#last time it was an issue with the latch

[gristlegrinder]

besties my oven is broken AGAIN

[aldieb]

having health anxiety thought loops… about my cat…….

[attila-werther]

I found my target audience

[togrowoldinv]

The Retreat

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

When you go on a church retreat, you have a very interesting conversation with Wanda

Note: I have missed writing for this Wanda! Can’t get her out of my head lately. Y’all enjoy this one!

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, sad Wanda, oral and fingering (W receiving), age gap

Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist

When you were asked to go on a women’s retreat, you immediately wanted to say no. The only reason you even go to church is to appease your parents. But it’s the final retreat of the year and you are expected to attend at least one.  

So, you find yourself now waiting by the church bus to load up. You watch as mothers say goodbye to their children and wives kiss their husbands. One family in particular catches your eye.  

The Maximoffs. Wanda, the matriarch, is a good friend of your mothers. They just moved to town a few years ago, but have made quite an impression in the town. Her husband travels for work, so Wanda is often found alone at the church service while her twin boys are in class for the children.  

You wonder how a man could ever leave a woman like that alone. She is definitely the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Some part of you has been attracted to her since you first laid eyes on her.  

Wanda gets on the bus and sits a few seats from you. She gives you a small wave. You put in your headphones to try and drown out the world. The drive only lasts a few hours and soon you’re at the retreat.  

You check in and get your room key. It doesn’t take long to figure out that you will have a roommate when you open the door and see there are two beds. You're praying it’s not one of the older ladies or someone in your peer group who you can’t stand.  

The prayer is answered when the door latch opens and none other than the one and only Wanda Maximoff walks in.  

“Well, hi y/n!” She says. “I didn’t know we were roommates.”  

“Hey Mrs. Maximoff. I didn’t either.”  

“Oh please call me Wanda. This weekend we are peers, sweetheart,” she says.  

She puts her bags on the bed next to the window. Sitting on the bed, she looks around the room. Wanda spots an itinerary on the bedside table.  

“Looks like a busy weekend,” she analyzes. “We should get going to the first session.”  

“Oh, I was thinking I would just rest tonight,” you reply.  

“Nonsense, y/n,” Wanda says. “You came all this way. You might as well try and enjoy it. I know you aren’t feeling the spirit these days, but let me try and do something about that, okay?”  

Your pulse quickens. How can she see right through you? Maybe she’s just being nice. Or maybe it’s worse and your mother asked her to look out for you this weekend.  

She stands and waits for you to join her. You sigh and follow Wanda out the door.  

The first session goes better than you thought it would. At least the food was good and the middling company was made a little better by Wanda’s presence.  

When you get back to the room, it is freezing cold in there. You notice Wanda shivering even in her sweatshirt and sweatpants she has on for bed. Still, you both try to go to sleep for the night.  

At some point though, you get a feeling someone is watching you while you sleep. Or more accurately, as you try to sleep in the arctic environment. Your eyes flutter open to see Wanda sitting up in her bed.  

“What time is it?” You ask her.  

“Early,” Wanda replies. Her voice is gravely, and if you think about it too much you might even be turned on by it.  

“Are you cold?”  

She nods. “The heat isn’t working. I tried, but can’t fix it.”  

You roll out of bed and walk to the thermostat on the wall. Wanda follows you and stands close behind you. You can hear her breathing as you investigate the issue.  

“Can you fix it?” She asks.  

“Unfortunately, I cannot,” you reply. Wanda sighs.  

You turn around and Wanda is still very close to you.  

“We have one option here,” she begins. “To sleep together.”  

“Oh,” you mumble. “We- um-”  

“We could snuggle and then our body heat will keep us warmer,” Wanda further explains. “What do you say?”  

“Okay.”  

“Okay,” Wanda says.  

She leads the way to your bed hoping since it’s the one away from the window it’ll be a little bit warmer. Wanda crawls into the bed and pulls the covers down. She waits for you to join her. You get into the bed cautiously, keeping a little distance between you two.  

“Come on closer, baby. I don’t bite,” Wanda says. She grins at herself.  

You get closer to her and she wraps an arm around your waist. You drape one of your arms across the pillow and she positions herself with her head between your neck and shoulder. Admittedly, it is warmer with the two of you snuggling together.  

Eventually, you both fall into a deep sleep and the snuggling becomes more relaxed. It feels natural when the two of you wake up in the morning still intertwined.  

“Good morning,” you say softly, trying not to get lost in her green eyes.  

“Good morning,” Wanda says. Her face is close to yours. You can practically see every detail of her perfect face. “We should get ready for the day.”  

“Right,” you say, breaking out of your trance. “Of course.”  

You two break apart and you miss her warmth already. When you two show up at breakfast, several people are already in the room.  

“Wanda! Y/n! Join our table!” The leader of the women’s group calls you both over. “How did you two sleep?”  

“Quite well,” Wanda replies. “It was cold, but we made do.”  

“Oh, we can have someone look at your heat,” the leader replies.  

“Thanks that would be-” you start, but are interrupted.  

“That’s alright,” Wanda says, placing a hand on your forearm. “We are okay.”  

It's a strange response, but you try not to read into it. She probably just doesn’t want to cause any trouble. The breakfast lecturer starts soon and your attention shifts.  

At the end of the day, you and Wanda find yourselves sitting in your room once again. Dinner isn’t for another hour, so you are just waiting around.  

“Should we work on our exercises?” Wanda asks, breaking the silence.  

“What?”  

“The vulnerability exercises we talked about today in the final session,” Wanda explains.  

“Oh, sure.”  

Wanda smiles. She sits on the edge of her bed and pats the spot next to her.  

“I’ll go first,” she says. 

“Remind me of the rules,” you ask.  

“We reveal something to each other that no one else knows. So that we can release it and let the weight go.”  

You nod. You have no idea what Wanda might say. Her life seems perfect.  

“Vision left me,” Wanda blurts out quickly.  

“What?” You ask in shock. “Wanda, I- what happened?”  

You hadn’t seen them interact much, but you never assumed that he wasn’t still in the picture. Just that he had been traveling.  

Wanda looks down, playing with the ring on her finger. You can tell she’s holding back tears.  

“Wanda, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I'm really sorry.”  

“No, it might help if I do,” Wanda says. “Things just got bad. They went from okay, to maybe not so good, to fuck we’re over.”  

Your eyes go wide. Never have you ever heard Wanda curse like that.  

“How long ago was it over?”  

“A few months,” Wanda says.  

“And you haven’t told anyone?”  

She shakes her head. “I just keep saying he’s away on business. The truth is he hasn’t touched me in almost a year.”  

“So, that snuggling we did last night was?” 

“The first time I’ve remotely been that close to someone in a year.”  

“Jesus,” you mumble. She doesn’t even scold you for using the Lord’s name in vain. “Can I hug you?”  

You figure she needs human connection now more than ever. She nods and you take Wanda in your arms. She melts against you. Tears fall down her face and soak into your shirt.  

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly to her. “You’re okay, Wanda.”  

“I’m not,” she says through sobs.  

“You will be,” you reply. “I’m here for you. My parents are here for you. All of these stupid, annoying women here are on your side too, okay? We won’t let you fall.”  

Wanda pulls away some and looks at you. You run your hand through her hair and brush your thumb against her cheek gently. She leans in just enough for you to know what’s about to happen.  

“Wanda,” you say. She keeps moving forward. “Mrs. Maximoff.”  

That makes her stop. She looks at you with confusion in her eyes.  

“I just want you. Do you not want me, baby?” Wanda asks.  

“Oh, of course I want you. I just haven’t done the exercise yet.”  

“Oh?”  

You take your other hand and pull her closer by her hip. Your lips are almost touching.  

“My secret is that I really, really want to kiss you right now and fuck you until you forget about your loser ex-husband who never deserved you in the first place,” you say.  

Wanda closes the gap between the two of you. Her lips move fervently against yours. You can tell she’s desperate.  

“When’s the last time he kissed you like this?” You ask between kisses.  

“Never,” she replies.  

You smile into her mouth and move to push her back onto the bed. Her legs wrap around your waist as you pin her arms above her head.  

“Fuck, Wanda, you are the most beautiful woman alive,” you tell her.  

“We shouldn’t do this,” she says. It's her final effort at not letting herself feel as good as he deserves to feel. You move your hands off of her just briefly.  

“We should do this, but I'll stop if you really don’t want this,” you tell her.  

“No, I- we just can’t tell anyone, okay?”  

“Yes ma’am.”  

You put your hands back on her. This time, you go straight for the buttons of her jeans. You kiss down her chest and around her belly. Deftly, you pull down her pants and panties in one fell swoop.  

Wanda shivers beneath the feeling of your wet lips against her hips and as you brush your nose lightly against her core.  

“Oh, god, y/n,” she whimpers.  

“So wet for me, Wanda,” you say. You dive into her core with your tongue. Her folds are intoxicating as you bring her more pleasure than she’s ever felt in her life.  

“I need you,” Wanda says. “Please, baby. Please!”  

You take Wanda’s clit in your mouth and move your fingers into her in tandem. She is writhing beneath your touch.  

“Come for me, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say as you feel her reaching her climax.  

“Fuck!” Wanda comes hard against you.  

You lick her as she comes down and move up her body slowly. You lie next to her and kiss her cheek softly. The juxtaposition of that soft kiss and what you were just doing between her legs makes her heart flutter.  

“Are you okay?” You ask her. She is staring at the ceiling.  

“Yes,” she replies. “Thank you for everything.”  

“Anytime Wanda,” you say. You ignore the ache between your legs, knowing Wanda needs time to process this. “Should we go to dinner?”  

“Oh, I guess so,” she says.  

You sit up, but Wanda grabs your arm before you can stand.  

“I want to fuck you later, okay?” Wanda says. “I just-”  

“Need a minute,” you finish for her.  

“Yeah. Thanks for understanding, sweetheart. It’ll be worth the wait I promise.”  

Wanda kisses you deeply before she gets off the bed to get cleaned up. You watch as she walks with a new bounce in her step that she didn’t have before.  

Maybe this retreat will be interesting after all.  

[wylansworkshop]

.

[alchemistc]

He's at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes when the lock mechanism clicks in his front door. Something zings up his spine, that familiar little tingle that means he's about to be showered with affection and attention.

He doesn't turn, mostly because he's bound and determined to act normal just this fucking once (he's too in his head about the way money had exchanged hands the last time Tommy had met them all at the bar and he'd leapt from the table to greet him). The door sways open, almost silent except for the creak right at the end that no amount of WD40 seems to fix.

Buck rinses another dish.

Keys in the dish on the side board, the soft thump of Tommy's duffle on the bottom stair, the snick of the lock latching again, and the gentle pattern of work boots across the floor. Buck's a little surprised that Tommy doesn't say anything - he's nowhere near the same level of talkative as Buck but he's rarely solidly quiet.

Arms curl around his middle, thick wide hands shifting over the belly Buck's stopped worrying so much about keeping trim, since that two-week span he'd pinched a nerve and been told in no uncertain terms to take it fucking easy or risk mobility issues for the rest of his life and he'd decided to call them cheat weeks. Tommy's nose slides along his back, his lips shift over the knob of Buck's spine, two-day beard scratches at the exposed skin of Buck's neck and Tommy sighs, long and deep and tired.

"Hey," Buck says, a still damp hand curling over the bulk of Tommy's forearm, and Tommy hums against the back of his head.

Buck waits a beat while Tommy sort of slumps his weight into Buck's back.

And it's this - this bone deep calm that shivers over both of them at the end of a long day - this knowledge that they can finally unwind in each other's presence. That just like Tommy is happy to let Buck unload after a rough shift, Tommy is willing to take that same comfort from Buck. Buck never has to chase to figure out what he can do to help Tommy. He never has to guess at what Tommy needs to feel supported. Tommy will take - and when he's not sure, or it feels too much, he'll ask. No mixed signals, no needs unmet, no over the top gestures to overcompensate. Just.

"Hi," Tommy says, and presses a kiss to the dimple of Buck's skull. "Smells good in here."

