vibrator sent jolts of pleasure racing through his core, causing his hips to buck uncontrollably.

Watching his reactions, you adjusted the angle ever so slightly, ensuring maximum impact. His moans became more pronounced, intertwining with the steady purr of the device.

Time seemed to lose meaning as his climax approached. Suddenly, he arched violently, his scream piercing the air as waves of pleasure engulfed him, his entire being convulsing with unrestrained euphoria. Unable to contain himself, he released, painting your body with his come.

“Fuck baby, I’m sorry.” Apologetically, he tried to wipe the stickiness from your features, but instead, you extended your index finger covered in his essence to your mouth and delicately licked them clean, savoring the tangy flavor with relish. An electrifying charge surged through him at this bold display of carnality, leaving him uncertain whether to fret or rejoice. One thing was certain, however: your sensual act reignited his flagging libido. His cock, which had been lying limp mere seconds ago, began to stiffen once more, responding to your audacity with renewed interest.

The sight of his twitchy member made you effortlessly push him onto the mattress, following suit and landing on top of him. Your lips sought out his, exploring his mouth with reckless abandon while your hands explored his form. Nips and kisses rained down on his vulnerable neck, eliciting soft moans that fueled your desires.

Drawing back slightly, you gazed into his dazed eyes and murmured huskily, "This night isn't finished yet, Futturman." A devilish gleam sparkled in yours, promising more adventures ahead.

Futturman breathed out a soft and nervous "Oh boy," his face flushed red with embarrassment. Then, your voice cut through the atmosphere, unexpectedly innocent and unassuming.

"You have cuffs, right?"

His face flushed a deeper shade of red as he stumbled over his words. "Oh my god..." He mumbled, both stunned and aroused. “I’m dating a freak.”

[bushkit]

Some headcanons for the daemos boys cause I got bored!

Some of these are just silly ideas but I have quite a few genuinely serious headcanons in there as well!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Asch:

23 years old.

6’3 (very slightly over average for daemos)

Smells smokey and sweet, like cedar in a bonfire.

Great at archery, initially learned from his mother and has devoted himself to mastering the skill in her honor.

Takes his role as a leader very seriously, no funny business.

Hates nikargas with every fiber in his being. He will go out of his way to slay one if given the opportunity.

Fears failure and loneliness.

Hates physical touch, it causes him to flinch hard if he isn't expecting it.

Has oddly cold hands, very insecure about it.

Would laugh at videos of children falling.

Nonexistent spice tolerance (I took inspiration from Moistcritical).

Has a beloved pet phoenix, but sadly doesn't have much time to take care of her himself.

Wears a little eyeliner, slays the day.

Leif:

22 years old

6’2

Smells like he was rolling on the wet forest floor (he was).

Very knowledgeable about animals, even survived an encounter with a nikarga.

Has a very soft spot for children.

Low alcohol tolerance, gets drunk easily.

Drank quite often until he became a knight. (Still can't refuse a few cups if offered, but is getting better.)

Serious abandonment issues and mild separation anxiety.

Distrustful of higher authority, though secretly respects Asch and is grateful to have been spared.

Meditates quite a bit, prefers to do so in the wilderness (with supervision from Strike of course).

Loves thrills, riding on Strike’s back is his preferred method of travel due to the distance from the ground and the breeze in his face.

Will eat just about anything, eats like he hasn't in weeks.

Highly flirtatious, gets no bitches.

Rhys:

24 years old

6’4

Smells very clean and posh, like a fine cologne.

Nearsighted, needs glasses to see properly.

Very cautious, likely due to his vision impairment.

LOVES puzzles, anything revolving around strategy and riddles is his cup of tea.

Massive sweet tooth.

Extremely polite, like to the point he gets walked on sometimes.

Very mild temper as in common frost aligned fashion, but when his bottle breaks, it breaks.

Loves stargazing, constantly trying to figure out what those white dots in the black sky really are.

