#map was mine first idea

[hl-obsessed]

Happy Birthday Louis.

I hope you still think Christmas lights are specifically for you, cuz now so many of them are. If we could turn the rest of the lights on the world, just for a little while, and show you how many are up just specifically for you, they would light up map of the world anyway.

There is so much love for you in all the corners of the earth.

It's challenge not to love you and fell safe and like home in space that you created for us.

Thank you for everything. World is so much better place with everything you are giving it.

The happiest birthday and everything what's the best.

[goldensunset]

‘the children yearn for the mines’ is a little too real to me bc when i was a kid and my older siblings were trying to get me into pokémon i really never cared to try playing. BUT. i was obsessed with the underground mining minigame in dppt. i used to beg my sister to let me take a turn playing and set it up for me bc i didn’t know how to so i could go mine for gems nonstop until i cleared that entire cave section of glittering wall spots which always made me so sad bc i was having such a great time. i didn’t even understand the significance of what i was doing but 7 year old me was high off of it

[sysig]

Just Desserts continental northern map made using this method! :D (Patreon)

[7frogsspeaks]

If you've never worked in a big corporate office you are missing out on half of Severance

Everyone seems to be talking about the setting of this show like it's a big mystery we're waiting on answers for, and I keep having to remind myself that this is the Unemployed Website because every single aspect of the severed floor is a direct parody of corporate office work. Some of it is pretty obvious to anyone (being a totally different person at work than you are at home, excessive surveillance, etc), but unless you've worked in one of these places there's a ton you're probably missing.

So, for those of you who (luckily) lack corporate office experience, here is a non-exhaustive list of real phenomenon Severence is referencing:

- Having absolutely no clue where anything is other than your department. A large corporate office truly feels like working in a brightly-lit, featureless labyrinth. You get lost so easily, and the number of turns and hallways in the opening scene is not that much more extreme than how I had to get to my department (which was over a 5-minute walk from the main entrance). It's common to draw new employees a map.

- Cult-like worship and constant quoting of the company's founder/founding family and core operating principles. Long-time employees will genuinely treat it like religious doctrine. It's scary.

- The relationship between departments. The different cultures, outrageous rumors, distrust, compete lack of understanding of who they are, how many of them there are, where they work, what they do, and generally treating them like a foreign country is barely even a parody. It's just really like that. Going to another department and seeing their equipment and work area (and being stared at by a bunch of people who don't expect a stranger to be there) might as well be walking into a room that's a hill with intimidating goat farmers.

- Other people's jobs being utterly incomprehensible. The department that had a room behind a wall next to mine apparently used it for filling backpacks with weights until the straps broke. Another department had someone whose job was to shine different lights onto pieces of fabric and record the color difference. One of my positions was measuring various pants 20 different ways and then taking notes while a specific person tried them on. Apparently a guy somewhere occasionally got paid to make watercolors of birds. Some people did finance. You get the idea.

- Only ever hearing from upper management (who are treated like a group of fickle, wrathful gods) through a nervous secretary and never hearing their voices/seeing their faces. You might know their names.

- Weird, uncomfortable, often ritualesque events that are treated like a big deal. The company I worked for, for example, would announce the employees of the year by having a committee of people with noisemakers and silly hats parade around the buildings until they got to the person's desk, and then take their photo to hang on the wall. People were not warned beforehand, it was a ~surprise~. This happened daily at random times for over a week each year, and long-standing employees got really into it.

- People genuinely fighting over all those meaningless, patronizing rewards like pizza parties, fancy pens, etc. Having an "employee of the month" mug, for example, is treated as an enviable status symbol. Presumably this is why corporations think this stuff will also work in the service industry (it doesn't because service workers are normal).

- Ridiculous conspiracy theories about the building, management, coworkers, or company history, peddled like gossip.

- New employees having a rough adjustment period where it feels like you're adapting to an alternate universe. Office culture is nothing like real life though it's closer if you live in white suburbia and have an HOA, so during most people's first time working in one they bump up against a lot of unspoken rules, weird taboos, and general culture shock. Most of this involves navigating strictly-enforced social hierarchies, verbal adherence to company ideals, and using only specific types of communication, and being chastised when you mess up. It 100% feels like being indoctrinated into a cult.

- Not understanding the purpose of the work you're doing, and only receiving vague answers, that it's "important", and that there's a big exciting deadline. No single department has access to the big picture for how everyone's jobs fit together to accomplish something, you'd have to work in all of them or in upper management to figure it out. The inner machinations and goals of the company are generally treated like a mysterious secret.

- Never seeing the sky. Window offices are a prized commodity since the buildings are so big, so unless you're a high-up manager or the company has gone to great lengths to add access to widows (most don't because it's really expensive) you likely won't see daylight until you leave, even if you travel around the building during the day.

And for the Lifetime Unemployment crowd, some more general job phenomenon:

- So. Many. Acronyms. And being expected to say them all with a straight face, even if they sound really silly.

- Coworkers effectively ceasing to exist the moment they leave the company, with zero explanation given for why they're suddenly gone unless there's a retirement party.

- Management giving ridiculously nit-picky feedback as a form of hazing/power play, especially to marginalized people.

- Upper management making sudden, drastic changes to your job expectations, physical workplace, or management structure with zero notice and penalizing you if you can't adapt immediately.

- The entire vibe of your job being dictated by who your manager is.

- Your coworkers acting like what happens at work is their entire life, and treating their home lives as something extra they do on the side.

- Having no clue who your coworkers are outside of work, and that information being largely treated as taboo.

- Being effectively locked in a sealed space with zero access to the outside world for the entirety of your workday, and being told that that's not weird or a problem– it's a benefit that helps you focus on your job.

Basically: There's no big mystery to the structure and culture of Lumon/the severed floor. Most of it is never going to get a canon "explanation" because the target audience already has one. It's all a parody.

EDIT: Reblogged with more office-specific ones and some photo evidence

[satrs]

In TOOOO Deep!

SYNOPSIS. Trapped and even thinner patience, neither can escape the heat, or each other. One question remains: who will break first?

FEAT. Xavier. Zayne. Rafayel. Sylus. Caleb. xfem!reader

TAGS. 18+ CONTENT! MDNI! smeggual content. Forced proximity. unprotected intercourse. dörty talk. size k!ink. refering to yer' püüsy as 'her'. doggy. slight exhibitionism. sylus & zayne are married to reader. fingering, cunnilingus in calebs. slight roleplay in calebs. heavyyy praise in sylus. kinda soft seggs in sylus.

✎ A/N; I CAN'T ESCAPE THESE GUYS PLEASE RELEASE MEEEEE! (please don't I'm jolly as hell in my gooner cave) Much love and happy reading! <3

XAVIER ꩜ Caught In Heat!

Who knew that a duo mission with your fellow hunter would end up like this? You and him trapped in a random rundown motel somewhere in nirvana with an angry storm brewing outside?

Well, shit happens.

The power flickers, casting deep shadows across the room, and the air smells like rain-soaked pavement and dust. The shitty heater barely works, leaving the cold to settle in your bones, but the real reason you’re shivering isn’t the temperature.

It’s him.

The lights flicker again, barely holding, and the air is damp with humidity. Rain pounds against the windows, a relentless, violent rhythm. You should be resting, saving your strength for whatever waits beyond this storm. But instead, you’re here, standing at the edge of the bed, pulse pounding, your body drawn tight with something far more dangerous than the mission itself.

Across the room, Xavier watches you, bright eyes sharp even in the dim light. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at you. Calculating. Assessing. Like he already knows what you want before you do.

“You’re staring,” he says, voice cool, measured.

You swallow, shifting under his gaze. “So are you.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. “I always watch what's mine.”

The words send a pulse of heat straight to your cunt.

You take a step toward him, testing. “Then take it.”

The shift in his expression is instant. A spark of something dark, something starving, flashes in his eyes.

Xavier moves fast. One second he’s across the room, the next he’s got you pinned against the wall, braced hand beside your head. His body presses into yours, solid and unyielding, his warmth seeping into you through the layers of damp clothing.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” His voice is low, dangerous, the barest hint of a growl curling around the words, ghosting over your lips.

You tilt your chin up, refusing to back down. “Then show me.”

is lips crush against yours at that with a force that steals your breath, his fingers sliding down to grip your throat, holding you still as he claims you completely. The hand is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing into yours.

Your fingers tangle in his uniform, tugging, desperate for more. He growls against your mouth, then suddenly spins you, shoving you onto the bed in one swift motion.

“On your knees, angel.” he commands, his tone sharp, controlled.

You obey, pulse hammering as you brace yourself on the mattress. The air shifts behind you, and then his hands are on your waist. His fingers press into your skin, mapping every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

“You want me?” His voice is right at your ear now, his breath hot against your skin, as he swats a teasing clasp to your ass. “Right here? Now?”

Your hands fist in the sheets. “M-mhmm.”

His fingers trail down, slipping between your legs, finding you already soaked. He lets out a sharp breath, his control fracturing at the edges.

“What a mess” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, “Bet you've been like this the whole mission.”

You whimper, pushing back against his touch, but he pulls away, leaving you aching.

Then, your breath catches at the sound of a zipper before Xavier grips your hips aligning his mushroomy tip to your clenchin entrance, and slams into you in one brutal thrust.

Your vision whites out, your entire body arching as you stretch around him, the sheer size of him stealing the air from your lungs. A ragged gasp rips from your throat as he sinks deep, so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.

“Too much?” His voice is taunting, but caring, something needy behind it. You shake your head, nails digging into the sheets. “Wan' more.”

A dark chuckle rings your ear. “Greedy.”

Xavier doesn’t ease into it, doesn’t give you time to adjust. His thrusts are sharp, precise, calculated—like he knows exactly how to break you apart, how to leave you gasping and shaking beneath him. Each snap of his hips punches a sound from your throat, his pace relentless, merciless.

“Arch that damn back f' me,” he mutters, voice thick with something raw. You comply, arching further into the matress as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Jussssst like that.”

A sharp slap! lands on your ass, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. You cry out, but he only tightens his grip, yanking you back onto him harder, needier.

“This what you wanted?” He leans down, his teeth grazing your ear, hand clasping around your neck to push you flush against his chest. “Letting me fuck you like this during a mission? Tsk, Tsk, what a unreliable hunter.”

You’re beyond words now, lost in the way his damned cock hits the bulls-eye in your insides over and over again, poor cunt gushing with each prod at your cervix, only able to nod weakly.

“You could've just asked. Would never deny my sweet princess.” he whispers again, but his voice wavers, his own restraint unraveling. His hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you upright, forcing your spine to arch as he fucks into you deeper.

"Xavvvv'! Fuck!"

His lips graze your throat, his breath ragged. “Say my name again.”

You do—gasping, moaning, begging for him to — you don't even know what for at this point.

Xavier groans, his pace faltering for a split second before he regains control, thrusting harder, pushing you closer to that edge.

“Gonna cum, huh?” His fingers slide between your legs, finding your most sensitive button and circling just right. “C'mon.”

The order snaps something inside you, and you shatter around him, a broken sob tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes over you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes, muscles tensing as he fucks you through it.

Xavier curses, his grip bruising as he thrusts once, twice more, then he himself falls apart.

A deep, shuddering groan spills from his lips as he buries himself to the hilt emptying his heavy load into you, his body trembling against yours. You feel the heat of him spilling deep inside you, his breath ragged against your ear.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The storm still rages outside, but in here, it’s just your gasps, his heartbeat hammering against your back, no worries whatsoever.

Finally, he pulls away just enough to press a slow, almost lazy kiss to your shoulder. His voice is lower now, rough with spent desire.

Then, he lets out a rough chuckle, his grip on you finally loosening. “That’s one way to pass the time.” he mutters, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

Your groan echoing in response, smacking the arm wraped around your body weakly. “Shut up.”

Xavier just smirks, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him.

“No promises.”

ZAYNE ꩜ Locked In!

The soft click of the door echoes through the dimly lit office.

Zayne exhales, rubbing his temple, his eyes glinting under the sterile glow of the desk lamp. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You go to jiggle the handle, confirming what you both already know. “The janitor must’ve locked up without noticing us.”

Zayne doesn’t reply immediately, just watches you with that unnerving, unreadable gaze—the one that makes your pulse quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with being locked in.

He leans back against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression smooth, controlled. But you don’t miss the flicker of something darker beneath the surface.

Annoyance? Amusement?

Neither.

Something else entirely.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice rich with amusement, “looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders. “Could be worse, I guess.”

A smirk tugs at his lips that you fail to notice. Dangerous.

He tilts his head, studying you like a patient on his table. Slow. Intrigued. Almost predatory.

“Why don’t we kill some time, then?”

The air shifts—subtle, but still sufforcating.

Before you can respond, he’s behind you, his movements so swift, so effortless, you barely register them before his hands are on your waist, firm and unyielding.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns against your stomach before sliding upward, guiding you to his desk only to shove the papers on there to the side, brushing over your ribs, teasing the edge of your collarbone.

Then his lips find your ear, his breath a ghost of heat against your skin.

“There's not much to do anyway,” he growls, voice like silk laced with steel. His grip tightens as he presses his straining cock against you, the warmth of his body sinking into yours. “Might aswell use the time before the janitor comes back.”

“Zayne, we’re in your office,” you manage, breath shuddering, but the protest is weak, meaningless.

A quiet chuckle vibrates against your neck before he continues to plaster your collar with teasing kisses. “And?”

Then he’s turning you, guiding you back until your hips hit the edge of his desk. His golden eyes bore into yours—intense, unwavering—as he nudges your legs apart, stepping between them like he belongs there.

“You always talk about spicing things up,” he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over your waistband, toying with the fabric in slow, torturous strokes. “And we've never tried having fun in here.” His jaw tightens. “There's no hurt in trying.”

A shiver rolls through you as he commands you to turn around, your palms bracing against the cool surface of his desk. The heat of his presence lingers behind you, his breath featherlight against the back of your neck.

His hands drag down your back, low, teasing, before gripping your waistband and yanking your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. The cool air hits you as you cage your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes sending him a teasing glare.

Zayne exhales, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your ass before sliding between your thighs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint.

A sharp gasp escapes as his fingers glide through your slick folds, parting them, exploring. He groans, the sound low and possessive.

“Already so soaked,” he muses, voice dark with satisfaction. “You like this, don't you? A naughty wife I see.”

Your hips jerk as he presses two firm fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

“Zayne, please—”

He hums approvingly, his movements controlled—like he’s testing you, studying the way your body reacts under his touch. His fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, but never quite dipping in.

“So desperate,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your spine.

Suddenly, he withdraws. The loss is unbearable, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it.

Quit the teasing, he can't take it anymore.

Your hips wiggle in excitement as his heft length slaps against the valley of your ass, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your hole, thick and teasing, dragging through your wetness with maddening patience.

“C'monnn,” you whine, pushing back against him, tip just barely sliding insde you, and you greedily catch! his angry tip, desperatly trying to suck him int further.

With one sharp exhale he thrusts in, sinking into you in one long, unyielding stroke, knocking the air out of your lungs almost imediently.

A choked cry escapes yyou as he stretches you wide, fills you to the brim, the sheer size of him forcing every nerve in your body to light up, as a prolonged moan slips from your lips, head slamming against the desk at the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips like he’s barely holding himself together. “Always so tight and ready for me.”

He stills for a moment, buried deep, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths against your back to compose himself. Then, just as you begin to adjust to his massive girth, just as the pleasure starts to settle—

He moves.

The first thrust is deep, calculated. The second is sharper, quicker, even. By the third, he’s pounding into you, loosing himself at your contracting greedy walls, each deep stroke sliding your body further onto the cold desk, whole furniture shaking and you could even think the legs of the chair might collapse.

The office is filled with the filthy sounds of skin meeting skin, the wetness between your thighs only adding to the obscene rhythm of his movements.

“Not so loudddd, darlin'” he teases, voice rough and hungry. “Wouldn't want anyone to hear, hm?”

His fingers slide between your legs, pressing against your clit yet in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, your mouth agape as drool dripps down onto some godforsaken document both of you could give less of a fjuck about right now.

“Zayne—oh. my. fuck!” Words coming out in punctured huffs, your vision blurs, whole body tightening as each push of his hip would surely send you flying if you didn't hold on.

He groans breathlessly, pace unwavering. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make you arch. “Take it, sweetheart.”

Pleasure coiling tighter, hotter, until you’re right at the edge—

"Be a good wife and cum all over your husbands cock, pretty please."

With that you break, body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you with force, a strangled cry leaves your lips, hole clenching him tight, leaving your legs shaking, giving out on you.

Zayne curses, his movements stuttering, struggling against the unyielding grip of your spasming cunt.

With a final, deep thrust, he plundges his entire cock inside you, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as his own release crashes over him. Heaty cum fills you, his grip on your hips tightening as he rutts against your ass, his breath ragged, uneven.

The haze of pleasure still clings to you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you slump limplessly against the desk. Zayne’s hands remain on your hips, his grip possessive, his chest rising and falling behind you as he catches his breath.

Then,

The unmistakable sound of keys jingling.