There's a roast keeping warm in the oven, some simple thing Buck had asked Bobby's help in perfecting because Tommy "Meat and Potatoes" Kinard had finally admitted he hadn't had a good roast since his mother passed and he missed them. And Buck hadn't known Tommy'd had a shitty shift until well after he'd thrown the roast in but the terse, one word responses to Buck's texts and the lack of typical post-shower selfie had been a pretty good indication.

"Go sit. I'll grab you some wine. Dinner should be - ten-ish minutes?*

Tommy's arms tighten. One big hand presses into his stomach, just enough to tip Buck back into the cradle of Tommy's hips, just enough to make them flush from head to toe. "Gimme a minute, Buckley," Tommy murmurs, and Buck feels that buzz under his skin, can't help the shit eating grin that curls his lips. Tommy's nose digs into his curls. "Come home just for hugs and you tell me to sit down," he scoffs, and Buck doesn't waste any more time pretending to do dishes - he gets the faucet off and sways back into Tommy to make himself just enough room to spin, arms already coming up even as Tommy hooks a chin over his shoulder and digs into the meat of it.

Tommy's back is tense at Buck's first pass, but by the time he's rubbed up and down another two times he's sort of melted bonelessly into Buck's front, a few shuddering sighs drawing from somewhere deep inside his chest to make a home in Buck's collar bone.

He wants to stick Tommy in his pocket and take care of him, but barring any shrink ray technology he'll settle for being a safe place for Tommy to land.

"Love you," Buck murmurs into the hair curling over Tommy's ear - because he can, because the word had been so terrifyingly easy to say the first time and has only gotten better from there.

Tommy huffs against his cheek. "Trying to pepper me with words to get me off you? Not gonna work. Might just stay here all night now.*

*We'd get uncomfortable standing so long." Tommy hums. "We wouldn't be able to eat."

"Can't have that."

"I'll let you play footsie with me for dinner."

"I'm close to accepting your terms. You got a kicker?"

"There's cannoli in the fridge for after."

Tommy whistles, impressed and only a little mocking. "I get five spontaneous handholds, too," he negotiates, like Buck doesn't blush deep as a tomato every time Tommy snags his hand just to hold it.

"Are they still spontaneous if -."

"Yes."

"Shake on it?"

Tommy flicks his tongue against his teeth. Seems to contemplate it for a moment, and then licks a line up Buck's neck instead. "That binding enough for you?"

Buck doesn't bother to hide the way his dick twitches against the seam of his zipper. Tommy chuckles.

"That a yes?"

Buck only eyes up Tommy's neck for soot before he follows Tommy's example.

[josephquinnswhore]

where you go, I go - stalker joel miller x female reader AU.

summary: joel hasn’t been the same since ex his wife abandoned him and his daughter, but he’s been watching you for months.. you’re the perfect replacement.

word count: 1.1k

content warning: extreme stalking, harassment, unhealthy infatuation, murder, brief mention of potential kidnapping, unhealthy idealism, manipulation, gaslighting.

Today was really not the day for this, your complete lack of intolerance to bullshit had reached its capacity.

But this had been happening every attempt for the past week, a relatively new and frankly.. abruptly confusing issue.

The button on your key fob for your car makes the indicators flash orange each attempt to pry the boot open. With a click or the button, it’s supposed to open the boot automatically.

But your car doesn’t do that, no. It insists on a one armed wrestling match while you have to click the button simultaneously.

Thanks to Joel, the man that has been absolutely infatuated with you for months, since you’d hired them for a minor job, just a custom order bookshelf. Not something the men would typically accept but Joel was absolutely infatuated with you.

Since then he hadn’t ever been far from where you were. Even if that meant showing up to your house at night and sabotaging apart of your car.

It’s hot out. These Texan summers were no joke and with no breeze, the beads of sweat meticulously lined upon your forehead, not one inch of it wasn’t covered in sweat.

“Come on!” With a grunt of frustration, you attempt to wrestle the boot open again, pushing it down to try and get the latch unstuck.

He watches on as you struggle with the boot of your car for the third time this week alone, how you managed to live your life without a man to take care of you was a real mystery to him.

As amusing as it is to watch you struggle, he figures he needs to approach before some other man offers a helping hand. The last thing Joel needs is to bury another goddamn prick on your behalf. You should be thanking Joel, really.

But he understands, you don’t know. You’re vulnerable, completely none the wiser to the fact that a man that mowed your lawn once a fortnight, had managed to peep through your bathroom window and caught a glance of your bare skin while you were showering.

Unaware that anyone was watching you groan again in frustration, about ready to pull your hair out. “Why the hell is this happening to me today?!”

“Excuse me, miss?” A well recognised Southern, Texan accent calls out to you with a hint of amusement and curiosity. Turning around, the man was closer than you’d expected.

“You need something?” Perhaps you were snappier than you should’ve been, and he raises a singular eyebrow at you.

“I’m sorry. I just.. need help with this. Pain in the ass. I have cold stuff and it’s hot as shit out here!” You ramble incessantly to the man who just tilts his head.

As he steps forward. “Mind if I give it a try?”

“Good luck to you—“ before you could even finish the scornful sentence the boot was open.

“How did you do that?” Disbelief wavering in your tone.

He shrugs, folding his arms over his chest, the shirt tightens and the muscles in his arms bulge. A fitting distraction to keep your eyes away from the fact that he had just sneakily attached a tracking tab onto your car. Underneath the number plate.

Now, he already knew your home address. But he had to make sure that you weren’t seeing anyone.

You were certain he had caught you staring. “These older models have a few minor issues, I learnt that working on my own truck, I suppose.”

Now that were true. But he wouldn’t really tell you the reason he knew how to fix this particular issue.

“What’s your name anyway?”

He starts packing your groceries into the now open boot, a few bags in each hand at a time.

The veins in his forearms protrude out of the skin.

“Joel. Joel Miller.”

Once he’s finished packing your groceries away, he closes the boot. “Shouldn’t have no more issues with it.”

You raise a brow. “You’re not gonna ask my name?”

He doesn’t want to, because he already knows it.

He almost laughs, almost. “What is your name, miss?”

When you reply with your name, he doesn’t at all seem phased, which was odd. “You kinda look familiar, actually.”

He keeps a calm expression, looking around the carpark as he gives a warm smile. “I live around here. Do contracting for a lot of houses around town.”

He could’ve felt his gut drop in that moment, maybe you’d figured him out. Perhaps you were about to call him out on what he’s been doing, sneaking around your goddamn house at night, sabotaging the boot so that it wouldn’t open properly.

Perhaps if that were the worst case scenario, he would just have to whack you on the head and shove you into the boot of your little car and drive you to his house. Chain you up and explain that he’s not a bad guy, he just cares for you. No one else cares for you like he does.

Thankfully, it doesn't come to that, because you’re clueless, really. It’s sad to see that you don’t protect yourself. If Joel could get away with all of this unseen. Imagine the real creeps that would take advantage of you.

Joel had been creating all of these minor issues for you, so that you would perhaps seek him out if he happened to.. by chance.. be nearby.

Come to think of it, there was a white pickup that had some sort of business name on the side of it. Been around your street a few times this week, actually. Perhaps he’s got work in the area?

Ain’t really your business to ask though.

“Yeah, I suppose. Thanks anyway, for this.. I should get home now. Don’t want all the dairy and meat to spoil.”

By now you really should be leaving.. but you feel compelled to give the helpful man your number.

“Maybe I can thank you properly one day for lending a hand.”

You quickly scribble it down on the back of your long docket and hand it to him.

“I’ll contact you,” albeit a simple response, he vows to you.

He takes the half crumpled paper with your number and nods with a warm smile, watching you as you get into your car and thank him again through the window before driving off.

A grim smile on his wicked lips as he watches the car leave the parking lot, knowing that even now, as you left, he would know where you were.

Because where you were, Joel was always following close behind. He did, after all.. think you were perfect. The missing piece of the puzzle to his family. The right woman to give his daughter a caring, loving mother. And you—would be his wife. Joel was taking all the steps necessary to ensure it.

He would have he perfect family. He would have you.

Finally, with the number in hand, he was one step closer.

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐘

# with black-leg sanji.

sanji had always been willing to concede to your every desire — and who was he to cower if that involved a strap-on?

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day twenty-two. smut (mdni!). pegging. strap-on. fingering (sanji!receivig). afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2k.

black-leg sanji spent his entire lifespan begging a higher duty for love to be bestowed upon him. and when he at last, had it — had you — he all but hoped to somewhat get used to being loved. he adored you, willing to grovel at your feet and obey to your every desire, whether or not it was attainable. if you were to request for moonstone, sanji would sky-walk until he reached it; if you were to request for a fish found in the north blue, he’d swim from the new world if only to cook you the said desired dish. it was natural, for love to him was all-consuming, similar to the flames that enveloped his legs. sanji wasn’t, however, used to said behavior being reciprocated. he could see the eagerness mirrored in your eyes, the explicit love shown through them, and that terrified him.

getting comfortable with requesting, rather than giving, had taken him a bit of time, yet he grew used to it, for you were all but excited to concede to his desires — and on god, he had at least half a hundred. you agreed on being fucked with nothing but his apron; tried every single position he suggested; allowed him to smear you with whipped cream and clean you with his tongue. sex and the vulnerability that came with it started to excite him, no longer a source of terror, rather an opportunity to turn his wildest, longest fantasies into reality — until he found that you were not sharing your own whatsoever.

your excitement was as palpable as your eagerness to please him. your knowledge on certain sexual aspects, too, was far too telling. sanji was sure you had desires of your own — that he was desperate to realize — yet, months-in passed and you remained settled; conformed. he grew a bit anxious, fearing that you were not quite as comfortable with him. it was a considerable issue that he was keen on solving.

sanji prepared your most favored snack, and made sure to get you alone in the afternoon, curled up with a book in the leisure room. he placed the metal tray on the table, hugging your shoulders with a lovesick glance as you complimented his cooking skills, smiling ever-so-slightly at the nitid sight of his adoration. he started out with innocent, borderline silly questions — the status of your day so far; the topic of your book; the quality of your sleep — until his lips grew latched to your neck, spreading his tongue and leaving a hot trail of kisses that had you melting. when he had you clouded with lust, back pressed against the couch as his figure hovered over yours, he whispered into your flesh, repeating the same inquiry you made him a dozen times before.

“what are we trying out today?” your muscles grew rigid for the briefest moment, quickly masked yet with not enough speed for him not to have noticed.

“what do you have in mind?” you questioned, fingers treading through his hair and hips rolling against his own in an attempt to diverge the subject.

sanji’s expression softened, aiming to offer certain reassurance. “i was hoping you would pick, my love.”

you cleared your throat, avoiding his glance for the briefest instance. he softly touched your chin, guiding your face to meet his own. he caressed your face with his thumb, quietly conveying his emotions. he hated the idea of cornering you in such a way; of forcing you to move past your comfort zone. yet, at the same time, sanji was in dire need of some answers — and willing to use certain tactics to receive them.

“i doubt you’d be into it,” you softly whispered, and he clicked his tongue in certain shock. the limits he’d be willing to cross for the sake of your pleasure were, in fairness, embarrassing. he was positive you could make his cock hard even if your idea involved cross-dressing as queen — which said enough of his situation.

“mon chéri,” he mumbled, brushing his lips against yours. “there’s hardly anything i wouldn’t do for you.”

“well,” you started out, voice so low he could barely hear it. “i’d like to fuck you.”

“yes?”

“in the ass.”

his world stopped for a second or two — mind struggling to wrap itself around the request. yet, treacherous thoughts swirled through, tempting him soon enough. sanji’s fantasies had always been focused on having you bent down; bare; vulnerable. cunt throbbing, warm and wet around his cock. he never once pictured himself being the one in the receiving end — and, oh, how stupid he had been. sanji shuddered, thinking of whips and blindfolds; of high heels on his crotch and collar wrapped around his neck. your eyes were tethered to his face, accessing his reaction, and once you noticed he was considering it, you moved in a way that had him crumbling.