Perfectionist, hate hate hates when things are even slightly imperfect he goes insane.

Highly artistic, has journals apon journals of people and creatures he's doodled.

Often viewed as being boring (even by his own family), hates it.

Noi:

Youngest of the group at 20 years old.

5’9 (short ahh)

Smells citrusy, like lemons and grapefruit.

Autistic, has trouble picking up on certain social ques.

Experiences a phenomenon similar to Pinkie Pie’s “Twitchy Tail”, this is related to his ability to sense incoming storms.

Loves romance stories, forbidden romance is his favorite trope.

Scared of loud noises, he panics when he smells a thunderstorm coming.

Insecure about his size and strength sometimes, but tries to find loopholes.

Introverted, though highly extroverted when comfortable.

Values kindness and empathy.

Most loyal to Asch of the knights (even more so than Pierce and Rhys)

Highly curious but cautious, prefers to learn visually.

Mostly used as a messenger because of his swiftness and fantastic memory.

Pierce:

Oldest of the group at 25 years old

6’7 (very over average for a daemos)

Smells subtle but floral, with notes of lavender and water lily.

Gentle giant, gives wonderful hugs. (it would probably cure depression tbh)

Most mature among the knights.

Neurodivergent, some form of synesthesia and/or autism. (I'm leaning towards sound-color synesthesia.)

Does not enjoy killing or viewing fights, attempts to play peacemaker in most hostile situations.

Sensitive to violence and especially death, there's a reason why he doesn't speak much.

Distant, prefers to not make attachments.

Likes animals, used to nurse injured critters back to health before releasing them.

Surprisingly funny, isn't aware of it.

Carries his sword everywhere like its a comfort plush toy.

Has a very approachable demeanor, he may not speak much but he is a fantastic listener.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

And those are my headcanons! Enjoy the goofy drawing of Asch simply ✨passing away✨ because a jalapeno was too spicy for him. Rest in pepperonis my love. Anyway Its almost midnight rn and I'm sleepy so goodbye!

[wolfjackle-creates]

Emapthy Verse

Part 7

Story Summary: Jazz is struggling as the only liminal in Gotham. Interactions with regular humans just feel so hollow when she's used to the dual sense of language and projected empathy from ghosts and liminals.

But everything changes when she literally runs into another liminal on the way to the library. Maybe she can make this work after all.

Jason just has so many questions.

Parts 1-6

Word Count: 1k

-----

Jason exited the bus at Jazz’s side in Elmerton; it looked like your average small Midwest town. Across the street from the bus station was a cafe and Jazz grinned at him as she took his hand and pulled him over to it.

“I can’t believe we’re almost home! I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.” <excited, happy>

Jason pulled on her hand to bring her closer so he could kiss her cheek. He sent back his own <happy, curious>. “You sure I’m gonna make a good impression?”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Danny will give you a hard time. But that’s just because I’ve dated some real jerks in the past so he automatically doesn’t trust anyone I bring home. His behavior will be a reflection on me, not you.” Her <exacerbation> filled every word.

<concern, righteous anger> “Is there anyone I have to beat up? You know I’m good for it.”

She laughed and projected her <gratitude, amusement, don’t you dare>. “If you even try, I’ll kick you out to spend Thanksgiving at Wayne Manor.”

Jason shuddered. <horror> “Right, no searching out your exes.”

He felt a <delight, good to see you> that felt so different from Jazz that he stopped in his tracks. But Jazz kept hold of his hand and was waving widely with her free hand as she dragged Jason into the cafe. “Angela, Trisha! You’re here!”

Two girls—one with dark brown hair, the other with light brown hair—were waving back just as exuberantly. Both were dressed for the November chill and had rolling suitcases sitting by the corner table they’d taken.

Jason set down their bags against the wall as Jazz ran over to hug them. The strong emotions of <hello, happiness> filled the space. Jason was content to hang back and watch them, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly the lighter haired one broke the hug and spun to face him. “Woah! You just projected? Jazz, where’d you find this guy?”