“Hello?” A rough voice cuts through the heavy air and your heart stops. “Thought I heard somethin’ in here—”

Zayne doesn’t move. He stays buried inside you, still hard, still throbbing. He doesn’t even flinch. If anything, you feel his smirk against your skin before he finally pulls out, his fingers dipping between your thighs to push his release back deep inside you.

“Messy,” he murmurs, so low only you can hear, “This is all thanks to her", his eyes glued to your talkative hole, amusement evident on his face.

You glare at him, but before you can open your mouth, the janitor sighs from behind the door.

“Damn pipes,” the old man mutters. “Always makin’ weird noises.”

The jingle of keys fades, footsteps retreating.

Thankfully, the door never opens.

Then, silence.

“You are noisy,” he muses, fixing his tie, completely unbothered.

You whirl on him, mortified, hurriedly yanking your pants back into place. “And you’re impossible!”

He grins, utterly shameless, dragging you back into his arms. His fingers are already creeping under your waistband again.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, golden eyes gleaming.

“We’re not done yet.”

RAFAYEL ꩜ (7 Minutes) In Heaven!

Rafayel has been avoiding Thomas all day.

You know it, Thomas knows it, and judging by how Rafayel is nowhere to be found, he knows you are onto him.

“If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him,” Thomas sighs, rubbing his temple, frustrated. “It’s important.”

You nod, catching an inkling of Rafayel’s intention. “Of course, I’ll let him know.”

The moment Thomas walks away toward the kitchen in search of the artist in god-knows-where, you turn on your heel, heading straight for Rafayel’s room. If he isn’t anywhere else, you have a good guess where he is hiding.

You push open the door, stepping inside. Silence meets you, but the air feels charged, like someone was here just moments before.

Then, your gaze drifts to the walk-in closet.

Bingo.

Suspicious, you make your way over and pull the door open only to find Rafayel, lounging against the shelves like he belongs there, arms crossed over his chest, pout streching his features.

“I knew it,” you accuse, raising an eyebrow. “Hiding now, are we?”

He doesn’t even look the slightest bit guilty. Instead, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t call it hiding. More like, avoiding unnecessary stress.”

You huff. “Thomas is looking for you.”

“I’m aware,” he says smoothly, then reaches forward and before you can react, he tugs you inside and shuts the door behind you.

The sound of the lock clicking into place sends a shiver down your spine.

“Rafayel,” you warn, pressing a hand against his chest. “We can’t just—” He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “We can.”

The space is small, the air thick with his scent—clean, expensive, so damn intoxicating. His presence surrounds you, and it is impossible to focus on anything but him. Well, the rock-hard buldge of his might be a competition.

“You came looking for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers tracing down your spine. “So stay.”

You swallow hard. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His hands slide lower, resting on your hips. “Or are you putting on the tought girl act right now?”

Your breath hitches as he presses you against the shelves, his body warm and firm against yours.

“Rafayel—”

“Hmmm?” His voice is a purr, full of dark amusement.

“You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, fingers sneaking to your pants, tugging at the fabric teasingly. “And you love it.”

You don’t get a chance to argue, not when he captures your lips in a heated kiss, not when he pushes you so impossibly close and surely not when he's rutting his needy cock against your clothed core.

It is slow at first, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you. His lips move against yours expertly, coaxing you open, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

His hands are everywhere, roaming up your back, sliding beneath your shirt, exploring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat pools in your stomach at his words. The thought of being caught, of Thomas standing just outside, completely unaware of what is happening behind the locked door, it only makes you want him more.

He turns you around, pressing your front against the shelves. His hands roam over your curves, his breath hot against your neck.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you all day,” he murmurs, his fingers teasing between your thighs. You gasp, your body arching into his touch.

“Already so wet,” he muses, his voice thick with satisfaction. “All for me.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he replaces his fingers with the head of his bulky cock head, teasingly rubbing it against your slick, glisterning folds.

“Tell me you want this,” his voice is low, dark and lustful.

“P-please—”

That is all he needs.

With one percise thrust, he buries himself inside you, a choked moan escapes your lips as he stretches you to your limits, filling you completely. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he sets a rythmic pace.

“So tight,” he groans, his breath ragged. “You feel incredible.”

You clench around him, and he curses under his breath.

His pace quickens, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the closet, along with the quiet, breathy moans you can’t hold back.

“Nghhh— good, sooo good!”

“Shh,” he murmurs, though the smirk in his voice is undeniable. “You don’t want Thomas knocking on the door, do you?”

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Just as you are about to answer, you hear the faint sound of footsteps outside—too close. Thomas’s voice echoes down the hallway, rattling the doorknob faintly. “Rafayel?”

Rafayel’s hands tighten on your hips, his movements slowing as if he can feel the tension in your body. The door handle turns again, then stops. The footsteps retreat, but they are still too close.

He smirks, his breath hot against your neck. His thrusts deepen, pressing you harder against the shelves, the sound of his body against yours echoing in the small space, shelf shaking with it's contents. He moves with deliberate slowness now, each thrust calculated, as if daring you to make a sound.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Not a word.”

His fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Every movement feels heightened, the danger of being caught making every sensation sharper, more intense.

You' re already close— so damn close, your breath catching with each thrust of his, tip bullying the entrance of your womb meanly.

With one last commanding push, he groans, burying himsel in so deep, his hot sticky cum shoots right into your womb, the fullness of it all making your jump over the edge, cumming so hard you can barely breathe.

Then, the door rattles— again.

You and him simuntaniously freeze, staring at the door, listening to the muffled sound of Thomas’s voice growing frustrated on the other side.

“Okay, you two, this is getting ridiculous. I know you’re in there! I don’t care what’s going on, just come out already!”

Rafayel’s smirk deepens, though you can feel his body tense slightly as the sound of Thomas’s exasperation fills the air.

You chuckle breathlessly but hushed, still trembling, mind racing with the absurdity of the situation. “Wanna go out of hiding?”

Rafayel chuckles low in your ear, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “He’ll live.”

The sound of Thomas sighing and muttering something unintelligible echoes through the door as he walks away, still clearly annoyed.

You exhale a shaky breath, your body still humming with tension. Rafayel doesn’t say anything more, he doesn’t need to. You both know what this is, and somehow, the chaos of almost getting caught only makes it more thrilling.

“I think we should really get out of here before he comes back,” you say with a shaky laugh, though you aren’t quite ready to leave yet.

Rafayel pulls you closer, brushing his lips against your ear once more. “Noooo,” he complains with a whiny voice, thick with annoyance.

“Just one more, pleaseee?”

SYLUS ꩜ Bound to You!

“This is ridiculous,” you huff, holding up your wrist to emphasize the glowing cuff binding you to your husband.

Sylus chuckles, utterly unbothered as he examines the energy linkage with a lazy smirk. “You say that, but I think fate just enjoys tying us together.”

You shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real heat. This isn’t the first time the protocore’s strange energy has done something like this, though back then, you weren’t married. Now, the situation feels even more absurd.

“We’re literally handcuffed together,” you deadpan.

He tilts his head, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Well, I did vow to stay by your side, didn’t I?”

You groan, tugging at the glowing chain connecting your wrists. It doesn’t budge. “I just wanna go to bed.”

Sylus hums, stepping closer—so close you can feel the warmth of his body. “Oh we'll go to bed, alright.”

His voice dips, rich and smooth, the way it always does when he’s teasing you, something you’ve grown used to over the years.

You narrow your eyes. “Sy'.”

He grins, giving the chain a light tug so that you stumble forward, right into his chest. His free hand finds your waist, steadying you as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear.

“Or,” he murmurs, “we could make the best of it.”

Your pulse skips.

His fingers brush your hip, and even through the thin fabric of your nightwear, his touch sends warmth curling low in your stomach.

“This again?” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Oh, come now.” He lifts your bound wrists, kissing your knuckles before meeting your gaze. His ruby orbs gleam with something dark. “Don’t tell me you don’t love this just a little.”

You swallow, unable to deny because he's right. He always was.

He strokes slow, soothing patterns against your bare thigh, watching you through half-lidded, satisfied eyes. “We’re married now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it?”

You exhale shakily as he guides you toward the bed, his movements slow, as if savoring every second.

The moment your back hits the mattress, Sylus is above you, his free hand splayed against your side, fingers flexing like he’s resisting the urge to grab you harder.

His gaze softens as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. “My darling wife,” he purls, voice thick with affection. “Would love to be cuffed with you forever.”

He kisses you, moving like he has all the time in the world, deepening the kiss only when you sigh against him, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your toes curl, head spinning.

The chain between you clinks softly as he adjusts, pressing closer, his thigh slotting between yours.

His touch is everywhere—skimming your waist, teasing over your ribs, sliding beneath your shirt with aching slowness.

He pulls back slightly, golden eyes searching yours. “Breathtaking,” he breathes, voice reverent. “And you’re all mine.”

Heat pools in your stomach as he kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing sensitive skin, free hand slipping beneath your waistband to tease his pads onto your swolled clit, you gasp, arching into his touch.

Sylus groans, his forehead dropping against yours. “Ohh, she's an eager one,” he breathes, his fingers dipping between your folds, sliding along them. “All ready for me.”

The slow, careful movements turn teasing, his fingers circling your clit, stroking you with just enough pressure to drive you mad.

Suddenly, one finger teases your neglected entrance, sloooowly entering, searching it's way through your cavity.

You whimper, bound wrist jerking slightly as you try to grasp onto something—anything—but all you can do is grip his hand, fingers tangling with his.

“Perfect,” he whispers, firm, kissing along your jaw. “Every part of you.”

A second finger follows suit, curling upward, bumping against you gushy walls, loud sounds clouding his mind in lust.

You shudder, body tightening under his praise. “P-please, Sy'—”

He hushes you with another kiss, fingers slipping inside you with ease, fingers curling right into the spot he memorized throuout the years, smirking against your lips at your broken shriek.

And fuck, he’s grinding into you like he’s losing his mind, hips bucking wildly, precum smearing across his briefs, desperate for even a sliver of relief.

He’s groaning against your lips like he might fall apart first, cock so achingly hard it twitches helplessly with every snap of his hips, every slick flick of his wrist.

You can feel it, how far gone he’s let himself get, and it pushes you closer and closer, sharp heat building unbearably low in your belly.

Your grip tightens in his hair again, tugging harder, forcing his mouth impossibly closer to your mouth as you gasp into him, voice breaking. “Fuck, Sy', don’t stop, don’t—”

He answers only with a deep, wrecked moan, fingers curling further, moving faster, scraping against your walls with the single-minded intent to see you coming undone.

The lewd slap of his wrist against your core echoing alongside the wet, obscene sounds of the breathless kiss you cage him in, your hips bucking up further into his touch, so impossibly close to release.

Thighs starting to shake uncontrollably, every nerve on fire, your body arching, bowstring-tight as he drives you over the edge without mercy. The combination of his filthy mouth, the desperate, hungry sounds spilling from his mouth snaps something inside you.

His words push you over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. Your walls clench around his fingers, back arching into his chest as a broken moan slips from your lips.

Only when you're spent body slumps against the sheets, chest heaving, does he finally pull away, dark pupils blown wide.

Sylus groans, his expression caught between awe and pure hunger.

Before you can fully come down, he’s freeing himself from his boxers, guiding his free hand around his cock, lining himself up with you.

“Goooood job,” he murmurs, voice soft yet sharp. “Now lets repeat this mess on my cock, yes?”

You barely have time to respond before he presses forward, sinking into you with a deep, slow thrust, a gasp tears from your lips as he stretches you in the most perfect way, like you're made for him. Because you are.

Sylus lets out a shaky breath, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he groans. “You feel unreal, sweetie.”

He stays still for a moment, savoring the way your body wraps around him. Then, he pulls back and thrusts in again, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

The chain between your wrists clinks softly with every movement, a constant reminder of how intimately you’re connected.

Sylus takes his time, each thrust measured, his hands roaming your body, his lips pressing lingering kisses against your skin.

“My wife,” he murmurs, his voice thick with devotion. “You’re everything to me.”

The way he moves, the way he worships you with every touch, every word—it sends you spiraling closer to the edge again.

Sylus feels it, his rhythm faltering slightly. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasps, his free hand slipping between your bodies to rub your clit.

Your breath catches, pleasure surging through you like fire. “Mhmm! Gonna cum again, Sy'!—”

“That’s it,” he whispers, his pace quickening. “Cum with me.”

The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, then you shatter. Your orgasm tears through you, body tightening, back arching, pleasure consuming every nerve.

Sylus groans, his own release following as he thrusts into you one final time, his body trembling as he spills his hot spurts of cum inside you.

Suddenly, the glow around your wrists flickers.

With a soft shimmer, the energy linkage disappears entirely, the cuffs vanishing as if they were never there to begin with.

Sylus lets out a breathless laugh, collapsing beside you. “Huh. Looks like we found the key.” You groan, smacking his chest weakly. “You would say that.”

He grins, gathering you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Hope you aren't planning on sleeping now, sweetheart," he muses, mischief dancing in his crimson gaze. His fingers trail down, dipping between your thighs to catch his leaking cum, only to pluck it in again.

"Because I wouldn’t count on getting any rest tonight."

CALEB ꩜ Going... Down?!

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, the lights flickering once before stabilizing into a dim glow.

Well, how fucking great.

You groan, pressing the emergency button, but nothing happens. “Of course,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

Caleb leans back against the wall, completely unbothered, arms folded over his broad chest, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “Well, looks like we’re stuck.”

You glance at him. “No shit.”

He chuckles, tilting his head at you, hat slightly shifting. “No need to sound so grumpy, sweets. Think of it as quality time, hm?”

You huff, but your irritation barely lasts under his lazy, amused gaze.

A few moments pass in silence before Caleb shifts, stepping closer. His presence alone makes the air feel heavier, warmer.

Your eyes meet his, and the way he looks at you sends heat straight to your core.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “You’re tense.”

You swallow as he reaches out, his fingers brushing over your wrist before trailing down, ghosting over your hip.

“Caleb—”

“Mm?” His smirk widens, but his touch stays gentle, coaxing, teasing. “I'm just tryin' ta help.”

Your breath hitches as his hand slides lower, fingers toying with your uniform pants.

“Here?” you whisper, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Why not?” His fingers slip past the fabric, brushing over your panties. “No one’s comin' anytime soon.”

The way he says it so casually, careless, makes your stomach tighten, your legs pressing together involuntarily.

Caleb snickers, his fingers pressing against your clit through the thin fabric, applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. “You like the risk, don’t you?”

You bite your lip, body already betraying you before your mouth can even try to.

He hums, clearly pleased, before slipping his hand beneath your underwear, his fingers finding your wetness.

A sharp inhale leaves you as he traces slow circles over your clit, his other hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

“She’s always so damn wet,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction.

Your head falls back against the cool metal as he slides a finger inside you, the stretch teasing, not nearly enough.

“M-more,” you whisper.

Caleb groans, mouth brushing over your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

He adds another finger, curling them just right, his pace slow and deliberate. The quiet slick of your arousal fills the small space, making your cheeks burn. His lips ghost over your ear. “Yer' gonna have ta' be quiet, sweets.”

Your breath hitches as he presses his thumb to your clit, his movements intensifying. Your free hand clutches at his unrelenting wrist, body trembling. “Nghh— r-right there! Ouuuhh!”

“Shhhhh,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t want anyone knowing how good I’m making you feel, do you?”

His pace doesn’t falter, his fingers fucking you with precision, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm crashes through you, your walls clenching around his fingers, your body tensing as waves of pleasure roll over you.

Caleb groans, watching you come undone, his fingers soaked in your spurting release, and ohhh— he’s nowhere near done yet.

He takes off his commanding hat, placing it onto your head, then sinks to his knees in an instant, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right above the fabric of your pants. “Will ya’ let me get a taste, colonel?”

You gasp as he hooks his fingers into your waistband and drags your uniform pants down, exposing your trembling legs.

“M-mhmm—”

He shoots you a wicked grin before pressing his mouth against your soaked panties, the heat of his tongue searing even through the fabric. He inhales deeply, humming in approval. “Ya smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your fingers tangle into his dark strands, your other hand clawing at something, anything, as he pulls the damp material aside and licks a slow, teasing stripe over your swollen clit.

Your knees buckle, but he catches you, one strong arm locking around your waist, keeping you upright as he works his tongue over you—circling, flicking, sucking—with a patience that makes your head spin.

“C-Caleb—!”

“Yeahhh, I know,” he growls, dragging his tongue lower, teasing your entrance before dipping inside, his nose brushing against your clit.

The combination of his fingers and his mouth is overwhelming. Heat pools in your core again, another orgasm creeping up on you too soon.

He feels it, senses it, and doubles down—sucking harder, his tongue pressing in deep. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you wide open for him as he feasts.

Your breath hitches, thighs quivering around his head, his hat sliding slightly over your eyes as you tilt your head down, and then—

White-hot pleasure bursts through you, your hands flying to his hair, moans muffled as you bite down on your lip to keep from screaming his name.

Caleb groans against you, lapping up every bit of your sweet juices, his own arousal pressing painfully against his pants.