“please, sanji,” you pleaded, biting his earlobe. “i will take such good care of you.”

and he caved. the conversation thereafter, of course, hadn’t been as exciting. boundaries had to be settled, as well as the means to leave him comfortable. your pleasure, too, was important. sanji was unwilling to abandon that belief, and was set on a strap-on that could, too, tease your clit. since sanji had never done such a thing, he had no lube stored whatsoever, meaning the act itself had to be delayed for a painful amount of weeks. when the sunny, at last, reached an island with a store that sold the necessary equipment, neither could find the specific strap-on he demanded.

you bought it regardless, much too eager to wait, stating that franky could solve the vibration issue within the interval of a breath, sanji giving in at the undeniable truth that followed thereafter to convince him — the cyborg, for sure, was into that as well, therefore he wouldn’t mind altering it. at last, with financial aid from nami, you rented a shared room for the night, and sanji had requested a particular instance of privacy to take quite a long shower.

regardless, sanji was bare and on all-fours. his knees and elbows sunk into the soft mattress as he struggled to maintain a proper balance, whimpering as you trailed kisses down his spine, your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb teasing the swollen tip. he was leaking; awfully close to cumming, as though a mere virgin. sanji had his back arched, aiming to make for a dazzling view; refusing to be positioned as though a limp sack of potatoes. he wished to present a decent sight, realizing much too late that he had been attempting to mimic you. his admiration at your usual endurance, however, disappeared through the fog of pleasure that overcame him when you sucked on the dimples above his rear.

two of your fingers teased his entrance, a sweet bite on the flesh of his ass following-in-suit. he shuddered, tensing up ever-so-slightly in anticipation. “relax, love. i got you.”

the lube’s lid opened, the unfamiliar sound of it being poured on your fingers. sanji gasped when your index and middle slid inside him, a surprised — yet delighted — hum making itself heard once you realized that he was far more prepared due to the previously taken shower. he whined, rutting into your palm; drooling onto the pillow trapped in between his lips. a scissoring pattern stretched his hole, inserting them knuckles deep. sanji shout came out muffled, his eyes rolling down when your tongue teased his perineum.

“wait!” he pleaded, his arms trembling as you ignored him altogether.

instead, your palm increased its pace on his cock, teasing the shaft with his pre-cum. the sounds — mingled with those of your fingers thrusting into his hole — were lewd, and sanji had never experienced such stimulation before. he came unannounced on your awaiting hand, struggling to maintain his composure as his load smeared your flesh. he rolled his hips, chasing his own high as you cooed at him, not once daring to remove your fingers — instead, adding a third one.

“that’s it,” you soothed, hand milking him dry. “let go for me, baby, c’mon.”

sanji sobbed, crumbling altogether, legs no longer able to sustain his own weight. he fell on your hand, hips raising in the slightest as he allowed you to retreat your palm. a choir of apologies, mingled with gradual moans, escaped past his swollen, chewed lips.

“shhh,” you mumbled, brushing his waist with featherlike fingers, guiding his back to be pressed against the mattress.

you had once stated that the clit-teasing strap-on was unnecessary, for the merest sight of him — whimpering and struggling under you — should be more than enough to bring you pleasure. he hadn’t believed it then, a mistake he could now understand. your pupils were blown wide, mouth parted and nipples hardening under the tight fabric of your corset. sanji’s breath caught in his throat when your cum-coated hand slid into your faux dick, coating the strap with his own essence before you reached for the lube bottle.

he grew hard yet again when you licked your palm, grunting at the taste of his cum on your tongue. sanji observed through half-lidded eyes as you poured lube onto your hand, mingling it with the cum spread on the strap.

“mon trésor,” he whined, toes curling as he struggled to keep his hands to himself. “please.”

your glance softened, knees dug into the mattress as your hands spread him open. sanji conceded to your mute requests, raising his hips so that you could place a pillow underneath; wrapping his legs around your waist. a sudden buzzing filled the room, a moan tearing through your throat as the inner inch of the strap vibrated against your clit. the tip lingered on his hole for an instance, before you slid inside, stuffing him to the hilt.

sanji whimpered, allowing your hand to wrap itself around his wrist for further balance. you found a decent rhythm and he cried out right thereafter, crimson flushing his cheeks as you brushed against his prostate. gibberish spilled in his native language; back arching in desperation. blood slipped from his face to his chest, his hand slapping his nose in embarrassment at the realization of what had happened. the sight of it had affected you more than it should, and your thrusts grew harsher; faster.

sanji caught himself thanking the choice of renting a room, for his moans spilled louder than the both of you were used to. he wiped the blood from his nose, covering his mouth to contain his sounds, and you made a grunt of disappointment.

“now, now,” you pouted, retreating your hips for the merest instance, all but to shove the strap inside to the hilt yet again. “i want to hear you, my love. will you let me hear you?”

sanji nodded, quietly placing his wrist at the mercy of your hand yet again. yet another harsh thrust had him mewling, your chest heaving as the vibration increased on your swollen clit.

“use your words, loverboy,” you teased, rolling your hips in a languid manner.

“y-yes, my seastar,” sanji folded, gasping as he struggled to contain the strength of the grip of his legs around your figure; caging you. your palm trailed down to his neglected cock, pumping it in pace with your constricted thrusts, and he moaned in sheer desperation.

“is it g-good,” he sobbed, surprisingly cock-drunk, words a mumble. “for you too, my sweet?”

“of course,” you answered, gasping when the tip of the strap reached a particularly deep spot within him. “always feel gold with you.”

tears pooled on the corners of his eyes, glee filling him with your words. you speed up your tempo, fucking into him with a lewd and reckless abandon, the grip and slide of the strap ensuing an approaching orgasm to the brim. your grip grew harsher on his cock, and he was sent over the edge. his back arched, moaning your name, walls clenching around him as he whined, cum sent straight into his stomach. once you released his wrists, sweat-coated skin and soakened cleavage, sanji gripped your hips and shoved you deeper, eyes pleading; earsight tethered to the buzzing of the strap.

he was flushed; bangs glued to his forehead. wild breathing; cum-stained abdomen. his legs trembled around you, muscles straining as his eyes tethered to your face. “cum, mon ange. please, please, can you cum?”

you sighed in delight, ignoring the leftover mess on his stomach to collapse into his chest, brushing your nose against his neck; licking the salty sweat lingering on the flesh.

“don’t think it will be enough,” you mumbled, raising your head to look at him through your eyelashes. “could you help me cum, sanji?”

he was sore; limp. white glued to his abdomen, his legs had no strength left whatsoever. yet, his hands moved on his own, teasing the tight waistband of the strap. sanji had always been one to cum fast — and to harden yet again with twice the speed. so, when he grinned for the briefest second, throwing your back against the mattress and raising your legs to slip the strap off, you knew you were on for the long ride.

— 🐈‍⬛ : i need to fuck this man pregnant.

[sunderwight]

Reverse transmigration bingqiu except instead of Bingge turning up in Shen Yuan's world, it's white lotus disciple Binghe who does.

Shen Yuan, currently in his last year of high school, finds him and thinks he's a troubled homeless kid who has latched onto a character from a web novel as an intense form of escapism. He's initially just going to hand him over to some authorities of some kind but the kid seems so lost and scared, instead he ends up deciding to personally use his family's connections to help him or at least find his actual family or something (of course, doesn't turn anything up).

Baby Binghe is brand new to Qing Jing peak in the timeline he left from, so he doesn't have any idea of cultivating. With his demon blood still locked, he's a normal kid. But he's smart! He figures out basic appliances and picks up other modern facilities pretty quickly, wins over SY's family, and eagerly decides to keep living with him when SY moves out for the first time. SY's almost feeling bad because he definitely got the better end of this deal. His family manages to enroll LBH in school and they get him a bunch of lessons on things he seems interested in, and even so this kid still finds time to do a better job cooking and cleaning than SY, whose schedule is less packed.

A couple years pass. SY is beginning to accept that this is a permanent situation. So is LBH, who is kind of sad that he won't be able to fulfill his mother's dream of him becoming a cultivator, but actually really likes living in the magic shiny future with Shen Yuan and wouldn't change it now even if he could. SY is looking at long-term things for organizing Luo Binghe's further education, travel, etc. He's come out of his shell, is more active in the world and with his family because he needs to make sure his young ward gets proper socialization! (SY's family think LBH is the best thing that ever happened to him, and don't point out that they're actually only a few years apart in age; except Shen Meimei, who is the same age as LBH.) Meanwhile Luo Binghe's life plan is veering towards "housewife" aspirations, but he's still too shy to mention that to the object of his crush. It's okay though, he's got time! He'll get older and then figure out how best to approach the situation! (And in the meanwhile run off anyone else who tries to date his future husband...)

Of course, that's when it turns out that the system sent him here as an emergency measure to get him out of the way while it resolved a major issue with the actual setting. When the issues are repaired, it yanks LBH back. He finds himself returned to the exact same moment he left, in the same physical state, the years he spent living with Shen Yuan seemingly erased.

Going back to Qing Jing Peak after all that is difficult. No, worse, it's almost completely intolerable. Luo Binghe has been treated right and had a good life and now it's just gone. He has no idea how to get back.

But, that's why he has to stay. Because if there is a way to get back, then his best shot at figuring it out is learning how to cultivate, and devouring every single book in Qing Jing Peak's library, and then every other sect's library if need be. It is possible to move between worlds! He knows, because he did it! He just needs to find the way to do it again, permanently. So he stays and he deals with Shen Qingqiu's cruelty and the bullying of his sect mates, but he doesn't hold out any hope for them to improve. Instead he tries his best to hold his own ground, uses things he learned from Shen Yuan's world to steal whatever advantages he can, and pushes his way through any obstacles or competition.

He hates Shen Qingqiu, though. Especially because he has the surname Shen. Shen Yuan's family was good to him, so it seems like a cruel joke of fate that his shizun is so dead set against him. Something that could have been a comfort is instead a bitter twist of the knife.

But then a couple of years into this, Shen Qingqiu... changes?

After suffering a qi deviation, he stops beating Luo Binghe at the slightest provocation. He stops beating any of his students, in fact. He gives Binghe medicine, actually starts teaching classes, rescues Luo Binghe from a malicious skin-stealing demon, takes the blow of an incurable poison to save him from another demon, even gives him the side room of his own house to stay in. The bullying ends and the atmosphere on Qing Jing Peak changes, like night and day. Somehow he goes from being Shen Qingqiu's most hated student to being his clear favorite, even doted on disciple.

Luo Binghe is not going to fall in love with this new reformed Shen Qingqiu, though. He isn't! His heart is not so fickle that he will just fall in love with anyone who is kind to him! His love for Shen Yuan, that was real. And Shen Yuan would tell him that even though Shen Qingqiu seems to have changed, Luo Binghe shouldn't just forget about the past, because what if Shen Qingqiu returns to that behavior? It might not happen, but if it does then Luo Binghe must react accordingly.

But it's difficult, sometimes. This new Shizun, he's... he's really... sometimes he seems just like...

But Luo Binghe won't fall in love with him!

No matter what, he won't stay. He has to figure out how to move between worlds, and get back to Shen Yuan. Who he REALLY loves. Not Shen Qingqiu. He is in love with Shen Yuan and he is not falling in love with Shen Qingqiu.

At all.

[yaespook]

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame. 

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant. 

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems. 

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.) 

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.” 

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face. 

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place. 

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks. 

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight. 

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up. 

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises. 

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him. 

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down. 

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth). 

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery. 

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground. 

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly. 

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him. 

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-” 

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.” 

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[darlingwriter]

💫🎀 with Ghost? Like he gets all tipsy and lovey. I honestly see this man as a lovesick puppy once you give him a lil bit of attention

Also if you’re keeping track of anons can I be 🧃anon?

a/n: okay first of all you're absolutely correct and you should say it. secondly, i've never had to track anons before and i'm actually so honoured! you can totally be 🧃 anon! 💗

fic: gn!reader x simon "ghost" riley tags: fluff warnings: none wordcount: under 1k

Strictly speaking, you and Simon really aren’t supposed to be sharing quarters. You’re definitely violating at least a dozen regulations by spending almost every night in his bed. Then again, not many people are willing to argue with a six-foot-three man in a skull mask, so strictly speaking has never really been an issue.