Jazz grinned and settled back at Jason’s side, sliding an arm around his waist. “Gotham, can you believe it? I was so homesick and needing some good death-talk. I was maybe two weeks away from transferring somewhere that had at least two other Amity Parkers when I literally ran into him outside the public library. Instead I got to stay and got a boyfriend out of it.”

“How could you!” screamed the dark-haired one. But she was projecting <relief, happy-for-you>. “You haven’t talked to us for months! We’ve been worried about you all by yourself. And here you are, just waltzing back with a boyfriend you never bothered to mention.”As she finished, a thread of <frustration> did work itself into her emotions.

Jazz frowned and sent back <I’m sorry>. “Honestly, I wanted to. But Jason here didn’t know anything about liminality. So I didn’t want to talk about him until he got used to that. And my courses have been hell. I’ve so many projects constantly.”

<annoyance, forgiven> “Just don’t forget us again, okay? Hello, Jason. I’m Angela and this is Trisha. We’re both studying at Ohio State. We’re high school friends of Jazz’s.”

Jason shook both their hands. “I’m Jason. Not in school at the moment, but I work odd jobs around Gotham.”

“You should think about enrolling,” commented Jazz. “You’ve mentioned how you wanted to study literature when you were younger.”

Jason grimaced and knew he was failing to hold back his <uncertainty, dread>. “I’d need to finish a GED first. And my jobs are keeping me real busy. Not sure I’d be able to spare the time to go to class.”

Trisha cut through the awkwardness with a laugh and <tired>. “Well, classes are killer. I’m almost regretting going to college right now.”

Jason laughed as well <thanks>. “Honestly, seeing this one”—he nudged Jazz—“and her workload is making me reconsider my former college aspirations.”

“Mr. Baxter isn’t going to be here for another hour,” said Angela. “Get yourselves a drink and something to eat and join us.”

“Has anyone else arrived?” asked Jazz.

“Oh yeah. With your arrival, there’s a good dozen of us in Elmerton right now. No one else from our grade, though.”

Jason kissed Jazz’s temple. “Take a seat; catch up with your friends. I’ll go order us drinks. Any requests?”

Jazz sent him a wave of <gratitude>. “Tea and a scone.”

The barista’s smile was strained when he went up to place their order. But she was professional and only asked what he wanted. Behind him, he could feel the excitement between Jazz and her friends as they began debating Thanksgiving day traditions.

While waiting for their order, he heard the employee whisper to her coworker, “More Amity Parkers.” She used the same tone someone from Metropolis might say “Gothamite” and Jason bristled.

He must’ve let something leak, because Jazz, without turning to look, sent a forceful <don’t>.

Jason rolled his eyes and huffed. <fine>

She reiterated the silent order. Through their silent communication, her conversation with her friends didn’t so much as pause. But the <amusement> from the other two women was quite clear.

The barista who handed him his orders squeaked as she called out his name.

It took all of Jason’s willpower to keep from raising his eyebrow at her and give a simple, “Thanks.” If the muffled laugh from Jazz was anything to go by, though, he wasn’t as successful at holding back the <really?> that he was feeling.

Jazz had told him about Bruce’s visit. Maybe he could learn how to hold back his feelings, too.

But he pushed the thought to the side. For now, he wanted to focus on the upcoming meeting with Jazz’s family. And what better way to practice than by meeting her friends?

He sat down next to his girlfriend and flashed the other girls a smile. “So, do you have any good stories about Jazz from high school?”

They burst out laughing while Jazz feigned offense. Jazz’s friends were more than happy to tell him about the things Jazz and her brother had gotten up to during their high school years.

Jason, in turn, told them about her time in Gotham. Including the time Batman and Nightwing paid her a visit in her dorm room and freaked out her roommate. They thought it was hysterical that Jazz was now in a single because housing had no idea what else to do with her.

The hour wait for their transport passed so much more quickly than Jason had expected.