Just as your body sags against the cool metal wall, the elevator lets out a soft ding.

Your eyes snap open just as the doors begin to slide apart. Panic shoots through you as you scramble to pull up your pants, your legs still shaking.

This absolute bastard just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirk lazy and completely unrepentant.

A fleet officer peers in, eyebrows raised.

“Everything alright in here?”

Caleb shoots you a smirk, taking his hat from you before ruffling your hair teasingly, turning back to the officer. “Oh, we’re doing fine. Time flew by. Am I right, pips'?”

Your breath is still uneven, your mind still clouded from your second orgasm. You struggle to find a normal response, forcing out a weak, “Y-yeah. Time flew.”

The officer gives you an odd look but ultimately shrugs. “Alright then.”

As you step out, still flustered, Caleb leans in, his breath red and heated against your ear.

“Let’s do this again once we’re home,” he whispers, his voice dripping with promise,

“But this time, you squirt on my dick.”

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[ozsvessalius]

watching hps (championship finalist) work on aping the full ver of intense voice on append. actual horror game, y'all. the map has over 4k notes (i think 4.5k exactly) & WILD patterns & at least a couple speed changes. they chose violence when they made this new difficulty fr

[starryeyed-apple]

Xavier glows the first time you have sex.

He lacks firsthand experience in the bedroom, but you would have never known if you hadn't discussed this moment before it happened.

Xavier tucks your hair behind your ear and looks into your eyes, fully attentive and memorizing every answer as he asks about your preferences in bed, what you like best and if there's anything you're not comfortable with.

You smile when you ask him the same, wanting to know what he's interested in, what he'd like to explore. When your sweet boyfriend, flushed and honest, quietly admits to liking the idea of being dominant—of taking care of you.

I figured, you hum, and kiss him softly before whispering against his lips that you'd like that. You choose a safe word together, just in case you need to stop at any point, for any reason.

On a starry night after a nice dinner date, with the lamp in the corner of your bedroom dimmed by his shirt haphazardly thrown over the shade, a glass of water and lube on the bedside table and a pillow propped under your back, Xavier takes time to learn you completely, to map every inch of your skin.

Kissing every freckle, scar and stretch mark. Learning which flicks of his tongue make you tremble, how to suck just enough so your soft, strong Hunter's thighs tighten around his head.

And when he's as deep inside of you as he can get—hips flush together, forehead against yours, fingers entangled—that's when you see the specks of gold begin to dance around you.

The gentle light he subconsciously casts reverberates with each of his slow, deep thrusts, flickering with each groan he muffles against your neck. Soft, near silent whimpers breathe from his mouth into yours with each desperate, devoted kiss.

"Xavier," you whisper, nails digging gently into the nape of his neck, curling through his fluffy hair, and he moans. Quiet, intimate, a sound saved so long for your ears alone, and you watch as the entire expanse of his large body (perfect posture, gentle strength, curled around you to claim and protect) begins to glow.

He only gets brighter and brighter each time you clench around his throbbing cock, and you drip with your release every time he coaxes you through it. Lovingly, tugging you over the edge until you're falling, just so he can catch you, carry you down, and pull you back through it again.

You're reminded that Xavier is a talented musician by the way he plays you—beautifully, intricately, finding each spot to stroke and press against until you're singing for him, until you can't stop making that sweet music.

Each time your eyes roll back, you see that golden light pressing against your lids. You feel that solid, comforting weight of him against you as he whispers praise into your ear, your hips held steady in elegant fingers (leader, angel) and callused hands (killer, guardian).

So much of your love is still unknown, but when he's in your arms like this, when you've finally joined together in the most intimate of ways, he is golden and he is yours.

His face buries into your chest, planting sloppy kisses against your sweat-slicked skin. He looks up, face flushed and eyes dark with need that balances with sacrificial instinct, devotion that borders obsession, and consuming lust overshadowed only by the purest love.

And when he sees your lips parted with every sweet moan, lashes fluttering open to meet his gaze, the dim light of the room brightens with the golden glow of his skin when he cums deep inside you.

Xavier collapses on top of you after, chest heaving against yours, hips still lazily rolling to keep you stuffed with him. Each wave of overstimulation makes him glow a little brighter, and you're murmuring softly, your hands roaming over his shoulders and across his back.

When each wave of pleasure begins to ebb away, he hears every reverent word that falls, awestruck and breathless and utterly in love, from your pretty lips:

You're glowing, baby.

Look at you, so beautiful.

My sweet star, all mine.

He moans at that last one, mind going blank with pleasure and you (his love, his purpose, his guiding starlight), hips bucking forward and pulling a gasp from your throat.

You have to squint against the light he emits when he fucks up into you again, and again, his cum spilling out and soaking your sheets, making room to fill you up even more, until the morning light comes to replace his own.

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️ Xavier fics: @santaluna @itsmysmut @onigiriinthecorner @inzayneforaj 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple

[wasyago]

Falls in, i would love to hear about this decked out/failed cave exploration au pls pls pls already i am Bewitched

hehehe [in tango's voice] sighh i suppose...

really im very tempted to just let it sit and not tell anything, because it's so fun seeing people theorize and point out details in the notes. but yeah i guess i shouldn't gatekeep it, its a fun au!

i do want to state in the beginning that it was a one-off thing and i have no plans on continuing it or drawing more for it. if you do tho? feel free! (not asking for fanart by any means, but giving the green light if anyone was wondering)

well

-------

Pet crew were a group of cave explorers. They're no experts by any means but they were no amateurs either! (ignore the fact that they're not wearing any PPE, i didn't want to draw it, ok--) And recently they've been excited about mapping out a new cave system they found, completely unexplored according to their research.

Tango, always a big lover of his plans and spreadsheets, presumably decided to go in alone ahead of time to sketch out at least a rough draft for a map, so they had an idea of what they're going to be dealing with.

But see, this cave is not an ordinary cave, no matter how pristine and untouched it looked. It is one gigantic organism of unknown origin, and a hunrgy one at that, the air inside it is filled with little cells or spores that, when inhaled enough, start taking over the body and corroding it to the cave's will. Killing the host in the process.

So, obviously, after spending some time in the cave by himself, Tango did get some cells in him. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to give him a headstart on the corruption when the group went in for a proper dive some days later.

The first symptoms of undergoing the change are pretty standard: light fever, weakness, dizziness — easy to mistake for a flu.

Which is exactly what Tango did. Of course, going caving with a flu is not a smart thing to do either, but the group has been planning this trip for so long, delaying it even more because someone was slightly under the weather would've been foolish!

The cave started off with a big drop, requiring a rope to be set up, and then sprawled into a system of tunnels. Tango and Pearl were very excited to find an entrance to some ancient tombs a couple of hours into the dive. There were stairs leading even deeper underground, which turned out to be an entrance to a bigger cave system, with a huge frozen lake in the middle and an entrance to abandoned mines.

Further symptoms include skin turning pale, graying hair, eyes starting to shift color to red. Previous symptoms remain and intensify.

Tango had always been pale, he had blond hair too, and in the dark it was hard to notice the white streaks in them. The pink cheeks were easily passed as a result of being in the cold. Pearl did express some concerns about Tango's well-being when he started to fall back a bit, but he dismissed it as just him getting tired. By that point Pearl seemed to also have some "frost" in her hair.

After the hair have fully turned white, the tips start to switch color to an unnatural blue. Skin eventually loses color completely, turning gray. Fever intensifies as body desperately tries to fight the infection.

At that point it was impossible to deny that something was wrong with Tango. There are no mirrors underground though, so to him it was just his flu getting out of hand. Guilty of hiding his illness, yes, but nothing critical. The blue hair however were not normal, and the other two were freaking out a bit more than Tango would've hoped for.

They had an argument.

Etho snapped and hit Tango to beat some sense into his stupid head.

By that point Pearl was clearly looking bad too, and Etho's own hair were apparently turning white. They were all feeling terrible, physically and mentally. They decided to head home.

As previously stated, the cave is in fact alive and can sense when something that belongs to it is trying to escape. In an effort to stop it, the whole cave system comes to life. Old animal carcasses rise and start walking, small screeching creatures begin patrolling the tombs, the ice melts and the cave blooms in dangerous ways.

When the crew exited the mines into the second level of the cave system, it was apparent that the way back would be a lot harder. By that point Tango was struggling to stand and Etho had to drop his equipment to carry him. But the fever and the dizziness were making it hard to move fast, the changed layout of the cave was difficult to navigate even with their map, and the way to the surface was still very and very long. It was obvious they couldn't make it out....

Unless they were willing to make some sacrifices.

Etho isn't proud of his decision, but leaving Tango was their only option! He and Pearl still had a chance to escape if they moved quickly, but Tango was just too far gone, he couldn't-- Etho couldn't carry him to the exit, he was getting too tired, and if they all stuck together it would get all three of them killed! Was it not better for at least two of them to survive instead of-

They had another argument.

Pearl stubbornly insisted on taking Tango, so Etho had to lie to her and say that they will come back once they scout out the way. Etho couldn't force himself to look at Tango though, if he did he would be met with this knowing look and he just couldn't bear it. Tango cried when they were leaving.

After the body succumbs to the fever it stays dead for a short period of time, while the rest of the changes set in.

It took a miracle for both Etho and Pearl to reach the tombs, but the hard part came after. Etho did everything in his power to convince Pearl to leave with him, he said they will come back later when they're better prepared, he said it was too late to help Tango, he said it was Tango's own fault, he said many bad things, none of which were enough to change Pearl's mind. She turned back and Etho didn't follow her.

He ran through the tombs and the caves alone, losing his eye to a monster he saw all too late. It was painful and it was disorienting, Etho doesn't even remember how he got to the initial drop they went down, he was panicking and only moving forward because of adrenaline and instinct. The ascend was a fever dream, Etho doesn't know how he didn't fall to his death then.

Through the rush of blood in his head, Etho heard the faint sound of Tango's voice. Too cheery for his feverish condition, and much, much closer, a lot closer than the place they left him to die in. He did not hear Pearl. The sound stopped when it was right under him, and he felt a light tug on the rope he was hanging of. And nothing else happened...

Etho emerged from the cave into the cold night, stumbling over his own feet, too tired to run. Their van was parked over by the entrance and Gem was already waiting for him. Him — shaking, bloody and alone.

...

The body reanimates again, now obedient to the cave's will. It is no longer alive but it is not dead either, frozen, stalking through the tunnels in a mindless haze.

[inkskinned]

i have spent a few days listening to the music you like. you have a tattoo of the band's logo on your ribs. you got it when you were still kind of a kid. my first tattoo was a bird instead. i did the math - we got our first tattoos in the same calendar year. isn't that kind of cool.

my mom loves hallmark movies, so i grew up thinking love would look like a firework. it feels like one, after all. it's just that my house wasn't safe. i thought love was a weapon, could be pointed at your eyes. could lose a finger to it, or teeth. my father used to say passion is everything. i thought that meant constant fighting was a good thing. i thought that meant love looked like a week of bickering, because it was worth the the weekend's boombox apology. i thought quiet love was boring. i thought love had to blot out everything, compel the body and the mind like puppetry. i thought love looks like ruining your own dinner table - but at least you set a feast.

but love looks like a scarf. your hands smoothing it down my chest, being sure each of the edges are tucked in, worried about my asthma attacks being cold-activated. i race you while i'm wearing heels, you hold my hand to guide me downhill while walking my dog. we dance in my living room to waltz of the flowers, i show you how to hold your arms in proper ballet port de bras. you write a song about looking out of my window while the snow falls. i ask you to text my friends back while i'm driving. you play dj in the front seat. somewhere on route 93, we start murmuring about secret things.

oh. there is a difference between peace and dispassion. it was never that i feared quiet, it's that i didn't know what safe felt like. i liked the chaos because it was familiar, not because it was kind. i think i used to fear the word wife. i didn't like the idea of long, lonely days and being yelled at for small things. i didn't like the idea of sacrificing my one beautiful life.

you meet my friends and make a point to learn things about them. we both get excited about the other person's passions. you read my book for hours, squinting at the small words. i try to understand basic guitar information. we talk for four hours on the phone while i string together a garland. we talk for six hours while you write a poem. i save a pintrest tip for the summer about making paper kites. i plan us a week-long trip to maine, map out my favorite places for an eventual hike. you fall asleep on the ride home, and i turn down the radio so it won't wake you up. your quiet hands fold over mine.

when i look up, the stars are brighter. how carefully you've woven gold into the corners of my life. when i move, i feel some part of my soul reflected back onto you.

oh, love is not a net. it's a blanket.

[bvrnesher]

❝ Jealous headcanons ! ❞ ― jason grace !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: nsfw/sfw content.

— ✦ pairing: Jason grace ! reader.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ NSFW

Jason doesn’t know what to do with his jealousy. He was trained to lead, to protect, to stay composed. So when he feels that sharp, ugly twist in his gut because someone else touched you, looked at you, laughed too long at your joke? He just… shuts down. Goes quiet. Withdraws.

He’s not loud about it—he’s intense. His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. He watches you with that controlled Roman stillness, eyes like a brewing storm. When you ask what’s wrong? He lies. “Nothing.” But his hands are clenched into fists and he keeps checking where you are in the room.

It festers. And later, alone with you, it snaps. His fingers wrap around your waist harder than usual. His kisses are hungrier, rougher—uncharacteristically so. His voice is low when he says “Mine, okay? You’re… you’re mine.” And he hates how desperate he sounds.

He’s not used to feeling this out of control. So when he finally pushes you against the wall, panting, rutting against you like he’s trying to claim every inch—you realize: he’s embarrassed by how much he wants you. By how easily you make him fall apart.

He’s still Jason, though. He still asks. Even when he’s jealous, even when he’s already inside you—he pauses. Whispers, breathless, “Tell me you want this.” Because he has to hear it. He needs to know you’re choosing him. Not just because he’s strong or golden or “praetor.” But because he’s Jason.

You notice he gets more vocal in bed when he’s jealous. Not dirty talk—reassurance. He calls you “baby,” “sweetheart,” “mine.” He moans your name like a mantra, like he's trying to bury it in your skin with every thrust. His forehead presses to yours, lightning humming under his skin, and he begs: “Stay with me. Please.”

He holds you tighter. Kisses you deeper. After he comes—usually deep inside you, as close as he can get—he doesn’t move. He stays on top of you, arms wrapped around you like he’s scared you’ll slip away the second he lets go. His heart thunders against your chest.

And later, in the dark? He admits it. Not easily. Not without guilt. But you hear him whisper, raw and ashamed: “I got jealous. I know it’s stupid. I trust you. I just—” His voice breaks. “I want you so much it hurts.”

It’s not dominance with Jason—it’s devotion. He doesn’t fuck you because he’s possessive. He fucks you because he loves you too much and doesn’t know how else to cope. You make him feel—and that terrifies him. But gods, he wants more.

He kisses like he’s drowning. When the jealousy’s fresh in his chest, when he’s still shaken from the idea of losing you, Jason doesn’t ease into the moment—he dives. Mouth hot and open against yours, tongue sliding in with a soft groan, like he needs to prove something. His fingers thread into your hair. His chest is heaving. He doesn’t come up for air until he’s breathless and dazed.

His hands roam like he’s mapping your body. Every dip, every scar, every place you gasp when he touches it. He presses kisses to your sternum, trails them down your stomach. He pauses at your hips—just holding them for a second like he’s grounding himself—before pulling your underwear down slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

Jason eats you out like it’s redemption. Face buried between your thighs, arms wrapped under your legs to keep you close. He licks slow at first, savoring every moan you make like it’s permission. But when you tug his hair or roll your hips against his face? He groans low, tongue stroking deeper, more desperate. You come with your thighs trembling around his ears, and he doesn’t stop. He keeps going like he wants to prove you belong to him—through pleasure.

He gets painfully hard from giving. When he’s focused on you—kissing you open, feeling you writhe under his mouth—his cock aches untouched against the bed, leaking into his boxers. He ruts into the sheets a little, barely aware he’s doing it, because the sound of you falling apart is enough to push him right to the edge.

He makes the softest, filthiest sounds when he’s inside you. Not cocky. Not performative. Just breathy, vulnerable little gasps every time you tighten around him. His voice cracks when he moans. His fingers shake where they’re tangled with yours. When you whisper his name, he chokes on a curse and thrusts deeper, like his whole body is pleading—don’t let go.

Jason fucks like he’s making love even when he’s jealous. Especially when he’s jealous. He’s not trying to prove he’s better than anyone. He’s trying to show you that no one else would care this much. His thrusts are slow but hard, grinding deep with every movement, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing, hands clinging like he can’t stand an inch of space between you.

He loves when you touch his chest while he’s inside you. Fingertips brushing his collarbone, nails dragging lightly down his stomach. You call him beautiful, and he blushes so hard it hits his ears, hips stuttering while he presses deeper into you, like he needs to feel all of you in return.

He falls apart when you squeeze around him. You clench, whisper how good he feels, and Jason breaks. He groans into your neck, thrusts turning messy, his whole body trembling with the effort of not coming. “I-I can’t—” he gasps, voice wrecked, burying himself deep one last time as he spills, pulsing inside you with a strangled cry.