No, the only issue is that it’s almost ten and he’s not back from drinks with Soap and Gaz yet and you’re deeply regretting not going with him because, as it turns out, hanging out in this apartment all by yourself is, big surprise, actually pretty fucking boring.

It feels like a millennium passes by in the confines of the white walls before you at last hear a familiar knock at the door.

Setting down your book, you unfold yourself from the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, already mourning the loss of warmth as you shuffle across a cold hardwood floor to let the lieutenant in, one quilt still wrapped loosely around your shoulders, trailing behind you as you reach for the latch.

Simon’s pulling you into a hug almost the second you open the door, burying a fabric-covered face against your hair.

“You’re late,” you mumble into his chest, in an unsuccessful attempt to sound scolding.

“I know, ‘m sorry, lovely, cab took fuckin’ forever.” He shoves the door shut behind him. Leans back against it. “Ended up standin’ in the rain for ‘bout an hour.” He strips off a damp jacket. Pulls off his mask, revealing stubble and scars and a smile. “Missed you th’ whole time.”

“Sappy bastard.”

“Mmph.” The scent of bourbon whiskey still lingers on his skin, warm and a little smokey. He wraps the blanket — which has been slowly slipping off over the course of the exchange — back around you. “You like it.” You scoff and roll your eyes, and he cups your face with his hands and grins. “You’re cute.”

“You’re drunk,” you protest through squished cheeks.

“M’right, though.” He chuckles. Pulls you close again. Sinks down onto the couch, and you’re pulled down with him, his thick arms wrapped around you protectively as he rests his chin atop your head.

“Simon.”

“Lovely.”

“Breathing.”

“Not important,” he murmurs.

You sigh in defeat. Melt into the embrace. “You’re warm.” The words are muffled against his neck. Simon hums in acknowledgement. Presses a soft kiss against your temple.

“You too, lovely.”

[akuma-coffee]

Can I request Gojo and walking in on him showering? 🥺

order for anon! gojo x reader request menu

cw: walking in on gojo, nudity, suggestive!

mdni!

shoko’s bathroom doesn’t have a lock.

at first, this bothered you. the fear of being intruded upon would often plague your thoughts, however as time passed and you grew used to this knowledge, you didn’t dwell on it. it wasn’t exactly like you were bathing in her house; it would only be a few minutes spent within those 4 walls before you’d be back in the lounge with the others.

satoru and suguru would frequently joke about walking in on one another to newcomers (nanami's horrified expression when learning of the bathroom’s unusual feature comes to mind), though you were thankful to be past that fear.

it wasn’t until you’d gone to shoko’s apartment alone that the lock would become an issue.

it had been a long day at work. an influx in sightings coupled with the fact their were less sorcerers available meant your missions were growing steadily in difficulty. usually, a grade 1's exorcism would be a quick job for you, though today had been different. an unusual curse of intelligence, one that had been the conductor of a lengthy fight, resulted in a near grievous amount of damage to your body. for the most part you had felt confident, though by the end of it, you weren’t so sure you were going to win. you had, though.

shoko was always ready to patch you up, and just as quickly as you’d released the veil and returned to the school, your injuries were healed.

“just go back to my apartment, take a shower, and we’ll drink tonight.” she held her keys before your face, the metal chiming as one key hit another. opening your mouth slowly you begin to protest, though glancing at her stern expression, you decide to do what the woman says.

“it is friday.” you weren’t sure if the response was to convince yourself or to encourage her but you take her keys nonetheless, leaving medical to venture back to shoko's, not too far away.

your shoes are kicked off at the door, a heavy breath escaping dry lips as you close it behind you, keys strewed into the dish at the entry way. there’s a whirr in your ears and you can’t seem to remember if that’s simply the apartment, or if it’s your headache manifesting into something worse.

shoko’s room is by no means neat, just like the rest of her apartment. there’s papers in here too, stacked on a dresser, and most of her laundry is thrown just shy of the washing basket. thankfully you’re able to find some of the pyjamas she’d mentioned, and a (definitely used) towel. the next stop is the bathroom, handle placed in your palm and pulled down, door pushed open-

in the shower is a figure, pale and tall. you’re faced not with their head, but instead their groin. there’s water on his skin, droplets dripping down wet flesh.

“gonna take a photo?” satoru’s voice rakes through your body, and you jump at the sudden noise. at last, your eyes fly upward to meet his blue ones, your mouth ajar as your fingers clutch at the musty towel in your hand.

you stand for a few more moments to fester in your shock, and much like a deer in headlights, you're faced with the decision to either run or face your own death. at present, your body decides not to run, but to instead crash and burn before the cockiest person known to man. his grin is wide as he stares down at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes.

you’re finally released from your mental prison, heading straight to shoko’s room to slam the door behind you, sitting in front of the wood. with your back against the door you close your eyes, attempting to reach some sort of medatative state with your quick breaths, but one does not come.

instead, you hear footsteps coming toward you, and the door handle above your head rattles.

“go away.” your voice is quiet but you know he hears you, the squeak of metal and clunk of the latch signalling that he had let go. after a few painfully long minutes you decide satoru's left by now - you’re almost sure you hear the quiet droning of the tv, but as you swing the door open you realise how wrong you were.

satoru is not in the lounge but instead stood waiting for you, back to the wall, arms crossed over chest. thankfully, he is now dressed, a black longsleeve and grey sweats with hair still wet and messy.

“done with your tantrum?” he’s already teasing you seconds after you’re faced with him, your face burning hot in embarrassment.

“i was just in shock.” your voice is low.

“ah, long enough to get a good look?” there’s a sneer to his tone that you don’t appreciate.

“it was an accident - i don’t know what you want me to say. sorry?” you huff, hurrying past him as there's a clatter at the front door, and it opens to reveal shoko.

“you didn’t say satoru was gonna be here.” she doesn’t have a chance to take her shoes off before you're greeting her with your annoyance. she smells like cigarettes, and the bags under her eyes hang low. they’re purple, and etched into her skin as every other imperfection, mole, and freckle.

“satoru’s here?” she rolls her eyes. “well, that’s news to me.”

“she’s just mad because she walked in on me showering-“

“shut up satoru-“

“and stared at my naked body with awe.” the back of his hand flies to the top of his head for dramatic effect, and shoko’s brow raises. she doesn’t speak for a few seconds, glancing between your sheepish frown and his grin before finally sighing, the pack of cigarettes you hadn’t noticed until now being opened, and one placed between her lips.

“right.” she walks past the pair of you to the lounge, on route to her usual perch over the balcony for yet another smoke.

you whip round in annoyance, scowl ever present over your face as you look to satoru. even with him fully dressed and radiating confidence in an annoyingly childish manner, you still feel your stomach twist, flashbacks echoing over your eyes.

“stop with that, it’s embarrassing okay?” your final hope is honesty, a last ditch effort to save yourself from the white mop of hair. he's at the very least a sadist, but you hope that deep down he might care for your feelings, and perhaps will refrain from clout chasing if your emotional state were to be at risk.

“stop with what?” satoru’s teasing makes you doubt your initial thought process.

“please.” you look at him with your heart on your sleeve now, practically on your hands and knees. “don’t tell anyone else.”

satoru’s face softens, only for a second but you swear you see it; his brow gently raising and the curve of his lips falling to no longer crease at the edges, but all hope is immediately lost as the smile returns only as quickly as it had dampened.

“what if we break even?”

“satoru…”

“you saw me, i’ll see you, then you won’t have a one up on me.” it feels like he's wearing a snarl as his teeth peak through his lips, much like a beast hunting it’s prey. it certainly feels like that, your concerned gaze captured in his jaw.

“you’re the one with the step up, not me.” you sigh, but for some reason your heart is racing. he’s relentless, you know that, and the curious part of you wants to entertain his idea.

“fine.” without second thought, you grab ahold of his wrist, tugging at the lanky limb to bring him toward the bathroom, pulling him into the doorway and slamming it behind him before you’d had a chance to release the breath caught in your chest.

you pulled the loose t-shirt over your head (one of shoko’s old band tees) and threw it to the floor. the trousers were next, drawstrings tugged apart and elastic waistband dropped to ankle.

by the time you had stripped off, satoru’s expression had dropped, face displaying a genuine state of surprise that you swear you’ve never seen before now.

the trousers are tugged up, t-shirt pulled back over your head, and satoru is still stood in the same position, mouth still ajar. you momentarily pause to say something before escaping, only when your eyes were lost in his, nothing comes to mind. instead, you choose to flee the awkward air and relieve the tension set heavy in your chest, slipping through the exit and running straight to find shoko. she is only just coming through the balcony door.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” shoko speaks and you’re a little startled, though as you start to reply in confusion, you feel an arm drape over your shoulder, pulling you toward his torso.

“nah, we were just chatting.” you breathe deeply beside him, trying to maintain your poise. there’s a little bit of nausea rising through you as the weight of your actions set in.

shoko doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push either, simply throwing herself on the couch, still dressed in the turtleneck and chinos she’d been sporting beneath her coat.

“well, you can keep one another company while i go to the store. we’re out of beer, who would’ve guessed.” she points her finger between yourself and satoru, who is now sitting down beside the brunette.

“maybe you need to stop inviting us over to drown our sorrows.” you joke lightly and shoko rolls her eyes.

“what do you expect if you ask me for help?” she places both hands on each leg, standing. “don’t kill each other,” she’s by the lounge door, putting her jacket over her shoulders and pulling her hair from the back of it. “or do, i don’t care.”

this was longer than i had initially planned but oh well! thank you anon, please send more requests! this was so much fun.

[phoenixyfriend]

I have another AU. Whoo!

Saw a youtube thumbnail that caused some free association...

And imagined an odd little Setting where a bored Padme orders a like… LMD-style droid that looks and acts mostly human, because she's lonely and wants to pretend she has a boyfriend, and then the box arrives and she puts the 'droid' together like it's an IKEA bookshelf, and it wakes up and introduces itself as "Anakin Skywalker."

And so Padme starts living out this idyllic fantasy with a live-in househusband that's mostly like a butler that she can cuddle at night. Maybe sex happens maybe not. Doesn't matter. Mostly just Padme indulging in some relaxing fantasy time.

And then he gets a virus and goes Vader mode, and she has to fight for her life against her robot boyfriend.

(Padme has a date with this dashing young captain in the army who made a comment about how he's a bit uncomfortable with the droid boyfriend he saw in a linen closet.)

Little bit of "Megan," little bit of like… idk Disney's "Smart House" or any other movie where the robot starts thinking it's human, gets yandere about the love interest, and decides to do murder about it.

@atagotiak said: Maybe the virus or glitch or whatever isn't obvious immediately, just when she starts to maybe be interested in a human…

So yeah, the virus isn't super noticeable at first, buuuut then Rex shows up and. Well.

As @jebiknights put it:

Captain Rex being weird about the robot boyfriend is great Yes he's pretty but why is he here why is he in your closet just why

She was LONELY and she DOESN'T TRUST MEN because they keep trying to STEAL STATE SECRETS FROM HER DATAPADS, okay?

Her last real relationship was with Clovis, who was getting bribed to steal information on legislation she was drafting for tech safety stuff.

"My last boyfriend was slicing into my private servers to violate republic security and I was paranoid about that so I got a robot boyfriend." "Couldn't he slice in even more easily?" "I mean probably, but he can't really be bribed and I had a friend go through his code to make sure he didn't have any external loyalties, so he wouldn't."

The friend was R2-D2, which is great, buuuuuut Anakin not having any outside loyalties doesn't prevent his firewalls from getting fucked up.

jebiknights:

Omg r2d2 and Anakin mega best friends in this Artoo LOVES harassing high strung droids

I think somehow she and Rex manage to neutralize Anakin without 'killing' him and he? ends up in the care of Obi-Wan? I don't know why or how or what's going on but Anakin ends up latching on to Obi-Wan like a dog to the owner that's the most generous with the treats.

It could end with murdering the evil bot, but I think it's funny for him to just end up Obi-Wan's problem. Like always.