-----

Hope you guys enjoy this glimpse into Jazz's life beyond just Danny.

Updates will be sporadic, but please check out the Subscription Post if you want to be notified when I do!

[pininghermit]

The Bard-ling

AN: I'm going to write more of this dynamic. D deserves a bard. Loving the fandom! I would love to get back to all your lovely comments but life is a little busy right now :)

Genre: romance, fluff

Pairing(s): Vampire hunter D x gn Reader

Summary: Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

You strum your lute, somehow managing to keep pace with Blaze—a name you had lovingly bestowed upon D’s stoic, cybernetic horse. Yet, it was not without effort.

The dunpeal had an uncanny way of drawing out the hidden glamour you worked so hard to suppress. How else was a fae supposed to keep up with a creature that galloped like a streak of lightning across the vast, unkind earth?

“The riveting adventures of D…” you mutter, wincing. “No, that won’t do.” With a dramatic sigh, you scratch that one off your mental list. For all your boundless enthusiasm, D’s name simply refused to fit into any heroic ballad worth its strings.

“How about ‘The Pioneer of Justice, D’?” you propose, your voice carrying into the empty air. The silence that follows is so absolute it makes your ears ache. Thankfully, Blaze is kind enough to snort in response, as though sharing your pain.

“Vampire Hunter D?” you try again, squinting meaningfully at the dunpeal himself. But reading D’s expression is a hopeless endeavor. Where mortals were an open book, D was a locked journal whose pages you were forbidden to touch.

Your mind drifts, as it often does, to the journey that brought you here. It was the year 1230 of your beguiling, back in the shimmering court of Yjorn. How valiantly you had made the decision or so you told yourself, to leave the safety of faerie and step into the world of mortals. To witness their plight, to feel their fleeting joys and crushing sorrows, and to, perhaps, offer your kind’s endless empathy to those fragile, short-lived souls.

At least, that was the story you liked to tell.

The truth, however, was far less noble. As the darling 47th in line to the throne of Yjorn, you had been unceremoniously banished. The queen, your mother, had little patience for your "spoils"—the mortal lovers you’d so generously whisked away to faerie.

How unfair it had been! You were merely sparing them from their wretched lives, gifting them a place in your beautiful, eternal world. But, as it turned out, your mother did not share your vision.

And so, the treasured youngest of Yjorn found themselves wandering the mortal realm, now strumming a lute beside a dhampir who had less to say than the stars themselves.

How the mighty had fallen.

Yet all was not lost. Your beloved companion, though D would undoubtedly deny such familiarity, was a joy to travel with on the rare days he wasn’t bound by his oath of silence.

Your dhampir was, admittedly, a delight on most occasions. Watching the world of mortals and immortals alike stumble into smitten dazes at his mere presence was a treasure you held dear.

Truly, wherever D went, hearts followed. Men and women alike seemed to lay their emotions bare, falling at his feet with their hearts in their hands, eyes wide with awe.

The lovelorn, particularly young mortals swept up in the fervor of first love had a habit of complicating his already unromantic quests.

Seventeen-year-olds, intoxicated by their first taste of passion, often became the heroines of his adventures. How many times had you watched these youths mistake his stoic sense of duty for some deeper affection, their fervent hopes clashing with his unwavering silence?

Today, however, was different. Today, D had surprised you. For once, he wasn’t leading you toward an unknown skirmish or a shadowed corner of the world. Instead, the path he followed carried a peculiar familiarity, one that tugged at memories you thought long buried.

The road to the outskirts of Ransylva…

Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

Today, you were returning to the home of Doris Lang.

The heroine of your infamous ballad, A Noble Bloodlust.

Through fields overrun and a village in plight, He rode into Ransylva beneath crimson light. With silence his answer, with steel in his hand, A protector of souls in a cursed, hollow land.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

A maiden stood waiting, her heart held by dread, Her family in ruin, her brother near dead. She asked for his aid, though his eyes were like stone, And found in his silence a strength all her own.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

The song was a marvel, its fame spreading far and wide, unmatched in its ability to immortalize D’s deeds. And for you, the bard of Vampire Hunter D, it had become your crowning glory.