He loves to stay inside you after. He softens slowly, but he doesn’t pull out. Not right away. He kisses your cheeks, your jaw, your chest. Whispers how much he loves you. You feel him twitch every time you clench around him again—sensitive, overstimulated, but so content to be as close as possible.

He wants to mark you—but gently. He won’t leave bruises unless you ask. But he’ll suck kisses into your inner thighs. He’ll bite lightly at your shoulder while you ride him. His fingers will linger on the curve of your hips where he gripped you during the worst of his jealousy, eyes locked on the faint red marks with a possessive sort of awe.

Jason gets the most intense afterglow when he’s worked up. He’s floaty. Warm. Smiling in that dazed, lovesick way while he pulls you to his chest. He’ll stroke your hair, kiss your temples, whisper “Thank you” over and over because he’s not used to being allowed to need this much. To be jealous. To feel everything.

He gets a little shy about how desperate he was. Once he’s calmed down, he buries his face in your neck and groans. “I don’t know what got into me.” You tell him you liked it, and he flushes all over again—grinning, but a little overwhelmed that you want him like this. Still.

He’ll go down on you again if he’s still feeling insecure. You tease him, say he doesn’t have to. But he insists, kissing his way between your legs, eyes soft and burning with love. “I just want to take care of you.” And he does. Slowly, with tongue and fingers, until you’re begging, shaking, pulling him up for a kiss as you fall apart.

Jason is feral for praise in the moment. Not dominance—praise. Tell him he’s making you feel good. That no one else could ever touch you like this. That you love how deep he is, how gentle, how intense. His eyes flutter shut, his pace falters, and he whispers something like “I love you so much” just as he starts to come again—hard, full-body spasms, head thrown back, moaning into your name like it’s grace.

He doesn’t want to be your only—he wants to be your favorite. That’s where the jealousy lives. Not in control, but in fear. And when you let him love you through it? When you show him that he is enough, with your hands and your moans and your body trembling under his? That’s when he truly, finally believes it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ SFW ㅤ

He tries to be the "good guy" about it. Jason’s first instinct when he’s jealous is to keep it together, to act like it doesn’t bother him. He’s used to being the leader, the protector—the one who’s supposed to have his emotions in check. But if someone else gets too close to you, it eats at him. He might stay quiet, but you can tell he’s a little more tense, a little more rigid.

Internal conflict: He wants to trust, but it’s hard. Jason is a natural protector, and his jealousy often comes from a place of wanting to make sure you're safe and cared for. He doesn’t want to doubt you, but when someone else makes a move, it stirs up that feeling of not being enough. He can’t help but wonder, What if they’re better for you? This internal battle is what causes the most strain on him. He wants to be the hero, but he doesn’t always feel like he’s your hero.

Subtle actions to “claim” you. When Jason’s jealous, he might not say much, but he becomes possessive in small ways. He’ll wrap his arm around your waist when someone else is getting too close, or his hand will rest on the small of your back—almost like he’s trying to anchor you to him without saying a word. His touch is subtle, but the meaning behind it is clear: You’re mine.

He becomes quieter. When jealousy strikes, Jason tends to withdraw a little. He might not snap at the person who’s making him uncomfortable, but he’ll give short answers or focus on something else, like the task at hand. His mind is racing, and he’s trying to push those thoughts down, but they always come bubbling up. You’ll notice the sudden shift in his demeanor: the way he zones out or his quick, clipped responses.

He’s hard on himself. Jason’s jealousy triggers feelings of inadequacy. He’s constantly questioning himself: Am I enough for you? Do I measure up to the other heroes around you? This self-doubt can cause him to retreat into himself, especially if he feels like someone else is offering something he can’t. He won’t admit it easily, but it’s there—the constant battle in his mind.

Protective, but not overbearing. Jason’s protective nature comes out more intensely when he’s jealous. If someone flirts with you or makes a comment about how great you are, he might find an excuse to put himself between you two. He won’t start a fight, but his presence becomes like a shield. His stance will shift—more rigid, more authoritative—making it clear that he’s the one who gets to be close to you.

He tries to hide it, but the little things give him away. Jason’s not one to show his jealousy outwardly, but you can tell by his body language. He might look at you a little too long when someone else is talking to you, or his gaze will flicker to the other person before returning to you, almost like he’s making sure he has your attention. He might fidget with his sword or tap his fingers against his thigh, a sign that his mind is racing.

He needs reassurance, but he won’t ask for it directly. After a jealous moment, Jason will likely withdraw, not wanting to admit his feelings. But he’ll need you to remind him that he’s your choice. He won’t say it outright, but you’ll notice him seeking small moments of closeness—lingering touches, quiet words, a soft look that says more than he’s willing to say aloud. He needs to hear that you chose him.

He’ll confront it, but only when it’s overwhelming. If his jealousy goes unchecked for too long, Jason’s emotions might come to a boiling point. He won’t get angry or yell, but he’ll pull you aside and quietly tell you that he’s feeling a little insecure, not knowing if he’s measuring up to what you need. It’s not a confrontation; it’s a vulnerable confession. He’s asking for reassurance without demanding it, and he’s trusting you to help him work through it.

His jealousy isn’t about control—it’s about fear of loss. Unlike like Leo, whose jealousy often comes from his own insecurities and need for validation, Jason’s jealousy is more about the fear of losing you. He doesn’t want to control you, but the thought of someone else stealing your attention, making you feel seen in ways he can't, hurts him deeply. He doesn’t want to be possessive, but sometimes the fear of losing you overrides his rational thoughts.

[godricgryffinsnore]

The Heart On The Map ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : Harry’s secret affection for you quite literally glows, and a certain map reveals more than just footsteps. It's cozy, romantic, and sprinkled with the perfect amount of mischief.

warnings : Extreme fluff (like heart-squeezing, kiss-you-softly fluff), Secondhand embarrassment (Harry being adorably awkward), Teasing from friends (Ron and Hermione’s chaos), Magical PDA (glowing hearts on enchanted maps 💘), Slight possessiveness (in the “you’re mine and I worship you” way), Uncontrollable grinning and swooning may occur (reader beware). Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 1.1k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @saradika-graphics

There were many things Harry Potter kept secret.

Like how he added double sugar to his tea when Hermione wasn’t looking. Like how he practiced his “relaxed, totally cool” smile in the mirror every time he passed you in the corridor. And most sacred of all—more than the passwords to Dumbledore’s office or the secret of the Chamber—was the Marauder’s Map.

But not for the reason you might think.

You see, somewhere between sixth year’s chaos and seventh’s slow-burning hush, Harry Potter had done something rather... sentimental. And completely irrational, if you asked Ron (which Harry never did).

He’d charmed a heart—small and shimmering—onto the very parchment the Marauders created, and it glowed, ever so softly, around one specific dot. Yours.

Not Ginny. Not Cho. You. The girl who laughed like a spell misfiring. The girl who once beat Malfoy at chess and made it look like art. The girl who borrowed his quill and returned it with tiny daisies drawn all over the feather.

And worst of all—or best, depending on how you looked at it—the girl who had no idea.

── .✦

It started on a Thursday.

A rainy, sleepy sort of Thursday, where the windows of the common room wept soft silver trails and the fire crackled with just enough drama to be comforting.

You flopped beside Harry on the couch with a groan that could’ve summoned a Healer.

“I’ve written ‘henceforth’ six times in this essay. Is that even legal?”

Harry laughed, setting the map aside (too quickly, if anyone were watching).

“You could say 'thus' instead,” he offered, but you shook your head.

“No. I’m reclaiming henceforth. It’s powerful. It’s poetic. It’s—” You paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait… was that the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry went rigid, like someone had hit him with a mild Petrificus Totalus. “Um. No?”

You arched a brow.

He sighed. “Yes.”

And before he could think—before his brain could outrun his heart—you were leaning over him, plucking the parchment off the cushion like it owed you answers.

It opened easily in your hands, revealing the winding paths and pulsing names. You blinked.

“Wait. Is that… a heart?”

Silence. A heartbeat. A single crack from the fire.

Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Hero of the Light, Slayer of Serpents and Secrets, turned beet red.

“I—it’s just… it’s not a big—okay, yes, it’s a heart,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s dumb, I know. I can remove it—”

“Don’t,” you said, suddenly soft.

He peeked at you through his fingers.

You were staring at the heart-shaped glow, your own name twinkling in its center like stardust caught in moonlight.

“It’s cute,” you whispered. Then smirked. “Slightly stalker-ish. But cute.”

He groaned, flopping backward dramatically, his glasses askew.

“Why am I like this?”

You leaned closer, your hair brushing his shoulder, voice low and warm.

“Because you’re completely whipped for me, Potter.”

He made a strangled noise. “I am not whipped.”

You gently tapped his chest. “Then explain the heart on the ancient, priceless magical document.”

“I just… like knowing where you are,” he muttered. “So I can walk you to class. Or sit near you at lunch. Or save you a seat in the library.”

You bit your lip, your heart doing acrobatics. “That’s… very sweet. And sort of terrifying. But mostly sweet.”

Harry looked up at you then, every ounce of Gryffindor bravery burning in his stupidly green eyes.

“I like you, you know,” he said, breathless. “Really like you. Possibly dangerously. You make me forget how to speak in complete sentences sometimes.”

You smiled, slow and blooming.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I like you, too.”

And then, in the hush of the firelight and the steady tap of rain, you leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Honest. Like a promise and a poem had collided into lips.

Somewhere beneath the couch, the Marauder’s Map pulsed. The heart glowed brighter.

Harry Potter, for once, didn’t care who saw.

── .✦

It had been three days since the Marauder’s Map incident.

Three days since Harry had declared his undying affection with a magical glowing heart. Three days since you’d kissed him and made his brain short-circuit like a faulty Remembrall. Three days of absolute, uninterrupted, lovesick bliss.

Unfortunately, three days was also about as long as it took Ron Weasley to notice anything.

── .✦

"What's that glowing on the map?"

It happened during a perfectly innocent evening in the common room. You were working on homework. Harry had pulled out the map for “patrolling purposes” (translation: to check where you were every seven minutes). And Ron, bless his nosy soul, had leaned over his shoulder mid-yawn.

Harry froze. The map, sprawled open across his lap, was very clearly displaying your name, outlined in the shape of a fluttering, glowing, pulsating heart.

“Oh,” Ron said. “Oh. Oh?”

Harry panicked.

“That’s—nothing. A bug. A map bug. One of those… cartographical hexes.”

“Mate,” Ron deadpanned. “There is a literal love heart glowing around her name. What sort of maps have bugs shaped like affection?”

Hermione, already suspicious, looked up from her book. “What love heart?”

Ron grabbed the parchment and pointed like he’d discovered Atlantis.

“This! Look! Look at it twinkling, Hermione. Twinkling! Like it’s in love!”

Hermione took one look and broke into the most insufferable smirk this side of the Black Lake.

“Harry,” she said sweetly, too sweetly. “Did you… customize the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it!”

“Oh my God,” Ron said, now thoroughly scandalized. “This is worse than when Fred used the map to track Angelina’s bathroom schedule.”

You, meanwhile, were trying (and failing) not to laugh. “So… I’m twinkling now?”

Hermione was grinning. “Darling, you’re radiant. You have a magical beacon of Harry Potter’s undying affection around your name.”

“UNDYING AFFECTION?!” Harry squeaked.

Ron looked personally betrayed. “You put a heart on the map and didn’t tell me? What happened to bro code?”

“Ron, you nearly hexed yourself trying to flirt with a portrait last week.”

“That portrait winked at me!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re both hopeless.”

You leaned into Harry’s shoulder, cheek pressed to his robe, and murmured, “You can keep the heart, by the way. It’s cute.”

Harry turned red. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Really,” you hummed. “Might make one for your name next time.”

Ron clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him with a Cupid’s arrow. “I swear, if I see two glowing hearts, I’m transferring to Durmstrang.”

“Can’t,” Hermione said without looking up. “They’d never survive your emotional constipation.”

“Oi!”

── .✦

The heart stayed on the map. You added a star next to his name the next day. Ron did, in fact, see it and screamed into a pillow. Hermione stole the map once just to annotate it with color-coded bookmarks.

And Harry?

He just looked at you every time it glowed, whispered “she’s mine”, and blushed so deeply even the Fat Lady giggled.

[littlelamy]

Rafe & Reader idea: He’s afraid of not being good enough for her and her realizing that she deserves better, so at a party, a guy talks to her (friendly) and he gets in his head not wanting to lose her. Not in a toxic way, but that night, he makes love to her to really show how much he loves her, being super clingy and needy, refusing to let go of her after

he can’t get the image out of his head.

you, smiling up at that guy. laughing, tucking your hair behind your ear in that way you always do when you’re a little nervous. it was nothing. he knows it was nothing. but the thought latches onto him, sinking deep, poisoning the edges of his mind.

he knows he’s not the best man. knows he’s rough around the edges, knows he’s not always as soft as he should be. and what if you wake up one day and realize you deserve better?

it terrifies him.

so now, back at home, in the quiet safety of your shared space, he’s gripping you like a man possessed. holding onto you like you might slip through his fingers if he lets go. his hands are hungry, dragging over your skin, mapping the familiar curves of you like he’s committing them to memory. his lips press over every inch of you, hot and desperate.

you feel the difference in him tonight—the urgency, the silent plea woven into every touch, every breath. his weight pins you beneath him, his broad frame caging you in, his thighs pressing yours apart with no room for protest. he buries his face in your neck as he pushes into you, stretching you open with one slow, aching thrust.

a choked gasp leaves your lips, your nails biting into his back. “God—”

he groans at the way you cling to him, the way your walls flutter around his cock, pulling him deeper like you were made for this, made for him. he doesn’t move right away, just stays there, filling you, stretching you, letting you feel every thick inch of him pressing deep inside.

“love you,” he whispers, over and over, like you might forget. like you might not know. “i love you so much—don’t wanna lose you.”

his hips roll, slow at first, teasing, dragging against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. but it isn’t enough. his need is raw, overwhelming, clawing at his chest, and soon, slow isn’t an option. he thrusts harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, each movement punctuated by the low, wrecked sounds leaving his throat.

you moan for him, gasping, your fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you arch into him. “you won’t lose me,” you murmur, voice all honey and heat, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “never.”

but the thought still lingers, gnawing at the edges of his mind, so he fucks you harder, needing you to feel it, needing you to understand. his grip tightens, one hand sliding down to grab your thigh, wrenching it higher as he drives into you, each thrust deeper, rougher, more punishing.

you cry out, your body trembling, your slick making it easier for him to bury himself to the hilt with every snap of his hips. he’s relentless, fucking into you like he can stamp his name into your very bones, like he can brand himself into your soul with every inch he gives you.

“mine,” he growls against your throat, biting down, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “say it.”

you whimper, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure coursing through you in waves, leaving you breathless. “yours,” you gasp. “always.”

he groans, his cock twitching inside you, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he picks up again, chasing the edge. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, pinning your wrists, cradling your jaw as he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing your moans.

you’re close. he can feel it in the way your body clenches around him, the way your moans break, turning into desperate little whimpers as he fucks you through it. he shifts, angling his hips just right, and you shatter, pleasure crashing over you so hard you nearly sob, your body locking up beneath him, walls spasming around his cock.

the tight, pulsing heat of you is too much, dragging him over the edge with a rough, broken groan. he buries himself deep, grinding against you as he spills inside, filling you with everything he has, everything he is.

even after, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. his arms stay locked around you, his breathing heavy, his heart hammering against yours.

and when you try to shift, to move, he just holds you tighter, murmuring, “stay. just stay like this.”

so you do. you let him cling to you, let him press messy kisses against your temple, let him hold you so close it feels like he’s trying to merge you into him.

“you’re everything,” he mumbles sleepily, fingers tracing circles against your back. “don’t need anything else. just you.”

you kiss his jaw, soft, sweet. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and finally, finally, he lets out a breath, his body melting into yours, his grip still tight but no longer desperate.

notes: thank you for sending a request! 💗

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

[brain4stew]

Sooo, I don’t write much for forsaken x reader, but a silly idea here from me, to other writers (possibly).

A reader that’s either sleepy 24/7 or could sleep 24/7, like a fucking hibernating bear.

• (In my case, it’d be both, so let me write for that rq.), (Only idea related, I guess??)

• If you’re a survivor, then damn, either you’re lucky to be the last one remaining, and the killer leaving you alone to win, due to you either sleeping, or being too sleepy to even stand. Or you could be unlucky as hell, and end up dead first, spotted first or attacked first.

• Other survivors worry about you dying first, or dying in general in rounds. (Especially Elliot, that guy gets some sort of heart attack.)

• Either you’re with a survivor you spawn together with, or you’re just, going to a corner of the map and just, either sitting there and wait the timer out, or you’re sleeping in the said corner.

• God forbid the killer is C00lkidd… He’ll probably go for you first, to “Get your energy back!” As he says it.

• On another note, if it is Mafioso, he’ll just scare and chase you in the dreamscapes… So you’ll basically have a nightmare of that.