Padme: This droid is uh. Well he's designed to be a boyfriend? To deal with being lonely? Please don't judge me. Obi-Wan: I don't, uh. I don't need a boyfriend. I just need to figure out what happened in the code to cause this so we can let the manufacturer know. Padme, embarrassed: Listen, you can probably just leave him shut down in a corner or something, I'm just worried that trying to deactivate him entirely could reactivate the murder mode? Anyway, mostly he just wants… you know… to sleep in my bed and make dinner and stuff. So you can probably keep him happy while you investigate the issue by just letting him cook for you or something. Obi-Wan: I don't know that I'm comfortable with letting a designed-for-romance droid sleep in my bed with me. Anakin, gauging Obi-Wan's face for his age: I do not need to be a boyfriend. Obi-Wan, unnerved and relieved: Oh, good. Anakin: I will be your son. Obi-Wan: What.

Anakin is making himself Obi-Wan's problem. Padme is mortified. Rex is just icing his shoulder.

@firebirdeternal offered:

I like the idea that Anakin isn't any less evil he's just in charge of like. A single holo-display with no internet access. The worst he can do is be emo in Obi-wan's living room when he's trying to read. "First step in solving the problem of evil sapient technology: Don't hook them up to anything with a connection or a motor. Second step: Don't let them on your Spotify account or they will ruin your recommendations for months."

[evielmostdefinitely]

I know you must be busy, but i just have to share this with you. You can get to it whenever you want to. Can you write about reader and coryo finding out that reader is pregnant? You can do whatever you want with that. Anyway, i love your work so much and please never stop writing. You write for coryo so perfectly ❤️ thank you

sprouting in spring |coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, you and coryo find out you're pregnant.

also sorry for the delay, i've just been super busy with life. going to try to update more!

contains: pregnancy. female reader. dark/possessive coryo. mentions of struggles getting pregnant/ infertility. duke reader. language. capitol!reader.

“It will only take a moment, Mrs. Snow.” Doctor Crane nodded, sealing the vial of your blood. You pretended not to see the way his hands shook when your assigned Peacekeeper adjusted the gun in his arms. His uniform had been modified, all the Peacekeeper’s had, the newest order your husband had put out. 

It felt colder somehow when the doctor left, a Peacekeeper following him closely. The sterile room with its too bright lights that made you squint at the harshness, stomach turning with nerves. 

You wished Coriolanus was here. You weren’t sure why this time you were so anxious, why you missed him so. He only came to a handful of your appointments, the ones his schedule would allow for. Since the two of you began trying, Coryo insisted you were to be tested every single day. 

“I want to know the moment it happens.” Coriolanus had rasped, eyes dark with a primal need, still buried deep inside you. “I don’t want a single second to pass by without me knowing.”  

So everyday at three, precisely, the Capitol’s doctor would usher you into the same frigid room, and draw a small vile of blood to test. Each day, so far, he’d come back with negative results. With each passing day, the both of you began to worry. Doctor Crane had mentioned at the last appointment that there were treatments available, other options, if this problem persisted. 

You were glad Coriolnaus wasn’t there for that appointment. You knew he’d be able to sense your upset at the poor choice of words the doctor used- that he’d have his head for insinuating that you were the issue. 

The door latched, startling you from your thoughts, your stomach plummeting at the neutrality on Crane’s face- the same as it was every day, always bringing the news you weren’t looking for. 

“Mrs. Snow,” Doctor Crane sat, the familiar papers in his hands, only this time- they didn’t shake. 

You steeled yourself, a slow inhale to steady your nerves, your emotions, at least until you returned to the sanctuary of your home.

 “Congratulations.” The sigh never came, your breath hitching and halting in your throat with surprise. 

Crane gave a soft smile, passing the papers towards you. “You’ve tested positive.” If his words weren’t enough, there in bold letters were the results- Pregnant. 

“I-I- Really?” You squeaked. You hated how dull you sounded, knowing Coryo would be embarrassed of your lack of composure. 

Crane didn’t seem to notice, nodding instead. “Yes, Mrs. Snow.” He stood. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.” 

Your ears rang, the new found reality not yet setting in. Crane’s instructions falling dull against your racing mind, thoughts consumed and rushing with only one thing- Coriolanus. 

You couldn’t wait to tell him, nearly running through the halls towards his office, clutching the results neatly in your hand. A shaking hand lifted to knock on the large door of his office. 

“Who is it?” Coriolanus snapped, and you could picture his pinched expression, huffing with annoyance at the intrusion. 

“It’s me.” You called, looking into the camera above the door, biting back your own grin. “Let me in.” 

The mechanical whirr came, unlatching the door before you stepped through, carefully closing it back. Coriolanus stood when you entered, eyes narrowed in a predatory way that left you shivering. 

“What is it, my darling?” Coryo hummed, stepping towards you. “Has something happened?” 

“No- well, yes, but it’s not bad.” You stammered dumbly, head spinning with excitement. “I just came back from the doctor.” 

Coriolanus' face fell. “And?” He rasped, voice dropping to a near whisper. 

You swallowed your own gleeful giggles, lips pressed in a tight line to keep yourself from blurting out the good news. Instead, you handed him the papers, watching as he read it carefully. You didn’t miss the moment his expression fell, eyes widening, sending your tummy into flutterings of excitement. 

“You’re- It’s true?” Coriolanus whispered. Your heart sunk at his words, ached for him- always skeptical, your husband. So cynical in his trust, even with you, that his first reaction was to ask if the news was valid. 

“You’re pregnant?” Coryo’s voice cracked gently, leaving you swooning at the softness. 

“Yes,” You nodded, beaming. You looked radiant to him, so happy, so proud. “I-I couldn’t wait to tell you. I made them bring me here so I could share the news.” You grinned, hands closing over his sweetly. “We’re having a baby, Coryo.” 

Coriolanus nodded, tongue too thick in his own mouth to speak. He knew it was coming, thought about this day since the moment he’d started trying to impregnate you. Still, hearing it, seeing you in front of him spilling with excitement, it left him faltering. Desperate to regain control, to not give into himself and allow him the softness that inevitably always ruined him. 

“That’s wonderful news.” Coryo gave a soft smile. You found it to be forced. “What did the doctor say was to happen now?” 

You frowned, your face falling slightly. You’d waited for weeks to be able to tell him this, and now… this was his reaction? So clinical and cold, it made your stomach twist with nerves. 

“Well, he said I’d start vitamins to keep the baby healthy, and that’d we’d listen to the heart beat soon.” You muttered, your hands sliding from his. “Coryo, are you not excited?” Your eyes shone with a new wave of emotions, upset. “Is this not what you want?” 

Coryo’s heart lurched, pulling his thoughts out of the clouding fog he always found himself into. Spiraling need to have a plan, to be one step ahead of any possible risks at all times. 

“Of course, I’m happy, Petal.” Coryo cooed, hands sliding over your cheeks, cupping your face affectionately. “I’m elated, truly, I am.” 

Your narrowing gaze told him you weren’t convinced. “Darling, don’t be cross with me.” He sighed. “This is… It’s a lot of news to take in for the both of us. Were you not shocked when they told you?” 

You frowned. “Yes.” You muttered, eyes casting down from his gaze. His hands pulled, lifting you back towards him. 

“Then allow me the same grace.” Coriolanus said, head dipping towards your own, so close your noses were nearly touching. 

As if to seal the deal, his hands slid from your face down to your abdomen, spreading across your stomach. Your body tingled with excited heat, squirming under his touch. “We’re having a baby.” Coryo muttered, eyes boring into where his hand laid, as if he could see the baby in there. 

“A baby.” You whispered, hand sliding over his, your wedding ring shining in the low light of his office. 

Coriolanus stood there, holding you in his office, hand still cradling your stomach as his new reality set in around him. That he was to be a father, that he finally had done what he always wanted to- sired an heir. Even after the marriage, Coriolanus was wary that you might leave him. That his reign would end, but now, he knew you’d be with him for life. You and the baby.

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 3

masterlist part 1 part 2

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The first rays of dawn had barely brushed the horizon when Azriel slipped out of bed, careful not to wake YN or Knox. The apartment was still cloaked in the quiet calm of early morning, and Azriel took a moment to watch them both, his heart swelling with a fierce, protective love. YN was curled up under the blankets, her breathing soft and even, while Knox lay peacefully in his bassinet, his tiny fists curled beside his face.

Azriel felt a pang of guilt as he prepared to leave them behind, but he knew it was necessary. The inner circle had already been questioning his absences, his lateness, and as much as he wanted to stay, he had to keep up appearances. No one could know about Knox or YN. Not yet. It was too dangerous—too many uncertainties that he couldn’t risk.

He dressed quietly, pulling on his usual dark leathers, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. Before he left, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to YN’s forehead, then one to Knox’s tiny brow. “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, though neither of them stirred.

With a final, lingering glance, he slipped out of the apartment and took to the skies, his wings carrying him swiftly toward the townhouse. The cold morning air helped clear the last remnants of sleep from his mind, and he felt more refreshed than he had in days, thanks to the night of rest YN had insisted he take. For once, he wasn’t late, and it felt like a small victory.

As he landed gracefully in the courtyard of the townhouse, Azriel was immediately greeted by the sound of laughter—high-pitched and full of mischief. He barely had time to fold his wings before a blur of movement came barrelling toward him.

“Uncle Az!”

Azriel braced himself just in time as his nine-year-old nephew, Nyx, tackled him, wrapping his small arms around Azriel’s waist with surprising strength for his age. Not a moment later, another figure joined the fray—Agnar, the seven-year-old son of Cassian and Nesta, who was no less enthusiastic in his greeting.

“Gotcha!” Agnar declared, his eyes bright with triumph as he latched onto Azriel’s leg.

Azriel couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he looked down at the two boys, their faces beaming up at him. “Looks like you two have been practicing your sneak attacks,” he said, his voice filled with affection as he ruffled Nyx’s hair.

Nyx grinned up at him, his violet eyes—the same as his father’s—glinting with pride. “We’ve been waiting for you! Mom said you might be late again, but you’re on time!”

Agnar nodded vigorously, his dark hair a wild mess that mirrored Cassian’s own unruly locks. “Yeah! Dad said he was gonna make you run laps if you were late!”

Azriel chuckled, though he could easily imagine Cassian issuing such a threat. He knelt down to their level, pulling them both into a tight hug. “Well, I’m here now. And it looks like you two have gotten stronger since the last time I saw you.”

The boys beamed at the praise, and Nyx puffed out his chest with pride. “Daddy’s been training us! He says we’ll be warriors one day, just like you and Uncle Cassian.”

Azriel’s heart warmed at the thought, though it was tinged with the bittersweet realization that Knox, too, might one day want to follow in their footsteps. But that was a future he wasn’t ready to think about just yet.

As the boys finally released him, their excitement still palpable, Azriel straightened up, his eyes scanning the courtyard. The rest of the inner circle was gathered near the entrance to the townhouse, watching the scene with smiles and knowing looks.

Rhysand stood with his arms crossed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he observed his son’s interaction with Azriel. Feyre was beside him, her eyes soft with affection as she watched Nyx practically bounce around Azriel’s feet. Cassian and Nesta were also there, Cassian’s arm slung casually around Nesta’s shoulders, though there was a distinct glint of amusement in his hazel eyes.

“Well, well,” Cassian called out as Azriel approached, Nyx and Agnar still clinging to him like shadows. “Look who finally decided to show up on time. I was starting to think you’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of making me run laps,” he shot back, his tone light.

Cassian barked out a laugh, clapping Azriel on the back as he joined the group. “Smart move, Shadowsinger. I’m not sure Nyx and Agnar would’ve let you get away without a proper wrestling match, though.”

“Uncle Azriel could win!” Nyx piped up, looking up at Cassian with a determined expression. “He’s the best fighter!”

Cassian grinned down at his nephew, his hazel eyes sparkling with pride. “He sure is, kiddo. But even the best need their rest.”

Nesta, who had been watching the exchange with a slight smile, narrowed her eyes playfully at Azriel. “You do look like you finally got some sleep,” she observed, though there was a hint of a question in her voice. “It’s about time.”

Azriel shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. “Had a quiet night for once,” he replied smoothly, though the truth of where he had spent his night—who he had spent it with—remained locked away behind his usual stoic demeanour.