Oh, the chorus! It was irresistible, a siren call to every tavern-goer, who eagerly joined in with booming voices. No crowd could resist singing those words, raising their mugs in tribute to the enigmatic rider.

It was a pity, however, that D himself didn’t share the same enthusiasm. He’d forbidden you to include certain “embellishments” like the Midwich Medusas, for instance.

How could you resist weaving them into your verses when they added such flavor? And yet, the dunpeal had tried, in vain, to hide that particular detail from your prying telepathic curiosity.

Ah, the woes of a bard! Had your mother granted you a touch more power in your exile, such slights to your artistry would never have been made.

But alas, here you were, forced to temper your creativity to suit your stoic companion.

As the road wound closer to Ransylva, you strummed the melody softly, humming under your breath. If Doris Lang remembered him, and oh, how could she forget? The silly mortal would not manage to forget your dunpeal in a thousand lifetimes.

You had no doubt that her story would inspire yet another verse. Perhaps, this time, you’d manage to keep the Medusas in.

D should be enjoying this. He truly should be.

Then why did unease coil in his chest? Why did every laugh, every earnest attempt from Dan to learn the basics of your lute, gnaw at his composure?

Dan was no longer the innocent boy D had once left behind. Time had carved strength into his frame, the gangly limbs of youth replaced by the solid build of a young man. A man who seemed far too comfortable in your company.

And it irked him.

So much so, that D found himself ignoring the familiar sight of Doris lingering nearby, her gaze lovingly flitting toward him. She might have drawn his attention before, but now, his focus was elsewhere.

It was on you. And on Dan’s fingers. Those far-too-close fingers brushing yours as he held your lute with clumsy enthusiasm.

You were his bard. You should be by his side. Next to him.

The sharp twang of a snapping string startled everyone. You froze, your head snapping up to meet D’s gaze, your eyes glinting with the mischievous light of someone who knew. Of course you did. The strain of his power, the invisible pull that broke the string, had betrayed him.

There was a whole other story unfolding, hidden from the eyes of Doris and Dan, shrouded in the veil of magic that bound you to D in ways no mortal could comprehend.

“Alas,” you sighed, turning to Dan with an exaggerated look of disappointment, “it seems our lesson isn’t meant to be.”

Dan flushed, looking sheepish, and fumbled with the lute as you reclaimed it. The smirk curling on your lips was a private dagger aimed at D, who tensed as you approached him.

The lute fell into his lap with a deliberate thud.

“A pity, right, D?” you teased, leaning in slightly, your grin sharpening as you closed the distance. Behind you, Dan shuffled awkwardly, his mind already racing for another excuse to draw your attention back to him.

But D would not allow it.

You didn’t belong with Dan. You were not human. A fae, with all the mischief and danger that entailed, had no place beside a mortal. You were a temptation, a force that could unravel Dan’s fragile humanity.

No. You were a danger, yes. But you were his danger. One that belonged by his side, next to him and Blaze.

Even Blaze, a disposable cyborg horse had become something more because of you. The name you’d given him, the way you spoke to him like he was a creature of flesh and blood, had seeped into D’s consciousness. He’d gone out of his way to care for Blaze, preserving the horse’s functionality against all odds.

Why?

Because it kept you there. Kept you tethered to him.

And as you hovered just close enough to test his already frayed restraint, D accepted the truth. Whatever else you were, you were his. And no mortal boy would change that.

So, when the midnight hour came, and D silently mounted Blaze to set off toward the next nameless town, you followed without hesitation.

The plans of vacationing in Ransylva were long forgotten, drowned beneath the unease that coursed through D like an unseen tide.

No question was carried on the winds, no protest rose from the shadows of the slumbering village you left behind.

All that lingered in the stillness was the victorious laughter of a smug faerie.