• Thankfully, Jason, 1x1x1x1, John Doe, Azure, Noli and the other killers leave you be. (Maybe not 1x4 but… It’s possible they’ll leave you be.)

• If you’re a killer, then you’ll just be an event killer. You’ll spawn with another killer, and you’ll be able to either stand where you spawned, or sleep where you spawned. You’ll also be invincible for around 40 seconds within the start of the round. It could come back, but only if the killer companion of yours is close by you for 5 seconds.

• (It gives your fellow killer companion 20 more stamina, and gives survivors drowsiness 1 for the duration of the rounds you’re in it. Drowsiness means that the survivors visions will be outlined with a bit of black “smoke”, obscuring their visions. Not only that, but occasionally they will “blink” and yawn, which will be a problem for the survivors. If the survivor tends to yawn loudly, then your killer companion will be notified of the survivor.)

• Now, Mafioso paired with you, might be a very hard challenge for the survivors. For if you’re sleeping, or just staying by the killer spawn and probably fall asleep standing, Mafioso can actually get to where you are rather quickly. Thanks to the dreamscapes. (There’s a cooldown ofc, of 60 seconds.)

• Each survivor and killer have different opinions on you, whether you’re a killer or a survivor yourself. It varies on how it is to be around you, how you act and all of that.

• I have a feeling that the survivors do NOT trust you to be asleep, or even remotely close to Two Time, due to their past, and all that. The survivors might have a debate on whether they’ll allow 007n7 to be close to you or not however, due to his past actions.

• The killers all agree that 1x4, Mafioso and C00lkidd should NOT be near you. If you’re sleeping or not. Mainly because, 1x4 literally hates anyone and everything? Mafioso… Due to the dreamscapes and all of that… C00lkidd is pretty self explanatory. Hyper little kid.

• Jason, Azure and I think Guest 666 will be able to be around you, even if you’re asleep or just sleepy in general. Mainly because they won’t be too loud around you, and because they don’t do much, unless they’re in a round. (Jason legit can’t talk.)

• Out of every survivor, I’d assume that Taph, Dusekkar, Elliot, Guest 1337, Builderman and Noob will be the safest around you. Mainly Guest 1337 though, as he’s got quite high senses due to his past, and because he had to be on high alert for any enemies from war.

• Dusekkar would probably just put a noise canceling shield on you, so you’d be able to sleep without too much noise. Taph is naturally quiet, they only speak with emoji’s, so it’d probably be sign language. They’d also hold back on testing their subspace trip mine when you’re nearby.

• Noob would just be grateful that you even trust them enough to be sleepy, or even sleep near them. They feel like they have a “objective” to help you sleep. Elliot is also just glad you trust him enough to be sleepy or sleep around him, it also eases down his own stress levels.

• Builderman would make sure that you’re REALLY protected when you’re sleeping. He’d even build a sleeping dispenser nearby for you, quietly of course, just so you’ll get some ambience and fairly “fresh” air.

[bludhavents]

Professor Tavis

pairing: boyfriend!garrick tavis x reader

word count: 3.9k

summary: When hear about Garrick's new job from Xaden, you start to question why Garrick didn't tell you himself. He makes it up to you in the best way possible.

warnings: 18+ ONLY. smut. porn with plot. brief description of panic attack. professor kink tehe. unprotected p in v. fem!reader. ridoc being a protective best friend. super minor onyx storm spoiler.

Xaden looks past his cousin to Garrick. “I just need Professor Tavis.”

I can’t help but gape at the title given to my boyfriend. The title I am just now hearing for the first time. My head snaps up to gawk at him along with the rest of my squad. He winces, but slides by me on the steps and follows after Xaden without looking back. 

All of my friend’s eyes turn away from the men as they disappear and focus on me instead. 

“Professor?” Bodhi frowns. “Since when?”

I meet his round brown eyes and shrug my shoulders, turning back to face the map on the table. Apparently, I’m the only one who remembers that we’re trying to plan out our flight path. The rest of the group is murmuring around me now, gossiping about Professor Tavis. I try my best not to feel scuffed at the fact that I’m learning about my boyfriend’s new job along with the rest of my squad. Except, apparently, not all of them were so oblivious.

“He told me about it over breakfast. They just asked him to accept this morning,” Imogen says, and I straighten in my seat. She’s always been interested in my boyfriend, which is enough to make me jealous as is. Him confiding in her about his new status before telling me feels like a punch in the gut. Then, she piles on top of that feeling. “He didn’t tell you? That’s weird.”

The hair on my skin raises uncomfortably under my leathers. I swallow hard. 

“Shut up, Imogen.” Ridoc slaps her on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Let’s refocus,” Rhiannon supplies, drawing her finger from Basgiath to one of the isles on the map. I can’t make out which one it is through the unshed tears that are stinging in my eyes. “This route could work.”

The group argues again, all speaking over one another as they shove their fingers onto the paper and suggest their own ideas. My mind races as I sit amongst them, drifting through my recent memories with Garrick in an attempt to recall any reason why he’d have withheld this from me, but I come up with nothing. A small sigh leaves my mouth as I continue to stir over the pit in my stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” Bodhi asks, looking up from the map.

“Nothing! I’m just tired.” I rub my eyes and blink hard, trying to force myself back into the moment to help my squadmates formulate the plan. Ridoc nods from next to me, leaning his head onto my shoulder with a dramatic yawn. 

“Me too. Can we break for nap time?” He smiles cheekily at our friends. Every single one of them rolls their eyes at his antics, but Rhiannon relents. 

“Yeah. We can come back after dinner and look at it with fresh eyes,” she says, folding the map up on the table and tucking it into her bag. We’d been here over an hour already. “I’m gonna head to the training room if anyone wants to spar.”

Violet, Sawyer, Aaric, and Sloane all break off with her. The rest of the group goes their own ways, and Ridoc stays with me as we head toward the dorm wing of the castle. His footsteps are wider than mine, his long legs guiding him easily down the corridor. 

“Never took you for a teacher’s pet,” he teases, looking down at me with a wide grin that shows all his teeth. I laugh, shaking my head. 

“Didn’t know I was one. Gods, I can’t believe he would tell Imogen before me. I mean Xaden, I get, but Cardulo? What in Malek’s name did I do to deserve that blow?” I let myself rant to him. Nobody else is in the hallway around us. There’s no reason to hide my disdain for my situation when I already know that he’s tuned into my agitation anyway. 

“I wanted to punch her in the mouth!” He shouts, throwing his hands up. “I mean if you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least have some tact about it.”

My heart twists and pounds in my chest. Homewrecker. The humor of the situation is abruptly drained from my body. My pulse quickens quickly, and my jacket suddenly fits too snugly. I grab his wrist and stop walking, turning to face him with hot cheeks. 

“You don’t really think…” My voice trails off, not wanting to think about the possibility of Garrick and Imogen having any sort of secret relationship. 

“No, no, gods, no,” he hurries out, quickly taking a step toward me and wrapping me into a tight hug. He speaks softly into my hair. “I’m sorry. That was a poor choice of words. You know that Garrick loves you more than anything. It’s pathetic and weird and I’m so jealous of it. He’d never do that to you. Gods know Imogen has tried, though.”

I relax a little at that, but I can’t help the sob that rips through my chest. The past hour has been utterly overwhelming, and it feels like I can’t breathe through the stress. Ridoc holds me tight, running a hand up and down my arm as I wet his leathers with my tears. 

It’s suddenly too hot. I fumble with the zipper of my jacket, trying desperately to get it off of my body as anxiety surges. Ridoc replaces my hands with his on the zipper, then quickly unbuttons the collar and slides my jacket off of my shoulders. He tucks it under his arm and takes a step back. My chest aches with the force of my sobs. After a minute passes and I show no signs of stopping, he sweeps my legs off of the ground and carries me bridal style toward the dorm hall. 

My face stays buried in his shoulder the entire way, uncontrollably wailing. I try wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my undershirt, but it’s no use. The floodgates have opened and the tears just keep coming. It’s a panic attack.

“It’s okay, we’re almost to your room,” he says sweetly, pushing open a set of double doors with his hip. He keeps walking. “Deep breaths. Almost there.”

“What the hell happened?” A familiar voice echoes through the hallway, and a new set of tears rises behind my eyes, spilling over quickly as I choke out a sob. Ridoc stiffens beneath me as I dig my fingers into him, holding myself close to him. 

The anxiety that’s running through my blood isn’t just about the thought of being cheated on, because I know deep down that Garrick would never do that to me. It’s just overwhelming to have Imogen’s snarky comment on top of the stress of planning our trip to the isles, and keeping Xaden’s secret safe from the others. It’s too much, and it’s all weighing on me now.

Ridoc’s steps slow, and he bends over at the waist, setting me back on my feet gently. I release my grip on him only after he places a hand on my upper back. Through my tears, I first see the wetness running down his leather jacket, racing from the collar down to his stomach. Then, I look away from him and see Garrick towering over us, right next to my door. 

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Ridoc moves a gentle hand to the back of my head before turning and shoving my jacket into Garrick’s chest, matching his mean scowl with one of his own. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m the one who brought her here, Professor.”

“Don’t start, Gamlyn,” he bites back. His knuckles are white where he’s holding my jacket.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you. It seems to be getting you in trouble a lot recently.” He crosses the hallway and steps into his room, slamming the door shut loudly behind him. Garrick’s lips are pressed together tightly, chest heaving with angry breaths. His eyes trail away from our friend and land back on me, softening as he rests a calloused palm on my wet cheek and tilts my chin up to face him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His tone is pleading, and hot tears keep falling down my face as I stare into his hazel eyes and search for my answers. If he was cheating on me, would I see it in his revealing eyes? I don’t notice anything different. When I look into him, I still see only my Garrick. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He opens my door with one hand, using the other to urge me in front of him. He guides me all the way to the edge of my bed and sets my leathers next to me as I take a seat there. His tall form shrinks to my height as he kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my hips. 

“Sweetheart, please talk to me,” he begs, squeezing my skin. 

“I’m just a little overwhelmed.” I drag my cold palms over my face to wipe away the drying tears and take a deep breath, willing them to stop falling. “Everyone was asking me questions about you becoming a professor, and I didn’t know anything about it, you never told me. Then Imogen starts answering all of them, and I just-- I don’t know. It really upset me, I think, to have her know more about what’s going on with you than I do. Then when we were walking back here, I started thinking that maybe there’s a reason you would tell her before telling me, and I just…”

Garrick flinches in front of me and moves his hands to cup my jaw. His hazel eyes burn into my skin and force me to meet his gaze. I see his lips parted in shock and a deep furrow between his thick brows. He opens his mouth as if to start talking, but hesitates, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits, running a thumb to catch a stray tear in the corner of my eye. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I never ever meant to make you think that I was going behind your back. I promise you, with all of my heart, that you are the only person I’ve wanted to tell all day.”

“Why didn’t you?” My voice breaks, and I gnaw on the skin of my bottom lip. 

“I didn’t tell Imogen, first of all-- Xaden did. While we were eating breakfast, which was right after I’d gotten back from the meeting where they told me about the job offer.” He grasps my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to my skin. I sigh, letting my free hand brush the hair above his ear. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. That’s just what she told everyone,” I apologize, and he shakes his head quickly. 

“Don’t apologize, I don’t blame you at all,” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry that you heard it from someone else. I’ve been wanting to tell you all day, but you weren’t at breakfast, and then I got pulled into another meeting to discuss lesson plans, and then by the time I got out, everyone was working on the flight paths with you. I wanted to be able to sit down and have a discussion with you about it in private without everyone listening, and then fucking Riorson ruined that. I should’ve just asked you to come talk with me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”

I stare at the man in front of me, watching his chest rise and fall with slow breaths. A sweet smile graces his full lips as I hiccup, finally taking in my first full breath all day. His shaggy hair falls into his face as he bends over. I watch as his strong hands delicately untie my boots before sliding them off of my feet one at a time. It feels like I’ve been bathed in a pool of relief and his words are the water that cradles me.

“Come here,” I swing my legs onto the bed and pat the spot next to me. He removes his own shoes and lays in the empty spot, wrapping an arm around my body and tugging me into his side. Our eyes meet where we lay, and I press a kiss to his lips. My body melts into the taste of him, but I relent, pulling away. He groans in disapproval. 

“Why?” He whines. I giggle, feeling at ease here in his arms. He smirks down at me and leans in for another kiss, but I put my finger to his lips instead. 

“I want to hear about this job!” I prop myself up on my elbows, laying on my stomach as he narrows his eyes at me in disdain. Looking at the man in front of me, I wonder how I ever got myself so worked up. There’s nothing but concentrated love in his eyes right now, and it’s all for me.

“Later. Come kiss me right now, I’ve missed you.” He sits up, grasping my cheek and bringing his mouth to mine. I sigh into the kiss and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue through my parted lips. My hand on his chest pushes him back against the mattress, not breaking the kiss as I follow him down. 

We’re thinking the same thing, his fingers grabbing my hips to lift me onto his lap, but I’m already lifting my leg to straddle him. He pulls away from the kiss and attaches his lips to my jaw. I can feel his smile against my skin.

“Good, sweetheart,” he praises, “you know just what I need.”

I settle onto him, my thighs clenching either side of his hips. He uses his hold on my waist to push my body down harder onto him, a groan rising in the back of his throat as he rubs me over his clothed dick. Gripping me roughly, he drags me back and forth over and over. I press sloppy kisses up his neck and along his jaw, leaving one just below his ear before lightly grazing my teeth over his earlobe. 

Every part of him is solid beneath me. Solid arms, solid chest, solid stomach, and a solid dick working me just right. Garrick Tavis drives me crazy.

“I need you,” he says, stopping his movements and turning to stare into my eyes. His pupils are blown, revealing only the faintest sliver of hazel around them. I kiss him softly. Garrick has always been a tease. I appreciate getting to return the favor sometimes, and the perfect idea has presented itself. I kiss him again and he groans, bucking his hips up. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

“What do you need from me, Professor Tavis?” I fiend innocence, voice soft and low, looking at him with wide eyes that I’m certain are just as lust-blown as his. Garrick’s lips part and the next kiss he drags from my lips is feverish. His hands are gripping at my shirt, tearing it off of my body with no regard and discarding it to the floor carelessly. 

He grips my ass roughly, and I squeal as I’m suddenly lifted off of his lap and flipped onto my back, staring up at my boyfriend as he unzips his jacket and slides out of it easily. I sit up to help him with his shirt, but he pushes me back down.

“I’m a professor and you’re a cadet, our relationship is strictly off limits.” He slides his shirt over his head, and my pulse stutters. I reach a hand out to feel his packed muscle, trailing my fingers down the patch of hair that starts at his navel and dips below his waistband. He inhales sharply.

“Off limits?” I don’t look at him, instead I work on unfastening the belt around his waist. My gaze drifts below my hands, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth at the sight of the bulge straining against his pants. 

“Strictly. So I need you to be really quiet for me, sweetheart.” He rakes his hand through my hair, fisting it gently at the base of my neck and pulling so that I meet his eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Professor Tavis.” I nod quickly. He removes my hands from his crotch and steps off the bed. I frown, rolling to protest, but he’s quick to shut me up. 

“Take your pants off.” He’s already stepping out of his. “I can’t wait any longer.”

I don’t question him, the angry red tip of his stiff cock saying enough to prove that he’s being honest. My bottoms slide off quickly. I shove my panties off with them, baring myself to the desperate man in front of me.

“Bra.” Garrick’s voice is tight. He’s fisting himself, but not pumping at all. He’s waiting for me to follow his instructions. I unhook my bra and shrug it off. He hums in appraisal, bringing his eyes to my bare chest. I revel in the way his eyebrows knit together, like he’s physically pained by my beauty. This is what it felt like to be loved. 

“Professor Tavis?” I stand up from the bed, walking toward him slowly. He inhales sharply as I pause in front of him, nearly pressing my skin to his. “What should I do next?”

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.” He smoothes the hair at the top of my head as he commands me so sweetly. Seeing him like this, so affected by me, is driving me crazy. 

I lower myself to my knees in front of him, wetting my lips as I become eye level with his dick. Pre-cum is already leaking from the tip, and I open my mouth to lap it up, but he cradles my face and stops me gently. My eyes meet his as he towers above me, shaking his head softly. 

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to put your hand between your legs.” My breath catches in my throat in surprise. We’re both so desperate, and he’s dragging this out for so long, but I can’t find it in myself to argue with him as his cock twitches when I lower my hand down my stomach and dip it between my legs. The moan that tumbles from my lips is immediate. Garrick’s foreplay made my clit swell, and it’s the most sensitive that I’ve felt as I begin to stroke myself with my fingers. Letting the noises of pleasure escape as I start grinding with my hips is uncontrollable. 

“Professor Tavis,” I moan loudly as my head falls back. “Please fuck me. Please make me cum.”