Rhysand, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t press further. Instead, he glanced at Cassian with a smirk. “Looks like we might not need to stage that intervention after all.”

Feyre elbowed him lightly, her own smile softening as she looked at Azriel. “We were starting to worry, you know,” she said gently. “But I’m glad you’re here. On time, no less.”

Azriel nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for the concern he had caused, though he masked it well. “I’m here,” he said, his voice steady. “And I’m ready to work.”

As the group turned to head inside, Nyx and Agnar finally released their grips on Azriel, though they remained close by, chattering excitedly about their latest training sessions. Azriel listened with half an ear, his mind already shifting to the tasks ahead, though part of him remained anchored to the quiet apartment he had left behind.

No one knew about Knox. No one knew about YN. And as much as it pained him to keep that part of his life a secret, he knew it was necessary. The inner circle might have noticed that he looked better, more rested, but they didn’t—couldn’t—know the real reason why.

---

The streets of the Hewn City were as dark and foreboding as ever, their twisted architecture casting long, jagged shadows across the cobblestones. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint, acrid tang of smoke from the forges deep within the city’s belly.

YN walked with purposeful steps, her heart heavy as she navigated the maze of narrow alleys and crowded marketplaces. The city’s bustling energy had always made her uneasy, but today it felt especially suffocating.

Knox lay nestled in his buggy, a small, sturdy contraption that allowed YN to keep him close while still moving through the crowded streets. The buggy's wheels bumped over uneven cobblestones, but Knox remained calm, his tiny form swaddled in a soft blanket, his dark eyes peeking out as he watched the world pass by. YN glanced down at him every few moments, reassured by the sight of his peaceful expression.

But despite the calm her son exuded, YN couldn’t shake the discomfort gnawing at her. The Hewn City wasn’t a place she ever wanted to bring her child, but she had little choice. She needed new clothes for work, and as much as she loathed the task, it was unavoidable.

Passing by gaudy displays of shops filled with shimmering silks, lace, and jewels, YN felt a pang of discomfort. The garments on display were designed to entice and seduce, and she knew all too well their purpose. They were a far cry from the simple, comfortable clothing she preferred—clothing that allowed her to disappear into the background, unnoticed and unbothered. But here, in the heart of the Hewn City, blending in meant conforming to the expectations of the lords and ladies who ruled this shadowed realm.

As she approached one of the more discreet boutiques, the door creaked ominously behind her, announcing her arrival. The shopkeeper, a tall, willowy female with sharp features and a calculating gaze, glanced up from her counter. Her eyes flicked over YN with a cold, assessing look before they landed on Knox in the buggy. A flicker of disdain passed over the shopkeeper’s face before she smoothed it away, her expression becoming a mask of polite indifference.

“May I help you?” the shopkeeper asked, her tone clipped, though she kept her voice level.

YN lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by the woman’s unspoken disapproval. “I need a few outfits,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Something for tonight, and for the rest of the week.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes lingered on Knox for a moment longer, her gaze sharp with barely concealed judgment, before she nodded and gestured for YN to follow. YN pushed the buggy forward, the wheels rolling quietly over the polished stone floor as she trailed behind the woman to the back of the shop where the more provocative garments were kept.

Each piece on display was a reminder of the life YN had chosen—or rather, the life she had been forced into by circumstance. A life where her worth was measured not by her skills or her kindness, but by how well she could please those who held power over her. It was a bitter reality, one she had long since learned to endure, but it stung all the more now that Knox was in her life.

As the shopkeeper began to pull out various garments—delicate lace, rich velvets, and silks that shimmered like liquid night—YN forced herself to focus. She needed to choose quickly, to get this over with and return to the relative safety of her mother’s home. But as she sorted through the options, the weight of the stares from other patrons in the shop bore down on her.

They whispered behind their hands, their gazes flitting between her and Knox with thinly veiled judgment. To them, she was a curiosity—a young female, barely 137 years old, already burdened with a child and working in one of the most notorious pleasure houses in the Hewn City. They probably thought she had wasted her youth, thrown away her beauty for a life of servitude.

But YN had stopped caring about their judgment a long time ago. She had learned to build walls around her heart, to shut out the whispers and the stares. They didn’t know her, didn’t know the reasons behind her choices or the sacrifices she had made. They saw only what they wanted to see—a pretty face, a young mother struggling in a harsh world—and they passed their silent verdicts accordingly.

Knox let out a soft coo, and YN instinctively reached down to brush a finger against his cheek, soothing him with a gentle touch. She made her selections quickly—three outfits that would suffice for the next week, each one designed to catch the eye and hold it. The shopkeeper wrapped them in crisp black paper and handed them over with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Thank you,” YN murmured as she paid, her tone polite but detached. She wanted nothing more than to leave this place, to escape the oppressive atmosphere that clung to every surface.

With the bundle of clothing tucked under one arm and Knox safely secured in his buggy, YN stepped back out onto the street. The air was thick and humid, a faint mist curling up from the damp stones underfoot. The stares followed her as she walked, the whispers fading into the background as she focused on her next destination—her mother’s house.

Her mother lived in one of the quieter quarters of the Hewn City, a modest home nestled between two larger, more opulent residences. It wasn’t much, but it was a refuge for YN and Knox, a place where she could leave her son without fear. Her mother had always been her anchor, the one person who had supported her through every trial, and YN knew that Knox was safe in her care.

The door creaked open as YN approached, her mother’s familiar face appearing in the dim light of the entryway. There was a warmth in her eyes as she took in the sight of YN and Knox, though there was also a shadow of concern that hadn’t been there before.

“You made it,” her mother said softly, stepping aside to let YN inside. She reached out to take Knox, her hands gentle as she lifted him from the buggy and cradled him against her chest. “How is my little warrior today?”

YN managed a small smile as she watched her mother coo over Knox, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “He’s doing well,” she replied, her voice softer now that she was in the safety of her mother’s home. “He’s a little restless, but nothing too bad.”

Her mother nodded, her gaze lingering on YN’s face as if searching for signs of strain. “And you? How are you holding up?”

YN hesitated, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She didn’t want to burden her mother with her worries, but the concern in her eyes was too much to ignore. “I’m managing,” she said, though it was clear that it took effort to keep her voice steady. “It’s just… hard, sometimes.”

Her mother sighed, the sound filled with a deep understanding that only years of experience could bring. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she said gently. “I’m here for you, and so is that boy of yours.”

At the mention of him, YN’s heart twisted with a mixture of longing and guilt. She knew Azriel would do anything for her and Knox, but the secrets they kept weighed heavily on her soul. She had chosen this life, and she would bear the consequences, but sometimes she wished things could be different—wished that she could walk through the streets without fear, without the burden of judgment and expectation.

But those were just wishes, fleeting and impossible. What mattered now was Knox, and keeping him safe. As long as she could do that, she would endure anything.

“Thank you,” YN said softly, her eyes meeting her mother’s with gratitude. “For everything.”

Her mother smiled, though it was tinged with a sadness that mirrored YN’s own. “You’re stronger than you know, my darling,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Knox’s brow before turning back to YN. “Now, go get some rest before your shift tonight. I’ll take care of him.”

YN nodded, her heart heavy with love and sorrow as she watched her mother carry Knox into the cozy living room, the firelight casting a warm glow over them both. Knox settled quickly in her arms, his tiny face relaxed and content.

It was a bittersweet sight, one that filled YN with both relief and an aching sense of loss. She didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to spend another night in the pleasure house, but she had no choice. This was the life she had to lead, the sacrifices she had to make.

With one last lingering glance, YN turned and headed upstairs to the small bedroom that had once been hers. The bed was simple, the blankets neatly folded at the foot, but it was enough. She would rest, gather her strength, and then face the night ahead.

---

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the city of Velaris. It was a beautiful evening, the kind that often filled Azriel with a rare sense of peace. But tonight, as he made his way to the River House for a meeting with Rhysand and Cassian, a heavy weight pressed on his chest. He hadn’t seen YN since the night before, and the lingering exhaustion from sleepless nights with Knox gnawed at him. The secrecy, the distance—it was all starting to take its toll.

Azriel landed softly on the balcony of Rhysand’s office, his wings folding neatly behind him as he stepped inside. The familiar scent of leather-bound books and parchment greeted him, along with the rich, heady aroma of Rhysand’s preferred tea. Cassian was already there, leaning casually against the edge of Rhys’s desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey in hand. Rhysand sat behind his desk, his violet eyes sharp and assessing as they met Azriel’s.

“Az,” Rhys greeted, a hint of warmth in his voice. “Glad you could finally join us.”

Azriel gave a curt nod, ignoring the playful jab about his tardiness. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with some… business.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his gaze lingering on Azriel for a moment before he shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “No worries. We were just getting started.”

Azriel took a seat in one of the plush chairs by the fireplace, trying to push aside his exhaustion and focus on the discussion at hand. Rhysand began outlining the latest updates on trade routes, security measures, and potential threats from the borders. Azriel listened intently, his mind absorbing the details as he always did, but there was a part of him that remained distracted.

He couldn’t stop thinking about YN. The way she had looked last night, trying to soothe Knox while surrounded by the evidence of her return to work, haunted him. He hated that she had to go back to that place so soon after giving birth, hated that he couldn’t do more to ease her burden. But the reality of their situation left him with few choices. The secrecy of their relationship was paramount—not just for her safety, but for Knox’s as well.

As the conversation in Rhysand’s office shifted to more mundane matters, Azriel’s mind began to drift. He thought of YN’s smile, of the way her eyes lit up whenever she looked at their son. He thought of the nights they spent together, hidden away from the world, and how desperately he missed those moments of peace.

“…we could use a night out,” Rhysand said suddenly, his voice pulling Azriel back to the present. “It’s been too long since we’ve all just… relaxed. Had some fun. What do you say?”

Cassian grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I’m in. There’s not much to do around here after dark, though. Any ideas?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze sliding over to Azriel, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet. “Az? You’ve got that brooding look on your face. Any suggestions?”

Azriel hesitated for a fraction of a second, his mind racing. He knew exactly where he wanted to go—where he needed to go—but the thought of bringing Rhysand and Cassian there, of risking them seeing YN, made his heart pound with anxiety. But he also knew that if he didn’t see her tonight, it would eat at him. He needed to make sure she was all right, needed to remind her that he was there for her, even if it had to be in secret.

“There’s a place in the Hewn City,” Azriel said slowly, his voice carefully measured. “It’s not exactly like the taverns here in Velaris, but it’s… interesting. Plenty of drinks, good music. A little different from what we’re used to.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The Hewn City? You’re serious?”

Azriel nodded, his expression unreadable. “Why not? It’s been a while since we’ve been down there, and it could be… fun.”

Cassian let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d hear you suggest a night out in the Hewn City. But I’m not opposed to it. We could use a change of scenery.”

Rhysand studied Azriel for a moment, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to discern the reason behind the sudden suggestion. But Azriel’s face remained impassive, his shadows swirling lazily around him in a way that offered no clues.

“Alright,” Rhysand finally said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Let’s do it. A night in the Hewn City it is. Maybe we’ll stir up some trouble.”

Azriel’s heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of anticipation and dread swirling within him. He knew it was risky, knew that being in the same room as YN while hiding their relationship would be agonizing. But he needed to see her, even if it was from a distance.

As they wrapped up their meeting and prepared to leave, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a knot of tension tightening in his gut. He had to be careful—had to make sure that neither Rhysand nor Cassian caught on to the true reason behind his suggestion. The thought of them finding out about YN and Knox, of the potential danger it could bring, was enough to make his blood run cold.

But for tonight, he would have to play his part. He would go to the Hewn City with his brothers, keep up the façade, and somehow find a way to check on YN without raising suspicion. It was a delicate balancing act, one that left him feeling more on edge than ever.

The Hewn City had never looked so alien and yet so oddly comforting. The architecture, with its dark, angular lines and oppressive shadows, felt both oppressive and familiar. Azriel led the way as he, Rhysand, and Cassian navigated through the labyrinthine streets, the trio cutting through the evening fog that clung to the air like a shroud.

The pleasure house, with its lavish façade and inviting yet illicit allure, stood in stark contrast to the grimy alleyways surrounding it. It was a place of excess and secrets, and Azriel was acutely aware of the mask he had to wear tonight. He was here to keep up appearances, to ensure that his personal life remained hidden while still satisfying his need to see YN.

As they entered the pleasure house, the atmosphere was immediately different—louder, more vibrant. The interior was opulent, with rich fabrics draped across the walls, low lighting casting a sultry glow, and the murmurs of patrons mingling with the strains of live music. Azriel’s heart quickened as he scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of YN.

Rhysand and Cassian were distracted by the surroundings, their eyes taking in the provocative displays and the carefully orchestrated sensuality of the environment. Azriel, however, remained focused, his gaze fixed on the server who moved gracefully through the room. It took a moment for him to catch sight of her, but when he did, his breath caught in his throat.

YN was dressed in the attire of the pleasure house—an outfit that accentuated her features while still remaining tantalizingly understated. The black satin cowl neck crop top, dark navy jewel-encrusted pants, and black heel sock boots all combined to create an appearance that was both alluring and vulnerable. She was carrying a tray of drinks, her movements fluid and practiced, her eyes scanning the room with a practiced detachment.

Azriel’s pulse quickened as he approached her, forcing himself to remain calm. He was here on official business, after all. The act he would need to maintain was a delicate one. Rhysand and Cassian followed closely behind, their curiosity piqued by the unusual location.

When YN finally approached their booth, her gaze flicked briefly over Azriel before she began her routine of serving the drinks. It was only when she neared their table that her eyes finally locked with his. Her expression didn’t change immediately; it remained a practiced mask of professionalism. But there was a brief, flickering moment of recognition that passed between them—a silent exchange of emotions that spoke volumes in an instant.

“Good evening,” YN said, her voice smooth and polite as she set down the drinks. “Can I get you anything else?”

Azriel cleared his throat, forcing himself into the role he had chosen. “This is YN,” he said, gesturing to her with a casual air. “When I’m here for business, she usually serves me.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, it’s certainly a different experience than what we’re used to. Do you have any recommendations, YN?”

YN offered a polite smile, her eyes never lingering too long on Azriel. “It depends on what you’re in the mood for. The house special is always a good choice. It’s popular for a reason.”

Cassian leaned back in his seat, his gaze wandering over the surroundings. “Sounds intriguing. I think we’ll take you up on that.”

As YN moved away to fulfill their order, Azriel watched her closely, noting how effortlessly she slipped back into her role. The act she was playing was flawless—she was all business, her demeanour cool and detached, just as it needed to be. But he could see the strain in her eyes, the subtle tension in her posture. It was a reminder of the sacrifices they both had to make to keep their relationship hidden.

When she returned with the drinks, Azriel allowed himself a moment of indulgence. “So, YN,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “I haven’t seen you around much lately. Where have you been?”

YN’s smile didn’t waver as she set the drinks on the table. “I’ve been here, just covering different shifts. We all rotate through different times, so you might have missed me.”

Azriel nodded, maintaining the pretence of casual curiosity. “Ah, I see. Well, it’s good to see you again.”

YN inclined her head slightly, her gaze flicking over to him with a fleeting softness before she turned her attention back to Rhysand and Cassian. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Rhysand shook his head, his attention momentarily diverted by the lively atmosphere around them. “No, we’re good for now, thanks.”

As YN moved away to attend to other patrons, Azriel felt a pang of longing. The way she carried herself, the way she interacted with him while keeping her professional mask firmly in place—it was a testament to the life they had to lead. It was a life of secrecy and sacrifice, one that left him both aching for her and filled with a deep, unspoken pride.

The evening wore on, and the pleasure house buzzed with activity. The soft music mingled with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian continued their evening, each conversation and interaction designed to blend in seamlessly with the environment. But as the night progressed, Azriel found himself increasingly distracted by YN’s presence.

He had noticed her earlier, her graceful movements now tinged with a weariness that seemed to grow with each passing hour. She was doing her best to maintain her professional demeanour, but the exhaustion was evident in the slight droop of her shoulders and the faint shadow beneath her eyes.

Azriel felt a pang of sympathy as he watched her from across the room. The sight of her working so hard, so tirelessly, while still trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, tugged at his heart. He needed to see her up close, to make sure she was alright.

When YN’s shift brought her back to their booth, Azriel decided it was time to act. He raised a hand, catching her attention with a nod. “YN, can you come over here for a moment?”

YN approached their table, her steps steady but her fatigue evident. She offered a polite smile as she reached their booth. “Yes? Is there something you need?”

Azriel’s eyes softened with genuine concern as he looked at her. “I just wanted to check in. You seem a bit tired. How’s the shift been?”

YN glanced around, making sure there were no eavesdroppers. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s been… eventful. You wouldn’t believe the drama tonight.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged curious glances, their attention piqued by the conversation. Azriel’s lips curled into a teasing smile. “Oh? Do tell. I’m sure we could use some entertainment.”

YN sighed, her expression lightening slightly as she began to recount the day’s events. “Well, apparently there’s been a bit of a scandal with the staff. Some of the girls got caught up with this new money group in the area—supposedly they’re making quite a stir. It’s causing quite a bit of gossip.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A money group? Sounds like there’s more to it than just a bit of gossip.”

YN nodded, her smile a mix of amusement and frustration. “Oh, there is. They’re making a lot of waves, and not in a good way. The staff’s been buzzing about it all week, and it’s starting to affect our business.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and affection. “It sounds like you’ve had your hands full. Maybe you need a break.”

YN’s smile widened, but there was a hint of exhaustion still lingering in her eyes. “Maybe. But we all have to pull our weight, right?”

Rhysand and Cassian watched the exchange with growing interest. The playful banter between Azriel and YN was evident, and it was clear that there was more to their relationship than met the eye. Rhysand’s gaze flicked between them, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, while Cassian’s curiosity was piqued.

Azriel continued, his tone softening. “How have you been otherwise? It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

YN hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. “I was actually on maternity leave. Just came back tonight. My babe is only two weeks old, so it’s been a bit hectic.”

Azriel’s heart ached at the mention of their son. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he knew he had to keep up the pretence. “I’m sure it’s been a challenge. How’s everything at home?”

YN’s smile was faint but genuine. “It’s manageable. I’ve been living with my boyfriend, and he’s been helping out a lot. It’s just a lot to juggle right now.”

Rhysand’s curiosity was piqued by the mention of YN’s boyfriend, but he remained polite, offering a nod. “It sounds like you have your hands full. But I’m glad you’re back and that you’re managing.”

Cassian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “So, you’re telling me you’ve got a little one and a boyfriend? And you still manage to look this good?”

YN’s cheeks flushed slightly, though she kept her composure. “Well, it’s not always easy, but you make do. Besides, a bit of distraction can be helpful.”

Azriel watched her, a mix of pride and longing in his eyes. The way she handled the conversation, the ease with which she maintained the façade—it was both impressive and heart-wrenching. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms, to offer her the comfort and support she needed, but the world they lived in demanded otherwise.

As YN prepared to move on to her next table, Azriel reached out, lightly touching her hand. “Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll catch up soon.”

YN’s eyes softened, a brief flicker of something deeper passing between them before she nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

As YN moved away, Azriel forced himself to turn his attention back to Rhysand and Cassian. The playful banter and the hidden exchanges with YN had left him feeling both elated and frustrated. He had managed to keep their relationship under wraps, but the curiosity of his friends was a persistent challenge.

Rhysand, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, broke the silence. “So, Az. How long have you been gathering information from this place? It seems like you’ve got a regular routine going here.”

Cassian nodded, his gaze sharp and inquisitive. “Yeah, you mentioned that YN usually serves you when you’re here. Is this part of your regular intel-gathering operations, or is there something specific that brought you here tonight?”

Azriel took a sip of his drink, buying himself a moment to carefully construct his response. He had to maintain the guise of a casual informant while keeping the true nature of his visits hidden.

“It’s been a while,” Azriel said, his tone nonchalant. “I’ve been coming here for a few months now, usually just to pick up some intelligence on local movements and activities. The Hewn City is a hub for a lot of different groups, and you never know what you might overhear.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really? I didn’t realize it was such a hotspot for information. And you’ve been coming here regularly for several months?”

Azriel nodded, his expression remaining carefully neutral. “Yes, it’s been useful. There are always different factions and rumours circulating in places like this. It’s a good spot for gathering intel on various interests and keeping tabs on potential threats.”

Cassian’s gaze lingered on Azriel, a hint of scepticism in his eyes. “That’s quite the commitment. I would have thought it was more of a hit-and-miss kind of situation.”

Azriel offered a small, practiced smile. “It’s more about building relationships and understanding the dynamics at play. Sometimes you need to spend time in a place to get a real sense of what’s happening.”

Rhysand chuckled softly, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. You’ve always had a knack for finding out the details others might miss.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And you’ve never had any issues with your cover? It seems like you’ve managed to keep a low profile.”

Azriel shrugged, his demeanour relaxed. “It helps to blend in. As long as you know how to keep your ears open and your presence unobtrusive, you can gather quite a bit of information without drawing too much attention.”

Rhysand leaned forward, his gaze steady as he studied Azriel. “You seem quite at ease with the process. But I have to ask—why this place in particular? Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

Azriel took another sip of his drink, choosing his words with care. “Sometimes the most valuable information comes from the most unexpected sources. The Hewn City is a melting pot of various interests and players. It’s a good place to keep an eye on things.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance, their curiosity clearly still piqued. But Azriel’s calm demeanour and plausible explanations seemed to satisfy their immediate questions. They turned their attention back to the lively environment around them, their focus shifting to the various aspects of the pleasure house’s offerings.

The music had softened to a gentle background hum, and the once bustling crowd had thinned to a few lingering patrons. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel remained seated in their booth, enjoying the last of their drinks while keeping an eye on the winding down process.

Azriel’s gaze frequently drifted to YN, who was busy tidying up the tables and ensuring that everything was in order for the next day. The exhaustion from her shift was evident in her movements, but she continued with a practiced efficiency. Her tiredness was a stark contrast to the vibrant energy she had shown earlier in the evening.

Harvey, the flamboyant bartender who had become something of a fixture in the pleasure house, was the last to join YN in the clean-up effort. His presence was unmistakable—his bright, eclectic attire and his easy-going demeanour made him stand out in any crowd. As he wiped down the bar, he exchanged light-hearted banter with YN, their camaraderie apparent in their interactions.

Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian finished their drinks and prepared to leave. The pleasure house was quieter now, the ambiance shifting from its earlier, more chaotic energy to a more subdued and intimate setting. The staff moved with practiced ease, their movements synchronized as they prepared to close for the night.

As the trio of males rose from their seats, Azriel cast a final glance towards YN and Harvey. The two of them were engaged in a conversation that seemed both relaxed and comforting, a brief respite from the demands of the night. Harvey’s animated gestures and YN’s soft laughter created a small bubble of warmth amidst the fading chaos.

“Looks like YN and Harvey are the last ones here,” Rhysand remarked, his eyes following Azriel’s gaze. “They’re certainly putting in the extra effort.”

Cassian grinned, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “I’m surprised they’re still at it. They must be exhausted.”

Azriel nodded, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Yeah, they’ve had a long night. I’ll make sure they’re all right before we leave.”

As Rhysand and Cassian made their way towards the exit, Azriel lingered for a moment, watching YN and Harvey as they finished up. He walked over to where they were working, his presence catching YN’s attention.

“YN,” Azriel called softly, making his way over to the bar area. “Harvey.”

YN looked up, her expression shifting to a tired but genuine smile. “Azriel. I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Azriel nodded, glancing around the almost empty room. “I thought I’d check in before we head out. You both look like you’re working hard.”

Harvey, who had been busy restocking the bar, looked up with a mischievous grin. “We’re just wrapping up. You know, keeping things in order for the next night of revelry.”

YN gave Harvey a playful nudge. “And Harvey’s making sure everything is sparkling clean. He has a bit of an obsession with the bar area.”