I’m shocked when one strong arm wraps around my waist and hoists me up, but I don’t hesitate to wrap my legs around his waist. All plans of sucking him off are abandoned. He holds me tightly to him, molding his mouth to mine so fiercely that our teeth bump. The head of his cock teases my entrance and I gasp at the sensation. It takes him only two steps to reach the bed, where he pulls his mouth away from mine and lays me out on my stomach. The loss of contact makes me whimper.

“You’ve gotta be quiet for me,” he coos. His rough hands are a sharp contrast to his saccharine voice as he lifts my ass into the air and kneads it. I groan, jutting my hips back, and he tsks. “What’d I say? Quiet for me baby. Don’t make me tell you again. Can you do that for me? Can you shut that pretty mouth while I fuck you?”

The moan that leaves my lips is unstoppable, and he laughs darkly behind me before pulling my hips back. My cheeks flush at his laugh. 

“I want to be good for you, Professor. Please let me try.” He inhales sharply and then aligns his tip at my entrance. I push my hips back slowly, and he’s the one who can’t keep to himself this time. 

“Oh, fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, grabbing my ass and pushing himself further into me. I gasp as he bottoms out inside of me, feeling overwhelmingly full. 

He leans down over me, leaving a trail of kisses up my spine. His lips pause at my neck, and he bites me softly. 

“You’re such a good girl for me. So fucking good. Thank you, sweetheart.” He straightens his spine and pulls his hips back so far that the tip of his dick is barely inside of me, before he slams into me. I whine, my walls stretched out by his thick cock, but he only pulls out again, leaving me to wait before he rams into me another time, cursing as he finds a steady pace. His cock is moving at the perfect speed. I moan as he hits a sweet spot, and I feel him focus as he hits it again, and again, and again. 

I cry out. “Oh gods. Just like that. Right there.”

He keeps his thrusts perfect and steady, pushing me closer to my edge. Once his fingers wrap around my front and find my swollen clit, I let out a shaky breath. He continues his punishing pace as his finger circles my clit once, then twice, and it’s the perfect combination. I’m shattering around him immediately, my legs shaking. 

“Professor Tavis!” Waves of pleasure ripple through me, my orgasm prolonged by him chasing his own now, his dick pushing into me roughly. I’m still squeezing him, wetness dripping down my legs as he hits the perfect spot. “Fuck!”

“Fuck, I love you so much, sweetheart,” he moans, pace quickening before he stills. I tighten at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of me, filling me up with his release. He exhales deeply, fanning my spine with hot air. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking dream.”

He places a firm hand on my ass as he starts to pull his dick out, but hisses with the motion, and then pushes himself back inside. I turn my head to look back at him, watching as he does it again, backing himself out almost all of the way and then sliding back in. His eyes are fixed on the point where he’s entering, watching with deep breaths as he repeats it one more time.

“Sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. I don’t want to leave.” His voice is strained with pleasure, gaze trailing from where I’m wrapped around him up to my ass, then my back, and then he meets my face. The fire in his eyes is enough to melt me.

“So don’t. Stay inside and come lay with me,” I suggest, hoping that he does just that. He smirks and lowers himself onto the bed with me, holding me close to keep himself inside as he adjusts us so that we’re spooning now. I lay my head on his arm and sigh contentedly. 

“I love you, sweetheart. That was fucking hot.” He laughs breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I giggle, finding that I could really get used to this new job of his. 

[soulofapatrick]

The Fourth Wing Boys and their Reactions to you being Pregnant

Summary: Just what I think the boys' reactions would be

Words: 7.5K words

Warnings: some angst but mostly fluffy and cuteeee

Xaden Riorson, the man who has made a career of maintaining control in a world that crumbles around him, has never looked more vulnerable than in this moment. His eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes that see everything and give nothing away—widen as the words I just spoke settle between us. The smirk that usually dances on his lips, the one that makes him seem untouchable, vanishes as if it’s never been there at all. His expression, typically guarded and enigmatic, is now a map of raw emotion, impossible to ignore.

I watch him, unsure of whether I’ve just shattered the air between us or opened a door we aren’t ready to walk through. His hands, always confident and steady, grip my waist with a force that seems born of instinct, as if the weight of what I just told him threatens to pull him down. He inhales sharply, and in the way his breath catches in his throat, I can feel it—a tremor, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. The sound of it—soft, like a whisper of disbelief—breathes life into the moment, making it real, making it unavoidable.

His eyes dart to my stomach, that small curve, barely noticeable but unmistakably there. Then, without warning, they flick back to mine, as if trying to find some confirmation that this isn’t a cruel joke, some twisted play to see him unravel. His jaw tightens, his muscles go taut, and for the briefest of seconds, I think he might not believe me. But then he whispers, his voice low and edged with something I’m not ready to identify. “You’re sure?”

I nod, unable to contain the mix of fear, anticipation, and joy that floods through me, and that’s when everything shifts. The tension in his body cracks, splintering apart like ice breaking under the weight of an ocean. His breath, shallow and uneven, spills out in a rush, and his gaze—normally so calculating, so indifferent to everything around him—softens, transforming into something I’ve only seen glimpses of: vulnerability. There, in that look, I see the faintest flicker of hope, a light that barely dares to exist in the shadows of his usual guarded composure.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity, a moment stretched so thin it could shatter at any second. But instead, he moves. His hands, which had been trembling ever so slightly, find their place around me, pulling me close as if I’m the only thing holding him together. His lips brush against the side of my face, pressing against my temple in a gesture that feels oddly fragile for someone like him—someone who has built walls taller than any fortress, whose every breath is calculated, every action precise.

His voice, when it finally comes, is raw—thick with emotion I didn’t know he was capable of showing. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he murmurs, his words a promise. His hands slide down slowly, reverently, until one rests on my stomach. His thumb begins to trace circles, soft at first, like he’s afraid to touch too firmly, as if afraid he might shatter something precious. And maybe he’s right—because in this moment, something shifts inside him, and I’m not sure he’s ready to face it yet.

The man who once seemed so untouchable, so impenetrable, is unraveling in front of me, but not in a way that makes me want to run. Instead, I find myself holding him just as tightly, afraid that if I let go, he might slip away. He isn’t just holding me—he’s holding onto something else. Something bigger than both of us.

We stay like that for a long while, the world fading into the background. His hands, still tracing slow circles over my stomach, seem to speak volumes without words. Each pass of his thumb is a vow—a promise to protect, to fight for, to love the life growing inside me with the same fierce, unrelenting devotion he’s always given to me. Only now, there’s something new in his gaze—something deeper. The promise isn’t just to me anymore. It’s to the little one we’ve yet to meet, the one who has already captured his heart in a way I never could have expected.

We’re lying in bed, the early morning sunlight spilling through the window, painting Garrick’s bare shoulders in a soft, golden glow. The light dances across his skin, highlighting the muscles in his back as he sleeps, his breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest like a calming rhythm. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, holding me close but not tight, as if he’s still half-anchored to the world of dreams. The warmth of him presses against me, a comfort I never want to lose, but something stirs inside me—something I can’t ignore, something that needs to be said.

I shift slightly, the flutter of nerves in my chest making my heart race just a little faster than it should. His eyes crack open, barely more than a sliver, and he blinks up at me through the haze of sleep. His lips twitch into the softest of smiles, and I can’t help but feel a warmth spread through me, even as my own pulse quickens.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice husky from sleep, a teasing note in the words.

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment, the gravity of the words I’m about to say. “I have something to tell you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, thick with nerves. I watch his expression shift as he processes my tone—sleep fading from his eyes as they focus on me, sharpening with concern, alertness creeping in. His brows furrow slightly, his grip on me tightening just enough that I can feel the change, the instinctive need to protect, to hold me steady.

The air between us thickens, and I take a steadying breath before finally letting the words escape. “I’m pregnant.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing—no sound, no movement. Just the steady beat of my own heart, pounding in my ears. His blue eyes lock onto mine, and I see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to make sense of what I’ve just said. It’s as if he’s searching for any sign that he’s misunderstood, trying to find some hint that this isn’t real. And then, slowly, so slowly that it feels like time itself holds its breath, a grin begins to spread across his face. It starts small, like disbelief, and then grows—grows until it’s nothing short of radiant, the kind of grin that could light up the world. It’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds, a warmth that fills the space between us, and I feel myself melt under it.

A quiet, breathless laugh escapes him, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, what he’s feeling. He sits up then, pulling me with him, his movements fluid, confident, like he’s always known he’d be here. His hands come up to cradle my face, and his thumbs gently trace over my cheekbones, each touch reverent, as though I am the most precious thing he’s ever held. His touch is tender, full of wonder. His gaze never leaves mine.

“We’re having a baby?” he whispers, voice hushed, awed, like the very idea of it is too beautiful to fully comprehend. His eyes search mine for any hint of doubt, any sign that this might not be true, but all I can do is nod. And when I do, he kisses me—deep, lingering, filled with everything he feels, overflowing with love and joy in a way that takes my breath away.

The kiss is everything—the kind of kiss that promises a future, the kind that says we’re in this together, no matter what. When he finally pulls away, his hands slide down to rest over my stomach, his touch slow and careful, like he’s handling something fragile, something sacred. His voice is thick with emotion as he murmurs, “I’m going to love them so much.”

I can feel the sincerity in his words, hear the depth of his commitment in every syllable. He presses his forehead to mine, the grin never fading, and I can feel his joy radiating off of him, filling me up. There’s no hesitation, no doubt in him, just a certainty that this moment, this new chapter of our lives, is exactly where we’re meant to be. He holds me close, his hands still resting gently on my stomach, as if he’s already thinking of all the ways he’ll love the little life growing inside me.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he murmurs, and the wonder in his voice makes my heart swell. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And for the first time in a long time, I’m certain too. In his arms, with his heart beating against mine, I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be the best parents we can be. Because this moment—this shared joy—is only the beginning.

Liam is in the middle of fixing his dagger, the rhythmic glide of the whetstone over the blade a comforting sound, familiar and steady. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he works, his fingers steady and sure. There’s a certain ease to his posture, though—a quiet confidence in the way he holds the dagger, in the way he moves. I watch him for a moment, the soft light from the window casting shadows over his strong features, and something stirs deep in my chest.

I know what I’m about to say will change everything. It will shift the balance of us, of this quiet, simple life we’ve built. It will disrupt the calm. And yet, in this moment, with his presence so solid and steady beside me, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the words to leave my lips.

“Liam,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the whirlwind inside me. My heart is racing, a thudding pulse in my ears, but I push through it. He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes still focused on the blade in front of him. But when I don’t continue, when the silence stretches between us too long, he finally stills. His sharp green eyes flick to mine, reading me in an instant. And in that moment, I feel like he’s already seen it all—the hesitation, the fear, the joy that fights its way to the surface.

The dagger is forgotten, carefully set down on the table beside him, and he stands in one smooth motion, crossing the distance between us in two quick strides. The energy between us shifts, and his hands frame my face, warm and steady, his breath unsteady as he studies me. I can see the question in his eyes, and I know he’s waiting for me to speak again.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, steady. But I can hear the uncertainty beneath it—the flicker of confusion, of concern, because he knows something is coming, something big.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself, gripping the edge of the table as though it’s the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment. I whisper the words, barely above a breath, but I feel them settle between us like a charge in the air. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang there, heavy, charged, electric. I watch as his body locks up, the shock rippling through him, a brief stillness in the air before everything changes. He blinks once, then twice, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the right response but no words come. The seconds stretch out, thick and heavy, as though we’re suspended in time, before he inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with an effort that betrays his calm.

Without another word, he steps closer, closing the gap between us. His hands are on me in an instant, cupping my face with a tenderness that makes my heart catch. He’s searching my eyes, his expression intense, as though he’s trying to read me, to make sure this is real. “Say it again,” he murmurs, his voice thick, as if the words themselves are something he needs to hear once more to believe.

I don’t hesitate this time. I say it again, the words rolling off my tongue with a clarity I didn’t know I had in me. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest rises again, this time in a sharp inhale, and his fingers tighten around me as if to pull me even closer, as if he never wants to let go. The moment feels suspended, timeless, and then suddenly—he laughs. It’s a quiet, disbelieving sound, almost as though he can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and the laugh shifts into something softer, something deeper. Something filled with wonder.

He presses his forehead to mine, the weight of his hands on my face grounding me, and then slowly, reverently, his hands slip down to rest over my stomach. His touch is warm, careful, as though he’s holding something delicate, something precious. The moment stretches between us, full of a new, tender energy, and I know without a doubt that everything has changed.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, raw and genuine, like he’s trying to find the words to hold all of it—this moment, this future, this life we’re about to create together.

And then, without another word, he kisses me. It’s slow, deep, and everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of futures and dreams, of everything we’ve built and everything we will. I can feel the weight of it, the depth of it, and as he pulls me close, as his hands rest gently on the life growing inside me, I know that this moment is the beginning of everything. Everything has changed. And somehow, it feels like it always was meant to.

Bodhi is pacing, his boots scuffing against the cold stone floor with every angry step. The rhythm of his movement is frantic, almost like he's trying to outrun the frustration boiling inside him. His hands are thrown up in exasperation, his voice sharp with bitterness. “Of course, Xaden gets the good shit. Again. Powers? Sure. Now Violet... First in line for the throne? Why the hell not?” His voice cracks with sarcasm, the words biting through the air like daggers. “They both get the good fucking shit.”

I watch him, my heart beating wildly in my chest. It’s not the anger that rattles me; I’ve seen him like this before. But the weight of it all—the frustration that pours out of him—makes my stomach twist with something deeper. It’s all too familiar, this endless cycle of feeling overlooked, dismissed. His voice is thick with old grievances, with wounds that never quite heal, and I know well enough to recognize when he’s spiraling.

He’s about to explode, and I can’t let him. Not this time. If I don’t stop him, I know he’s going to hurt himself in more ways than one. So I step forward, my footsteps silent but determined, and before he can throw his next bitter word into the air, I grab his wrist, holding it firmly but gently.

“Bodhi.”

My voice cuts through his storm of frustration like a calm in the eye of the hurricane, sharp and steady. He freezes mid-step, his body tensing as my name slides past my lips. His hazel eyes, blazing with unresolved anger, snap to mine, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, feeling the weight of the words that have been resting on the edge of my tongue for what feels like an eternity. "I’m pregnant."

The shift is immediate, like the world tilts on its axis. His body locks up, rigid and uncertain, and his expression flickers through anger, confusion, and something else—something raw, vulnerable, and unguarded. His lips part, but no sound escapes. For a long moment, he just stands there, staring at me like I’ve just ripped the ground out from under him, like he’s trying to process what I’ve just dropped into the space between us.

The air in the room feels thick, charged, like time itself is holding its breath. Then, as if he’s been holding onto something for too long, the tension in his shoulders suddenly drains away, replaced by something softer, almost fragile. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s unsure of what to do, like he wants to reach for me but is afraid of the weight of what this means.

“You’re—” He stops himself, blinking hard as if he’s trying to shake off the fog of disbelief. “You’re serious?”

I nod, and when I do, his whole body seems to collapse inward. His breath comes out in a sharp exhale, ragged and uneven, and a shaky laugh bursts from him. It’s low, almost disbelieving, like he can’t quite catch up to the reality of it all. His hands tremble as he reaches for me, pulling me close like I’m the only thing holding him together in this moment. His fingers land on my waist, steady and desperate, as if he needs to feel me beneath his hands, solid and real.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathes, shaking his head with a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Xaden can keep his damn throne." And then, without warning, he’s kissing me. It’s not soft or gentle—it’s desperate, a kiss that’s full of raw emotion, of relief, of something far too big to name. His hands tighten around me, anchoring himself to the moment, to the realisation, to us.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t let go, his hand sliding down to rest over my stomach, warm and steady. His touch is a promise, a grounding force. He’s breathing heavily, still trying to catch up to the reality of everything, but there’s a clarity in his eyes now. A certainty that wasn’t there before.

“This?” He murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is ours.”

And for the first time in a long while, I see it—the shift in him, the release of all that frustration, all that anger, replaced with something I can’t quite name. But I know this is the moment everything changes. This is the beginning of something far greater than the chaos we’ve both been drowning in.

Violet slides a glass toward me, the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes as she smirks. “Come on, you’re not seriously turning down a drink, are you?” Her voice has a playful edge, teasing me, but something’s different in the way she looks at me, like she senses that something is off. I hesitate, the words swirling in my mind, threatening to spill, and that’s when I push the glass away.

Her smirk falters. “Wait. What?”

Before she can press further, I feel it—the weight of Ridoc’s gaze on me. I turn, and there he is, standing a few feet away, brow furrowed and head tilted just enough to show he’s putting pieces together. I’ve been trying to hide it, but I can’t. His sharp eyes meet mine, and I know he’s already suspicious. He sees the way my fingers twitch, the way my breath hitches just a little too sharply when Violet teases me. He knows something’s coming.

I swallow hard, grip his wrist, and tug him away from the table. The murmurs of the others fade as I pull him further from the group, needing space to breathe. My pulse is racing now, my heart pounding louder with each step. I know damn well I can’t hold this in any longer, but the moment I say it, things will never be the same.

We stop just outside the circle of laughter and conversation, where no one can overhear us. Ridoc stands there, arms folded, eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Alright,” he says, drawing out the word. “You’re acting weird, you turned down alcohol, and you’re pulling me aside like you’ve got some massive secret. Should I be worried?”

The weight of it all presses against me, suffocating, but I manage to look him in the eye. This isn’t something I planned to tell him so soon, but I can’t carry this any longer. I take a deep breath, the words burning on my tongue, and whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

The world seems to stop.

Ridoc blinks once, then twice, as if he didn’t hear me right. His mouth opens, and then shuts, his brain visibly scrambling to process what I just said. His eyes dart to mine, searching for any hint of a joke, but there’s nothing. His hands, once folded tightly across his chest, now hang at his sides, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

For a moment, he’s completely still, like the world around us has fallen silent and we’re the only ones who matter.

And then, his face shifts. The shock gives way to confusion, and that’s when I see it—the joy. The raw, unfiltered joy that bursts through his expression. His lips part, the corners twitching upward in disbelief. He can’t quite believe it. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

In the next breath, before I can say another word, he spins around, his body moving with a force that’s both desperate and excited. And then, as if he’s claiming the moment for himself, he calls out across the room, loud enough for the entire squad to hear.

“I’M GONNA BE A DAD!”

The room goes completely still. Every single person freezes. A glass hits the floor with a dull thud. Violet chokes on her drink. Rhiannon’s jaw nearly hits the floor. Xaden, of course, looks like he already knew, his gaze unamused but somehow fond. Ridoc, meanwhile, is still grinning like the world is his to conquer. He doesn’t even care that we’re the center of attention.

The chaos erupts. Cheers, whoops, congratulations from every corner of the room. The sound of people scrambling to get to us, laughing, offering their well-wishes. But I can’t help but bury my face in my hands, overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Ridoc’s laughter, though, it’s pure, unrestrained. He pulls me into his arms, lifting me off the ground in a tight, dizzying hug. His grip is firm but gentle, as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“You really thought I’d keep that to myself?” he says, his voice muffled in my hair as he chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. “Oh, love, you should know me better by now.”

I can barely breathe, laughing in spite of myself. The entire world feels like it’s shifting around us, and yet in this moment, I don’t care. I’m lost in him, in the joy he’s radiating, in the life we’ve just begun to build together. For the first time, I feel like nothing can touch us.

And when he finally pulls back, his hand slides over my stomach, slow and reverent, as if trying to memorise the change that’s already started to take place.

“This?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “This is going to be the best thing thats ever happened to us.”

The soft sound of footsteps echoes through the quiet hallway, but it's the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open that pulls me from my thoughts. I'm sitting at the edge of the bed, a thousand things running through my mind, but when I hear it, I freeze.

The door clicks shut behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. I can already hear Sawyer’s quiet, steady steps, the way he moves with that lazy confidence, like nothing in the world could make him rush. He's always been like that—unfazed, comfortable in his skin, but also the first one to notice when something’s off.

He leans against the doorframe, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and one brow arches slightly, like he's in on some joke I haven't figured out yet. He watches me for a long moment, his gaze knowing, waiting for me to speak. But I can’t. Words are stuck in my throat, heavy and thick.

I open my mouth, then close it again, trying to find the courage. My fingers brush against the edge of the bed, and it feels like the room is shrinking, the weight of what’s coming making my chest tighten.

Sawyer, ever perceptive, notices the shift in my demeanor instantly. Without hesitation, he pushes off the doorframe, his movements slow but purposeful. His voice is low, calm, but laced with concern. "What’s wrong?"

I glance at him, my heart hammering, and for a second, I almost wish I could keep this to myself just a little longer. But I know I can’t. Not with him. Not now.

I take a deep breath, avoiding his gaze as I stand up from the bed. My stomach churns again, a nauseating wave rising in my gut, but this time, it's different. I press a hand to my stomach, fighting against the bile that threatens to rise.

And that’s when I feel it—the low, guttural sound of me retching. I stumble toward the bathroom door before the first wave of nausea hits, pushing the door open just enough to avoid the inevitable disaster. I’m barely able to make it to the toilet before I’m on my knees, my body doubling over as I empty my stomach. The burn in my throat makes everything spin, and I try to steady myself, but it’s no use.

Then I hear it—the sound of Sawyer’s footsteps behind me, closer now, much closer. The door to the bathroom creaks open, and I don't need to look up to know he’s standing there. I can feel his presence, solid and unwavering. His hands press against the doorframe as he leans in, his gaze searching for me in the dim light.

“Hey… hey, you okay?” His voice is soft but urgent, his concern bleeding through the calm tone. He steps closer, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck, his touch warm and steady, like he’s trying to pull me back to earth.

I try to swallow, my breath still shallow, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out raspy and weak, not even close to convincing. The words fall flat, like they’re already on their way to breaking.

Sawyer doesn’t buy it. He crouches down beside me, his fingers brushing through my hair as he presses a damp cloth to the back of my neck. It’s soothing, but it’s also him, grounding me in a way that only he can.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, voice low and calm.

And that’s when it happens—the dam breaks. I feel the weight of it, everything I’ve been holding back, and it spills out before I can stop it. “Sawyer, I’m pregnant.”

The words hang between us for a moment, and I can see it in his eyes—surprise, confusion, maybe even a little disbelief. His expression shifts like he's trying to process it, his brows furrowing for a fraction of a second before they smooth out, replaced by a gentle, almost stunned smile.

"You’re what?" he asks softly, his voice thick with the disbelief of the moment. But there’s something else there now, something warmer, a flicker of excitement, and maybe even hope.

I nod, my heart thudding in my chest as I try to steady myself, the nausea still lingering. His hands, once gently cradling me, tighten around me now, pulling me closer as if he’s trying to keep me anchored in the moment.

He blinks, then laughs softly, the sound almost disbelieving. “Holy shit,” he breathes, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m gonna be a dad?”

I nod again, the words tumbling out like they’re finally free, but I can feel the tension lift from my shoulders, replaced by something new, something lighter.

Sawyer’s expression shifts from disbelief to joy. It’s like the moment the words left my mouth, everything clicked for him. His arms tighten around me, pulling me into a warm embrace as he presses a kiss to my temple, the action soft, tender. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeats, voice thick with emotion.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hand coming up to gently cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin there. “You just made me the happiest guy alive, you know that?”

I lean into his touch, feeling the sincerity in every word, every action. The chaos of the moment, the whirlwind of emotions, all start to settle in a way I didn’t expect. I’ve been carrying this secret, but now, in this moment, it feels like everything is going to be okay. Together.

Sawyer grins, his eyes sparkling with a joy that’s impossible to miss. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out. Together.” And just like that, the weight of everything shifts. It’s no longer a burden. It’s a promise.

Dain is already watching me when I step into the room, his eyes flicking over me with that overly cautious, ever-concerned expression that only he can pull off. It's like he has a sixth sense for when something is off. I can feel the weight of his gaze, like he's reading me before I even open my mouth. But this time, I can tell—he has no idea what's coming.

I shift on my feet, trying to steady my racing heart, and exhale sharply. The words feel stuck in my throat, but I can’t keep them in any longer. I have to say it, no matter how much it makes my palms sweat or my stomach churn.

“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be.

For a full five seconds, Dain doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. It’s like time has stopped, and I’m caught in this endless moment, waiting for him to process what I’ve just said. His face is completely blank, like his brain just short-circuited, like I’ve just dropped an impossible bomb on him and his system is still rebooting.

Then, panic. Pure, unfiltered panic. “You’re what?!” His voice jumps an octave, his eyes going wide as his hands fly up in the air, like he’s physically trying to keep reality from sinking in. “How—? I mean, I know how, but—this isn’t—what are we going to—?”

I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, like he’s trying to work out a hundred different scenarios all at once, his mind moving faster than he can process. He starts pacing, running a hand through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s already mentally drawing up battle plans for a war he didn’t see coming. “We need a plan. I need to—fuck, what if—what about Xaden? Does he know? And the squad? And—”

Before he can fully spiral, a sharp smack echoes through the room. Dain jerks forward slightly, his eyes snapping up in shock, and I can’t help but let out a breath of relief at the interruption.

Behind him stands Sloane, one hand on her hip, the other still raised from the smack she just delivered upside his head. She’s unimpressed, as always, her expression a mixture of disbelief and mild annoyance.

“Pull yourself together, Aetos,” she deadpans, like she’s heard enough. “She just told you she’s pregnant, not that the kingdom is burning down.”

Dain blinks rapidly, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he tries to process what just happened. “Did you just—?”

Sloane doesn’t even flinch. She just raises an eyebrow and gives him an almost bored look. “You were being dramatic.”

I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes my lips at the exchange. I’m still reeling from the words I just said, but Sloane’s dry humor is like a lifeline, and Dain’s still-freaked-out expression helps ground me.

Something shifts in Dain’s face then. The panic is still there, lingering, but it begins to break apart, bit by bit. He exhales sharply, like he's realizing just how deep into this he’s about to dive. His gaze flicks back to me, and this time, he really sees me—really sees me. The fear is still there, but it's quieter now, and there’s something else in his eyes. Something steadier. Something that tells me he’s starting to process it, even if he’s still not sure what the next step is.

Dain steps forward slowly, almost cautiously, like he’s afraid I might slip away from him if he moves too quickly. His hands reach for mine, his grip warm, a little shaky. For a moment, the world feels like it narrows to just him and me, the chaos of his thoughts receding into the background as he pulls me into his orbit.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats softly, his voice a little raw. The words still feel strange in the air, like he's still getting used to them, but there’s something comforting in the way he says them. Like he's finally letting the weight of it sink in.

Then, to my complete surprise, a small, almost reverent smile tugs at his lips. The kind of smile I’ve never seen from him before. It’s not the typical confident, strategic grin he wears when he’s solving a problem or taking charge. No, this smile is softer, more awed, like he’s realizing something bigger than both of us.

“We’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but it’s filled with something more. A promise. A reassurance.

Just as I feel myself starting to breathe again, Sloane claps Dain on the shoulder with enough force to almost send him stumbling forward. She doesn’t even look back at us as she starts to walk away, her voice cutting through the moment with a sarcastic edge.

“About time,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

Dain huffs out a quiet laugh, clearly unbothered by her comment. He squeezes my hands tighter, his grip grounding me as his other arm slides around my back, pulling me into a tight embrace.

“I’ll be better at this,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, his breath warm against my ear. “I promise.”

I rest my head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against mine, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him. Together, we’ll figure this out. One step at a time.

The meeting room is tense, filled with whispers and the clink of metal as people adjust in their seats. Violet is leaning forward, her usual soft smile replacing any hint of concern, while the others are deep in debate about who will go on the next mission. The stakes are high, and it’s clear that everyone wants to make sure they’re well-prepared. My heart is pounding in my chest, a tight knot forming as I feel the weight of what’s coming. The group is discussing the flying assignments, who’s going to be paired with Violet on her dangerous mission, and I can’t help but feel like something’s off. There’s a restlessness in me, a hesitation that I can’t shake.

Then, as expected, the moment comes. They call my name.

I stand, my legs feeling heavier than usual as I move toward the front of the room, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. I haven't even had the chance to tell Aaric yet. Haven’t had the chance to figure out what to say, how to handle it, how to let him in on something that already feels like it might be too much for us to process together.

But then, just as the silence begins to settle in the room, his voice cuts through, clear and commanding.

“No.” Aaric’s tone is sharp, his presence suddenly filling the room with an authority that demands attention. All eyes snap toward him as he stands from his seat, his jaw tight, a flash of something determined in his eyes. “She’s not going.”

Everyone blinks in confusion, unsure of where this sudden interruption is coming from. I glance over at Violet, who raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. She’s known Aaric for years, but she’s never seen him this... intense, this protective.

“What do you mean, she’s not going?” Xaden’s voice is incredulous, his hands on her hips as he challenges him. “We need her there. She’s more than capable—”

Aaric cuts her off, his gaze never leaving me. “I’m not letting her go. Not when—” He pauses, his expression tightening, like he’s struggling to hold back the words. But then his gaze flickers over to me, and the moment shifts. He knows. His eyes soften, just for a second, and I realize that somehow, without me even saying a word, he’s already figured it out. He’s seen it.

Before anyone can react, Aaric strides toward me, his hand lightly resting on my shoulder, like he’s grounding himself as much as he’s grounding me. “You’re pregnant,” he announces, his voice thick with the weight of his knowledge. The room falls into stunned silence.

I freeze, every muscle in my body locking up as his words hit me like a physical blow. I hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet. I hadn’t even figured out how to tell him. And now, here he is, pulling me into the center of attention, revealing something so personal that I feel like my entire world is shifting beneath me.

There’s a brief moment of chaos, with murmurs spreading through the room, eyes flicking between us. Some of the squad members look concerned, others confused, and a few seem like they’ve been expecting this. But I can’t focus on them. I can’t focus on anything except the look in Aaric’s eyes.

“I…” I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not angry at him, not exactly. But I feel exposed, raw. How did he know?

Aaric’s gaze softens as he watches me, but his tone is firm. “I saw it.” His voice drops, quieter now, only for me to hear. “My signet... It showed me. I can’t... I can’t let you put yourself in danger. Not now.”

The sincerity in his eyes is almost enough to break me. His instinct—his foresight—has always been a double-edged sword. It’s saved us more times than I can count, but now, it’s exposing a vulnerability neither of us were ready for. He’s not just thinking about the mission or the war. He’s thinking about me. About us.

Violet is staring at us, disbelief on her face, but Aaric isn’t looking at her. His attention is fully on me, and the way he holds my gaze makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his hand slipping from my shoulder to gently take my hand. “I know this isn’t easy. But I’m not letting you go out there. Not like this. Not with...” His voice falters for a moment, the weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. “We’re going to be a family.”

His words hit harder than I expected. He hasn’t even had time to process the gravity of what he’s saying, yet somehow, he’s already stepping up in ways I hadn’t anticipated. There’s no panic in his voice, no second-guessing. Just a quiet certainty that, in this moment, makes me feel like maybe everything will be okay.

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that I’m capable, that I’ve handled worse, but something in his eyes stops me. The truth is, I’m scared. Scared of what this means, what it changes between us. But at the same time, there’s something about Aaric’s confidence, his protectiveness, that makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

He squeezes my hand, his smile a little softer now, though still full of that unshakeable confidence. “You didn’t have to tell me. I knew.”

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m carrying this burden alone.

The war room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of candlelight and the rustling of parchment as Brennan pores over the map before him. His shoulders are taut, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He hasn’t come to bed yet. Again.

I watch him from the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed, my heartbeat an insistent drum against my ribs. He’s been lost in his own mind for hours, drowning in battle plans and strategy, and if I don’t pull him out of it, I know he’ll stay here all night.

So, I move.

The air is thick with the scent of parchment and ink, the remnants of a half-finished cup of tea gone cold at his elbow. He doesn’t look up as I approach, not even when I step behind him and press my hands against his tense shoulders, kneading gently.

“Brennan.” My voice is soft, coaxing.

A quiet hum is the only response I get. He leans into my touch, just barely, but his eyes stay fixed on the map.

Stubborn man.

I exhale sharply before shifting, slipping into his lap with ease. That gets his attention. His hands move instinctively to my hips, steadying me, but his gaze flickers only briefly to my face before returning to the table, as if I’m just another part of the world he’s trying to control.

I huff in frustration, threading my fingers through his auburn hair, tugging gently. “You’re ignoring me.”

“I’m working,” he murmurs, voice distant, distracted.

“Brennan.” This time, there’s warning in my tone. When he still doesn’t look at me, I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze.

He startles, his breath catching, and for the first time tonight, I have his undivided attention.

“Look at me,” I whisper.

His lips part slightly, confusion flickering in the depths of his amber eyes, but he doesn’t pull away. My thumbs brush over the sharp lines of his jaw, tracing the tension there, the weight he carries like armour.

I exhale, slow and measured, before I finally speak the words that have been pressing against my ribs all night.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

A long, breathless pause where the world seems to still, time stretching between us like something fragile. Brennan doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is utterly unreadable, carved from stone.

Then—his hands tighten at my waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of my shirt like he’s grounding himself, like he’s afraid to let go.

“What?” The word is barely a whisper, hoarse with something I can’t quite name.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “I’m pregnant.”

His chest rises and falls sharply, the only sign that he’s actually processing what I just said. For a long, terrifying moment, he just stares at me—like I’m something impossible, something too precious to be real.

And then, the breath he’s been holding rushes out of him all at once. His hands move without thought, sliding up my sides, over my stomach, reverent and almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid he might break me.

“You’re serious?” His voice is raw, stripped of all its usual certainty.

I nod.

Something in him shatters.

He exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh, but his eyes are bright, almost feverish with emotion. And then he’s kissing me—fierce, desperate, like he’s trying to press this moment into my skin so he’ll never forget it. His hands tangle in my hair, pull me closer, his breath warm and unsteady against my lips.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against mine, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken. His fingers skim over my stomach again, slower this time, lingering.

“We’re going to have a child,” he murmurs, like he’s only just allowing himself to believe it.