Harvey rolled his eyes theatrically, his smile never wavering. “Someone has to keep this place from looking like a disaster zone.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his gaze settling back on YN. “I appreciate the hard work. I know it’s been a long night.”

YN’s smile softened, though the fatigue was evident in her eyes. “It’s all part of the job. And besides, Harvey’s great company.”

Harvey gave a theatrical bow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Why, thank you, my dear. I do try to be entertaining.”

Azriel took a moment to watch their interaction, a mixture of affection and concern in his expression. He wanted to ensure that YN knew she had his support, even if it had to be expressed in subtle ways.

“Do you need any help finishing up?” Azriel offered, his tone genuine. “I don’t mind staying a bit longer if it means making things easier.”

YN shook her head, though her smile was grateful. “No need, Azriel. We’ve got it covered. But thank you.”

Harvey glanced at Azriel with a teasing smirk. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your glamorous night out. I’m sure the high lord and lord of bloodshed are waiting.”

Azriel nodded, his expression reflecting a mix of reluctance and understanding. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it then.”

As Azriel turned to leave, he paused, offering one last glance at YN and Harvey. The sight of them working together, the easy camaraderie between them, was a reminder of the world YN inhabited—a world that he could only access in fleeting moments.

“Goodnight, YN. Harvey,” Azriel said, his voice soft but sincere. “Take care.”

YN and Harvey both waved as Azriel headed towards the exit. The night had been a complex mix of professional duties and personal longing, and as he stepped out into the cool night air, he carried with him the weight of the secrets he had to keep and the brief, stolen moments of connection he had managed to share.

As he flew back to Velaris with Rhysand and Cassian, Azriel couldn’t help but reflect on the evening’s events. The pleasure house had provided both a necessary diversion and a poignant reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain. The night was a testament to the complexities of his life—a life divided between duty and desire, between the public eye and the hidden realms of his heart.

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[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 4

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: A dinner is shared.

Notes: I think I’ve gotten lost in the sauce of POV’s. This kind of bounces between both of them. I also thought the last chapter’s events would add drama to this chapter. It did not but I think it will on the next one. Please enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5

For the first time in two weeks, you don’t see Red Hood. Not a shadow, not a peep. You're a little disgruntled about it. He “stalks” you for two weeks and then finally comes into your apartment and speaks to you and then just vanishes. What’s that about? You hadn’t taken him for the shy type but maybe that was it. Or he was truly just monitoring you after Scarecrow to see if anything was wrong and finally talking to you proved that there wasn’t. All the options swirled around your head as you cleaned your kitchen the next day. You were mostly peeved because you had made a bigger dinner than you usually do so you had more to offer than just tea when he showed up. Now you were going to be eating the same leftovers for days. Great.

You were so lost in your thoughts and focused on your frustrated scrubbing of the stove that you didn’t hear the quiet thud on your fire escape nor the tell-tell squeak of your window opening. For someone who had recently been kidnapped, you weren’t very observant. At least that’s what Jason thought as he stepped close to the kitchen, watching you over the island as you mutter and scrub harder at the stove.  Clearly, you hadn’t been expecting company. You wore a baggy t-shirt and a pair of ratty basketball shorts, hair clipped up and away from your face. You hadn’t worked today, and he knew because he had gone to see you. Instead, he got sucked into a conversation with the older woman that worked there. Some gossip about the couple that was sitting in a corner booth. He didn’t stay for long.

You sigh at the forever permanent grease stain on your stove. You move sideways, still not turning around to rinse and squeeze water from the sponge you were using. You finally turn around to collect a rag from the small island and let out a screech, “What the -?!” you stumble back and hit your lower back on the counter. Your hand moves faster than your brain, grasping the sponge from the counter and chucking it at him. Your aim? Not so great. The sponge soars across the island and barely hits his shoulder. Your brain finally catches up as it watches the sponge. Brown leather, red bat, red helmet.

“Red Hood.” The relief seeps out in your voice as your whole body relaxes. To Jason’s credit, he doesn’t outwardly laugh, resisting the urge, not wanting to embarrass you. He wants to laugh, oh, does he want to. Between your squawking and terrible throw, he was very entertained.

“You’re a terrible shot” his modulated voice again throwing you off. Despite the robotic voice, you can hear the humor behind it.

“I never claim to be an athlete,” you will your fingers to let go of the countertop, “You’re here.”

It takes Jason a moment as he hears the surprise in your voice and still present on your face, considering you had invited him in two days ago. He worries that maybe he overstepped, should have knocked on the window instead of just coming in. A silence lingers between you two, so you add on.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.” You say and cringe. Your abandonment issues really knew when to peek out. He was gone one day, not a week or a month but you got used to seeing that red outside your window. It was a comfort knowing someone was watching over you. Jason resists the urge to say I’ll always come back to you. It might be a little too forward all things considered.

“Sorry for making you worry.”  He finally speaks up and brings his hands up to pop the latch on his helmet sliding it off his head and setting it on the counter. You stare, how could you not? He must have been moving quite a bit, his black hair wet with sweat and his face shining. You bring a hand up to stifle a laugh at the domino mask. Despite knowing it would be there, you still think it’s hilarious that he wears two masks. Jason takes in your hidden grin and wills himself to be normal about it.

“I'm trying to apologize and you're gigging about it.” A smirk growing on his lips

You drop your hand and neutralize your face, “I'm not, it's just…” you gesture to his face, “Your mask” you say timidly. He knows exactly what you're talking about. You had laughed about it before, but he can't understand why you think it's so funny, he's just protecting his identity.

“Okay,” he says, placating you. You roll your eyes and shrug as you turn towards your fridge. Maybe you can get rid of leftovers after all.

“Want something to eat?” You ask as you struggle to pull the containers out of the fridge. The way you offer so easily makes Jason’s heart jump. You were awfully trusting.

“Sure”

“You’re not allergic to anything are you?” you ask pausing before you put the dish into the microwave.

“No”

You shove the container into the microwave and set it. Instead of turning around, you stare at the dish spinning in the microwave. You really are losing it. You invite him in for tea, and then you’re sad when he doesn’t show up for the dinner you made (not that you would tell him that). Now you're not even too startled that he had come in through your locked window. His voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“Busy day at work?” he asks mostly because he doesn’t want to seem like an actual stalker stalker, even though he already knew you didn’t work.

You glance at him over your shoulder, “Oh I didn’t work today. Hence my cleaning” You move your hand to show off your clean home. And your home was clean but normally you wouldn’t have done it all in one day. It had given you something to do while you overthought instead of sitting and staring at a wall to overthinking.

“Looks nice,” he says as the microwave pings. You nod, pull the Tupperware from the microwave, and set it on the island between you two. You turn to grab two clean plates, silverware, and a serving spoon and set them on the counter.

“Please eat,” you say as you gesture to the food. Noting the two plates, Jason shakes his head.

“Ladies first.” You’re pleasantly surprised at his chivalry. You tilt your head back and forth as you contemplate whether you should argue that he’s the guest and he should go first. You look him over for a moment and decide he probably wouldn’t let up on the matter. You quietly dish up a small portion having technically already eaten dinner but not wanting him to eat alone. You set your plate and silverware at the small dining room table and go to the fridge to collect two water bottles (you learned very quickly not to drink tap water when you first moved to Gotham). By the time you return to the table, Red Hood sits in the same spot he sat in two nights before. He waits for you to sit and thanks you when you set the water bottle down, before finally eating.

He seemed starved if you were honest, although running around beating up criminals probably works up quite the appetite. You pick at your own food, eating a few bites here and there. As he’s distracted you stare again. That weird aching familiarity flairs up again but you choose to ignore it. You stare at the mask covering his eyes and wonder what color they are. Your eyes trail down his face at those scars and you push your thoughts about them away. It's Gotham, everyone’s got a scar or a few, mental or otherwise. But your eyes follow the scar on his cheek to his lips as he drinks water from the bottle. You’re momentarily stuck staring at his lips as he pulls the bottle away, they move, and his voice follows.

“Your staring,” he says smugly. You quickly drop your gaze to your food and take a bite, like that would hide the warmth on your cheeks. You don’t know why you get so distracted and flustered around him. Pull yourself together.

“Busy night?” You change the subject and offer the same question he asked you earlier. You look back up to meet his mask again. His skin was no longer wet with sweat, but his hair was still a little damp and sticking up in weird positions. You think you see a glimmer of white on his roots at the crown of his head. You wonder if he would mind if you just brushed your hand through… no, you’re supposed to be pulling yourself together.

“Just a few muggers and a robbery.” He says it like it’s whatever, happens every day. And in Gotham it couldn’t be truer. But he carried no pride in it, like it was just a job and that was it.

“Just?” You ask, you attempt a tease, but it comes out warbled by an emotion you’re not sure about.

He nods, “Just. I’m sure there will be plenty more before the nights over.”

You decide he sounds tired like he is carrying the weight of Gotham on his back, even though you know there are about a million other vigilantes in the city.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re out there then. I know I’m grateful.” You try to push a prideful tone into your sentence, hoping that it would transfer to him. So he knew what he did was important. He doesn’t say anything, just nods curtly before scooping up the last of his food and sliding it into his mouth. He quietly chews and you try not to stare again. A weird tension settles over you, and you hope it’s not entirely your fault.

He stands with his plate and deposits it in the sink rinsing it off. You still pick at the food on your plate when he comes up behind you. For such a large man he’s quite quiet but you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise at his presence.

“I should head out if I'm really supposed to be out there,” he says quietly. You want to turn but you're worried about how close he is, so you just nod.

“Right, of course.” You hesitate before you murmur, “Thank you for coming back.”

It's so quiet Jason almost misses it. He doesn’t wait for you to turn around, nodding even though you can't see it as he turns to pick up his helmet. You finally stand from your seat to watch him, hand gripping the back of the chair. He slides his helmet on and with one foot at the window, he turns to you.

“I'm getting you new window locks. These are awful.” He’s out the window and gone as you say, “What?”

You still don’t move where you stand for a moment before you start cleaning up the leftovers. You slide what you didn’t eat back into the Tupperware dish, put the lid on and place it back in the fridge. You finally come back over to the window, sticking your head out and glancing around as if you would see him hiding somewhere. You lean back in closing the window and locking it. You stare at the locks. They don’t look awful, but they were also locked before he got in so maybe he was right. You glance around your apartment. Nothing to do, nothing to clean. You decide to take a shower and then sleep. Maybe you can figure out how you're supposed to act around a gun-toting vigilante in the meantime.

Once Jason had made it out of your apartment and to his usual spot on the roof across the street, he sat down and just breathed. You were something else. You definitely had no survival instinct, at least when it came to him. And the locks on your windows? Don’t even get him started. Hed start there and then a new door lock as well as a security system. Eventually. Yeah, eventually. If you let him stick around that long.

His heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. You had expressed such surety in your statement about his nightly job. That it was a good thing. It was rare that people were outwardly grateful. And for him, saving people happened every day. His own emotions had almost gotten out of hand, resting like a rock in his throat, knowing how you felt.

And despite your staring and anxious picking at your food, there was a weird sense of…domesticity to the night. Something he only got when he would help Alfred in the kitchen and on some “Movie night” one of his siblings requested. Which is to say far and few between. He took off his helmet and set it down beside him. He peeks over the ledge of the roof to glance at you sticking your head out of your window. You were pretty despite your disheveled state and he's happy to know that you weren’t too flustered about looking a mess around him. Although to be fair you had looked much, much worse when he saved you from Scarecrow.

He did hope you'd let him keep coming around, eating your food and drinking your tea. Cass was right though. He needed to get you first. The issue lay in which persona should he get you in. Jason Todd or Red Hood. He’d have to stress about it later as you finally close and lock your window. The sound of sirens wail in the distance. Back to work, it was.

Additional note: So fun fact, I desperately wanted to include Jason's white streak of hair but had to Veto it because a person can only be oblivious to a certain point and would instantly match these two people up. However, I saw someone had a Headcanon (and I don’t remember who) that Jason had the white streak but dyed due to the identity issue. I loved the idea so much that I just had to include it. Jason’s white streak may or may not come up in conversation later. We’ll have to wait and see. Again, thank you for reading!

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