I nod again, my own breath shaky.

Brennan closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling against my skin. And when he looks at me again, it’s different. The storm inside him has quieted, replaced by something deeper, something unshakable.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice rough with promise. “And I swear to you—I swear on everything—I will protect you both.”

Tears burn at the edges of my vision, but I blink them away, letting my fingers trace the strong lines of his face. “I know.”

And for the first time in hours, Brennan forgets about war.

For the first time in weeks, he lets himself hold something other than duty.

Me. Us. Our future.

And for now, that’s enough.

[inseobts]

Hi! I loved that poly kid + law + luffy! May i request a part 2? If you dont want to or feel like there is nothing more to add then its okay to refuse! Remember to rest and drink rest <3

Three Boats, One Heart 2.0

law + kid + luffy x fem!reader (poly relantionship)

a/n: omg I didn't have much ideas and I think I did Law dirty so I'm sorry TT

words count: 3.1k

tags: fight, blood, fluff, captain trio x reader, poly-ish, jealousy, silly arguments, established relationship/s

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Kid lies back on his mattress, his grip firm yet gentle on your hand. His knuckles are a mess, cuts, calluses, but you trail your finger along them anyway, slowly, quietly.

He tilts his head just a bit “…What are you doin’?” he asks quietly, reluctantly.

“Studying… a map.” You press a small kiss to his knuckle “A map of your hand, I know by heart.”

He lets out a shaky breath, something vulnerable, then tilts his face up just a bit “Go on then… I’m not waitin’ all day.”

You move up his hand, finger by finger, until you reach his wrist, placing another small kiss there. His grip falters just for a moment, then tightens.

“That’s nice, doll… but we got something comin’.” His jaw stiffens, his senses already reacting to danger.

The ship lurches, the metal structure moaning under pressure. A heavy thump resonates through the hull.

Kid drops your hand reluctantly and stands up, retrieving his metal arm and turning toward the helm “Stay here.”

“That’s not happening.” You grab your swords and stand up alongside him “You know I’m a pirate too, right? I can fight.”

He tightens his jaw “I know… but I ugh… just don't get hurt.”

“Don't worry.” The two of you rush toward the deck together, side by side.

The rain starts to pummel down, adding chaos to the battle. The thunderclap rolls across the skies as Kid summons his power, metal swirling in a magnetic tornado. The two of you fend off attackers, side by side, until the last of them falls.

When the thunder eases, Kid drops to his knees, a gash across his side. The rain washing away the blood. The crew lies injured. And you… you’re injured, too, a deep cut to your arm, but you’re alive.

Kid reaches up weakly, tugging you close “Doll… you… you got hurt…”

“I’m gonna survive it… don’t worry.”

The two of you stay there, in the rain, letting silence ease the chaos, just for a moment, before your world starts to feel heavy, a thick fog weighing down your senses.

The last thing you remember is rain, thunder, Kid’s grip, and then… blackness.

When you slowly come back to yourself, there’s warmth, softness, a mattress beneath you, and a strong antiseptic smell. The mattress feels a bit too comfortable for a ship, but then you realize you’re in the sick bay, Kid’s ship’s hospital room.

Your body feels weak, heavy, every movement a new rush of pain, but you manage to blink. Your eyes slowly clear, and you become aware of voices.

Three, in fact. Arguing. Loudly.

“That’s it! She’s mine to watch over, I was the first to bring her in!” Kid’s voice, gravelly with concern, nearly a growl.

“That’s ridiculous! I’m the captain, I care for my crew, especially her!” Luffy’s voice youthful, passionate and a little wild.

“That’s all well and fine, we're all Captains… but I’m the only one who's also a doctor.” Law’s voice calm, piercing, trying to cut through their bickering “So I say I’m in charge of her care right now.”

“That’s a convenient way to keep her to yourself, Trafalgar.” Kid crosses his arms with a metallic clunk.

“That’s not what I meant —”

“Damn, a girl is trying to sleep here, can’t you all shut up?” you croak, reluctantly, turning your head toward them.

The room falls into silence. All their eyes dart toward you... Kid’s piercing, Luffy’s glimmering with concern, and Law’s calm but worried.

In a rush, Kid drops down to your side, kneeling “Doll… you’re… you’re awake…”

Luffy climbs up on a nearby stool, bouncing a little “Are you okay?? Do you want food??”

Law crosses his arms “Before we do anything, I need to check your condition. Alone.”

“That’s not happening.” Kid stands up, reluctantly placing a protective hand on your arm.

“That’s a medical decision.” Law’s grip tightens on his hat “Kid… Luffy… please, I need space to do my job.”

The two start to bicker, arguing just over you, until you let out a shaky sigh “Enough… please, can you just let me be with… Law… alone… for a moment…”

The silence is heavy. Kid reluctantly lets his grip ease. Luffy drops down from his seat with a pout. Without another word, both slowly file out of the room.

The moment the door clicks closed, Law moves forward, retrieving his stethoscope. His normally impassive face shows traces of softness, a reflection of his concern, as he prepares to care for you in peace.

You let out a shaky sigh the moment the two left and the room fell silent...now it's just you and Law. The silence is a refuge, a chance to ease your mind.

He tilts his head, his piercing grey eyes linger on your face “Are you… feeling down?” he asks quietly.

You manage a weak smile “Aren’t you supposed to… check on me instead of… asking me that?”

He lets out a small, affectionate huff, nearly a laugh, before turning back toward you “I already did. Your pulse is strong. Your fever’s gone down. The cut’s healing nicely.”

“That’s a relief.”

He pulls up a small stool and drops down gracefully, resting his hands on his knees “Go ahead… say whatever’s on your mind.”

“How…?” you start quietly, “How did you and Luffy… know about… all this? How much I… was out… or… when you arrived?”

He glances down at his gloved hands, reluctantly “It was… all over the newspapers. The attack… Kid… the injuries… you.”

He lets out a heavy breath “Luffy and I rushed here as soon as we heard… We arrived just when you started to wake up.”

“That much I appreciate.”

He crosses his arms “And you… you’ve been unconscious for… nearly… 3 days.”

“That long?” you whisper “Kid’s…”

He tilts his hat forward just a bit “Kid’s doctor… did a good job. We owe him that. Without him… I’m not sure you would’ve made it.”

“That’s… a comforting thought.”

The silence hangs for a moment, heavy with things left unsaid “Did… you…” you start quietly, “…know… why… they were… arguing just now… the two idiots I mean?”

He stiffens briefly “It’s… Kid. He’s… blaming himself. That he… couldn’t protect you.”

He lets out a shaky breath “And you know Luffy… Luffy’s trying to make him see the reality. That you’re a fighter… just as much as we are… and sometimes… even the best ones lose.”

For a moment, you close your eyes, letting their words ease the pressure in your heart “Kid… I wish he’d… realize… I chose to be there… I chose to fight… I’m not someone he… failed… I’m someone he stands side by side with.”

Law’s grip on his knee tightens just briefly, then slowly eases, a silent vow to do whatever it takes to keep you safely by their side.

The silence in the sick bay feels heavy, thick with worries, regrets, things left unsaid.

“It’s… my fault, isn’t it…?” you whisper quietly, turning your face away from Law “I… I’m not strong enough… I’m not… I’m weak… I messed up… I let everyone down… I let Kid's crew get injured… I let Kid suffer…”

He stiffens, knuckles whitening “That’s not true.” His voice is firm, quietly passionate, a side you rarely see.

But you can’t hold back your tears. The dam breaks. Large drops trail down your cheeks, a shaky sob escaping your lips “I’m… I’m not strong enough… I… I’m a failure…”

The moment your crying starts, you hear a commotion outside, heavy boots, a rush toward the sick bay. The door swings inward showing Kid’s worried face and Luffy’s confused expression, both ready to rush to your side.

But before they can reach you, a shimmering circle forms in the air, a ROOM. In a flash, with a movement of his hand, Law teleports both back outside, closing the space in an instant. The two collide with a heavy thunk against the corridor wall, their voices fading in confused disbelief.

He lets out a small breath, then slowly stands up “Let it out… I’m here… you’re not weak… you’re not a failure… you fought… you chose to be there… you chose loyalty, and that… that’s strength…”

For a moment, you remain hunched forward, shaking with sobs, until something within you finds refuge. You slowly push yourself up from your mattress and step forward, closing the small distance between you and him.

He stiffens briefly, unsure, then lets you fold into his arms. His grip is firm, a refuge against the chaos outside. His gloved hand softly cradles your back as you let it all out, crying against his shoulder.

He holds you without judgment, without rush, until your tears ease and your shaky breaths calm. In his embrace, you feel safety, understanding, peace.

You slowly ease your grip on Law’s shirt, resting your forehead against his shoulder. His arm is still strong around you, his hand rubbing small circles on your back. The silence feels heavy, raw, but healing.

The moment is interrupted by a small click, the sick bay’s latch turning. The door slowly swings inward. Kid and Luffy stand there in the doorway, both freezing in place when they see you crying in Law’s arms.

Kid’s grip tightens on the metal rail. His knuckles whiten, not in rage, but in pure regret, understanding. All this time he’s been blaming himself for your injuries… without realizing you’ve been wrestling with that very blame, thinking you let him down instead.

Luffy, normally bouncing with energy, stands quietly, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. His big, round eyes glimmer with understanding, with a maturity forged by countless battles, understanding that sometimes the greatest struggles are internal.

For a moment, nobody speaks. The only sound in the room is your shaky breaths slowly calm­ing against Law’s shoulder.

Kid lets out a shaky sigh, a confession without words, and drops his gaze to the floor. His grip slowly eases, and his knuckles return to their normal color. Luffy crosses his arms, reluctantly, a silent vow to be there for you.

Law glances up briefly, then tilts his head just a bit, a small gesture, an affirmation that you’re not alone, that none of you are battling these doubts in isolation.

The silence stretches, heavy with understanding, until you slowly lift your face from Law’s shoulder. His shirt is damp with your tears. His grip eases just a bit, reluctantly letting you detach yourself.

You wipe at your eyes with shaky knuckles, letting out a small, nervous laugh “I’m… I’m sorry.”

All their eyes lock on you, a mixture of concern, guilt, affection, but you force yourself to continue “I’m sorry… for crying all over you, Law… for… for making you wet with my tears.”

Law stiffens briefly, his normally impassive expression faltering, then reluctantly lets his grip ease even more “I… I hadn’t even noticed.”

Turning toward Kid, you draw a shaky breath “And Kid… I’m sorry for making you feel… like it’s your fault… for putting this on your shoulders… I chose to be there… I chose to fight… I chose this… just as much as you did.”

He drops his gaze. His jaw trembles for a moment, then tightens. His grip on the metal rail eases just a bit, knuckles slowly turning back toward their normal color.

He nods, a small, barely perceptible acknowledgement that he hears you.

Lastly, you look toward Luffy “And Luffy… I’m sorry for making you worry… for causing you stress… I know you care… and I… I care about you, too.”

He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief “Sorry? …Sorry for what?”

He crosses his arms, puffs his cheeks, then lets them slowly deflate. His expression softens, growing sincere, as he speaks quietly but firmly “You did nothing wrong.”

He crosses the room in a few easy strides, then drops down to a crouch in front of you. His big, callused hand reaches forward, resting warmly on your knuckles “You fought… you chose to protect everyone… you chose to stand up with us. None of us here is mad, we’re not disappointed… we’re proud… proud you’re with us.”

He tilts his head, smiling warmly, a small, vulnerable side that few ever see, and then Kid lets out a shaky breath, turning his face away just a bit, adding quietly, “Yeah… what he said.”

The silence following their words is filled with something much greater than guilt, something forged by loyalty, understanding, and growing affection.

Luffy’s face glows with his brightest smile, bouncing a little on his toes, tugging a gold coin from his pocket “Heh! Now it’s time for the coin game to see who you’re gonna be with today!!”

He tilts his head “Heads for me! Tails for Kid! Oh, wait… or… for Law… or...”

Kid’s large hand dart forward and snatches the coin mid-flip “That’s stupid.” Kid crosses his arms “She should be with… a doctor now. So… Law.”

“That’s not fair!!” Luffy pouts, eyebrows furrowing “Aw man… then it’ll NEVER be my turn! First Kid… now Law… I’m always last.”

He drops his arms in dramatic unhappiness, kicking at the floor with his toes.

The silence stretches, heavy, until Law reluctantly stands up from his seat. His knuckles grip the rail of your hospital bed, a nervous tremble barely perceptible, then he speaks quietly, choosing his words carefully, “…She… can go with Luffy.”

“That’s…" you start, disbelief creeping into your voice “…that's it? You’re just… sending me away… without… without even asking me… what I want…?”

He stiffens, his grip faltering just a moment, then reluctantly tightens his knuckles “It’s… for your own good.”

“That’s a coward’s answer, Law.”

He drops his head, his hat casting a shadow over his piercing grey eyes but he doesn't speak.

“UGH!!” you say, a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and pure feeling.

He trembles, just a bit, then reluctantly lets go of the rail.

“Sometimes I hate that about you.” you say quietly, stepping forward, closing the small distance between you two.

He draws a shaky breath, reluctantly turning his face just a little, you can see his profile, the softness in his normally piercing expression, a moment that feels vulnerable “…sorry to let you down then.”

“… you know that's not what I meant.”

He drops his hands into his lap, reluctantly balling them into weak fists.

You say quietly “I care about you. I care about you, just the way you are. So please… sometimes… try putting yourself first… just a little.”

He falls silent, a moment heavy with understanding, his knuckles slowly ease. His grip falters, then drops away, his fingertips resting lightly against the rail.

You say quietly, a rush of nervousness battling with your growing resolve “I know you… I know you’re letting me go… because you think I need something… lighter… happier… something I can breathe in without… without all this weight.”

He reluctantly tilts his head just a little, just enough for you to see the glimmer in his eyes, the understanding, the affection, the care he cannot bring himself to put into words.

“But Law… if I'm with you too, then it means I want to be with you as well. So please… stop thinking so low of yourself… I don't have a preference… or I wouldn’t be in a poly relationship in the first place.”

He lets silence speak in his place, choosing not to interrupt, choosing instead to let you say whatever you need.

“That’s what I’m mad about.” you continue quietly, eyebrows furrowing “You… you think you know what’s best for me… but you forget I choose all this, too. I can carry the heavy things… alongside you. So… please… trust me. Let me choose you, too… sometimes… and you should choose yourself, too.”

He drops his gaze, reluctantly turning back toward the rail, knuckles resting against it. His grip slowly eases “…I… I’m sorry.”

“I don't need you to be sorry. That’s not enough.” you say quietly, yet firm “Sometimes you should try putting yourself first… or at least consider… that I’d want to be with you.”

He falls silent, the moment thickening, until you move forward, without looking back, and grab Luffy’s hand “I’m going with Luffy.”

He blinks in surprise, then his face glows with happiness “Heh! Okay! Let’s go!! Chopper’s waiting for us! We’re gonna be fine together, I’m sure!!”

Before you reach the doorway, you pause. Without turning, you say quietly, “Kid… bye… I'll see you soon. Don't worry, okay? And thank you for taking care of me.”

He lets out a shaky “Mm” in response, a vow that there will be a “next time”.

And then… you say quietly, “Sometimes… you should try putting yourself first… Law.”

The silence thickens. His grip falters briefly on the rail, knuckles turning white, then slowly easing, a sign, that your words might slowly be piercing his defenses.

And just for a moment, you wish you could ease his worries… just by staying.

Luffy slows down, turning to face you just as you’re about to reach the Sunny. His big, dark eyes glimmer with concern “Are you sure you don’t want to go with Law? That fight was… intense.”

You let out a small, sad smile, shaking your head softly “No… I think it’s actually better for him to be alone now… to think about what I told him.”

He nods quietly, then you start walking again side by side. The waves lap against the hull, the ship slowly bobbing up and down. Luffy drops back a step “I… I don’t think Law meant anything bad by saying you should be with me now.”

“I know.” you say quietly, tugging your arm against your side to ease the growing pressure in your heart “But after seeing me cry… he thought I needed someone to laugh with… and for him, that someone can only be you.”

He tilts his head in that pure, child-like way “…but… I laugh with Law, too, right? …He makes me laugh… just as Kid does.”

He blinks a few times, confused “…then…?”

“That’s it, Luffy.” you say quietly, reluctantly letting the words form “I love him just as I love you… and just as I love Kid.”

You continue softly “He knows that… but somehow… he still can’t put himself first. Look at every time you and Kid fight or argue for me… he’s always the one stepping back. And I know… that's his way… but I think he does it because he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be with me… or something like that.”

“UGH, he’s complicated.” you say, exasperated, tugging a lock of your own hair.

Luffy falls silent for a moment. His expression slowly glows with understanding, and then he smiles warmly at you “But you love him too.”

It’s not a question, it’s a fact, and you feel your pulse rush “…yeah.” you answer quietly “…a lot more than he thinks.”

Luffy reaches forward and briefly squeezes your hand, a comforting, wordless affirmation, before turning back toward the Sunny, a new spark of happiness creeping into his step.